by Ava Claire
I stopped making circles with my fork, my heart tumbling in my chest. I wanted to say, ‘Talk to me, sing to me, fuck me, just don’t make this night end,’ but I played coy. “It’s your party.”
He shook his head, that naughty, disarming glimmer returning to his bright gray eyes. “It was my party. At first. It became our party after that dance.” He took his napkin and tossed it over his nearly untouched food. “And all of this was my way to woo you, to charm you. And when we were out on that floor, I remembered that what we have is raw and real and everything else is, well, bullshit.” He loosened his tie then yanked it off altogether, wrapping the silk around his fist. “I’ve wasted years chasing my family’s legacy, so filled with regret about the choices I’ve made. Every one of them took me further away from you. And I don’t want to sit through dinner and pretend like I’m not dying to be inside you.”
I hitched a breath. Hearing that should have offended me. I didn’t have a lot of experience in the whole dating thing but there had to be weeks, months of him making it up to me, right? This dinner was supposed to be the beginning of some grand romance complete with-
Ugh.
I wanted him too.
And I surely didn’t want to wait until he’d taken me across the globe and spent thousands of dollars to convince me that he was worthy of being back in my life. Well, that was still up for debate. But I knew, without a shadow of doubt, that I wanted, needed him back in my bed.
I dabbed my mouth with my napkin and dropped it on the table. In the old days, he held the reins, held all the cards. I wanted to submit, and I would, but I would determine what happened next.
When I rose to my feet, he moved to follow, but I held out a hand to stop him.
“No, you stay here. I’ll send you a text with instructions.”
The words came out before I had a chance to squeak or temper my tone. To be alluring and sexy. I was just me.
His smile spread from his eyes to his lips, and I knew that ‘just me’ was more than enough.
I didn’t even wait until I got to the elevator before I typed out the text.
I’ll be waiting in the room
Come up and show me how much you’ve missed me
Then I’ll show you how much I’ve missed you.
Chapter Eight
All that excitement, the thrill of what was to come that filled me from head to toe as I strode to the elevator? It was down to zero when I slid the card into the reader at the door.
What the hell was I doing? This morning I was questioning seeing him at all. Whether I was ready to dive back in with the man who jumped ship.
And here I was, standing in a hotel room in a five star hotel in some dress I...I didn’t finish, balling the silky material in my fist as I turned to the mirror. I braced my hands on the vanity. I tugged at my dirty blonde strands, bobby pins flying. I’d held back my tears before but I let them flow now, not caring that I was messing up my makeup. I winced as I pulled off the fake eyelashes and snatched up the Kleenex. I scrubbed my face as clean as I could, which wasn’t very much. I fled to the bathroom and twisted the gold plated knobs, water flooding the quartz sink. My washcloths at home were threadbare and riddled with frayed strings, but they got the job done. The ones hanging with care were too soft so the makeup didn’t budge, which just made me cry harder.
I heard the knocks at the door and knew who was doing the knocking, but I wasn’t budging from this spot until I found ‘me’ beneath all this other stuff. The me who had every right not to forgive and forget. The me who had accepted that Lincoln was no longer a part of my life. The me who didn’t get swept up in the gray eyes and the deep voice and the strong hands. I wasn’t 18 anymore. I knew better now.
I looked like a drowned rat and I didn’t care. I stared defiantly at my reflection, not turning toward the sound of the hotel door being opened. I knew who the intruder was. What could I do? Tell him to get out? To get out of the room that he paid for?
“I’ll be on the couch when you’re ready,” his voice carried into the bathroom.
That hadn’t changed. Back then his voice commanded attention, filled the entire room, and you couldn’t help but hang on to every word. If he hadn’t followed his father’s footsteps, he would have kicked major ass in politics. He knew just what to say, just how to charm anyone and anything. He had me all but eating out of his hand, ready to toss aside years of hurt and loneliness in favor of one night of passion.
The running eyeliner had turned me into a raccoon, but when I wheeled to the door, I was a tiger, baring me teeth.
“I was ready five years ago, Lincoln. Now? Not so much.”
“Catherine-”
I took the washcloth and hurled it at his head. This man had athleticism in his blood so he ducked out of the way effortlessly, but his face darkened like I’d hit him square in the jaw.
“I know I left you. I know I hurt you. And I can’t take it back. I’d give anything, everything to take it back. I’m-”
“Don’t you dare say you’re sorry!” I screeched. Anger possessed me and I flew to the door.
I wanted to scream.
I wanted to claw his eyes out.
I wanted to kiss him.
So I did the only thing I could think of so I wouldn’t do just that.
I slammed the door in his face.
Even through the shut door, I heard him sigh. “I told you I was going to fight for you. It’s going to take a lot more than washcloths and closed doors to make me give up.”
I pressed a hand against the door, tears streaming down my face. This would all be so much easier if he’d strolled back in my life oozing of swagger and entitlement. If he’d been the cocky, two-dimensional butt hole on the front of the magazines I pretended I didn’t skim. That I didn’t buy. This would be easier if I didn’t believe that he was sorry. If this job was all just a ruse and helping kids was just a tax break instead of a calling. But what he’d done for that little boy, when he thought no one was looking...that was the Lincoln I loved. The Lincoln who danced to classical music while he sung Nirvana...that was the man that I wanted to spend my life with.
That didn’t lessen the ache in my chest. I pressed my palm against the door, remembering what his hard, solid body felt like beneath my touch. “You’ve cheated us out of so much.” In my head the words were a whisper, the betrayal a low and dull pain that only I felt. That I’d carried around with me like an anchor.
So much time lost. So many regrets. He’d reached out over the years, calls I didn’t return, texts that I deleted without reading, emails that went directly to trash. I leaned my head against the door, realizing that while I was angry at Lincoln, and rightfully so, I was angry at myself too. Angry that I spent so many nights waiting for him to sweep back into my life and give me some explanation, then to basically build a wall around myself, around my heart, one that no amount of emails or texts or I’m sorry’s could penetrate because I was still stuck in that room. The one in the back of the church that they used for the kids, ushering them somewhere they could color and do kid-friendly activities while the adults got their weekly dose of religion. I’d grown up in that room, and it was the room that we used to get ready for the wedding. Where I was going to become something more than what I was because I thought Lincoln Carraway made me better. I walked into that room whole and filled with hope, and I left it broken.
I was still broken. Wasn’t it ridiculous that I sat here today, waiting for the very man who shattered me to put me back together?
“I know.” His voice filtered through the door, the warmth and sadness wrapping around my heart and squeezing. “The time we lost...we can’t get it back, Cat. I wish to God we could, but we can’t.”
I pressed my forehead to the door and squeezed my eyes shut. “I know,” I whispered hoarsely. Just on the other side of this door was something else. Not the white picket fence, or the wedding dress, or the wedding in the itty-bitty church I used to hate going to. He wasn’t that Lincoln an
ymore and I wasn’t that Catherine anymore. I had to decide whether I was going to keep the door closed forever and truly move on, or if I would give this thing, this love, another shot.
I raked my fingertips down the crisp white wood, still pretending like there was a debate. I’d made up my mind the minute I saw him with that kid.
Liar.
I made up my mind the minute he slid that cappuccino across the counter to me.
I loved Lincoln Carraway. So what the hell was I waiting for?
I threw open the door, my pulse racing, my heart ratcheting up like it was trying to bolt right out of my chest. Lincoln looked as disheveled as I felt, but it just upped his sex appeal. His tie was tossed around his neck, and he looked powerful, like he belonged at the head of a company. At the head of some bed, with my naked body stretched out on the white sheets. With that hair pushed from his eyes, save for a few strands that defiantly spilled into his cloudy gaze.
My eyes drifted downward, pausing for a heartbeat at the two buttons that had been unhitched, flashing me a view of his olive skin. I had to remind myself to keep my distance, to not bound forward and tear his shirt off the rest of the way. The guys I’d tried to find comfort in since Lincoln were the kind of guys who got off on buttons flying and women pushing them down on the mattress and climbing on top like they’d just signed up for the ride of their lives. That wasn’t the kind of woman I was. That didn’t get me off. I wanted a man that would smirk when I tried to take charge, then show me how it really worked. Who’d shove me down, tie me up, and have his way.
A man like Lincoln.
It was clear I’d learned to play my cards close to the vest because Lincoln was keeping his distance. Defeat didn’t color those dark eyes, just longing and a heat that matched the desire that was building between my thighs.
I knew I could put him out of his misery with two words: Fuck me. Or, ‘You’re forgiven.’ But I wasn’t sure if I was ready to say the second one. The first would have been clear if I wasn’t in this dress. He’d see how my nipples strained for his touch. How wet I was at the mere thought of his hands on my body.
I still had a few moments to tease him, so I did just that. I took a solemn step forward and inhaled deep, then exhaled all the air from my lungs.
“You have every right to walk away,” he murmured. He couldn’t resist and when his fingertips brushed my skin, trailing up my forearm, then resting on the crest of my shoulders, I knew I couldn’t keep up the ruse any longer.
I lifted my gaze and when I spoke, my words came out husky and wanting.
“I know. The thing is...I don’t want to.”
His eyes narrowed and his touch turned brutal, his fingertips digging into my needy flesh. “What?” Deep, slightly confused, and on the edge of it...daring to hope. Oh, I know I was about to cross some invisible line. For me, for us, these roles would be like climbing on a bike after years off the seat. But some things were obvious, like you have to pedal and steady yourself...or in our case, I was supposed to let him take the lead. Tell me how he wanted me, where he wanted me. Instead, I reached out and undid his belt buckle. His breath was still, but when I looked into his eyes, I saw the storm of lust raging, ready to obliterate any misconception about who was in charge.
We faced off, me with trembling fingers still on his belt buckle, the slick, hard metal making my breath come in stutters. It reminded me of handcuffs. Of spankings. He glared at me with some mixture of ‘How dare you, you naughty little sub’ and ‘Please God, don’t stop.’
So I didn’t. I slipped my fingers to the zipper and drew it downward, gulping when I bristled against his hardening cock. I remembered the first time I realized that he was literally the perfect male specimen: good looks, a strong personality, and a thick cock that, in another life, would have made him a killing if he ventured into porn. Luckily for me, every bulging, delicious inch was all mine.
Emboldened, I reached my hand inside his fly and let out a hiss of air when I realized that in the very near future, it would be deep inside me. Stretching me. Claiming me.
I must have been in a daze because he drew me closer and let my hand remain wrapped around him. His lips brushed my ear lobe, his tongue grazing the tender skin.
“It’s been quite awhile, Cat, so I’ll give you ten seconds until I remind you just who’s in charge here.”
My eyes bulged like Christmas and I squeezed his shaft, earning a deep moan of approval...and condemnation. He liked it rough, but he also liked it when I played submissive and everything, every action, required his express approval.
“Really?”
“Ten,” he answered with a cocky smile. A challenge.
That just turned my smile wicked. Clearly, he’d forgotten who was really in charge. Sure, I asked for permission, but without the gift of being his, of allowing him to wield control over me, there was no game. Plus, he liked it when I was a little disobedient, that way my punishment was swift, severe, and sexy as hell.
I guess I better make the most of it, then.
“Eight,” he uttered, the words thick and hot. “Sev-what the-?”
I answered his question with my mouth. I held the base of his cock with one hand, then lowered my rounded lips around his mushroom tip. I knew he was fighting to not reward me by moaning. There would be no ‘Good job, Cat!’ when I was flagrantly disregarding the rules, but not even Lincoln Carraway in all his controlled, guarded facade could stop me from feeling just how much he enjoyed my mouth. His body sighed his approval.
I spun my tongue around the head of him, moaning loudly enough for the both of us when I tasted proof that his body was a big fan of my headstrong streak. Pre-come coated my taste buds, warm and salty and wanton.
I knew that ten seconds had come and gone because I was counting to myself, counting in time with the sweeps of my tongue. Dashing down the shaft, lingering on that bulging vein that pulsed beneath his flesh, angry and engorged. I took his entire length in my mouth, surprising us both. I hadn’t been with anyone that was both thick and long like Linc, but I devoured every inch.
I grasped his balls, squeezing and tugging them the way I knew he liked, or that he liked once upon a time, anyway. Want sparked all over me like tiny supernovas when I realized that he was still a fan. No tender touches for me and my lover. No sweet nothings whispered in the middle of the night. Even before we realized there was a name for how we liked to play, dominating and submitting, we liked to push buttons. To dole out equal measures of pain and pleasure.
Just when I picked up the pace, ready to gag on him until he exploded in my mouth, he fisted my gold and brown strands and held me hostage, tongue grazing the underside of his erection.
“Time’s up, Cat.” His hold was military-like steady, quite impressive considering the current state of affairs. I stole a lick or three and he yanked my hair, wrenching a grunt of pain from my lips. I glanced up at him, tears stabbing my eyes from the labored breathing and the explosion of pinpricks across my scalp. Those three licks would cost me.
He loosened his grip slightly, just enough that I didn’t feel like he was about to remove a chunk of hair from my head, but he still held me hostage to his touch. To whatever tickled his fancy. From that twisted little grin that stroked his lips, I was in big trouble.
“How many seconds did I give you, Catherine?”
Uh oh. And not just because he used my full name. I thought he was lost in passion. Apparently, not so much so that he didn’t realize that I’d stretched ten seconds into a minute. At least.
To make matters, and the throb in my pussy, worse, he took his other hand and cupped my cheek. Sweet and fierce, just the way I liked it.
“I’m waiting, Catherine.”
A lie would make my punishment more severe, so I settled for, “I...Lincoln...er...”
“I stopped counting at twenty five.”
I knew I’d sucked him for much longer, but I wasn’t going to correct him, especially if an equivalent spanking was up his sleeve.
So I just blinked up at him and managed a nod. “I’m sorry.”
The hand cupping my cheek balled into a fist and he dragged his knuckles across my chin, letting out a grunt of disbelief. “No, you’re not.”
He let go of my hair and stepped backward. I fell forward, catching myself with my palms.
“Take off your dress and lay on the bed,” he said sternly.
I scrambled to my feet, my body humming with excitement as I pulled down the straps of the dress and realized he was undressing, too.
Lincoln turned a simple, every day occurrence into my own private show. Fingers released buttons, muscles flexing in the waning light that filtered in from the windows. When he stood beside the bed, hair spilling into his eyes before he swept a hand through the dark strands and tucked it behind his ears, I nearly came on the spot. He was desire in the flesh, his body better than any dream. Men weren’t supposed to look like he looked in real life, without a drop of body fat. Muscled and toned from head to toe. It took me years to grow into my lean limbs and every day, week, month, and year had just cemented the fact that Lincoln Carraway deserved ‘Sexiest Man Alive, Period’ permanently.
And he wanted me.
Needed me.
Loved me.
Though, at the moment, he was pretty annoyed at me. He was lording control over his cock, despite the fact that he was so hard he could smash through several planks of wood. His eyes were gray and glacial, because my dress had only gotten as far as my hips when I started gawking at him in wide-eyed awe.
“Sorry,” I hissed, shimmying out of it the rest of the way and letting the dark material pool at my feet.
“Not yet,” he said darkly, beckoning me with a finger. “But just you wait.”
Human nature made me tremble wildly as I moved across the room to the bed, the covers untouched, white and as pure as the undriven snow. I had a feeling we were about to tarnish them with all kinds of sins.
Thrill and anticipation flew out the window when I reached the side of the bed and realized that I was just as naked, just as on display as he was. I ducked my chin, warmth scalding my cheeks and spreading to the swell of my breasts. The blush transformed me from the bold little tease a few moments ago to the submissive who was completely and utterly at his mercy.