by Zara Cox
I swallow another moan when it flows from her throat. The first rush of her pre-orgasmic wetness intensifies my insanity. Triggers my own fatalistic crash.
“God. Elyse!”
“I’m coming.” She moans harder.
“Yes! Give it to me.”
Her fingers claw into my hair, her body rolling and twisting beneath the whiplash of love and lust. It’s a blessing and a privilege to watch. I slam into her one last time and shamelessly absorb every convulsion and ripple that spells her ultimate pleasure.
“Quinn…Oh!”
“You’re so beautiful when you come, baby,” I mutter raggedly against her lips, already lost in my impending climax. “I want to make it last for you.”
“Come inside me.”
I intended to do that anyway but the invitation is like a fuse to my balls. They tighten and jerk up, and I explode like a firecracker. “Fuck, yes.” The sensation of drenching her, of triggering another climax with her blackens my vision. The only tangible thing is her, in my arms. I hang on, fighting for breath, pleading for mercy and blessings I don’t deserve.
Because the crack I felt a little while ago is widening, forcing out insane possibilities like belief. Hope.
Maybe this all doesn’t have to end just yet.
Maybe this fucked-up version of love can sustain us a little longer.
Maybe I can learn from her how to love her better.
My vision clears as my mind wrestles with the possibilities.
“Are you okay?” her soft voice asks.
“Am I okay?”
“Hmm. Your eyes are closed. You never close your eyes this long. It’s scary, actually.”
I feel another grin tug at my mouth. “Maybe I don’t want to open my eyes and see how badly you’ve ruined my suit.”
“Just your suit? You’ve ruined me, Mr. Blackwood.”
I open my eyes and stare down at her perfect face. “Quinn, please. Mr. Blackwood has left the building now that he’s achieved his fantasy of fucking Elly the Waitress.”
Her nose wrinkles before she bursts out laughing. The sound forces that crack of possibilities wider open in me, and before I know it, I’m laughing too.
We laugh and kiss and hold each other tighter. After a moment, she sobers. “I should’ve told you about Dr. Freeman. I’m sorry.”
“Yes. You should have. But it’s okay. Is that why you came here? Was this all to make it up to me?”
“Partly. But I came mostly because my man bared his supposedly nonexistent soul to me this morning, and I wanted to give him something back.”
I lower my head and taste her lips again. “Does that make you happy, when your man bares his…himself to you?”
She nods. “What you said touched me. But I know it troubled you to admit it too. I want us to get to a place where admitting our vulnerabilities to each other doesn’t have to be painful.”
“And you think the good doctor can get us there?”
Her eyes widen as they stare into mine, and I know she hears the possibilities I feel. “I think it wouldn’t hurt to let him help us work toward that goal.”
I kiss her again before I lay my forehead against hers. “Okay.”
Her breath catches. “Okay?”
“Don’t make me repeat myself, woman.”
She blinks rapidly but I still see the sheen in her eyes. “I love you.”
“That’s great, sweetheart, but my suit is still ruined. And it’s still the middle of my fucking workday.”
The smart comeback I expect doesn’t happen.
“Oh God.”
I tense. “What?”
“You ripped my dress.”
“Your piece of shit dress,” I clarify.
“How…The rest of my clothes are downstairs. What am I going to wear to get out of here?”
I slide my hands beneath her and lift her off the table. Her pussy clenches around me, and I feel myself harden again as I head across the room. “Maybe I should keep you here, get you to service me a little longer.”
I can tell the idea isn’t entirely displeasing to her. Her legs wrap around me and her fingers tighten in my hair. But still she says, “No, I have things to do.”
“Like?”
“Studying. Homework. Researching the best places to find a job when my training is over.”
“You can come and work for me.”
Surprise jerks through her. “What?”
I stare back at her without responding and try not to be too irritated when she starts to shake her head a minute later. “No. You…I can’t—”
“We’ll talk about it later.” I want nothing to fuck up my sublime mood.
She bites her lip, and I know she wants to press the issue. “Quinn…”
“Later, Elyse.”
I reach the east wall in my office and key in a code. The door springs open and we go through a short corridor.
“Where are you taking me?” she asks.
“You’ll see.”
The executive apartment is small by Blackwood standards, but it has a shower and bedroom and, more importantly, a change of clothes.
“Wow, another apartment?”
I carry her into the shower cubicle and set her down. We both moan as we disengage. She bites her lip again, and I hope it’s because she misses me inside her. My cock is already protesting the separation. I leave her to turn on the shower as I step out and undress. Through the glass, I watch the woman who owns every single piece of me.
When the decision arrives, it’s so fatalistically easy that I wonder how I’ve spent the better part of a year fighting it.
It’s time to stop dicking around. I might hate my surname because of the fucked-up things my father did, but I can’t deny the dominant, survivalist blood that runs through my veins. For as long as Elyse wants me, wants us, I will make this work.
When I step back into the shower, she glances up, and her eyes widen.
“What?”
“You look…scarily determined.”
I slide one hand around her waist and one into her hair. “Good, you need to be scared, because I’m fucking determined to spend every minute from now on making you crazy-happy.”
“Oh my God.”
“Save that awe for when I’m inside you again, baby. You’re going to need it.”
* * *
Elyse
I walk out of Quinn’s office almost two hours after I arrived, wearing his long-sleeved black shirt that thankfully falls to midthigh. It’s cinched at the waist with one of his sleek black leather belts, and underneath I have on a pair of his boxers. He refused to return my bra and panties, but he grudgingly allowed me to put the tights back on. With my lipstick kissed off and my hair slightly damp from our antics in the shower, I look exactly how I feel—a woman thoroughly pounded and set aside wet.
But after what we did on his dining table and in his shower, I’m too happily drained for mortification to register at my attire. Well, almost. Thankfully, we pass only one person in the corridor, and they’re circumspect enough to avert their eyes when they spot their boss’s girlfriend wearing what looks like his clothes. And also, being who he is, of course Quinn has his own private express elevator, which lessens the risk of running into other employees. He pushes me inside, stabs a finger for the basement, and even before the doors slide shut, he’s sinking his fingers into my hair and devouring my lips. His eyes are less haunted, and I can’t help but hope he’s a little less tortured about us. And with his agreement to see Dr. Freeman, I’m even daring to believe we’re turning a corner.
We kiss until the doors slide back open. But still he doesn’t let me go.
“It’s been a privilege and an honor to fuck Elly the Waitress.”
The happiness and laughter that’s been swishing around in my heart since his announcement in the shower breaks free. “I wasn’t just a waitress, you know. I also washed plates and glasses,” I state with mock hauteur.
“Hmm, even sexier. You, myste
rious and alluring and flushed, shrouded in all that steam.”
“Ha, only you would think like that.”
He kisses the corner of my mouth. “Can’t help it. You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. There’s no scenario I can imagine you in that you’re not completely captivating.”
“Keep talking like that and I’ll do something drastic and make you miss your meeting.”
“Keep looking at me like that and I probably won’t make it anyway.” He wraps his arms around me and we stay like that, breathing each other in, listening to each other’s heartbeats, while the elevator doors patiently stay open.
When the beep of a text message sounds, he sighs but keeps holding me. After a minute, it beeps again.
“Dammit.” He reaches into his jacket. He reads the message and slides the phone back into his pocket.
“It’s okay,” I say with a smile.
“It’s not okay. I don’t want to let you go. I miss you too much when you’re not with me.”
I run my fingers over his jaw and mouth because I can’t help it. He’s so damn good-looking that it’s a privilege just to touch him. “But think how awesome the reunion will be tonight. Quiet dinner at home, followed by me for dessert.”
He gives me another of those blinding smiles I’m still getting used to. “I prefer you for every course.”
His phone vibrates a few times in a row, and his smile disappears. Eyes fiercely intent on mine, he slides his arms around me and gathers me into his body. “Thank you for this afternoon, sweetheart. You have no idea how much I needed it.” His kiss tells me how much. We’re both breathless when he lifts his head.
“See you later,” I murmur.
He nods and stays in the elevator when I walk away. I feel his eyes on me until I don’t, and I know he’s gone.
In the locker room, I replace my tights with my jeans but leave Quinn’s shirt on. A quick touch-up of makeup and I’m ready to go. It’s only as I start to head upstairs that I remember I was supposed to alert Lionel when I was ready to leave.
Shit.
I left home in the town car. What are the chances that my stalker would’ve known where I was headed? I pause before reaching for the basement door, torn between playing it safe and the fierce need to not let fear rule my life.
Eventually, I reach for the phone. Lionel answers on the first ring. “I’ve just finished having the car valeted, but there’s a bit of traffic in Midtown. I hope the wait won’t be too inconvenient?”
I make up my mind and head up the stairs. The alley is quiet, and when I reach the street, the feeling of being watched is absent. I breathe a sigh of relief. “It’s fine. Go back home. I’ll take a cab.” Or the subway, which will be even faster.
The driver hesitates. “Respectfully, the boss isn’t going to like that, Miss Gilbert.”
“I’ll deal with it if it comes up, Lionel.”
“Very well, Miss Gilbert.” His slightly clipped tone suggests my subtle hint of I-won’t-mention-it-if-you-don’t didn’t go down well.
When I hang up, I feel a little more in control. But I accept that maybe taking the subway is pushing my luck a little, so I decide on a cab instead. Midafternoon on Wall Street is just as busy as any other time of day. Most of the cabs that race past are occupied. When I spot one half a block away, I nearly dislocate my shoulder throwing out my arm to catch the driver’s attention. Thankfully, he spots me, and I smile in relief when he veers my way.
I reach for the door at the same time as another hand lunges for it. I gasp and jump out of the way to avoid colliding with the sharply dressed man who’s appeared next to me.
“Oh, I think this is mine…” My words trail off when I look at him properly. He’s big. Huge in fact, like he spends his days wrestling dragons. Or moving mountains. The guy is handsome in his own way, but he’s not my type. These days I have only one type—Quinn Blackwood.
I step back, beginning to get a little uncomfortable with the way he’s looking at me. It’s the same way most of the men looked at me back at the Villa. But with an extra layer of something I can’t put my finger on. “You can have it if you want. I’m not in a hurry.”
“What kind of gentleman would I be then? But there’s no reason why we can’t share it. I’m headed to Hell’s Kitchen. You?”
His voice is low, pleasant even, but I take another step back.
“I’m…not. But thanks anyway.” I know my response is borderline rude, but so soon after talking myself out of my fear, I’m wondering if I should’ve waited for Lionel.
The man watches me for another tight, unsettling second, his gray eyes unblinking. Then he pulls and holds the back door open for me. “Finders keepers. Enjoy the rest of your day.”
I get into the cab, and he shuts the door after me. I give the driver my address, and when he moves off, I look out the back window. The stranger is turned away, strolling down the street in search of his own cab. Whatever interest he had in me is probably forgotten. If it was there in the first place.
You’re being paranoid.
I blow out a breath and fight to get my uneven heartbeat under control. Just like when I was on the run, I know the shadows are there, but I’m beginning to see danger everywhere. Plus my emotions aren’t helped by the knowledge that Quinn is still in the dark about my stalker.
Tomorrow can’t come soon enough. I’m going to tell him either way, but it would be awesome to have the reassurance that we’re on firmer ground before I throw another grenade at us.
For the rest of the journey, I mull over the ways to deliver the news when the time comes. None of them end with Quinn calmly accepting news of my stalker. When our apartment building comes into view, I give up thinking about it. I’m relieved to be home, and for the rest of the afternoon, I intend to just chill.
That’s exactly what I do until it’s time to get dinner together. My skills in the kitchen haven’t much improved in the last year, so it’s a good thing the apartment building comes with two Michelin-star chefs who cater exclusively to residents. I order the main course of New York strip steak with salad for Quinn and chicken Parmesan with shaved truffles for myself. Not to feel completely useless, I turn on the oven and slide in a tray of garlic bread before I change into an off-white cotton, flirty jersey dress that stops at midthigh. I leave my hair free and apply a touch of lip gloss to finish off.
By the time Quinn walks through the door, the red wine I selected to go with our meal is open and breathing on the kitchen counter.
I pour two glasses and offer him one when he enters the kitchen. “Hi,” I say with a smile.
He takes the glass but he doesn’t immediate drink. He sets it down, pulls me into his arms, and rubs his nose against mine. “Hello, beautiful. The rest of my afternoon was fucking hell without you.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” I respond with a teasing smile.
“Show me,” he growls.
I wind one arm around his neck and tug him down to me. I press my body to the hard-packed perfection of his, and my mouth to his, sliding my tongue inside his mouth and shamelessly French-kissing the hell out of him. His ragged groan tells me I’ve succeeded. “Better?”
“Barely,” he says, but he draws away to pick up his glass.
“Dinner will be here in ten.”
He nods and takes a drink before his piercing eyes return to my face. My breath catches a little from the sheer beauty of his. And also from the awareness that I’m about to receive a verbal spanking for a transgression.
“Lionel tells me you took a cab home today when you left me,” he starts.
Damn. “Yes, I did. He was stuck in traffic, and I didn’t want to stress him out.”
Quinn’s eyes narrow. “It’s his job to be stressed out about getting you home safely. It’s your job to let that happen so I don’t freak the hell out when I find out. You should’ve waited.”
“I’m here in one piece, baby. And you don’t look particularly freaked out.”
H
is jaw flexes once before he visibly exhales. “Probably because I’m trying very, very hard to be better, Elyse. But some things continue to be nonnegotiable. Your safety is one of them. Tell me you get that. Please.”
His solemn tone kills any argument I intended to mount, even as guilt burns fiercer. “Yes, Quinn. I get it.”
“Good.” He sips his wine again and then drags me close. “I need one more kiss, please.”
“Just one?”
“It’ll do for starters. But I reserve the right to demand a fuck-load more of it when it pleases me.”
“Yes, sir,” I reply, and shamelessly pucker up.
He chuckles and then pounces on my lips once more. He tastes of wine and man and everything I desire in this world.
We’re still kissing when the buzzer announces the arrival of our meal. The scheming look Quinn sends me when he lifts his head suggests he’s thinking of postponing dinner.
I playfully push him away. Or attempt to anyway. “No way. I’m starving.”
He smacks my ass. “You’re always starving. You’d think I don’t feed you enough.”
“What can I say? You’re awesome for my appetite.”
His gorgeous smile disperses the last of the slightly tense issue of me taking the cab. He goes to get the door while I save the garlic bread from a singed death.
Dinner is eaten in the kitchen over casual conversation and the remainder of the excellent bottle of Bordeaux. We make plans for the weekend, which I’m thrilled to hear includes a night of dinner and dancing at XYNYC, the nightclub Quinn silently partners with his friend Axel Rutherford.
We’ve gotten to know Axel and his pregnant girlfriend, Cleo, over the last six months. The guy is almost as intense as Quinn, and I wondered at first whether they would remain friends. But their dynamic seems to work, and I enjoy Cleo’s company, although at almost full term in her pregnancy, I haven’t seen much of her lately.