Follow Me Under

by HELEN HARDT

  Hard.

  Fucking hard.

  I cry out at the pleasure-pain. “Marking you.” He pants against my flesh. “You’re mine.”

  My hand trails to my bare neck. He removed the diamond choker after our first time at the club. “The collar…” I say.

  “Not enough. Not enough to make you mine.” He lifts me then, right over his shoulder as if I’m a sack of potatoes. He nearly throws me on the bed. “The feelings I have for you are strong. So strong.”

  “I have strong feelings for you too, Braden.”

  He shakes his head, threads his fingers through his disheveled hair. “No. You don’t understand. They’re…disturbing.”

  He’s used that word before. I don’t want to disturb him.

  “Braden…”

  “No! Don’t talk. Don’t tell me what I’m feeling is normal, that it’s okay. Fuck!”

  Then a sound comes from his throat. It’s not a groan or a growl. No. It’s more like… More like…

  A roar.

  He picks up one of the parfait glasses filled with chocolate mousse. “I’ll take you to New York, Skye. I’ll take you back to the club, because the truth is, I want it, too. I want it more than you can possibly imagine. The timing sucks. I’ll have to rearrange some things. But I’ll do it. I’ll do it because I’ll do fucking anything to make sure you never cry like that again.”

  “I can’t promise that—”

  “Quiet! I told you not to talk!”

  I press my lips together.

  He sticks one finger into the chocolate and then holds it to my lips. “Taste.”

  I lick the rich sweetness from him and savor its creaminess.

  Then he kisses me—an openmouthed kiss where he swirls his tongue over my teeth and gums and then releases me.

  “Delicious,” he says. “Rich, creamy, dark. But not nearly as delicious as you are.”

  My body throbs.

  “I’m going to paint you with mousse and then lick it off you.”

  “The bedding. It will—”

  “No talking! Do you think I care about the bedding? It can be cleaned. It can be replaced. Right now, I need you, Skye. I want to eat your chocolate mousse off your beautiful body, and I mean to do it.”

  I lie flat and close my eyes.

  “Oh, no,” he says. “You keep your eyes open. You’re going to watch everything I do to you.” He scoops out more mousse with his fingers and paints it over each of my nipples.

  They were already hard, but the coolness of the mousse combined with the heat of Braden’s fingers makes them strain farther. Braden hovers over me, his lips close to my nipple. I arch my back, trying to make the chocolate-laden nipple reach his lips.

  Still, he teases me. Makes me want him even more.

  And of course, that’s what he’s trying to do.

  “You’re fucking beautiful,” he says. “Love your tits.” Finally, he licks the mousse off one nipple.

  “Oh God…”

  “No talking,” he growls against my flesh.

  I strain forward, undulating my hips, trying to reach his tongue again.

  He nibbles on the other nipple, licking away the chocolate and then sucking my nipple between his lips. I moan, my pussy aching. Friction. I need friction on my clit, but I can’t find it. His dick is hard, but it’s between my thighs as he sucks my nipples.

  And oh, he’s a god at sucking my nipples.

  My whole body is blazing, aching, yearning for more, more, more…

  He scoops out more dessert, this time onto my abdomen, and then he licks it off, each stroke of his tongue sending me further into a heated frenzy.

  He’s so close… So close to my clit.

  Finally, he covers my pussy in mousse, the heat of my body melting it onto the covers. But if he doesn’t care, why should I?

  “I can’t imagine anything making you taste better than you already do, but let’s see.”

  He dives in, sucking the chocolate off me, pulling at my folds with his lips and teeth, shoving his tongue deep inside me. Then licking down farther still, where the mousse has trickled over my asshole.

  I shiver.

  Is tonight the night?

  “No,” he says against my flesh, as if reading my mind. “We’ll save that for New York.”

  I’m both relieved and disappointed, but those emotions flee as he eats me, swirling his tongue around my clit and then shoving it inside my heat.

  He plunders me, devours me, all the while I chase the peak that eludes me. I reach upward to grasp the rungs of the headboard.

  Even unbound, I want to be bound. Want to be laid out for Braden’s pleasure.

  Not want. Need.

  “God, delicious,” he murmurs against my flesh. “I could eat you forever.”

  My fists clench around the wood, and when he nips my clit, I let go and fly, tingles shooting in toward my core and then outward, through my fingertips, taking me on the wild ride I’ve become accustomed to—the climax only Braden can give me.

  I moan. I shout. Not in words but in pure emotion.

  Vaguely, I’m aware of Braden crawling upward, kissing my nipples, my chest, my neck.

  Then his cock is inside me, and he’s thrusting, pumping, making glorious love to me as my climax continues.

  Still I grasp the headboard, my bindings only Braden’s will or my own. I don’t know which, because they’re bound together. His will and mine.

  He meets my gaze, our eyes locked, as sweat protrudes from his forehead, making his dark hair stick to his face.

  “I love you, Skye,” he pants. “I fucking love you.”

  Chapter Forty-Eight

  His words heal me, in a subtle way. Though I feel them, I can’t return them.

  He’s forbidden me to speak, and he’s in control here.

  The misery of the day still lingers, but those words, in the throes of passion, were difficult for Braden.

  I know this. I respect this.

  He thrusts harshly and stays embedded in me, and as my climax slows, I feel every pulse of his.

  He rolls over. Still, I grasp the rungs of the headboard, though I long to curl into his arms.

  His breath slows after a few minutes, and he turns to me.

  Still, I don’t speak.

  “We have another serving of dessert,” he says.

  I don’t respond.

  His lips curve upward slightly. “You may speak now.”

  I loosen my fingers from the headboard and wiggle them, gaining circulation. “Yes, we do. Do I get to eat it off you this time?”

  He growls. Seriously growls. “Normally I’d take you up on that, but I have something else in mind. Excuse me for a minute.” He rises, wraps a robe around his gorgeous body, picks up the second serving of mousse, and leaves the room.

  I smile and stare at the ceiling, the fresh spackle from the now-missing harness still a stark white against the buff paint. Funny that he hasn’t painted over that yet.

  A few minutes later, Braden opens the door. “Our dinner is here.”

  Oddly, I’m famished. I haven’t gotten any mousse other than what I tasted on Braden’s tongue. I rise and find my robe in the bathroom. A look in the mirror is a heinous reminder of the day. My eyes are still red and swollen. How can he stand to look at me?

  I erase the thought as well as I can and head to the kitchen to join Braden.

  I inhale. Spicy.

  “I had Christopher get us Cajun,” Braden says. “It won’t be as good as yours, but at least we can sort of have the dinner you planned.”

  The thought of my ruined dinner almost makes me burst into tears again, but Braden’s sweet gesture chases the tears away. “That was a nice thought.”

  “I decided against shrimp étouffée, though. I want the
next shrimp étouffée I taste to be yours. I got crawfish étouffée and gumbo with andouille. I hope you like it.”

  “It smells wonderful. Will the wine you chose still work?”

  “Absolutely. It’s already opened. Would you like a glass?”

  I nod dreamily, and he pours two glasses and hands one to me.

  “To…possibilities,” he says.

  I clink my glass to his and ponder the message of his toast.

  Possibilities…

  Not probabilities but possibilities.

  I like it.

  Anything is possible.

  Somehow I’ll mend my relationship with Tessa. I’ll redeem myself after today’s half-assed post for Susie. One day I’ll prepare shrimp étouffée for Braden without ruining it.

  It’s all possible.

  And tomorrow, I’ll be back in New York.

  Back in the club.

  Where truly, anything is possible.

  I follow Braden to the dining room, where the table is still set for the dinner I prepared. He gestures me to sit down. We quietly fill our plates.

  The meal is delicious. Probably far superior to what I made. The thought bothers me a little, but only a little.

  I’m feeling better.

  I’m feeling loved.

  Braden is silent as he eats, his gaze never leaving me.

  I learned something about him tonight. My sadness gets to him. Really gets to him. The thought warms me as well as chills me. I don’t want him to ever feel bad, and tonight he felt bad because I did.

  He opened up to me tonight, perhaps more so than he ever has.

  Much of him is still a closed book, but tonight I got a glimpse of one page, at least.

  We clean our plates, and Braden rises, taking them to the kitchen. He returns with the remaining chocolate mousse and a spoon.

  He sits. “Come here.” He points to his lap.

  I warm all over. Have I ever sat on his lap before? I don’t think so. Braden is a wonderful man, but he’s not much for offering that kind of solace. The way he comforted me in the kitchen earlier was definitely off-brand for him, as is this.

  I don’t hesitate. I rise and go to him, eager to please him, even more eager to embrace the comfort of his lap.

  I sit down on his hard thighs.

  He takes a spoonful of the chocolate mousse and holds it to my lips. “You haven’t gotten to taste much of your confection yet. Try it.”

  I open my mouth and let the creamy mousse sit on my tongue for a moment before I close my eyes and swallow.

  “You’re a good cook,” he says.

  “Thank you. I wish you could have—”

  He presses two fingers to my lips. “It doesn’t matter. You’ll make it again sometime. You can make it when we go to New York if you’d like.”

  New York. Just the thought has tingles rushing through me. “I’d like that.”

  “We never have to leave the building if you don’t want to.”

  I widen my eyes but then quickly remember that the club is in the lower level of his building. “That would be amazing.”

  He feeds me another spoonful of the mousse. “I want to give you what you need, Skye, just as you give me what I need.”

  Control. He needs it, and though I have a limited understanding of why, I still don’t know the whole story.

  Right now, though, I’m so relaxed, I don’t care. I just let the mousse slide down my throat and make me happy.

  “Aren’t you going to eat any?” I ask.

  “I ate an entire serving from your body.” He takes a spoonful. “But if you insist.”

  “You’re some kind of wonderful,” I say.

  He doesn’t respond, just feeds me another spoon of chocolate.

  Have I made him uncomfortable? He’s never told me I’m wonderful. But he has told me he loves me. That’s better.

  He is wonderful, though. No matter what Addison says, no matter what anyone says.

  Braden Black is wonderful. And he’s mine.

  May I be worthy of him.

  Chapter Forty-Nine

  I text Tessa the next morning.

  I’m going to New York with Braden for a few days. She responds succinctly.

  Have fun.

  Do I respond? I want to tell her how much she means to me, how much I’m aching because things aren’t right between us. How I’ll do anything to end this “breakup.”

  But those things don’t belong in a text. I should call.

  Hmm. Those things don’t really belong in a phone call, either. I should go over to see her, but I can’t. Braden and I are headed to the airport in a few minutes.

  I sigh. A phone call it is, then. Before I can place the call, though, someone calls me.

  Betsy.

  “Hi, Betsy,” I say into the phone.

  “Hey, Skye. I’m sorry to bother you so early on a Sunday morning.”

  “That’s okay. What’s up?”

  “Tessa spent the night at my place last night,” she says. “She’s a mess.”

  My heart sings. Does this mean she’s as upset about our break as I am? I hate the thought of her being in pain, but I want her back so badly. “Is she okay?”

  “She’ll be fine. She drank too much, and then she…”

  Worry tugs at me. “What? Then she what?”

  “She got some ecstasy from a guy at the club.”

  My blood runs cold. “What? Tessa doesn’t do drugs.”

  “I know. I tried to stop her.”

  “Obviously you didn’t try hard enough.” My words are cruel, I know, but I’m pissed as hell. I’d have been able to stop her.

  “Skye, I did. I did everything except knock her unconscious. She was determined. The good news is, I don’t think she’ll ever do it again. She’s fried this morning.”

  “I’m sorry,” I say. “I shouldn’t have said what I did. Does Tessa need to see a doctor?”

  “I asked, and she said no. She’s alert and seems to be herself now. Just tired and achy and feels like shit.”

  “She responded to my text,” I say, “so I guess you’re right. She’s lucid. I’m coming over.”

  “No, Skye. She specifically doesn’t want to see you.”

  “I don’t care.”

  “Please don’t. It will just make things worse right now.”

  “Why? Why did she do this? This is so off-brand for her. She likes to drink, no doubt, and overdoes it on occasion, but drugs? She’s always said no.”

  “She’s pretty broken up about how things went down between the two of you. Plus Garrett told her yesterday that he doesn’t want to get serious with her.”

  “Why should that upset her? Tessa’s never been serious with a guy in her life.”

  “She was with Garrett. She thought she was falling in love.”

  She did? How did I not know this about my best friend?

  Have I been that out of touch?

  My heart breaks a little. “Betsy, I’m so sorry.”

  “It’s not your fault. You guys had a fight. It happens. She’s feeling left out of this new life of yours.”

  “Then you’re wrong,” I say. “It is my fault.”

  “Don’t do that to yourself. You didn’t intentionally leave her out.”

  “No,” I say, “I didn’t, but that makes it almost worse, in a way. I didn’t think.”

  “I didn’t call to make you feel bad. I just knew you’d want to know.”

  I sigh. “Yeah. Thanks, Betsy.”

  “You’re going through your own stuff right now. I get it.”

  “I am, but that’s no excuse. As soon as we hang up, I’ll call Tess.”

  “No, don’t. Then she’ll know I called you, and while she didn’t tell me not to, she doesn’t wa
nt to talk to anyone right now. She made that very clear.”

  My throat hurts—that feeling when you want to cry but can’t. “Not even me?”

  “‘Especially not Skye or Garrett’ were her exact words.”

  I sigh again. “I’ve really blown it.”

  “Like I said, you’re going through your own stuff. I didn’t call you to put a guilt trip on you. Honestly.”

  “I know that. It’s just… Things have been so out of control. I’ve had several major life changes within the last month. I’m not trying to make excuses. I just…”

  I don’t know who I am anymore.

  I can’t say the words. I couldn’t say them to Tessa, and I can’t say them to Betsy.

  Why is my identity so wrapped up in others all of a sudden?

  I’m more than the sum of my parts. Aren’t I?

  I’m not just Tessa’s best friend.

  I’m not just Addison Ames’s ex-assistant.

  I’m not just a budding influencer, the new face of Susanne’s discount line.

  And…

  I’m not just Braden Black’s girlfriend.

  “It will work out,” Betsy says.

  Will it?

  I’m not sure.

  But in a few minutes, Christopher is driving Braden and me to the airport, where we’ll take his jet to New York.

  Everything will work out once I’m back in New York.

  I’ll be whole again.

  Won’t I?

  Fuck, I don’t even know anymore.

  “Tell Tessa…”

  “Tell her what?” Betsy asks.

  “Just tell her… Tell her I love her. I’m sorry. I’ve got to go.”

  “Okay. Don’t worry. I’ll take care of her. She’s going to be all right.”

  “Thanks.” I end the call.

  Tessa will be all right. With or without me, she’ll be fine. This was just a blip on the radar for her. The Tessa I know will realize she did an out-of-character thing and will vow to never do it again. She’ll also realize she doesn’t need Garrett Ramirez or any man. That she’s just fine on her own.

  I’ve witnessed it. She’s pulled herself up before, and she’ll do it again.

  I just wish I were there to help her through it.

  It’s what besties do. We help each other. We eat Ben and Jerry’s together and commiserate. We tell each other that Garrett Ramirez—or whoever—is a piece of shit who isn’t worth our time. We vow never to repeat the ill-advised behavior we engaged in.