Caught Up In You: Edgeplay: The complete serial

by McCormick, Jenna

  She arches one perfectly sculpted eyebrow at Connor. “So I gather you got a better offer and our plans for the night have changed?”

  “You gathered right.” Placing his hand against the small of my back, he urges me forward. “Baily, this is Rochelle Newhart, also known as Rachel Meade. Rochelle, Baily Sinclair, my girlfriend.”

  She gives me a slow once over. “Hi, real girlfriend, I’m the beard.”

  “I thought I was your beard?” Connor pours us each a glass from the wine bottle.

  Rochelle kicks off her shoes and curls her feet up under her before turning her attention to me. “It’s a mutually beneficial faux relationship.”

  “I’m not sure I see the need for a faux relationship when he’s in a real one.” My words sound more hostile and possessive than I feel. Something about Rochelle is too easy-going to really worry me. As a woman who truly desires Connor beyond all reason, I’m plenty familiar with the symptoms.

  Rochelle casts Connor a look of amusement. “Well, Mr. Hotshot here has a knack for pissing people off. I’m sure you’ve noticed.”

  Shooting Connor a glance, I see he isn’t insulted or even surprised. “Yeah, I’ve seen it in action.”

  Rochelle empties her wine glass and holds it up to Connor for a refill. “Yeah, he’s kind of a bull in a china shop when it comes to social graces. People only put up with him because he’s got more money than God.”

  I barely stifle a laugh. Connor refills both of our wine glasses and stands behind me, pressing his body against mine. “Glad you two are bonding,” he mutters.

  “Anyhow, sometimes people like to try and take him down a peg or two. And some of those very important people with unlimited resources and grudges galore also lack morals. They want to hit him where it hurts. Like by hurting someone close to him. Which is why he’s “estranged” from his family.”

  “Tell her how many attempts have been made on your life since we visibly hooked up.”

  “Six, but don’t credit yourself with all of them. I too have a knack for pissing people off.” Rochelle winks at me.

  Hearing her description of Connor’s life breaks my heart. Anytime he gets close to anyone he has to wonder if they’ll be used against him. I put my hand over his where it rests on my shoulder and squeeze his fingers in a silent show of support. That must be a terrible way to live, always afraid of losing those closest to you.

  His paranoia makes so much more sense now.

  “Don’t take this the wrong way because I’m grateful to you for helping him, but what do you get out of all this?”

  “Rochelle is gay,” Connor says.

  “And proud of it.” She toasts to that, then purses her lips. “Unfortunately, coming out would be the death knell of my career as a leading lady. As if who I shag has anything to do with my acting ability. But it’s the world we live in. Could be worse; at least no one is trying to stone me because I munch rug.”

  I blink, totally out of my depth.

  “Do you understand why I said you have no reason to be jealous?” His breath in my ear makes me shiver. “More likely she’ll hit on you than me.”

  “I don’t poach from my pals. Besides, it’s obvious she bats for the away team. She hasn’t checked out my rack once.” Rochelle hops up from her chair and stretches. “Well, if we aren’t going out to be seen, I’m gonna go get comfy. Same room as last time?”

  “Wherever you want.”

  She blows us both a kiss and sashays from the room.

  “I forgot she was coming today, or I would have warned you before.” Connor pushes some hair behind my ear. “Do you feel better about our arrangement now?”

  “I’m having a hard time processing everything,” I admit. “It’s all so overwhelming.” And me, the sad little country mouse who’s never left the state of New York.

  Connor drops a kiss on my forehead. “Take all the time you need, love. I’m not going anywhere.”

  I wouldn’t bet on it, Snarkarella whispers.

  19

  The change overtakes Connor while the three of us are sitting around the formal dining room enjoying dinner.

  “This is incredible.” Rochelle, now dressed down in yoga pants and a tiny T-shirt pronouncing her a ‘Gold Digger,’ tucks into the Szechwan stir fry Connor whipped up.

  “Nothing to it. I just great in a little fresh ginger for extra kick.” He smiles in that wicked way of his, his focus on my face.

  Heat scalds my cheeks as I think about the earlier use of the ginger, and I reach for my water glass.

  Connor turns to Rochelle. “Actually—” He stops speaking and his eyes roll back in his head.

  “Shit.” Rochelle is up, out of her chair and moving to him. “Let’s get him flat on the ground.”

  “You know what this is? What’s happening to him?” I ask as I help her hoist his big body from the chair. It isn’t easy; he’s heavier than the two of us combined and pure deadweight.

  “I’ve seen it before.” Her tone is grim.

  His expression is almost slack, as though he’s in a catatonic state. I’ve spent enough time in nursing homes to know the signs, but seeing Connor’s normally vibrant face practically lifeless fills me with horror.

  We maneuver him until he’s lying flat on the Oriental rug. Rochelle tugs my hand, trying to urge me up from my position by his side. “Back up, in case he comes up swinging.”

  “He won’t,” I tell her, cupping his head in my hands. It’s Mr. Edge who’s coming back, and he’s more a cut the enemy with words sort. “You’re sure this isn’t some kind of seizure?” There are no tremors, but epileptics don’t always display the same symptoms.

  “I have no idea. He never told me what causes this. I just know he wakes up…altered.”

  Our eyes meet and I’m glad she’s here, that I’m not alone in my worry.

  She studies my face and her lips part. “You’re in love with him.”

  Now isn’t the time to discuss it, and I focus on his face, searching for any signs of change. This is the first time I’m able to see his expression as he undergoes his transformation. “How long does it usually take?”

  “I’ve only seen it once, but it was less than a minute and nowhere near this dramatic.”

  His eyes open and I see the haze of confusion there. I stroke his cheek and whisper, “Hey you, you had us worried.”

  He blinks, and his gaze snaps to Rochelle. “How long?” he rasps.

  I glance at the grandfather clock in the corner. I came to the house at five and it’s now after ten. “About five hours, maybe a little less.”

  He sits up smoothly and I study his every move. He’s as graceful as ever, his motions fluid.

  “What’s the last thing you remember?” Rochelle steps closer now that she sees Connor’s not in a violent mindset.

  “We were in the pool.” He runs a hand through his hair. I notice the slight tremor, but ascribe that to disorientation more than any physiological malady.

  “Well, when I got here a little over an hour ago you two were in the tub. Must have been a water sports kinda day.” Rochelle grins, trying to lighten the mood.

  Connor’s focus darts from her to me. I see the frustration there and can only imagine what’s going on in his head. The last thing he knew he was angry with me, and now he finds out we’ve kissed and made up. I can’t even imagine how he’ll react if he finds out about the figging. I’ve barely wrapped my mind around that. “Rochelle, I don’t mean to be rude but would give us some privacy?”

  “Not a problem.” She picks up her wineglass and heads for the stairs. “See you two crazy kids in the morning.”

  I don’t miss his wince at the word crazy and my heart breaks a little for him.

  Slowly, he lowers himself into the chair, rests his elbows on the table and puts his head in his hands. “I need a drink.”

  “Do you want me to open another bottle of wine?”

  “Something stronger.”

  “’Kay, I’ll be right
back.” I go to the parlor where I know he keeps a stocked liquor cart. The crystal decanters are all full and I can’t tell what’s what. Picking one at random, I grab a highball glass and carry it back to the dining room.

  He actually smiles when he sees what I’ve brought. “That’s hundred year old Scotch.”

  I set it down in front of him. “I’m not much of a drinker.”

  “I remember that much at least.” His eyes meet mine. “Thank you.”

  I’m not sure if he’s thanking me for retrieving the booze or something else. “I actually have an ulterior motive for getting you liquored up.”

  He pours a drink and takes a sip. “What would that be?”

  He’s playing coy, but he knows what I’m after. “Don’t you think it’s time you tell me what’s going on with you?”

  “No, but someone else does.” He sets a scrap of paper down in front of me. “I found this in my pocket just now.”

  The script is bold and commanding, exactly like the man I spent the evening loving. The message causes my heart to stumble mid-beat.

  You can trust Baily. She’s on the pill.

  I look up and meet his gaze.

  “I’ve never left myself a message like this before. He… I must really believe in you.”

  “Because I went on the pill?” I’m sure I’ll never understand how his mind works.

  Slowly, he shakes his head. “No, because you invested in our relationship that way. You fought me on it at first, but decided to do it anyway. You put faith in our relationship—it’s what I’ve been waiting for.”

  “So, you’ll forgive me too?”

  He looks at the pristine white tablecloth and I get the feeling he’s afraid to meet my gaze. “Forgiveness isn’t mine to give, but to ask for. I’ve treated you abominably. I see that now. Bullying you, imposing my burdens, holding back information about myself while demanding your secrets. I didn’t trust you the way I should have. I’ve been an ass, but I can’t force myself to walk away, even if it’s in your best interest.”

  “It’s not.”

  Slowly he looks up, his celestial blue eyes full of hope. “Will you still have me?”

  Taking his hand in mine, I slowly twine our fingers together. “I love you, Connor Edge, every side of you.”

  His eyes go wide and he whispers, “Say it again.”

  “I love you.” It’s easier, now that the seal is broken, the words effervescing from me.

  He tugs me into his lap and his hands shape to cradle my head, to hold me in place above him. Firm, masculine lips meld with mine oh so sweetly. I expect the liquor on his breath to overwhelm me, but it enhances his own spicy flavor in an addictive way.

  Part of me is content to stay exactly like this, fusing together with him. But another part craves more, skin to skin contact, being filled by his hardness, engulfed in his heat.

  Connor’s hands rove my back restlessly and before I realize what he’s doing, my bra is unhooked.

  “I need you naked,” he growls.

  I stand up and glance over at the stairs. “Shouldn’t we…?”

  “Right here, right now.” The button on my jeans pops free and he lowers the zipper. Hooking his thumbs through my underwear, he drags everything down to my knees. “Hop up on the table.”

  I remove my shirt and bra and do as he asks. He whisks the material off my legs. His impatience to bare my body is the ultimate aphrodisiac. He guides my feet to the table, splaying me open wide, so the wet folds of my inner sex are caressed by the cool air.

  I brace my hands behind me for balance. My nipples ache, my clit throbs, and I feel poised on the verge of coming.

  “So lovely,” he murmurs, resettling in his chair. “So pretty, spread out for me like a banquet. I can’t wait to sample some of this delectable dish.”

  I expect a full on assault with his mouth, but instead he lowers himself slowly, nuzzling my thigh with his whiskered cheek. He lets out a breath and my clit actually twitches in anticipation.

  His eyes meet mine and I see the blue fire there. “A meal worth savoring.”

  I’m trembling all over, greedy with lust, seduced by his appreciation of my body. “Connor…,”

  Thumbs stroke gently over my labia for an endless moment before pulling me wide. Hot breath torments my inner flesh and I hear him suck in a breath, scenting me, just like I saw him do earlier with wine before taking a taste. Embracing the bouquet, he called it.

  Then his mouth makes contact and I gasp. He’s pleasured me this way before, but somehow it seems different this time. As though he’s falling into me, or taking me into him.

  He lays hot, open mouth kisses to every bit of me, his tongue following the contours of my folds. He doesn’t ignore my clit, but neither does he go right for it. Instead it’s just another peak in the topography he’s carefully mapping.

  My channel is dripping and goosebumps cover my skin. I’m torn because I want to go over, to experience the orgasm that I know will blow my mind, but I also don’t want this sweet torment to end. I try to memorize how he looks, the light from the chandelier casting shadows across the two of us. It’s such an erotic scene, with him poised at the edge of the table and me spread out like some sort of sacrifice to his unquenchable lusts. I whimper as he drags deeper, sipping from my well.

  His arms snake behind my bent knees to grip my thighs and open me wider. I lie back on the table, uncaring of the clattering of expensive china as I writhe under his delicious assault. My whole body quakes, responding to every lash of his tongue, but still he doesn’t push me over. I need his fingers in me, or better yet, his cock, filling me, stretching me. As soon as the thought surfaces, I know I won’t come until the fantasy is fulfilled.

  Propping myself up on my elbows, I whisper, “Connor, I need you now.”

  The words barely leave my mouth when he’s up, fighting with his belt. I shiver as he yanks the length of leather free and then attacks his pants, getting them out of the way.

  “Have I come inside you yet?” He pushes his pants down and grips his erection in his hand. Vaguely, I remember him asking me to save that pleasure for this version of him. Guilt gnaws on me. If Rochelle hadn’t interrupted us earlier, my answer would be different.

  “No,” I say, with the intention of explaining, but then he’s on me, inside me, caressing my inner walls with his hard flesh.

  “Thank you.” He rests his forehead against mine so he can stare into my eyes while thrusting shallowly into my body. “You feel incredible.”

  “So do you,” I say, because it’s the truth. I want him deeper but the smooth head of his cock keeps rubbing a hot spot inside me and it feels too good to complain. My fingernails sink into his biceps and I wrap my legs around his waist, hooking my ankles just over his ass.

  “Say it again,” he breathes. I know what he wants to hear.

  “I love you, Connor.”

  His eyes close and a serene expression overtakes his strong features. My breath hitches and all the physical yearnings of my body fade away. It’s as though my words opened some window to heaven and Connor is now lost in nirvana and I can’t help but lose myself in his glory.

  But then it’s gone and he’s pinning me to the table and shoving his stiff prick in to the root, hard and fast. I whimper because I’m once again poised on a knife’s edge. The orgasm is so potent I can practically taste it. “I’m so close.”

  I see it in his eyes, the knowledge that neither of us will last much longer. “Come with me,” he urges. It’s softer, sweeter than the demand his other self would make, but just as irresistible.

  I cling to him, following his lead. My walls close around him but he powers through as though with a battering ram. His hips snap sharply forward and back. My heels dig into the taut muscles of his ass, spurring him on until I feel the first hot jet of his come bathe my inner channel.

  He doesn’t close his eyes, and seeing his pleasure sends me over. My back arches and I cling to him in ecstasy, digging my nails
into his skin so deeply I wouldn’t be surprised if I draw blood.

  It’s incredible, this shared moment of sheer perfection. His lips feather over mine softly even as his cock fountains inside me and my body ripples around him, milking every last drop from him. The beauty of the moment brings tears to my eyes.

  And then it’s over. He buries his face into the curve of my shoulder and I bring him back down onto the table with me. Sweat slicks across my skin and my breathing is erratic as I gulp in air and give myself time to recover.

  He feels so good, his weight pinning me to the hard surface of the table. I’m sure we ruined the pristine white cloth, probably broke a bowl or two, but as I trail my fingers through the silky strands of his hair, I can’t bring myself to worry over the financial ramifications of that little slice of heaven.

  After a while, Connor withdraws his still semi-hard shaft. I miss him instantly, especially when he goes about tugging up his pants and buttoning his shirt. A chill of foreboding causes me to shiver. Perhaps I’m being melodramatic, it could simply be a draft letting in the cool fall air, but the fact that he didn’t return my heartfelt confession has me on edge.

  “Let’s go upstairs.”

  I slither off the table and glance at the mess. “What about the—”

  “I’ll get it later. I doubt I’ll sleep much after we talk.”

  Picking up my clothes, I follow him upstairs. My legs feel as limp as our stir fry noodles, a few of which are stuck to my back.

  Connor leads me past the Victorian room, as I’ve come to think of it. I wince when I realize the crystal bowl with the ginger root is still in there. I don’t want to keep anything from this Connor, but neither do I think he’s ready to hear all the kinky details I get up to with his other self. Guilt flays me for not admitting I forgot that promise I made, about letting him come inside me first. I didn’t lie, but neither did I make an intentional choice. This is nuts. I feel like I’m cheating on him, with him.