by Mia Asher
“Do you like this?” he asks, his voice husky with desire. I turn my head to stare at him as he slides down my body, kneeling behind me. I watch him bring a finger to his mouth, lubricating it with his saliva, and then he rubs me, massaging in small circles until he slowly enters me, stretching me. It’s painful. Beautiful. Forbidden. He adds another digit, increasing the pain, increasing the pleasure.
“Do you like my fingers fucking your sweet and tight ass?”
I nod desperately. “Yes, God. I need your mouth there.”
Lawrence chuckles and withdraws his fingers, replacing it with his mouth over my tight hole, kissing, probing, and lapping with each relentless flick of his tongue. Lust flows through my veins.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Fuck.
He eats me as though he is starved and I’m his last meal. Spreading my ass wider, I feel his tongue getting lost inside me, pumping in and out of me, the pace ruthless. And when he adds his fingers once more, the earth shakes underneath me and I see stars. Without saying a word, I push myself away and turn to face him. My breath is uneven and my body hurts from the lack of an orgasm, but I feel like flying.
Placing my hands on the lapels of his suit jacket, I say throatily, “Lie on the bed. I want to make love to you.”
Once Lawrence is undressed, he lies on the bed and watches me closely. His green gaze, sparking with lust, roves over my figure. I stand in front of him and deliberately allow the robe to slip down my body, leaving me completely naked. There’s nothing between us but the invisible walls protecting my hardened heart. But even those are slowly being chipped away by him.
His eyes on me, I make my way toward him, each step bringing me closer as something inside me that I don’t understand desperately calls for him. It’s not the way he touches me or the way he makes me feel when he takes me that makes me tremble with fear or with exhilaration—it’s him.
Calling for me.
And today, I go. I want to be consumed.
He reaches for me or I reach for him. It doesn’t matter. Everything becomes a swirl of emotions where my hands, my mouth, my lungs are full of him and what he makes me feel. His taste, the feel of him, his voice caressing me as his touch corrupts me. That’s all that matters. I swallow his kisses as he swallows my moans. He tortures me with his fingers and brings me rapture with his wicked tongue. And when my body aches with unfulfilled passion and I’m begging him to bring it to an end, he enters me in one deep thrust, fucking me until fucking ceases to be fucking and becomes the union of two bodies seeking to be one. He fucks me until all I see is a blinding light as I climax and heat rushes through my entire body. And when he’s buried so deep inside me, filling me with his cum, I know that, for one exquisite moment, I’m not alone.
And, maybe, that’s enough.
In bed, we’re lying on our sides and looking at one another. Lawrence looks adorable with the color high on his cheeks, his lips swollen from my kisses and his hair rumpled because of my hands. It’s hard to imagine that this man runs a multi-million dollar empire. Leaning forward, I place a peck on the tip of his nose.
He smiles a satisfied and relaxed smile. “What was that about?”
I grin happily. “I just felt like it, Mr. Rothschild.”
We continue to gaze into each other’s eyes silently while our smiles fade like the light coming from outside. In the peace that follows, I sense a stirring in my chest of something that I don’t quite understand or want to admit to myself. The truth always complicates things, and my life is already complicated enough.
So I ignore it all, bury it deep down where things are always easy to forget, and let myself enjoy the moment. “You know, after I met you, I went home and googled you,” I say.
He quirks an amused eyebrow at me. “And what did you find, my little detective?”
“Besides how much you’re worth and your penchant for models and actresses?” I slant him a wry look and then roll my eyes when he has the decency to chuckle and not deny it. “Not much. But there was an article that caught my attention. There’s this blogger who thinks that you suffered a grand disillusionment when you were young and that’s why you can’t seem to settle down with anyone. So romantically cliché, no? But I wonder, is it true?”
Staring at his own hand, Lawrence begins to trace a path on the curve of my waist, drawing small circles. The gentle stroke raises goosebumps over my skin. A shadow crosses his eyes momentarily, darkening them. “Don’t you know that curiosity killed the cat?”
I close my eyes and turn flat on my back, surrendering myself to Lawrence and his wandering fingers. My breathing becomes uneven as his hand searches every nook and cranny of my body, learning it, memorizing it, and setting it ablaze.
He hesitates momentarily, seemingly waging how much to tell me. “She was seventeen years old when I met her, and completely out of my reach. I was a serious, stoic and humorless twenty-eight year old man going on forty, or so my friends used to joke. Pursuing her was out of the question. In my defense, I didn’t know how old she was when I first saw her. All I knew was that I had never met a more beautiful woman than her.
“I’d got caught in the rain without an umbrella on my way to the office, and sought refuge at an Irish pub. I walked in and headed toward the counter where an older man was polishing some glasses. After I sat down and ordered a drink, I looked around the place and immediately saw her. She was writing on a notepad at one of the tables to the side. I assumed she was a college student working on a paper. She had this tiny frown between her eyebrows and I found myself wanting to smooth it.
“She looked up and our eyes met as she smiled. I was embarrassed and wanted to look away but her smile made it impossible. It was guileless, artless, and inviting. So different from what I was used to.”
“She sounds nice.” I place my hand on his. “Go on … What happened after? Did you talk to her?”
“Not that day, but eventually I did. You could say that I became a regular and one of the more esteemed customers of the pub.”
I laugh. “How regular?”
“Didn’t miss a day.”
“What about her? Was she always there, too?”
“She was. She was actually the one who approached me first. I went there every day with the sole purpose of finally talking to her, but as soon as I saw her chatting with other customers, filling the entire place with her inner light, I felt unworthy and changed my mind. One day when I was getting ready to leave, she came up to me and introduced herself. She said that she was tired of waiting for me to make the first move, so she was taking matters into her own hands.”
I try to picture Lawrence’s expression when the girl said that to him, and laugh softly. “She sounds awesome. I like her.”
“Once I found out her age, I decided to forget about her and stopped going to the pub. But the longer I stayed away, the more I missed her and wanted her. I fought myself but my heart won. The heart is a capricious thing, you know? It wants what it wants, logic be damned. Eventually, I went back. With time, we became close friends, and I accepted it because I was biding my time until the day she came of age and I could properly ask her out.” He pauses, appearing to be lost in the past.
“For the first time in a very long time, I felt like someone saw me as me, not Lawrence, son of Alexander and Barbara Rothschild and heir to Rothschild Media.” He shakes his head, a soft smile on his handsome face. “She was young but there was something about the way she moved and looked at me that drove me wild. As the days passed, I fell madly in love with her and was happy to love her from afar. I knew she had feelings for me, too. But I wasn’t sure how deep they ran.
“One time, on our way home from watching a movie, she asked me why I hadn’t kissed her yet. I was dumbfounded, but she laughed and kissed me anyway. On the day she turned eighteen, I spoke to her grandfather and told him that I loved his granddaughter to distraction and wanted his permission to ask her on a date.”
&n
bsp; “Why not her father?”
“Her parents died when she was very young, leaving her and her little brother in the sole care of their grandparents.”
I frown, thinking that her story is very similar to Ronan’s. But I push the thought to the back of my mind, not wanting to think of him.
“Her grandfather gave me his blessing. My plan was to invite her to my grandmother’s eightieth birthday weekend bash as my date and once we were there, finally make a move. When we arrived, I introduced her to family members, close friends, and my best friend—Bradley Stanhope.”
My eyes widen in surprise. “Of Stanhope Steel?”
His jaw clenches. “You know him?”
“Of course. I don’t know him personally, but he used to date my favorite actress, Penelope Pitt.”
He laughs bitterly. “Yes, that’s Bradley. He was the golden boy. Always a beautiful woman by his side, liked by everyone, while I was withdrawn, extremely shy around girls, and always had my nose stuck in a book.”
“If you were so different from each other, how come you were best friends?”
“Our families were very close. We grew up and went to school together. I saw in him what I wasn’t, and admired him for it. He was free to do whatever the hell he wanted while I drowned in responsibilities set by my parents. I guess a part of me wanted to be like him, to know how it would feel to be liked by everyone.”
“What happened after you got there?”
He shrugs nonchalantly, but he can’t hide the way his eyes harden at the mention of his name. “Bradley saw her and wanted her. He dazzled her with his looks, family name, and the attention he gave her.”
“What! Oh my God … no.” I shake my head, my heart breaking for Lawrence. “But didn’t she—”
“Love me?” he mocks, his voice cold. “No, Blaire, I don’t think she did. They began to date soon after, and I moved on.”
“But you never forgot her, did you?”
He holds my gaze, and I know the answer to that. “One day I ran into her. As soon as I saw her, I knew that something was wrong. The usual light that illuminated her eyes was gone. I was going to keep walking and pretend that I hadn’t seen her.”
“But?”
“She sobbed, begging me to forgive her for being weak. Once she calmed down, she confessed that she was pregnant with Bradley’s baby but that he didn’t want her anymore. Bradley told her to get rid of it. Offered her money so she’d disappear from his life,” he utters with disgust.
“Bastard. What did you do?”
He pauses. “I asked her to marry me and let me raise the baby with her as my own. But she declined my offer. She said that she had been too blinded by Bradley to realize that it was me who she loved, but because of that she wouldn’t take advantage of me.”
“You sweet man.” My heart aches for the woman who was too late and the man lying next to me. Love played him cruelly. “And after that?”
“I went to see her grandparents. At first, they wouldn’t take my money, but when they saw that nothing would change my mind, they accepted my help, and I’m glad of it.”
A wave of jealousy hits me straight in the chest. “Do you still love her?”
His eyes burn into mine. “No, Blaire. I don’t.”
A sudden surge of tenderness for the man in front of me sweeps through me, leaving me lightheaded. I crawl on top of him and rain kisses all over him, wanting to erase the bleak look in his eyes. “You know what I think?”
“What’s that, my darling?”
I trace my tongue on his nipple, a deviant smile adorning my face. “I think we should get completely wasted on champagne.” I snake my arm behind me and wrap his cock in my hand, pumping it slowly, feeling it grow hard between my fingers. “Maybe order fattening, greasy takeout …”
“Yeah?” he breathes, closing his eyes.
Gotcha, baby. With his defenses down, I let him go swiftly and attack. I tickle him under his armpits and on his sides, making him laugh. I think I’m winning when Lawrence shocks me by flipping me over, caging me under his body, and begins an unforgiving assault on my body with his tickling fingers. And we laugh, and laugh, and laugh until our stomachs hurt and both of us have tears in our eyes.
“Oh God, stop, Lawrence,” I croak. “I beg you.”
“Say the words.”
“You win! You win!”
Lawrence stops and begins to kiss every inch of my body, soothing me with his tongue. By the time he reaches my mouth, I open it and welcome his assault, hungry for him. .
“Goddamn, Blaire,” he says huskily, breaking away. Lawrence wraps my hair in his hands, his gaze roaming my face. “Do you have any idea what you do to me?”
I shake my head, but what takes me by surprise and leaves me momentarily speechless is the glimpse of emotion that I see peek through his eyes.
“You make me remember what it feels like to live again, Blaire. You make me—”
As his words fill my ears, it’s another voice that I hear and another face that I see …
He grins. “—go out with me, Blaire.”
I shake my head, fighting a smile. “I know I’m going to regret this.”
“Maybe … but live a little.”
“I like my life to be planned and uncomplicated.”
“It’s better to live a life full of regrets than not live at all.” He lowers his voice and adds huskily, “Let me show you how it’s done.”
No, no, no, no, NO! Ronan can’t disrupt this moment. He can’t. He can’t. Not now, please, please, please. Cupping Lawrence’s cheeks, I hope he doesn’t hear the ache in my heart as I pull him closer to me. “Hush … kiss me, Lawrence.”
When our mouths become one, I find myself kissing him with everything that I have, fooling myself into believing that this man is who I want. And as the war between our lips becomes more urgent, harder, I find myself believing my own lie.
He pulls away. “Let’s go back to my place.”
“Why?” I blink drowsily. “What’s wrong with my apartment?”
“Nothing’s wrong.” He tightens his arms around me. “I want to wake up with you in my bed.”
Back in the safety of his room, warm and content, I begin to fall asleep in Lawrence’s arms. And it’s in that semi-conscious state, where my lies peel off their deceitful layers, revealing the truths within, that I wish for a different set of arms.
Lawrence
WITH MY ARMS WRAPPED AROUND HER, I pull her closer to me and watch her sleep. I bury my nose in her hair, breathing her in, and wish I could tell her what she does to me, what she makes me feel, what she makes me yearn for. I wasn’t planning on telling her about my past. I’ve never told anyone before. Yet I found myself opening to her, and for once, revisiting the past didn’t hurt. It’s as though it is truly in the past now.
I chuckle ruefully and ponder how she can drive me to such madness, such want and need?
Sometimes, I wonder if karma enjoys laughing at our expense. You tell life that you want to go left, only to find a rock blocking that road so you must go right. You tell life that you found the woman you want to marry only to discover that she loves your best friend. You tell life that your dormant heart doesn’t beat anymore at the sight of anyone or anything, and what does it do? It sends you a slip of a woman with a quick tongue and fire in her eyes who not only makes your heart beat at the sight of her, but she makes it throb with such intensity, so much passion, you’re surprised it hasn’t shattered yet. You tell life that work and success are all you need to be complete, and they are … until you make her smile. And then you know it was all a lie because you would sacrifice everything you own and even the clothes on your back just for one more smile from her.
So I shouldn’t be surprised by the fact that owning her body isn’t enough for me anymore. I want it all. I want everything from her.
Watching her come undone in my hands, my cock pulsing inside her, her nails clawing my back. Watching her lose herself with me, in the pleas
ure I bring her …
Christ, it’s a sight to behold.
I live for those moments because it’s when I see my wild beauty. The one without fears, without mind games. And she’s beautiful. And she’s devastation. Just thinking of anyone who’s owned part of her, who may still own her, drives me mad with raging jealousy, because she belongs to me, even if she doesn’t know it yet.
I’ve always believed that it’s too late for me. When love disappointed me for the first time, I vowed to myself that I wouldn’t be fooled into believing in it again. But as I stare at the woman sleeping in my arms, I feel my resolution crumbling. Hope rekindles like a flame that never quite went out. And maybe I’m wrong—maybe there’s another chance for me, after all.
I caress her cheek, my fingers lingering on the softness of her warm skin. It may be foolish to hold on to hope, but sometimes hope is all we have left. And this woman makes me want it all. Every laugh. Every kiss. Every moan. Every thought. I want them all to be mine, even if I have to pay for each one with my own blood. But that’s the thing, isn’t it? I want her to be mine.
And only mine.
Blaire stirs in my arms, mumbling something unintelligible. I lower my head and kiss her forehead, saying, “Shh, my love. Sleep.”
After a few minutes pass, she’s lying still, her breathing slowing down, when I hear her say in her sleep, “Ronan … come back. Come back to me.”
Blaire
I WAKE UP, SMILING. Spreading my arms on the bed, I reach for Lawrence only to find an empty, cold pillow next to me. I sit up quickly as the sheets fall down to my waist. Looking to my left and to my right, I see no trace of him. Not in the bathroom and not in his walk-in closet.
“Lawrence?” There’s no answer. “Are you there?” Still no answer.
Frowning, I wonder why he left without saying good-bye. It’s not like him at all. He always wakes me up before heading to work.