by Tessa Bailey
The flesh between Abby’s thighs felt heavy . . . ready. An electric line sizzled, connecting her nipples to that sensitive spot Russell had once licked so expertly. She wanted him to do it again . . . but some untapped piece of her was stricken by his pain. More so than she wanted pleasure, she wanted to give it. The closer he came, the more her anger at him fell into a distant second place behind eagerness to relieve him. Had he really been so miserable in her presence for so long?
Russell brushed up against her, looming so large, she felt intimidated . . . and liked it? No, she loved his staring down from above, deciding what to do with her. To her. Loved knowing that Russell would decide her fate. Through the burning anticipation, though, she saw worry simmering behind his fierce expression. Knew he’d need to be pushed. Just a little more.
He leaned down and spoke, his lips moving on her forehead. “Apologize for teasing me.”
I’m sorry. So sorry. “No.”
His growl vibrated against her skull. “I don’t know what you’re waking up here.” The torture lacing his tone ripped at her heart, but she stayed silent, waiting for him to speak. “What if it scares you, angel?”
Abby tilted her head back to meet his blazing eyes. “What if it doesn’t?”
A muscle jumped in his cheek, and she witnessed a change come over him. Saw his energy shift and change shape, hardening in some places, softening in others. It didn’t alarm her, though.
No, it felt like she’d been waiting for this side of him to arrive.
Moving so fast, Abby barely had time to register what was happening, Russell grabbed her wrists, positioned them at the small of her back, and—oh God—tied them together with the mangled bikini top. His lack of gentleness and absolute focus on the task turned Abby’s need on its head, whipping the already raging inferno into a frenzied, five-alarm barn burner. Need this. Love this.
“You’ve done it now.” He jerked one of the ties, making the material tighten around her wrists. “I might have been able to handle it, too. Go forever just letting you tease me. So long as I could look at you, talk to you, watch you sleep. Now I hurt everywhere. It’s everywhere, and it’ll never go away.”
“I’ll fix it.” Logic didn’t apply to this conversation, only intuition. A unique communication that only flowed between her and Russell. “Show me how.”
Finished with the task of securing her hands, Russell’s touch found his erection again and gripped the base. “Fucking hell, Abby. Look at you. I’m done being noble.” He sucked his bottom lip into his mouth, let it go with a slow pop. “The ache is down low. If you want to fix it, get on your knees and go find it.”
As if her strings had been cut, Abby dropped to her knees, thrusting out her breasts for him to look at. A rush of excitement and power suffocated any remaining nerves. This was her secret fantasy come to life . . . and she could admit now that Russell’s face had always been obscured in those daydreams. But she’d known it would be him. She’d known.
He eased closer, held the tip of his arousal just above her mouth. “What do I want to hear?”
“I’m sorry for teasing you,” she whispered.
His left hand threaded its way into her hair, the action uneven and desperate. “You know there’s absolutely nothing you could do that would be wrong, don’t you?” Biting his lip, he ran the smooth head across the seam of her lips. “You could lap at it like a kitten, and I’d come like the dirty motherfucker I am.”
Okay. Abby hadn’t lived with two sex-crazed roommates for half a year without hearing a few things. She knew how to give head even if she hadn’t physically performed the act. Deep. Deeper. All of it. Please. She’d heard those very words being growled through closed doors in the apartment when she shouldn’t have been listening beyond the initial groan. But those frantic instructions had clued her in on the right way to please a man. And she planned on doing it right the first time.
Abby rubbed her cheek against Russell’s grip. When even that simple action almost buckled his knees, liquid warmth gathered between her thighs. A beating started all over her body. A simultaneous, rhythmic pumping of blood. Unable to wait another second, Abby pushed forward on her knees, took Russell between her lips, and sucked the thick, round head. Inched lower with an easy glide. Then descended as far as she could take him.
“Abby.” The hand in her hair turned to a fist. “Goddamn. That mouth isn’t a tease, is it? Wants to satisfy me. Good. Good little mouth.”
Knowing her mouth had fostered that reaction, those rasped words, sent her slipping into a place of blurred reality. The harder he pulled the strands of her hair, the more pronounced the tug in her belly became, forcing Abby to rub her thighs together, seeking friction. Oh God, was it possible to have an orgasm from hearing a man moan your name? Not just any man. Russell.
“I kept it for you, Abby. All for you.” His hand started to stroke in time with Abby’s mouth and impossibly, his erection thickened even more. The added girth only made her more determined to take him deeper. So she did, forcing her throat to relax and allow him entry. “Ahhh, fuck. You making up for lost time, angel? All that teasing you did?” He slipped deeper and let out a low growl. “Damn right, you are. It was worth the pain, wasn’t it? Worth it to see your cheeks hollowing out, feel that purr at the back of your throat. I’m going to love sexing up that virgin mouth.”
His voice cracked on the final word, his hard length jerking in her mouth. She had no time to prepare as Russell pulled out, dropped to the floor, and spun her around. After what happened in his house that afternoon during the week, she expected him to release on her backside, but he didn’t. Instead, one strong arm banded around her shoulders and yanked her backwards, into a prone position, so she lay on top of him, with her back to his chest, tied hands flattened between their bodies.
“R-Russell—”
“Open your legs,” he grated.
Her body moved to obey his command, heels digging into the floor on either side of him. She felt his forearm flexing beneath her right thigh as it moved between his legs, working the erection she’d so recently pleasured with her mouth. Up and down in a blurred motion until liquid warmth landed on her belly, lower. Beneath her, she could feel Russell’s muscles bulging against her back and bottom, his breaths catching and rasping at her ear.
“You sucked it so good, Abby. Made me come so fucking hard. All over you.” His hips bucked beneath hers. “Let anyone but me see your body? I can’t. I can’t.”
“Okay . . . it’s okay,” she gasped, attempting to catch her breath. She never got the chance. Russell’s fingers delved between her thighs, using the moisture from his own body to coat her center, make her slippery. Abby’s back arched on a muffled scream, the sensation of coarse touching smooth blowing her mind. She’d been so focused on Russell’s pleasure, she’d lost sight of her own needs, but they wouldn’t be ignored now. Her feet scraped on the floor as two rough fingers became her entire universe. They circled her clitoris, pressed and held, slid down the sides and pinched, circled again. Faster.
Abby’s body writhed on top of Russell’s stronger, more powerful one, but the arm banding her shoulders only tightened to keep her still.
“Ahhh. Now I know, don’t I?” His voice rumbled at her neck, making her shiver. “I know when you mouth off and push me, you need your pussy taken care of. That’s my job. My privilege. Next time just ask like a good girl.”
Her climax was blinding, the buildup of frustration she’d only been aware of peripherally, rolled off her in a tidal wave. Flesh quaked, hands scrambled for purchase, as the tension within her was obliterated. “Russell, Russell, Russell . . .”
“I’m here,” he murmured. “If you’re coming, angel, it’s a foregone conclusion that I’m there every fucking time. Understood?”
“Yes,” she sobbed, collapsing back onto his chest. “Every time.”
Russell kissed the side of her face, holding her close as he moved them into a sitting position, Abby between his outstret
ched legs. His heart thundered against her back, bringing a drowsy smile to her face. Whatever questions lay between them, wasn’t their equally erratic heartbeats the most important answer? Russell had a dominant side—was that the reason he’d been keeping her at arm’s length? She couldn’t wait to tell him how ridiculous that was. It had all become clear since he’d entered the room. Since the beginning, that part of him—the gruff, commanding, often angry part—had attracted her. His stern manner, his protective nature. All of it. Knowing it was darker and even more demanding didn’t repel her in the least. Oh no. On the contrary. She wanted to be drawn into the eye of his storm and spun madly. The counterpoint to his nature had been right there inside her, she’d just been waiting for him to act. Waiting to put a name to the urges and sensual imagery in her head but not knowing if they were normal. They were. And Russell’s own needs intersected them. Thank God, she didn’t have to wait any more for answers.
“Russell—”
A knock sounded on the door, followed by Honey’s muffled voice. “Hey, Abby. You fall asleep or something? Wouldn’t be surprised after that belt of tequila.” A beat passed. “Have you seen Russell? Ben says he’s touring the perimeter, looking for Abby-specific hazards.” Another round of silence, this one infinitely more uncomfortable than the prior one. “Okay, last chance to get decent, I’m coming in.”
Abby started to call out that there was no need, she’d be down in a second. But Russell started to untie her hands, his movements jerky. When the task was completed, he surged to his feet and strode toward the bathroom, the sudden distance she felt yawning between them catching her off guard. As he closed the door behind him without even looking back or making an iota of sound, Abby could only sit huddled on the floor, positive her heart had just been ironed flat.
Chapter 12
RUSSELL BALLED HIS fists on the white-marble sink and breathed through the compulsion to shatter the bathroom mirror. Looking at his reflection was unbearable, but it was a laughable degree of misery compared to what followed when Abby’s soft voice drifted through the door, telling Honey she was fine and would be downstairs in a few minutes. She sounded anything but fine, and it was on his head. Sat there like an eight-ton elephant.
An image of Abby sitting on the bedroom floor by herself assaulted his mind, and Russell dry heaved, deflating onto the sink. He’d panicked out there. Just panicked. He’d heard Honey outside the door and thought, This is it, once our friends know, she’ll be stuck. He still believed that with his whole heart. Abby was so loyal. She would never leave his side once their relationship was acknowledged even if it was the right thing to do.
There was an even more sickening scenario, though, and it had propelled him toward the bathroom like a man shot from a cannon. If he didn’t get the business loan, if the officer took one look at his no–college degree, no–accomplishment, no–savings account ass and laughed in his face, he would do the right thing and walk away from Abby. No way in hell would he leave her scorned in the eyes of her best friends. Jesus, walking away would be hard enough without embarrassing her in the process.
And for Chrissakes, the pressure to succeed once they were officially boyfriend and girlfriend might kill him. He already felt halfway to dead, just knowing she sat a few yards away, probably wondering if she’d done something wrong, when she’d done everything so fucking right. But his feet were leaden, refusing to carry him those few yards to permanently claim the future he couldn’t have but had come too close to stealing. He’d never make it a day for the rest of his life without replaying what they’d done. Abby, hands tied behind her back, that enthusiastic mouth perfect on him. So perfect. Big, hazel eyes glued on him, back arched, tits swaying as she moved. Sucked. Ruined him.
The way she’d accepted his impulses without question, the way she’d seemed turned on by them . . . resisting the compulsion to explore became harder by the minute.
What if it scares you, angel?
What if it doesn’t?
Was he corrupting her and hurting her at the same time? Was there an end to the damage he was capable of here?
He had memories of his parents’ marriage, going back to when he’d been a small child. His mother laying her head on his father’s shoulder at the dinner table. His parents leaving them with a babysitter for a few hours, then coming back through the front door laughing. But somewhere along the line, it had all gone to shit. He remembered it perfectly. There had been a tangible shift in the air, sometime around his ninth birthday. Remodeling work had slowed down for his father. His mother had started drinking. Lines formed around her mouth. Angry lines. The family had stopped having dinner together, eating whatever they could scavenge individually from the refrigerator. Sometimes his mother didn’t come home at all, sending his father on a drinking binge.
A sharp pain hit Russell right between the eyes at the mere thought of Abby’s being with him but wishing for someone better. Abby could never be unfaithful; she simply didn’t have it in her blood. But she had the potential to marry someone who wouldn’t need to work at all. Ever. Someone just like her, who didn’t need to work unless he damn well felt like it. Abby and this rich, imaginary dickwad could travel and have nannies. Gifted children. Parties in fucking Southampton. Until he’d seen the estate, Abby’s wealth had been like an open umbrella he’d been carrying around, but walking into this house had snapped it closed around his head. He couldn’t even see where he was going now, it was so in his face.
What the hell did she need with him? A dirt-poor, uncultured asshole from Queens who—in a delightful twist—also liked to tie her up. Hold her down. Make her beg. Things he’d only ever wanted to do with Abby. Before the day she’d walked out onto her building’s stoop, he’d been with girls and never felt the desire for more than hard, fast sex. There’d been no need for control—not like the kind Abby made him crave. The goodness in her, the total trust when she looked up at him, had roused something powerful, and it continued to grow and strengthen. He wanted that trust everywhere. In bed and out. Always focused on him. It surprised him beyond belief that now she seemed to enjoy what they did, but she might stop one day. Realize she deserved to be cherished. Not manhandled or sent to her knees to find the ache.
Russell pushed away from the sink with a sound of disgust. One thing was for sure. They needed to talk. He needed to find a way to assure Abby that he was the fucked-up one in this situation. Not her. Never her. Yeah . . . she needed to know that now.
He took a breath to brace himself, just in case he found her still sitting on the floor. But when he opened the door, the room was empty.
“Fuck.”
A part of Russell he wasn’t proud of calmed somewhat when he spotted the shredded gold bikini in the wastebasket, but an urgency still existed to get eyes on Abby. Make her look him in the eye when he apologized for walking away without a word. After the trust she’d given him, his behavior was a ten on the shitty meter.
Soon. She’ll understand soon.
Russell went across the hall and changed quickly into an old pair of board shorts and a Yankees T-shirt, snorting at his choice of attire in the Hamptons. He wouldn’t be winning any fashion contests today, thank God.
After pausing several times on the way down the staircase to stare at pictures of Abby growing up, Russell finally walked out onto the back patio, where Louis was already barbecuing hot dogs. His gaze sought out Abby where she lounged beside the adjacent pool with Honey and Roxy, taking in every detail about her in a sweeping head-to-toe check. Her hair was more mussed than usual, her lips slightly swollen. Gorgeous. It pained him when she didn’t look up, didn’t acknowledge him, but he’d more than earned that treatment.
“You hungry?” Louis asked, looking completely at home in a pair of Ray-Bans and some deck shoes. “How about a well-done wiener?”
“What?” Russell heard his defensive tone and reeled back his attitude. Something about grilled-wiener talk right on the heels of a blow job didn’t sit right with a man. “U
h. Yeah . . . well-done.”
Ben managed to pry his attention away from a bathing-suit-clad Honey. “Find any booby traps around the estate?”
“Pretty sure I’m not the one who’s fallen into a booby trap, bro.”
“Guilty as charged,” Ben said, and went back to staring at his girlfriend.
Feeling Louis’s perceptive-lawyer antenna pointed in his direction, Russell managed not to devour the sight of Abby in a sexy, black one-piece. Modest by most people’s standards but not by his. His hands itched with the need to bundle her up in a beach towel and carry her back upstairs, but he forced himself to relax as much as possible. His friends weren’t capable of looking anywhere but at their girlfriends, so they were on neutral ground. Now, should the super group decide on the beach as their destination tomorrow, he’d have a shiny, new battle on his hands, wouldn’t he?
“Hey, uh. Russell—”
“I just want to preempt whatever you’re going to say with this,” Russell said to Louis. “You look like an Abercrombie & Fitch advertisement. In a very real way.”
Louis gestured with his tongs. “You’re being defensive. That means you did something stupid. Tell me what it is while we’re alone.”
“I’m here, too,” Ben chimed in.
“That’s debatable.” Louis turned his back to the girls and lowered his voice. “As your attorney, I’ll do my best to advise you.”
“And protect your own ass,” Russell added. “Anyway, you gave me a refund, in case you forgot.”
“That was a symbolic refund. I can claim plausible deniability if push comes to shove, but we’re still protected by the bro code.” Louis gave him a meaningful look. “Has push come to . . . shove?”
“I don’t know what we’re talking about anymore.”
“Me either.” Ben threw an exhale toward the sky. “Just tell us why Abby came out here looking like someone ran over her puppy.”