"I don't know what the issue is," McKendrick said, drumming his fingers on his knee. "But you gotta fix that shit. That's what you do, lady. You fix what's broke and you do it with a fuckin' smile. You know why? Because when you smile, everyone else smiles too. Smile more, honeycakes. Does a body good."
I couldn't decide what to handle first—the uneven, unsettled state I'd found myself in this week or the fact McKendrick picked up on it. There was also the matter of my smiles and their impact on him. "Is that—are you complimenting me?"
"Oh my god," he groaned to the window. "Is it wrong for me to want something nice to look at?"
On principle alone, I worked a scowl the remainder of the ride to McKendrick's estate. And the ride back into the city too. I held on to that scowl and not simply because my client demanded a smile. I felt scowly. Uneven, unsettled, and scowly. As if I couldn't find a comfortable position no matter how many times I shifted.
This was unusual for me. I didn't get lost in my feelings too often. There were reasons for that. I had routines, I had structures, I had those ducks marching in line. No need for deep, contemplative moods when my life was ordered and my calendar color-coded. And this was why I'd kept it that way—I didn't want to devote a minute of my day to wondering how a guy felt about me and whether he was being completely truthful when I asked about our relationship.
All of this time and energy wasted on thinking about another person's thoughts, and for what? I asked Cal if he was all right with our—whatever this was. What else could I do? If he wasn't going to come out and demand something different, why should I spend my week struggling through the uncertainty of our connection?
I shouldn't. That was the bottom line. I shouldn't spend any time on this. I needed to go home, start a load of laundry and write a grocery list, and fall asleep with the sports highlights.
But that only worked when I dropped all the blame on Cal. He didn't insist I marry him and bear his children at any point this week so clearly this unsettled mood was his fault. Unless it was my fault and Cal was merely holding up the mirror, reflecting all my problem areas and weak spots back at me. And maybe it wasn't about problem areas or weak spots but climbing out from behind the fortress of my routines and structures, and letting go of the ducks. Of the fears.
That was the root of it: fear. For everything I said and all the times I insisted I wasn't rusty in my long-healed cracks, I was afraid. Of the unknown. Of being wanted more than I could live up to. Of being rejected. Of getting left behind all over again. Of allowing myself to care for a man only to end up hurt.
Tucking all this noise away and starting fresh tomorrow was the right approach. Instead of doing that, I leaned toward the driver. "Change of plans," I announced. "I'm not going back to the office. I'm heading to Beacon Hill. Here's the address."
22
Cal
Stella: I can't believe I'm typing this but…are you up?
Cal: Yeah
Cal: What do you need?
Stella: Maybe you could let me in?
Cal: Let you in…where?
Stella: I'm outside your building.
Cal: What?!?
Stella: Maybe let me in first and then we can discuss the hows and whys, okay?
* * *
I chucked my phone on the coffee table and darted toward the door, into the vestibule, out into the cool night air. Stella stood on the sidewalk, her hands shoved into her raincoat's pockets and her tote bag slung over her shoulder. "Hi," she called with a shrug. "Can I come in?"
Shuffling back to hold the door open for her, I said, "Yeah. Get your ass in here."
She gifted me with a sweet smile—all dimples—as she slipped past me and into my apartment. "Thanks," she said. "I wasn't sure you'd be awake."
I pushed the door shut and locked it but stayed rooted there, staring at the knob for a long moment. "It's not even midnight." Turning, I continued, "What's up, Stella?"
With her phone in hand, she hooked a thumb over her shoulder, her brows drawing down. "Should I go? I don't want to intrude."
I stepped toward her, wrapped my fingers around the belt cinched around her waist. That damn raincoat. I tugged her closer. An inch or two at first, then all the way to my chest. "What's got you on edge, sweet thing?"
She rolled her shoulders, tucked her phone in her pocket. Set her bag on the floor. "Nothing," she murmured, glancing down. Not meeting my gaze. "I just had a long night with McKendrick and that sumbitch is trying my patience like whoa and do you want me? Like, really, really want me?"
She tipped her chin up then, meeting my eyes. Worry creased her forehead, flattened her lips. No dimples for me now. "I didn't realize that was a question I'd left unresolved," I replied. "But yes. Fuck, yes. I've wanted you for—god, I don't even know how long."
"Would you put up a fight for me?" she asked, lifting her chin as she spoke.
I traced her belt around her waist, slipped my hand under the band at the small of her back. Frustration and arousal warred inside me. I wanted to shake her, to make her see the way I adored her. And I wanted to fuck her senseless. Perhaps the two were more similar than I thought. "If you don't know the answer to that, I'm doing something terribly wrong."
"Maybe I just want you to say it," she whispered.
I ran my hand along her waist, loosened the belt's knot. Then I went to work on the buttons, all seventy-four thousand of them. "Maybe you just want me to show you," I said, finally pushing the coat over her shoulders. It fell to the floor, leaving a rustling whoosh as it went. "Maybe you came here because you want me to pick you up, take you into the bedroom, show you what it looks like to belong to me."
"I belong to myself," she countered.
"No argument there," I said, blowing past frustration and heading toward exasperation. "But you didn't come here for that. That's not what you want right now." I ran my hands down her arms, settled on her hips. She shook her head once before flattening her hands on my chest. "Give me the words, Stella. Nothing is happening until I hear them."
She nodded, her head bobbing barely enough to notice. "I want that. I want"—she glanced up at me, her bottom lip snared between her teeth like an offering—"you to pick me up, take me to the bedroom."
Her eyes met mine when the word "bedroom" passed her lips, wide and dark and sparkling. That one word contained a million others. She knew it too. She knew this wasn't going to be a quick tumble in the sheets.
I brought my hands to her backside, squeezed. Squeezed a little harder. "Let me tell you what's going to happen next."
One corner of her mouth quirked up. "Please do."
I boosted her up, kept one hand on her ass, the other between her shoulder blades. "You and me, Stella? We don't go easy. It's all or nothing, and it always has been." Her legs tangled around my waist and I did my level best to hold back a growl but failed. Miserably. "I'm taking you in there and I'm giving you everything I've got and it's you and me. You and me, sweet thing."
"You and me," she repeated with a nod.
My eyes widened as a wave of surprise hit me. I wasn't sure she'd give me this much. I wasn't sure she'd give me anything. But here she was, giving everything.
"Talk to me about pro—"
"Condoms," she interjected. "I seem to recall you telling me you had that under control."
"And I do," I agreed. "I definitely have it covered."
Her knees pressed into my flanks as she laughed. "Thank you," she said. "For covering it. I appreciate that."
"Your standards are too low if you're thanking me for using a condom," I said, pivoting toward the bedroom. She took this opportunity to yank my t-shirt over my head, fling it out of sight. Her nails raked over my shoulders, down my back. Goddamn if I didn't nearly roar. "I promise you'll appreciate far more than the rubber when I'm done with you."
My bedroom was seven steps from the sofa. I knew this because I'd called this apartment home for more than a handful of years and I'd shuffled to bed while seventy-five percen
t asleep after working multi-day shifts. I knew this but somehow the distance seemed to multiply when getting Stella on a soft surface was my only purpose in life. I couldn't be bothered to look up from the crook of her neck or separate my hands from her body to gauge my location in the apartment but that didn't stop me from grumbling over the distance.
After wandering for an eternity, I stopped beside the bed.
"I need to be on top," she whispered. "I can't—I can't get there unless I'm on top."
"If that's what you need, you'll have it." I ground her against me, raking her body over my aching length. It was like scratching a bug bite. Oh, it was relief but it was going to hurt something fierce if I kept at it. "I'm not going to tell you how your body works, Stel, but I'm still going to make it my mission to get you there on your back," I bit out, rocking her center where I needed it. "Against the wall. From behind." Hurt so good. "And if I don't succeed with any of those, I won't close my eyes until I get you there, sweet thing. I won't."
Stella grinned at me, her dimples lighting up like sweet little fireworks. "It's easier if you let me be on top. Less work. Faster too," she said.
"Why the hell would I want to speed things up?"
"You wouldn't," she replied. Her lips tipped up in a way that suggested she knew something I didn't. Or understood something I was missing. Wasn't that always the way with this woman? "But I want to make it good for everyone. That's all."
"If there's one thing I can promise you, it's that." I was breathless now. Aching, aching, aching. "Studying your body and understanding how to make it hum is not work, Stel. It's a privilege." Speaking directly to the tender skin at the base of her throat, I said, "I want to tear this dress off you. I want to fucking destroy it."
She shimmied out of my hold and knelt on the bed, reaching for my belt as she smiled up at me. "If you did that, I'd have nothing to wear home."
"There's always the raincoat," I replied as she unbuttoned my jeans. "One of these days, I want to strip that raincoat off you and find bare skin."
My jeans hit the floor. "Interesting," she mused, her gaze fixed on the bulge beneath my boxers. "The naked raincoat idea, not this." She nodded at my erection. "This is interesting but in totally different ways. Good ways. Great ways."
Her fingers traced the band of my boxers, and that devilish, dimpled smile playing on her lips had me rock-hard in a matter of seconds.
I nodded, reached for the zipper at the nape of her neck. "Since you don't want me ripping it, how do I get this off?" I asked, tugging at the sides of her dress.
Stella snorted out a laugh. "I was hoping you'd know how to get this off," she replied. "That's why I'm here, Cal."
I gathered the skirt up, easing it over her head as she held up her arms. Her breasts came into focus, full and heavy in a pale pink bra. Damn, I wanted to tear that too. Just shred the fuck out of that lace. I didn't have a clear reason for this surge of violence in me. It wasn't anger or hostility—I just wanted her naked. And naked such that she'd never be clothed again.
It was crazy. I knew that. But so was biting a starburst pattern into her ass.
"Do not doubt that I'll fuck that mouth," I said, carefully setting her dress aside.
"I'm glad we're on the same page about that," she said, a laugh winding through her words.
I reached out, curling my fingers around the middle of her bra. I could almost hear it ripping, feel it shredding in my hands. But I pulled the cups down instead, baring those beauties. I cupped her breasts, my thumbs circling her dark, dusky nipples. They were already hard but my treatment pulled them tighter.
I bent, my palm cupping her breast and my thumb circling her nipple, and I bit. Just a small bite, barely a nip. She smelled like warmth and sex and tasted just as good. Better.
"Cal," she whispered, her fingers twisting in my hair while I closed my teeth around the underside of her breast. "Cal."
"Yes, Stella?" I dragged my lips up, gliding over that tight peak with the barest touch. I traced her there, exploring before my teeth scraped over a new section of her glorious skin. Even in the darkness, I saw the hot flush rising from her skin. It was going to throb and burn and sting, and she was going to explode when I pushed inside her.
"If it's not too much trouble, I'd like your cock in my hand for this," she said, her words pitching up as I bit her again, again, again.
"No trouble," I said, easing my boxers down. I'd have to kick them and my jeans off eventually but that could wait. I had my hands full—truly—with bountiful breasts. "What's mine is yours, sweet thing."
Her fingers wrapped around my length, moving up and down in a slow, feathery motion. Almost too light but much harder and I'd lose focus. Hell, if she got frisky, I'd lose the ability to stand. If. That was hilarious. If Stella was anything, she was frisky. And I loved it.
I loved her but that was not on tonight's menu.
"Good to know," she breathed, dragging a hand over my head and bringing my lips to hers for a fast, impatient kiss.
"I'm not done here," I promised against her jaw, her throat, her collarbone. I plumped her breast in my hand, finding the exact spot where I'd left off. "Not done."
"Neither am I," she replied, sliding that whisper of a caress over my cock.
I groaned into her skin at her touch, my teeth coming down harder than necessary. Everything was harder than strictly necessary. But I wasn't stopping. I was biting all the way around her nipple, covering her breast in swollen ridges and valleys and then—when there wasn't a millimeter of skin left for me to claim and she couldn't live another second without me inside her—then I'd stop.
The rich, delicious scent of Stella and the creamy texture of her skin lulled me into an unhurried pace where I tasted and teased her. I tried my damnedest to tune out the gentle stroke of her hand, relegate that pleasure to the back corner of my mind as if I was working on getting through a surgery before acknowledging my hunger. But I failed. Failed miserably. Every few minutes I'd rest my forehead on her chest, groan into the sweet valley between her breasts, and indulge in the early pangs of orgasm curling around the base of my spine. I'd murmur obscene notions of filling her belly button with my release, of making her hold still and keep it from spilling while I devoured her cunt, of flipping her over and letting my wet stick her to the sheets while I dug my fingers into her cheeks and fucked her ass.
But then I'd spy a new patch of skin in need of torment and go back to work.
"Cal," she said, her fingers squeezing me at the root. My head dropped back to my shoulders. "Where are the condoms?"
I stared at her breast, turning my head to study every angle. Her skin was pink, swollen. Her nipple was nearly screaming for attention. The only thing I could think about was sucking on that tip when I slammed into her. Sucking it through the rise and fall of her release. Sucking it while she swore up and down she couldn't take any more but took it, hoarded it, begged for more.
But the condoms were in the bathroom and we were here, in the bedroom, and fetching them meant leaving this blessed spot where everything we did and everything we said was right. Maybe it was superstition or maybe it was all my experiences with having single perfect moments with Stella and then losing them to real life. I wasn't leaving her only to come back and discover her dressed and ordering a car service home.
I kicked off my jeans and boxers, yanked her panties down in the process. Then I patted my abs, and said, "Hop on. You're coming for a ride."
"Yes, thank you," Stella replied, lacing her arms around my neck. "I think we're on the same page now."
We were not on the same page, not ever. But that was another issue I wasn't remedying tonight.
I hooked my arms around her backside, forcing her bitten breast against my chest. The contact had her crying out, her nails scoring my shoulders, her legs locking around my waist. "You're trying to make me burst into flame again, aren't you?" she asked.
"It's one of many goals, yes," I replied, shifting toward the bathroom.
/>
I knew it was only a handful of steps to the left but just like getting to the bedroom, it was longer and more complicated than expected. And the whole time I worked at delivering us there without incident, Stella was busy kissing my neck, murmuring "hurry" and "please" in my ear, rocking her heat against me.
This was the true payoff for my Special Forces training. This right here.
When we reached the bathroom, I edged her backside onto the countertop, balancing her there while I pressed myself between her legs for one glorious moment. "Just need to feel you," I said, the gravelly words bursting out with each buck of my hips. "Just for a second."
Stella's hands slipped under my arms, anchored over my shoulders. "I want more than a second from you, Cal," she breathed. "So much more than a second. Everything. I want—I want all of your everything."
And that was the end of my patience. My control. My goddamn mind. All of it—gone, over, done.
I moved fast, ducking down to snatch the box of condoms from under the sink, making a mental note to move them to a more appropriate spot because no one preferred sex in the bathroom. The cardboard was in shreds when I stood, long snakes of shiny packets in a pool at my feet. I held one up, dragged it down the breast I'd ignored. The edges rasped over her nipple as she shuddered and moaned and the scent of her arousal filled the air between us.
"Can you take care of this for me?" I asked, the sharp corner of the packet pressed into her skin. "Can you do this, Stella? Or do you want me to handle it for you?" Her eyes flashed as I dropped that challenge on her. If anything, it was a challenge for me. I was the one who'd have to watch it happen. But I wanted to know what she was willing to give me tonight. How much control was she surrendering? Where were the limits? "Is that what you want? You want to spread those legs and let me take care of the rest? You want me to take care of you?"
"Yes," she whispered.
If I hadn't felt her breath on my skin, I wouldn't have believed she said it. I tapped the packet against her nipple once more, nodding. "Yes?"
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