by Blake, Lexi
She hoped he still wanted her after he’d seen her scars. She shook her head. “I’m tired of fighting this, but you should know that I’m also scared shitless of the entire sex act.”
“We’re not having sex.”
“So you’re taking a Clintonian view of the act?”
It was his turn to sigh. “No cock until you give me what I want.”
He was a little arrogant. It was one of the things that kind of got her hot about him. “And what is that?”
“I want you to love me.”
“I can’t. I don’t have that in me.” She wanted to. She wanted nothing more than to open herself and love him, but that part of her heart had been burned away. She couldn’t love him and even if she was capable, she wouldn’t let herself because she was bad for everyone. The best gift she could give him was to leave and let him be free of this weird, painful cycle they were in.
“You have no idea what you could do if you would try.” His eyes were intent on hers, staring as though he could impart his will.
The trouble was she wasn’t sure she even wanted to try. She’d tried before and it had been a disaster. She’d tried to be good and it never worked out. “I think I know myself better than you think.”
“I think you don’t know yourself at all, but god, Chelsea, I’m sick of arguing with you. Kiss me again. I don’t get mad at you when you kiss me.”
And that was their problem. The only times they weren’t arguing or bickering at each other were when they were playing. Kissing Simon had been the most peaceful place she’d ever found. Likely would ever find.
She didn’t hesitate. She wanted these moments with him. She went on her toes in that horrific bathroom and forgot about the rodents and the mold and the prostitutes next door and let her lips find his. Warmth immediately flooded her system, and her skin tingled in a way it never had before.
“Why are you afraid?”
She stiffened immediately. She never should have told him.
His hands found her head, softly smoothing her hair back. “Don’t. Don’t pull away from me. Talk to me. Tell me what the trouble is. We signed a contract and that means your troubles are my troubles. I want to help you, Chelsea.”
“When you put it like that it makes me sound like a charity case.”
He growled and dragged her against him, letting his hard cock rub against her belly. “Fine. You won’t let me be delicate. I want to help me. I want to shove my cock inside you and I can’t do that until I figure out why you’re so bloody afraid of me and intimacy and being together.”
“Can’t you let things lie, Simon? I’m tired. I don’t want to talk about it. I just want to kiss you for a while and forget about everything else. I promise I’ll be good. I won’t even try to run away.”
“I won’t wake up and find you’ve left in the morning?” He said it like it was a joke, but she noticed the tight set of his jaw. He thought it was a possible outcome.
She had to smile and she let her arms wrap around him. It was so much nicer than pushing him away. Her cheek rested against his chest and she could hear his heartbeat. It was strong and steady, like the man himself. His arms were around her and he surrounded her, cutting off the rest of the world. Why would she run from that? “I told you, I’ll honor our contract. I won’t run. I’ll do what you need me to do until we figure a way out of this mess.”
And then she would leave.
His fingers tangled gently in her hair, drawing her face up so her eyes met his. “I will get you out of this. We’ll figure out what they want.”
She didn’t like the thought of that. “And we’ll give it to them?”
“No, love. Whatever information you have, we’ll make a bomb out of it and shove it right up their arses. We’ll laugh when they explode, and they will. I won’t allow them to get away with this.” Even though his tone was soft, she could hear the will behind his words. He wouldn’t stop until he’d done what he said.
She might have to protect her Dom, too. Simon was like a superhero. Strong. Powerful. A little naïve and always preferring to do the noble thing. These men who were after her didn’t believe in nobility. She would have to watch his back.
But right now she could watch his front. His gorgeous, sun-kissed front. He’d ditched everything but his shirt and slacks, and his pristine white dress shirt was open and untucked, revealing the most beautiful chest she’d ever seen. She loved the way he looked in his leathers when he walked the floor of Sanctum, but she’d never gotten this close. She’d definitely been a “worship him from afar” girl. Even the one time he’d played with her, she hadn’t touched him. She’d done exactly what he accused her of. She’d used him to get rid of her pain and the moment he offered her anything else, she’d called for her sister and pushed him away. She was done pushing him away for now.
“Can I touch you, Sir?”
He shook his head. “Master. I prefer to be called Master. I want to hear it even if it’s only for a little while. I’ll find a collar for you at some point.”
“Simon,” she began. She wasn’t sure she could handle him collaring her, like she meant something special to him. It would mean so much and it would be a lie because she had to leave when the op was over.
“No arguments,” he said, his mouth hovering over hers. “It’s in our contract.”
He was killing her with that contract. She stared at his lips even as she knew she should be protesting. Such beautiful lips for a man. Plump and sensual and perfect on his face. She managed a token challenge. “You didn’t mention that part.”
Those lips curled ever so slightly in a devilishly sexy grin. “You should have read it before you signed it.”
She’d been impulsive. She always read everything five times and then tried to figure out how the person on the other end of the document was trying to screw her. She was careful but her guard fell asleep around him. Like her walls were tired of holding up and they’d found a safe place to crumble. She hadn’t read the contract, simply signed her name, and if putting a collar around her throat made him feel better, then perhaps she should soften up, too. Just a little. “I don’t like leather.”
“Neither do I. Gold. Your skin looks good in gold. Kiss me, Chelsea.”
She loved the way he said it. It didn’t feel like a demand. Coming from his sensual mouth and in his so-sexy British accent, his words felt more like an entreaty, like a call for something he needed.
No one ever needed her before.
She went on her toes and kissed him again for the second time that night. She let her lips play against his, allowed her tongue to trace the seam of his mouth. His hands moved from her back to her hips, but no further. He seemed determined to play the gentleman. He liked to be in control. He wouldn’t be a Dom if he didn’t, but he held back for her sake.
“Let me see your breasts,” he whispered before dragging his tongue across her bottom lip and making her shiver.
She would have told anyone who asked that kissing wasn’t something she would like to do. It seemed messy. The few times she’d tried it before had been awkward and led nowhere, but kissing Simon was a totally different experience. She’d thought it would be a meshing of lips, but somehow her whole body got involved. Her hands stroked his back. Her chest brushed restlessly against his. Her hips seemed to move to a rhythm of their own.
Her breasts. He wanted to see them. They weren’t too bad. They were small, but perky. He’d seen them before, caught brief glances when she managed to work up the courage to play with him. She could show him her breasts.
Except her hands didn’t seem to work.
“Love, this can’t work if you won’t show me. I can’t touch them and lick them and suck on them through your shirt. I can’t taste you like this.”
That did something for her. Holy smokes. Her pussy seemed to tighten and soften all at the same time. What the hell was that about?
She’d never really felt it before, but it was good. It left her restless, but it was a
good restless.
She stepped back because she couldn’t do a damn thing with his hands on her. She couldn’t even think much less make her hands leave his body.
The minute she stepped away, she remembered where she was—in a rat-infested hotel on the run from people who wanted her dead.
“Don’t. We’re not here. Not really. We’re somewhere beautiful, Chelsea. We’re somewhere lovely.”
“Where?” Tears clouded her eyes because it had been so long since she’d been somewhere really lovely. She wouldn’t have noticed because she never looked around. She kept her head down, watched the sidewalk so she didn’t fall. She watched for threats. She never looked at the beauty of a place.
“My home. Norsely. It’s beautiful. It’s in the country. Everything is green and lush there. My room overlooks the gardens, and during the spring a wind sweeps in and I can smell the roses. It’s all in white. White curtains, white linens, white carpet. I open the door to the balcony so the breeze can wash over us. It makes us feel clean and it feels so good on your skin, love. It’s cool, but I promise I’ll make you warm again.”
She closed her eyes and she could see it, feel the breeze on her skin. It made her shiver but he was right. He could make her warm with a single look. Against the white of the room, he stood out. His skin and hair were sun kissed, as though Apollo himself had blessed him.
“You’re here with me, Chelsea. Show me how beautiful you are.”
She opened her eyes, but all she could see was him. She let go of everything else. She didn’t have to be anywhere she didn’t want to be. If she wasn’t really here, then she didn’t have to be afraid. She could be who she wanted to be. She could be brave.
She let her hands drift to the bottom of her T-shirt and she pulled it over her head before she could think about it. She did away with the bra. If she was going to this, she would do it right. “It sounds beautiful. Your home that is.”
He’d grown up in a mansion. She’d seen the manor house in pictures because when she was bored she always turned to her favorite subject. Night after endless night she would look for articles about him. When the pain in her leg flared, she looked for pictures of him attending grand balls and graduating from Oxford. She hoped he never found the folders she kept on her servers where she stashed all the information she could find about him and his family. The Westons had been royalty for centuries, coming in and out of favor with various kings and queens but always finding a way to better themselves.
Her father had killed her mother and god only knew how many people. He’d been a criminal and her home had been stolen from someone who owed her father money.
“It is beautiful, but not as beautiful as you.”
“Simon…”
He put a finger to her lips. “Hush. I don’t want to be forced to punish you. Just agree with me and we’ll get along so much better. You’re beautiful, Chelsea, and I’ll say it until you believe it.” His eyes were on her breasts. “Are you really a virgin?”
She nodded. “There weren’t many choices growing up and then I was on the run.”
She didn’t have to tell him anything else. He didn’t have to know about that night.
“So no man’s ever brushed his fingers over your flesh?” Gently, oh so gently, his fingertips traced a line from her collarbone to her nipples. Like a little butterfly flapping its wings against her skin.
She shook her head. “No.”
No one ever touched her the way he did.
With one finger he traced a circle around her areola. She could feel her nipple tightening, peaking. “No man’s ever put his mouth here.”
He was going to do it. He was going to kiss her there and she wanted it. Her body felt soft, submissive. Submission had always been just a word for her, something she would say to get what she wanted. She wanted to submit to him, to let him do what he wanted because she had no idea what she could be. That was what he’d said. That she could be more. She wanted more.
“No.”
He dropped to his knees in front of her.
“Simon, the floor…” It seemed wrong for him to touch it. He was always so clean.
“The carpet is quite easy on my knees, love. It’s chenille. So soft. And you look gorgeous in the afternoon light. The window behind us faces the west. It catches the sunset and it makes your hair come alive. It brings out the red and gold, and sparkles against your naked skin. It makes you look like a goddess.”
He leaned his head forward and pressed a chaste kiss against her breast.
Heat flared along her flesh. “Tell me more.”
“There’s a bed and I’ll take you there in a moment.” He switched to her other breast, giving it the same tender treatment. “It’s quite large.”
She couldn’t help but smile. “You have a big bed? I would have thought it would be small after your lecture on Americans needing space. You had a brother growing up. Did you share a room with him?”
He chuckled against her skin, running his nose across her as though memorizing her scent. “Don’t talk about my brother. He might like to share with his friends, but I prefer to be one on one. And this wasn’t my room. This is more like a fantasy I have. A grown-up version. I won’t ever live there again. That’s my brother’s home now.”
But he missed it. She could hear it in his voice. “So in your fantasy you have a big bed.”
His tongue came out, licking over her and making her squirm. “Yes, we need a big bed for all the things I want to do to you. I don’t want it to be staid and plain between us. I want it dirty and rough and sweet and slow and everything that it can be between two people. A Dom needs room to make his sub scream.”
She was almost screaming as it was. He licked her other nipple and then took it between his teeth, rolling it gently and then biting down so suddenly she couldn’t help but squeal.
“God, I love that sound.”
She could feel his whispered words all along her flesh. It made her shiver with desire she hadn’t known possible. This man did it for her in every way she’d never imagined. It was like her skin was magnetized and attracted to him and only him.
He sucked her nipple hard, his arms going around her waist and dragging her to him. She let her head fall back. Simon had promised her he wouldn’t take her virginity. He claimed he wouldn’t penetrate her until she begged for him—until she loved him. She knew only two things in the world. She knew that Charlotte was a devoted sister and that when Simon Weston told her something, he would move heaven and earth to make certain what he said would happen. He wouldn’t lie to her. He was the good guy.
She could relax because she wasn’t going to give him what he wanted.
She couldn’t tell him that she loved him.
God, she wanted to be able to love him. She’d never felt about anyone the way she felt for him but she didn’t trust it, didn’t believe it could last. She wanted him so badly, but she would have to leave him if only to protect him.
She let her hands find his hair. She had him for the moment and she wanted everything she could have from him. She held him to her breast, reveling in the way he sucked and licked and bit at her. He moved from one nipple to the next and she wondered how it would feel to wear his clamps. He would pick pretty clamps and slip them over her nipples one by one. They would bite into her, a reminder that he was her Master. When he touched her, she would move and whimper and shiver and feel the touch of his clamps.
Maybe she was a little more submissive than she was willing to admit—but only when it came to him.
Simon’s hands moved over her back, sliding down to cover her butt. Sweet heat suffused her. Even as he cupped her ass, she wanted more. So much more. She wanted to be exactly in the place he’d described to her. She wanted him to take her to his home and make her his queen, or duchess, or whatever as long as she was his just for a little while.
“Tell me you want me.” Simon was staring up at her, his blue eyes hotter than she could ever remember them.
�
��I want you.” It was easy. She could give him that. She wanted him to take her, to be the only man who ever entered her.
Damn it. She didn’t mean that. She would move on after him.
And still it was true. “I do want you.”
He stood up and hauled her into his arms like she weighed nothing. “Then let’s not waste more time.”
She agreed. She’d wasted far too much time.
Chapter Six
He was an idiot. What the bloody hell was he doing? He carried her from the disgusting bathroom into the relatively clean by comparison bedroom. He couldn’t fuck her here. She deserved more. It was why he’d started talking about his stupid dreams. He’d started having them the night after he’d met her. He was back at Norsely but this time he felt like he belonged. This time he wasn’t just the spare. He wasn’t always in his brother’s shadow, the younger son who screwed up everything. He was a son of Norsely and he belonged.
It didn’t matter. He gently placed Chelsea on the bed. He had everything he needed. He had money and a place in the world. He didn’t need a stupid manor house. He didn’t need his brother to know him.
He did need her.
He was starving for her.
“I’m going to take your pants off now.” He was the slightest bit wary. She was twenty-seven. He didn’t buy her “I didn’t have time to have sex” act. Something had happened. He wasn’t a fool. He knew her history. He’d read the file on her and her sister. There had been a reason Ian had put a knife in her uncle’s back. And her father… The one good thing Eli Nelson had done on this earth had been to kill the fucker. He’d tortured his daughter. Something had set her off men, and he had to be careful because he didn’t want to be just another man who did her wrong.
She was on her back, propped up on her elbows, somber eyes looking down at him. “I don’t want you to see me.”
Her scars. She was touchy about them. “I’ve seen you, Chelsea. They didn’t bother me before. Do you want to see mine? I’ve got scars, too. No one gets to my age in this business without a few scars.”