He sets his drink on the floor. "I like you here."
"Yeah, but you have to work. And I have to work, too. I might be able to make some of the spring admissions deadlines for art schools. There are a lot of choices I've never really considered. My parents insisted I go to a regular school."
I shiver. Blake has a steady gaze. He doesn't glance at my exposed torso. Respect or disinterest, I'm not sure. Everything about today feels so different. Almost like we're really a couple.
Lie. It's all a lie. The reminder isn't hitting me today. All sorts of explanations bounce around my head. Maybe it's not all a lie. Maybe some of it is real.
I shift onto Blake's lap and arrange my legs so I'm straddling him. He feels so warm, so safe. But that part is a lie, too.
Nothing safe about this.
He pushes my hair behind my ears. His brows raise like he wants an explanation. But I'm not about to deliver one. It's not like he tells me what he's thinking. It's not like I can even explain the feelings whirring inside me.
I wrap my arms around his shoulders. They feel so good to touch. Strong, muscular, safe. I squeeze my thighs around him. His hands press into my lower back, sending a shiver all the way up my spine. Yes. Oh, hell yes.
That curious expression is gone. Replaced by something I recognize—lust.
My eyelids press together as I kiss him. A reflex. There's a faint taste of coffee on his lips. None of that stereotype of awful coffee breath. Only the sweet hint of vanilla.
I slide my tongue into his mouth. He reacts, kissing me back. His grip tightens around my waist. He holds me in place, kissing harder, trying to take command.
His hands slide to my ass. His nails dig into my flesh.
I moan into his mouth. Not giving up control this time. I need to touch him everywhere and not just the places he'll allow.
He drags his fingers over my back and shoulders. Then they're on my neck. Digging through my hair.
Blake pulls back. His eyes find mine. "Get on your back."
I shake my head. "I want to touch you."
"We're doing this my way."
His expression gets intense. Want shoots straight to my sex. Yes. His way sounds perfect. As long as I get to touch him.
I shift so I can pull the thick blanket out of the way. He's hard under his boxers. Almost mine.
Blake grabs my hands and places them back on his shoulders. I run my fingertips along his chest and neck. Every place I touch feels so good. Right now, he's mine. I'm his. It's perfect.
He grabs my ass and pulls my body into his. My sex rubs against the hardness in his boxers. That's close, too, but it's not mine yet. With one hand, he tugs at my hair, bringing my mouth back to his.
He kisses me. It's equal parts hard and sweet. His way. Yes. I like his way. I press my palm against his chest, soaking in the sensation of his still wet body. God, his body. That goes way beyond like.
I follow his lead. Our tongues dance around each other. I explore the nooks and crannies of his torso with my fingertips. There's a soft bit of hairs just below his belly button. I slide my hand beneath them and play with the waistband of his boxers.
He grabs my wrist. My hand goes back to his shoulder. He's leading this.
Blake plants kisses down my neck. Every brush of his lips makes me shudder. Everything inside of me is desperate for more from him. For whatever he's willing to give me.
I rub my crotch against his. Every flick of my hips fills me with the most delicious friction. Yes. Hell yes. I move faster, moaning into his ear. His breath speeds. His nails dig into my back. He drags them all the way down my body. Palm flat against my ass, he lifts me. His hand brushes against my sex.
"Oh." I squeeze his shoulders to contain the bliss. But fuck that. For once, I don't want anything contained. I want to feel every ounce of this, even if it's so much I scream.
He presses his fingertip into my clit. A shiver runs through me. I fight my urge to hold on to him. I want to feel all of this.
My sex clenches. My nipples tingle. Everywhere, I'm buzzing with something. I need Blake, all of him, all the way.
He rubs my clit. I inhale every ounce of ecstasy. Pressure builds inside me. More, more, more. I stare into Blake's eyes, commanding myself to hold his gaze. He's still so intense. It sends a shiver straight to my sex.
The pressure intensifies. More. More. More. I let out a moan. My eyes stay on his. Blake is touching me. Blake is making me come. Blake is still in control. But this is on my terms, too.
I tug at his hair, so he can feel how deep this goes. Almost. So damn close.
A shake overtakes me. Almost. Almost.
There. The pressure is as much I can take. An orgasm rises up inside me, taking me as high as I can go. And then I'm in freefall. Pleasure rushes all around me, to my tits, my stomach, my fingers and toes. My sex pulses in aftershocks.
Blake shifts, sliding his boxers to his knees. My hands stay on his shoulders but they're desperate to grab his cock. No time. He takes my hips and pulls me into position.
He slides inside me. Oh, hell yes. It's still novel, this whole sex thing, but Blake has me convinced it's always this amazing. There's something about it. I'm full. I'm exactly where I need to be.
It's perfect.
Blake guides me over him. I shift up, until he's barely inside me, then down, until he's filling me. It's a perfect sensation. Perfect friction. I use his shoulders for leverage to drive him deeper. Deeper. Pleasure whirs inside me. It builds with every shift of my hips. He digs his nails into my skin, groaning. I study his reaction. He's lost in this. Lost in me.
It's almost enough to bring me to the edge. But not yet. I need more from him, more of this. I lose myself in the sensation. Nothing matters except Blake inside me. His grip tightens. I move faster. Harder.
A orgasm blitzes though me. Tension, tension, tension and then it all releases. Ecstasy surges through me. Every part of me is buzzing. Every part of me is spent.
I turn my attention to Blake. His lips part. He groans. His eyelids press together. He brings his hand down on my ass. A spanking.
Heat rushes through me again. I like the feel of that. I dig my nails into his skin and groan.
He does it again. Again. Again. My flesh stings. A different pain than what we've had before, but it's just as perfect. I close my eyes and surrender to him.
Blake grabs my hips. He rearranges us, so we're both standing, so my knees are pressed up against the couch. I plant my hands on the cushion, arching my back like I'm offering myself to him.
He spanks me again. That same perfect mix of hurt and ecstasy rushes through my body. He thrusts into me. Deeper and harder. I dig my nails into the cushion. He's so deep it hurts, but that's another perfect mix.
"Blake," I groan. I arch my back so I can feel every one of his movements.
His grip tightens around my hips. His breath speeds. Almost there. He goes even harder. Even faster. I release my grip. Nothing to contain the sensation. It's so much. So tight I have to scream.
His hand comes down on the flesh of my ass. That same sting, only harder. The knot inside me tightens. God, almost. So damn close. So, so damn close.
He drags his nails over my hips. An orgasm overtakes him. I can feel it inside me. His cock pulses. He groans. Those nails dig into my skin. A shudder and he comes inside me.
It's enough to send me back over the edge. I come in waves, panting and screaming and clawing at the couch. Holy shit. That was amazing.
Blake shifts out of me. I collapse face first on the couch, soaking in all the delightful aftershocks.
He pulls his boxers back on. Reaches for his coffee.
Breath returns. I look up at Blake, but there's already something different about him. Whatever intimacy we had is gone. He's steel again.
Now's not the time to wallow. I came three times because of him. That makes for a good night.
I pull the blanket over my shoulders. "Do you have anything I can wear home?"
; He nods and leads me to his office. There are three changes of clothes stuffed in a filing cabinet and one is women's clothing. A drawstring pair of sweats.
Blake plants a kiss on my lips. "You're meeting Ashleigh at six tomorrow."
"I know."
"Good luck." He pulls a t-shirt over his head. Steps into a pair of jeans.
I change into the sweats. It's unlikely he bought these for me.
More likely he keeps them around for his conquests.
I try not to let it bother me.
I fail.
***
Home is just as much a ghost town. There's a note on the table.
At Sarah's to study for a test. Already had dinner. Love you, Lizzy.
She was at Sarah's last night. Seems unlikely she’s back there. Great. My sister doesn't trust me enough to tell me what she's doing. I'm the uncool guardian who never lets her have any fun.
Exactly what I always wanted. Especially at twenty-one.
I change out of Blake's clothes and get into the shower. No doubt I should have washed the chlorine out of my hair the second I left the pool. I'm reasonably certain the stylist mentioned something about blonde hair turning green, but my hair wasn't exactly a priority.
My head is spinning. This is all so confusing.
I shampoo, condition, and soap as fast as humanely possible. No need to shave yet. I'm still fuzz free after my waxing. For appearances or for Blake. No way I could know. No reason why I need to know. Not really.
Shower off. I pull my robe around my shoulders. It's just past eight, and I have the night to myself. Once upon a time, this was a dream come true. Now, it feels off and awkward.
Or maybe I'm the thing that's off and awkward.
I make a sandwich and eat it at my computer. There are so many art schools I can apply to, and they all want portfolio samples. I haven't done any serious work since high school. Some of that stuff is decent, but it has nothing to do with the person I am now.
Maybe that doesn't matter. It's a college application. It's not like I have to bear my soul to some nameless, faceless admissions officer.
I grab my sketchbook and a pencil and draw Blake from memory. It's not perfect. It wouldn't immediately read as Blake. But there is something about him that's there in the portrait. Something about his impossible to read eyes.
I turn the page and try making it into something different. Before the accident, I dreamed of drawing graphic novels. Capturing something real about life between the pictures and the worlds. It's funny. Back then, I had nothing to say, and all the time to say it. But now that I'm bursting at the seams, I barely have the energy to pick up a pencil.
That's going to change. After this ruse is over, I'll have time and energy in spades. I won't have to devote everything to getting by.
I try drawing a version of Blake. He has broad shoulders, round eyes, a strong nose, and a strong jaw. It's not quite right. I play with the eyes until they feel like Blake. There. It's not perfect, but it's a solid start.
I draw a cartoon Kat. Overdone waves of hair, tight cocktail dress, sky high heels. The fake Kat. Super-Girlfriend.
There's nothing about me in that portrait. Nothing real. I try my hand at the real Kat with her mess of hair, her casual outfit, her inability to open herself up. But that's not something I can draw. Not yet at least.
This drawing isn't me.
I can't even capture myself.
Chapter Seventeen
Ashleigh shakes her head. Irritation is written all over her face. "We spoke yesterday about this happening at six on the dot."
The salesgirl shoots back her best customer service smile. "It's only 5:45, Miss. Perhaps you'd like some champagne while you wait." She looks at me. "Miss Wilder?"
"No, thank you." I shrink into the corner. Some kind of pissing contest going on here. Doesn't interest me. No doubt Ashleigh is annoyed she's working late again.
She leans over the counter, whispering something to the salesgirl. Not my problem. This whole wedding gown ordeal doesn't have to be my problem, but I can't bring myself to put Blake in charge of this. It's the one thing I can control.
I doodle in my sketchbook—a four-panel comic of my arrangement with Blake. But how the hell am I supposed to draw the feelings whirring around inside me? Those don't fit on paper. They don't fit anywhere.
Four panels, all the same. Blake standing there, aloof and distant, with a wad of cash in his hand. I can help you.
The guy sure likes to throw money at his problems. At least I was around to catch some of it.
I check my phone. No word from Lizzy. She's been out of school for hours now. There's no reason why she wouldn't be here.
I rip out the drawing of Blake and crumble it into a tiny ball. Not thinking about him anymore today. No way in hell.
"Thank you, I will." Ashleigh sits next to me. She glances at the sketchbook. Her expression is curious. "Blake told me you're an artist."
"I don't know about that."
"Natalie is pulling the dresses for you. They were supposed to be ready." She slides out of her heels and rubs her feet. "Barely three weeks now. We need something off the rack." She takes a quick scan of my body. "You'll look good in anything but an empire waist. Do you have any style of dress in mind?"
I stare at her like she's speaking another language. "I'm not really a dress expert."
"Given the weather, we might want to avoid a train. I'm guessing you're not too keen on dragging mud."
"Okay." I draw a circle in my sketchbook. "Whatever you think is best."
She frowns, pulls an iPad from her purse, navigates to a wedding website, and takes me through the different dress silhouettes. Except for the sheath, they all flare somewhere and most of them flare dramatically. There's A-line, fit and flare, trumpet, mermaid, ballroom. She goes over the pros and cons of each, but it all flies in one ear and out the other.
"Miss Wilder." The salesgirl, Natalie, calls us to the dressing room.
It's a huge area, more like a display than anything else. There are four or five stalls arranged in a circle. Mirrors on every door. Double set of mirrors in the middle of the room. And a podium on a turntable.
A great display case for a trophy wife to be.
Natalie points us to a pastel pink bench. The entire room is pink. It's the picture of love and romance.
"These are beautiful dresses." Natalie wheels a rack closer.
There are a dozen dresses in different shades of white, ivory, and blush. There must be miles of chiffon and lace.
"She wants something sophisticated," Ashleigh says.
"Of course."
Natalie pulls a dress off the rack. It's simple ivory chiffon. Gathered waist. Barely looks formal.
"She's not going to the beach. She's getting married." Ashleigh waves the dress away. "Something dramatic. They'll be under the cherry blossoms. The middle of spring. Flowers, lace, feminine. Okay? The flowers represent the power and mystery of female beauty."
Damn. I've never heard someone wax poetic about a dress before. I clear my throat. "That's the Chinese interpretation of cherry blossoms. In Japan, they're considered a symbol of the transience of life."
"Right," Ashleigh says. "So something beautiful, delicate, and dramatic all at once."
Natalie nods. She seems to suppress an eye roll. Used to dealing with difficult customers, no doubt. It's not like the dress can be delicate and dramatic at the same time. Or maybe it can. I'm utterly clueless when it comes to dresses.
On to the next. It's an optic white, heavy satin, and beaded all over. It sparkles like the sun. Ashleigh shakes her head and waves it away.
"You look like Blake did that day at the department store," I say.
"God, that bad?" She offers Natalie a pleasant smile. "Kat, maybe you could explain what you want."
"I'm not sure. Something pretty." I rack my brain for the right words to describe a dress. If I want to be an artist, I'm going to have to get a hell of a lot better at design.
I steal the words Blake used to describe me. "Something beautiful and understated."
Natalie pulls another dress off the rack. A strapless ball gown with a sweetheart neckline. It's so puffy it could make a cloud jealous.
"That is the opposite of understated," Ashleigh says. She stares at her phone. Her brow furrows. "Excuse me."
Natalie shakes her head. "Would you like to try it on to get a feel for it?"
Not really. The thing is ugly. But without Ashleigh's help, I'm even more clueless.
I nod, okay, and follow Natalie into one of the dressing stalls.
"Did you bring a long-line, honey?"
"A what?"
"We'll try it without a bra. Just to get a feel for it." She motions to the hooks on the wall. "Call me over when you're ready."
Okay. Getting almost all the way naked in front of a strange woman I've never met. That's normal. I strip to my panties and leave my clothes on the floor. So much for taking charge of picking out a dress. I can't even get into it on my own.
"I'm ready," I say.
Natalie enters the room. "Turn around, sweetie." She helps me into the dress, zips me up, and clips the back so I'm squeezed in tight.
I glance in the mirror. The dress has a corset top. It's tight on my chest and waist and then poof—this is less like a skirt and more like a hemisphere. I trip over the organza on my way to the main room. The showroom, I guess.
Ashleigh is back on the bench. She frowns with clear distaste and Natalie shoots her a dirty look. Not getting a friendly vibe from these two.
"Let's try something else," Ashleigh says. "Unless you like it, Kat."
I stare at my reflection. I look like a Disney princess gone very, very wrong. "It's not my favorite."
Natalie offers me another dress. This one is much straighter. It has a slight flare just about the knee, a trumpet style I think. I go back to the stall. Natalie undresses and dresses me. All I do is step in and out of the gowns.
I avoid the reflection until we're in the main room.
"Aw," Ashleigh squeals. "You look beautiful. And understated."
Okay, fine. I look in the mirror. This dress is a lot more my style. It's simple. No beading, no embroidery. Just a pretty lace with a flower pattern.
The Billionaire's Deal: The Complete Story: An Alpha Billionaire Romance Page 16