by Bromberg, K.
And fucking hell, I want that.
“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” My voice is low and spiteful, my hand squeezing tighter on her arm to prevent it from sliding down her side. I yank her against me.
“Excuse me?”
She seems shocked that I’m angry. If I wasn’t intimately familiar with the bite to her tongue, her reaction would leave me thinking she’s used to being handled with kid gloves. But I know better than that, know she can hold her own.
“You have an annoying little habit of running away from me, Rylee.” I watch the shock flicker across her face. Does she not see it? Kisses me and then runs at the benefit. Kisses me and runs at The House. Kisses me until I want so much more than just the small sample I had at the beach. That’s a whole lot of tempt and not a lot of take on my part.
It’s called blue balls, sweetheart. Something’s got to give soon and I sure as fuck hope it’s both our zippers.
“What’s it to you, Mr. I-Send-Mixed-Signals?” She jerks her arm from my hand. Physical connection broken but fuck if the sexual tension isn’t eating us alive.
“You’re one to talk, sweetheart. Is that guy—is he what you really want, Rylee?” My mind flashes back to the fucker’s hand on her, body up against hers. I see red then green. Fuck. The red I’m used to, but the jealousy is a whole different ball game I’ve never even taken a practice swing in. “A quick romp with Surfer Joe? You want to fuck him instead of me?”
I clench my jaw to control my need to taste those sexy-as-sin lips of hers she’s scowling at me with. I fist my hands, that deep V of her dress calling to my fingers to dip inside and cup those tits she’s pushing in my face as her chest heaves up and down from her angered breaths.
I deserve a goddamn medal for fighting this urge. For not touching when every ounce of me screams at me to plunder and pillage that mouth until it’s swollen from use. My desire turns to anger because what I see in her eyes, what it makes me feel, isn’t something I’m supposed to feel.
Fuck this.
Fuck her.
And fuck me because that’s exactly the problem—wanting to fuck her—but newsflash, I know this is too goddamn complicated. A quick fuck is not supposed to be like this. Step away. Back the fuck off and go, Donavan. Turn around and walk the other way because those eyes of hers tell you this is going to be anything but simple.
I take a step closer.
Goddamn woman has me on an invisible line. Like she’s cranking the reel and tightening the hook in my mouth before I even have a chance to taste the fucking bait.
We glare at each other, eyes devouring and warning all at the same time.
See? Complicated. Walk the fuck away. Save yourself.
“Isn’t that what you want from me, Colton? A quick fuck to boost that fragile ego of yours? It seems you spend an awful lot of time trying to placate that weakness of yours. Besides, why do you care what I do? If I recall correctly, you were pretty occupied with the blonde on your arm.”
I ignore the insult she hurls at me because I’m so focused on the tease of her body so tantalizingly close to mine. Tease me and insult me all at once. Contradictions like this are not supposed to be sexy. They are a downright mindfuck that I’ve learned to keep at restraining order distance. So why the hell do I still want her so fucking bad I can taste it?
I push away the ache to take her right now because she’s right. I do just want a quick fuck.
Nice try, Donavan. Keep telling yourself that.
Maybe if I prove to her the asshole that I am, she’ll take the reins here and walk the fuck away. Deny me what I want since I’m being such a pussy I can’t do it myself and ironically am only thinking with my dick. Game plan in place, time to shift it in gear.
“Raquel? She’s inconsequential.”
And I mean to sound like a chauvinistic asshole, that I think women are mere blips on my fucking radar, but there’s something about that word—inconsequential—that is so fitting all of a sudden. It perfectly describes how Rylee made me feel when Raquel was at my side and she, herself, was standing in front of me.
Becks nailed it on the head the other night when I ditched sex with Raquel on the way home from the gala and he never even knew it.
“Inconsequential?” she says, eyes wide and irritation in her voice.
Good. She got the hint. Run baby, run. Let me get a good show as you walk away.
“Is that what I’d be to you after you fuck me? Inconsequential?”
Never.
Her words are a verbal backhand. Because as much as I want her to hate me and do what I can to spare me the complications I know she’d bring, when she throws herself in the same category as Raquel, the only word that flickers through my head is never.
Fucking hell, Donavan. If I keep this whiplash up—wanting her but not wanting her—I’m going to need to start wearing my HANS device outside of the goddamn car. I just wish I knew what it is about this woman that tells me she’s not like the others. And not just because she’s kept her legs closed when most others would have theirs spread by now.
Fuck if I know, but I’m done with this game. She just threw out a challenge she didn’t even realize when she dared me to prove her different than Raquel.
I want. And I need. And hell if I’m not going to taste her again, fuck her mouth with my tongue to try and show her how badly I want to do the same elsewhere.
Prove to her how she could never be inconsequential even though that’s all I really want her to be. The only thing I can allow when the cards fall where they may.
I take a step closer. Her back bumps against the wall, and I lift my hand toward her face but then pull it back.
Somehow I have a conscience and it’s just decided to show the hell up. Because this is perfect fucking timing to tell me I can’t do this to her, fuck with her to fix me. Like I didn’t know already that it’s not fair to her, something she doesn’t deserve.
Sex without strings is something I’ve always done so why am I thinking this now? Why didn’t I think it earlier when I ditched the Merit execs? I’m not a good guy so why, when all I want is to slide between her thighs and lose myself for a bit, do I suddenly feel like I need to warn her in yet another way?
I stare at her, try to convey my thoughts and hope she gets them.
Run! I want scream at her. Tell her to take the fuck off down the hall and not look back. Explain that I’m a selfish bastard who takes what he wants without worries about collateral damage because I have a feeling that once I have her I’m going to need to destroy some things to prevent me from wanting her again.
Ease the ache. Bury the pain. Fuck her over in the end because she’ll hope there’s more when I can only give her less.
Can you handle me, Rylee? You fix the broken but there’s no hope left here. Can you live with that? Can you handle temporary when your eyes say you’re a forever? Do you want me? Can you live with sex and secrets and a selfish son of a bitch who will use you in the end?
Tell me no. Please tell me no because I can’t find it in myself to walk the fuck away like I should. Make the choice for me. Push me away. Hurt me.
She holds my gaze and then lifts her chin in a subtle nod.
Fuck! Every part of my body screams the word, each one holding a different meaning to the reaction.
She just said yes, and I swallow the fact that my warnings were all in my head. My excuse to fall back and ease my guilt later when I walk away.
But right now? Right now, I’m taking what she’s offering. Restraint obliterated and my dick in command.
Add another demon to the pile within because I sure as fuck don’t deserve a quick stop in Heaven before I take the long ride to Hell, but I’m taking it.
Without thought, my hands frame her face and my lips are on hers. I’m hungry for the taste of her, desperate for the feel of her. Smooth skin, gentle moans, soft against hard.
She’s like a fix to an addiction. I thought if I had a taste, I’d want it less, but
fuck me, all I can think of is more. Take more, want more, feel more, need more.
One hand is on her neck, the other on her back, and I pull her against me, need her against me from chest to knee. My mouth takes, nips, and sips. Her reactions spur me on. The moan in her throat when I suck on her tongue. The arch of her back when I tug on her lip with my teeth. Her body begs for the things her lips refuse to ask me for. And fuck if it’s not the hottest thing to know she wants this as desperately as I do, but I need to be in control here. Need to own the situation and the shit I keep pushing out of my head.
Her hands fist my shirt, need burning a hole through me, my dick aching, my body waiting to claim. In reflex, I grab her hands and pin them above the wall over our heads so she’s completely open to me.
Mine to control. To set the pace. To prevent her from revealing the shit that needs to stay behind lock and key.
I bring my free hand down to hold her chin so I can brand her lips again. Kiss her senseless so she has no other fucking option than to say yes to the question I so desperately want to ask. But when my fingers hold her there, her eyes flutter up to look into mine, dark lashes framing the most unique of colors. And although my dick is rock hard and wanting to act, I stumble over thoughts I don’t mean to say but that fall out of my mouth before I can stop them.
“Not inconsequential, Rylee. You could never be inconsequential.” I close my eyes and rest my forehead against hers to give myself a moment to try and figure out what the fuck is wrong with me. “No—you and me—together, that would make you mine. Mine.”
My confession shocks me. I mean it’s one thing to think the words and another fucking thing to say them. Hell yes, they’re true, but since when do I say crap like this? Give a woman a drawer for her shit when I only plan on letting her pass through the ever-revolving bedroom door.
My honesty scares the shit out of me. Makes me question when I never second guess myself.
I take a deep breath and step back, releasing her hands still held by mine, our eyes never breaking. And I don’t know what it is now that I’m asking her because hell if I know. I’m confused as fuck, desperate to bury myself in her and at the same time trying to figure out what this feeling in the pit of my stomach is.
It’s always been pleasure to bury the pain. The sex to quiet my head, override the shame coating my soul, so why the hell is my head screaming right now?
She reaches out to me, her fingers scraping against my abdomen, and fuck if my body doesn’t jolt at the connection. I cuffed her hands because I’m used to being in control, used to setting the pace, so why the fuck am I not stopping her. Why do her fingers feel like she’s lighting my skin on fire? Like she’s burning me with her touch.
I close my eyes, her hands on my back, and my breath labored with the desire that’s so strong I feel like I’m ready to snap. To take without asking.
And then her lips touch mine. Soft and sweet. That fucking perfect contradiction against her hands pulling my body into hers. Her tongue teases by tracing my bottom lip and thoughts of how it can trace the line of my cock have me reaching up to touch her face.
I make my hands go there so I can control the need to rip zippers and feast on her flesh, take the usual route when she is anything but my usual, when the situation is so far from my norm that I’m flying solo without a pit crew for back-up. So instead I force myself to part her lips with my tongue, challenge myself to see how long I can last with this tender and soft when all I really want to do is be rough and sate my greed.
I push my limits. Control the desperation. Even when her fingers dig in my shoulders and urge me on, I rein it in. Every time she moves, my dick rubs against her lower belly and I kiss her a little deeper to lose myself for just a moment. To encourage my resistance.
And then she sighs.
Sweet Christ. How can such a simple sound make a man want to lose his fucking control when he’s already held out against every other form of her unbeknownst seduction? But that sigh … fuck, the sound owns me in ways I never thought possible.
I can’t take the assault on my senses anymore. I just fucking can’t. I press my hands on the wall on either side of her head, my last attempt at restraint. And I’m such a dumbass that I think if my hands are not on her, I can control my urge to take her as I see fit. Take her in ways I don’t think by the innocence in her eyes she’s experienced yet.
Because shit, she’s a soft and slow, make love not just fuck kind of girl and I’m the exact opposite. Physical overriding emotional every day because I can’t do emotional. And she deserves so much better than me. I might be a selfish prick but I know this much.
The problem is she’s so goddamn addictive that even though I’ve occupied my hands, I allow myself one small hit. I rest my forehead against the curve of her neck, nose buried. My chest heaves for air. The scent of her perfume and shampoo make my balls tighten and use up my last ounce of control.
“Sweet Jesus, Rylee.” I lace kisses along her shoulder while my body aches painfully to have her wrapped around me. “We need to get out of here before you unman me in the hallway.”
I raise my head and look into her eyes. Last chance, Ryles. Escape while you can. But she stands her ground, unwavering, accepting of the warning in my eyes and the dominance in my stance.
“Come.” God help me because when all is said and done, I think I’m going to need it to walk away from her. She bites her bottom lip to stop it from quivering. Even she knows I’m inviting her into the lion’s den.
I give her a soft smile, pretending I can’t see the vulnerability in her eyes, ignoring it as I draw her further in … and that makes me even worse of a man than I already thought.
We walk, desire leading us and desperation owning our thoughts. I think I mumble an explanation that I have a room, but I’m not sure because my thoughts are consumed by every single thing about her. Fucking consumed when I’ve never been this way before.
I usher her into the elevator, unlock the penthouse all the while my dick is begging me to push the red button, halt the elevator right here, right now and take her on the floor. Feed the greed and be done with her.
Return to familiar ground and be the asshole I know that I am.
I reach out to touch her back, begin the process, but I can’t bring myself to do it. I can’t treat her like she’s inconsequential and prove her right. I mutter something about her hair, asking why she’s changed the curls I’ve thought about holding in one hand so I can watch while my cock fucks her mouth. She responds about not fitting a mold but shit my mind is back onto the image of her bobbing her head up and down with hollowed out cheeks and I can’t focus.
“Sometimes change is good.” She’s staring at me when I break from my thoughts.
I mumble a response about liking her curls, sounding so innocent but really being anything but because my mind is thinking about how fucking bad I want her right now. And then her comment breaks into my thoughts … sometimes change is good.
Is that what this is? A change from my typical so it’s got my dick in a twist?
Gotta be.
The warnings flood my head again. I need to tell her I’m in uncharted territory, that I’m not sure what the hell is going on, but the one thing I do know for certain is that she deserves a chance to leave before I can’t turn back.
“You have one chance to walk away.” The elevator dings, shattering my concentration that’s scattered as it is. I stare at her, need to see her eyes and hear her tell me she wants this without hesitation. “I won’t be able to walk away, Rylee.”
And that’s exactly what I need to do to ease the unsettling I already feel deep down in the parts of me I buried so very long ago. In the dark recesses where the promises I made to myself feel like they are beginning to unseat themselves.
Am I doing the right thing here when I know that fucking her just might hurt … both her and me?
Fuck. That’s exactly what all this is. I turn from her, needing a minute myself to decide whet
her the discorded peace in my soul is worth disturbing.
Snap out of it, Donavan. Quit being such a pussy. You have a woman willing right now. The same one you’ve passed up Raquel and her blow job skills for twice. You obviously want this. So fucking take it. You know how to walk when the sex turns to emotion so get your shoes and put them by the door for an easy escape.
But fucking hell take what she’s offering. Man the fuck up. Tell her how it’s going to be and then do it. Give her the option to only say yes because sweet fucking Jesus, if her kiss is that goddamn sweet imagine what the fuck her pussy tastes like.
Problem solved. Everything back on its mental shelf.
I stab the button with my finger for the elevator door and then hang my head as I figure out how to say it all. “I want to take my time with you, Rylee. I want to build you up nice and slow and sweet like you need. Push you to crash over that edge. And then I want to fuck you the way I need to. Fast and hard until you’re screaming my name. The way I’ve wanted to since you fell out of that storage closet and into my life. Once we leave this elevator, I don’t think I’ll have enough control to stop … to pull away from you, Rylee. I. Can’t. Resist. You.”
My confession is cathartic. Allows me to fuck her without the guilt because I’m giving her a choice. More steady in my shoes that I momentarily stepped out of, I finally turn back to face her. I need to see her eyes when I give her the only choice I’m going to until after we’ve come and are panting out of breath and spent.
“Decide, Rylee. Yes. Or. No.”
I LOOK UP AT HIM through my lashes, my bottom lip between my teeth, and nod in consent. When he continues to look at me, I find my voice and try to push the nerves out of it. “Yes, Colton.”
His mouth crushes down on mine instantly, his hunger palpable as he pulls me out of the elevator toward the penthouse. I giggle freely as he tries to insert the key in the door while trying to keep his lips on mine. He finally gets the key in and the door opens as we continue our ungraceful entrance, mouths never leaving each other’s. He kicks the door shut and presses me up against it, his hands sandwiched between the door and my butt. His fingers grip my flesh fervently, pressing me into his muscular frame.