Caught Up In You: Edgeplay: The complete serial

by McCormick, Jenna

  Our eyes lock and I shake my head, unable to form the words to tell him I can’t do it again.

  “Once more.” His jaw clenches. “Give me one more.”

  “Connor,” I pant, trembling all over.

  “Give it to me!” he snarls, and the command alone does the impossible, explodes the tightened coil within me. My vision actually tunnels and I’m afraid I’ll pass out as my sex clenches on his, begging him to follow me down.

  He roars with triumph, his head thrown back in a primal howl as he empties himself into the condom. He’s beautiful in that moment, the arch of his body, the sweat-slicked muscles. I am in total awe of him.

  He slumps over me, totally spent. Though my arms feel like cooked noodles, I find the strength to wrap them around him and hold him close to me. I never want to let him go.

  “Baily,” he murmurs softly, with something akin to wonder in his voice. “I didn’t know it could be like that.”

  “Neither did I. Until you.”

  He lifts his head and smiles, planting a sweet kiss on my lips. This has to be one of the best moments of my life.

  “Connor, I—” My words cut off when I see the frown on his face. “What’s the matter?’

  He pulls back and all the satisfaction and contentment from moments before have vanished. In their place is pure horror. A feeling I share when he says,

  “The condom broke.”

  10

  Connor pulls me up off the couch and drags me into the shower. He turns the water on, and I yelp as icy droplets hit my skin. Ignoring my distress, he reaches between my legs almost mechanically, with none of the heat from minutes before, and washes away his seed. There is nothing sexy about his clinical touch.

  I wrestle his hand away from my sex. “Connor, stop it. This won’t change anything.”

  He spins me around, toward the now warm water. “Get clean. We need to get you to the city, now.”

  “The city? Connor, I have to get back to the Rosemont.” Shoot, it was the other Connor who promised I’d be back by Monday morning. I add, “You promised.”

  “That was before.” His voice is flat, devoid of all emotion. “We’re going to Manhattan. I’ll have a doctor meet us there.”

  “Doctor?” He’s freaking me out now, this robot version, so detached from the moment. From me. He may be standing right next to me, but I get the impression we’ve never been farther apart.

  “To get you the morning after pill. And put you on a more permanent form of birth control.” He says this as though stating the obvious.

  “You could at least ask me if that’s what I want.”

  “It’s the most logical course of action,” he says, and shoves me headfirst under the spray. “This isn’t a democracy; we aren’t going to vote on this. I shouldn’t have let it get so far out of hand without having precautions in place.”

  Shutting the water off, I whirl to get away from him and slip on the wet tile. His arms go around me and he hauls me back up against his chest.

  “Let go of me!” I’m incensed that he’s being such an ass, telling me I don’t get a say in what I do with my own body. “Hands off, pal.”

  “Be careful. You could get hurt.”

  I laugh hollowly. How can he not realize I’m already hurt? Especially considering he’s the one wielding the knife. “I need to get away from you, right fucking now, Connor.”

  “No,” he responds, dismissing my wishes as if they are irrelevant. Retrieving two fluffy bath towels from the nearby shelf, he hands one to me. “Don’t argue with me, Baily. You’ll see the doctor, get what you need, and we’ll spend the night in my apartment. You’ll be back at Rosemont tomorrow morning.”

  I wrap the towel around me, shoddy protection but better than nothing. “You’ve got it all figured out, don’t you?”

  He either doesn’t pick up on my sarcasm or chooses to ignore it. “Of course. I don’t see why you’re being unreasonable about this.”

  “I’m being unreasonable? How can you say that with a straight face, when you practically yanked my arm out of its socket breaking land speed records getting me in here?” Yelling feels good, especially the way my voice echoes off of the tile in the small bathroom.

  Connor shouts back, “I’m trying to unfuck this totally fucked situation!”

  The words land like a blow across my face. I draw back, wounded. “You mean you wish you could unfuck me, right?”

  He doesn’t deny it, instead running a hand through his hair. I can almost hear the tearing sound of my heart ripping in two. His chest heaves as he drags in great lungfuls of air.

  “I’ll get dressed,” I say quietly. Easier to acquiesce to his demands than to fight him every step of the way. “I’ll agree to see your doctor, but I need to get home tonight.” I leave the bathroom, shutting the door behind me.

  My well-used body protests as I bend down to retrieve my bathing suit. I feel as though I’ve aged one hundred years since taking it off. I wish for a pair of jeans and a sweater, since I’m shivering, but my clothes are back upstate while I’m here, totally dependent on Connor the control freak to feed and clothe me.

  Smart move, that. Snarkarella rolls her eyes at me.

  As soon as I get home, I’m sending everything back to him. Including the check. Although keeping his money would make my life so much easier, I want no part of it. I’ll just have to figure something else out.

  I’ll change the locks on my cottage though, and give him the keys after I find somewhere else to live. Leaving myself at his mercy is completely out of the question. Maybe Greg will help me out, give me a place to crash. That is, if he’s still speaking to me after the incident at the bar.

  I move to the porch and stare out at the water. The sky is gray, heavy with fat, dark clouds. I’m sorry I didn’t spend more time on the beach. I can’t regret coming here, even if this is how it ends. I followed my heart and got a little taste of the divine, a reprieve from the hardship of my day to day life. How many people ever manage that?

  Connor exits the bedroom just as I finish braiding my wet hair. He isn’t even looking at me as he types a text message on his phone. “You ready?”

  My dress, shoes, and underwear from the night before are in the shopping bag, as well as my clutch containing his check, my phone, and twenty seven dollars, all the cash I have. “What about that?” I nod at the dishes still sitting on the patio.

  “I have staff to clean up.” He stows his phone and gestures toward the front door.

  Considering I’m part of that staff, his answer rankles. Just leave it, the help will get it. Casting him a sour look, I open the sliding glass door and stalk to the table, where I start stacking dishes. Connor watches silently as I scrape the remains of the delicious breakfast into the trash and load the dishwasher. When the task is complete, I dry my hands on a dishtowel and turn to him. “You should learn to clean up your own messes.”

  “That’s what I’m trying to do,” he says levelly.

  Great. I’ve gone from being his most cherished possession to a mess he’s forced to deal with in a burst of latex. Was I really naive enough to hope for a happy ending here? My anger deflates and my shoulders sag as we exit through the garage.

  I’m surprised to see men wearing Connor’s black security detail uniform appear on either side of us. “Did they sleep in the car all night?”

  “I own every house on the street.”

  No wonder the strip of beach was virtually deserted. “Any particular reason?” I don’t know what compels me to ask, because the last thing I want is to make small talk with him, give him another chance to gut me.

  There is an SUV with blackout windows idling at the curb. One of the security guards opens the rear door for us, and Connor places his hand on the small of my back as I climb inside. Once we’re secured inside the car, the driver pulls away from the curb. “Privacy, for one thing. The people I gift those houses to have proven themselves loyal employees.”

  “So a house in the Hampt
ons is part of your corporate pension plan?”

  “Not for everyone,” he murmurs. The phone reappears and his brow crinkles as he reads something on the small screen.

  I stare out the window, not surprised when fat drops of water spatter against the windshield. The rain suits my mood. I don’t want to make a scene in front of his people, but I need to tell Connor it’s over. I can’t be with a man who blatantly disregards my feelings about something as personal as what sort of birth control I take. The only reason I’m going along with this is that I really don’t want to risk a pregnancy. If he’d just taken a little bit of time to calm down and talk to me, instead of ordering me around and treating me like some problem, maybe I wouldn’t be so set in my resolve to end it. I would have gone to see my own doctor at home for a morning after pill and discussed other methods of birth control. But his overbearing manner torpedoed that possibility.

  I’ll have to deal with him soon enough. Right now, I’m tired and having trouble holding a thought. My eyes feel grainy, and I close them, letting the steady humming of the well-tuned engine lull me to sleep.

  * * *

  We arrive at Connor’s brownstone overlooking Central Park just before five. I’m ushered out of the car and into the lobby, and in short order, Connor, two members of his security staff, and I are all crammed into an elevator. I try to shift away from Connor, but his hand clamps the back of my neck in a proprietary grip, keeping me beside him. My look shoots daggers, but he ignores me as the numbers light up for each successive floor. Yet another security member greets us as the doors open. “All clear, Mr. Edge.”

  “Thank you, Justin.”

  Justin, I recognize from the Rosemont. He nods in my direction. “Ms. Sinclair.”

  I smile at him, though it’s forced. “How are you?”

  Connor’s eyes narrow at the other man. “We’re expecting a Doctor Trammel. Please see that she is escorted up as soon as she arrives.”

  Justin nods and steps into the elevator, and the two guards who rode up with us make a discreet exit.

  “The doctor is coming here?”

  “Of course. What did you expect?”

  “That we’d go to her office. Or she’d phone in a prescription for me to pick up. My doctor could do that.”

  “It’s Sunday. Most doctors’ offices are closed. And no Ob/GYN worth her salt would start you on birth control without a physical exam.”

  The time of reckoning is at hand. “Connor, I’m not going on birth control. I agreed to take the morning after pill, that’s all.”

  Dark eyebrows draw down. “You have to. After what happened, I don’t trust condoms. Use whatever method you wish, but you need to be put on something. It’s the only logical option.”

  He sounds as though he’s some great lord, granting me a boon, saying I can choose what I do with my body. “Not if I’m abstaining from all sexual activity,” I say sweetly.

  He stares at me as though I’m babbling in ancient Greek. “What are you talking about?”

  “You, me, whatever this is, is now over. We’re done.”

  “No.” He turns around.

  “No?” I follow him. What is he, three years old, telling me no and then leaving to end further discussion? “Connor, I can’t be with someone who keeps hurting me.”

  “When?” He stops, and I slam into his broad back, though not hard enough to knock me on my ass. “When did I hurt you?”

  I hear that thread of panic and move to stand in front of him. “Not physically hurt. Emotionally hurt. You cut me open earlier, what you said about regretting being with me.”

  He rears back. “I never said that.”

  “Not exactly but—”

  He interrupts me. “What I said was I wanted to unfuck the situation.”

  “Yes, and when I asked you if you would unfuck me given half a chance, you didn’t deny it. That hurts, Connor!” Exasperated, I throw my hands in the air.

  His expression is the very definition of pole-axed. “Why deny something so ridiculous? Of course I wouldn’t unfuck you, if that were even a possibility. Which it isn’t.”

  “I have to sit down.” Did I ever really believe I could understand how this man thinks?

  Taking me by the elbow, Connor leads me to the living room and pushes me down on a brown leather chair. I put my head in my hands.

  Connor moves away, and I listen to the sound of him striding down the hall. I hear the chiming of a clock striking the half hour, and the soft, steady thrum of the air conditioning unit. The suction of a door, the clink of a glass, and then Connor’s steady footsteps returning.

  “Here.” He hands me a glass of water, then crouches down before me. His eyes are filled with worry. I want to reach out and stroke his strong jaw, but he’s caused me so much pain over the past few hours. How do I know he won’t do it again?

  Those navy irises stay fixed on me as I drain the glass. I have to look away. “This isn’t working, Connor.”

  “Don’t leave me.” The words are filled with a broken desperation. Gone is the man in charge. He sounds like a little boy afraid I’m going to leave him in the woods.

  Anger simmers that he’s playing on my emotions. “You can’t treat me like this.”

  “I just wanted to make it better. To make you safe.”

  Safe? What the heck is he talking about? I shake my head. “I don’t understand.”

  He opens his mouth, but no words come out. Snapping his teeth together, he whirls and stalks toward the window. “There’s a great deal I have to tell you. About me and my life. I’m a businessman, I own several fortune 500 companies, and I have enemies who want to hurt me. People who hate me because I fired them or their loved ones, or just because I turned my grandfather’s inheritance into even more money. They’d hurt me and anyone around me just to strike out at me for succeeding. That’s part of the reason I’ve planted so many stories, played up the carefree womanizer angle. So they don’t know who matters to me.”

  He turns to face me again. “But if word got out that I have a lover, and she’s carrying my child…Baily, it scares me to death to think that I wouldn’t be able to protect you. What they would do to you, because of me.”

  Despite the water, my throat is dry. My heart is pounding so heard I can hear the blood rushing in my ears. How does he manage this, to flip around everything inside my head until I’m a complete wreck and I don’t even know which way is up?

  He’s concerned for my safety, willing to go toe to toe with me to ensure I’m not a target someone could hurt by proxy.

  Is he paranoid? Or just smart?

  “Keeping you is selfish, I realize that. But I don’t know how to let you go.”

  The elevator dings open and two sets of footsteps sound behind us. Justin clears his throat and says, “Excuse me, but Doctor Trammel is here.”

  “Please,” Connor begs me with his eyes, his mouth. His whole body is filled with yearning.

  Rising to my feet, I move over to Connor’s side. “All right, I’ll stay, but I need some answers. And I won’t wait much longer for them.”

  11

  Gimme an L! Gimme an O! Gimmie an S, E, R! What’s that spell? YOU! Snarkarella has her pom poms out and is doing backflips off the inside of my skull as Justin leads Doctor Trammel and myself to what looks like a suite within Connor’s apartment. A galley kitchen, living area, and bedroom overlook the tree line of the park. The colors are neutral - beige walls, taupe carpeting, and white window treatments. The lack of personal items leads me to the conclusion that the space is unoccupied. Why would anyone need separate living quarters inside his own apartment?

  The answer forms right on the heels of the question, and I flinch. How many mistresses has Connor kept here for easy access?

  Snarkarella pauses between high kicks to sneer, And yet, you’re still here. Who should we blame for that, Baily?

  As much as I detest her rotten attitude, she’s right more often than not. That’s probably why I loathe her. How can a
nyone truly like a smart ass know-it-all who’s always right?

  “You’ll have complete privacy here.” Justin steps back out into the main area of the apartment, shutting the door behind us.

  Doctor Trammel is a small, dark-skinned woman somewhere between forty five and fifty. She looks around for a moment, then sets her medical bag on the small oak table.

  “So, Ms. Sinclair—”

  This situation is so bizarre, and I feel I owe her an apology. “I’m sorry we bothered you on a Sunday. I hope we didn’t take you away from anything important.”

  She offers me a reassuring smile. “It’s quite all right. I’ve two children in college, so Mr. Edge’s financial incentive more than compensates me for the inconvenience. Would you care to sit?”

  I like her reassuring bedside manner. It’s nice to have a friendly, nonjudgmental face to talk to. I move to the couch and turn toward her. “I really just need a prescription for the morning after pill. Everything else can wait until I see my own doctor.”

  Dr. Trammel nods. “If that’s what you want to do.”

  What I really want to do is go home and sleep for a week. Or better yet, travel back in time and warn myself not to go anywhere near Connor Edge. “I know he probably told you to talk me into taking something else—”

  The doctor waves her hand in a sharp slicing motion, cutting me off. “Ms. Sinclair…Baily. I’m here for you. You are my patient, and Mr. Edge’s wishes are not a factor in how I treat you. He may pay the bill, but it’s your body, and I’m not pushing anyone else’s agenda. Are we clear?”

  My eyes sting, though I don’t know why. “Thank you for that.”

  Perfectly sculpted eyebrows furrow. “I assume you and Mr. Edge are sexually involved?”

  “We were….” I trail off, and stare at the floor. I feel like an idiot, because I was all set to walk out the door, but his desperate pleas really got under my skin. Letting him have so much power over me, allowing him to sweet talk me after being such an ass - knowing the power he had over me made me a little sick.