Love on the Rise: Book Two of The Against All Odds Series

by Gemini Jensen

  “I’ve seen you a lot of ways, Kate. And a wreck is never a description I’d use to describe you. Even if you aren’t feeling well,” Pierce remarks.

  And now I feel like shit.

  I swallow and take a peek at Gray’s face hoping he didn’t catch the sexual innuendo in that comment, but from the way he’s glaring at the door, it’s obvious he did.

  “Take all the time you need. See you back at the table,” Pierce says, his voice growing more and more muffled the further away he moves.

  The golden hues of Gray’s eyes have completely disappeared, chased away with a rumbling darkness.

  “You’ve fucked him.” His voice is cold and hard. It isn’t a question, but a statement.

  Shit.

  Chapter Fifteen

  I CAN’T DENY it. He’ll know I’m lying and as much as it hurts me to hurt him by admitting it, I don’t have any other choice. A few months ago, I often fantasized about hurting Gray. I imagined I’d be given the opportunity to throw it in his face that I was with someone else. I daydreamed about how he would react and gained some sort of satisfaction from the imaginary notion that I’d hurt him just as badly as he had hurt me that day in his car.

  The look on his face right now causes anything but satisfaction. Despite his pushing me away and telling me to move on, an inexplicable shame bubbles up from deep inside me. Something about the look in his eyes gives unshakable insight. Even when he told me to forget about our relationship, he didn’t expect me to.

  “I have,” I answer honestly, wincing as I do, “but I feel like I should explain myself. You said you didn’t want me anymore…and I was in a dark place because of it. I was so fucking desperate to move on. So very desperate.” My body and voice both tremble at the same time.

  His finger reaches out to catch a tear as it rolls off my chin, pulling it up to eye level to assess it. A dark shadow passes over his face like a veil, his features turning to granite just before he suddenly spins me around, pinning my body flush against the door.

  Pressing his solid frame against my back, he lowers his voice to a low and steady rumble. “Dry those pretty tears. If anyone should be crying, it should be me,” he tsks. “After all, I’m the one who’s just been blindsided.”

  His knee slides up between my legs, causing me to widen my stance, his looming presence lessens against my back as he bends down. His touch is as soft as a butterfly kiss as his fingers slide down the outside of my leg.

  Slowly.

  Deliberately.

  The path he’s searing against my skin continues all the way to my ankle. I don’t realize what his mission is until he stands. When he does, the hem of my dress rises along with him, exposing the creamy flesh of my thighs and the sapphire-colored g-string that matches my dress perfectly.

  “Too bad you aren’t wearing any underwear. You’re going to wish you were later,” his cold voice remarks.

  I begin to argue, because obviously g-strings count as underwear too…even if they are only a scrap of fabric, but in one swift yank, he rips it from my body.

  A little more than startled, I yelp, scared the action is going to hurt. It doesn’t. He uses just the right amount of effort, quickly with even pressure, like yanking off a band-aid. Thankfully, it stings for only a second.

  I stand here mute. Afraid to move. Afraid to speak. Afraid to even breathe. I’ve never been a fan of confrontations, and this could end up being one of epic proportions. Fucking hell, I’m already hot for him. My body is flowering in anticipation, so ready for him that the point he just made about my wishing I had underwear later tonight, has already been grasped. Slick with need, my pussy begs for his undivided attention. His effect on me—how he makes me feel so many different things in opposition to each other—has always been a conundrum. He’s a puzzling rebellion against all things rational.

  Turning my head to the side, I can see only one half of his face and it nearly makes me shudder. My statue-like emulations are in vain because he suddenly turns his piercing gaze to mine. From the look in his eyes, I realize, I’ve done something that he will never forgive or move past. Something that will haunt me forever.

  Draping the silky dress over his arm so that I’m completely exposed, he grabs my hand and pulls it behind my back. Pressing my palm against the ridge in his pants, he proves he’s still hard for me despite my disappointing him. Despite my having hurt him.

  He still wants me—even when he shouldn’t.

  And I still want him even when I shouldn’t. I shouldn’t be doing this. It isn’t right. I’ve been sleeping with someone else on occasion…but this is Gray, and that’s the only thing that matters to me above all else.

  Wrapping his hand around mine, he gives a firm squeeze to his erection before flicking my hand out of the way to unfasten his zipper.

  “I don’t think your tears were sincere. You wanna cry, V? I’ll make you cry.” His voice is strangled as he powers into me, filling me completely. White-hot burning sears me as my body stretches to make room for him. Heavenly bliss stamped with pain. It’s almost too much to bear.

  His teeth sink into the curve of my neck where it meets my collarbone as he releases a guttural moan, elevating my arousal tenfold.

  “Fuck,” he husks, rearing back to the point of almost pulling out completely, only to slam right back in. Over and over again he does it, and I quickly come to understand this is a punishment.

  When I move my hand between my legs seeking my clit, he allows me a minute of working quick, tight circles over the bundle of nerves. Just as the tension begins to build, he wrenches my hand away.

  “No,” he orders, pinching the soft flesh to stop the throbbing.

  Fucking asshole.

  The sound of skin slapping skin, the door banging against the catch of the doorframe, fills the room.

  “Gray,” I moan out, desperate for release. While I might realize this is a punishment of sorts, my body isn’t fully getting the point. I should be pissed, but I’m far too wrapped up in all the sensations right now, another conundrum itself.

  “Surprised you didn’t…”—thrust—“get our names…”—thrust, thrust—“mixed up,” he grunts.

  My cheeks flame brightly with shame from his words, and tears prick the corner of my eyes. Each time he plunges inside me, the top of my dress that I had been so worried earlier about falling to waist level, slips lower and lower. Once both my breasts are free, he eagerly grips my nipple, rolling it firmly between thumb and forefinger.

  “I’m about to…” I whimper, finally on the cusp of an earth-shattering orgasm.

  And the Asshole pulls out of me with lightning speed, spinning me to face him.

  “I’m the one who decides when, and especially if, you get to come,” he dictates brusquely and my heart sinks a little. I thought I’d seen every side of Gray, but this is one I’m unacquainted with.

  If it’s up to him, he’ll withhold my pleasure out of spite. This isn’t slow and meaningful lovemaking. It’s an angry fuck. One full of wrath that is seeking vengeance. With each unforgiving thrust, his dark energy slowly seeps out, some of it transferring over to me. So why am I still turned on? Water finally leaks from my eye as I think about how things used to be.

  Gray used to put my needs before his own.

  He used to strive to ensure I had as many orgasms as my body could physically and mentally withstand. Sometimes so many, I was convinced I was going to black out from the intensity.

  But now? Now, I’m convinced this whole entire thing was just to prove a point, some terrible lesson to sever all ties between us and make him feel some sort of control or revenge over the situation.

  “Please,” I plead, as he picks me up off the floor. My pleas are foolish. Nonetheless, I voice them as if it might somehow change his mind.

  His face, however, remains a stony mask, both unforgiving and neutral. And it doesn’t escape my notice that he absolutely refuses to make eye contact with me now that we’re facing each other.

&n
bsp; Thoughts of another time and place, flood my mind. Nearly every time he would enter me from behind, he would always end up changing positions so that we were facing one another once we were both close. He always made a point of reminding me how he loved watching my face—witnessing my expressions—when I came.

  Things have undoubtedly changed.

  Seconds feel more like hours as he withholds from me the most beautiful eye color I’ve ever seen. He’s taken away one of my favorite sights in the world. My safe haven. My sanctuary. The one place I can fully lose myself. A sharp stabbing sensation hits me like a blow landed center-chest. I try to ignore it—the hurt, the anguish—but it’s overwhelming. The pain only worsens when he does glance at me, eyes turning to slits.

  He shocks the hell out of me with what he does next. One of his knees drops to the floor. Instead of finishing what we’ve started here, instead of entering me again and chasing his own ecstasy, his huge man-paws grip the sides of my hips. Pinning most of my weight against the door, he uses the surface as leverage, pushing my body up it until he slings my legs over his shoulders in one swift and smooth motion.

  Holy shit.

  The added bulk and definition to his physique were more than obvious to me, but it wasn’t until just now that I really comprehended the difference. He makes the action of lifting me onto his shoulders seem effortless.

  “Ohmigawd,” the words come out fused into one when his tongue plunges inside me.

  Once.

  Twice.

  Three times.

  He might not have use of his hands due to balancing me and holding me securely in place, but he doesn’t need them. He’s an expert with his tongue and I wouldn’t put it past him to know that. The cocky bastard.

  Then he sucks each of my folds between his lips.

  Teasing.

  Tormenting.

  Driving me insane by purposefully avoiding the one area that throbs for him the most.

  “Gray. God…” I whine helplessly.

  Normally in this position, I’d be able to do something to relieve the vicious throbbing. I’m so far beyond being embarrassed about it, too. I’d grind against him somehow if I could find reprieve, even just the smallest fraction of it.

  I don’t doubt his strength, not for a moment, but if I were to move—even an inch—I’d teeter to one side and fall. With his over six foot height, that would be terribly painful.

  I’m completely at his mercy.

  He has me right where he wants me.

  I know it.

  He knows it.

  He probably even planned it in that ‘Eager to Exact Some Sweet Form of Revenge’ head of his.

  His fingers dig into the soft flesh of my ass, holding me hostage. I’m stuck up here on a pedestal so to speak—only this pedestal is far from being a throne. I’m helpless as he continues dragging his tongue in slow circles around my clit, never quite touching it. Defenseless in this ongoing assault of the senses. Powerless to satisfy this craving.

  “Please. I’m sorry,” I pant. “I need you. Bad. So fucking bad.”

  Finally, he strikes the swollen flesh, but only once before he goes back to doing everything except what I want him to.

  I moan in frustration.

  “This is only a little of how you’ve made me feel,” his gruff voice vibrates against me. “Desperate. Delirious. Frustrated,” he growls out the last word.

  “Please just let me,” I beg, nearly too far bent out of shape to even take heed to his lesson.

  His tongue finds my clit again, finding the exact combination that always gets me. About five seconds before I’m about to cry out, he pulls away, hurriedly sliding me back down until I’m once again suspended, my feet dangling above the floor. He’s mindful to ensure just enough space between our two bodies so that I can’t grind against him.

  The deliberate cruelty of his actions nearly causes me to cry out, and not in that amazing sexual experience kind of way. So, I’m not surprised in the least when I feel a tiny stream of warm liquid slide down my cheek.

  “Desperate. Delirious. Frustrated,” he reminds me once more. “I don’t know how to make you feel all the other things I’m feeling right now. Like miserable, or heartbroken, or fucking livid.”

  I know I should be worried about his emotions and figuring shit out, but it’s not fair to be in this state he’s put me in. I’ve never in my life been so turned on, so close, and had that taken away out of spite. God, this is the reason couples should have a safe word. Not because of the whole pain infliction overload, but because of the crossing boundaries that can completely turn a person into a head-case.

  Which is what he’s done to me. My body begins vibrating in fury as I realize this. He’s made me cry— over sex—even if it was way more than just that.

  “Oh, I’m livid alright. You’re an asshole. If you’re not going to give me any relief, then let me down and leave. I’ll do it myself at this point.”

  “No.” His body continues to pin me against the door.

  Now that my hands are free and I don’t have to worry about falling—too far anyways—I take my free hand and slide it between my legs. But he reacts quickly, pinning his hips hard against me, using them to hold most of my weight so that he can catch my wrist.

  “I said, NO. You said you needed me a few minutes ago, but that’s not true. You chose to find someone else after I left. I’m sure you’ll just do it again.”

  I huff, staring at him disbelieving what I'm hearing. “Are you shitting me?” My choice of words—ones I used to make fun of before they grew on me from being around his sister so much—cause a fraction of a reaction. His furrowed brow and the hard glint in his eyes eases. No one else would have noticed it, but I do. “I would never have up and chosen to be with someone else if you didn’t do everything in your power that day to push me. You didn’t just push me, Gray, you pushed me as hard and far away as possible. You don’t think I remember your words to me?

  “Because I do. They come to me like an unprovoked assault each and every morning when I open my eyes, and they replay in my mind a thousand times a day no matter how hard I press mute. So fuck you and your misguided misperceptions of me and of my feelings. I’m just some immature, cheap fuck, who clearly means nothing to you.”

  He stares at me now, gracing me with the full, impossible-to-escape-from depths of his golden eyes. I expect him to drop me and walk away for good. After all, he’s proven his point. He’s gotten what he wants. He’s hurt me, and in a way, it feels worse than when he left all those months ago.

  But he doesn’t do any of those things.

  His eyes soften momentarily like he’s just been hit with some divine understanding he didn’t quite grasp prior to my outburst.

  And then, he kisses me, driving into me as unceremoniously as before, but it feels different this time. His strokes are longer, disciplined, unhurried. Each move is methodical as he hits my g-spot over and over again. My heart feels it before my head can wrap itself around it—the unsettling rift between us closing up, fusing itself back together.

  “Fuck, I thought I could take pleasure without giving it. But I can’t. Not with you,” he admits, his lips breaking away from mine, moving over my cheek, along my neck and further down. “Never with you.” He draws my nipple into his mouth.

  He knows when I’m close, he always does, but this time he doesn’t bail. I sigh in relief against his hair when I realize he’s staying with me all the way. His thumb finds my clit, as he flicks his tongue over my nipple, all the while hitting my g-spot. It’s almost like he’s some strategic General who knows when and where to strike for maximum result, a trifecta assault of the senses. Two seconds later, I break apart, clawing at him, my teeth hurting from clenching them so hard. Fighting back the scream I want to unleash is an uphill battle, but I’m damn proud of myself for doing so.

  As the tremors that wrack my body begin to subside, he pulls his face back to find my eyes. I witness the changeover between determination to w
ild, untamed desire as he powers into me, finding his own release just after. He pulses into me more powerfully than he ever has before, and something pricks the back of my mind about being responsible, timing, and being smart, but I shove the thought away.

  Our foreheads fall together, our panting breaths synchronized as he lowers me to the ground, still not releasing me after my feet are planted firmly. A warm sensation presses against my temple, and it takes me a second to realize he just kissed me there.

  “There are so many things I regret about that day, V. So many things I wanted to tell you, but couldn’t.” He doesn’t elaborate, and from the tightened timbre of his voice, I’d say he’s still at war with his emotions.

  “Are you in trouble? What’s changed since I left Central Valley up until now? Tell me everything,” I beg.

  Glancing away from me, he shakes his head. “I can’t believe you’ve already slept with someone else,” he echoes, still stuck on that fact alone and ignoring my pleas altogether. “I didn’t think it would happen so soon.” He swipes his hands furiously through his hair. “Are you happy with him?” he asks, and although his expression is indignant, his words seem sincere.

  Does Pierce make me happy? We’re hardly even a couple, but we could be eventually, and Pierce is the kind of man that—once a person means something to him—will walk through hell just to make sure that person's life is Heaven.

  Could he make me happy? Maybe one day.

  Am I happy now?

  “He makes me feel grounded. I’m stable and secure with him. I’m…existing,” I answer honestly.

  “Are you kidding me? You chose him because he makes you feel grounded and like you’re existing? You couldn’t just wait for me? Well, how the fuck do I make you feel?” His hand thumps against his chest angrily before bouncing off. “Because it has to be a whole hell of a lot less than grounded and stable.” His voice rises higher and higher, shaking in fervor.

  “Shhh, people are going to hear us,” I warn.

  “I. Don’t. Fucking. Care.” His fist pounds the door, causing me to jump.

  “You don’t get to be cross with me, Grayson Charles Knightley. That’s bullshit and you know it. You pushed me away!” I shove my finger into his chest.