by Diana Seere
He couldn’t.
He just… couldn’t.
Gillian’s offer of ministrations to his cock was pleasant enough. She looked up at him, coquettish and coy, her eyes on his as her hand reached down for his softening shaft, like slipping a chilled body into a hot springs in Iceland.
Freddi worked on Isla, giving pleasure with a lusty reverence that he could appreciate visually but could not match sensually. Not on the inside.
And not with his own, aching body.
The whole scene became surreal. He watched it all as if from a distance, though his own sweat dripped onto Gillian’s arm as she looked at him with so many questions, the limo unbearably warm even in the New England autumn chill.
He felt like a wax statue from Madame Tussauds museum.
What the hell had happened to him?
Alcohol. He needed more alcohol.
He needed an ocean’s worth of alcohol.
Barring that, he sought out the decanter of fine scotch that his staff always stocked in the limo. He found it.
Dry.
Freddi’s mild snore from between Isla’s legs gave him a clue as to how the decanter had come to be empty. Searching Isla’s face, Derry expected disappointment. Outrage.
Instead, he found slumber.
Gillian’s eyes tipped up in an eerily subservient expression as she bent down to suck on his unresponsive cock, her head moving up at the last second, sucking suggestively on his finger instead. The limo lurched to the right, and her lips were dislodged from him with an audible pop! that made him start to laugh.
It was a bitter, confused sound.
What in the hell was wrong with him?
“Derry?” Gillian said, her hand primping her mussed hair, her fingers searching for the bottle of Champagne propped between Freddi’s calves. She gave him a look that said everything it needed to say as she tipped the bottle up, her throat working hard as she drained it.
“I’m… tired,” he grunted. Tapping on the window, he got Manny’s attention.
“I’d like to be dropped off at Gavin’s, and then take these three lovely ladies home,” he declared.
“Will do, Mr. Stanton,” Manny replied.
Gillian gave him a pouty look, then took in the snoring women. “They’re so fake.”
He gave her a sardonic grin. Surprise—a staff member willing to be honest. Most were worried about losing their jobs. He reappraised Gillian with new eyes.
“No more or less fake than anyone else.” His answer surprised him. He tucked his cock in his pants and dressed fully again. Gillian made no protest.
Ah. So it was like that.
She snorted at his words, then let out a small belch from the bubbly. “If you really think that’s true, you’re deluding yourself.”
“I appear to be shockingly capable of extraordinary levels of self-delusion,” he said sadly.
“Aren’t we all.”
“I have elevated it to an Olympic sport,” he muttered under his breath. Blood throbbed everywhere, behind joints he’d taken for granted and in parts of his body that now craved the unfamiliar. He was done, three women splayed before him in various states, and while he wasn’t a cad and would never sleep with a passed-out woman, he was completely dumbfounded.
Three. He had three women ready, willing, able, and horny. So many warm mouths. So many wet holes. So many inhibitions cast aside.
And all he wanted was one who wasn’t here, and who had humiliated him for sport.
Self-delusion?
He just won the fucking Nobel Prize for it.
“We’re here,” Manny announced. Derry gave Gillian a curt nod and climbed out, his body unfolding as he stood. He felt like a deflated camping mattress that reinflates when granted space to spread out. Given his size, he’d learned to fold and curl, bend and slouch, yield to the vagaries of a world not designed for beings his size.
Molding his form to fit the spatial norms of human society was one thing.
Denying himself the pleasures of the flesh was quite another.
“Good night,” he said to Gillian, the words a formality. She gave him a cold look as he shut the door. Manny took off.
Derry stared at the elevator in the parking garage. It would take him straight up to Gavin’s penthouse.
Where the decanters were always full.
Jess was dreaming.
The best kind of dream. The sex kind.
In her waking hours, she controlled her body, her thoughts, even her fantasies. She never indulged. God knew, some of her fantasies she could never indulge.
But she wasn’t awake. Because none of her fantasies, even the vanilla ones, were ever fulfilled, her subconscious liked to take revenge at night. When she slept, she lost control. When she slept, she couldn’t stop herself from diving headfirst into her most secret desires.
Like tonight.
It began in an old elevator. The elevator, the same one where she’d been hours earlier. A massively powerful man stood behind her, his face hidden in shadow. But there was no mistaking who he was.
Him.
She smelled his skin, she tasted his sweat, she heard his heartbeat.
“It beats for you,” he said, his voice so low and powerful, she could feel it vibrate in her cervix. “Jessica.”
It was a dream, so she did the wrong thing. She always did the wrong thing in her dreams. Turning to him, she reached out and rested her hand against his broad, muscular chest. His heart thudded against her palm. Then she smiled and slid her hand down over his abdomen to the cold, hard metal of his belt buckle. “Just your heart?”
The moonlight—dream elevators had moonlight—lit up his dark, gleaming eyes, heavy-lidded and seductive. They looked hungry, amused.
“You’re a very naughty girl,” he said. “I can’t wait to teach you a lesson.”
Her dream body began to melt like ice cream in a supernova. “Are you sure you have the energy left for me? You’ve had so many pupils already. So many women. Maybe you’re ready to retire from teaching. More than ready. Maybe you’re burned out.”
His hand, as big as a dinner plate, shot out and covered her mouth. Gently but firmly he pressed it against her lips and drew her close. His scent filled her lungs, her soul. “I’m burning, all right, Jessica Murphy.” He rotated his palm and cupped her cheek. “And so are you.”
“Maybe I am,” she whispered. “What are you going to do about it?”
The elevator doors opened. In front of them was the lounge at the Platinum Club. Except now the sofas and chairs were empty, and the moon shone overhead in a clear, indigo sky. There was no ceiling to block the view.
“Whatever I want,” he said, grabbing her hand and pulling her with him into the club.
It was pointless to resist. And she didn’t want to. She wanted whatever he was going to do to her. “Don’t make me wait too long,” she said.
He pointed at the bar where there was a tray holding two glasses. “Those are for us.” He released her, strode to the curved sofa where he’d sat that night in real life, and sank into it with surprising grace for such a large man. He stretched both arms along the back of the seat and gazed at her, his eyes drilling into her. “Nice outfit.”
She looked down at herself, amused to discover she was wearing a push-up bra and thong, knee-highs, and shining silver stilettos. Every inch of her was on display. The moonlight lit her exposed curves in a hazy, shimmering blue.
The real Jess would have run screaming.
This wasn’t the real Jess.
She sauntered to the bar—knowing he was studying her ass—and lifted the tray. Holding his gaze, she carried it over to him, her heart pounding. As she bent to set the tray on a table, he suddenly leaned forward and licked the hollow between her breasts, his rough jaw rubbing the tender swells of flesh on either side. His hands caught her waist, stroking and kneading her body, and she forgot the tray and the drinks and the world and climbed into his lap, knees spread, eager to ride him.
“Jess,” he moaned, biting her nipple through her satin bra as his hand, following the tight band of the thong, reached around and stroked her wet vulva from behind.
His belt buckle was gone. His pants were gone. He was naked, a glorious male specimen, huge and powerful, broad shoulders, heavily muscled chest, and an erect cock thrusting up between them, seeking entry, hungry for her—
High, feminine laughter spiked into her consciousness. “Derry, what’s the matter with you? Couldn’t you wait for me?”
“Or me?” said another woman, also laughing.
A third chimed in. “You can’t be that desperate.”
It was the women from the club. The ones he went away with in the limo.
Suddenly they were there, surrounding them. Jess was completely naked now, but Derry wasn’t holding her anymore. Now he was in a tuxedo, freshly shaved, holding a drink in one hand and leaning away from her as if she’d just fallen on him and he didn’t want her to spill the fine liquor on his suit.
“Just kidding around,” Derry said, pushing her aside. “Shall we go, ladies?”
She fell off his lap and never hit the ground, just kept falling. She fell and fell and fell, hearing the laughter pour down on her as she drowned in the darkness.
Her own stifled cry woke her. Damp with sweat, she shot up in bed and clutched her chest, struggling to catch her breath. Her dog, Smoky, the stray that she and Lilah had adopted after Gavin had run over the poor mutt the night he’d met Lilah, whined and nuzzled against her arm, trying to give her comfort. Lilah had been kind enough to leave him with her when she’d moved out. Jess needed to live with someone, even if it was an animal.
Arousal clung to her; she could feel it. The nightmare hadn’t erased the pleasure that had come before.
“Damn it.” She kicked the covers away and doubled over the edge of the bed, her heart still pounding. Smoky turned his nose down, resting it on his paws, just watching her.
This was why she hated dreams. You couldn’t control them. And in the end, they only brought pain.
Chapter 7
“This better be important,” Gavin muttered as Derry entered the expansive penthouse. A warm glow from the living room indicated a roaring fire, and the room smelled heavenly, a mix of lavender and sage, of garlic and savory delights. Empty dishes dotted the countertop around the sink, and a scratchy blues record, something deep and old from New Orleans, tickled his ears.
And then he heard a very feminine snore from the couch.
Although Manny had dropped him off near the elevator in the garage downstairs, Derry had spent the past hour, possibly longer, pacing the Boston streets alone. Only when he’d regained his composure did he return to Gavin’s and take the elevator up to his brother’s penthouse.
Derry had questions. Questions only Gavin might be able to answer.
“Lilah’s here?” Derry asked softly. He suppressed a sigh of frantic disappointment. He would leave. What he needed most was the comfort of his brother’s company, but he was enough of an adult to step back.
“Of course she’s here,” Gavin said, a touch of irritation peppering his words. “She lives here.”
“I’m sorry,” Derry replied, starting for the door. “I would never have come if I’d—”
“It’s fine. She’s sleeping. We’re… it’s fine.”
“Trouble in paradise?” Derry joked, taking Gavin at his word and walking into the kitchen, picking up and putting down several mostly empty wine bottles until he found a decent merlot with a few glasses’ worth left inside. Without manners or any shred of grace, he upended the bottle and drank it in one long, glorious guzzle.
“You are treating my ’92 La Mondotte like Gatorade, Derry.”
Making a face as the slightly bitter red wine finished its path down his gullet, Derry answered, “I’m not exactly in need of electrolytes now. Besides, Gatorade does nothing for helping me achieve the state of oblivion I seek.”
“Oblivion? I heard you left the club with three women. You can’t get further away from reality than that, little brother.”
Derry snorted. Oh, how right you are, he thought. More right than you can imagine.
He didn’t answer Gavin, instead walking across the room, his eyes flitting over Lilah. She was gorgeous in repose, like a famous painting he couldn’t quite name but that haunted his dreams.
Except darken her hair and make her look exactly like her sister.
Gavin’s eyes narrowed. “This has to do with a woman.”
Damn it.
“I’ve just been with three,” Derry said, forced gaiety in his voice. He wasn’t sure why he bothered. Gavin could always see through him. “Can you smell them on me?”
Gavin sniffed. “The only scent I detect from you is desperation.”
Derry groaned at the pathetic little joke, but some part of his gut tightened. Dancing around the truth with Gavin was always a losing strategy.
“I’m here because I’m bored.”
“Bored after being with three women?” Gavin sniffed again. “Except…” His eyes tightened to blue triangles, then widened as his older brother tilted his head, studying Derry. “You didn’t. Sleep with them, I mean.”
“I had my fun.” Derry couldn’t keep the gruff, defensive tone out of his voice, and Gavin picked up on it, his laughter overriding Derry’s single-shoulder shrug. Derry found an unopened bottle of whisky and slit the paper seal with his thumbnail, the hiss of the bottle as he unscrewed it so faint it was like a fairy’s whisper.
And then he guzzled enough Glenfiddich to cover any desperation that prowled in his cells.
“Jesus, Derry, you’re drinking that like it’s mineral water.”
“Might as well be,” he answered, wiping the back of his hand across his wet mouth.
Gavin crossed his arms over his broad chest and stared. “This is about a woman.”
Derry’s eyes flickered to the couch, then floated back to Gavin. “You could definitely say that.”
A tight sense of alarm filled Gavin’s face, giving him a sudden, menacing look. Derry’s inner warning system tickled his extremities, making the muscles vibrate as if he were about to shift. Danger, every fiber of his being called out.
Danger.
“I’ve said it more than once, so quit stalling. Spit it out.” Gavin’s words felt like grenades being cradled in his brother’s hands, unpinned and ready to be dropped. Perhaps he should have gone back to his loft. Visiting Gavin may have been a mistake.
“Spit what out?” The entire night’s activities, from early cocktails to the intoxicating kiss with Jess and so much more piled up inside him. Add in the rush of adrenaline that came from Gavin’s alarming tone change, and he was nothing but a live wire.
An intoxicated, increasingly frustrated, live wire.
“Are you in love with Lilah?”
Struck dumb, Derry gaped at his brother.
“Excuse me?” His deep laugh echoed through the quiet apartment, making Lilah stir. He shut down his reaction instantly, giving Gavin a very sober, sincere look. “God, no.”
Gavin’s shoulders relaxed. “Good.”
“Why in the hell would you think that?”
“You looked at her when you mentioned that your troubles involved a woman.” Gavin’s eyebrow arched. He looked exactly like their late father. Derry felt like an errant schoolboy being dressed down for a bad grade.
“Because she looks so much like—”
Damn.
Gavin frowned. “Just like…” His voice trailed off to a husky sound that faded into something less than words. He scrubbed his face with one palm, the skin from his hand against stubble making a swish skrit swish skrit sound that felt like a rat running laps around the inside of Derry’s skull.
And then his eyes lit up with understanding, going dark quickly.
“Oh, for God’s sake, Derry. Not Jess,” Gavin groaned, Lilah’s sister’s name invoked like it was a crime Derry had committed.
I
n essence, it was.
“Of course not.”
“Don’t lie.”
“I’m not—oh, bloody hell,” Derry spat.
“The only thing that’s bloody here is your face in two seconds if you don’t promise me you’ll stay the hell away from Jess,” Gavin said.
“Tell her to stay away from me! She kissed me under the mistletoe!”
“And insulted your manhood.”
“Which is why I have no interest in her, Gavin.”
“That’s exactly why you’re interested in Jess, Derry. Women who reject you become forbidden fruit. She might as well have hung a target on her back, with your cock the weapon of choice.”
Derry couldn’t even argue. Damn his brother for being right.
“I had an uncontrollable shift tonight,” Derry confessed under his breath.
Gavin’s face tightened as he twitched in surprise. “That’s not funny,” he said in a low voice. “Just because you know it happened to me when I met Lilah does not mean it’s acceptable fodder for jokes. Don’t you dare equate what I went through with your little dick dipping.”
As Derry opened his mouth to protest, a shuffling sound from behind the kitchen bar interrupted them.
“She’s not interested in you anyhow,” said a sleepy, feminine voice. Lilah’s blonde curls spilled over one shoulder as she sat up, rubbing the cheek that had rested against the pillow on the cushion.
Derry took her in, eyes combing over her as he pretended to drink more whisky from the bottle. She was magnificent. He had to give Gavin that. And yet Lilah did nothing for him.
She was a fabulous conversationalist, and a genuinely pleasant person to spend time with, but when he looked at her, he saw Gavin. Sister.
Shifter.
When he even thought about Jess, he felt his heart expand all the way to the root of his cock and up through the basal ganglia into all the important emotion centers in his brain.
Parts deactivated for so long he’d simply replaced them with sex. Lots of sex.
Too much sex.
Lilah’s words felt like daggers being jabbed into his ribs. “She’s… w-what?” Derry stammered. Stall, he told himself.