Inarticulate

by Eden Summers

  She released her arms from his neck, her legs from his waist, and leaned backward, swimming away. He stalked her with his eyes, watching her swim as if his focus was glued to her with an invisible string. He didn’t come after her, which made it worse. There was no rejection, only a slowly building determination.

  Soon, he would pounce. He would dash after her, making her scream, making her squirm. His lips kicked, plaguing her with painful arrhythmia. She didn’t like anticipation, not when it came from a confident man like Keenan. No. She loved it. She thrived on it. She wanted to breathe deep of his cockiness and never forget how it made her feel.

  A clatter of sound came from behind her, and Keenan’s attention darted to the penthouse. She froze, the hairs on the back of her neck lifting in a wave of panic. He was focused on something, or someone, and she chanced a glance over her shoulder to see two people inside.

  Oh, shit. Her gaze cut to Keenan and he held up a hand to calm her, casual yet authoritative. She shot another look inside, taking in details. The two men were dressed in a uniform. Hotel staff. Room service. They were laying out plates along the dining table.

  Keenan approached. One of his hands wove around her waist, the other gripped her jaw and brought her face back to meet his. There was understanding in his eyes, a steely determination that said he knew she was petrified and he wouldn’t let anything happen to her.

  “If I’m caught here—”

  He leaned in, his lips brushing hers, careful and delicate. Each sweep was a placation, every swipe of his tongue told her that he would protect her. When they broke apart, she chanced another glance over her shoulder, to find the main area of the penthouse abandoned.

  “They’re gone?” She turned back to those gorgeous eyes and measured her relieved sigh when he nodded. “Good.” Now she could breathe.

  Almost.

  His lips took command again, sweeping her up in relief and morphing it into lust. A rough palm grazed down her back, underneath her waistband and around her bottom. She stiffened, knowing it wasn’t right, not when they were outside, exposed. But it was a battle her common sense couldn’t win. She was defeated by hunger, unable to think straight through her unquenchable appetite.

  She whimpered, clinging to his shoulders to gain control. “We need to go inside.”

  He walked her backward and leaned her into the pool wall. His touch descended, that naughty hand in her panties reaching further to brush right where she wanted him to.

  She squeezed her eyes shut at the rush of blood that drained from her face and settled between her thighs. His stubble grazed her jaw, his lips skimmed her neck. He inched closer, chest to chest, and his fingertips breached her entrance, the teasing, torturous touch increasing her desire and frustration in equal measure.

  “How do you do it?” she whispered. “How do you continue to wordlessly convince me to do things I know I shouldn’t be doing?”

  She ground into him, her clit against his erection. His fingers sank deeper, twisting, pulsing. She gasped, over and over, her nails digging into his skin. His other hand skimmed the curve of her breast. He lifted the cup of her bra, molding the flesh in his hand, and tweaked her nipple with his thumb.

  She’d been born for this moment. The world existed for the pleasure he gave her. There was no rhyme or reason… Well, the reason was his deliriously good looks and skilled hands. But what she felt for him went above and beyond that. There was so much emotion building inside her.

  “What are you doing to me?” she whispered.

  Her core clamped down on his fingers and she froze as her orgasm hit. She mewled into his neck, losing the battle to remain quiet, and sank her teeth into his flesh.

  She was that woman now. The one who put sensation before sanity. The one who thought with her body instead of her mind. He’d rewired her circuits and transformed her into someone unrecognizable.

  And she couldn’t think of one good reason to ever return to normal.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Keenan pushed from the pool, a wave of water seeping over his flawless skin. He reached for his pants, pulled something from his pocket, and then turned to face her with a dictating finger pointed her way. “Wait.”

  Savannah bristled at the command and shuddered at the same time. She watched his sexy, naked ass disappear into the opulence of the penthouse. Moments later he returned draped in a fluffy white robe with another hanging over his forearm. He crooked a finger at her. Another silent command. She was losing her sanity to those gestures.

  It was the demand, the silent mandate that sang to her.

  She wanted to disobey him, to refuse his request and see his reaction. But not this time. She was too addicted to his look of approval, the tiny gleam in his eye that spoke of satisfaction.

  She swam to the edge of the pool and he leaned over to offer her a hand, pulling her from the water. His appreciative gaze raked the full length of her as they came face to face. Even in the harshest winter, that look would’ve burned.

  He placed the robe around her, engulfing her in the thickest, softest material known to man before placing a hand on the low of her back to urge her inside.

  “What about my underwear?” She glanced back at the water and spied the two pieces of clothing now seated at the bottom of the pool.

  He responded with a firm press of his hand. There would be no going back. Not tonight.

  “I guess I’ll scoop them out later.” She followed him to the doors, the soles of her feet stinging from the chill, and stepped into bliss. The air inside was warm with the heavenly aroma of mouth-watering food. Shiny, silver domes were scattered over the coffee table. At least eight of them of varying sizes. The placement was strategic. Where the meals could’ve been shared on the large expanse of the dining table, they’d instead been seated in front of the intimacy of the sofa.

  There was even a silver bucket holding a bottle of wine and two glasses.

  “This is the usual?” She wondered how many times it took to make something a remembered ritual. How many women had he shared this with? How many lovers?

  He strolled forward to sit on the sofa. His robe stretched wide, gifting her with the expanse of his muscled chest as he spread his arms along the backrest.

  “How many women, Keenan?” she purred, pretending like she wasn’t entirely invested in receiving his answer.

  He leaned forward and lifted one of the domes, exposing a bowl of strawberries dribbled with white and milk chocolate. He threw one in his mouth, his jaw working over the fruit in a devilish rhythm that made her ovaries want to dance.

  “You’re not enjoying my line of questioning?” She sauntered toward him, meeting his raised brow with a seductive grin. “How many, stud?”

  She wanted to know the number of women she had to erase from his mind. Was the total achievable? Did she stand a chance?

  He turned his focus back to the coffee table and reached for another strawberry.

  Fine. He was a stubborn bastard. But more potent than her desire for answers was her thirst for his attention. She wanted those eyes focused on her, his visual embrace caressing every nerve ending.

  She stopped before him, their feet brushing. She placed one knee on the sofa beside his thigh and licked her lips in a blatant provocation as she straddled his lap.

  If he wouldn’t gift her with his focus, she’d take it instead.

  “How many?” she whispered against his mouth.

  He met her gaze, reading her, his mental feelers getting to the heart of her question.

  “No,” he mouthed.

  The scent of his strawberry breath tickled her nose, but it wasn’t tempting enough to dislodge the vulnerability that prickled her skin.

  She was struggling to bat away the emotional baggage piling at her feet. Their time together was about sex. It was merely physical. Entirely casual. Yet it seemed like they’d passed into something tangible a long time ago. At least she had.

  “Lost count, huh?” She leaned into his shoulde
r and ran her lips along his neck to hide her face. “I guess I’ll have to try extra hard to make a lasting impression.”

  He gripped her waist and pushed her back so suddenly that it tore a gasp from her throat.

  “No,” he mouthed and this time it was with anger. He pointed at his chest, jabbing his finger against his skin in harsh movements. “I do.”

  “You have to make an impression?” Her lips curved, her pleasure visible for him to see. “You already did that long ago. I’ve become obsessed with the unique thrill of you.” She still knew very little about the man who had tangled her heart in his grasp. But everything apart from the here and now seemed inconsequential. Background noise.

  “You’re a guilty indulgence, do you know that?”

  His focus remained harsh as his arm sailed around her back, holding her, controlling her, as he leaned forward to snatch another strawberry. This time he didn’t bring it to his sensuous lips, he touched it to hers, teasing, tempting.

  She opened her mouth for a taste and he retreated to trail a path of chocolate along the side of her jaw, then her collarbone. His eyes tracked the journey, and the arm holding her disappeared to roughly tug the lapels of her robe apart. He swiped the fruit down her cleavage, over the top of her breast, and then grazed it over her nipple. Back and forth he moved, tightening the flesh to a painful peak.

  “Care for a taste?” she teased.

  She didn’t have a chance to pause for breath before his mouth was on her, his tongue licking the chocolate off her nipple like he was starved of sustenance. He was rough, ravenous, as he retraced the path from her breast to her cleavage, her collarbone and then her jaw.

  She ground into him, succumbing to her body’s demand for friction. All she could see was him—those eyes, delicious lips, smooth, flawless skin. Then he took her mouth, licking the chocolate from her lips before delving deeper with his tongue. They became a mass of tangled arms that fought for supremacy and nails that dug into skin. There was no finesse. No control. It was all jerky movements and grinding hips.

  He pulled back in a harsh withdrawal and panted into the air between them. He was shaking, his chest convulsing in a defenseless movement that sprinkled her confidence with magical fairy dust.

  “Am I too much for you?” She bit at his lower lip, sinking her teeth deep.

  He growled, low and devilishly sexy. She smiled into the vibration and then gasped when he gripped her hips and stood. She clung to him, her arms and legs holding him tight as he marched them toward an open door at the far end of the room.

  She peered over her shoulder, her heart skipping a beat at the king-size bed. It was darker in here, the lights of the city and the glow from the main room of the penthouse their only illumination. He placed her down on the covers and dug into his robe pocket to pull out a condom.

  He sheathed his length before she could reposition herself on the mattress, then he was back between her thighs, the head of his shaft finding right where it needed to be.

  His focus was riveted on her, more forceful than the throbbing cock nestled at her entrance. There was no voice, no sound, yet boundless communication flittered between them. They weren’t limited because of his lack of speech. They weren’t inhibited at all.

  She could see his lust in the clench of his jaw and the narrowed savagery in his eyes. Emotion flowed from him in waves as he sank into her in a violent plunge, so deep the skin on her arms shivered.

  The sex was a blur, an emotionally drunk collision of delirium and euphoria. They were animalistic in their carnality. She clawed and bit and licked. He tugged and squeezed and growled. For the first time, sex was a sparring match. They battled for supremacy, pushing and tugging, teasing and tormenting as they rolled from one side of the bed to the other.

  “You’re killing me.” Her legs were burning from fatigue, her lungs struggling under the need for oxygen.

  He slowed his rhythmic grind beneath her, his hands becoming gentle on her hips. He completely obliterated their fast tempo, replacing it with something smooth and romantic.

  The fight became too much. She grew overwhelmed in the confusion of how perfect they were. How undeniably matched they seemed in the bedroom. It had to be a dream.

  She closed her eyes and ground her hips, making the undulations longer, grating her clit over his pubic bone. She straightened and cupped her breasts, tiny whimpers escaping her lips as she became lost to sensation. There wasn’t a part of her that wasn’t affected by him. There wasn’t a thought, or a nerve, or a heartbeat that didn’t comply with the delicious feel of this man.

  When she opened her eyes, she froze. Keenan was staring at her. No, not merely staring, he was in awe, his lips slightly parted, his attention riveted. He mouthed something, maybe it was beautiful, maybe it wasn’t. But the affection reflected in his eyes made her pussy pulse with a new wave of tingles.

  She kept one hand on her breast and moved the other to his chest as she rode him harder. She continued to melt into the sea of dark gray and crashed under the waves of his scrutiny as her core clamped down and began to spasm.

  A gasp parted her lips with the first pulse of orgasm. Then another and another.

  He matched her, his gyrations becoming harder as he jerked into her, each time becoming harsher than the last. She watched him come undone, and the sight was exhilarating. Such a strong, confident man at his most vulnerable.

  She’d never forget that sight. Not tomorrow, and definitely not once she left Seattle.

  “You’re not going to get a thank you this time.” She quirked her brows and tumbled to lie beside him. “You’ve completely obliterated my focus.” She rested a hand over her eyes and breathed deep to slow the rapid rise and fall of her chest.

  His hand came to rest on her side, his touch a delicate balm. He twirled his fingers over her flesh, back and forth, up and down. She could’ve almost fallen asleep at the perfection of his attention, until he broke the silence with a harsh clearing of his throat.

  Her eyes snapped open as she lowered her arm to look at him. Shit. He’d been trying to get her attention. “Sorry.”

  He pinched his fingers together and bobbed them toward his mouth. “Hungry?”

  She shook her head and sank into the pillows. “Sleepy.”

  He smirked, the twitch of his lips announcing he was proud to cause her exhaustion.

  “Go on.” She shooed him with a lazy wave of her hand and relaxed into the coverings. “Eat.”

  She nestled her face into the pillow to hide her look of smitten devastation. He was under her skin in a big way and she couldn’t even tell anyone about it. Not Dominic, who wouldn’t approve. Not Penny, who would start sharpening her knife collection. And definitely not her mother. who would immediately call Aunt Michelle to gossip.

  She was on her own with this, and her body didn’t mind one little bit.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Savannah woke up alone, again, this time surrounded by decadence and cocooned in silence. The heavy curtains were drawn together and barely a slice of morning light was seeping through.

  “Keenan?” She clutched the sheet to her naked chest and sat up. He wasn’t here. There was no movement in the expanse of the penthouse. No rustle of sound. No clink of cutlery.

  She flung back the covers and swiveled to place her feet on the thick pile carpet. Her concentration narrowed to a piece of folded paper on the bedside table, her name barely visible on the front due to the dim light. She flicked on the lamp and lunged for the note with starvation. She couldn’t get enough of him, not after a night of sex and not after weeks of his dreamy stare in her mind.

  She flipped open the paper and devoured the note word for word—I have commitments tonight, but I want to see you on Friday.

  A smile tugged at her lips as she refolded the page. Tomorrow seemed an eternity away, but she’d take it. She’d take any sliver of his time, especially if it involved leaving her body in this same dreamy, lethargic state. She could barely clench her t
highs. Each muscle ached in a different way—her arms, her legs—even her back felt different.

  She stood, stretched, and noticed her clothes piled on the end of his side of the bed. He’d placed them there neatly, one sitting on top of the other, perfectly folded. She wished he would’ve stayed, or at least woken her. Her skin was sticky from sweat and the lingering hint of chocolate. They could’ve showered together. He could’ve scrubbed her clean. Instead, she’d have to do it on her own, letting the shower wash away parts of him that she wasn’t ready to lose.

  Blinking her dreary eyes, she dragged her feet to the end of the bed. She was still half asleep, her mind in a blissful plane, until the red numbers of the alarm clock beamed at her from Keenan’s bedside table.

  She blinked harder. Faster. Again and again.

  The numbers didn’t change. 8:56 kept staring back at her.

  “Holy shit!” She had to be out of here by nine. Nine!

  She lunged for her clothes, riffling through the items—her pants, her long-sleeve top, her jacket. Where the hell was her underwear? “Damn it.”

  She yanked a robe off the floor, shoved her arms into the sleeves, and made for the balcony doors. The cold air greeted her like a slap in the face as she ran for the pool in search of her bra and panties.

  Thick mist wafted toward her from the water, the entire top of the surface blanketed in fluffy white.

  “Shit.” She spun in a circle, looking for a scoop, a rake, anything that could possibly assist in retrieving her intimate apparel and help avoid a scandal.

  Nothing was there. Absolutely nothing. There was only two options—dive in or run.

  “Fuck it.” She chose the latter and sprinted back to the penthouse bedroom on the tips of her freezing toes.

  She shimmied out of the robe like an electrocuted belly-dancer and then pulled on the available layers of clothing, sans underwear. The material adhered to her skin, the sticky chocolate and abrasive material working together to increase her annoyance.