adrian-run-to-you-v1

by Lara Adrian

  I don’t know why it’s taken me this long to see it, but now it seems so clear. I think back to the bondage we played at last night, how it excited him to be in control of my body, in control of my pleasure as well as his own.

  It excited me too.

  As I walk slowly toward him, I pull the silk belt off the kimono and let the garment fall to the floor. Gabe looks at me as I approach, his gaze flicking to my fingers as I tie one end of the belt around my left wrist.

  His face is a mask of fury and desire. “What the fuck are you doing?”

  I don’t answer until I am standing in front of him with only a foot of space to separate us. “Don’t you remember what I told you? I am yours, Gabriel. So, now the rest is up to you. Are you mine?” I hold the loose end of the belt out to him. “If you are, then take me. Take me the way you need to, whatever that has to mean to you tonight. Let me be what you need.”

  “You are.” The words gust out of him, thick and raw.

  He grabs the silk ribbon from my fingers and yanks me forward. I crash against the front of his big body, my tethered hand pinned between us. And then his mouth is on mine. His kiss is brutal. A hard claiming that steals my breath and sends a current of fire licking through every fiber of my being.

  I melt into him, his name a jagged sob as our tongues clash and our bodies press and grind together. Relief floods me as his mouth consumes me. I haven’t lost him tonight. Far from it.

  I think, for the first time since we’ve met, we are truly only just discovering each other now.

  He breaks away from our kiss, his eyes wild with hunger. My summery dress has buttons down the front from bodice to hem. Gabe manages only the first few before he rips it open on a dark curse. He dips his head, his mouth latching on to the curve of my bared shoulder.

  “I’ll buy you another,” he snarls against my skin. “I’ll buy you a hundred new dresses.”

  “I don’t care.” I moan, the ruined dress already forgotten as he unfastens my bra and lifts one of my breasts to his lowered mouth. He tongues my nipple before catching it between his teeth. I cry out at the pleasurable pain, which arcs through my body like lightning.

  Dominating my mouth again with his kiss, he caresses and strokes me, smoothly ridding me of my panties before sliding his hand between my legs. His thumb teases my clit, his fingers delving into the molten heat of my sex.

  “Please,” I beg, writhing into his touch.

  And I need to feel him too. I find the hem of his T-shirt and start to slip my hand under the material. I feel a tug on my wrist and realize he still holds the silk belt. He tightens the slack, at the same time stepping back to take hold of my other hand now too.

  He binds my wrists together, tying the belt too tight for me to escape. Not that the thought of it even occurs to me. I have no fear, only wild excitement . . . and complete trust.

  I stand before him naked and bound, and trembling with anticipation.

  Gabe’s fevered gaze drinks me in, a slow perusal that only makes the bulge of his erection appear on the verge of bursting out of his jeans.

  He raises my tied arms up over my head, a silent command to keep them there.

  His touch sears me, both hands moving over every inch of my body. Then he abruptly turns me around and presses me forward against the wall until my cheek rests against the cool drywall. His denim-clad thigh nudges my legs farther apart--wider, then wider still.

  I jolt when his kiss lands on the center of my spine. I squirm when his tongue drifts lower, licking a trail of fire all the way down to the cleft of my ass. A finger invades my sex, then another, pushing deep, spreading my juices and stroking my inner walls until I am panting with arousal and quivering on unsteady legs.

  “I can’t be gentle,” he warns me. “Not this time.”

  I shake my head. “I don’t want you to be.”

  I hear the rasp of his zipper behind me, then the rough tug of his clothing in the instant before I feel the thick head of his cock at the drenched seam of my body. He doesn’t undress. It seems he has no patience for that.

  He rams into me, fucking me with savage thrusts. His strokes are hard and unhinged, one hand clutching my hip while the other is fisted in my hair. Our coupling is primal, a relentless, animal act.

  And I have never been more aroused in my life.

  The words he utters are filthy, worshipful. His voice low and coarse, like gravel and velvet. I am lost to the overwhelming power of him now. Pleasure streaks into my nerve endings, bright white, lightning hot.

  If control was what he needed tonight, I am only too glad to surrender all of mine. Anything if it means he’ll keep driving his cock into me as if he can’t get close enough, can’t go deep enough. He needs this, and I revel in the fact that it is me who’s giving him this.

  “Fuck,” he growls beside my ear. “I’m gonna come.” He powers into me without losing his pace, his thrusts rough and urgent, verging on violent. “I need to come.”

  He’s not asking for permission. Tonight, he has only need. Need for this domination, this fevered release.

  And, yes, need for me.

  I need it too--this connection to him that is both primitive and sublime. I want him to go on like this forever, but his release is already slamming into him. Behind me, his heavy frame goes rigid. He drives deep, so deep it wrenches a small scream from my throat. His strangled roar erupts out of him and he pulls me tight against his body as a shudder rakes him and the scorching blast of his release fills me.

  He keeps pumping, his arm locked around my waist as the aftershocks convulse over him. His shaft is still hard, each slick thrust inflaming my unspent desire. He curses, his hot breath skating across the back of my neck.

  “I didn’t wait for you.”

  I can’t see his face, but I can hear the self-recrimination in his raspy voice. I hear the apology in his words. I shake my head. “It’s all right. Never hold back with me. I love that I can give you this. I love . . .”

  My confession drifts off when I feel him reaching up to untie the bonds at my wrists. He gently pulls out of me, and I can’t help moaning at the loss. But then he turns me around, his strong arms still caging me against the wall. His face is intense with emotion, with so much tender care and deep affection it makes my throat catch.

  He lowers his head and kisses me. It is slow and restrained, but I can taste the wildness still thrumming inside him.

  “This wasn’t supposed to happen, Eve. You weren’t supposed to happen.” He strokes my cheek with trembling fingers. “I need you. Christ . . . I’ve just used you like a fucking animal, and I still need you.”

  “Then have me, Gabriel.”

  With the silk ribbon still dangling from one wrist, I reach down to caress his erection, which is still thick and jutting from his open jeans, still slick and hot from his release. He holds my stare, his handsome face caught between pleasure and torment as I run my hand over him.

  He closes his eyes for a moment, his head dropped back on a low moan. Taking me in his arms, he lifts me off my feet and wraps my legs around him.

  Then he walks me into the bedroom, where we have all night to express the endless and erotic depths of our mutual need for each other.

  28

  ~ Gabriel ~

  Evelyn yawns as I gather her close in the shower after we’ve washed each other. “I don’t want to Monday today.”

  I kiss the top of her head, smiling as she burrows deep into my chest. “Unfortunately, I have some business at headquarters, so we need to get out of here in about an hour.”

  She groans. “You’re no fun.”

  I grunt, tweaking her nipple. “That’s not what you said last night.”

  I don’t think either of us got more than a couple hours of sleep once we hit my bed. This morning came too damn early, but I can hardly complain when Evelyn woke me with soft, demanding kisses and questing hands.

  We made love slowly as dawn illuminated the bedroom. After a night of seemingly u
nquenchable need, today my desire for her has calmed into a slow-burning, deep ache that I feel as intensely in my chest as I do in my blood.

  Maybe even more.

  She lifts her head, frowning up at me. “I thought you were coming to L’Opale with me this morning for a walk-through of the new security system with the staff?”

  The smile I intend to be reassuring instead feels forced. “I’ll drop you there, and then I’ll come back later, once my business is finished with your brother and Nick.”

  I’m not exactly comfortable with the idea of leaving her at the boutique without eyes on her, so as soon I have a minute alone, I’ll have to call O’Connor or another of my team to park a vehicle nearby and watch the shop until I return.

  A playful light shines in Evelyn’s eyes as she kisses my chin. “A little timeout today is probably a good idea. I’m not sure I can be around you this morning without either smiling like a cat in the cream or wanting to tear your clothes off.”

  “Believe me, the feeling is mutual, Ms. Beckham.”

  Last night her complete surrender to me is a gift I’ll always cherish. She was the balm I needed after my confrontation with my father. Her acceptance of me--even at my weakest, even when I was trying to push her away--is the glue that’s keeping me together now, when I know I could be just a few hours away from losing everything.

  Because I can’t go another day without telling her the truth.

  No matter what that costs me with Andrew Beckham and Dominic Baine, today I need to explain to them that I’m involved with her.

  And then I need to alert Evelyn about the danger I believe she’s in, and the fact that I have been assigned to watch over her.

  There is so much more I need to tell her. Words I almost said last night.

  Words I long to say now, as I hold her under the warm spray of the shower and feel her heartbeat drumming against my chest.

  That I can’t imagine being with another woman now that I’ve found her.

  That I want to build a future with her.

  Most of all, that I love her.

  I keep all of those words inside for now. It wouldn’t be fair to say them before she knows all the rest. Instead I lift her lips to mine and kiss her, wishing we didn’t have to start this day I’m already beginning to dread.

  “Gabe,” she murmurs. “I don’t want to go.”

  I swallow, smoothing my thumb over her cheek. “I know, baby.”

  Does she feel the same sense of foreboding that I do? The worry that this weekend really was the unsustainable fantasy I tried to claim it was last night? She had refused to accept it then. Now, it seems like we’re both afraid to be the first to let go.

  With the water still raining down on my back, I kiss her deeply, moving my mouth over hers in an unrushed joining of our lips and tongues and shallow breaths.

  She skims her hands over my chest and shoulders, a fluid caress that wrings a low moan from me. Her touch soothes every bit as much as it inflames. Her fingers skate lower, and even the briefest attention she gives my cock makes it stir to life all over again.

  I touch her, too, stroking the pretty softness of her neck, curving my palm under the perfect curves of her breasts. I lower my head and suckle each tight nipple, taking things slowly this time, savoring every taste of her, every gasp and sigh.

  Her sex is silky and hot against my fingertips. She melts into my palm, her mouth locked onto mine as I gentle her into a shivery, breathless climax.

  It’s enough for me, but before I realize what she’s doing, she sinks down in front of me. Her palms trail down the length of my thighs. She doesn’t shy away from the blunted end of my left leg. Her caress encompasses all of me, her gaze following her touch with a reverence that staggers me.

  Feeling unworthy of the depth of her care right now, I suck in a breath, then push it out on a dark chuckle. “You know, I never considered my stump to be an erogenous zone, but you’re changing my mind.”

  I mean it to lighten the mood, but it seems to have the exact opposite effect. Her mouth curves with devilish amusement. Then her hands move languidly up to my hardened cock once more. “What about this erogenous zone?”

  Kneeling on the shower floor in front of me, she closes her lips over my erection and takes me deep into her mouth. Ah, Christ. My hips buck in response to the wet grip of her lips and tongue moving up and down my shaft.

  “Eve.” I reach down to tangle my fingers through the wet strands of her dark hair.

  She is my anchor, grounding me in more ways than simply keeping me upright.

  I stare down at her as she draws me into the haven of her mouth. The pleasure is too intense. So is my love for this woman. The combination rockets through me like wildfire.

  I clench my molars together and bellow as the pressure coils to the breaking point. I should be depleted after last night and this morning. The simple fact is, I’ll never reach my limit when it comes to her.

  “Baby.” It’s a warning she doesn’t heed. Nor does she yield to the tightening of my hand in her hair. Her mouth takes me deeper, her cheeks holding me firmer as my release boils at the base of my shaft. It is an invitation I’m too far gone to resist.

  I come on a roar. She answers with a soft moan as I erupt against the back of her throat.

  “Fuck.” A deep shudder racks me. When my leg starts to shake beneath me, Evelyn gives my shaft one last lick, then rises up, lending her body for support as I hobble over to the teak bench at the back of the stall. I drop onto it and sag back against the cold tiles, breathing heavily.

  She looks far too satisfied as she kneels between my parted thighs, then takes my face in her hands and gives me a firm kiss. “You okay?”

  I manage a smirk. “Never better. Now, get out of this shower before you kill me, woman.”

  She laughs. “I’ll go get dressed and make some coffee. You need anything?”

  “I’m good.” Hell, I’m better than good, I think as I watch step out of the shower and wrap herself in a towel.

  After a few minutes, I rally enough energy to stand up and soap off again, then I cut the water and towel off while I hear her in the kitchen, filling the coffee maker.

  She pops her head into the bathroom a moment later, looking fresh and beautiful in one of the summer dresses she brought for the weekend and her damp, dark hair swept into a loose twist on top of her head. “Coffee’s on. I’m going to drop that market bag at Mrs. Bernstein’s door, then warm up a couple of her blueberry muffins for us for breakfast.”

  “All right.”

  I almost tell her not to bother with the produce, but she’s already gone back to the kitchen to get it. I tie a towel around my hips and hop back to the bedroom to get dressed and don my prosthesis.

  “Be right back,” she calls from the kitchen.

  I hear the twist of the deadbolts on my apartment as she opens the door to leave.

  For an instant--one awful, time-frozen instant--everything goes perfectly silent.

  Then Evelyn screams.

  29

  ~ Gabriel ~

  I bolt from the bedroom, stumbling more than running.

  I’ve never hated my prosthesis more than in the seconds it takes me to reach the corridor outside my apartment. My suit pants are half-zipped, my white dress shirt flapping behind me like a sail.

  My heart is lodged like a boulder in my throat. “Evelyn!”

  I race to where she has fallen on her bent knees just past the open door. The bag of produce is spilled where she dropped it, leafy green vegetables and tiny blueberries scattered in all directions on the floor of the corridor.

  Her horrified scream has turned into a low, wounded-animal howl as she rocks herself, staring aghast at the disturbing images and obscene scrawl that someone has plastered on the wall across from my apartment.

  Pictures of Evelyn.

  Fashion show photographs, candids, and selfies. A random and varied collection of images, all of them featuring the emaciated, virtually ske
letal, very ill young woman she had been years ago. There are dozens of them, each one documenting her drastic decline.

  And one image that’s not nearly as old as the others.

  That one is just days old. Not a photo at all, but a closeup, intimate screenshot captured of the two of us on Friday at L’Opale when I impulsively made love to Evelyn on top of her desk.

  “Jesus Christ.”

  As if the images weren’t enough to convey the deranged state of the perpetrator’s mind, they are accompanied by two furious messages scribbled in some kind of red ink.

  BITCH.

  WHORE.

  On a broken cry, Evelyn scrambles to her feet and flies at the wall, tearing at the printed photos in a frenzy and trying to scrub away the hideous words with her hands.

  Some of my neighbors come out to see what the disturbance is. I bark at them to get back inside, that this is a private issue and I’ve got it under control.

  But this situation is neither of those things.

  Whoever did this just took it public, and the fact that it occurred not ten feet from my home tells me just how close I’ve come to failing Evelyn.

  I don’t have a fucking thing under control right now. Least of all, my fury.

  Or my bone-deep fear for her safety.

  I stalk to the wall and rip down the rest of the images, starting with the one taken via the camera that’s obviously been obscured inside her office. In something on her desk, from the looks of it. Evelyn’s so overwhelmed right now, I’m not sure she’s processed the full scope of what she’s seeing.

  I stuff some of the images in my pockets--including the infuriatingly invasive one from the other day. The rest I crush in my fist. As for the red words now smeared over the painted drywall, I glance down and see an open tube of designer lipstick lying discarded against the baseboard. I pick it up carefully, using the edges of a photo to avoid compromising any fingerprints that may be on it.

  A wave of black rage pours over me to think that someone was out here delivering this cowardly, malicious attack no more than a few hours ago. While I was on the other side of the door losing myself in the pleasure of Evelyn’s body and rationalizing that so long as she was with me she was safe.