Truth & Temptation

by Riley Edgewood

On shaky limbs, I crawl to him. At the edge of the bed, I rise to my knees and he touches me, one hand on my shoulder, the other on my hip, twisting me until I face away from him. I almost lose my balance in the plushness of his bed, but his hands catch my waist, and when I'm steady, they drop to the backs of my legs, the bases of my knees. He slowly, slowly runs them up the insides of my thighs. I widen my knees and roll my hips back, hoping a finger, or two, will find the spot where I most need to be touched under my dress. Under my panties.

  Instead, he drops his hands from my legs, and I bite back a disappointed groan.

  "Alec?" slips out of my mouth, though I'm not sure what I'm asking.

  "Kitten." He brings his palms to the back of my neck, twisting my hair in his hands, winding it over one of my shoulders—and dropping his mouth on my bared skin, his tongue working along my neck in ways that have my head rolling further to the side.

  His lips never leaving my skin, he unclasps the top of my dress and slowly, slowly tugs the zipper down. Inch by inch, past the middle of my back. Slower, slower, below the waist of my panties. When he lifts his head, the air hits my neck, cooling the spot where he's left the slightest trace of saliva against my skin.

  "Jesus," he growls, nipping at me once more. "You have the sexiest fucking back I've ever seen, the sweetest skin I've ever tasted, and I never want you in anything but lace from this point forward."

  I shiver, and it's not from the cool air on my neck. He jerks the straps of the dress over my shoulders, pulling until the fabric is puddled around my knees. He smoothes his hands along the skin of my lower back, pushing gently, until I'm on my hands and knees.

  "Alec?" I ask again, still not sure what I want.

  He shushes me. And even still in underwear, this is the most erotic thing I've ever felt, his presence behind me, his palms transferring heat up and down my spine. The dip in the bed when he climbs up, the charged space in the air that hits me when, from behind, he pulls my panties to the side.

  The shocked pant of breath that leaves my mouth when he does.

  The wetness of his tongue when he trails it along every exposed inch of me.

  I can't keep the moan silent this time. I can't keep my hips from rolling. I can't keep this absolute need I feel from baring itself. And when he grabs my hips and plunges his tongue straight into me, I make a sound of pleasure closer to a song than anything else.

  And I very nearly fall flat on my face.

  Too much, too fast.

  Or the opposite.

  I need more.

  I twist toward him, and after another dance with his tongue in my body, he allows it, letting me curve my body until I'm on my back and he adjusts himself, one of his knees sliding between my thighs, rising higher, higher up my legs, until I'm close to grinding myself against him for more relief.

  "You taste incredible." He licks his lips, wet and shining in the shadows. He shoves his knee deliciously against me and grips my thighs, pushing them wider, wider. "I hope you don't expect me to stop for very long."

  I open my mouth, the question I've been wanting to ask finally forming in my mind. I hesitate, a little nervous… A lot wanting. "Do you have a condom?"

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  ALEC HOLDS HIMSELF—holds me—very still, his arms all sinew and muscle even in the dimmed light. "I do have a condom."

  But he doesn't move.

  "Should you get it?" I ask. His knee is between my legs and my underwear is shoved to the side, and it's still taking all that I have not to roll my hips, not to rub myself against him.

  He lets one hand drift down my inner thigh, tucking it between me and his knee, his finger dipping the slightest way into me. I moan. I roll my hips.

  "Are you begging?" he asks.

  And, absurdly, I giggle. "No."

  He tightens his grip, harder, harder, one finger—two—slipping into me, then he clutches me until I gasp in pleasure. "And now?"

  "No." But I'm not giggling anymore. And my hips are rising to meet the movements of his hand. "Actually, maybe I am."

  He lowers his face until his lips are at my ear and my entire body flutters, waiting for what I know he's going to say.

  Except he doesn't say it. "Told you that wasn't going to happen tonight."

  Way more nervous to do it than I should be, I drag my own hand between our bodies, sliding it below the band of his boxer briefs and tentatively gripping him. He picks his head up to watch my face, but I'm much more interested in his. He winces in a pleasure-filled way, and does it again when I glide my hand along him.

  "Pretty sure your body disagrees." I'm also pretty sure the long thickness of erection will never, ever fit all the way inside me, but I keep this thought to myself. Because every fiber of my body wants him to try anyway.

  His breathing is so satisfyingly ragged, but still he says, "There are other ways to fill our time."

  "Alec," I say, as sexily as I can drag out his name. A bit smugly, too. "I'm not interested in your game room right now."

  "Neither am I," he says. "I'm going to spend the rest of tonight tasting every single inch of your skin."

  His words leave my body a life-sized collection of fiery sparks, filling my skin, filling my mind, filling the space between my legs with the most electric sizzles.

  He grabs my hand, pulling it out of his briefs and above my head. I nearly clench my legs around him, desperate to fill the void he left when releasing his clutch.

  "Give me your other hand," he says. And I do without even the slightest temptation to fight him on the power imbalance between us right now. In fact, if my erratic heart is any indication, if the way my breath is caught below my throat means anything… If the wetness pooling between my thighs is a sign… He can have all the power. All night.

  "Good girl," he murmurs, lowering his mouth to mine. His grip on my wrists is unyielding. His lips are forceful, and when his tongue leads my own in an intricate dance, it tastes of the salt of my body.

  "Good girl?" I ask, running my teeth along his lip. "That's not how you want to speak to me."

  "If I didn't want to speak to you like this, I wouldn't." His next kiss has so much force behind it, I have no choice but to shut up.

  No choice but to give in.

  No choice but to shiver along the path his free hand traces. Down the inside of my arm, along my ribcage, trailing the cups of my bra—and then sliding under the material. He takes his time, back and forth along my skin, and when his fingers find my nipple, he rubs the pad of his thumb over it until I gasp. He swallows the sound, scooping it from my mouth with his tongue. And then he moves to the other side and brings me to the point of moaning. My nipples are so hard, so full of anticipation, I'm all but pushing myself into his hands.

  He releases some of the tension from his grip on my wrists. "Don't," he whispers between sweeping kisses, "move."

  But how can I not move with the way my blood rushes under my skin?

  How can I not move with the buildup of tension pinging me everywhere, needing his touch?

  He lets go, and I bring my hands around his neck, pulling his face harder against mine, sweeping my tongue more deeply through his mouth. He lets me do it, but only for a moment.

  He ducks his head under my grasp, breaking the kiss and laughing, a sound somehow full of humor yet also a warning. "What did I tell you?'

  "When have I ever taken orders well?"

  He grabs my wrists and slams them above my head, his chest over mine, shoving his knee between my legs again, making me writhe. "Start now and I promise you'll be rewarded for it."

  He nudges my face to the side with his chin and slides his teeth over my earlobe, his tongue flickering along my skin. I sigh, melting into the bed. "Fine. You win."

  "Get used to that," his voice is raspy in my ear. And then he gets to work and I forget how much I want to fight him on it because as long as he uses his tongue the way he does, he can get me to agree to whatever the hell he'd like.

  He bathes me with
his mouth, not missing an inch of skin.

  Hands to shoulders, feet to knees to hips, breasts to belly…until I'm fully baptized in the church of Alec.

  His tongue is my drug, my addiction, and when I can't stand another moment without more of a connection, when I think I'm going to have to break my promise and use my own hands, he shoves my knees up—and then nudges them apart. His eyes are on mine, glinting in the darkness of the room.

  I'm thankful for the obscurity. I might not be able to fully enjoy this in the harsh reality of a world filled with light. In the darkness that yawns over us, when flesh blends with shadow, when my flaws are safely tucked away, it's easier to let my mind free. It's easier to tell him what I want.

  "You," I say. And when a hint of amused confusion crosses his features, I clarify. "I want you, Alec. Now. The rest of tonight." Always, is on the tip of my tongue, but he slides up my body and captures my mouth in a kiss before I can say it.

  He reaches between us again and curves his fingers into me, pulsing them through me until I cry out into his mouth and then sliding them back up my body, feeling me everywhere. Twisting my skin, pulling at me. Massaging me. His mouth never stops moving over mine. Not once.

  Always always always reflects its way around my mind like a shattered mirror, like it's the only word I've every truly known the meaning to. And it flashes brighter, a neon glint, when he drags his mouth over my chin, down my neck, across my chest. He tongues one nipple and then the other, until I'm moaning with how tight they are, how ready I am for him, how desperate. My hands twist through his sheets above my head, my legs rise to wrap around him, my feet crossing at his back.

  And he's right there.

  His erection.

  So. Fucking. Hard. Pressing through the fabric of his boxers. My hips writhe, and I press myself harder against him until I'm not the only one moaning.

  Frustration rumbles up from my throat in a whimper. I want more.

  He slides lower, planting kisses along my belly; the friction of his body slipping through my legs is unparalleled by anything I've ever experienced. He hooks his fingers through the top of my underwear and my breath catches.

  He slowly, slowly slides the fabric lower, alternating a path of cool air and kisses along my skin as it's bared.

  Pushing one of my knees closer to the other, he tugs my panties over my hips and slides them down my legs, down down down over my feet. And they land on the floor in the darkness with a soft rustle.

  And then there's silence.

  Though is silence the right word when, through the quiet, the air is so charged, electricity crackles deafeningly without making a sound?

  His hands are at my ankles. They're sliding up my shins. Caressing my knees. Pushing my thighs apart. He flattens his palm against me and then drags it through my wetness.

  His fingers press down like piano keys, pressing pressing every note there is to make me whisper, moan, scream his name.

  His tongue is on my inner thigh. He's looking up at me. I'm forgetting how to breathe.

  Higher, he licks. Higher, his fingers never stilling.

  He laps at the crease where my leg meets my hip, and he slides his hands down to lift my knees. I am bare before him, his face is there, and then his breath. Hot. Cool. Hot cool hot cool hot-cool-hot-cool.

  "Please." I whisper his name, begging. The sampling I had of his tongue inside my body seems so long ago.

  And finally, finally, so perfectly I almost want to cry, he licks me again. Once. Slow and long, he presses the flat of his tongue against me and then curves it, along me, through me, into me. He shoves his hands beneath my ass, lifting me toward him, onto his face, his mouth, his tongue.

  I'm moaning now—maybe have been the whole time, I don't know. I don't know anything except the pressure of his lips and the swish of his tongue as it enters me. Circling into me and out. Again, and again, and again. His face is pressed entirely against me, his nose, even, nudging me, and he twists his head from side to side, pulling me back and forth and… I'm going to fucking explode.

  My hands are in his hair. His thick, thick hair; it's soft and glorious and the room is spinning. My legs are around his head and his tongue, his thick, thick tongue is lavishing me in a way I've only ever imagined—and I'm learning quickly my imagination is lacking.

  He licks higher, using his tongue to press my skin down flat enough to make my moans grow feral, and his fingers tiptoe into me, slowly at first and then faster, heavier.

  Something is building in my limbs.

  A light sort of pressure.

  It's soft, but full.

  Swift, but lingering.

  My legs are full of feathers, somehow, spinning, and my belly too. My breath is erratic. My heartbeat, too.

  His fingers pump into me. Ruthlessly.

  Perfectly.

  His name falls again from my lips in a whisper, a sigh. The flutters spiraling through my belly explode into something so much more powerful, dropping like gusts of a tornado, gaining density, gaining speed, lower, so much lower, mingling with the pressure of his fingers, the rhythm of his tongue. His name becomes a chant and my entire body clenches and then bursts.

  I am grains of sand in a storm made of Alec, scattering in his fierce wind and spinning back. Out to my limits and then retracted. Billow and fall.

  But the wind gusts into something even stronger, something more, and with one final, unstoppable spiral out, I dissolve into absolutely nothing but a leftover pulse of a girl that used to exist.

  And an exhausted Cheshire smile.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  I'M SWEATY.

  AT some point, I reform into some semblance of myself. My skin is slick, damp. Glistening.

  Then, I notice Alec. Feel him, really. The weight of his head on my thigh, the sharpness of his chin digging into my muscle. His lazy smile takes my breath away.

  "Um." I don't know what to say. I'm out of breath, like I've run a marathon. My heart's beating as if that's the case as well.

  "Um?" He lifts a brow, amused.

  "Thank you?" I mean to say it with less of a question mark, but I'm suddenly a little too aware of our positioning, of how very naked I am, of how high on my thigh his head is… I shift, curving onto my side, facing him, and letting his head slip onto the bed.

  His shoulders shake in a silent laugh and he crawls up over me, kissing his way up my body, sweet and silly this time, the intensity of before a nearby memory. "You," he says, between kisses, "are very," kiss, kiss, kiss all the way up to the side of my face, "welcome."

  I twist my head toward him, kissing him on the mouth, again tasting the salt of my body lingering on his lips.

  "Want some water?" he asks, quite some time later.

  "How about a shirt?"

  He rises over me, the heat from his body soaking into my own. "And cover all this up? Yeah, right."

  "Alec," I say, teasing, both turned on and uncomfortable all at once. "I'm cold."

  His expression says he doesn't buy it for a second, but he sighs and rises, striding to a dresser and tossing me an undershirt. I slip it on, pretending I don't suddenly feel awkward. It's soft and smells like detergent and fits me like an oversized trash bag.

  At least I'm covered now. I clear my throat. "Water sounds good, actually."

  "You still look beautiful," he says. "In that shirt. Out of it. Shit. If I didn't think you'd be terrified, I'd rip that thing right back off of you." He shakes his head, leaving the room.

  Leaving me reeling.

  I cover my face with my hands, falling onto the bed. What is wrong with me? I just had the most mind-blowing orgasm of my life and now I…what? Am uncomfortable about it? Shaking. That's what I am. Trembly. "Come on, Teagan, get your shit together."

  Still, when he comes back to the room, it's as though I've reverted to a teenager and I can't make myself look at him. I reach out for the water, but he holds it hostage.

  "Look at me."

  My face is so hot I'm
almost in pain. "I am."

  "You're looking over my shoulder."

  "That's definitely not the case." Yes, it really freaking is. "It's dark. You can't tell."

  "Come here."

  "No. You come here."

  He stares me down until I can't keep from looking at him. But even when I meet his gaze, he refuses to come to me.

  Well.

  Two can play this game.

  All night long.

  Finally, I'm able to grin. I sit on my heels.

  He crosses his arms.

  I toss my hair over a shoulder.

  He says, "Your nipples are hard and I suddenly fucking love that shirt on you because seeing them push out like that? There's nothing else like it."

  "Well your…" Ugh. Why can't I say it? And I'd rather die than reference his erection as his thing again. "You're hard. And…" And why don't I have a follow-up here? "God, Alec. What did you do to me?"

  "You mean like a few minutes ago? Or… metaphorically?"

  There's no doubt my face is neon red even in the dark room. "The second one."

  "Pretty sure I've made you like me." He takes a long sip of water. My mouth goes a little dry. And not from the thought of the water. Just… Wow. His body. His thick neck, bobbing as he swallows. His waist is narrower than his shoulders, giving his chest that perfect vee down toward his legs. And his erection. He's so hard it makes me bite my lip almost deep enough to draw blood.

  "Is that uncomfortable?" Oh. Right. Because now's the perfect time for words to slip out all unfiltered.

  "This?" He gestures toward himself, a wolfish grin flashing through the dark.

  "I mean…do you want me to—"

  "Stop." He pauses before continuing. "The thought of you touching me in any capacity makes me so fucking hard I could break concrete. But you need a break. So let's lie here for a while. All night. I'll be fine—he'll be fine."

  "You would do that?"

  "Why are you surprised?"

  "Because…you're… I mean, you…did what you did and… God, I suck at this. I'm sorry. I do like you."

  "Ah." He nods, and finally, finally moves toward the bed, handing me the water. "You saved yourself at the end. You were pissing me off for a second there, thinking I'd expect more than you're ready for. But if it's because I fluster you, because you like me, then I guess it's okay. Just this once."