Make Me

by Tessa Bailey

  “Now who’s the chauvinist?” Her eyes sparkled up at him in the darkness, and breathing became a challenge. “I’ll put you in charge of hiring the secretary. How’s that?”

  Her mouth curved into a smile. “I’m thinking a cheerful grandmother of ten named Martha. Or Deloris.”

  “Does Martha or Deloris bake?”

  “Oh, yes. She’s a retired pastry chef.”

  “Hire the woman.”

  Abby laughed, and Russell felt it against his lips, but she sobered before he got his fill. “You liked baked goods so much, yet you completely ignored the cupcakes I brought over on Thursday.” He barely had time to register surprise that she’d brought up their afternoon together, before she continued. “I know. Abby doesn’t make people uncomfortable or discuss sore subjects. But I just defied my stepmother for the first time since I was a teenager, so I’m kind of on a roll. I guess . . . you just have to deal with it.”

  “Okay,” he murmured, pride battling his shock. Somehow, this new development signaled impending disaster, but the determination on her face was so breathtaking, he couldn’t gather enough motivation to throw up a roadblock. “I never realized you were holding back.”

  Her gaze dropped a moment before lifting again. “I don’t want to anymore.”

  The husky change to her voice made his dick feel heavy. He felt like the coyote waiting for the anvil to fall on his head. Only Abby was way hotter than the roadrunner, with her tits rising and falling on shallow breaths. “Say what you want to say, angel.”

  Something flickered in her eyes at the nickname. Fuck, he needed to be careful here, but the darkness and pulsing music had wrapped them in a fleece blanket where reality couldn’t intrude. The absorbent sound swallowed his groan when she wet her lips, her adorable ass shifting on the seat. “I want you to fuck me, Russell.”

  “Goddammit,” he breathed, feeling like he’d just run fifteen miles in the blistering sun. Barbed wire damaged his insides, neck to stomach. But Jesus, below the sharp pain, his cock had hardened to the point of agony. His hands punished the leather seat, so he wouldn’t reach for her, settle her on his lap, and enter her pussy beneath that flimsy skirt. Would she whimper and twist around, trying to get off? Or would she let him talk her through her first time? What if he damaged the trust she’d placed in him by causing her pain? God, that would kill him. Just the act of sitting there beside her, knowing what she wanted and not acting, was a torture he could barely withstand. He wanted to end the torture. Wanted so badly to show her what the word fucking really meant . . . What it meant to him. . .

  “Say something,” she said beside his ear, distress evident in her voice, slicing him to ribbons. “I can never tell what you’re thinking anymore.”

  “You don’t want to know.”

  “Yes.” Her voice was firm. “I do.”

  The part of Russell that craved self-preservation encouraged him to tell her. It would push her away until he could sort his life out, sort these urges out. But would he ever get her back if she knew? There were no guarantees. Still, didn’t she deserve to know whom she wanted to gift with her virginity? “Abby, I . . .” He swallowed a handful of nails. “Did you like it when I spanked you?”

  She pressed her lips right up against his ear. “I liked it a lot.”

  Christ. She couldn’t realize what she was saying. Didn’t know any better. “There are other things I think about doing. I’m not sure . . . a normal guy, a good guy would want to do those things to you, Abby.”

  “What does normal mean? Some people would say a twenty-four-year-old virgin isn’t normal.” For a moment, he swore she was going to kiss him. Her lips were less than an inch from his, her eyelids at half-mast. He would have let her, too. Wouldn’t have had the willpower to stop her. “Whatever you are, Russell. That’s what I want.” His heart was pounding so violently, a response was out of the question. His love would have just poured out like water from a fire hose. He was grateful that she continued, until her words fully registered. “I know you don’t want anything serious, and that’s okay. We were friends before . . .” Her spine straightened in degrees. “ . . . and we’ll be friends after.”

  Chapter 11

  MAYBE BRAVERY CAME in fragments. Back at the office and in the limousine, she’d had a bright burst of independence. She still couldn’t quite believe what she’d said to Russell. Or what he’d said in response. What was done was done, though. It couldn’t be taken back, and she didn’t want it to be. Rather, she couldn’t wait to assert herself again. Perhaps that explained why she’d feigned sleep promptly after propositioning her best friend and remained that way the duration of the trip. She’d been resting up for more speaking her mind. Right.

  Or it might have been an attempt to ignore the phone calls and emails she could already feel clocking in on her phone, vibrating the device in her purse. She didn’t have to check the screen to know it was her mother. Mitchell. But she wasn’t playing ball today.

  Abby tugged the key to the estate out of her purse, unable to resist smiling over her friends’ animated chatter as they wheeled their suitcases behind her on the driveway. Most of them were animated, anyway. Russell’s expression was carved from stone as he looked up at the thirty-thousand-square-foot vacation home Abby’s father had bought as a wedding present to her stepmother.

  Many of her childhood memories had been formed inside these walls although they weren’t all pleasant. If she could project them against a blank wall, an observer would say the memories were pretty. Beautiful, even. White, billowing curtains. Beautiful women in pastel dresses, their summer tans glowing. Glasses of sparkling, gold liquid being passed around. Drifting piano music. The fragrant smell of the Atlantic lifting the hair from her neck.

  Abby pushed open the front door and stepped aside to let everyone pile into the house. Louis threw a laughing Roxy over his shoulder and strode into the white-marble foyer, his expression one of familiarity, since his family’s money was on par with her own. They’d spoken about their summers in Southampton only briefly but had laughed over the fact that they might have been at some of the same parties as children. Honey stepped inside, her jaw dropping. Ben pushed it back up with a single finger and leaned in to kiss the back of her neck. Abby turned to find Russell hovering just outside the door, as if deciding whether or not to come inside.

  Unease swarmed in her belly. Russell had never voiced discomfort over her family’s abundance of money, but she’d always sensed it beneath the surface, seen him tense up when someone else picked up the tab at dinner. Now, though, seeing his hesitancy even to step past the threshold, she wondered how deep it ran. Over the last week, she’d started to question just how much Russell kept hidden.

  Seeing him so indecisive to take that single step toward her was hard, so Abby turned away and followed her friends into the kitchen. True to form, Louis and Roxy were already taking stock of the liquor in every cabinet, lining the bottles up on the counter. Ben had his arms wrapped around Honey as they stared out at the ocean view.

  Their excitement gave Abby a moment to get her bearings. She hadn’t ventured to Southampton since high school for a reason. The time she’d spent here growing up had been lonely. Blending into the colorless walls while parties swirled through the rooms. Not knowing how to include herself in conversations or even feeling interesting enough to do so.

  Then “the incident” had taken place.

  Something had felt different when she’d woken up that morning. She’d had a dream where she’d run screaming down the pristine Southampton beach, everyone staring at her and whispering behind their hands. She’d twirled and twirled and kicked up sand, not caring a single bit. Enjoying their criticism and that of her parents. When she woke from the vivid dream, her pulse had still been racing with the thrill. She hadn’t wanted to let go, wanted to hold on as long as possible. If she called the image of rebellious Abby to mind, she found she could breathe in the giant mausoleum of a house.

  So when her stepmo
ther demanded she attend a stuffy, all-adult luncheon at the local country club—an activity where she would be prodded about her future, her weight, her clothing—she’d nearly broken out in hives. Her stepmother’s face when she said no was still perfectly detailed in her mind. And how it had looked afterward, when Abby started flinging breakfast plates across the kitchen, crushing china beneath her sensible ballet flats, shouting in a voice she couldn’t recognize, but it had felt so good.

  Until the following morning, when she’d woken to find her parents gone. A vacation from their vacation, which she’d known meant they’d needed a break from her. It was that morning she realized how easily people left. Summer-camp friends, classmates, parents. Once you cracked and revealed a nonfunctioning part, they bailed.

  Days had passed during those summers where she hadn’t been required to speak a single word. Silence had been a running theme that followed her into adulthood. Until recently. No more, though. When she spoke now, her friends listened. Her mother. Russell. She wasn’t that shy, awkward girl who’d learned to keep her opinion or any form of protest to herself. This weekend, she would replace the beige memories inside these walls with ones she could be proud of.

  Abby pushed the handle of her suitcase down and tossed the house key onto the counter. “So. Are we walking to the beach or hanging at the pool out back today?”

  “Can we drink at the beach?” Roxy asked over her shoulder.

  “Nope.”

  “Poolside gets this girl’s vote.”

  Honey hopped onto one of the stools surrounding the breakfast bar. “Seconded. I just have to change into my bathing suit.”

  “And I just have to assist her,” Ben deadpanned.

  “You’re such a giver, man.” Louis flipped a stack of red, Solo cups in his hand. “Who’s having a margarita?”

  Five hands went up just as Russell walked into the kitchen. “What are we voting on?”

  Abby tried not to let her relief over his appearance show. “Alcohol. What else?”

  “Count me in, but make it light. Wouldn’t want to get lost in this place.”

  There was just enough of an edge to Russell’s voice to give everyone pause. Abby watched a silent communication pass between Ben and Louis, but it happened so fast, Abby wondered if it had been inside her head. It made her mad; the feeling that she wasn’t involved in some secret. She didn’t appreciate being left out. Not inside this house, of all places.

  And there was more to her anger. A lot more. She’d been alienated by her coworkers for being the boss’s daughter. Been the rich girl whose silence was mistaken for superiority. It had sucked all those times, but to have Russell edging toward that same ridicule when she’d never been anyone but herself around him? The pain knocked the wind right out of her. Or tried to, anyway.

  Abby sauntered toward Louis, plucked a cup out of his hand, and poured herself three fingers’ worth of tequila. “If you’re so worried about getting lost, leave a trail of breadcrumbs, Hansel.” She tossed back a mouthful of liquor, her nose burning as it went down. “There are two rooms upstairs, three downstairs, and one in the pool house. Take your pick.” Down went the remaining tequila. “See you at the pool.”

  ABBY STARED DOWN at the selection of bathing suits on her bed, hands on hips. Gold, sparkly bikini, or black, modest one-piece? The corner of her mouth edged up as she let her floral skirt drop and stripped the T-shirt over her head. Gold sparkly. No question. It might be a little outrageous for her—okay, way outrageous—but she’d seen what Roxy and Honey had packed, so at least she wouldn’t be alone in her daring. She murmured a thank-you to whichever past visitor had left the garment behind in the guest-room bureau and put on the bikini.

  A look in the full-length mirror had her wincing, though. Had this thing belonged to a ten-year-old? It barely covered . . . anything. The thin triangles plumped her breasts, separated and pushed them high. The gold between her legs peeked out, covering only where necessary. Oh boy, no way could she wear this thing in public.

  Her gaze swung back to the basic, black bathing suit mocking her from the bed. Putting it on would feel like giving in. But her mother’s room was across the hall. Maybe she had a sarong or wrap she could wear over the gold bikini . . . kind of a modesty caveat? Abby gave her reflection an encouraging nod and headed for the door, hoping to sneak into the other room unseen and perform a quick search. But when she opened the door and poked her head out, Russell stood at the opposite door, one foot already inside.

  “You okay?” he asked, one eyebrow dipping low.

  “Fine.” She started to duck back into her room, intending to wait until Russell left for the pool before rooting through the closet.

  “Look . . . downstairs. I didn’t mean to—” He cut himself off. “Why are you hiding behind the door?”

  “I’m not dressed.”

  “Mmm.”

  Hot, neediness stoked the fire beneath Abby’s belly button. The one that never seemed to stop blazing anymore. And yeah, something about wearing the explicit bikini was only amplifying the sexual warmth. The material cupping her between the legs felt like a caress, but didn’t have the satisfying friction of Russell’s work-roughened hands. Abby was so busy processing her insane desire to be touched—now, please—she didn’t notice Russell staring at something beyond her shoulder. She followed his line of sight and gasped, catching her reflection in the mirror. Oh Lord, she hadn’t even seen how little the bikini covered her bottom. The answer was, almost none of it.

  Abby turned back to find Russell’s eyes glassy, his voice a mere rasp when he spoke. “You aren’t wearing that. You’ll have to kill me first.”

  There were times when Russell’s proprietary attitude toward her was a turn-on. This was not one of those times. “Oh yes, I am.”

  He tossed his duffel bag to the floor. “The fuck you are.”

  Blistering need blazed a path right down to her toes, her irritation doing nothing to cool it. In a confusing twist, however, she tried to shut the door when Russell stalked toward the entrance. None of her actions made sense to her, but she didn’t care. Rebelling felt good. Tempting consequences felt even better.

  His forearm blocked the door, preventing its closure with ease. Abby had no choice but to step back and expose herself or get swept aside by the heavy wood. Russell made a dark noise and ran a hand over his open mouth. “Jesus Christ.” His hands flexed at his sides. “I don’t think you understand. Wearing that thing around anyone but me . . . I’d lose my shit, Abby. It would be a scary thing.”

  She was shaken by his intensity but refused to lose ground. “That’s too bad. I’m not taking it off and being boring old Abby just so you’ll feel better.”

  He pinched the skin between his eyes. “Please. Please, angel. Go change.”

  Abby didn’t understand the sympathy that crept past her defiance. He looked on the verge of imploding all because of some stupid bathing suit. His broad shoulders shook as he inhaled a deep breath. On the edge. She’d put him on the precipice of breaking, and although she had no idea what would happen when they crossed the line, the inferno licking at her thighs and stomach needed an answer. “Make me,” she forced past trembling lips.

  Her words sucked all oxygen from the room. Dread warred with sexual drive on Russell’s face for a moment, but sex won, and it won hard. His features became a granite carving as he cracked his neck once . . . and stormed toward her. A wave of yearning crashed into Abby, so concentrated that she could only watch as Russell’s hands fisted the front of her bikini top and ripped the string between her breasts in two. Snap. The release of material sent her stumbling back a step, her bottom meeting the mattress, but their proximity to the bed only registered in a vague, faraway manner because Russell’s gaze raking over her breasts was suddenly everything.

  “You want to show off your pretty tits, you show them off to me.” He planted his fists on either side of her hips. Leaned in so close she had no choice but to recline. “Go ahead, then, stubb
orn girl. Give them a shake. Give me something to think about while I stroke off tonight across the hall.”

  Infused with indignation, Abby pushed up, got right in his face. “Oh, you’re calling me stubborn? I told you on the way here—”

  “Do not say it again.” His eyes strayed to the gold triangle between her legs. “God, you were just going to walk around with that scrap of nothing over your pussy?” He used his knees to shove her thighs wider, growling as the fabric stretched over her center. “No man’s ever licked it but me. No one looks at it but me.” His head dropped, his mouth hovering just above her nipples. “That goes for all of you. Every fucking inch of this dick-tease body.”

  “I’m not a tease,” Abby breathed, absorbing his every word like a greedy sponge but refusing to accept them completely. She’d been nothing but honest with him and resented his playing head games. Tell her to stay away one minute, claiming ownership the next. “You are the tease, and I’m tired of it. Put your money where your mouth is or get off me.”

  When Russell only squeezed his eyes shut and released her name through clenched teeth, Abby had experienced enough. Tears burned inside her throat as she shoved him away and escaped off the bed. Desperate for a distraction from the sharp pain in her side, Abby stooped down and snatched up the torn bikini top. With shaking fingers, she attempted to tie it back together.

  “What are you doing?”

  “I’m wearing it.”

  The top was snatched out of Abby’s hands from behind, but when she spun on a heel to give Russell hell, the words died on her lips. No shirt. He’d taken off his shirt and those muscles moved with every step in her direction. With his free hand, he flicked the button open on his jeans and drew the zipper down with a wince. “You calling me a tease, Abby? Look what you do. What you always do.” He reached into his fly and brought out his fisted erection. So big. “Six months of your sitting on my lap. Wiggling around and laughing, no idea I wanted to fuck you through a wall. Don’t you dare call me a tease. I’ve been teased. I’m so fucked up, I can’t hear your name without getting hard.”