Truth & Temptation

by Riley Edgewood

  But I can't leave it at that. "I'm not selfish, Alec. Or…I am. But I want to please you. It's not fair for me to get all the—"

  "Stop," he repeats, the word sharper this time. The bed dips when he sinks into it, languidly crawling toward me to press a finger against my lips. "Don't you get it? Your orgasm—getting to tease those noises from you with my fingers, with my mouth, feeling you throb around my tongue like that? It pleases me more than anything I've ever done. More than any blowjob I could ever receive—even from you."

  His words bring a glow to me so intense I'm surprised I'm not lighting up the room. "Really?"

  He leans against the headboard, pulling me into his chest. "Those noises? The purrs you made—the way you called my name. Christ, Teagan. They'll be on repeat in my memory for a long time. I'm tempted to record you on the next round, so I can play it back whenever I want to, forever."

  "Whenever you want to, forever?" I wish I could come up with something more clever than an echo of his words, but I'm too full of a grin. It hits my lips and zooms down the rest of my body. More than just this summer? I catch the question before it escapes, but I'm not shocked by how tempted I am to ask it.

  His erection is pressing into my back. All I have to do is turn around, twist in his arms, kiss down his body… The thought has me flushing—but something's holding me back. I chug some of the cool water, using the moment to gather my thoughts.

  "As perfect as tonight's been," I say, surprised I can admit what I'm about to, "I might have hit my capacity for perfection. I…need a breather." Otherwise, I might explode. Or implode. Or, worse, I might ruin everything. "I'm not great with…too much too fast."

  The closest I ever came to letting emotions pile on this fast was with Jason. And that ended before it could really begin. I don't know what to do with happiness when life hands it to me. Not that I can share that with Alec. Not that I should even have the thought right now.

  "We have time, kitten." He tugs me tighter against his chest. "I want you to know my body as well as I've mapped yours, but when you're ready."

  I don't bite back the next question that thrums through me, alongside all the pleasure rushing with his words. "Are you too good to be true?"

  "Are you?"

  "You're talking to the girl who lied about her name, lied about who she was, got too drunk to offer what she arrived to do—and then showed up at your office with a completely new identity."

  He takes the water from me, leaning away for a second to place it on the nightstand and then sliding behind me, nibbling at my neck. "You keep me on my toes."

  "But I—"

  "Will you shut up?"

  "Don't tell me to shut up!" I grab his thigh, right above his knee, and I squeeze until his leg jerks and he laughs.

  "That tickles." He digs his fingers into my ribs, and I giggle.

  "Say you're sorry," I say, squirming—and resisting the urge to sigh when he slides his hands around my stomach, holding me, making me wish he'd slide them higher… Or lower.

  "I apologize," he concedes, a pompous smile in his tone.

  "Good. Because I have an idea."

  "Oh yeah? I thought we were taking a break?" He grins when I turn to swat at him and tightens his grip around my stomach.

  "We are," I say, kind of wishing we weren't… "This is business-related."

  "From pleasure to business—isn't it usually the other way around?"

  I laugh and twist toward him, loving the pleased glint of agreement in his eye when I tell him I think he should team up with Mr. Chambers.

  He talks, excitedly, for a while, and I listen, adding an opinion here or there. But it's hard to focus on business for any length of time because I'm in Alec's bed. Because he's stroking the skin of my arms, the muscles of my thighs. Because he can't seem to keep from dropping kisses along my shoulders.

  I slide my hand over the one he's left across my stomach, running my fingers along his skin. It's smooth, but not soft, somehow all guy. His knuckles are covered in raised spiderweb patterns of scarring. I want to ask him what happened, but I hold back. Sometimes people don't want you picking at their scars—visible or otherwise. I sure as shit don't. And I also don't want to risk ruining the night by opening my mouth about it.

  At some point, Alec surprises me, pressing a small remote—which plays the audiobook opening of Dracula through a few speakers on the walls I hadn't noticed.

  "I love this movie," I say, grinning into the darkness.

  He kisses my neck, running a hand through my hair. "It's a book. Now keep that beautiful mouth closed."

  But I turn my face toward him, stealing a kiss first. "You're kind of cool, you know?"

  He grins against my mouth. "I know."

  And so we listen.

  He asks if I want popcorn, or something else to drink, but I shake my head. "Don't move. Don't do anything. This—this moment right here—I'm tempted to record it, so I can play it back whenever I want to, forever."

  A laugh rumbles in his chest and he squeezes me tighter, and pressure from the weight of his arms somehow makes me lighter.

  There's no anxiety tonight. No tossing and turning and traitorous, torturous thoughts funneling through my mind. There's only a gentle relaxation that comes with the beat of Alec's heart against my back, the soft rise and fall of his chest beneath me. I don't mean to fall asleep so quickly, but I'm out before Jonathan Harker even realizes he's Dracula's prisoner.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  WHEN I OPEN my eyes, dazzled by sunlight streaming across the bed, Alec is watching me.

  "That's creepy," I say, but a wave of pleasure washes over me anyway.

  He taps my nose. "I missed these freckles last night."

  "I had a lot of makeup on," I admit. Then, horrified, I see half of it's smeared across his pillowcase. "Shit—it'll come out, I promise."

  He watches me, puzzled until he glances down at the orange-looking stripes across the otherwise stark white. Then, he laughs. "Who cares? I have more than one pillowcase."

  "I care," I protest. "Your house is nice. Your stuff is nice. I don't want to make it all dirty."

  Annoyingly, he laughs harder. "I like you here. With makeup. No makeup. In my bed. Out of it… Any which way you're here, you make my place a million times better."

  Oh God. My brain's not awake enough to respond. My body is, though, trembling in all the right places. Who knew you could be so happy, so turned on, so soon after waking up. I sigh—and then I cover my mouth. "I need to brush my teeth."

  "There's an extra toothbrush already out in the bathroom for you."

  A blush warms my cheeks. "I brought my own."

  "How presumptuous," he says. "I brought your bag up earlier." He points to it on my nightstand and rolls out of bed. Still in boxers. Still with abs formed from ridges and valleys.

  Still mouth-wettingly appealing.

  I scoff. "Like we both didn't know I'd be staying over." I reach out to him. "Come to bed."

  He kneels on the mattress, letting me pull him toward me. "Thought you wanted to brush your teeth?"

  "I do," I say, deciding in the instant to go for what I actually want. "But you stay right here."

  "I was going to make us coffee."

  "I have a different method of waking you up in mind," I say, forcing the words out so I can't back down, and slipping out of bed. I tug his undershirt down to cover my thighs.

  He watches me. "What is this method you speak of?"

  "Use your imagination," I say, "and picture my mouth on your body…" I smile and grab my bag, closing myself into his bathroom.

  I'd love to study myself in the mirror, have a truth talk with my reflection. But his serious lack of mirrors issue makes it hard. Still, I brush my teeth. Splash some water on my face. Take a few deep breaths.

  Remind myself of the ways he teased my body into bliss last night.

  He deserves a turn now, too. And not because of some quid pro quo balance restoration thing, either. I want t
o start his day with a smile. I want to be the girl he thinks of, the flashbacks he gets when he closes his eyes all day.

  I can do this.

  I can.

  Literally, I've done this before. Still. Everything's different when it's with Alec, more nerve-wracking. More significant.

  One last deep breath, one last stern glance in the imaginary mirror, and I let myself out into his room. Where he's waiting. On the bed, his hands behind his head, a smarmy twist to the corners of his mouth.

  "Christ, you're sexy in that shirt," he says.

  "You're halfway decent without one on at all," I say, climbing over to him.

  Straddling him.

  Feeling him stiffen beneath me.

  Oh, Lord.

  His grin turns cockier, if that's even possible. And I find it annoyingly attractive. So attractive, in fact, I'm tempted to lean down and lick the corners of his mouth.

  I give in to temptation.

  And when I rise again, he slides his hands up my thighs, hoisting the undershirt higher, higher, until it barely covers anything. "Well," he says, his gaze steady on mine, "good morning."

  "It's about to be."

  "Is that so?" His thumbs inch down the insides of my thighs, tracing lines through the center of my body, bringing a cry to my lips. "Ah—there we go. Now it's a good morning."

  Focus.

  I need to focus.

  I force my eyes open only to discover he's not looking at my face. He's…watching. His fingers. Flickering them over me.

  Into me.

  "Alec." I fall forward, my face tingling painfully.

  It feels like the kiss of a gentle breeze compared to what's happening between my legs.

  Wet.

  Heat.

  A sudden desire to let him play with me all morning.

  All day. All night.

  Forever.

  He smoothly slides his hands around me, curving over my ass, and between my legs from behind.

  I press my hands beside his face, kissing him, slipping my tongue through his lips, tasting him, biting him gently. "This," I say, speaking against the kiss, my words trembling the way my blood seems to be too, "is supposed to be my turn to play with you."

  "My house," he says, gnawing on my lower lip, "my rules."

  "Is that so?" I ask, ready to play, ready to push. I slide a little further down his body, but his grip tightens between my legs, keeping me from drifting further.

  Oh, God.

  "Yes. And my rules are simple." He twists two fingers into me, circling, pulsing, making my blood jump. "Nobody comes before you do."

  "Wanna bet?" I slide my tongue down his throat, shifting to trail kisses across his chest. He flicks his fingers and my entire body pulses around him.

  He sighs, warm and lazy-sounding. "Believe me, I'll be delivering what I promise before you can count to—"

  "To what?" I slide my teeth around one of his nipples. I mean to make my way to the other, but, as he groans, he tightens his arms around me, his fingers growing harder, more forceful.

  Thrusting into me.

  Again.

  And again.

  A lightness spins through my chest, sliding down my belly, lower to where his hands are playing. I can't control it, can't control the way my limbs are jellying, can't control the whimpers building in my throat, pushing through my lips. "Alec—wait."

  But he's pulling my sensitive skin apart, pushing the pad of his thumb against me—somehow gentle, somehow rough—tugging me in circles and my world starts to tilt. Instead of his shoulders, my hands grip his sheets, twisting through the fabric, winding tighter and tighter, matching the sensations that shoot through me.

  I manage to whisper, "Not fair," before I come completely apart. Before the warmth pooling between my thighs ignites like a firework finale, booming through my veins, through my belly, down my legs, my arms.

  Boom, boom, boom.

  Boom.

  I collapse on top of him, too flushed with pleasure to give him shit for the laughter shaking his chest.

  "Told you," he whispers in my ear. "I get my way."

  "Shut up," I say, breathing heavy. Enjoying it. Enjoying everything.

  His hands are on my ass, pressing gentle circles over my cheeks. He moves them up my back, smoothing my skin, up and down and up and down. It's almost enough to lull me to sleep again.

  Or, it would be, if he wasn't hard as marble beneath me.

  If I wasn't determined to do what I set out to do, even if he beat me to the game.

  Lazily, I push myself off his chest, kissing his neck, kissing his jaw, his cheek, his mouth. I dip my tongue through his lips, tasting him, all masculine and mint. "My turn," I murmur, and this time when I lower myself, he lets me go, watching me, a jaunty curve across his mouth.

  "You look like a cat who's captured the canary," I say, ducking down to plant kisses along his stomach. "So pleased before I've even gotten started."

  "This is just icing, kitten," he says, drawing his hands behind his head. "I've already had the cake—and believe me, there's nothing sweeter than hearing you cry out."

  "We'll see," I say, smug. I may be a virgin, but I spent one long, secret weekend with Cassidy's brother before he died, and we made sure… Well, we made sure my tongue was expertly trained to bring out the icing.

  And when I place my mouth around Alec, I don't hold back.

  I grip his thighs. I use my tongue, the gentle edges of my teeth, the back of my throat. The angle of my neck, the sweep of my hair across his abdomen, the squeezes of my hands. My breath, hot and cool.

  His hands come down to grab my head, to tug my hair, and his breathing fills the room, ragged and uneven. Harder, faster, his hips rise and fall to meet my rhythm.

  I start to hum and when he comes, it's with a roar, and only the thought of watching where my teeth go keeps me from grinning around him.

  "Remind me," he says, sometime later, the tenor of his voice a bit hoarse, "to get a standing mirror for the foot of my bed. All I have to do is imagine the view behind you… Your ass in the air, my undershirt sliding up your back, no panties—Christ, the thought's enough to bring me back to the edge. Next time you do this—and please, God, let there be a next time—I want to watch you while you do it."

  "That'd be kind of hard, given your fear of all mirrors," I tease without thinking about my words.

  His lips fall into a flat line, his eyes lose a bit of their shine. His expression remains poised, but too polite, suddenly. He's shutting down before my eyes. Panic stirs in my chest. "I'm sorry," I say. "I didn't mean to—"

  "Nothing to apologize for. Why don't I go make us that coffee?" He gently slides out from underneath me and sits up, stretching as he stands. He glances at me. "Seriously. No worries."

  But yeah. Right. He's going for lighthearted and he's so far from pulling it off it's not even funny.

  He slips into his jeans from last night, pulling them up, not bothering to button them.

  "I'll just…" I motion aimlessly from my spot in his bed. "Get dressed, too."

  "You sure you don't want to stay in my shirt? It really does suit you…and my imagination." He winks, and a bit of the balance shifts back between us to what it was before I opened my stupid mouth.

  And when I meet him downstairs, dressed in last night's dress—though I may have slipped his undershirt into my bag as a keepsake—he's completely back to himself, handing me a coffee, the scent of bacon sweetening the air. "Eggs or pancakes?"

  "Pancakes, obviously," I say, shaking my head. "Do you know me at all?"

  "Every curve, every crevice," he says, tugging me into him for a long, slow kiss. I slide my fingers through his hair, sleek and soft. God, I love the access I have suddenly. He's amazing. And not just his hair. I twist the kiss into something heavier. He slips his hands down to grab my ass, pulling me harder against him. "I do love this dress, but I love it even more when it's off of you."

  I could get used to this.

 
He gives a light growl when he releases me. "Maybe instead of food, I'll have more of you for breakfast."

  My stomach does a weird hop/twist/turning thing, but I smile, smugly. "Tempting, but you lost the battle when you mentioned pancakes."

  It's true, too. I'm starving.

  And I love pancakes.

  "We can't tell anyone about this at work." I'm surprised I'm the one who has to say it.

  His brows rise in surprise, too, like he hadn't considered it. "There are papers we could sign for HR."

  "No." I shake my head. "I don't want a bad reputation." Not this time. Not at this job.

  "I don't think you'd get one," he says. "But, for now, we'll keep it our secret." He takes another bite, chewing. I could watch him chew for hours, the way his jaw sharpens, the sensual motion of his lips… He catches me staring—and I don't even care. I slide a slice of syrup-saturated pancake into my mouth, still enjoying his.

  "The next few weekends, I'll be gone," he says. "Family stuff. A yearly summit in Palm Beach, not to be confused with a vacation, trust me. Vegas for my brother's bachelor party—not," he says, lifting his brows, "that you have anything to worry about. No strippers. Just gambling."

  My mouth quirks. Then falls. "Will Piper be at any of these things?"

  He shakes his head. "But she does want to meet you."

  Boom. A bomb. Right in my stomach. "You talked to her about me?"

  "Right before you came downstairs, actually."

  "Why?" Beneath the explosion in my system—or maybe what remains now—is a sort of relief. He told her about me. She wants to meet me.

  He wasn't lying about not being engaged.

  I believed him—I believed in myself enough to believe him, but this seals it.

  "Because I told her it's time to break off the engagement. Because I told her I'm falling into something serious."

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  HAPPINESS IS A glow beneath my skin, so bright, so light, I'm not sure how my feet stay on the ground. I literally can't remember the last time I felt this way. I'm not even one hundred percent sure happiness is the right word. Charged, maybe. Or passionate.