Caught Up In You: Edgeplay: The complete serial

by McCormick, Jenna

  Connor leads me to the very end of the hall, to the master suite. It’s enormous, with huge windows overlooking the rolling hills of the grounds. The moon is full again tonight, bathing the Rosemont in an ethereal glow. I shiver as I see his bedroom overlooks the pool, and in the distance, the outline of my cottage sits against a copse of pines.

  Connor leads me into the bathroom. There is no tub in here, just a massive shower with five shower heads. He turns the water on, then starts disrobing. Though I’m impatient to have our talk, I feel scuzzy enough to bide my time. He’s so reclusive right now and I don’t intend to rush him.

  He takes my clothes, removes my keys and cell phone from my jeans pocket and sets them on the counter, and tosses the soiled garments in the hamper with his own. It’s such a domestic type of chore, and seeing him do it like this is part of our routine squeezes my heart.

  He tests the water temperature and ushers me under the spray. I tip my head back and he moves up behind me, combing through my hair with his fingers, before adding some herbal shampoo. He lathers, rinses and repeats the process as though he’s done this a million times. I lean against him and enjoy his ministrations.

  His hands skim my body possessively as he cleans me with a washcloth. I raise my arms and spread my legs when he indicates, unable to hinder him in any way. I’ve never been pampered like this before and I savor every second of it. That time in the Hamptons doesn’t count. We were fighting then and I didn’t enjoy it the way I can now. Though I should be fully sated from our sexual antics downstairs, my body responds to his touch, nipples and clit stiffening as though trying to attract his attention.

  He smiles up at me, obviously delighted that I’m an insatiable slut for his body. I blush, but refrain from worrying my lip. I can’t help being turned on by the sexiest man I’ve ever seen, especially when he’s rubbing things over my body. He continues to wash me as though nothing is amiss.

  He’s much less thorough with his own cleansing, quickly sloughing water and soap under his arms and over his chest and belly, his genitals. It cools my ardor somewhat to see he doesn’t have an erection. Obviously, whatever he intends to tell me is putting a damper on his sex drive.

  Connor shuts the water off and helps me out onto the bathmat. He dries me with a fluffy white towel, the same exquisitely soft kind I remember from the Hampton house.

  “I got this for you,” he says, the first words he’s spoken since suggesting we come upstairs.

  Opening a door, I see two bathrobes, one cobalt blue and the other jet black, hanging on the inside hook. He removes the blue one from the hook and holds it out for me.

  I don’t move. “You bought me a bathrobe?”

  He nods silently, still offering it to me.

  My mind whirls like a carnival ride. He did this because he wanted me back, even when he was angry at me, when I was afraid he’d moved on. A sneaking suspicion fills me. “What else did you get for me?”

  He gestures impatiently with the robe. “Are you going to wear it?”

  I compress my lips to keep from smiling. He’s so defensive, but the fact that he didn’t answer me tells me my hunch is right. The robe is soft against my skin,

  He dries himself and shrugs into his own robe, which I bet is also new. He bought us matching bathrobes and hung them in his closet. He’s so incredibly sweet, how could I not love him?

  Connor has a sitting area with a fireplace attached to his bedroom. He urges me to sit on the navy and gold sofa and I do, wondering how much longer he’ll stall. My curiosity is eating me alive. He ignites the gas logs to help dispel the chill in the high-ceilinged room and then retrieves a blanket from the bed to wrap me in. I would prefer to be wrapped up in him, but he’s full of restless energy.

  “Are you thirsty? Should I get you a glass of water?” He looks hopeful.

  “I’m fine, Connor.” Curling my feet up under me, I wait for him to talk.

  He nods and begins to pace. “I know now how you felt, telling me about your mother. It was kind of like a test, wasn’t it? I’m sorry I failed.”

  “Connor,” I whisper, reaching my hand toward him. “It’s okay. I’m just touchy about that. It’s my biggest hot button. My neurosis to deal with.”

  Connor nods slowly. “I’m still sorry. I wish I’d told you then just how important you are to me, and that nothing you told me would change the way I feel about you.”

  I may not be the brightest bulb in the strand, but I know what he needs to hear. “Connor, I love you and nothing you tell me will change the way I feel about you.”

  “We’ll see soon.” He smiles at that, but it quickly fades. “You remember Noah Berkowitz?”

  I’ve met his attorney and wondered about the bizarre relationship between the two men. The lawyer seemed absurdly protective of more than Connor’s assets. “Yeah, I do.”

  “We’ve been friends for fifteen years, since we met in the V.A. hospital at West Point where we were both being treated.”

  I blink. Connor’s a vet? None of the tabloids have ever revealed that nugget of information. I feel myself frowning. Something doesn’t add up. Connor’s family has money and connections; he could receive the best treatment available. “Wait, fifteen years? You’re not even thirty. What were you doing in a V.A. hospital?”

  He releases my hand but holds my gaze. “Being treated for C-PTSD.”

  I blink. “I know what PTSD is, at least in general terms. Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, right?”

  He nods. “Right. In cases of PTSD, the trauma can stem from a single event, such as a brutal battle or a rape. That sometimes affects veterans who have been involved in wars, or children who have endured abuse.

  “The C stands for Complex Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. The main difference is that with C-PTSD, there is a loss of identity that stems from prolonged trauma with no viable escape routes. It happens when you’re trapped in hell with no way out.”

  I’ve forgotten how to breathe. I want to say something, but he’s pacing again.

  “My personal hell lasted for three years, from the time I was six until right after my ninth birthday. You won’t see this in the papers. The people who took me blackmailed my family.”

  “Took you?” I whisper.

  “I was kidnapped.” He stops, turns to look at me, his face full of anguish. “Baily, I don’t know what happened to me there, but it fucked me up.”

  Questions fill my mind. “How did you get free? Who took you?”

  “I don’t know. I can’t remember anything.” His gaze meets mine. “But he does.”

  My lips part but I don’t know what to say. I swallow and then push the words out. “He? As in, the other you, control freak, hyper vigilant you?”

  “Yeah. Or at least I think he’s aware. We don’t exactly keep an open dialogue. I’ve tried therapy, both analysis and courses of drug treatment, but I’m a tight lipped bastard.”

  His hands are shaking and though I can’t think of any words of comfort, I need to offer it. Rising from the couch, I move slowly forward, not wanting to startle him. My arms go around him and he melts into my embrace.

  “Now you know as much as I do. Or at least as much as this version of me does.”

  I hold him for a long moment, my heart breaking for him. “What can I do? How can I make it better?”

  Connor inhales deeply and puts some distance between us. I’m afraid he’s withdrawing again, the same way I did after my heartfelt confession. It hurts to open up to another person, to bare your soul and hope to God they won’t annihilate you now that they have the power.

  But I’ve underestimated Connor yet again. Instead of retreating, he kneels down, one knee pressed to the floor, the other at a right angle. Reaching into his bathrobe pocket, he extracts something small that glints in the firelight. My jaw drops when I see that it’s a princess cut diamond solitaire in a gold setting. A classic engagement ring.

  “Baily Sinclair, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

/>   20

  I am in love with two men. Lucky for me they are both willing to share a bed at once. Unfortunately, I never know which of them I’ll wake up with. Will it be Connor Edge, the savvy billionaire or Connor Edge, the dark and tortured protector?

  As I lay on my side with Connor’s arm draped across my waist, I mull over the revelations of last night. It’s not every day a girl gets both a heartbreaking confession and a marriage proposal in the same conversation. Connor had been kidnaped as a child, held against his will for three years. Normal type-A business tycoon Connor had no clue as to who was behind it or where he’d been. That honor went to Connor the Dom. He’s come to the rescue, a vigilant protector, essentially a byproduct of C-PTSD. According to Connor, he’s rarely shown up unless he felt Connor 1.0 is in distress. Until he met me and then Connor 2.0—the paranoid edition—stages a comeback. And as of yesterday, he’s been unwilling to share any of his insight with either of us.

  Discovering all of this wasn’t even the most incredible moment of the night.

  Closing my eyes, I could see him as he’d knelt on the floor, his gorgeous sea blue eyes full of hope, and worry. The firelight cast shadows across his chiseled features, ominous and compelling, just like the man who took my hand in his.

  “I know I’m broken, and I probably have no right to ask. But Bailey, I need you more than my next breath. Marry me, please.”

  The temptation to scream yes at the top of my lungs and drag him to the nearest justice of the peace to do the deed was great. After all, me, the groundskeeper’s granddaughter marrying one of the wealthiest men alive, it’s like Cinderella come to life. Less the fairy godmother and the snazzy shoes.

  I couldn’t just give in, however tempting. Falling in love with Connor, both Connors, wasn’t exactly a choice but this is the rest of my life and ignoring unpleasant realities wouldn’t make it any easier. Both versions of Connor were overly protective, to the point he’d cut me off from the outside world. I’d watched enough Lifetime originals to know that never ended well for the heroine.

  But leaving him hanging wasn’t an option either.

  “Connor, I do love you, don’t doubt that.”

  He’d swallowed visibly and when he spoke his voice sounded thick with emotion. “Is that a no?”

  “That’s an, I need some time. It’s been a long and emotionally exhausting day and you’ve given me a lot to think over. Let’s go to bed.”

  His face lit up like a little boy on Christmas morning. “You’ll stay the night?”

  I couldn’t help but grin back, his enthusiasm for my body bordered on ridiculous and I wouldn’t change it for anything. “Only of you promise to let me get some sleep.”

  He’d risen to his feet and tossed the covers back before holding out a hand. “I promise. I just want to hold you.”

  His hard cock nestled against my backside, belying his claim, but he hadn’t acted on it, instead wrapping his arms around me and burying his face in my hair. I slept soundly for about three hours. By that time the fire had burnt to glowing embers in the grate and eerie shadows coated the room. Or maybe it’s my own unease over what would happen come morning.

  “Baily,” Connor sighs my name, his deep voice filling me with need. Or maybe that’s the erection pressing against my backside. The arms around me tighten, holding me deeper into his warmth.

  “Sorry, didn’t mean to wake you.” I murmur. Truthfully, I welcome the distraction from my own thoughts. My heart and my head have never been so at odds.

  “You didn’t.” He rolls his hips, pressing that thick length against my bare backside. “Well, not intentionally anyway.”

  Arching into him is pure instinct. I don’t think, just respond to the desire radiating from him like heat from the sun. Savoring his reaction to me is intrinsic. A primal growl rumbles in his chest, masculine, possessive and my sex creams for him.

  The automatic response confuses me. Here I’m worried about having Connor taking away my choices, making decisions for me, yet the more forceful he is in bed, the hotter I burn for him. Maybe I need therapy.

  One hand creeps over my hip, aiming for the juncture of my thighs and I forget everything outside the feel of him touching me so intimately. The first stroke of his rough fingertip over my wet sex lips makes me shiver and grind my ass against him.

  “I like waking up with you next to me like this. Naked, wet and ready.” His hand works inward, expertly fondling my wet flesh.

  I’m losing myself in his touch, responding on a primal level I never knew about until Connor first touched me. His cock slips into my crease, the fullness of my backside surrounding his hot length. He bucks, and I can feel him sliding there, not pressing for more than I’m willing to give, but taking every bit of pleasure he can from my body.

  Two fingers plunge inside me, filling my greedy channel. I clench around them, so close to release I can practically taste it. “Connor,” I exhale on a shuddering breath when his thumb circles my engorged clit.

  In a swift move, Connor withdraws his fingers and clamps my hips in his hands and rolls me so I am lying on top of him. My legs fall open, draping across his parted thighs. His cock pushes up, filling me from below even as his hands find my breasts, cupping the sensitive mounds.

  “Slowly,” he breathes, raising his hips to drive his stiff length into me. The angle is decadent and perfect, with the ridge of his crown bumping against my g-spot. “I want to savor this.”

  I whimper. I am so close and he knows it too, if his husky chuckle is any indication.

  Another slow, deliberate thrust makes my eyes roll back in my head. The sensations are overwhelming, cool air on my wet flesh, his hot staff stirring me. Sheer decadence, a Connor Edge specialty. “You’re killing me.”

  “No, love. I’m pleasuring you. Milking every last bit of ecstasy from this luscious body.” The pads of his thumbs graze my nipples, sending a jolt straight to my clit. My hand slides down my body, halfway to working the bundle of nerves before I think better of it.

  “Why did you stop?” Of course he picks up on my intentions.

  Despite my current position, with him wedged deeply inside me, I blush. It’s the middle of the night and he can’t see my face yet the thought of him knowing what I intended to do embarrasses me. The last thing I want is for Connor to think he’s not getting the job done. “Sorry.”

  His hand leaves my breast and finds mine, brings it to his mouth. “What for? I want you to take your pleasure. Do you know how hot that makes me?” He spreads me wider, drives deeper even as he sucks my index and middle finger between his lips.

  “Rub that sweet little clit.” Guiding my hand between my legs, he waits for me to start.

  I feel obscene, like I’m being filmed for some low budget porno flick. It’s just the two of us here though and Connor genuinely wants this. Could I really deny him when I want it too?

  “Yesss.” The word comes out as a hiss when my fingers accidentally bump the root of his thrusting shaft.

  Connor’s dirty talk knows no shame, his pursuit of pleasure endless. “I can feel you tensing up around me. Your hot little cunt is gripping me tighter, like you want to make sure I stay in you. I can barely move. How does that feel?”

  “Incredible.” With his hardness filling me, his rough hands working my breasts and mine on my hot button all my bases are covered. I could never achieve this on my own, and would be too embarrassed to ask him for it. He knows me so well, understands my needs, my limits and just how to push me to the brink.

  His lips press against my ear, tongue flicking out to toy with the lobe. “Come on me now. Hug my cock with your wet little pussy, bring me with you.”

  All the different lines of sensation—his words, the feel of him thrusting inside me, kneading my breasts and my own busy fingers—all points of contact angle upward forming a pyramid, the pinnacle of which sends me flying.

  Distantly, I feel him groan, his satisfaction apparent in the hot fluid bathing my still clenchi
ng channel. Satisfaction radiates from my every pore. I’d done it and he’d loved it.

  He rolls me off him gently, then pulls me to him. Laying my head on his chest, I fall asleep with the steady thrum of his heartbeat in my ear, the feel of his hand caressing my naked back.

  My last thought before I knock out completely is a question.

  Would it really be so bad to start every day like this?

  * * *

  The next time I wake up, daylight peeps around heavy blue curtains. The fire died out a while ago and the bed next to me is empty.

  I’m so used to mornings in my cottage, where the kitchen with the glory of the coffeepot is only a few steps away. But here at Connor’s there are stairs obstructing my progress to the elixir of life. Or at least intelligent life. Stairs could mean big injuries. No one should be forced to deal with something so dangerous without an ounce of java in hand.

  Perhaps a shower is in order. Something else to help me pry both eyes open and at the same time wash away the telltale evidence of my late night activities. Hopping out of bed I head to the bathroom when the alarm on my phone goes off.

  Shoot, my pill. They were back at my cottage, where I normally was this time of day.

  My OB/Gyn instructed I take my pill at the same time every day. I don’t want to just walk of shame it across the lawn without a word to Connor, but the longer I dawdle here looking for him, the more likely I will forget about the pill. My being on birth control is a major issue for him.

  Forgoing the shower for a quick sponge bath, I yank my clothes from yesterday out of the hamper, redressed and dashed out into the hall where I ran smack dab into Rochelle.

  “Just the girl I was coming to see. I have something for you”

  Puzzled, I look down at the flat, rectangular box in her hands, about the size of a shirt box. An eyebrow goes up in surprise that she’d got me something. We’d only met yesterday. “For me?”

  She grins at me. “I didn’t say it’s from me. Connor left it for you.”