Into My Arms

by Lia Riley

  Z smirks. “That nosy bugger was checking.” He speaks of Bran with something approaching fondness.

  “Checking on what?”

  “To see if I’ve grown a pair to make a move. You see, I have noticed you, Bethanny, for some time. And he well knows it.”

  “Well, I do work outside your office and we communicate two hundred or so times a day.”

  “And before that even. One night, working late, I paced the halls of Zavtra Tech, thinking myself alone. I saw you at a desk, long after midnight.”

  He did? “Probably trying to keep up with the insane workload and pressure. You know your company as a reputation for being…how can I put this…”

  “Demanding?”

  “Ah.” I snap my fingers. “Yes, that’s the word. Sort of like you.” I pop open a button on his shirt. “Which makes me wonder? How would you feel if I called the shots for once?”

  He stiffens.

  “Downstairs on the patio, you told me that you liked to watch.”

  “It is easier.”

  “Okay, so what if you turn, look at yourself in that mirror, and simply…watch.”

  I angle his body to face his reflection. “Don’t look away,” I whisper. “And don’t look down. It’s dark in here. Don’t think, just feel.”

  I drop to my knees and unfasten his black leather belt, undoing the top button of his trousers. It only takes a quick glance to confirm that he’s doing exactly as I asked even as his whole body shudders with barely controlled energy.

  I grind the zipper and his sizeable length strains against his boxer briefs. I want to tear down his walls, merge reality and fantasy. He reaches down, his palm grazing my hair, so gently it could be nothing, except I want his touch. I crave his contact. Leaning back, I urge him on until he fists my hair, threads it through his fingers, and grips tightly, as if overriding his own capacity for self-control.

  And we haven’t even begun.

  All it takes is a small jerk of the waistband and his cock is freed. He exhales a long harsh note and I have him inside my mouth. I suck that hot male flesh and his answering shudder, rocking his whole body, ripples into mine.

  “Fuck,” he chokes.

  Fuck is right. Because I want to do this for him, but God, he’s delicious. I love the way his velvet skin slides over my tongue. I love every thrust. Balancing my hands on my knees, I pull back to the tip and flick my tongue over the slit. A slight tang of salt is my reward.

  “Bethanny.” He grips my hair harder now; it doesn’t hurt, but the sensation grows intense. “I need…I need…”

  “I know,” I murmur, taking him deeper, holding him in the back of my throat, feeling the pulse of the thick vein that runs down his shaft. It’s been a long time for him and I want this to be good. I want it to be so good that he can’t ever get enough. That touch becomes the thing he craves, that my touch is the thing he can’t be without.

  Despite the darkness, I want to shine bright for him.

  I quicken my rhythm and his hips respond.

  “Yes,” he mutters. “Like that. Exactly like that.”

  I want to give more suction, make it tighter, make it more everything, but that means additional touch. I raise one hand and grip the base of his cock, angling it so I can get a better up and down stroke.

  His answering groan reverberates through my jaw. He grips my hair harder, more frantic with every shudder. Then he’s gone, stepping back, and the unexpected movement sends me off balance.

  “Z.” I reach down and place a steadying hand on the ground. “You need to—”

  “On the bed.” His deep tone brokers no disagreement. This is his CEO voice, the one he uses with me on the phone. Curt. Businesslike. Utterly in control.

  I respond because I want to, but also because I’m curious. He craves control and while it was nice to take it from him, I’m also curious what it will feel like for me to surrender.

  He points, his shirt half unbuttoned, pants open, cock out and proud. “Naked. Now.”

  I slide from the dainty pajamas, scooting up the mattress to wait. Expectant. “Are we going to—”

  “Fuck yes,” he rumbles like a man who hasn’t known a woman in seven years. He isn’t old either. Twenty-five. That means he was seventeen the last time? Only a boy.

  My questions grind to a halt when he tears his shirt open. I was right that he was built, but I didn’t realize he’d be that strong. The shadows kiss his rough slabs of muscle. Nothing about him is soft or gentle. What we are about to do won’t be easy or tender. I know this instinctively and that’s fine; it’s exactly the way I want it.

  His pants hit the ground next and he doesn’t hesitate. He turns, opens a drawer, and a box of condoms is in his hands.

  “Do you need help?” I blurt.

  He lets out a bark of laughter. “Bethanny, something tells me this will be like riding a bike.”

  There is a tear of foil and he’s sheathed, approaching me, and in that last moment, I tremble. He catches it and stops. “Are you afraid? We can stop now. Tell me what it is you want.”

  “You,” I answer. “God, please, you.”

  “I…this will not be easy for me…it has been a long time.”

  “We’ll figure it out together,” and I know truer words have never been spoken.

  I didn’t realize how true until he thrusts inside me. My back bows like a shot because if this is control, he can take it from me any day of the week. He falls upon me like a starving man, sucking my nipples, the soft sensitive skin under my breast, the dip and hollow in my neck, and always maintaining the hard, relentless strokes.

  He licks my ear. “This good?”

  I nod. “Yes. So good.”

  He does a slow circling thing with his hips. “And that?”

  I squeak and giggle. Oh God. He laughs against me in a rough rumble. “Yeah, that’s good too.” Clinging to his broad shoulders, I close my teeth on his own nipple, reveling in the sharp hiss. “There is no way you can move inside me that won’t be amazing.”

  And I’m not lying. It’s as if his body was designed for mine, the distance closed until there is nothing, absolutely nothing between us. It’s more than I can bear and yet I’m not sure this craving will ever be satiated. He braces himself, staring down, gaze glued to me as he thrusts again and again; each time his breath hitches as if that’s the best one, no, that’s the best, no, this is definitely the best one. He’s not gentle, no, he’s driving to the center of me, but I feel like we are breaking wordlessly through all the bullshit and getting closer to the elusive truths just as I’d hoped.

  There are many ways to have a conversation and in this one Z tells me all I need to know. That for him, there is a pleasure in dominating, in taking power, and for once I understand because I am complicit here. I want to give him my control because I know in doing so, in giving him this gift, he will accept my offering and with gratitude make it that much better.

  And my trust is repaid in dividends.

  My thighs tremble and he hikes one high up on his hips, bracing his hand behind my head and getting me at just the right angle. The coarse, thick hairs from the base of his cock tickle over my clit and the grinding pressure is unreal.

  For a moment, I have a passing coherent moment of gratitude that the house is deserted because I can’t be quiet, not now, not when Z is balls deep and ravaging me with an expression of all-consuming desire. A long hot shudder racks his body.

  “Shit, I can’t…I’m going…”

  “It’s okay,” I gasp. “I want you to.”

  He pumps harder and then without notice I’m there, too, as if his pleasure is tied to mine, inexorably linked. He slams to the hilt with a final groaning crescendo and my pussy clenches around him, milking out the last bit of sensation as he is slammed again, coming with another burst, while burying his face into my hair, murmuring things I can’t understand, but from the tone sound like the sweetest endearments.

  When he moves away at last, and that incre
dible feeling of fullness disappears, I don’t even feel sad, because my heart now has the same sensation.

  Chapter Eight

  Z

  I turn my face to the shower spray and close my eyes, letting the hot water scald my face. What. The. Fuck. Happened?

  The temperature is set at the extreme, almost more than I can stand, but it’s not enough to remove the sensation of her skin on mine. I didn’t merely touch Bethanny. I made love to her as if the last seven years never happened. Every inhibition knocked down like a house of cards.

  Bracing my hands against the marble wall, I splay my fingers across the smooth stone, a far cry from the softly yielding flesh from last night. This is spiraling out of control. Too fast. Too furious. I had hoped for something…what, I wasn’t sure. A miracle. Perhaps a kiss.

  No. No point fucking lying.

  I brought her here hoping beyond hope exactly what just happened would occur.

  But now what?

  “Now nothing,” I mutter. My life might have just been shaken from a 9.0 earthquake but it’s time to rebuild. Get back in control. Because once I return from Moscow, life must return to the way it was.

  This weekend will become a bright light, an incandescent memory in my long night.

  No point squandering time on hope. None of that exists for the likes of me.

  Chapter Nine

  Beth

  I jerk awake. The sudden movement sends black dots cascading past my eyes. The time isn’t yet dawn and the bed is empty. Somewhere close comes the sound of water splashing tile. Z must be showering in the master bathroom. Reaching to the nightstand, I grapple for the lamp switch and illuminate the room. Holy shit, the bedding is destroyed, pillows and sheets scattered everywhere. After sex, I fell into a hard dreamless sleep, with no discussion of what passed between us. My chest tightens and my next breath is shallow, barely enough to draw air. We’re going to have to talk, and soon.

  As much as this weekend seems to exist beyond the space–time continuum, real life starts again Monday. At least for me. Z might have cleared his schedule but I’m scheduled to be back in the Fishbowl, at my desk.

  Shit. I grind the heels of my palms into my eyes. I can’t go back to how things were, door closed, having him PM me terse commands while Koroleva stares through the aquarium glass. But I can’t afford to quit either. And what about being taken seriously, getting funding for an app, having a project of my own? Did I just blow my best hope for a real future? A place of my own? No credit agencies sending threatening letters?

  Shit. Shit. Shit.

  Last night the idea of trouble sounded good, fun, a way to step outside the sterility of my day-to-day life. But now…everything is changed. And I’m not sure I like that. Screw change.

  Except would I give up what I have now to go back in a time machine and refuse to enter that helicopter? Erase the hot taste of Z on my skin? The way he looks at me as if I’m a puzzle that will reveal its secret answer if he watches long enough?

  Gah.

  No.

  I climb to the edge of the bed and find my pajamas crumpled in a ball. Slipping them on, I make the bed, at least that small nod to order is in my control. Then I pick up Z’s shirt, fold it on the bed, and reach for his slacks. His black leather wallet falls out, hits the floor, and scatters contents. I bend down with a muffled curse, picking up a special black American Express credit card, some crisp folded bills, and what appears to be a bent photograph.

  I shouldn’t look. Z’s wallet is private. I didn’t mean to toss his contents on the floor, but that doesn’t mean a peek is okay.

  Still, the man is an enigma.

  Who would he keep in his wallet? An image of his dead parents? I open it with hitched breath, and horror and confusion spiral through me as the image falls from my fingers. I sink after it, dropping limply to the ground.

  * * *

  I rock back and forth. Move! He’s going to be out any second. He can’t find you down here, not like this.

  But I can’t get up—my legs are shaking too damn hard.

  Even after everything that has happened in the past twelve or so hours, the discovery of that photograph takes the cake on strange and unsettling reveals. The shower is still going, so I pick up the image and stare again. It’s Z, younger, skinnier, and whoa, definitely nerdier. The kind of kid who looks like he was harassed by peers. You can see the bone structure that he’ll eventually grow into, the handsome man waiting in the wings to fill out, but however old he is here, fifteen or sixteen, he’s not there yet. This must have been the kid that Bran knew at the exclusive Australian boarding school where they were roommates for just over a year.

  But that’s not what sends my heart up to clog my throat. No. That would be the girl next to him in the image, the one he’s slung his wiry arm around, the one who looks as if she wants to smile, as if it will appear genuine if she tries hard enough.

  The girl who looks exactly like me.

  We’re talking a total freaky doppelgänger. This is clearly the “someone” I had reminded him of.

  When I stare closer, I can decipher tiny differences. This girl has a mole dotting the left corner of her lip. Her eyes are spaced a fraction more narrowly. But still, the likeness is uncanny, as if I’m staring at a twin I never knew I had.

  “What are you doing?” I startle to my knees. Z looms above me, lean hips encased only in a gray towel. I can barely stand to look at him, even though another part of me longs to memorize each carved ridge and dip of his abdominal muscles, muscles that are clearly defined as he holds himself utterly rigid.

  “I said what the fuck are you doing?” His accent is thicker when he is angry.

  I inhale sharply and push to my feet. “I woke and you weren’t here so I decided to clean up a little. Your wallet fell out of your pants pocket and a few things scattered. Including this.” The photograph shakes between my trembling fingers as I hold it between us, the tension so thick it threatens to choke me. “Who is she?”

  He tears the image from my hand and storms across the room, crumpling it into his fist, a fist that he slams into the wall.

  Where’s that phone? I have an out. He said all I had to do was call Katya and I could leave. No questions asked. No reprisals. And right now I’m scared. He hits the wall again and the force is enough to crack the plaster. I let out a muffled shriek.

  I stumble backward when he spins around, chest heaving, and swipes hair off his face.

  “Bethanny. Wait. Remember how I promised you honesty.” He closes his eyes. “Know this before you walk out that door. I’m not a danger to you. I would cut off my own hand before lifting it in the direction of a woman.” He cocks his head with a tight smile. “I do not make the walls the same promise.”

  “I am so confused.”

  “Maryska,” he mutters with a heavy breath as if the word costs him physical effort. “Her name is Maryska. She is sick. Dying. I am flying to see her in the Ukraine on Monday, ergo why you cleared my schedule. I’ve known her since I was a boy.” He trembles even though he sounds like the epitome of calm control. “She was my first love.”

  “I’m so sorry.” And I mean it. I can’t be jealous over a dying young woman. “What is the matter with her?”

  Shadows cling to him. “A long illness. There has been…much suffering.”

  “Is there anything I can do?”

  He eyes the bed.

  “Not that,” I reply firmly.

  “You are intent to peer into things that you shouldn’t see, that no one should. But I will tell you everything and then you will know at last the sort of monster who pursues you.”

  “You aren’t a monster.” He’s troubled, angry, and deeply wounded, but not a monster. I don’t know why I feel that with such certainty, but I do.

  “Do you think the devil looks like a demon? No, he appears as a man.” He cracks his neck and grips the edge of his towel. “If you want to know everything, meet me outside, by the cliffs in ten minutes. The fog wo
n’t burn off this morning, it’s too thick, so dress accordingly.”

  I turn away to leave when he calls, “One more thing.”

  “Yes?”

  He grimaces as if his words taste bitter. “If you were debating whether to call Katya and leave this place, leave me, now would be the optimum time.”

  The pleasant postsex humming of blood through my veins increases to a roar. I’m overwhelmed by wanting to put as much distance between us as possible but also wanting to crawl into his lap, press my forehead to his, and regain the closeness we’d just shared.

  When I get inside my room, I shut the door, lock it, and lean against the wood, breathing hard. The phone in question lies on the center of my untouched bed. All I need to do is press a few buttons and within an hour I’ll be flying to Silicon Valley. I could crawl into my bed in my small room. Ignore Courtland and his lube and kick serious ass at my app presentation next week. If that gambit fails, I could continue to serve out the debt-repayment sentence I didn’t ask for or deserve.

  But I would be in control.

  If I go out that door, go to meet Z, I don’t know what will happen.

  But one thing is certain. We’re driving foot down on the accelerator, steering right for the edge.

  Chapter Ten

  Beth

  I had set the chances of you joining me here at under twenty percent.” He doesn’t turn around when I crunch down the gravel path behind him, wrapped in a thick rose-colored cardigan. Strange how he dresses in such bleak colors, but everything that he hung in the closet for me was bright.

  “Those aren’t great odds.” My voice is strange, hovering somewhere in the no-man’s-land between laughter and tears.

  “But you always manage to surprise me, do you not?” The sun is rising, the dim gray light spreading over the cliffs and sea. Otherwise we are trapped in an alien shadow world. An illusion because I know somewhere not far away is Highway 1. Tourists are driving from Los Angeles to San Francisco or going farther toward the Pacific Northwest. We aren’t alone, and yet, it isn’t a stretch to imagine that we are the only two people remaining on earth.