Possession: An Interracial Romance (Redemption Book 3)

by T. K. Leigh

  “Is this okay?” he asks again.

  “Yes,” I reply, this time with more desperation, more urgency.

  “Good.”

  He returns his attention to my breast, his mouth warm on my skin. He dips a finger beneath my bra, lightly grazing my nipple. But it still causes an inferno to erupt in my core, burning everything in sight. I’m no longer Londyn. No longer this man’s interior designer. I’m just a bundle of hormones in desperate need of release.

  “Is this okay?” he repeats.

  “Yes,” I answer frantically. I couldn’t tell him no even if I wanted to. But right now, I can’t remember wanting anything more in my life, the tension that’s been building with each moment bubbling over, scorching everything in sight.

  “Good.”

  His deft fingers push down my bra cup, revealing my breast. He lifts his eyes, jaw tight, nostrils flaring.

  “You are so fucking beautiful, Londyn.” He crushes his lips to mine in a punishing kiss before tearing away, leaving a fire in his wake as he makes his torturous journey back down my frame.

  I hold my breath, watching as he stops a mere whisper away from my nipple. He blows on it, the warmth causing it to pebble even more. When he finally takes it into his mouth, I moan, synapses firing inside me, reawakening parts of my body I’d forgotten existed.

  I thrust against him, but it’s not enough, nothing able to extinguish the flame he lit with his kiss, his touch.

  He squeezes my thigh, his hand traveling upward and pushing the skirt of my dress higher as his tongue circles my nipple with more hunger before pulling back, leaving me bereft and needy.

  “Is this okay?” he asks, sliding his hand even higher up my leg, lifting his eyes to meet mine.

  “Is this okay?” he asks, sliding his hand even higher up my leg.

  “Yes,” I answer, not a hint of hesitation in my tone.

  Reaching my panty line, he teases it with one finger, ghosting my center. When he feels how much I want him, his eyes widen before darkening.

  “Is this okay?” He lifts my panties, but doesn’t push them to the side. Not yet.

  “Yes.” My voice is barely audible, too many sensations rushing through me. If we were anywhere else, I might stop him, not wanting anyone to see. But we’re all alone out here, no other house visible for miles. It’s just us. And this all-consuming need.

  His expression even, he slides my panties aside, the warmth of his finger so close to my center pushing me to the edge of all reason. Past the edge of all reason. Because I am out of my mind with lust. In another time. Another place. Where all I care about is letting go.

  He brings his thumb to my clit, the contact sending a charge straight to my core.

  “Is this okay?” he asks a final time. The restrained want in his chiseled expression, as well as his voice, is evidence it’s taking everything he has to keep his wits about him.

  “Yes,” I respond, thrusting slightly against him, urging him.

  His lips descend on mine, his teeth nibbling on my bottom one. “God, I was hoping you’d say that.”

  When he presses his thumb more firmly against me, I’m helpless to contain the moan that escapes my mouth, utter bliss rushing through my veins. Everything about this moment feels like a dream.

  An erotic dream I want to have again and again.

  “God, you’re so wet, Lo,” Wes groans, his motions propelling me higher and higher. “Do I turn you on this much?”

  “Yes,” I breathe, my grip on him tightening when he pushes a finger inside me. My core clenches, the fullness of his finger inside and thumb on my clit unraveling me to the point of oblivion.

  “Fuck,” he hisses, adding another finger, stretching and tormenting me. Our heavy breaths intermingle as we succumb to everything we’ve fought for weeks. “Do you have any idea how many times I’ve thought about how you would taste? How you would feel?”

  “How many?” I ask, our gazes locking as he continues to torture me.

  “Too many, Londyn.” He lowers his mouth to my neck, biting and sucking on that sensitive spot just below my earlobe. “So fucking many. So many nights I’ve jerked off to the fantasy of burying myself inside you.”

  “Oh god,” I whimper, more turned on than I thought possible.

  I don’t know what I expected Wes to be like in the bedroom, but I hadn’t anticipated this. For the gentleman I assumed him to be, he can certainly bring the heat when the occasion calls. And the fire ravaging through me from his words right now is enough to rival when Sherman marched on Atlanta, setting everything in his path ablaze.

  “That’s right, baby,” Wes grunts. His motions become more frenzied, sensing my impending orgasm. “See how good we can be together? How good I can make you feel?”

  “God, yes.” When he slips another finger inside, I can no longer hold back, my body a slave to him. I come undone, lights flashing behind my eyes as waves of one of the most intense orgasms I’ve ever had fills me.

  Wes isn’t the first person I’ve fooled around with since him. But he’s the first person I feel myself craving in a way I never thought possible. With his kiss, his touch, his words, I’ve lowered my defenses, allowing myself to be vulnerable for the first time in years.

  And I don’t know what to think about that.

  “What just happened?” I exhale, my chest heaving.

  Wes nuzzles my neck. “Hopefully something amazing.”

  As I start to come down, the lust that had been my primary motivation mere seconds ago wanes and is replaced with guilt. Remorse. Shame.

  Just like all those years ago.

  Clarity overtaking me, I push against him. The sudden force startles him and he stumbles backward, looking just as confused as I feel. Part of me wants to throw caution to the wind and pull Wes back to me, see how far we can take this. But the other part knows this entire situation is a ticking time bomb. Once Wes sees behind the mask, has a taste of the darkness inside me, he’ll run. After all, the Londyn he just kissed isn’t the real me. I’m not even sure who that is anymore.

  I’m not sure I’ve ever known.

  Doing my best to speak through my labored breaths, I fix my stare on Wes. “This…” I shake my head. “This was a mistake,” I manage to say.

  Then I spin on my heels, hurrying away as quickly as my feet will carry me, praying he doesn’t follow.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Weston

  I blink as Londyn puts space between us, leaving me confused about what just transpired. How could she have gone from hot to cold in the span of a heartbeat?

  I shouldn’t be surprised. Our entire relationship has been a tumultuous seesaw of ups and downs, with not much in between. But I thought I finally had her. Finally burst through the walls she seemed to erect around herself.

  Maybe I was wrong.

  “Londyn!” I call after her, my heart still hammering from the feel of her. The sound of her. The taste of her. I knew when we kissed it would be electric. I didn’t expect it to be so explosive.

  And I certainly didn’t expect it to implode just as quickly.

  Londyn quickly scurries through the house and toward her car, not so much as glancing back at me. I propel myself after her, refusing to let her run away without talking through whatever has her spooked. Because there’s no doubt in my mind that something spooked her. But what?

  “Londyn,” I repeat as she fumbles for her keys, her hands shaking violently. But she still doesn’t acknowledge my presence. “Londyn!” I shout once more, grabbing her elbow and forcing her around.

  The second I do, I regret it. Her eyes fling wider than I’ve ever seen them, the white stark against her irises. Her muscles go rigid, jaw clenching, panic overtaking her as she peers at me like I’m a monster here to do her harm. Not a man who would do anything to keep her safe.

  I drop my hold, giving her breathing room. “Sorry, I—”

  “What happened back there…,” she interrupts, pointing toward the house. “It was
extremely unprofessional of me. It’s certainly not how I typically conduct myself with clients. I assure you, it will not happen again.”

  “Londyn…” I step toward her, on the brink of telling her I don’t give a damn if I’m supposed to be her client. She should know that’s never been the case. That she’s always been more than just my interior designer.

  Her hand shoots up, stopping me from saying anything further. “All the time we’ve spent together has caused the lines to become blurred.” She swallows hard, her voice wavering slightly. “I think it’s best if we go back to the way things should be. Back to our initial agreement.”

  I cross my arms in front of my chest, an eyebrow cocked. “Initial agreement?”

  “Yes. I’ll stick to overseeing the design. But I will no longer participate in the remodel with you, other than when necessary to ensure my design is implemented correctly.”

  “Is that right?”

  “Nash is a talented contractor. I have no doubt he’ll be able to help you out if need be.”

  I don’t say anything right away, simply rake my analytical gaze over her. She may think she can fool everyone else, but she can’t fool me. I know her better than she thinks I do. Than she probably wishes I do. She’s on edge, uncertain. Like her heart wants one thing, but her brain is telling her to take a different path.

  Or maybe her past is.

  “Why are you doing this?”

  “I told you. You’re my client.”

  “Bullshit, Londyn.” My chest heaving, I close the distance, but don’t touch her, remaining just out of reach. “Bull. Shit.”

  “It’s not bullshit,” she retorts, her lip curling. “You’re my client. End of story.”

  “That’s a lame excuse and you know it. So tell me why you’re really doing this. I know you feel this connection. You can’t deny it. You felt it the second we met in that rainy crosswalk. And it’s only grown stronger over these past few months. What happened back there…” I point to the house, just like she did. “It wasn’t a fucking mistake. It was incredible. Electric. And just so perfect, Londyn. That’s what you are. You are perfect to me.”

  She flinches, as if the idea of anyone thinking she’s perfect is laughable.

  “I’m not,” she states evenly. “I can’t be.”

  “You are, dammit! In my eyes, you are perfect. God, you are just…”

  I dig my hands through my hair, pacing as desperation takes over. I’d finally had a taste of heaven. I can’t stomach the notion of letting her walk away without a fight. I didn’t fight hard enough for Brooklyn, and in the end, I lost her. I refuse to make the same mistake here.

  “I barely know a goddamn thing about you, but I know this.” I come to a stop in front of her once more. “I can’t let you push me away without a reason.” I lick my lips, the humid air causing sweat to dot my brow. “So I’m going to ask you again.” I lean toward her. “Why are you doing this?”

  She searches my eyes, turmoil covering her expression. She pulls her lip between her teeth to stop her chin from quivering. “Because this will never work, Wes.”

  “Why?”

  “Because it won’t!” she exclaims, becoming increasingly frustrated.

  “Why?” I ask again, not backing down. “Is it because I’m white and you’re black?”

  She opens her mouth, as if about to argue it’s not, as I expect her to. Instead, she takes the out I’ve given her.

  “Yes.” She lifts her chin, but her eyes don’t lock on mine, the telltale sign she’s still not being honest with me. “It is.”

  I stare at her, wanting her to crack under my penetrating gaze. But she doesn’t, remaining steadfast in her resolve.

  Heaving a sigh, I back down, my posture deflating as I scrub a hand over my face, defeated. “I’d stand in the rain with you, ya know,” I muse absentmindedly.

  “Excuse me?”

  I shrug. “Another Gampy pearl of wisdom. Do you know how he knew Meemaw was the woman he wanted to spend the rest of his life with?”

  She subtly shakes her head, and I grow hopeful when she steps closer to me.

  “Because she stood in the rain with him. They’d gotten caught in a squall. He offered her his umbrella, but she refused. Said if he was wet, she wanted to be, too.”

  “How did that help?” she asks, her expression softening into one of curiosity.

  “It was at that moment he knew she wouldn’t run for shelter from whatever storm they faced.”

  She blinks, but doesn’t say anything.

  “You may be a goddamn hurricane, Londyn…,” I begin, my voice overcome with passion, “but I will weather any storm with you. If you’d just give me a chance. That’s all I’m asking for. Just a chance to prove to you that I am a good person. That I am worth the risk. That I am worthy of your time, your trust.”

  Her eyes gloss over with unshed tears as she finally looks at me. Then she lowers her head.

  “I’m sorry, Wes.”

  Spinning around, she hurries to the driver’s side of her SUV. My throat tightens and stomach clenches as I watch what I almost had slip through my fingers yet again.

  “Her name was Brooklyn!” I call out before she has a chance to slide in behind the wheel.

  Intrigued, she pauses, stealing a glimpse at me over her shoulder. But she doesn’t say a word.

  “My ex. The woman Miss Clara heard I was going to marry. Her name was Brooklyn. And she broke my fucking heart, Londyn. Absolutely shattered it.”

  She blinks, her motions measured as she gradually turns her body to face me, her SUV separating us.

  “It’s been two years, but in those two years, I’ve been hesitant to take a risk. To put my heart out there. Especially with you. And not because you’re both named after a city, which is just a goddamn cruel twist of fate. But she had a shadow over her…” I pause, then add, “just like you do. I see your darkness, Londyn. I see it. I have since the beginning. Which is why I didn’t want this.” I gesture between our bodies.

  “But then Julia reminded me of something Gampy and Meemaw always told us. Another one of their pearls of wisdom, so to speak.”

  “What was it?” she asks softly.

  I smile subtly, grateful to hear her voice. “That sometimes the right path isn’t the easy one.” I shake my head as my muscles tighten. “You aren’t easy, Londyn. Nothing about you ever has been. You’re frustrating. And stubborn.” My voice grows louder and more impassioned with every word I speak. “And there are a million things about you that drive me fucking crazy. So many things about you that scare the shit out of me. But goddammit, you are so fucking right for me. I feel it in my bones. In my heart.” I bring my hand to my chest. “In my soul.”

  She licks her lips, her sad eyes peering at me with a mixture of confusion and denial. “Wes, I—”

  “I’ll give you the space you need to figure this out. Lord knows, it took me a while to finally realize the truth.”

  “And what’s that?” she asks shakily.

  Sensing her defenses lower, I hesitantly step around to the other side of the SUV, stopping a few feet from her.

  “That you’re worth the risk, Londyn. That if tonight is the only time I’ll ever get to feel your lips against mine, it’ll still be worth it. Will still be worth any heartache that finds me because for one amazing moment, I felt real. You make me real. So you can run away all you want. But I’ve never felt this before, not even with Brooklyn. And you can be damn sure I won’t give up just because you’re scared. Because you don’t think it’ll work out. I know something like this doesn’t happen every day. This thing between us is bigger than us. Bigger than your past. Bigger than your fears. I just need you to finally realize that. And I can’t do that for you.”

  I stare at her for several seconds, willing her to respond. To admit this petrifies her, like it does me. That I can work with. That I can understand.

  Instead, she shakes her head. “I can’t do this with you anymore, Wes.”

&nbs
p; I open my mouth to plead my case further, but before I can, she ducks into her SUV, slamming the door and cranking the ignition. Her tires kick up sand and dust as she peels away.

  But not before stealing a glance back at me.

  And it’s that glance that gives me hope.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Londyn

  Sweat beads on my forehead and trickles down my nape, my arms and legs screaming at me as I spar with Hazel in her garage that she turned into a home gym. In the winter, it’s cool and refreshing. In the heat of summer, however, it’s stifling, the air thick. But it’s what I need to release this pent-up aggression.

  Since arriving home last night, I haven’t been able to stop thinking about Wes, growing increasingly frustrated with every passing second. Who does he think he is, claiming he could tell I wasn’t being completely truthful? So what if I wasn’t? That shouldn’t matter. He should have accepted my reason, no questions asked. Hell, I shouldn’t have had to even give him a reason. Not when he’s my client. That should have been reason enough.

  Then why can’t I erase the taste of his lips from my memory?

  Why can’t I forget the way my body sprang to life the second he pressed them against mine?

  Why do I still crave more of him, having spent the past twenty-four hours fantasizing about how incredible it could be between us?

  Because there’s no doubt in my mind. That’s exactly how it would be. Incredible. Volatile. Wild. At the same time, gentle. Safe. Peaceful.

  Groaning in annoyance, I throw quicker and more forceful punches. Hazel adjusts her stance, her inquisitive eyes watching my every movement as I increase my pace, not relenting until my muscles give out and, with a scream, I collapse on a nearby bench.

  My chest heaves as I struggle to capture a breath, my entire body trembling from over-exertion.

  Sitting beside me, Hazel hands me my water bottle. I grab it with an appreciative nod and take a swig. Once my thirst is momentarily quenched, I lean forward, pouring some water onto my neck to cool myself down.