Look? He isn’t looking. He’s ogling and the heat in his eyes leaves a fevered trail over my skin. He moves to stand behind me. Our eyes meet in the mirror.
“Why didn’t you wake me?” I ask, finishing combing my hair.
“You were zonked. You really needed the sleep.” He takes the comb from me, sets it aside. His arms snake around my waist. “Have to say, it was a novelty waking up before you. I thoroughly enjoyed watching you sleep, too.”
“I hope I didn’t drool.” I smile.
Grinning, he nuzzles my hair. “No, you didn’t. Your hair and legs were everywhere, though. And you sleep with your lips slightly parted. So fucking erotic. You put Sleeping Beauty to shame.”
My body responds to his words, his caresses, his hot breath on my neck. In the mirror, his gaze moves to my puckering nipples. His hands follow.
I murmur my approval. You’d think after last night, I’d be satiated. But my body wants more — always more of him. Liquid heat pools between my thighs as he massages my nipples, making them even harder.
“Never, never enough of you,” he echoes my thoughts.
One hand smooths down my stomach. Slowly, he pulls me back into his erection, then his hand goes lower onto my sex, expertly increasing the desire for him. Instinctively, I close my eyes.
“Uh, uh. Open, peaches. I want to see your eyes.” His husky voice only inflames my desire more.
It’s difficult, but I open them, look at his reflection, our reflection in the mirror, my pale skin against his handsome Latino tan.
Working a nipple with fingers from one hand, he gently massages my clit between two fingers of the other hand. With a moan and big effort to keep my eyes open, my hips rock to the rhythm of his hand.
“The more turned on you are, the deeper blue your eyes become. Like the Colorado sky, they go from crystal clear blue to a stormy swirl in seconds.”
He slips one finger inside me. I groan.
“Your big baby blues drive me nuts.” A second finger joins the first. “Everything about you drives me nuts.”
His growing erection presses hard against my behind. Removing his hands from me, he shoves his pajama pants down and kicks them aside. “I want you, Cherie. Put your hands on the vanity.” He gently guides my hands.
“Scoot your feet back.” Tenderly, he guides my hips back, pulls my backside up. Then, he dips his knees.
“Remember how much you loved this position when I fucked you in the wilderness?”
Yes.
Both of us express our pleasure as he, slowly, inch by inch, sinks into me from behind.
God, it feels so good.
“You’re so soft,” he growls, moving much too slowly. “Yet so snug. Perfect fit.” He bends over, kisses my back and shoulders. “Like my cock and your pussy were made for each other.”
I rock my hips forward and back, like I do when I ride him.
He grips my hips, holds me still. “Stop or I’m going to come too soon.”
Our eyes lock in the mirror and, smirking, I watch his reaction when I kegel him lightly with my muscles.
His eyes roll back into his head. “Wicked virgin,” he moans. When I stop, he grins back and thrusts hard. “This what you want?”
“Yes, baby,” I moan.
Groaning, he thrusts a second time. “You get that every time you call me baby.”
“Oh, baby.” I meet his next thrust. “More, baby,” I murmur. With a low primal sound, he sinks to the hilt, again.
Greedy for more, I whisper, “Baby, baby, baby,” over and over and over. “Fuck me, baby.”
With a losing-control growl, he gives in to me, pumping quicker, deeper and, at this angle, it doesn’t take long for me to orgasm — a sweet, rolling sensation sweeping from my center outward to my toes up to the tip of my head.
Victor tenses, pulls my hips back hard at the same time he thrusts and swells thicker. He stills, and whispering my name, he climaxes.
Panting rapidly, he braces one hand on the counter and the other under my stomach, he lays his head on my back while he catches his breath.
“Let’s start every day just like this,” he murmurs through gasps.
Tensing, I lift so he knows I want to stand. We shouldn’t have done this now or even last night. Time to face him, time to tell him we’re not going to do this anymore and judge his reaction.
“I’m heavy. Sorry.” He kisses my shoulder and pulls out.
“No, I’m the one who needs to apologize, Victor.” I bite my bottom lip. “I shouldn’t have stayed here last night.”
I kiss him lightly on the lips and walk into the bedroom to dress.
“I’m glad you stayed. I wasn’t kidding when I said I sleep better with you beside me.” He takes my hands. “What about you? Do you like sleeping with me?”
That’s a loaded and unfair question. I take my hands back, reach for my overnight bag and set it on the bed.
“Live with me. Permanently.” Hopeful eyes follow my movements.
One more night was the wrong thing to do. He’s reading too much into this. Looking away, I dig in my bag for underwear.
“We agreed to see how the summer goes first,” I say.
“I know. That’s before I spent three sleepless nights without you. I’d be a zombie by September.” He smiles, reaches for me, again.
God, he’s too much when he’s naked, hair all mussed from sleeping and — other things. I scoot out of the way. “Can we get dressed? Talk over breakfast?”
“Okay?” Brow furrowed, he dresses and studies me at the same time.
Minutes later in the kitchen, he’s piling two plates with waffles and bacon that he kept warm in the oven. Setting the plates in front of us on the breakfast bar, he slides onto a stool next to me. I poke at a waffle. He bites a slice of bacon, stares at me while he chews and swallows.
“Speak, Cherie. What’s going on in that overachieving brain of yours?”
“I, um.” I blow out a breath. Let me ease in to this. “True to their marketing, The Graces is a calm place to relax and reflect.”
He grumbles. “Something tells me I’m not going to like what your mind gnawed on while you were there.”
“Probably not.” I hesitate and then just say it. “Victor, I can’t see you like this for awhile. I need to focus on work for the rest of the summer.”
He stops chewing, levels a scowling are-you-out-of-your-fucking-mind glare at me.
“Please don’t look at me like that,” I say.
“After last night? And this morning? You’re bat-shit crazy if you think I’m letting you go now,” he insists, goes back to eating.
“As you’re well aware, you’re my first sexual relationship. And the Fast Track Program will be my first grown up job.”
“Connect the dots for me, honey, ‘cause I’m not seeing an issue.”
“My first grown up boss and my first boyfriend being the same person? I’m not experienced enough to handle that. God, I’m not even sure I know what it is that I’m feeling.”
“The fuck you don’t.” He slaps a flat hand on the counter, his voice menacingly low, his eyes dark and angry — and wolf.
I back off the stool, away from him. “Will you listen, please?” I whisper.
Closing his eyes, calming himself, he softens his voice. “You know what this is, Cherie. It’s called falling in love.”
“I don’t know that for sure. How could I? I’ve got nothing to compare it to,” I say. “Besides if it is true, all the more reason to take a break and focus on work.”
“Fuck,” he growls.
“Will you just let me explain my reasoning?”
Getting up, he shoves my mug under the Keurig, refills my coffee. Does the same for himself and sits back down. He holds out my mug to me, making me step closer to grab it.
One by one, anger, fear, doubt and hurt dash across his face. “Okay. Explain.”
I’m sorry, Victor. I really need to do this.
“Before I commit
to the Fast Track Program, I need to know how you’ll react.”
“React?”
“Yes. How you’ll react to me as an ex.”
He scowls. “So, you’re putting me through some absurd test?”
I hadn’t planned for this to be obvious. I glance up at him and shrug.
“That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard, Cherie, more so than ‘I don’t know what I’m feeling,” he mimics my voice.
I bristle at the words and his tone. “Are you going to listen or make fun of me?”
He takes a gulp of coffee, angrily clamps his mouth shut.
“There’s no knowing how long we’ll last as a couple, right?” I wait for an answer. “Right?” I say when he doesn’t give me one.
“Oh, I thought I wasn’t allowed to speak.” He growls.
“See. This is what I mean.” Frustrated, I clang the flatware onto the plate next to the uneaten food.
“How you, as my boss, treat me after we split up is kind of vital information — I need to know the answer so I can make an informed decision. And how I treat you, too, of course.” I turn to face him.
“You know, Cherie, a significant measure of maturity is sticking to the commitments you already made. You signed a contract pledging to do the Fast Track Program.”
I chafe at his suggestion that I’m being childish. “I realize that, but that’s before —.” I can’t say it.
“Before what, Cherie?” With a thumb and index finger, he raises my chin, forces me look at him. “Before you fell in love with me?”
Damn it. Now I’m crying again. “Five years is a long time to work with someone who’s angry with you — most especially if he’s your boss.”
“You say after we split up like it’s inevitable, sweetness. I vehemently disagree.”
“The odds are for it,” I argue, softly though. It’s the truth and he knows it. “You have to concede that more couples breakup than stay together. You’ve had six yourself.”
He grunts.
“I’m asking that for the rest of the summer, you be the boss and let me be an employee. No sex. No intimate relationship. If we work well together even when you hate me, I’ll stay for the internship. If we can’t —.” I leave it hanging.
“First of all, I could never hate you, mi ninfa.” He strokes my cheek with his knuckles. “What if we can’t? What if I can’t stand to be near you and not be able to touch you?” His fingertips trace my lips. “Put it all out there for me.”
“If we can’t, The Graces still wants me.” I take his fingers with mine, then look in his face. “Victor, before I left for Santa Fe, you said you’d back off if I asked you to. Well, I’m asking you to,” I whisper.
Abruptly, he pushes the stool back, disposes of his plate and mug in the sink, and stands looking out of the kitchen window for a long moment.
“Just for the rest of the summer?” He turns to me, his eyes dark and hard.
God, he’s so angry. I nod.
“No intimacy, but we can be friends? Watch TV? Have dinner? Go bowling?” He says.
“Bowling?” I hadn’t thought further than a work relationship. I squint at him. “There isn’t a bowling alley in Telluride.”
“There’s one in Montrose. Look. It’s just an example. We can kill two birds with one stone,” he says. “Learn to work together and get to know one another better — outside of the bedroom.”
That’s not exactly breaking up, is it? I have no frame of reference. This did not go as planned. “I don’t know.”
“It’ll be a good first-time experience for you. Exes stay friends all the time.” He shrugs. “Eases the sting of rejection.”
“I’m not rejecting you.”
He raises his eyebrows. “You sure the fuck are.”
“I’m sorry.” And I really am. Gabs’ screaming accusation that I’m like Dad makes the guilt I’m feeling all the worse. “Fine. We’ll be friends along with having a working relationship.”
“Now that I can agree to. We’ll be platonic for the rest of the summer, or until you say otherwise,” he says. “Finish your breakfast.” There’s a shadow of a smirk on his face. I recognize being out maneuvered. I was just out maneuvered.
“I’m not that hungry.” I push the plate farther away.
“C’mon. Don’t reject your personal chef, too. With great hardship, he rose early to make that for you. A few more bites?” He smiles.
I narrow my eyes at him. Yes. He just discovered a couple of my guilt buttons and he’s pushed them — firmly. I eat the bacon. “I’ll take the waffles with me.”
“Good plan.” He wraps them in a napkin for me. “Shall we go to the hospital to check on Gabby?”
I nod.
Moving fast, he gets a pair of sport shoes from the entry closet.
In the bedroom, I pull on the sandals I wore yesterday. Then, zip up my wheeled bag to pull to the entry. “You said the rest of my luggage is here? Can we take it next door?”
Rolling his eyes with a huge sigh, he disappears down the hall, comes back with the rest of my suitcases.
chapter forty-three
BREAKUP, HMMM, MI ninfa? Fuck that.
This seduction isn’t over. Albeit, without sex as a tool, it’s going to be a greater challenge. Operation Romance has to be platonic for a few months. I have to be the best goddamn friend she’s ever had.
Considering that she hasn’t slept during our days apart, perhaps this so called experiment of hers won’t take all summer.
We drop Cherie’s things in the larger of Gabby’s guest bedrooms. I notice that my girl’s headboard shares the wall with my headboard. Have to find a way to leverage that.
“Can we walk to the hospital?” Cherie asks when we get outside. “I spent way too much time in sitting in a car this week.”
“Whatever you want, sweetness.” I say, reaching for her hand.
To avoid me, she tucks both of her hands into her jeans. “Do you call all your exes sweetness?”
“Absolutely,” I lie.
She smirks. “My friends call me Cherie or C or Rie.”
“Rie?” I hadn’t heard that one.
“It’s from junior high.” She waves a dismissive hand. “Anyway, my point is that friends don’t use endearments like sweetness.”
I snort. “Jesse calls you baby.”
She cocks her head. “I’ll ask him to stop.”
We walk the rest of the six blocks in silence. Overnight, Gabby was moved from ICU to a regular room. Cherie pauses outside the closed door, turns to me. “What if she doesn’t want to see me?”
“Of course she wants to see you.” I squeeze Cherie’s shoulders to reassure her.
I tap the door lightly, crack it open a bit. Gabby’s awake. Jesse and Aunt Rebecca sit in visitor chairs. Holding the door open, I usher mi ninfa in.
“Hey.” Cherie takes a tentative a step or two into the room. “Is it okay if I visit?”
Gabby’s eyes widen. “Of course it is.” She holds out her arms for a hug. With a sigh of relief, Cherie goes to her, gingerly embraces my cousin.
“I’m so sorry, C. Please, please. You have to forgive me.”
Cherie stands, smiles tightly. “I love you, G. You know that.”
Gabby frowns at the non-forgiving statement. “Someday you’ll forgive me?”
My girl nods. I’ll learn some things about Cherie, too — how long she holds grudges, how quickly she forgives. I suspect neither Cherie nor I will ever completely trust Gabby, again.
“How are you feeling, cuz?” I move in for a hug.
“I’m fine,” she shrugs.
“Can I talk to you outside?” Aunt Rebecca says, looping her arm through Cherie’s.
“Um, sure.” Cherie follows her with a puzzled look. They step outside.
I turn to Gabby. “We should have listened to Cherie. In hindsight, leaving you in Telluride by yourself was the wrong thing to do. I’m sorry the family wasn’t there for you.”
“Yo
u, too? C’s got you all convinced?” Gabby scowls. “Everyone needs to chill. I did not try to kill myself.” She glares at Jesse.
Chin stubble and rumpled clothes that he had on yesterday attest to the fact that the kid’s been here all night.
“I’m so offended. How can she think I’m as weak as her mom?” Gabby says. “I’m nothing like her.”
“Wait. Are you saying Rose tried to kill herself?” I ask, stunned. That picture doesn’t match the bubbly woman I met.
Gabby nods. “About six months after Cherie’s dad left. Between classes, C ran home to get a textbook she forgot — good thing. She found Rose in the garage with the car running. Had she come home at the end of the school day as usual —.” Gabby grimaces.
“Jesus,” Jesse mumbles. “I had no idea. No wonder she’s so protective about her mom.”
Fuck. I sit down on the visitor’s chair. My girl’s so scared of intimate relationships. This is why.
“The thing is, Gabriela.” Jesse speaks softly, stands to hover by the bed. “The orange bottles were all over the floor all around you. They don’t lie.”
“Did you see the cosmetic bag, too?” She sneers. “That’s where I keep all my meds. I dropped it when I collapsed.”
“And the alcohol in your system? That was an oversight?” I ask.
“Yes! I had a couple glasses of wine a few hours before bed, before I took the sleeping pills. I thought that was enough time, that I was in the clear.”
A quick glance at Jesse confirms that neither of us believe her.
“Well, fuck you! Cherie and Mom, too. I did not try to off myself!”
The door flies open. “Gabriela!” Aunt Rebecca chastises her daughter. “I can hear your screaming profanity through the hall.”
Wide-eyed, my girl stares at my cousin.
Gabby takes a few steadying breaths, lowers her voice. “I screwed up and took too many sleeping pills too soon after drinking some wine. It was an honest mistake. For the last time, I did not try to commit suicide.”
“If we’re wrong, we’re wrong and you’ll have to forgive us,” Cherie says softly. “Please take our concern for what it is. We love you. We wouldn’t worry if we didn’t.”
Fuck. I can only guess how you learned to placate a suicide risk like that. My heart breaks for you, peaches.
Accidental Lover (Wolven Moon Book 3) Page 32