Pick Your Pleasure: The Heart's Desire Series

by Hilary Storm

  “Oh, Linden you know me better than that.” He chuckles, shoving his hands in the pockets of his perfectly-fitting slacks while rocking back on his heels. And he knows exactly what he’s doing — pseudo-thrusting his crotch at me — I’d bet all his money on the smug awareness behind it. “I don’t take well to being told no and I absolutely refuse to let you lie to me.”

  “You’re so much prettier when you don’t talk,” I toss back. “And, I’m not lying to you. It will only be over my dead body, if even then, that you ever get your hands on the Zimmerman house. Chew on it, swallow, digest, because it’s the cold, hard truth, Knox Morgan. And there’s nothing you can do about it.”

  The words to describe how damn good that felt don’t exist. How long I’ve waited for the chance to “one up” his hoity-toity, privileged ass. Finally, not only am I on his “level” … I’m above it. I’m in charge.

  “Why do you want Zimmerman so bad anyway, Knox?”

  “Honestly?” he asks, taking a step closer.

  “Yeah, why not?” I shrug, then fire a shameful low-blow, “Give it a try.”

  “Linden,” he sighs, scrubbing at his sexy 5 o’clock shadow, “I want to buy it for you. It popped up on the market and looked exactly like something you’d buy if you started investing; flipping. The perfect starter, at the perfect price-point, to do all the little things I know you’d want to, putting your touch on it, turning it into a beautiful first home for one special family.”

  Damn him straight to Hell! Instantly a riot of contradicting feelings flare inside me... cry, laugh, kiss him, kill him? I can’t see past the whole “Gift of the Magi” irony to decide. So… I don’t. Instead, I attempt avoidance.

  “Go home, Knox.” I stand, walk to the door and open it for him… to exit. It’s been too long of a day; too many emotions beckoned to resurface. I’m done.

  He doesn’t leave though, capitalizing on my stupid mistake — turning my back on him — by moving in behind me… close. Too close. Speaking right in my ear, deep and warm. Too deep. Too warm.

  “Present the seller an offer, Linnybug. Any offer. If you want it, it’s yours. If not, we’ll rent it out or something. I just, I want to do something nice for you. Let me, please. Why you hate me, I’m not sure, but I won’t stop trying to fix it… until it’s fixed. This can be a start, Lin. You’ll have a project of your own… and maybe if I’m lucky, be persuaded into letting me take you to dinner?”

  “You have no idea why I hate you?” I yell, whirling around to face him. “No, never mind, that’s a saga for another day. Preferably, one when I’m drunk, holding a baseball bat and standing next to your shiny car. As for Zimmerman, no. You will not be buying it for me … because I already bought it for myself. All by myself! I didn’t need you or your money. I scrimped, purchased a house, and I’m gonna flip the shit out of it. Without. Any. Help. Or pity from you.” Squaring my shoulders, I stab him with one final glare. “Now, please leave.”

  “Why not just say that from the start?” he booms, gently pushing my arm aside before slamming the door shut. “Why even ask what I wanted with it?”

  Good question. Why had I? I’m not sure, but that’s for me to know, or not know in this case, and only me. Knox Morgan is in my head enough as it is; there’s no way I’m giving him any more room in there. This conversation is over.

  “Just go,” I plead, ducking under his arm to move away from him and toward my desk.

  He doesn’t, of course… leave, or listen, closing in on me. Even with my back turned again, I’m hyper aware of his presence, proximity.

  The fine hairs on the back of my neck tell me, just as they always do, he’s right behind me. And he too, is angry.

  Confused.

  Adrenalized.

  His heart is pounding in cadence with mine, his hands fisted, while mine grip the desk.

  I know it, feel it… the all-too-familiar phenomenon that’s always existed between us in full-effect… our past, present, regrets, and desires have synced — the combined energy crowding the air around us.

  His hands come sneaking in and gently cover mine, setting off a riot of my senses. All of them now fully-engaged, I hear the slight stutter in his every breath, smell his apprehension, as our last time together — each and every kiss, thrust, trickle of sweat — replay in my mind.

  “Talk to me, Lin. Tell me, everything… like you used to,” he seduces my ear, stroking my hand with the calloused pad of his thumb.

  “I… I don’t hate you,” the spontaneous confession is hardly a whisper.

  “No?”

  “No.” I surrender, some, letting my head fall forward and slowly shaking it. “I don’t like you very much. I wish you, we, had done things differently. I… I miss the old you, the old us. But no, I don’t hate you. Couldn’t, ever, even though I’ve tried.”

  “I’m glad to hear it.” He’s quick to capitalize on my rare moment of weakness, shifting so both of his legs are now on the outside, fingers of each hand woven through mine and pinning them down on the desk… his much larger, forceful frame pressed taut against me.

  I’m caged in. Trapped. Doing nothing to escape.

  “Still my Linden, always have been, always will be. Know it,” his hot, arrogant growl warms my neck… and pisses me off.

  I whirl around to face him — the man, the myth, the callous, smug, unapologetic heartbreaker — refusing to let his nearness steal my focus, or anger. I poke my finger in his chest with each hissed word, jabbing his eyes with my glare. “Not. Your. Linden. Not. Your. Anything. You. Know. Nothing.”

  His signature smirk appears, slowly widening into a grin that showcases the tiny dimple in his left cheek. “You’re lying, and I already warned you, babe; you’re not good at it.” He speaks to his finger, that he’s watching trace my collarbone, with a feather-light touch that still manages to burn like his brand. “I hurt you; I know this. You hurt me back. I took it, and I forgave you, Lin. Time for you to forgive me,” he softly speaks, giving thunderous volume and weight to his words, eyes remaining locked on the tortuous path of his fingers. Which, come to rest over my heart.

  “Am I still in here, Linnybug? Is this still mine?”

  “No,” I lie, again, my breathlessness belying me.

  “Tell me, then, what am I still doing in here?” Same finger, same blaze of liquid fire beneath my skin, as he gently presses against my temple before sliding the long strand of overgrown bangs behind my ear.

  “What you always do,” I answer as he grips the back of my head.

  “And what’s that?”

  “Always trying to trick me, convincing me you’re really a nice guy and I should forget the past, and its pain.” I suck in air, and some perseverance, and lower my gaze from his truth-inducing baby blues.

  “You should! Didn’t I just get through saying that? Jesus, Linden, enough! We hurt each other. You don’t get to play lone victim; not anymore. I’ve waited, given you time, let you delude yourself and put all the blame on me. I’m done with that bullshit. I’m calling you, and the truth, out. Linden, You. Did. The. Real. Hurting.”

  I snap my head up so fast I know I’ll feel a twinge tomorrow, my razor-sharp glare slicing into him. “Are you kidding me? You think I’m the one deluding themselves? Unbelievable, even for you.”

  He snares my chin between a thumb and forefinger, forcing me to look at him and the hostile sheen now in his eyes. “Do you have any recollection of any of the events that led to our… demise, or do you just make up shit to make yourself feel better?”

  “You ran off to Yale to fulfill your Mister Ivy League prophecy, shattering my seventeen-year-old heart in the process. What part is it I got wrong?”

  “The part where you started talking,” he growls. “First of all, I didn’t run anywhere. Not once. Not even a jog. Trot. Fast-paced walk. None of the above. You knew Yale was my number one choice, and I worked my ass off for that acceptance! Hell, Linden, you helped me fill out the application and write my essay! That
shit wasn’t a surprise; it was planned… for years!”

  “Well, I guess I missed it when we planned for you to break up with me before you went.”

  I only meant to scream, minus the crack of sorrow. Shaking off the embarrassment, I plunge right back in, louder. “I didn’t get it then. I was too emotional, too young, to understand. But now? Now I know exactly why you did it. Who wants to move halfway across the country, go to one of the best colleges in the country, and have to worry about your still-in-her-teens girlfriend back home, finishing her senior year of high school? But, we could have talked about it… you know, like we used to talk,” I toss his words back in his face with an evil sneer and purse my lips, just as evilly, while I wait for his response. I’m sure it’ll be something along the lines of, ‘I was a kid, and stupid, didn’t realize what I had, and I’m really sorry but get over it.’

  “The only thing you got right in that whole, long-winded-as-shit analysis of my master plan was the fact that yes, I did break up with you.”

  “It’s kind of the only thing that mattered.”

  “Is it?” His tone gentles, with what I’m guessing is nostalgia, and he releases my chin, now using that hand to stroke my cheek. “Go back, babe. Think. Use that sexy-as-fuck brain of yours.” He inches fatally closer, our noses brushing, his warm breath haunting my lips. One slight shift, and I could feel his mouth on mine. I’d get a little satisfaction and it’d stop a conversation I wasn’t ever prepared to have … but no doubt, the accompanying flood of sensations and memories would be anything but little, or resistible.

  “Knox,” I whisper, and he drags in a heavy inhale, most likely fighting off the same urges as me.

  I watch as his eyes slowly, and methodically, touch every nuance of my face, coming to rest on my mouth. So, while I have his attention there, I use it, to ask, “What is it I’m supposed to be thinking back about? You breaking up with me, wrecking me? I’d rather not.”

  “Then don’t,” he grumbles, both nimble hands finding my hips and tugging me to his strung-tight, hard frame. “The less you thought, the better we always did.”

  Most accurate, honest thing he’s said since strutting into my office. No matter what they — his friends, family, and sometimes even my own, of both — tried to cruelly make me believe, Knox could always make me forget… using no words. Easily taking me to the place that was ours, where no one else’s opinions, advice, or criticism was allowed, and we were perfectly meant to be.

  “What’s it gonna be, Lin?” he asks on my lips, fingers inching up toward the hem of my skirt.

  Dammit; he’s winning, whittling down my defenses without even really trying. My thinking’s getting me nowhere except more confused, and it’s been so long since I’ve experienced physical mindlessness; especially with the only man who gets it more than right, every single time. So, for the first time in… I can’t remember, I turn off my head, and my heart, and choose to think like a man. As in, not at all.

  Chapter Three

  Linden

  The last time I’d kissed Knox Morgan, he was barely a man, no need to shave daily. Yet now, as I lean in to slide my bottom lip across his jawline, the stubble there is so sexy, I forgot it’s foreign.

  When I reach the lobe of his ear, I bite down gently and skim my tongue along the nearly-closed hole there, reminding the both of us, of us… and that time in eighth grade, when he’d begged me to pierce his ear — only to rip it right back out when he realized how silly he looked. I smile to myself and bask in a surge of empowerment knowing, that of all the women who’ve kissed their way to here over the years, not one of them knew this little spot exists, or why.

  And much like his “claim” earlier, this is something of him that is mine.

  “Mmmm,” I purr and his jaw instantly steels, hard muscle flexing beneath soft skin as he struggles for restraint.

  “Linden,” he groans. “Be careful.”

  “Of?” I purposely rasp.

  “You know exactly, woman. You remember piercing my ear, you damn sure remember my threshold on letting you tease before I take over.”

  Yes, at only seventeen, I’d given myself to Knox — as often as possible — one thing I have never, nor will I ever, look back on with regret or shame.

  “Shhhh, I’m thinking.”

  “About?”

  “If I really want to stop, thinking, and… do this.”

  “Two can play this game,” he grates in an unsuccessfully deceptive calm, pushing my skirt up another inch. “What do you want, Linnybug? You want me to beg for it?” Another inch lost, his fingertips begin scorching up the sensitive flesh of my thigh.

  “Why not?” My panting’s blatant, and beyond my control. “Nothing else is the same anymore; might as well switch that up too.”

  “But it could be.” He grinds his hips into me and I nearly come apart, nearly give in all at once.

  Flooded with feelings, again, so foreign yet so familiar, temptation blurs with necessity. Now overshadows then. And hurt starts fading to black, dark desire. This isn’t the first, or twentieth, time Knox and I have found ourselves in a similar predicament… the back and forth. The foreplay. The dance. And while I’ve never been quite this brazen, the rest is classic Linden and Knox.

  The one glaring difference? The last time I let him this close, close enough to play me, mind and body, like a fiddle, and close enough to touch me on the inside, at my core, my heart… we were in love.

  Which reminds me…

  “Knox,” I whimper, pushing at his chest. “I’m sorry, in more ways than one, but I… I can’t go back, do this again.”

  He wraps my wrists with a strong, sure grip, keeping my touch to him. “No again, babe. New. Fresh start. We aren’t kids anymore and I’m not going anywhere.”

  I find myself drifting back into my memories. Memories of what we once were. The love we had. The heat that was ever-present. I’m temporarily lost on the past, fighting to come back to the here and now.

  “Linden, did you hear me?” He gives me an easy shake, in turn sparking me to shake off the fog of thoughts I’d escaped to. “You back?”

  “Yes, and no. Knox, I, you, you should go home.” My voice, like my nerve, collapses.

  “I’m going nowhere. Talk to me, dammit! Scream, cry, hit, scratch, I don’t give a shit how, but fucking talk to me!”

  “No. If we talk, I’ll be honest, it’ll be too raw. I’ll cry, you’ll try to comfort me. Your arms will find their way around me, mine will reach for you, and we’ll be holding each other. Then my heart will come unglued, and those million little pieces holding on by a thread will scatter everywhere. No, no way.”

  Nothing said, he speaks by cupping my cheeks and staring through my eyes for only a moment, yet long enough to sear my soul… and finishes me off, perhaps for good. Strong, greedy, familiar lips crash into mine, and with everything I have, except time to resist, I kiss him right back.

  “Knox,” I moan, upon coming up for air.

  “Yeah, me too baby, me too.”

  “You. Always you. Only you.”

  “It’s about fucking time,” he growls, deepening our starved kiss.

  I jump at the exact moment he bends, grabbing the backs of my knees to pick me up, and wrapping my legs around his waist. Impatient hands dig into my skin, with a sure grip, and still devouring my mouth, he blindly walks us to the couch. Seating us, and yanking my legs to either side of his hips, he uses his hold to urge me down as he rocks up… the delicious friction shredding any last, lingering ounce of willpower. My hands, just as impatient but not nearly as nimble, fumble with his belt, then button and zipper, as his sneak under my skirt, ripping my panties off with one rough tug.

  “Knox,” I beg.

  “Almost, baby, I got you,” he promises, then delivers, in one savage thrust.

  I cry out, pleasure and pain blending together in a riot of sensation.

  After all this time, it only takes a second for my body to adjust, remember, and relax a
round him.

  “Please, please don’t break my heart again, Knox.” I cringe before it’s fully pleaded, a spontaneous, humiliating utterance.

  “Ditto,” he grunts swatting my ass. “I’ve been trying for years to get you back. Now I have. You’re mine again, baby. For good.” He thrusts deep. “Forever.” Deeper. “No more bullshit. I mean it.”

  I lift my hips, swirl them in a slow circle, then drop down fast. “Then no more of the I’m not good enough for you bullshit. I mean it.”

  “What? That’s what you thought? Are you fucking kidding me?” He roars… and actually pulls me off, to toss me on the cushion beside him. “Jesus, really?” He snaps his head to me, testing if looks can kill. “You, Linden, are the only one who ever had that asinine thought. Never did I think I was better than you. Not. Once.”

  “Please.” I roll my eyes and move to stand… the mood obliterated. “Are you going to try and tell me, with a straight face, that your mother wasn’t in your ear, pointing out each and every way I was… beneath you?”

  He has me pinned, flat on my back so fast I squeal in shock. “This is beneath me, Linden. And this is the only kind of beneath me you’ve ever been. For whatever reason, you got it in your head that people were always looking down on you. I wanted to marry you when I was ten. Thought about asking you at fifteen. Bought a goddamn ring at eighteen. But you kept on and on with that shit. It’s all you ever talked about, all you focused on. So-”

  “So it’s my fault? Is that what you’re saying?”

  “No, it’s not. I’m…”

  “Can you get off me? If we’re going to hash this out, I’d prefer… Oh, God…” a delirious wail sounds itself, my whole-body arching off the couch as he drives back inside me. “Knox, oh, what…”

  “Only time you shut up and listen.” His grunt hits my neck, warming the wet path left by his tongue. “I was young. You were young. Figured, incorrectly, that we’d talk about it, sort things out, and get on with our damn lives when I got home from school.”