But it turned out Sam had done me a solid. He’d called up Heath and told him the truth. Would wonders ever cease? I’d have to get in touch, thank him, maybe try to find out what exactly had moved heaven and earth to persuade him to do something so altruistic.
Sometime I’d do that. I’d call Sam and talk to him. Just then, though, I was otherwise occupied.
Heath rolled down the partition between us and the limo driver and gave him instructions to head to a hotel in SoHo. Just like the restaurant he’d taken me to for dinner, it was high-end and celebrated enough that I’d heard of it, but never once set foot inside. It was the type of place featured in magazines and blogs, “Top 10 Hippest NYC Hotels.” I still couldn’t exactly wrap my mind around that this was the same man, my Heath, the Vermont woodworker.
“Did you just tell the driver to head to The Grand?” I asked, nestled against his broad chest. He held me there close. I bet if we didn’t have any traffic or car noise I could hear his heartbeat. I wanted to get alone with him like that, then listen to his heartbeat pick up under my touch.
“Ash got us a room there.”
“Ash Black, your rockstar brother?”
“Yeah,” he agreed, one arm caressing my hip, the other up in my hair.
“That’s so crazy.” I still couldn’t adjust fully to this new reality. Everyone knew the band The Blacklist, and the swaggering lead singer. It seemed unbelievable, though when I thought about it, I could see some family resemblance, the strong chin, the dark eyes and hair. “Do you talk to him a lot, or—”
“Didn’t used to.” Heath started kissing my throat, light kisses feathering along my skin. I closed my eyes and tilted my chin up. It felt so good. “But I’ve been staying with him these past few weeks.”
“How’s that been?” I brought my fingers to his hair and worked them through. He’d gotten a trim, combed it, but I wanted to mess it up all over again.
“Better than I thought. He’s got a nice fiancé.”
“The librarian?” I remembered all the headlines. How strange to go from headline news to my guy’s family. If he was my guy. This all felt so good, so real and exactly where I belonged, but we hadn’t exactly had the “so now what” conversation. But who wanted to ruin a good party by thinking about the next day’s clean up? It was time to enjoy.
“Yes,” Heath confirmed, and then that was the last either of us spoke until the driver pulled the car up in front of the hotel. He helped me straighten out my skirt and pull my coat around my top. His kisses left me completely undone.
In the lavish art deco lobby, Heath checked us in while I texted my mom to let her know I’d be spending the night in the city. She texted back right away telling me to have fun. No “be careful” or “what time will you be back tomorrow?” I guess Heath had made a good impression. My heart had nearly stopped yesterday when I’d walked in and seen him sitting and having a beer with my mom. What struck me the most was how easy and natural he looked sitting in my mom’s kitchen. And to think I’d wondered if he’d look down on my background, my family.
As we rode up the elevator, which somehow looked both retro-glam 1920s and completely updated, Heath wrapped my hand in his. A couple stood next to us, so hand holding would have to do. For the time being.
“Penthouse?” I asked, seeing the button he pressed.
“Ash,” he replied, shaking his head.
“Wait, how did he…?” I trailed off, answering my own question by remembering that celebrities opened doors the rest of us didn’t even know existed, let alone knowing anything about the key to the lock. All Ash Black had probably had to do to get a last-minute penthouse suite at one of the hottest hotels in the city was have one of his people make a call.
The view from the room was breathtaking, the nighttime cityscape laid out before us. But neither of us noticed at all. Heath had me up in his arms, carrying me across to the bedroom, kissing me like he’d been dreaming of doing it all the past weeks apart. I was just as hungry for him, too, and impatient for more.
We tore at each other’s clothes, kissing the skin we bared on each other, a tangle of limbs and love. He’d looked great in that button-down shirt, but working on button after button to get it off of him, now that wasn’t great. With a grin, he took over for me and pulled it up and over his head, the T-shirt underneath it, too. There, that was better.
He was such a magnificent wall of muscle. My fingers traced his skin, mesmerized by every ridge and plane, the bulging arc of his shoulders, the cut of his pecs, the ripple of his abs. He drank me in as well, his hands roaming my body, loving my curves, my soft dips and swells such a contrast against him so hard and solid. His fingers found their way to my inner thighs, stroking my sensitive skin. I parted for him, showing him how much I wanted him, how instantly I warmed to his touch.
When his fingers found my pussy, he groaned like a person dying of thirst at an oasis. I did, too, as he slid his thick, calloused tips across my wetness. He’d already made me come in the car, and honestly just being around him revved my motor, made me want to do all sorts of nasty things with him all night long. Circling my clit in long, leisurely strokes, he began working me up again, sliding and pressing, drinking in the moans off my lips with kisses.
“Heath,” I groaned, tilting my hips toward his talented fingers. “Heath, it’s so good. But I need you to fuck me!”
With a growl like a beast, he pushed me down onto the bed. He quickly removed the rest of his clothes and climbed over me. Wrapping his large hands around the backs of my thighs, he pushed them up along either side of my torso. Holding me like that, spread, he exposed me completely. He brought the wide, thick crown of his cock to my entrance and positioned it right where I needed it.
Panting, I tried to buck my pussy onto him, but his hands held me tight, firm in his grasp.
“You want to get fucked, Violet?” he asked, a wild look in his eyes.
“Yes!” I screamed out, and then he entered me in one long, hard thrust. Wet and slick as I was, he was still so huge. The way his cock stretched me made my eyes open wide and I screamed again, my arms up clasping his bulging biceps. Still, he held me open as he started to move, fucking me just like I wanted, with long, strong thrusts deep inside of me.
“Heath!” I screamed, overwhelmed by him, his size, the intensity of the way he took me, and an orgasm ripped up through me, rushing through my senses. He kept pounding, picking up his pace, a man possessed.
“Over my shoulders,” he commanded, guiding my legs up and over him as he cupped his hands down underneath my ass. He guided me as he pistoned into me, over and over, and I had to brace myself against the headboard with my hand.
“Yes!” I cried out, wanting all of it, even if it made me sore, even if I got a few bruises. I wanted all of him, every inch, wild and untamed, fucking me like only he could.
“So good,” he bit out, his gaze fixed on the exact spot where his cock hammered into me, glistening and hard as a rock, again and again. I used the headboard to push against him, desperate, guttural sounds in my throat, grunts and whimpers and cries of need.
I could feel him get close, his ass clenching and his thighs growing taut. Yet he slowed down, savoring every inch as he thrust into me and looked into my eyes. “I’m going to come in you deep, Violet.”
Quivering in my core, my whole body responded to his words, every bit of me crying out yes. I closed my eyes and just felt, surrendering to the intense sensations as he gripped my ass and rocked into me again, then again. With a great shudder and roar he exploded, his cock so big and hard and deep in me, pumping his hot come as I came all over again, throbbing and sighing, my legs up and over his shoulders. He thrust in so deep, his hands keeping me there locked against him, until he groaned out in release.
“Violet,” he exclaimed, unwinding my legs and collapsing down next to me, pulling me against his chest.
We stayed like that for a while, resting together, our heartbeats slowing down, our fingers playing laz
y circles on each other’s skin. Eventually, he pulled me into the bathroom where we found a giant, walk-in shower.
“Might need to put one of these in my cabin.” He smiled at me as he turned on hot water from all points, two showerheads and two jets in from the side. We soaped each other up, lathering and rubbing and massaging. The way he touched me, caressing every inch, worshipping my skin, he made me feel like a work of art. I guessed that was one of the benefits of being with an artist.
“I’d love to sculpt you,” he murmured, as if reading my mind. “But I’d never be able to make anything near as beautiful.” He turned me to face the wall and lathered my back, slow, lazy circles traveling lower and lower until he lovingly caressed my buttocks. The heat he built in me never went out, but it did shift, sometimes raging like a wildfire tearing through a forest in August, sometimes like the slow-moving flow of molten lava.
In the steam of the shower, he made me feel so languorous, so delicious and unhurried. We had all the time in the world. Why not savor it?
I turned around, a mischievous smile playing at my lips. His shaft stood up, huge and hard once again. I wrapped my hands around it, playing along its length in the wet heat of the shower.
“It’s been a while since we had dessert.” I licked my lips, admiring his length, the veins bulging down the sides, the thick mushroom of his crown. As I eased down to my knees, he let out a groan in anticipation.
“You know you don’t have to—” He paused, at a loss for words as I licked wet and slick around his tip. “Don’t have to take me all the way in. I know I’m big.”
“Oh, but Heath.” I smiled up at him, cupping my hands along his cock, positioning it right where I could give it another long, slow lick. I looked up into his eyes. “I want to suck all of you.”
He groaned again like a man tortured and in pain. I’d see what I could do about that. I slipped his tip in, marveling again at his size. I really did have to work hard to take him all the way down my throat, but I’d done it before and I wanted to again. Amazing what a motivated woman could accomplish.
I relaxed as I sucked, closing my eyes and losing myself to it, the warm water pounding on my back, the steam curling around us. He brought his hands to my hair, my shoulders, caressing me, letting me know how good it felt as I sucked and licked, working his big cock deeper and deeper in my mouth and throat.
It was such a heady sense of power, such a rush of adrenaline to feel him grow even harder under my attentions. I could hear his breathing grow more ragged, feel his fingers grip me tighter. I loved turning this man on.
“Mmm,” I murmured around his cock as I sucked, cupping his balls with one hand, the other around to grab his ass. It was wet, messy work, perfect for the shower, as I slurped and sucked, feeling my pussy throb as I got him closer and closer. He was such a huge, sexy beast of a man and it felt so right to be his woman.
Suddenly, he withdrew and pulled me up to standing, then pushed me against the smooth tile of the shower wall.
“Want to come in you,” he growled, thrusting up into my pussy with a long, strong stroke. I cried out in surprise and pleasure. He gripped my hair in his hand and held it as he fucked me, my breasts pushed up against the wall. I spread my palms out against the tile as he worked me, one of his hands sliding along to my front and down to my clit. He stroked me as he thrust, teasing me to the brink. I felt so possessed and dominated, yet so loved as he gripped my hair, holding me fast, forcing me against the wall and fucking me.
“Yes, yes,” I pleaded, feeling my orgasm build, build then crash over me as he thrust in and came, exploding in me deep.
He was so gentle afterward, washing every inch of me, kissing my glistening skin. He wrapped me in a soft towel and insisted on carrying me to the bed.
“I can walk.” I laughed as I wrapped my arms around his neck and very much enjoyed being held in his arms.
“I work you hard, baby,” he murmured, still holding me in his solid, muscular arms against his massive chest. “The least I can do is take care of you after.”
“Oh, you take care of me, all right.” I couldn’t help laugh again, giddy. Multiple orgasms did that to a girl.
At some point we drifted to sleep, and then at some point the next morning I drifted awake, my head still resting on his bare chest, listening to his heart beat strong and true. And I realized, all at once, I trusted this man. I trusted him completely. It didn’t matter what he had or hadn’t told me about his past. What mattered was him, who he really was inside, and that man I knew I could trust with my life.
“Morning,” he murmured, wrapping me in an embrace.
“Is it?” I asked. The shades were drawn tight over the windows.
“Late morning. But we’re not in a rush. We’ve got the room tonight, too, if we want it.”
I smiled. I liked this whole rockstar brother thing. “Heath,” I began, wanting to talk about his family, but still wary. I didn’t want to jeopardize this delicious intimacy, but we still did have a lot to talk about and sort out.
“I want you to know,” I started, “I trust you. And I respect that you didn’t tell me about your family. I don’t feel like you lied to me.”
“Good.” He pulled me even closer.
“But I am curious.” I lifted my head and looked at him. “I feel like I know you but I don’t know you. And I want to know you.”
“That’s a lot of know yous,” Heath teased.
Good, teasing meant he still felt relaxed. “So you’re really…” How did I say filthy rich without coming out and saying filthy rich?
“A Kavanaugh,” he confirmed. “My father was a billionaire and he left it to us, his children.”
I shook my head, believing but not believing at the same time. “So many guys would be bragging so hard about that. They wouldn’t shut up about it.” I’d sat through evenings with guys bragging endlessly about far less.
“What’s the point in that?” he asked. “Then you end up surrounded by the kinds of people who want to hear you brag nonstop.”
“Right.” He had a point. “I remember you saying you’re not close with your family.”
“I’m not,” he agreed. “None of us are close. Except the past couple weeks have been interesting.” And he started talking, exactly the way I’d hoped, telling me about seeing his mother and his older brothers. He had a younger sister, too.
“Wow, I can’t keep track of everyone.” I was so used to thinking of him on his own. It was strange adjusting to the thought of him as a constellation in a busy universe.
“Me, too,” he agreed. “I haven’t even mentioned my half-brother. The one who almost put my mother in a mental hospital when she found out about him. I just met him a year ago.”
I shook my head, marveling at the complexity. At times growing up, just my mom and me, I’d longed for a big family. But I’d pictured it like the Von Trapps, everyone wearing matching clothing and singing in harmony. What he described sounded much more messy.
“Oh, and about a year before my father died he re-married and she had a son, so I guess I technically had stepbrother. But I literally never met him.”
“How’s that possible?” That stretched even my imagination.
“Our parents eloped. And he’s always overseas in some kind of top secret military operation.”
“Ooh, like the kind where they’d tell you about it but then they’d have to kill you?” Talk about scandal. My reality TV instincts buzzed in delight.
“Something like that.” Heath looked at me, slightly wary.
“Sorry, this all just sounds like a movie,” I admitted. “It’s hard to wrap my head around it.”
“Yeah,” he sighed. “It’s hard for me, too. I don’t exactly have a ‘casual conversation’ family. It’s part of why I don’t usually talk about them.”
I calmed myself down. He didn’t need me squealing over the craziness. He needed me to listen to the facts, but more importantly to his experience of it all.
Happily, he kept on talking, just the two of us lying together in bed. He told me about growing up in a whirlwind of nannies and private schools, about never seeing his parents and then getting shipped off to his grandmother in England when his parents split up. He told me about his attempts to navigate the cutthroat rich kid culture in boarding school and then in an Ivy League college, until he finally quit it all.
“Best decision of my life,” he told me, explaining how he’d walked away, right before graduation, choosing to go live on that plot of land in Watson.
I winced. It reminded me. I hadn’t meant to, but I’d ruined it, his solitary, off-the-grid life.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, sensing my tension.
“I’m just thinking how I’ve ruined everything,” I admitted.
“No, no you haven’t.” He pulled me up against him, kissing me gently. “These past few weeks, I’ve been thinking. When I first headed to Watson, I needed to pull away, set out on my own. But maybe its time to let my family back in a little.”
“Yeah?”
“Things are different now, without my father. I’m not glad he’s gone. But now it is easier, I guess.” He explained how much his father had disapproved of his choices, how forcibly he’d tried to push him into the same CEO corporate mold. “Now, I guess I don’t feel like I have to fight so hard to be my own man. I can just…be it.”
I smiled against his chest. “Funny, I was just thinking about how it’s time for me to stop fighting my way up whatever corporate ladder is put in front of me and instead figure out what I really want to do with my life. Who I really want to be.”
We snuggled some more as I told him about my lunch meeting the other day, the ideas I was having about what to do next. I’d been so excited about the show I’d wanted to do in Watson. I wondered if there might be an opportunity to do something like it, something real and creative and engaging instead of exploitative.
Untamed: (Heath & Violet) (Beg For It) Page 25