by Colet Abedi
Clayton pulls me in his arms and cradles me up against his body.
“I’m not surprised at all,” he tells me. “So when’s the wedding?”
I sigh in pleasure and fill him in quickly.
God, I love this man.
I run my fingers along his neck and into his soft brown hair. I move my fingers through it, and my body heats up when I feel his response to my touch.
He takes hold of my hand and kisses my knuckles.
“Not yet,” he whispers.
I pull back to look into his cerulean blue eyes. They’re alight with desire, and I can feel my heart start to pound in my chest at the thought of the pleasure that is to come. That I know he’ll give me.
Every part of this complex man makes me deliriously happy.
“I have a surprise for you,” he tells me mysteriously.
“What’s that?” I ask as my eyes move to rest on his lips. I can’t be any more obvious.
“Sophie,” he closes his eyes. “You’re going to kill me.”
“I hope not,” I reply boldly.
I need him to kiss me so badly, but he doesn’t give me what I want. Instead, he pulls me in closer and holds me tight against his body.
“Behave,” he says gruffly.
I try not to smile.
Secretly, I love my inner slut. And she’s come out of her shell all because of him. It’s so much more fun than the prude innocent I used to be. Honestly, I don’t know how I lived without Clayton before. Without his touch. His company.
Without every glorious inch of him.
Moments later we pull up into a driveway to one of the most exclusive high-rises in Los Angeles.
“Are we meeting someone?” I ask when the car comes to a stop in front of the valet.
“You’ll see,” Clayton says.
He helps me out of the car and we make our way through the opulent lobby. Clayton nods at a few of the men at the desk and they usher us to what I gather to be a private elevator.
“Shall I see you up, Mr. Sinclair?” The concierge asks him.
Clayton shakes his head.
“That won’t be necessary.”
I look up at Clayton.
“How does he know your name?” I ask.
Clayton pulls me into the elevator and doesn’t answer. Once we’re inside and the doors shut, I don’t have time to think about his bizarre behavior because he has me up against the mirrored door of the elevator in a second as it begins to ascend.
His mouth and hands are all over my body and I respond in kind.
“Can they see us?” I moan as his lips trace their way down my neck. I’m pretty sure this elevator has security cameras.
His hand is busy pulling up the fitted green dress I wore to lunch.
“No cameras in here unless I request it,” he answers huskily. At this point, I don’t think it would matter if we were on a live feed across the whole world. I would beg him to continue.
He pulls away from me for just a second to hit the stop button.
He’s back before I have a chance to miss him.
I’m too lost in a sea of desire to think about the meaning behind his words.
His tongue moves into my mouth and licks mine, possessing me completely. I relish the kiss. His lips. His hands. God, does he have the best hands.
He hikes my dress up to my waist and his fingers squeeze my ass. Hard. He grinds his hips into mine and I can feel him throbbing against me.
“I want you,” Clayton says.
Yes. I want him too.
His mouth moves down to my collarbone and nips at it.
“Now,” he says.
“Yes,” is all I’m capable of saying.
His hands grip my butt and pull me up against him, and I wrap my legs around his waist, lost in the sensation and moment, wanting nothing more than for him to plunge inside me and take what is most definitely his.
I pull my face away from his and run my hands through his hair. I stare up at him. God, he’s too gorgeous for words. He pins me to the wall with his hips and takes hold of my hands and slowly pulls them up, locking them above my head.
Our eyes meet. His are raw with need.
An electrical current runs between us. This man. Jesus. He turns me into a puddle of nothing.
“I want to touch you,” I plead with him.
He shakes his head.
“I don’t think so.”
His hand has a viselike grip as his other moves to unzip his pants. I’m practically salivating. His fingers enter me quickly and I buck my hips toward the pressure, wanting more.
“You’re so wet,” he pants in pleasure as his fingers move inside me. “Just for me. Say it, Sophie.”
“For you,” I whimper, needing the release that Clayton will give me more than I need to breathe.
He rubs his thumb against me and I throw my head back, waiting for the sweet orgasm to come.
“No, Sophie.” He commands. “Not yet.”
“Clayton-“
“I want to be inside you when you come,” he whispers.
“You are,” I pant.
“My cock,” he tells me. “Inside. You.”
Hot.
I try to move my hands out of his strong grip, but it’s impossible. I want to take him and pull him inside, but he won’t let me.
God.
This man.
Drives me crazy.
I hear the tear as he rips my underwear.
“I’ll buy you more,” he tells me against my mouth.
I could care less. I just want him.
Now.
I can feel his tip pulsing against me and it’s torture.
“Just give me-” I beg.
“What, baby?” his voice weaves an erotic web around whatever sanity has left in my brain. “Just what?”
I bite my bottom lip and try to stop the groan that’s about to escape.
He pushes in an inch and my body trembles in pleasure. But as soon as he gives me a taste, he pulls right out.
“Clayton!” I beg.
“Just what?” he growls. “I want you to tell me.”
He rolls his hips wickedly against mine again, the friction driving me so mad I want to scream.
“Fuck me,” I finally give him what he wants to hear.
Just as I utter the words, he pushes savagely inside and I welcome the pressure as he fills me completely to my core. I close my eyes as ecstasy washes over me. His mouth takes mine in carnal ownership as he pulls out and thrusts inside again, filling me to the brink; the force pushes my body tightly against the wall. My legs grip his waist as his hand reaches down and grabs my ass to pull me up further against him, so if possible, he can go even deeper.
“God!” I scream against his mouth.
I can feel him smile against my lips as his pace quickens and he gives me the release I’m craving.
I meet him thrust for thrust until my entire body explodes in a blinding orgasm. The pleasure consumes me so completely that I don’t think I’ll even have the ability to walk again.
Clayton finds his release moments after me and lets my hands go. I wrap them around his shoulders and rain kisses on his tan neck.
“I’ll never look at an elevator the same again,” I sigh in pleasure.
Clayton gives me a sweet kiss on the lips.
“Did you rent it out just for this?” I ask him because honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised.
“Something like that,” he replies cryptically.
I moan as he slowly pulls out and helps me with my skirt. He grabs hold of my ripped lace thong and drags them down my legs.
“I don’t think you’ll be needing these,” he gives me a wolfish grin as he sticks the tattered undergarment in his jeans pocket right before he zips up his pants.
I blush.
“No,” I state the obvious as I try to steady my shaky legs on the ground. “I guess not.”
“Trouble walking?” He teases.
“Something like that,”
I use the same phrase he just uttered to me.
Clayton reaches over and hits the button on the elevator.
“Now that we’ve gotten that out of the way.”
I should be embarrassed by my lack of propriety, but I’m not.
Like not one bit.
That’s the ho in you, Sophie. She’s been waiting to rear her ugly head for years.
And guess what? I’m totally okay with it.
The elevator ascends quickly.
“So where are we going?” I ask nervously as I smooth out any creases in my dress. “Please tell me we’re not meeting someone-”
“No,” he shakes his head. “We’re almost there.”
The elevator dings to a stop, and the doors slide open to reveal an extravagant foyer that’s literally the size of my apartment. Two large grey side tables flank the opposing walls with dark, landscaped antique oil paintings above them. Two ornate glass chandeliers dimly light the foyer, and there are checkered marble floors that lead up to enormous double doors.
Clayton takes my hand and leads me to the entrance of the penthouse. He pauses to look over at me. The excitement on his face is contagious.
He opens the door and ushers me in.
Holy. Shit.
Now I really know how the other half lives.
Floor to ceiling windows greet us that look out on the expansive skyline of Los Angeles. Two spiral staircases lead up to the second floor of the penthouse. An enormous, round stone table sits between them. He pulls me through the empty penthouse and I can only gawk.
I hope my mouth isn’t hanging open.
Like a kid in a candy store, he takes me in and out of what seems like a million different empty rooms. One is a study, one a living room, the dining room. My head spins as I take it all in. We walk into a gourmet kitchen that is fit for the finest Michelin star chef with four sub zeroes, the biggest island I’ve ever seen in my life and windows that look out on the incredible view. You can see the ocean from here. It’s unreal.
As I take it all in, realization slowly but surely dawns on me.
I let go of Clayton’s hand, walk away from him and slide open the double doors in the kitchen that lead out onto a wrap around balcony. You could host a party for at least three hundred people in this place. It’s that big.
Even the balcony is impressive.
I lean up against the brick and iron railing and stare out at the view and take in a few calming breaths. I feel Clayton’s tall frame come up behind me and pull me into his arms.
“You bought this.” I state the obvious.
“Yes,” he says as his chin comes to rest on top of my head. “Do you like it?”
I turn around in his arms and look up at him.
“It’s unbelievable,” I tell him honestly. “How can anyone not like it?”
He smiles at me in pleasure.
“This will be your place when you come to town?” I question uncertainly.
He shakes his head.
“No,” he corrects me. “It’s ours.”
I can feel my heart race a mile a minute. Ours? But what does that mean? He wants to officially move in together? Here? In Los Angeles?
I can’t stop the first thought that pops into my mind.
What will my parents say?
Why does that even matter? That’s the absolute last thing I should be thinking about. It’s not about what they want or approve of. It’s about what I want.
Sometimes I just can’t help reverting back to high school Sophie, when all I thought about was pleasing mom and dad. I’m different now, I have to remind myself. It’s about my life. Living it the way I want.
So the next thought I have-
Do I want to move in with him?
Why wouldn’t you? Look at him!
I mean, he is basically living with me now but because my space is so ridiculously small, I’ve brushed aside the reality of the situation by telling myself he’s ‘visiting’ and needs a place to stay. Extremely naïve and immature of me, I know, but let’s just go with it.
I realize I won’t be able to sweep my obvious reservations under the carpet for any longer.
So I face the dilemma going on in my mind.
Okay.
Here’s the thing-
I’ve always told myself I’d only live with a man if I were engaged or married. Call me old fashioned or prude even.
You call what you just did in the elevator, prude? I curse my inner voice and continue my mental conversation.
I never thought I could ever contemplate moving in with a man that wasn’t my husband.
But now this.
Clayton’s forcing me into making a decision that is in no way an easy one.
The bigger problem?
I don’t want to say something that will scare the crap out of the man I love. I don’t dwell on the fact that he has yet to say the words, I love you to me yet because his actions have shown me that he does in every way that counts.
Still.
Hearing the words would also be nice.
“What’s going on in that head of yours?” Clayton breaks the god-awful silence as he studies my reaction.
“Nothing,” I shake my head. I hope my voice sounds calm.
In a second, Sophie Walker’s insecure city comes up on me like a tsunami.
I wonder if this is what he does with all his girlfriends. Is this the Clayton Sinclair way? Does he set all the women in his life up for when he comes into town?
“I’ve never asked another woman to move in with me.”
Unbelievable.
He’s Superman.
He can read my mind.
But without a doubt, he gives me the words that offer me the reassurance I need.
But still.
“What are you thinking?” he prods again. I stare up at his handsome face and decide to hit him with the truth.
“I thought we talked about this,” I finally say.
“Your place is too small, Sophie.”
Obviously.
And not at all what he’s accustomed to. I feel the need to defend my home. One I love.
“But it’s mine,” I tell him. “And I like it.”
Clayton is not deterred.
“You can grow to like this,” he says matter-of-factly.
Oh, can I?
His arrogance ruffles my feathers.
I move out of his arms. I don’t want to ruin the moment, but I’m feeling really conflicted by the sudden turn of events. I feel cornered and there’s nothing more I hate. If my past actions prove anything, I always end up running when that feeling creeps in.
“What is it?” He asks.
I look over at him and take in his unbelievable beauty. The top few buttons of his navy blue, long sleeved shirt are open and all I want to do is rip it off him and table this conversation for later.
He’s really got the best chest.
Ever.
You’re getting distracted, Sophie.
Stay present!
I pull myself back from my reverie and concentrate on the conversation at hand. I try to think of the right thing to say.
“Don’t you think this is a little fast?” I finally gather the courage to say.
Crap.
I watch his eyes go from warm and inviting, to distant. The dreaded Clayton Sinclair wall is back up.
“Is it?” He asks as he cocks his head to the side.
I try to pick my words carefully and hope I don’t sound like a complete and utter idiot. Or ungrateful for what he’s offering.
Because, seriously?
What’s wrong with me?
I should feel excited about this prospect, but I just feel scared.
“This place is unreal,” I try and appease him. “And so perfect for you. It actually fits right in with the other properties you own, or you know, the ones I’ve seen of yours.”
Shut up, Sophie!
Oh. My. God.
I sound like a moron.
What am I
even saying?
You are a bumbling idiot!
If possible, Clayton’s demeanor becomes even more distant.
“For me?” he enunciates his words carefully.
I nod pathetically wondering how it’s possible to go from blissfully happy to being totally depressed in a second. Is there a Guinness Book of World Records for this? If so, I’m clearly a record breaker.
“You don’t want to move in with me?” His eyes pierce into me.
“Clayton,” I plead. “It’s not like that-”
“It’s a yes or no answer, Sophie.” Clayton’s voice is biting. “Yes, you do. Or no, you don’t. If it’s the latter then I’ve completely misread this entire situation. I thought this would make you happy.”
“It does. But it’s not that easy,” I argue. “It’s so fast-”
“We’ve been on the fast track since the moment we met,” Clayton counters. “Everything about us has been unprecedented.”
“I know, I just always thought I’d move in with the man I’m going to spend my life with and-” I can’t continue because I’m too embarrassed and don’t want to sound like that’s what I’m asking for. The last thing I want to do is push him into a corner. Or scare him.
What I leave unsaid lingers between us.
“Fuck!” Clayton bites out as he runs a hand through his thick hair.
“Clayton,” I plead. “Just hear me out.”
“I thought I just did,” he says coldly. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”
Chapter 3
Clayton
I can’t even bear to look at her.
If I do, I won’t be responsible for my actions. I know damn well what will happen. I’ll take her upstairs to the bedroom, which has already been fitted with a giant king size bed, and will fuck the shit out of her until she begs for release and says, yes.
But I don’t want that.
I want her to want to move in with me.
But the look on her face tells me everything I need to know.
Her answer is no.
No.
I don’t think I’ve ever heard that from a woman before in my life. Or seen it, for that matter.
She is making me crazy.
Clearly.
I have to be, to stand here with my goddamn heart in my hands just to have her reject what I’m offering, what I’m capable of offering her now.