by Carter Ashby
"No," she gasped, trying to answer him. But she was overwhelmed. She dropped her head and closed her eyes. The need was concentrating hard between her legs, and she knew she needed to be touched there. It felt amazing with him inside of her, but she needed to be touched on the outside, too.
"Makes a man feel conflicted," he growled. "Liking a girl so much for her company and conversation, yet still wanting to rip her clothes off and fuck her standing up like an animal."
She sobbed in frustration.
"What do you think, Ms. Hart?"
She reared her head back and cried out, pushing her ass back against him. His thrusts came harder, pounding into her. She could barely hear his breathing over her own breathing. The ache was driving her insane. She couldn't take it anymore and reached for herself, but Grey caught her hand, slapping it back against the wall, pinning it there with his own.
"Please!" she cried.
"Addison, my God!" he moaned. Suddenly, his arms were wrapped around her, one over her chest, the other over her hips, pressing her against him as he climaxed inside of her.
As she stood there, shaking with need in his arms, she felt herself smile. The two of them must be a sight. Her with a negligée bunched up at her waist and a thong around her ankles, him still fully clothed, holding her like a lifeline, his face buried in her neck. Addy dropped her head back onto his shoulder. "I liked that," she whispered.
He murmured something inaudible into her neck.
"You seemed to like it a lot," she said.
Grey separated from her and turned her in his arms. He lifted her hands and placed a kiss on each wrist. Addy thought it was sweet. It did nothing for the unrelenting, nearly painful throbbing between her legs, but she was embarrassed to say so. Maybe he thought she'd already gotten off. Maybe he'd forgotten. Either way, she would just have to wait until next time.
Except that after Grey kissed her wrists, he slowly lifted them over her head, even as his grin widened. He pinned her wrists to the wall in one hand and pressed himself against her, wedging his thigh between her legs. "W-what are you doing?" she asked.
He ignored her as he kneaded one breast and lapped at the other with his tongue. His thigh nudged up, tight against her, and almost of their own volition, her hips began riding, grinding against him. His tongue on her nipple was driving her crazy. Addy lowered her head to kiss the top of his. "Let my hands free," she whispered. "I want to touch you."
He didn't release her, but he did lift his head to smile into her eyes. "Did you ever have any fantasies?" he asked. "About you and I?"
She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to focus, though most of her body's energy was concentrated on the searing tension between her legs. "A kiss," she said.
His eyebrows lifted in amusement. "That's all?"
"Is that all? A kiss would have been everything to me." She dropped her head back and closed her eyes. "I used to imagine what it would be like if you made some grand gesture…just walked up to me in the crowded hallway and then touched my jaw with your fingertips. Then everything would go away, and it would just be you, lifting my chin and lowering your lips to mine. Oh, my God! Oh, my God! Oh!" As she climaxed, he released her wrists, and she wrapped her arms around his neck. And as she came down off the high, with a soft hum of pleasure, she realized he was embracing her…just hugging her and kissing her hair.
"That was so sweet, Addison."
"Mmm," she moaned, nuzzling against his shoulder.
"I mean it." He pushed back, caging her with his hands against the wall on either side of her.
She fumbled at her nightgown, trying to cover her breasts with the halter because she felt exposed without his body pressed against her.
He touched her chin to get her attention. "Addison, that was really, really nice. A really sweet fantasy."
She smiled, uncertainly, and blushed. "It wasn't as good as yours."
"It was better. You're better. I don't deserve you, Addison."
She narrowed her eyes slightly, not sure what this was about. "I think we're fairly equally matched, Grey." Not wanting to go any further down the weird path that that conversation had taken, she grabbed him by the tie and led him back to his bedroom.
CHAPTER SIX
Addison didn't surprise him. He'd made a study of her for so long that he knew her well, though only in an academic sense. His was the pleasure of a scientist who'd found that all his hypotheses were true. This hands-on experience had even surpassed his hopes.
They'd made the most of their first night together. Now here she was the morning after, barely awake and already reaching for him. He'd known all along that beneath her demure, even prudish exterior, there was a passionate woman. Yet he was overjoyed, all the same, to feel the truth of his knowledge.
He rolled on top of her and made love to her, barely conscious. Afterward, they lay smiling like fools in each other's arms.
The massive affection and possessiveness he was feeling for her surprised him. Beyond that, it terrified him. He'd never felt this way during an affair. He told himself it was because she was so pure, and he was so jaded. Her youth and innocence, no matter her confidence and maturity, only fed his primal need to protect and provide. It was nothing to concern himself over, except that it would make their parting more painful.
Still, for now, he felt he could hold her forever; stroke her hair and back forever; inhale her scent into his soul like his life depended on it…forever.
She nuzzled her head beneath his chin and sighed. "What kind of man are you, Grey? I mean…with women?"
The only thing he knew was that he wanted to live this week with her in the moment. Only in the moment. Questions like that were not conducive to achieving his goal. "I've not had any complaints."
"Really? None?"
He thought back. Nope. He couldn't think of ever having a woman get angry at him or heart broken. "I suppose I've kept my relationships fairly casual. The women I date feel the same way I do. So…no. No problems."
"No bad breakups?"
"I wouldn't even call what I do breaking up. We just go until the thing fizzles and then move on."
"Is that what you're doing with your girlfriend?"
He hoped she didn't hear the hitch in his breath. "Yes. That's exactly how it is with Caroline."
She was quiet, and there was no way to interpret her silence. Even so, her questions came to him, without her asking. Would it be the same for Addison and him? Would they just go home, go back to the way things were?
"I've never been in love," she said. "But I've been watching my best friends falling in love. I think I want that someday."
He started to answer, but she sat up and looked down at him. "Not with you, of course," she said.
He laughed in relief. "I think that's wise. I'm not a 'love' kind of person."
She smiled, but there was sadness behind it. "You don't want the package? Wife, kids, house in the suburbs?"
"Absolutely not. Sounds like my worst nightmare."
She nodded. Then sighed. Then closed her eyes, drew herself up, and nodded again. "All right then. This week is gonna be my wild oats story. I'll tell my kids someday, 'Your momma wasn't always a good girl. She had a wild streak. She once ran off for a week with her professor.' And they'll be suitably impressed with my street cred."
He laughed. "You have to have street cred with your own kids?"
"Eventually. When they're teenagers, and you're trying to relate to them on their own level, yet they think you're completely lame. You were a teenager, once. You remember what it was like."
A cool breeze blew in the open French doors, whipping her hair into her face, making her shiver. He pushed her hair aside. "So didn't you rebel when you were a teenager?"
She sat up and brought the sheet over her chest. "I went to a party once. I did little things like drink with my friends. That party got me grounded for the rest of my high school days, though. I didn't see an entertaining social situation until after I moved out and went t
o college."
He shifted, feeling something else for her. Not sympathy, no. Empathy maybe. A connection. Because she was describing his own childhood. "You're an only child?" he asked.
She nodded and smiled. "Like you."
"Yeah. We were both model young people, too, weren't we."
"Did you never rebel?"
"No, but I left. Joined the Peace Corps. Then came back and got some education, a nursing degree, started working for the UN. Continued with school. I guess it's not rebellion, but I definitely left home. Definitely took my destiny into my own hands."
He'd enjoyed the UN work, but then he'd caught a bullet that shattered his shin. The physical therapy had taken nearly a year and, in that time, he'd acquired the teaching job. He liked it, too, and after all those years away, he'd been ready to settle in for a while.
Addison was watching him, already knowing most of his life story. He traced his fingertips down her neck and hovered around her pulse. He'd never noticed the frailty of woman, before. Never thought of them as fragile and in need of his protection. He was a feminist and didn't believe any of that. Yet somehow, he felt an urge he didn't recognize, a primal need, to protect this one. The beat of his heart seemed to have taken up a rhythm and a voice. It was saying, Mine. Mine. Mine.
Which was ridiculous. Even if she were his, she wouldn't be his. He wouldn't own her. Women didn't want to be possessed like that. Not women like Addison, anyway. Women like his mother, might, but only because they'd married a rich man and become lazy and unambitious.
"My first big rebellion," she agreed. "I'm glad I'm here."
"Me, too," he said. "I'm glad you're here."
She leaned down and kissed him.
They went out to breakfast. After that, they took a stroll down Main Street. The mountain town was small and quaint, but having a heavy tourist draw, it was also very active.
For some reason, they'd landed on the topic of classic literature, and Addison said, "Hemingway is overrated."
To which Grey replied, "I fundamentally disagree with you."
So they stood under an awning by a coffee shop and debated the subject until Grey pulled her into a bookstore, bought a collection of Hemingway short stories, then took her back to the coffee shop to read one of them to her.
She listened with her chin propped on her palm, calmly sipping her coffee. When at last he closed the book and lifted his gaze to her, he only found her lips pursed, one eyebrow slightly elevated in boredom. "Are you serious?" he asked in frustration.
"I just think that his stories are so distinctively masculine in nature, they can't speak to a universal human experience and are, therefore, overrated."
"So basically the old 'Hemingway is a misogynist' argument? Addison, at least be original."
"That's not at all what I'm saying. Whether or not he's a misogynist is beside the point. His stories don't speak to me."
"Oh, I see. You can't relate, so they're irrelevant."
"Not irrelevant. Overrated. Quit putting words in my mouth."
"I'm stunned, honestly. The next thing you'll be telling me that because you're not outdoorsy, Jack London is overrated."
"Jack London is overrated."
"What?" Grey practically shrieked.
Addison laughed. "What's the big deal? Why are you being such a book snob?"
"I'm not a book snob, I just can't get over the fact that you're basing your criticism of famous literature on your own, limited life experience. You need to get out more, is what."
"I will say, I did watch The Snows of Kilimanjaro with Gregory Peck. It was wonderful."
"Was it wonderful because of the story? Or because you have a crush on Gregory Peck?"
She grinned and finished off her coffee. "What do you think?"
"I think you need to watch less and read more."
She laughed. "You're just too intellectual for me, Grey," she said, patting his hand. Then she rose and returned her coffee mug to the counter. As she headed for the exit, she said, "Let's take a walk. Maybe the fresh air will improve my literary tastes."
He grabbed the book and hurried after her, taking her hand strolling by her side, proud to be with her. They walked toward the lot several blocks away where they'd parked before making their way down Main Street. "I have a question," Addison said.
"The answer is always yes."
She laughed a little and nudged him with her shoulder. "You said I need to get out more. I've always known that. I'm not afraid to. I want to get out. I want to do some big things before I settle down."
He waited, wondering what her question was, fearing that she might ask him to help her get a job that would take her far away from him.
"My question is, did you…did you want me to stay? I mean…I know you wanted me to stay. But, when I was deciding whether to stay for grad school or go on out and get some experience, and I asked your advice, did you…knowingly…try to influence me to stay?"
Shit, what kind of a question was that? He realized he'd stopped walking, and she moved a few steps past him before turning back. He stared down into her eyes. "I never even asked myself that question," he murmured.
"Well I want to know, now," she said. Her voice was bold, but not angry. Not judgmental.
He swallowed down his shame. "I told myself you'd make the decision that was best for you. That my counsel wouldn't matter. But yes, deep down, I knew you had feelings for me. I knew if I suggested I wanted you to stay, you would. Just like I knew you'd stop dating that soccer player—"
"Joel."
"Whatever. Just like I knew you'd stop dating him if I asked."
Her expression remained blank, with only a small furrow in her brow. After a long moment, she nodded. "Okay. Thank you for being honest."
She started to walk away, but he grabbed her wrist to stop her. "I'm sorry. Really, Addison, I'm sorry about that. I've been so selfish, and—"
"I let you. I don't blame you for anything, because I was only too glad to be strung along. It's on me, Grey. I appreciate you being honest."
He was shaking his head. How could he let her absolve him of responsibility? As the older one, he should have been stronger, more selfless. "I'm really sorry."
She gave him a smile and squeezed his hand. "Come on. It's in the past."
They strolled along until they got back to the car. They didn't make it back to the cabin. He saw a dirt road off the highway, turned down it, and parked out of sight of the main road. They tore into each other, scrambling into the back seat of the rental car and out of their clothes.
CHAPTER SEVEN
That night, while Grey was out getting dinner, Addy showered and dressed, fixing her hair and makeup, putting on a nice dress and shoes. Addy's mother always dressed for dinner. In fact, she dressed for everything. Addy wasn't sure she could ever remember her mom wearing pajamas in the house.
Zoey wore pajamas in front of Kellen all the time. Addy wanted that with someone someday. She had a feeling that she wasn't going to have that with her incredibly hot, incredibly non-committed professor. He definitely seemed like the dress for dinner type.
After she set the table, she sat down and waited. In spite of her efforts to keep from forming expectations, she'd still hoped that this time with Grey would bring them closer together.
Now she saw that it was intended to push them further apart. They were supposed to do what they needed to do, fizzle, and move on with their lives. Addy hoped that it happened this way, because if it didn't, she would be the only one to go home heartbroken.
Sex. She decided it was good. The orgasms were indescribable. No wonder she'd never understood them. Who after having one, could possibly put words to it. And Grey had been…unexpected in terms of passion. If she'd ever troubled herself to imagine it, she'd pictured him docile and gentle. In truth, he was anything but. His body was incredible, and his equipment…well, more than adequate. A lot more than adequate.
Still, there was no relaxing. She had so much more she wanted
to give, but he didn't want that from her, so she was forced to guard her heart, even as her body surrendered to his.
He'd so easily talked to her of other women. As though he didn't understand that it might hurt her to think of him with someone else. As though the sound of Caroline's name on his lips wouldn't break her heart. Perhaps she was too simple, too provincial, too naïve. Perhaps she needed to get in a more worldly mindset and think of this as a sophisticated outing with a sophisticated man.
Easier said than done. The one thing Grey was doing right, the one thing that caused her to question everything, was the way he touched her. His fingers caressed her skin even when he wasn't paying attention. Almost like his body reached for her even when his conscious mind was unaware. Maybe it meant nothing.
Grey came in with two, large takeout bags from an Italian restaurant—chicken Marsala for her, tortellini Alfredo for him, along with salads, breadsticks, and a bottle of wine. He smiled when he saw her. Which made her smile, of course. She jumped up to help him put the food out.
They sat across from each other with candles and wine and everything perfectly arranged. "I'm not sure what sorts of things you like doing," Grey said as he bit into some tortellini.
Addy licked her lips. She'd asked for the chicken Marsala. She loved chicken Marsala. But that tortellini was screaming her name. She took a bite of her own dinner. "Anything. Whatever you usually do."
"When I'm here? I usually read and write. Not exactly couple's activities."
"I like to read. We could read together by the fireplace or something."
His eyes twinkled. "Sounds nice. But what else? There's a wine tasting event tomorrow. There are cooking classes. We could take in a play at the community theater. I'm afraid we're not exactly staying in the cultural center of the world."
"No," she said. "It's rustic. I love it. I'm sure we'll find plenty to keep busy."
He grinned and winked. "I'm sure."
She blushed furiously and took another bite of the dinner. His was halfway gone and looked so good.