by G. K. Brady
Rock, meet hard place.
Heart thumping wildly, he pushed a silent inhale through his lungs to get his breathing under control and darted his eyes toward M. Her arms were tightly folded over her chest, mirroring Sherry. He was bookended between two women, and not in a good way. He met Sherry’s gaze, his mind running through ways to nicely say, “Get the fuck out of my life!”
But he never got the chance.
“You’re either drunk or delusional. Or maybe you’re deaf. Did you not hear what he just said?” M’s voice was flinty, matching her eyes as she leveled them at Sherry.
Sherry’s mouth hung open for several beats, but she seemed to snap out of it, turning her fury on him. “Are you going to let this little bitch do your talking for you, big man?”
Hearing Sherry call M a bitch set off a mini-explosion inside him. “There’s only one bitch in this fucking hallway, and I’m looking at her. Michaela can do my talking for me all day long, especially if it makes you get it through your head that I didn’t call you because I’m. Not. Interested. As for apologizing, you’re the one who owes the apology—to her.” He pointed at M.
Yeah, he was being an absolute dick. But Sherry had left him little choice when she attacked M. Without another word, Sherry shot him razor blades, then pivoted and stormed away. He dragged his hand across his jaw and slowly turned to face the fury of M … only to see her back as she walked the other way.
“M, where are you going?”
She waved a dismissive hand over her head. “I’ll just …”
“Wait!” he shouted, the strength of his voice surprising even him. One quick stride and he’d caught her up. His hand wrapped around her upper arm, wheeling her to face him. “Where are you going?” he repeated.
She cast her eyes down and to the side, as if the pattern on the carpet had her hypnotized. “To find a ride home.”
“You’ve got a ride home.”
She blinked up at him. “You need to stay with your … team. I can find my way back.”
What the hell is going through your mind right now, M? He was flying blind here, and he blew out an exasperated breath. “Yeah, you’re fully capable of finding your way back, but I brought you here, and I’m taking you home. Besides, I’m covered in beer, and I don’t think it’s a look the team would be too excited about in front of their big-time donors. Are you ready to go?”
He braced himself for pushback, but he got a short nod of agreement instead. So many words streaked through his mind at once, all of them some form of apology, promise, or explanation for something he hadn’t done. But he had a fragile truce and decided not to blast it to shreds by opening his mouth. Shit, did they teach classes on this stuff? Maybe people came equipped to deal with it and that gene hadn’t been included in his DNA chain.
Still grasping her arm, he walked her toward the doors. She looked up at him quickly. “Don’t you need to check out or something?”
He shook his head.
“And what about Owen?”
“What about Owen?” he snapped, instantly regretting it. “I don’t owe him a damn thing,” he grumbled.
“Maybe a punch in the mouth,” she said softly.
He came to an abrupt halt and looked down at her. The mischievous twinkle had returned to her eyes, and he forced out yet another lung-emptying exhale. “Been there, done that.”
Her eyes widened. “You hit him? Recently?”
“When we were on the road, right before Thanksgiving.”
“Oh! That explains a few things.”
In the Range Rover, he started the ignition and backed out of the parking space. He stole glances at her rigid profile as she kept her eyes pointed straight ahead. “M,” he finally sighed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you just now. I’m also sorry about what happened with Sherry. I didn’t handle it well. It was just so …” At a loss for words, he shook his head. How had he gone from being best friends with Ferguson to having the guy set him up like that? When had Ferguson developed such a vicious streak, and what had pushed him to unleash it on Blake?
“Why did you punch him?” M’s soft voice pulled him from the questions churning in his mind.
“Why did I punch Ferguson?”
She turned her head to him. “Unless you’re talking about someone else you punched recently?”
“No, he’s the only one,” he chuckled. “I, ah, punched him because he was being a jerk.”
“A jerk about what?”
Well, shit! “About you.”
She seemed to accept his vague response—for now—and turned her gaze to look out her window. They rode in charged silence, his mind ping-ponging between tearing Ferguson limb-from-limb to how he was going to keep M’s picture secret from her. You can’t, dumbass. Ferguson will wind up telling her sooner or later, and you’ll lose her for sure. Right now you stand a ten percent chance of keeping her if you’re up front. Suddenly, he was that kid caught on a stomach-heaving amusement ride, being spun and spun, with no control over the direction of the whirling machine. Did being in love with someone always twist your guts like this? And there it was: he was totally in love with the woman seated beside him.
When they reached their building twenty minutes later, his insides had settled down enough that he could filter his emotions one at a time—or at least focus on one while ignoring the others—and zero in on what was most important: finding his way back to solid ground with M.
Encased in the metal box moving up to their floor, time slipping away, he dared a look at her. Her arms were firmly fixed over her chest, her eyes trained on some spot on the wall farthest from him. “M, I’m really sorry. I never expected Sherry to be there. Even if I had, I still would have taken you. I just … I could have been prepared. Prepared you.” He tilted his head and peered at her.
“You only took me because Sarah twisted your arm.”
“Sarah might have suggested it, but I wanted to take you. If I hadn’t brought you, I wouldn’t have brought anyone.”
She flicked her eyes over him. “Smells like a brewery in here.”
One side of his mouth hitched. “Because I’m wearing a brewery.”
Her eyes lifted to his. “You need a shower.”
He had his opening, and he snatched it, closing the distance between them. Leaning his forearms against the wall on either side of her head, he boxed her in. She blinked a few times but didn’t break the gaze. He dropped his head so his mouth was only inches from hers and raised his brows in question. “What I need is you in the shower with me, scouring the stench off.”
A spark lit her eyes, turning them quicksilver, and they dipped to his mouth, where they lingered a heated beat before rising to meet his gaze once more. “Do I get to use a coarse scrub brush?”
He ran the tip of his nose along hers, battling the urge to take her mouth with a crushing kiss. “Use whatever you want, gorgeous,” he murmured. “Scrub me raw, if that’s what you want.” He kissed a trail across her forehead to her temple, burying his nose in her hair and drugging himself on her sweet, sweet fragrance.
The elevator door whooshed open, pulling him out of his trance. M slid out from under him, and he trailed after her like a puppy eager for its next treat, crowding her as she inserted her key in her door. She looked up at him and smirked. “I guess you’re coming in?”
“I’m going wherever you go.” Yeah, he was pathetic. So were most addicts.
She opened the door, and he closed it behind him. He was in! Fighting a smile, he basked in the victory. Scoring a hat trick wasn’t nearly as gratifying as earning back M’s smile.
She dropped her purse on a console table, looked at her phone, and frowned.
“What?” he asked.
She grimaced as she looked at him. “Do you mind doing that scrubbing alone? I have an opportunity with a new client, and I need to take care of it right away. It’ll only take a half hour. You can shower here, or if you want to shower at your own place, I’ll leave the door unlocked an
d you can let yourself in when you’re beer-less.”
He bit back his disappointment. “I’ll shower at mine so you have some space. And don’t worry. I’ll rig your door so you don’t have to interrupt what you’re doing to let me back in.” And I don’t have to worry that you won’t let me back in. Yeah, I’m a sneaky bastard.
She gave him the first genuinely warm smile he’d seen from her in hours. He shoved down the bristly question that kept coming back to him. When would be the right time to tell her about the picture?
Chapter 31
Commando
His shower finished, Blake yanked on a pair of sweats, and started pulling on a T-shirt before stopping himself. He slung the T-shirt over his shoulder, opting for shirtless. Hey, if it worked for Ferguson, he could make it work for him too. M never held back showing him how much she liked his chest, so why not flaunt it? Especially if the pecs tempted her to cut her client work short and start playtime with him. Play wasn’t the only thing he wanted, though. He was desperate for the emotional connection, to get them back to where they had been before the catastrophic brunch, when it had been only her and him. A raw need to love her, to protect her, to fall at her feet and worship her surged inside of him.
His tipsy heart settled into his chest when he reached her door and realized she hadn’t locked him out. Soon he was reclining on the couch, remote in hand, while M’s eyes were glued to the laptop open on her dining room table. Outside, night encroached, though it wasn’t yet five. Clicking through a cycle of channels, he stared at the TV without seeing what was playing. His thoughts were relentlessly drawn to her like a leaf skating on a river’s surface that got pulled into an eddy, and he tried not to contemplate how his growing need for her left him wide open. She was as important to his survival as the air he breathed and the water he drank.
She’d swapped her dressier clothes for stretchy pants and a top that buttoned down the front. Stealing glances at her, his gaze lingered longer and longer on her small, unmoving, ramrod-straight form. A pencil rested between her teeth, and those fake black rims perched on the bridge of her nose. He laughed to himself. The first time he’d noticed her wearing them while she worked from home, he’d asked her why. She’d told him it kept her in the zone, kept her focused on what she needed to get done.
He understood keeping one’s head in the zone, and honestly, though the glasses weren’t real, they were hot as hell on her—maybe because of the memory they sparked of her in nothing but those and her heels. His mind, now under control of what lay below his waistband, meandered to an image of her work-rigid body softening, quivering under his touch.
He stood, rearranged himself, and ambled toward her, resting his hands on her shoulders. They could have been resting on planks. “Jesus,” he exclaimed as his fingers moved automatically, digging into the knots. “You’ve got boulders in your shoulders. Maybe you should take a break.”
Removing the pencil from between her teeth, she hummed and leaned into his touch, closing her eyes. “A girl could get used to this.”
“Maybe she should,” he murmured. Come live with me.
Spurred on by her soft moans, he worked his way around her neck, down her back, back up to her shoulders. He leaned down, his lips brushing her ear. “I can make you feel even better without these clothes in the way.”
She cocked her head and looked up at him, her beautiful mouth curving in a smile. Facing forward again, she fluttered her eyes closed. “Do your worst.”
He straightened, his fingertips working along the base of her neck, over her collarbones. “How about I do my best?”
“Mmm.” She rolled her head to the side, giving him better access. He slid his hands to her top button and undid it, and she expelled a sighing moan that sent a jolt of electricity through him. He told himself to slow it down, not to rip her clothes off and give in to the beast inside. Not yet. For now, he would fend off the surging primal need to bury himself inside her. He craved that connection, but whether it was to love her or caveman-claim her, he had little clue. Maybe the two desires were inextricably woven together.
With almost painful deliberateness, he removed her glasses, returning to unfasten the second button, then the third, until he had them all undone. He leaned down and kissed her, upside down, slow and deep, his hands gliding down to cup her breasts. His thumbs brushed her nipples through silk, beading them into tight little pearls, and she gasped into his mouth. God, he loved how she reacted to him. He’d never been with anyone like her, and kissing her, touching her, making love to her made him come alive, as though liquid fire rushed through his veins.
Withdrawing his mouth from hers, he splayed her blouse wide, feasting on the view from above of her full, creamy breasts cresting the top of a pink bra that plunged low, exposing her mouthwatering swells.
“Pretty bra,” he croaked. But I want it off.
Leaning away from him, she extended her arms so he could slide off her sleeves. Fuck, she knows me too well. Making short work of the shirt and bra, he tossed them somewhere over his shoulder as he took in her pale flesh and rosy-brown nipples calling him to touch, to suckle. He’d never get sick of this sight.
As he palmed her, filling his hands, she dropped her head back on a moan, and her body trembled, carpeting her silky skin in goose bumps. He was doing that to her, and it infused him with a sense of … masculine rightness. Warmth joined the lust thrumming inside him.
He dipped his head, kissing the soft skin between her breasts, then latched on to one of her nipples. She arched into his mouth and pulled his head down, her fingers digging into his scalp and holding him tightly to her. Mewling sighs rose in her throat. He used his tongue and his fingers, all the while reminding himself to go slow, to show her he could be the man she deserved—skilled, patient, attentive to her needs and desires.
But she turned the tables on him when she twisted away, rose, and plopped her butt on the edge of the table. “Your turn,” she declared.
Her hands skimmed his chest, feathering over his abs, and her eyes followed, hunger and appreciation in their depths. The way she looked at him made him feel like a fucking god, and his cock jumped. Hooking her fingers into his waistband, she tugged his pants down as far as she could reach, freeing his oh-so-ready dick. He shoved his pants off the rest of the way and kicked them aside.
Her lips tipped up in a sly grin. “You went commando?”
He gave her a casual shrug, belying the blaze building inside him.
She cocked a brow. “That’s kinda hot.” Before he could muster a witty comeback, she’d repositioned the chair and slid into it. One hand cupped his balls while the other one closed around his dick and began to stroke. He dropped his head back and shut his eyes, his limited brainpower entirely captured by her hand working his shaft and the other one squeezing his balls. Soon her swirling tongue joined in the fun. A groan he couldn’t hold back rumbled in his chest. She closed her mouth on his crown and fucking sucked, sending ropes of heat lashing through him.
“Jesus fucking Christ, that feels incredible!” He opened his eyes, catching her silver ones peering up at him through long lashes. Hands still busily stroking and fondling, she used her hot mouth to suck and lick, driving him to the brink of insanity as she watched him watching her. Humming sounds from the back of her throat vibrated through his shaft, and he nearly lost it.
When he couldn’t take anymore, he lifted her up, yanking her pants and underwear down to her ankles. She’d barely kicked them off when he grabbed her ass and hoisted her up, her slick warmth sliding against his lower abdomen as she locked her legs around his waist and looped her arms about his neck.
One goal driving him, he walked them to the red couch. “How do you want it?” he panted. “Hot and dirty, or slow and wet?”
Wriggling from his hold, she wordlessly clambered onto the cushions, placing her knees a foot apart with her hands braced on the back of the couch, presenting him her smooth, round, pale ass. She shot him a sultry glance over he
r shoulder.
“Hot and dirty it is,” he growled. God, he loved this woman!
He fisted her hair in one hand as he tugged her head back so he could delve deep inside her mouth, tasting himself. While their tongues tangled, he dropped his hands between her legs and stroked her silky inner thigh before slipping two fingers inside her wet heat, making her moan and buck. Adding another finger, he worked in and out of her. Her nails dug into the leather as she writhed on her knees, her breaths hitching, coming faster, shallower, more ragged. She tried to break the kiss, but he wouldn’t let her. Her whimpers became desperate groans. He loved possessing her this way, her body bending to his will. At times like this, she was completely his.
As she chased her pleasure, her thrashing grew more frenzied until she tore her mouth away and let out a cry. He withdrew his fingers and stared deep into her sex-dazed eyes.
“Was that good?”
“God, yes,” she exhaled.
His ego swelled two extra sizes, but he didn’t linger on it long. His shaft was heavy and thick, throbbing brutally, weeping for release, and filthy thoughts he normally bottled up tumbled out of him. “Get ready because I’m going to fuck you until you see stars.”
He let her hair slide from his fingers and grabbed her hips, sliding his aching cock home in one savage thrust. Holding her hips in a bruising grip, he began pounding in and out, his speed and rhythm ramping up to a brutal pace. She wiggled and pushed back, her loudening moans adding fuel to his fire.
Conscious thought abandoned him. Primitive, guttural grunts—his—filled his ears. Fingers digging into her flesh as he gripped her hips, he slammed in and out, over and over and over until his balls pulled up and he emptied himself inside her, one pleasure-pounding pulse after another rocking him. Seconds later, she followed after him, her body convulsing, her muscles seizing, wringing him dry.