Chapter Sixteen
Vaughn
I flick the silver lighter Dylan gave me for my birthday and touch the flame to the tip of a white pillar candle set in a curvy glass container. Once the wick ignites I step back and take stock. This patio has served my housemates and me well for hanging out and throwing the occasional pool party or barbecue, but as far as I know none of us have attempted to use it as the setting for a romantic dinner. Now I wish I had some experience to draw from, because I don’t want to forget anything.
Have I?
As I look around I run through my mental list. Music? Check. Candles? Check. Privacy? Check, check. Matt’s spending the weekend at his mom’s house in Alta Dena, teaching his youngest sister to drive. Dylan’s at the club until at least three a.m., but his timetable doesn’t matter because his downstairs master bedroom has a separate entrance, and he uses it whenever he comes in super late—or early, as the case may be. Either way, Kendall and I have the place to ourselves tonight, which is key no matter how things play out. I want her to know I took my promise seriously. I know how to be discreet. I can protect her privacy. Our privacy.
The flame from the candle I just lit draws my attention to the low, round table on which it sits. I centered the table in front of the sectional so we could relax, eat, and talk out here where it’s secluded, but not closed in. The pool lights add a nice boost to the glow of the candle. The sun won’t set for another hour or so, but I squint and try to picture the scene at dusk. Should I have gotten her flowers? I bet she likes flowers. On the other hand, I don’t want this whole thing to come off like some cheesy Bachelor-style rose ceremony.
It has to be flawless but honest. I told Kendall to trust me to get it right, and she did, but now her trust has planted an unfamiliar crop of nerves in my gut, because of who she is and everything she’s been through and…because of the sex.
Ironic, right? I have a fuckton of experience when it comes to sex. Fun sex, friendly sex, dirty sex, and occasionally impersonal sex. I’m not saying I’m proud of this—though for the most part I’m not ashamed of it, either—but I’m not used to feeling this unsure of my moves.
I want to give her excitement. I want to blow her mind. I want her to know she’s special. She’s not a random hookup, or a career tactic, or a fuck buddy. I’m not entirely sure what she is, but I know I need to earn the trust she’s offering. I want every detail she sees from the moment she walks in my door to tell her I’m going to take care of her.
My phone vibrates. I reach into the pocket of my jeans, hoping to God Kendall’s not calling to cancel, and get a burst of relief followed by a flare of resentment when I see it’s my dad. I consider letting him go to voicemail, but he can be relentless. Ultimately, my life will be easier if I just take the call.
“I can’t talk now,” I say into the phone, opting to own the conversation from the outset and keep it short.
“This won’t take long. I know you leave for the Armani shoot Friday morning, but I got you on the VIP list for Laney Albright’s album release party this Thursday. My assistant will send you the details and passes.”
The guest list for Laney’s highly anticipated debut album will be heavy on America Rocks brass, possibly including Nigel, which makes the tickets a big score. Dad’s good at those, and I’m fine playing along with this part of the business. Better yet, I’ll actually enjoy the music, but I’m more interested in the one detail he slipped in without much fanfare. “Passes, plural?”
“You and a guest. Becca’s more than willing, naturally, but—”
“No…” Before I can tell him it’s out of the question, and why, he continues.
“I’m thinking the same thing. It might be better to keep people guessing, and there are some bigger names interested in being your date for the event. I’m going to reach out to a few people—”
And there it is. The part of the business I don’t appreciate at all. He’s my manager, not my matchmaker, and people aren’t commodities. “Don’t bother. I’ve got a date.” Kendall.
Several beats of silence meet my statement. “What are you talking about? Who?”
“None of your business. I’m twenty-fucking-four years old, Dad. I’m entitled to run my personal life without your sign-off.”
“A public appearance is not your personal life. You’re there as Vaughn Shaughnessy, the most obvious choice for the new host of America Rocks. Who you hang on your arm for these people to see? That’s a career decision, which makes it my business.”
I glance at my watch. Shit. Kendall will be here any minute. I do not have time to finish this pissing contest with him. “I’ve got it handled.”
“You can’t show up with some pretty young nobody who caught your eye at Dylan’s club. I need to check her background. Having a fake ID and a fuck-me smile might work for The Cabana, but it’s not going to cut it Thursday night. She needs to be…appropriate. Not jailbait or some aspiring porn star.”
“She’s not underage or a porn star.” Claws of a tension headache dig into my skull. “She’s twenty-two. Just graduated from NYU.”
“Is she trying to break into the business?”
“No. She’s house-sitting for the summer.” A knock at my door has me heading inside.
“A house-sitter? I don’t see any point to this, Vaughn.”
He wouldn’t. “I’ve got to go. Thanks for the tickets.” I end the call, toss my phone on the narrow table in the entryway, and open the door.
And there she is, on my doorstep, stealing my breath in a sleeveless black dress that hugs her curves. Her loose hair looks even blonder against the dark fabric. Her skin seems even more golden. The diamond in the pendant I gave her winks at me from its enviable position guarding her cleavage. And last but certainly not least, a slit runs high up one thigh—high enough to make me wonder if she’s wearing anything under the dress.
I wipe my palms on my jeans. “Hi.”
“Hi.” She breathes the word and offers me a little smile. Awesome. We’re both nervous.
My nerves might explain why I’m just realizing she’s holding a gift bag in one hand and a plate covered in aluminum foil in the other, although the slit in her skirt is more likely the culprit. “What’s all this?” I take the plate off her hands.
She looks up at me from beneath a fringe of lashes. “You wondered if this thing between us could ever lead to chocolate chip cookies.”
The pink invading her cheeks fires my blood. Just to see her blush harder, I say, “I meant it as a euphemism.”
“I know,” she teases, but her cheeks do, indeed, turn a shade closer to red. “And this”—she raises the bag—“is the birthday present I forgot to bring you.”
“You didn’t—”
“I wanted to.”
I want to kiss her. In hello. In thanks. To acknowledge this constant energy between us is something new for me, too. I lean in and plant one on her lips, keeping it quick, and mostly innocent, because I don’t want to come on all hot and heavy first thing, but when I draw away, a sugary, vanilla flavor hits my tongue. Her lip gloss. Without really planning it, I come back for another taste. She inhales quickly just before I settle my mouth over hers, and the involuntary, breathless little sound excites me in a way a calculated moan never could. My free hand cups the back of her head, and next thing I know I’m delving deep, and the sweetness of Kendall supersedes everything. Her fingers are in my hair, her scent in my head, and her breath in my lungs.
A voice in the back of my mind reminds me I’m trying to be a gentleman tonight, and I’m standing at my front door with a plate of cookies in my hand, jumping her like some hard-up perv who’s after only one thing. I ease back. She closes her lips around my tongue as I slowly withdraw, and I feel the slick tug of her mouth all the way to my cock. Now I’m the one dragging air into my lungs, struggling for control. Her hand slides from my hair to my jaw. I rest my forehead against hers, and, after a few seconds, open my eyes and fall into two clear blue oceans.
“You, too.”
I take her free hand and lead her inside. “Thanks. Just for that, you get one of these fresh-baked cookies my neighbor made me.” This is mostly me wanting a cookie and not wanting to be rude.
“I actually already ate a few, so those are all for you.”
I steer her toward the kitchen, put the plate down on the counter, and peel back the tinfoil. “If you insist.”
“Open this first.” She puts the gift bag in front of me.
Why I’m keyed up about what’s inside, I have no idea. Maybe it’s because I can’t remember the last time a woman I dated gave me something besides liquor or a blow job. I lift out the tissue paper then reach my hand inside to withdraw a men’s woven leather bracelet. It’s black, double corded with a slipknot, and it’s fucking awesome.
“I thought, since you got me something to wear, I’d get you something to wear, too,” she says softly.
I slip the buttery soft leather onto my wrist. “I love it. Thank you.” It takes everything I’ve got not to kiss her again. I resist because I need to take this slow, and when I put my mouth on her, I lose sight of that goal.
Her gorgeous smile tests my willpower. “You’re welcome.”
I snag a cookie to give my mouth something to do besides lust for her. “Holy shit, these are insane.”
“Thanks. I’m glad you like them.”
No blush this time. She’s comfortable accepting certain kinds of praise. For some reason I miss the pink cheeks. I want to see them again. “Oh, I like the way you bake, Kendall, but you have other talents I like even better.”
She arches her eyebrows. “Oh, really?”
“Yeah.” I put half the cookie back on the plate and then lean against the counter and face her. “For starters, I like the way you kiss.”
Victory is mine. Color stains her cheeks, but she seems to own it more easily now. “The kissing must be a natural talent, because I can promise you I have way more practice baking.”
My dick twitches thinking about the extent of those natural talents, and the practice I’m ready to give 100 percent to, but not yet. I cover the cookies with the foil. “I’m going to hide these from my roommates, otherwise I’m liable to get none, and then we’ll start on the culinary masterpiece I slaved over.”
“You slaved over dinner?”
“Don’t even get me started. I dialed the caterer. I explained the occasion. I pored over an endless menu of options and made tough decisions like which two sides should accompany the entree.” I stow the cookies away in a bottom drawer underneath a clean dishtowel, and then pull a large bottle of water and a couple platters out of the fridge. She takes the water from me before I lead the way out to the patio. “Then I had to supervise the setup by diligently standing aside and staying out of their way. I’m fucking exhausted.”
Her lips quirk as she puts the water on the table and settles into the sectional. I take the spot beside her and feel my mouth stretch into an answering smile. She arranges her legs under her, folds her hands in her lap, and eyes me. “Exactly how did you explain this occasion?”
“You know”—I shrug, deliberately casual—“the standard, deflower-the-beautiful-virgin-next-door dinner.”
She chokes out a laugh before clearing her throat. “Do they list that one between corporate event and family reunion?” Her hand hovers over her upper lip to hide her grin.
“Yep. Lucky number seven.”
“So I assume we’re having…a hard sausage sampler?”
“Please. I would never be so obvious. I believe the theme of tonight’s menu is Things You’ve Never Tried Before.” I pick up the bottle of water and pour her a glass. No booze tonight. I don’t need it. Don’t want it.
She raises an eyebrow and glances at the appetizer tray. “I hate to break it to you, but I’ve had berries, bread, and cheese before.”
“Fine.” I spread one of the cheeses on a slice of bread, top it with a raspberry, and hand it to her. “What haven’t you had before?”
“Um…frog legs,” she says around a bite. “And sex. But I’ve never much wanted to try frog legs.”
“Got it. No on frog legs, yes on sex.” Jesus, I like this girl. I’m not sure I’ll be able to keep to my side of the sectional while we eat.
“That would be my preference.”
“Noted.” I pick up a strawberry from the tray, hold it out to her, and enjoy the feel of her soft lips against my fingers as she closes her mouth around it. “Let’s talk about that.”
She swallows. “All right.”
“I was thinking we should drill down on the act—so to speak. What have you done? How far have you gone? What did you like? What didn’t you like?”
Another strawberry disappears between her vanilla-flavored lips. I fight an urge to chase it with my tongue because I want to hear what she says. I want to know. I don’t want to move too fast or make another misstep. Mostly, I don’t want to cause her any pain.
“What have you done?” She rests her head on the cushion and looks over at me. “How far have you gone?”
Shit. I really hadn’t planned on getting into a game of “I Never” with her. When it comes to sex, there’s very little I’ve never done, but that fact suddenly strikes me as sad and sordid. “I want to make it good for you, Kendall. That’s why I ask.”
Her smile returns, just a bit challenging. “And I want to make it good for you. It’s been four years since I’ve done anything sexual with a guy. But before that, Mason and I did everything except have intercourse. I’m not without skills, they’re just rusty.”
Mention of Mason reminds me of how important tonight is. “I don’t want to hurt you.” There. I said it. So much for finesse.
“I don’t think you need to worry about that.”
“Because…?” I’ve never had a candid conversation like this with a girl before, but it’s necessary. I won’t cross any line she doesn’t want to cross.
The color rises in her cheeks, but she returns my stare straight on. “Because I didn’t hurt myself the other day when I was thinking about you and taking care of business solo-style.”
“Only once? That’s it? I must be in the hundreds by now, starting with the night we met.”
“You passed out the night you met me.”
“Okay, the morning after. I woke up with a vision of you in my head, and a hard-on so unstoppable I nearly came all over the sofa.” At this moment, images of Kendall going solo-style fill my mind, and now my throat’s dry and my cock is like granite, but I want to hear more, so I down some water and lean closer. “What did you imagine me doing to you while you were taking care of business?”
Her eyes drop to my mouth, and then to my lap. “There are a couple different scenarios.” She leans her head to the side and trails her hand down her neck. “They all get the job done—”
“Your favorite.”
“You first.”
“Okay. You wander onto my deck,” I say without hesitation. This is an often-played scenario and, if she wants to hear it, I want to share it. “It’s night. The pool lights are on, and they guide you here. You’re wearing a robe, but you slip it off as you approach the water, and you’re naked beneath. I’m in the shadows, and I don’t know if you see me or if you think you’re alone, but you stop at the edge of the pool and stare at the water for a minute while the breeze has its way with you. I stay where I am, breathing shallow and gripping my dick through my jeans as I watch your nipples tighten. You bring your hands up and run your fingertips over them. Your eyelids droop and you bite your lip, and I wonder if you’re imagining me touching you. I decide you are, since you’re standing at my pool, and I think about stepping out of the shadows, but I don’t. Not yet.”
This session of true con
fessions is having a painfully predictable effect on me, but I don’t care, because I can’t take my eyes off Kendall. Pink cheeks, parted lips, she’s hanging on my every word. As I watch, she crosses her legs and shifts forward. I nearly die.
“Then you dive in, and I step to the opposite end of the pool. I can hardly walk. I want you so badly every step tortures me, but the sight of your naked body gliding under the water tortures me even more. A couple lazy strokes, and you break the surface right at my feet. By the time you see me there I’m already closing in on you. I grip your wrists and haul you out of the pool. Water’s streaming off you, and you’re probably a little cold, but I don’t care because I’m on fire—every fucking inch of me. I hold you against me. You’re cool and smooth and sleek. I’m touching you everywhere, but I can’t get you close enough, fast enough. Maybe I’m moving too fast, because you wriggle out of my grasp and walk away. You walk to the railing, wrap your hands around the top bar, and then shoot me this look over your shoulder—a look that says I’ve got to do more than just show up and grab you.”
Kendall’s hands rest near mine on the table. I wrap my fingers around her wrist. Her pulse is pounding. I feel the echo of it in my head. My chest. My aching balls.
“What do you do?” Her voice is barely a whisper.
“I walk over to you and stand close but don’t touch you anywhere. When you shiver, I sweep your hair aside and kiss the back of your neck. Just that. My lips on your skin. I kiss my way down your body, inch by inch. I stop often. I take my time, until you’re gripping the rail and squirming under my lips. Then I turn you around and kiss my way back up. I taste every part of you. You’re screaming for me now, and I let you scream, because my body’s screaming, too, and why should it suffer alone? But I give you only my mouth, working you with my lips and tongue until your breath hitches, and your body stiffens, and you come in a sweet, heavy rush. I catch you before your legs give out and lift you onto the railing. I tear my jeans open, part those long, endless legs of yours, and finally, finally drive into you. You’re tight, and wet, and still quivering from the first orgasm, and it’s more than I can take. I fuse my mouth to yours and fuck you like my life depends on it. You’re wrapped around me, holding tight, with your heels digging into my thighs and your fingernails raking my ass. This time your scream flows straight into my throat, vibrates down my spine, and into my balls. Then your body hugs my cock, I call your name, and come in one long burst that drains me, body and soul.”
Promise Me Page 17