Bastard In A Sut (Book Three) (Bastard In A Suit 3)

by Ivy Carter

  Marianne and Eric sure did a number on me. I want to let that situation go, let what my brother did just be in the past, but I don’t fucking know how.

  “I understand.” Her tone is soft. “I…” After a lengthy pause, I glance over to see her lower lip between her teeth. “I’m sure the stuff that happened with us added to your stress, and I just want to apologize for that. I shouldn’t have said it.”

  “Don’t,” I tell her curtly. “You should never have to apologize for how you feel.” Even if it makes me uncomfortable as fuck. But that’s my problem to deal with, not hers.

  I wish I knew how to handle this. Part of me, the chicken-shit coward part, thinks if I just keep focusing on work the way I always do, if we pretend that didn’t happen, her feelings will go back to what they were before, and the tension will ease.

  But I already know that’s not realistic. Love doesn’t work that way. And I don’t think Emme would have told me she loved me if it wasn’t genuine. The thought makes that light in my chest flare up for a brief, painful moment.

  She sighs. “I made things awkward, and I hate that. I…” She stops, plays with a lock of her hair. “Sorry, never mind.” The sadness in her tone resonates through me.

  “What were you going to say?” I need to know.

  “I’m… Look, I think it’s best I just keep my feelings to myself from now on.” Her embarrassed laugh is like daggers in my heart. I did this to her. I made her stifle herself, the woman whose very openness drew me to her in the first place.

  “I fucked up, Emme,” I find myself stating baldly.

  “Let’s just drop it, okay? We don’t need to discuss it.”

  Her tone sounds a bit defensive, raw, and she turns once more toward the window.

  Shit, I’m still doing this wrong. I need to fix this, now.

  “No, wait, let me finish. I just need to tell you where I’m coming from.” I shift into the middle lane on the highway, cars zooming by, and turn on cruise control. In straightforward words, I tell her about my childhood, catching my dad having sex in the bathroom with our barely eighteen-year-old babysitter—yeah, Mom doesn’t know about that one, and I sure as hell am not going to tell her. Then watching him work his secretaries over at his company for years after I graduated college and began my career.

  As I explain this to her, she’s quiet, no longer facing the window but steadily looking at my profile. I, however, stare forward, hands gripping the steering wheel. It’s easier to get this out if I don’t think about how much I’m dropping my guard doing so. But I have this compulsion for her to understand me, unlike anything I’ve ever felt for a woman before. Even Marianne. And if I let myself think about that fact for too long, I’ll talk myself out of this.

  I stop speaking and drive for a few minutes in silence. Try to calm my raging emotions, regain control over myself.

  “I think I get it,” she finally says, facing forward herself. “What happened with your brother and your ex-wife made it even more difficult for you to trust in love. Another incident in a lifelong series of betrayals by people you loved and believed in.”

  Huh. Somehow, she managed to put into succinct words the thoughts I’ve been struggling to express—to myself and to her. I let her quiet-spoken insight sink in.

  Then her fingertips brush my forearm, and my skin breaks out in goose bumps. “I didn’t mean to push you, Dane. I feel terrible about that.”

  God, I wish I wasn’t fucking driving right now. I fight the urge to pull over and shake her until she accepts my words. I don’t want her to feel sorry. “No more feeling bad,” I say, not just to her but to myself. “Seriously.”

  I see her nod out of the corners of my eyes.

  This is for the best, I tell myself. We addressed the situation, and now we can move forward.

  “Thank you for trusting me,” she says, and the words are so shy it makes me ache once more. I want to kiss her so badly I can almost taste her mouth. But that would just confuse things more.

  God knows I’m already confused enough.

  “To a kick-ass day,” Emme declares, holding up her wine glass filled with merlot. Her smile is wide, her cheeks flushed with triumph.

  We’re in the hotel restaurant but there aren’t many people in here, since it’s after normal dinnertime. She and I are at a table alone in the corner, the flicker of candlelight providing an intimate ambiance.

  I raise my glass and clink against hers. “That went better than I could have imagined, and the client seemed pleased with our work. Thank you for your help.”

  Emme was a godsend. Though I initially asked her along on personal impulse, it turned out to be the right work decision. Her questions and comments to the client, Mr. Sanderson, were insightful but not intrusive. Carl could learn a thing or twelve from Emme.

  Sanderson was star struck by her, utterly charmed and almost able to tear his gaze away from her long enough to listen to my feedback during the evaluation. The intermittent flares of jealousy in my chest surprised me every time she laughed at his cheesy jokes. Could I fault him for being enraptured, though? There’s nothing like being the object of this woman’s attention—it makes a man want to be the best he can be.

  After taking big swigs of wine and placing our meal orders, Emme and I talk about her schooling. She assures me the trip won’t interfere with her classwork, that she finished it all on Friday during her day off. Her profuse thank-yous make me ashamed of myself—this woman is so grateful for a bit of kindness. She deserves better than the way I’ve treated her, how I’ve held her at arm’s length.

  Pushing her away because of my fears has done nothing but make me sad and lonely. I’ve missed her so fucking much. Maybe it’s the wine sinking in, but at the moment I don’t care. Right now, I want to soak up the vision of Emme, lovely in a black sleeveless dress that cups her breasts, her hips. My hands itch to touch her; it takes a lot of effort to keep them on my side of the table.

  I won’t toy with her feelings like that. She doesn’t need me fucking with her head by pulling her close, then pushing her away.

  But is it really toying with her when I can’t help but feel a stirring in my own heart, despite my fears? Is this something I should explore? Something tells me that she’d be worth the risk.

  But am I worth it for her?

  The thought of another man stroking that body to orgasm, kissing her throat and listening to her laugh and sigh and cry out, makes a low burn in my gut grow hotter. I don’t know if it’s selfish or stupid, but I don’t think I can just let her go. Not if there’s a chance she might still want to be with me.

  “How’s your brother?” I ask to get my mind off this dangerous line of thought.

  Her eyes drift over my shoulder, and the smile fades from her face. “He’s…well, not great, but I think we had a breakthrough the other day.” She shakes her head. “He’s so damn stubborn sometimes.”

  “Just like his sister.” My mouth curls in the corners.

  She squints her eyes at me in mock consternation. “I’m hardly stubborn. Not like that.” Pause. “Okay, maybe just a little bit. But sometimes, sheer stubbornness is the only thing pushing me forward when life gets me down.”

  Her fingers play with the stem of her glass, and the candle’s flame casts a golden glow on her face. She’s so soft and beautiful that I feel like my heart might explode right out of my chest. Once again I’m struck by the intensity of my feelings for her, how every day I learn something new that makes me want her even more.

  A surge of need hits me then, makes my skin vibrate. I want to cradle this lovely, sad, persistent, vulnerable woman in my arms and feel her body against me. So fucking badly I can barely stand it. I want to make her come, again and again. And I want to stop psyching myself out about everything. Just…let go and give in to this.

  I don’t know if I can, but I ache to try.

  Our food arrives. I eat but I don’t really taste my filet mignon and roasted potatoes. That need, the one I’ve been su
ppressing for her, it’s back with a vengeance, and it’s humming right underneath my skin, like white noise that suddenly gets cranked louder and louder.

  Emme nibbles on the last of her green beans, then sits back with a smile on her face. “That was delicious.”

  The satisfaction on her face reminds me of how she looks post-orgasm. My cock throbs, straining against the zipper of my pants, and I shift in my seat.

  Her eyes lock on mine, and her lips part. Her breasts rise with her sharp inhale.

  I know she can see what I’m thinking and feeling, and for once I don’t try to control it. At all. I want this woman to know I’m fantasizing about her. Because if I’m going to get Emme back in my bed, back in my life, I need to do something that scares the ever-loving shit out of me.

  Let her in. Let her see me.

  “Emme,” I whisper in a gravelly voice. “I swear I didn’t invite you here for anything illicit, but if I don’t—” I struggle to find the right words. “If I don’t tell you how I feel, I’m going to regret it.”

  “And how do you feel?” The words sound like they’re being torn from her chest, and her eyes are wide.

  I lean forward, stroke her index finger. “I miss you so much. And I want you. Fuck all the noise in my head right now,” I manage to grind out. “I just need to touch your body and make you come all over me. Can I do that, Emme? Will you let me give you pleasure?”

  Emme

  How can I possibly tell Dane no?

  How am I supposed to, when my body is screaming at me to let him do everything he wants, no questions, no hesitation? My heart, on the other hand, won’t stop warning me that I’m just going to get hurt again. And it will be my own fault.

  After all, nothing in his confession indicates love or a relationship. He’s not giving me false promises, despite knowing my romantic feelings. I respect the honesty, even as I struggle with what’s the smart thing to do.

  The smart thing would be to have never let myself get in this situation in the first place. Because this man has so much power over my fragile heart now, and I know that he knows it.

  But I’m not always a smart girl, and I find myself nodding, pulled toward him by a force I can’t deny.

  Dane’s eyes sharpen as he stares at me. He’s so intense right now I can barely sit still under his scrutiny. He digs into his wallet and withdraws a few bills, then drops them on the table. “Let’s go.” His voice is little more than a growl.

  Before I realize what’s happening, Dane’s hand is in mine, and he’s dragging me through the hotel lobby. The connection is innocent, but there’s nothing innocent about the way my blood is surging through my limbs. My panties are already growing wet from the throb in my pelvis.

  For the last few days, I haven’t let myself remember what it feels like to have him on top of me, in me, touching me. But now everything is roaring back to the surface with a vengeance.

  We make it to the elevator, and the doors close behind us. My nerves practically burn when I remember the elevator at work. And given the wicked gleam in his eye, I know he’s remembering that too.

  “I’d stop the elevator and fuck you right here,” he says to me in a heated tone, “but I want to wait until we’re in a real bed. I’ve been thinking about that more than I want to admit.”

  “Really?” The thought of him fantasizing about having sex with me gets me wetter.

  He cups my elbow and pulls me flush to his side, and his thumb draws lazy swirls over my skin. The nerves explode from sensory overload. He dips his head down and presses a kiss to the underside of my ear. “This elevator can’t get us to my room fast enough. I want to peel that dress off you and taste every square inch of your body.”

  I shudder in excitement at the promise in his words. I reserved two rooms for us, since I assumed there wouldn’t be anything happening on this trip. I never would have imagined we’d end up here. It almost feels like I’m dreaming.

  If I am, I hope I stay asleep. At least for a little while longer.

  The elevator doors ping open, and he pulls me to the left, down the beige carpeted hallway, past rows of doors. His room is second to last on the right side. He slips the card in, his other hand still clenching mine, then opens the door.

  The moment we get inside, my back is against the door and his mouth is on mine, hot and wet and insistent. I give back as much as he offers, more, pouring everything into our kiss. My head grows dizzy and I cling to him to give me strength.

  “Emme,” he whispers as he kisses each corner of my mouth. He pulls back for a moment, his pupils dilated. “You’re so beautiful I can hardly take it. Tell me you’re mine, even if just for right now.”

  “I’m yours,” I say breathlessly. Every fiber of my being screams that I belong to him, only him, with no possibility of freeing myself from this ownership. Nor do I want to.

  He cups my hips and squeezes, then presses against me. His body is scorching hot, his mouth just as burning as he claims mine. I taste the wine on his tongue, and I drink from him, my nipples hardening to painful beads. My clit is throbbing in time with my rapid pulse.

  He makes me feel so alive, so vibrant and sexy.

  My heart swells from the surge of emotion pouring through me. Dane grabs my hand and leads me to the bed, where a thick white blanket is tucked neatly over the mattress. He looks at me, really looks at me. Takes his time and slides his hands from my neck to my shoulders, down my arms. Everywhere he touches leaves a wake of goose bumps.

  I close my eyes and take it all in, let my other senses roar to life. His breathing is raspy. His hands are slightly calloused but not rough. The room is warm, with the soft hum of the heater in the background.

  It reminds me of how it felt to be blindfolded to him, never knowing what his next move was going to be. The most intense sexual experience of my life, no contest.

  I force myself to stop the memory there, not wanting to spoil this perfect moment. I suspect this will crush my heart when it’s over, but at least I’m going into it willingly. We both know the score. And I need to give him everything, need to feel him inside me once again.

  Who knows if I’ll have another chance like this?

  He removes my dress over my head, then my bra and panties, and our eyes pin to each other. His fingers don’t fumble as he takes off his own clothing one by one. When his shaft is freed from his boxers, it bounces, thick and hard. For me.

  A womanly flush slips over my skin. I did that to him.

  I reach over and touch his dick, needing to close the space between us. Dane groans and closes his eyes. I memorize the feel of the ridges, the veins, the way it fills my palm. I touch the head and he groans again.

  “Does that feel good?” I ask. Now I’m the one who needs his words.

  “Unbelievable. Your hands are so fucking soft.”

  I drop to my knees. “I bet my mouth is softer.” With that, I draw him deep between my lips, let my tongue sweep along the underside of him. He pulses and throbs in my mouth, and I hear his breathing grow uneven.

  “Emme, you are driving me insane,” he grinds out as he thrusts his hands into my hair, tugs my mouth closer to him.

  I relax and let the head of his dick slide along the back of my throat. He tastes musky and male, and I can detect pre-come seeping from the tip to coat my mouth. I moan so the vibration gives him extra sensation, and he jerks against me.

  “I’m going to come if you don’t stop,” he warns.

  I pull back and look up at him, at the storm in his eyes. “I want you to.”

  “Not like this.” He tugs me up and then pushes me to lie back on the bed. He gets a condom out of his wallet and rolls it on.

  I reach up and stroke a lock of his hair. Our breathing slows, evens out, as the connection builds between us again. He moves on top of me, and the length of our bodies pressed together is like coming home. It feels so good it makes my heart hurt.

  But instead of trying to push away that pain, I let myself accept it. I mov
e my thighs to the sides of his hips, tilting my pelvis so he can access me better.

  His fingers reach down to stroke my clit, which throbs under his expert touch. “Your pussy is beautiful,” he says, still staring at me. “So wet and responsive. So fucking delicious. I want to breathe you in.” He moves his damp fingers to his mouth and licks them, then reaches back down and thrusts two fingers inside me.

  I groan and find my walls involuntarily squeezing. His fingers curl to stroke my G-spot.

  “I want to shatter you,” he says in a guttural tone.

  You already have. I fight back the dark thought and focus on the sensations, the here and now. His skin is hard and warm under my exploring fingers. I commit to tactile memory the muscles of his shoulders, the lines of his back, the dip of his spine, the curve of his buttocks. Everything feels so perfect, so masculine and beautiful.

  I can’t believe I’m here with him. I don’t want this to ever end.

  He removes his fingers from inside me. His dick settles between us, and he slides his length along the slit of my lower lips. The sensation makes my walls clench for need of wanting him inside me. When his other hand reaches up to cup my cheek, his thumb brushing the arch of my cheekbone, my lungs squeeze to the size of marbles. His eyes are tender, filled with emotion.

  God, I love this man so much, and it’s going to be the end of me, I just know it. I’m falling willingly to my own pain and suffering. Is this insanity?

  Then Dane pushes inside me, and I lose the capacity to think. Our bodies move in rhythm together, him filling me, me arching against him. In and out. In and out. My breathing quickens as arousal floods my system, every nerve ending at full attention. His muscles strain as he drops his head down to take my breast into his mouth.

  The suckling pulls straight at my core, and I clench around him.

  He groans, the hum making me shake. “Emme. God yes, I need you.”

  “I need you too,” I allow myself to admit. I clutch his head and keep his mouth pressed to my breast. “That feels so good.”