by Jordyn White
“Slow,” I whisper.
My breath catches as he slowly strokes me again, then waits, testing my reaction. Our mouths are inches apart, our hot breaths swirling together.
My fingers slip into his hairline and I sink deeper into his arms, my legs curling around his hips, asking for more. He gives it, and I answer in movement against him. Again, harder. Again.
His mouth claims me. I tremble against his thrusts, gripped by unspeakable ecstasy edged with a hint of pain. We climb in passion and intensity. All the pent up frustration and desire that’s been building since I first stepped into his office swells into a frenzied roar.
I am lit up by his groans, as if his sounds were a hot lick of flame at my center. My cries echo in the cavernous space. I don’t recognize my own voice.
My head arches back sharply and I grip the table edge above me for support.
I’m stunned. Astonished. Quivering on the edge of a sexual height I’ve never experienced. “Almost...” I gasp. “Almost...”
“I know.” His lips murmur against my neck. “I feel you.”
That does it. I am careening over the edge, split at the seams, digging my fingernails into his back as I unravel into a pulsing, formless mass. His body hardens as he comes with me and I’m overwhelmed to experience him so raw.
It is a slow, hard descent back to the reality of this world. We each struggle to catch our breaths. My limbs are heavy, uncooperative in a new way now. I can barely move. My eyes are still shut and my heart is pounding painfully, trying to get back some semblance of control.
The energy that’s been coursing through me starts to settle and wane. A weird mix of contentment and unease seeps into its place.
What was I thinking? If things go bad, as they did before, how will I ever recover?
I didn’t mean to give him so much of myself.
I open my eyes to discover him watching me. My heart flutters thickly in my chest. He lifts some of his weight off me as our bodies soften. I’m just now aware of the hardness of the table beneath me. I didn’t even notice it before.
Our breathing is quieter now, almost normal but not quite. I adjust slightly under him, my hips beginning to protest about the hard surface.
“Here,” he says, pulling out and hopping down. “You can’t be comfortable.” He smoothly picks me up and sets me on my feet. I’m able to stand, but still unable to talk. I already miss his skin against mine. “I’ll be right back,” he says, gently nipping my chin between his fingers.
As he heads back to the bathroom to take care of things, my sense of unease grows, and now I know why. With Chad, once an evening progressed to sex, it was pretty much over. As bad as that was, I already know it will be so much worse with Rayce, because Chad never once made me feel the way Rayce just did.
I’m not only talking the sex either, though if ‘sex’ is the word used to describe what Chad did to me, there needs to be a completely different word for the mind-altering encounter Rayce and I just had.
But I was completely unprepared for what Rayce just did to me. My heart and my soul. I may not have consciously planned for this to happen, but I must have still had some sort of expectation of what it would be like to have sex with Rayce. I guess I thought if I gave in, it’d be mainly physical, like scratching an itch, terrible as that may sound.
Now, watching his lithe, naked body crossing the large space, going farther and farther away from me, I think I may have been lying to myself about what this really is for me. But it’s too late to save my heart from pain now.
Because this is the part where he leaves.
Chapter 24
Emma
By the time he’s coming out of the bathroom, I have my tank back on and I’m pulling my yoga pants over my hips. I’m going commando because my underwear is in shreds on the floor and I don’t want him to see me get another pair out of the suitcase behind the chair.
Anyway, that’s the least of my concerns. I’m just trying to steel myself so I don’t look devastated when he bugs out of here.
It’s probably not helping that I’m allowing myself to take in every inch of his body. Rayce Rivers is nothing but lean muscle mass and smooth confidence. He seems to have no qualms about being nude in front of me. And why should he? Even without an erection, his masculinity is impressive.
As he crosses back through the apartment, he’s looking around. I see him putting two and two together. He knows I have roommates, there’s only one bedroom, and a quick glance is all it would take to tell him who occupies it. The walls and dresser are full of pictures of Aaron and Pierce together.
His features darken as he looks first at the couch, then at me. “Where do you sleep, Emma?”
“Couch central,” I confirm, pulling my shirt over my tank. “But not for long. I put down a deposit on an apartment this week.”
“Good,” he says with seemingly genuine relief as he scoops up his pants. He’s wasting no time getting dressed. At least I beat him to the punch.
I lean back against Pierce’s framing table, a swoop of longing descending through my core as I remember what we just did there. I cross my arms, trying to look nonchalant and needing to put my guard up.
“Where is it? Is it a safe neighborhood?” He’s fastening his pants, naturally assuming his man-in-charge mode.
“Don’t worry. I know how to handle myself.”
This attempt to reassure him completely backfires. He looks flat alarmed. “Why? Where is it? What is there to handle?”
I have to admit, I find this little bit of protectiveness nice. “I don’t mean I know how to handle the local muggers. I mean I know how to find myself a decent place to live, all right?”
He’s still giving me that appraising look.
“Cross my heart.” I make the little crisscross sign on my chest and can’t help but smile at him, putting up my guard be damned.
He smiles back and wanders over to me, only in his pants and bare feet. You’d think my body would be satisfied enough to last for weeks, but no, no. My pulse ratchets up a notch or three.
“We’ll see,” he says easily.
“What, are you going to check it out and see if it passes muster?”
He doesn’t answer. Instead he just continues with that confident gait, as if his investigation of my future home is none of my affair. “Where are your roommates?”
“Out of town at an art show. They get back Sunday night.”
His smile widens and he comes right in front of me. He puts his strong hands on my biceps. The heat from his abs warms my still-crossed forearms. “So they wouldn’t notice if you didn’t sleep here tonight?”
So much for acting nonchalant. I blink at him stupidly. “What?”
“Come home, Emma.”
“Home? Your home?” I know that’s a stupid question. Of course he means his home. But the way he said it, like it’s our home, hit me so strongly that the words were out of my mouth before I really thought them through. I’m also too busy being shocked that he wants me to go home with him and actually stay the night. I don’t think I stayed the night with Chad once.
Maybe that’s because he and Chad aren’t anything alike.
But he’s still my boss, and there’s this whole side of things he knows nothing about. He might not be inviting me back to his home if he knew.
“Yes.” He gently cups my face in his hands and gives me a soft kiss. “My home.”
Oh, man, how I want to give into this. I mean really, really give all the way into this. No holding back, no worrying about whether it’s wrong or a mistake. But I can’t. Because whether this is wrong or a mistake or not, I don’t know anymore, but I do know something he doesn’t.
“We... actually do need to talk.”
“All right.” He softly brushes my hair away from my neck and rests his hands on my shoulders. “I’m listening.”
“I don’t want to tell you.” As usual, I can’t seem to stop myself from saying what I’m thinking.
His
brows come together in concern. “What is it?”
But I can’t. I can’t tell him. It’s going to change what he thinks of me, I know it. If all I did was sleep with my old boss, that would be bad enough, but it’s so much more than that.
Starting to panic at the thought of telling him everything, I shake my head and step to the side out of his grasp. “Never mind. Forget it.”
“Emma.”
“No, I don’t want to tell you.”
“Then don’t tell me,” he says calmly.
I cross my arms again, examining his expression. He doesn’t look... amused exactly. But he doesn’t seem the least bit concerned either.
God, I don’t know what to do. I should tell him right now. I should. Hell, I should’ve told him before, then he wouldn’t have chased me so hard and we never would have kissed and I never would’ve lured him here and we wouldn’t have gotten in any deeper.
But I didn’t tell him and now here he is, and I can’t say I regret it if I’m honest with myself. I do need to tell him. I do. But once I do, that will probably be that, and I’m not ready for this to be over yet.
His face softens and he comes close again. I let him pull me into his arms.
“You don’t need to be afraid to talk to me, Emma.”
“You don’t even know what it is. You might think differently about me... once you know.”
He brushes his fingertips lightly along my jaw. “You’re afraid I won’t want you anymore?”
My heart flutters in my chest, cherishing the thought that he wants me now. I shrug in answer. “I don’t know.”
“You don’t need to worry. Whatever you have to say isn’t going to change anything. I’ve been wanting you from the moment I first laid eyes on you.”
“You didn’t know me then,” I argue, as if I couldn’t say the same thing about him.
“I know you now.”
“You don’t know everything.”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“Now you’re just being stubborn.”
He chuckles softly and pulls me more snug against him. I instinctively soften against him, our faces close. “I’ve missed this, Emma.”
“I’ve missed this, too. Stop trying to distract me.”
“I’m not distracting you from anything.”
“I have to tell you something.”
He kisses me, and lingers long enough to change the mood from playful to serious. He pulls back, keeping me in his arms. “I’m listening,” he says again.
God, why does he have to be so perfect? Why does he have to make me want him so much? When he finds out the whole story, he might think I’ve been playing him and end the whole thing. I know I need to tell him, but it feels so good to be in his arms.
Still holding my eyes, he drops his forehead to mine. I sigh. We’re already this far. Maybe it wouldn’t be the worst thing to make it last just a bit longer?
“Tomorrow,” I whisper. “I’ll tell you tomorrow.”
I mean it, too. Anything beyond that and I couldn’t live with myself. I think he must know I’m serious too, because his expression matches mine.
He comes in closer, his lips hovering over mine. “Then we’d better make the most of things, between now and tomorrow.”
My thoughts exactly. He kisses me and I allow myself to get lost in the slow heat of it. As I let him take charge, willing for now to go wherever he wants to take us, I realize something.
I trust him.
Trusting myself is another story.
Chapter 25
Rayce
After she packs a couple things into a beach bag with the blue sailboat on the front, we head down the stairs. I’m keeping her close, her hand in mine. I don’t want her to escape again, nor am I prepared to simply say goodbye and go home without her. If there was an emptiness at my house before I met her, I didn’t notice it. But over the past few weeks, home hasn’t felt like home without Emma in it.
I’m still reveling in finally being with her. Little flashes pop into my mind: the way she clutched me to her when I first kissed her, that first taste of her skin, finally seeing all of her with nothing hidden from me. So goddamned lovely.
The first time I entered her, that moment when we paused so she could mold herself to me is a memory I will take to the grave. She yielded beneath me with such an intoxicating blend of trust and wanting. As we held each other’s eyes in that moment, I thought, This is why they call it becoming one.
To go from that almost otherworldly sensation to such wildness and lust, then to such quiet tenderness after. The entire experience was a torrent of physical sensation and fluctuating emotions. Sex has never been like that for me. In fact, ‘sex’ doesn’t seem to be the right word. What is the word for what we did? ‘Making love’ isn’t the right way to describe it either. It was too primal for that. Whatever was, the emotional connection was overpowering.
This woman has been knocking me off balance since the day I first saw her.
Now here she is. By my side, right where she belongs. “Have you had dinner?” I ask.
“Just a Sprite.” She gives me a mischievous grin.
“You were too busy seducing me to order a proper meal, huh?”
“I didn’t seduce you.” But she’s still grinning like she knows exactly what she did.
We get to the base of the stairs and I back her against the wall, my arms bracketing her head. Her expression morphs from surprise to heated longing so fast I wonder if I’m not the only one being thrown off balance here. I like this new version of Emma, the one that doesn’t fight this anymore but instead responds to every touch. “You seduced the fuck out of me,” I say deeply.
Her smile widens, pleased with this compliment. Her hands trace a line from my lower back to my shoulder blades. “Well, you’ve been trying to seduce me from the start.”
“That’s right.” I lightly brush my lips along her jaw and to the tender spot under her ear. Her body softens, her head leaning back, but her hips angle closer to me and she grips my shoulders. “Don’t you ever forget that my response to you has always been yes.”
I gently suck on her neck, pulling the soft skin between my teeth as I snake my hand into her hair and cup the curve of her ass. She moans softly, her hand going into my hair, too. The seat of my pants is getting uncomfortably tight. I’m tempted to carry her back upstairs and give that damned couch she’s sleeping on a proper send off. But I want to get her home first, where she’ll have room to get comfortable and enjoy things.
Next time, I intend on going slow and savoring every inch.
I step back, pulling her off the wall and supporting her by the elbow as she catches her balance. The word swoon comes to mind. I’ve always thought that was a ridiculous word, harking back to corseted women with lace handkerchiefs, but I rather like the thought of Emma swooning over me.
She slowly breathes out of her mouth. “You are so good at that.”
I cup her face and give her a kiss. “I’m not the only one.” I lightly tug on her hand and lead us to the side door. I’ve always prided myself on my ability to please a woman, but pleasing this woman is a whole different experience.
I put my hand on the knob, then halt.
My heart beats one, two, three.
“Um...”
I’m not typically one for “ums” but too many thoughts just assaulted my brain to come up with anything else.
I’m about to go out in public with Emma’s hand in mine. All right, the back alley of this out-of-the-way chop shop isn’t exactly “in public”, but there’s a funny side-effect to appearing in the local gossip rag when least expected. I’ve developed the sensation of being watched any time I step out my front door.
At the same time I’m calculating the risk of the wrong people seeing us together, I’m resentful that I should even have to care. I’m not ashamed of Emma or my feelings for her, but it’s never that fucking simple, is it?
No. I have to constantly think about how everything I d
o affects the resort’s brand, the reputation behind the Rivers family name, and the well-being of my siblings and employees. It’s never just about what I want.
Not to mention, a photo of Emma and I together would only fan the flames of whatever Taylor Norrell has cooking. I’m up to three emails from her now, the last one only a few days ago. I keep thinking I need to take this to our lawyer, but she’s being so vague about what she intends to do, or what she might want from me, that I don’t know what to even tell him. For all I know these emails are nothing but rants.
And really, what’s really bothering me about those emails is the idea that word might get out about what happened between us, so why would I tell our lawyer? I don’t want him to know either.
On top of all this, my mind is running through the various ways we can get back to my place unseen, or if maybe we should just stay here, though my car could be spotted, or maybe already has been. It all seems ridiculous and annoying, which are not uncommon emotions for me to have whenever I start to resent the whole “prominent member of the community” thing. Like a pouting child.
Which brings me to the last part. One side of me wants to tell the world to fuck off and not care what anyone thinks, and the other side of me thinks I need to man the fuck up. This is the culture we live in. Right or wrong, image matters. Period. It wouldn’t be fair to everyone who counts on me if I went around screwing things up for them for my own selfish reasons.
So yeah, “um” about sums things up.
“What’s wrong?” Emma asks.
“We can’t be seen together.”
“Yes. I know. You want me to wait and follow you in my car or something?”
She sounds a little perturbed and I don’t blame her. I’m not happy either. “No.” I don’t want her thinking she has to sneak around like she’s my mistress. “Let’s go in my car.”
“Together?”
I’m not worried about anyone seeing us in the car because my windows are tinted enough to prevent a problem. Technically, they’re darker than allowed by state law but if I ever get pulled over for it (no one hardly ever does) I’ll just pay the damned ticket. If people want to judge me for it, they can spend their entire adult life hounded by the papers and then come talk to me.