by Amber Bardan
What the hell is wrong with me?
I couldn’t bear to kiss him. It seemed like giving him that much might hand over part of me. He brushed my pulse, and he may as well have taken my most vital organ in his fist, because my heart squeezed violently.
Seduction was my game, so why did I feel like the one exposed?
His hand shifted to the back of my neck, to the base of my skull, then slid against my scalp. Nerves all through me blazed to life. His grip tightened in my hair, and he pulled just hard enough to force a tilt to my face. He caught me up just like a mouse in a trap.
My fingers curled in his shirt. He moved in, one fraction after another, until his steady breaths mingled with my shuddering ones.
It was usually me chasing the mice—catching them by their little gray tails. Somehow everything had switched, and this thing between Avner and me wasn’t anywhere as simple as cat and mouse. I had teeth and claws of my own. Yet, we weren’t even, and we weren’t hunters of the same variety. He was infinitely higher on the food chain.
His lips grazed mine, sending warmth spreading to the painful clutch of my chest. My hands made fists in his shirt, and I shoved him hard. He lifted his head. I didn’t give him a chance to react more than that, just pushed again, and again until his back met the wall.
Then my chest eased, and I smiled.
I had him where I wanted, and boy did Avner look good backed against a hard place. His broad shoulders rested against the plaster, his hips tilted forward and he looked down at me through his dark, sweeping lashes. Finally, I touched him the way I’d wanted to since I’d first laid eyes on him. My fingers splayed, and I ran my hands down his chest. His muscles tightened under my touch. I absorbed him through my palms. Traced over his pecs, dragged my fingers over his ribs, then brought my hands to his middle and slid down his belly.
My forehead dropped to his chest, and I gazed at my hands low on his waist, resting right where his shirt tucked into his pants. I pressed my nose to his sternum and breathed him in.
He filled my lungs like a dose of testosterone-laced crack—addictive, euphoric and even a little vicious. Blood pulsed all through my body. A heavy beat under my skin and a need deep in my womb. I gripped his belt in both hands and slid down. His hands closed over the tops of my arms, but I didn’t let that slow me down. I slid until my knees knocked the ground, his grip now a vise on my wrists.
I tugged my hands and looked up at him. “Trust me, babe, I’m good at this.”
He lowered his chin, raised his shoulders off the wall and straightened. I rocked back on my knees.
“I’m sure you’re very good, but this isn’t how it’s going to be tonight.” His low rumbling tone sent need curling down my spine. “Now get off your knees, because I’m not ready to have my cock in your mouth.”
He dragged me up by my wrists, and caught me with an arm around my waist before my feet had a chance to meet the ground. I blinked and stared at him. I shouldn’t have done that—stared at him. His expression blazed heat, but his jaw set stubborn and hard, and everything about it was wrong and thrilling.
My muddled head spun.
He backed me up until the bed knocked against my thighs. I wasn’t quite sure but it seemed like he had just refused a blow job. Impossible. Maybe my mouth hung a little open.
“Don’t worry—” he leaned into me, arching my back, pressing all his glorious muscled weight against me until I fell back onto the quilt “—when I am, I’ll put it there.”
I gasped at his words.
His hand came down next to my head. The smugness rolling off him set a challenge on fire in my belly. He lowered his face again, and I shoved my forearms between us, stopping his descent just as his lips brushed mine.
“Is that what gets you off? Being in charge?” I breathed right against his lips. “Do I have to play innocent to turn you on? Because that’s not me.”
He smiled. I was too close to see it, too busy staring at his eyes, but his lips curved against mine. “No, Emma, you don’t need to play anything.” He shifted, and dragged the tip of his nose over the curve of my cheek, then rubbed his lips against my ear. “You don’t have to take my lead, but I promise that if you do, you will be the one getting off.”
He bit my earlobe. I jerked, shivers exploding down my neck and desire streaking between my legs. My lungs shuddered.
His heavy breaths rushed against my neck.
My forearms shook even though he wasn’t leaning on me all that heavily. I didn’t know how to do this. I never played this way. Part of me wanted to shove him away, tell him this isn’t how it’s done.
But the rest of me...
I let my arms fall away.
His head snapped up, and I got one look at the devastating curl of his lips before they slammed down over mine. His tongue glided into my mouth, and filled me with a taste that was all male and completely honest. My skin tingled against the scrape of his stubble, an electric prickle against the decadent brush of his lips. He buried his hands in my hair and kissed me deeply. The scent of man, of musk and of heat consumed me through my nose and in rushes against my tongue.
I gripped the shirt at his sides, and pushed my tongue back into his mouth. Went after him in his space, and sought out more of that maddening taste. His weight settled against me. I arched into the pressure, needing more of his weight, more of his heat, wanting to be crushed by the feeling of him.
His hips lifted and he reached between us, grabbed the edge of my dress and yanked it up. My thighs fell open, and he cupped my cunt. A breathtaking concoction of sensation slammed through me at the scrape of his skin against my wet flesh.
He broke the kiss and looked at me. “Oh, Emma, you’re not wearing panties.”
Maybe I could have answered, maybe said something clever to put him in his place, but his palm shifted against my mound, and all I could do was groan.
“Such a dirty girl.” He looked at me, his gaze flicking over me as though he heard things I wasn’t even saying. “Wearing a white dress, shaking hands with a priest, dancing at your best friend’s wedding—” he moved his hand and his fingers glided between my lips and stroked over my clit “—with your wet little pussy bare.”
My hips bucked, and pleasure streaked all the way into my limbs.
“But what I want to know,” he said, and this time his voice dropped an octave, and he pushed a finger inside me, “is if you got your cunt out for me?”
Oh, Jesus.
His words rang in my ears, but his finger filled my cunt, pressing deeply and perfectly, making my entire body somehow light and tight at the same time.
“I asked you a question, Emma. Don’t be rude.” He drove another digit into me.
I sucked in a gulp of air. “Yeah,” I stammered. “Yes.”
My spine curled, my toes clenched. He seemed to reach every place in my vagina at once, and he knew just what to do. He stroked his fingertips in tiny movements inside me.
My flesh stretched around him, and my pussy gave a little with every tormenting movement.
“You’ve been very naughty.” He kept on moving those fingers the same excruciating way while staring me in the face. “Do you want me to fuck you like you are a naughty, dirty girl, Emma?”
Pleasure tightened my nerves, and squeezed the air out of my lungs. My hands burned where they clung to his shirt. I’d never been about foreplay, I knew exactly what I was after and could enjoy it without the effort of an orgasm—but with only his fingers inside me, that sweet precipice beckoned. I’d come on his hand. Just a little more and I’d come right on his fingers.
I couldn’t break the intensity of his gaze, and there was something about saying it to his face that made my cheeks heat from more than swamping lust. “Yes.”
He made a sound at the back of his throat, and pushed his hand hard bet
ween my legs. My back bowed, and I lost all ability to breathe.
My head beeped as if something electronic went off in my brain. Avner stiffened. His entire body went like lava cooling to rock.
It wasn’t my head beeping. I wasn’t having an aneurism. There was something actually electronic interrupting us.
His eyes widened. My abdominals contracted. I grabbed onto his arm and twisted against his touch.
“Sorry, I must take this.” He tugged his hand from between my legs and he sat back, then retrieved his phone from his pocket.
I held my breath, and leaned up onto my elbows. Lucky for him I was aroused enough that I’d forgive his transgression if he threw that stupid phone away and fucked me right damn now.
He glanced at the screen and ran a hand over his jaw, then backed away.
I held out a hand and muttered something, but he’d already turned leave. He brought the phone to his ear, then opened the door and stepped out.
I blinked into the suddenly empty room and sat up panting and gasping.
My dress bunched at my stomach, and seemed to have grown tighter, the fabric now smothering. I reached behind me and fumbled with the zipper.
It was all okay, he’d be back in a second.
I mean, I’d have to teach him about priorities, but he’d be back to finish this. I pulled off the straps and shoved the dress over my breasts then off my hips, and tossed it over the other side of the bed.
Any second he’d have that phone off and be in here fucking me like the dirty girl I was. He promised. I sifted through my hair and tugged out the loose pins, and tossed them in the general vicinity of the side table.
Any second.
I shook my head, then spread my hair around my shoulders and attempted to arrange myself against the pillows in a way that was more casual and slightly less losing-my-mind.
Any moment now...
Avner
A deep vibration thumped through my chest. “This better be fucking good.”
Raging lust had my entire body braced to make good on the promise I’d just made.
I glanced at my hand, fingers still shiny from her sex. Fuck. I could taste her sweetness on the tip of my tongue.
“Oh, it’s good,” my colleague Marcus replied. “I’ve found three originals.”
Adrenaline hit my head, turning the hallway bright. “Are you sure?”
“Yes, but they’re expensive.”
My fist curled. “Whatever it takes. Can you access my safe?”
“That’s the thing,” Marcus said, and the way his breath rushed at the end of his words had me standing straighter, bracing harder. “They’re not in India, they’re in England.”
I stretched my suddenly aching jaw.
“They’ve been moved. You’ll need to come to London yourself. We’re close this time, Avner, I can feel it.”
We’d been close before. We’d been searching so long, it seemed ludicrous to think that something had changed. But three originals...
“I’m on my way.”
I hung up the phone. We’d had many false starts before. This could very well be another. We couldn’t take that chance. I tucked the phone back into my pocket, and faced the door. An image of Emma spread out on the bed inside, waiting for me, thumped in my imagination. Filled me with something brand fucking new—optimism.
Because I’d be taking this image with me. Do what had to be done.
Then I’d be back for her.
Reason interjected. It was too soon for this. I didn’t know her yet.
There’d be time for that.
There’d be all the time in the world to get to know her when she was safely and permanently mine. That’s the way this had to be.
She’d woken me from what felt like a decade-long coma. I wouldn’t go back to sleep. I lay my hand on the smooth wood of the door. Desire beckoned, made me want to take this time, just an hour or two, and feel this. But as always, responsibility trumped desire.
And I had such terrible responsibilities...
Chapter Four
Emma
The pile of papers strewn on my desk vibrated. I tossed my toast onto the plate, and wiped my hand on my “lounge pants,” because I totally was not working in pajamas. A manila folder danced toward the edge of the desk.
I caught the folder and dragged my phone out from under the pile and brought it swiftly to my ear.
“EmmaNeeson,” I said, my full name slipping out as one long word.
Today it was all going to happen. Today, one of the dozen or so contacts I’d reached out to would call, and that person was going to back my research.
They had better, because time was a-ticking.
“Miss Neeson, this is William Blane from Central—” Before he could finish, my heart dropped to my toast-filled belly.
“Mr. Blane, you really have to stop calling me like this. My father is the one responsible for the mortgage.”
“But, Miss Neeson, your father is uncontactable—again,” he began, and I flopped back in my chair, thumping my head against the headrest twice. “Your father has failed to make agreed-upon repayments—again.” I rotated the chair with my toes. “And since the property is a joint asset—”
I laid my arm over my face. Asshole. This wasn’t my mortgage. I didn’t take it out, just like I didn’t live in the house. I had my own rent to pay in Sydney, and actual bills. Not to mention my paid work situation was pretty freaking abysmal since I quit my job to pursue my own research.
Most especially not to mention I had a bond to pay by the end of the week for a new apartment in Melbourne.
My stomach churned.
It’d taken me almost a year to come to this decision. The longing for home, for proximity to the people I still loved there, never really trumped the tight knot of dread that seemed to press right into my diaphragm whenever I returned.
“Well, I’m not paying for him this time, I refuse. You’re going to have to find my father and explain that he’s about to be homeless if he doesn’t stop being irresponsible.”
I guess my mother thought she was doing me a favor when she left her half of the family house to me.
Favor—ha!
“Suit yourself, Miss Neeson, if you’re willing to risk foreclosure over two thousand dollars in repayments...”
I growled into the crook of my arm. That was Mum’s house too. Damn them all. “Fine. But this is blackmail.”
“Wise choice. Do you need the payment details?”
I sat up. “No, I still have them from last time.”
“I’ll make a note in the system that you’ll be paying today?”
“Fine.”
“Have a nice day,” Mr. Blane said, almost like a person with a conscience.
“Sure, and Bill?” He’d never given me permission to call him that, but since he seemed to enjoy riding my ass so much, I figured that put us on a pet-name basis.
“Yes, Emma?”
“Go fuck yourself, okay?”
The phone went silent for a moment, but he didn’t hang up. “I’ll certainly give it my best shot.”
I snorted and hung up the call, then flicked to my banking app and logged in. Physical pain shot through my thumb when I hit Send. No need to go back and view my balance, I knew it’d finally reached the minuses. I tossed the phone onto the desk. It skated neatly over the surface then hit the ground. Today’s paper fluttered over the top of it.
Brilliant.
I scooped up the papers and lay them flat on top of each other, then froze. A name jumped off a page. I smoothed out the article, then sat back on my heels. Dean Waldolf, owner of the second-biggest microtechnology company in Australia, strode a red carpet, a hot blonde draped over his arm. I tapped my kneecap. I’d tried Dean
, boy had I tried to get a hold of Dean Waldolf. But he had an impossible bulldog of an assistant screening his calls.
I just needed to get past the bulldog.
And Dean seemed to like hot blondes.
And I was sure a hot blonde.
I dragged the phone closer and flicked back and forth in the contacts between Angelina and Haithem. They’d finally returned from the fourth week of their honeymoon. Favors... I loathed asking for them, but one of these two kinda owed me. I was still in pain from the abstinence that for some reason I still hadn’t broken.
I pressed Haithem’s number.
The phone clicked before a full ring could be completed. “Yes, Emma?”
I blinked. Like what, did he have it in his hand already? “Hey, how you doin’?”
I clamped my palm over my left eye. Why did I say that?
He laughed. “I’m good. Are you after Angelina? She’s in the shower.”
“No,” I said. “Nope, I called your phone.” I ran a nail back and forth on my fabric-covered knee. Maybe I should just hang up and call Angelina’s in half an hour? Except the only thing worse than asking favors was having someone ask them for you. “How was Paris?”
“Paris was good.”
“Glad you liked it...” I scratched my knee harder.
Why won’t my brain work?
“Is there something I can help you with, Emma?” His voice sank a little softer than before.
Can’t a girl just innocently call her best friend’s husband of a morning?
“Actually, I thought there might be something I could help you with...” Ah Damn. I clamped my hand back over my eye. Did that sound flirty? It probably did. I should’ve just called Angelina.
“Is that so?”
“Yeah.” Time to test my pitching skills. I took a breath. “Well, you know how bored Angelina gets when we talk science, and I figured you’d most likely have to go to the Sydney Science Gala on Friday, and since she’d be so bored, and would hate it, and I actually don’t mind science at all, in fact I quite like science, a lot, and—”