by Ruthie Knox
Now he stood directly in front of her, his shirt unbuttoned to the waist, the low murmur of his voice making liquid heat pool between her legs. “In the shower. On the floor. I’m not fussed at the moment. But if you don’t take that dress off immediately, I’m taking it off for you.”
She wanted to resist him. To punish him. Not for bringing her here and making her pretend to be someone she wasn’t—she’d agreed to do that, after all—but for the way he’d been in the parlor, talking to his mother. For his capacity to turn from Nev to City and back again in the blink of an eye. She didn’t like his social mask, and she didn’t like his secrets. She hated his bedroom, with its gorgeous Victorian furniture. Despised that he had grounds instead of a patchy front yard. Resented how much she wanted him in spite of all of it.
“Have you ever had sex in this room, Neville?” she asked, throwing his name down like a gauntlet.
He raised an eyebrow. His eyes had gone hard, iron beneath the moss of the forest floor. “You honestly want me to answer that question?”
“Yes.” She needed to fill the room with the ghosts of those women’s bodies, to debauch the white, textured wallpaper and all its memories of boyhood Nev. If she could imagine him here with other women, a string of purebred ponies writhing on his bed and calling out his name, she might manage to fend off the gauzy impulse to comfort him for what she now knew must have been an awful, empty childhood with a Dragon Lady for a mother.
“Yes. I have.” He said this with a smirk, daring her to be offended.
“How many women?”
She didn’t know what they were doing at his house, but she knew what he wanted from her right now. He’d come to her for oblivion, seeking an hour’s absolution for the sin of his family.
She refused to absolve him. He’d brought her here. He’d made her wear this ring and this dress. He was Nev, but he was City, too, and she was sick of watching him switch back and forth. She wanted both of them at the same time, in the same body. Here, where he’d made her pretend to be someone else, she’d force him to be who he really was.
He began to unwind the strand of pearls from her neck. “This turns you on? Making me talk about other women?”
Her nipples were hard enough to use as weapons. Hell yes, it turned her on. “How many?”
“Four,” he said. “No, five.” He dropped her necklace on the floor. Her eyes were drawn to the thin strip of skin exposed by his unbuttoned shirt. The swell of his pectoral muscle. The trail of golden hair leading down into the open fly of his jeans. The ridge of his cock behind the zipper. She could smell his arousal, sweat and pheromones or whatever it was his body released when it wanted to rut.
“Did you make all of them strip for you the second they crossed the threshold?”
Smiling, he grabbed her by the waist and pulled her tight against him, pressing his erection into her stomach. His hands found the zipper of her dress and drew it down. “Is it better if I say yes? That this is part of the tour, and you’re nothing more than number six? Would that make you happy?”
No. “Yes.”
“Too bad.” He pushed the dress down her arms, dropping to his knees to slide it down her hips and off. “You’re the only woman who’s ever made me this desperate.” He held her hip with one hand and took off her shoes, one at a time, caressing her instep through the silk of her stockings as he lowered each foot to the ground.
His face was at her crotch, and he planted a kiss on her panties before dropping his gaze to her feet, then slowly sweeping it over her, taking in the sheer stockings with their garters, the pink satin and chocolate-colored lace. Her stomach. Her bra. Her face. “If I’d known you were wearing that, I’d have had you in the backseat of the car.”
“I should hang up the dress,” she whispered.
“Forget about the dress. If I’m not inside you in the next sixty seconds, I’ll drop dead.” His hands began roaming, strong fingers gripping her hips, stroking her waist and stomach, pushing aside the cups of her bra to pluck at her nipples.
When he moved to slip his fingers inside her panties, Cath pushed him away with a foot to the center of his chest, and he sat back on his heels. “No,” she said. “We’re going to do this my way or not at all.”
He caught her foot, holding it against him as he ran one large hand straight up the inside of her leg to cup her crotch. She was wet, and he knew it. He had her off-balance, literally and figuratively, and he knew that too. But damn it, she was going to be in charge.
“What’s your way, love?”
“I’m going to get off. You’re going to watch.”
His eyes went dark with understanding. “I see. Can I join in the fun?”
“No. You keep your pants on and your hands to yourself. Lie on the bed.”
He narrowed his eyes at her, then rose and complied, stretching out on his side so he had a good view. “May I speak?”
She considered. “Yes.”
“Thank you.”
The unexpected courtesy broke the tension that had been building between them, making her smile. Nev smiled back, relaxing into the quilted counterpane with his head propped on one elbow. He wasn’t her enemy. She didn’t know what he was, but he wasn’t that.
Whatever he was, she was going to screw him blind in a few minutes.
Leaning into the wall, she spread her legs and smoothed her hands over the soft skin of her stomach, then down to skate across her satiny panties. All morning, she’d been aware of the garters stretching tight up the backs of her thighs and over her ass. Such complicated, unnecessary underwear, existing for the sole purpose of giving men something sexy to look at. Teasing them with what they could and couldn’t see. Promising and denying access at the same time.
“You look so bloody hot, Cath,” Nev said, his voice low and graveled. “If I could get my hands on you right now, I’d put them on your arse so I could feel the lace under my fingers while I sucked your nipples through your bra.”
The thought of his hands on her ass produced a rush of moisture between her legs, and her fingers rose to her breasts, stroking and teasing through the fabric. Her hips rocked back and forth against the wall. Gently. Then harder. She started to pinch. She could hear him breathing just a few feet away, shallow and fast, and she knew she was making his heart race. She’d never done this for him before. She’d never done it for anyone.
“Take it off. I want to see you.”
She reached behind her and unhooked the bra, letting it slide down her arms and drop to the floor. He shifted uncomfortably on the bed, and she glanced between his legs. He was fully aroused. His cock would be hard enough to hammer spikes with. Nev got harder than she’d ever known a man could get, and he would pound into her, fast and rough, even a little mean. She wanted him mean. She wanted him desperate and honest inside her. They were playing a game here, but it wasn’t what it looked like. This wasn’t about sex. It was about telling the truth.
“You’re getting wet, aren’t you?” Still smirking. “You want me.”
“Yeah.” God, yeah.
“Touch yourself.”
She dropped one hand to her stomach and slid it past the tight waistband of the garter belt and into her panties, letting her finger glide over her clit. Her eyes drifted closed, and she pressed against the wall, not sure how long her legs would support her. She could feel his eyes on her skin. Feel the blood rushing through him.
She dropped her hand lower.
“Look at me,” he commanded, and she met his gaze as she pressed two fingers inside herself and moaned, her hips tilting up to meet the invasion. His eyes were as hot and hungry as she’d ever seen them. “I would do it better,” he said in a deep rumble. “I would use my tongue. First through those pretty knickers, and then when I had you soaking and thrashing round, I’d rip them off and spread your thighs wide and hold you open while I made a banquet of you.”
Another rush of moisture around her hand. Shouldn’t have let him talk. She didn’t know who was in char
ge anymore.
She flicked her clit with her thumb, moaning again, her fingers moving in and out as she imagined Nev’s mouth on her. He could make her come any way he liked. Fast or slow, long and drawn-out or quick, sharp, and hard. He loved to give her pleasure, the taste of her orgasm a drug that made his eyes glaze and his dick throb. She’d seen it on his face as he moved into her afterward and sank his salty, hot tongue into her mouth.
Oh, God.
Her stomach tightened as her climax signaled its imminent arrival.
“Get your knickers off. I want to watch you make yourself come.”
She unclipped the garters with one clumsy hand and shoved her panties down, wriggling until they dropped to her ankles.
“After I finish with my mouth, I’m going to raise your arms above your head and hold them there, and then I’m going to be inside you so fast and so hard, you’ll scream and clench tight round me. You’re so tight, Cath, it drives me mad, and the sounds you make when I’m inside you make me want to nail you harder until I send you right round the bend.”
Her fingers were flying now, pushing deep inside her wet channel, her thumb flicking, pressing, retreating. “Nev, I’m going to come,” she gasped. “Oh my God, Nev.” She dropped her head back against the wall with a thud. The orgasm slammed through her, ripping a cry from her throat and making every muscle in her body tighten fiercely and hold. It wouldn’t let go, wouldn’t let go, and then it did, leaving her slumped there, limp and exhausted.
His hands were on her. He lifted her up and eased them both onto the bed. He’d broken a sweat, his skin slick and hot against hers. “Fucking hell, that was the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.”
She could only lie there, too lust-wrecked to move.
“My turn now,” he said. “We’re a long way from finished.”
After shucking his jeans, he knelt above her. “I think I’ll leave the stockings on.” He fingered the loose elastic of her garters. “They make you look like a right tart.”
“They’re hot,” she complained.
“Damn right they are.” He straddled her hips and lowered himself onto his elbows, brushing his chest over her bare breasts.
“I’m going to kiss you now, Mary Catherine. And then I’m going to make you say my name some more. I rather liked that.”
“I won’t.” She probably would.
“We’ll see.”
His kiss was forceful and possessive, telling her how much her performance had turned him on and how badly he wanted her. Fingers tangled in her hair, he thrust his tongue into her mouth, matching the motion of his hips where he pressed hard into the swollen flesh between her legs. It hurt, almost. She deserved it. She welcomed it.
She started pushing back.
He kissed her again, shoved her knees up, and moved roughly inside her, making her dig her nails into his back with the pain and pleasure of it. Nev had taken charge, and she loved it. She’d expected retribution for teasing him. She’d wanted it. Half the point had been to make him wild and reckless with wanting her.
But once he was inside her, he didn’t take his revenge. Instead, he rose, bracing both hands on the mattress, and he looked at her. His eyes were outrageous—full of desire and determination, vulnerability and pain. She didn’t know what to make of it. Didn’t know if she’d done something to him or if it was just being in this house, with his family, that made him like this. It didn’t matter. He needed her. She held his gaze, wrapped her legs around his hips, and said, “Come on.”
He closed his eyes with a groan. Then he started to move.
At first, he took it slow, and she watched them, focusing all of her attention on the erotic sight of Nev disappearing inside her, then reemerging. In and out. His stomach taut. Arms taut. Jaw taut. He was beautiful. They were beautiful.
She knew why she was here. It had been pointless to pretend she didn’t. She was here because he wanted her here. She was here because she loved him. Fool that she was, she’d loved him from the first morning in his flat, when she’d learned his name and seen both sides of him. Nev and City. Hot and cold. Pink cheeks and three-piece suits. Hers.
“Harder,” she said.
“I want to make it last.”
“No. Don’t.”
So he thrust harder, and he stared down at her, his pupils black holes rimmed with green. She took him in. She accepted him. This was where he’d come from, this house, this bed. These people. Nev was the man in the parlor and the painter in his studio, the banker and the rugby player. The boyfriend who bought her prawn crisps and rubbed her back when she cried. The tender lover. The caged beast who came out to play when they got naked together. He could be any of them. She’d fallen in love with all of him.
“Nev.”
“That’s right, love. Say my name.”
She said it. She said it more times than she could count.
Chapter Fifteen
Nev poured the whiskey, measuring it out neat into each of three heavy-bottomed glasses. He made his a double. Dinner had been that bad.
Cath had done well. Better than he might have expected, given the way Mother and Winston had gone after her. They’d asked her more personal questions in the course of a single meal than Nev had dared to ask in a month. He wondered how much of what she’d told them was true—and what she’d chosen to conceal.
For his part, he’d only had to lie a bit, and that had been easy enough. It was no stretch to imagine himself married to Cath. In some ways, the lie came as a relief. He’d held off expressing the depth of his feelings for weeks, afraid he’d frighten her away. In front of his family, he could speak from the heart, safe in the knowledge that she wouldn’t believe a word of it. He’d told them all he loved her, that he and Cath belonged together, and she’d smiled dismissively, as if she’d heard it dozens of times before.
He did love her. They did belong together. Seeing his rings on her finger gave him a deep, possessive satisfaction, no less strong for having no real foundation.
He didn’t want to go on pretending. He wanted Cath to belong to him, always. But he hadn’t a clue how to bring that about. Back in London, after she’d agreed to play along with his plan, they’d returned to his flat. He’d made love to her, and just as he’d been drifting off to sleep afterward, she’d said into the darkness, “You’re really pushing it, City. You know that?”
Of course he knew. It worried him how far out on a limb he’d dragged them both. In the safety of the routine they’d established in Greenwich, Cath had begun to open up to him, to tell him some of her secrets and her dreams. Here, all bets were off. Anything could happen.
None of it likely to be good.
He’d feel better if she were with him now, but tradition held firm. After dinner, Nev and Winston joined their father in the library for a drink, while the women went to the drawing room and did whatever it was they did in there. Rosemary would no doubt be silent as the grave. He could only hope Mother would go easy on Cath. He’d seen the panic in Cath’s eyes when she’d realized she was about to be parted from him.
He poured a dab more whiskey into his glass, then distributed them and took his customary seat. His father offered a toast. “To Nev and his lovely wife. May they enjoy many years of happiness.” Winston tipped his hand in Nev’s direction, and they drank.
She was lovely, he mused. She’d worn a conservative black dress to dinner with a neckline high enough to hide her phoenix tattoo. She ought to have looked drab, but the dress fit her well, and she somehow managed to make it sexy. He longed to get through this interminable evening and take her back to bed. She’d been so defiant this afternoon, her irritability arousing him beyond reason. His arm still throbbed where she’d bit him, the slight discomfort a continual reminder of the way she’d looked in her stockings and garters, the way she’d thrown her head back against the wall when she made herself come. The sound of his name on her lips as he pounded into her.
“Neville?”
His father was looking at
him curiously, and Nev realized he’d lost track of the conversation. “Pardon?”
“Winston tells me he’s going to recommend your promotion at the next board meeting. Congratulations.”
His hand tightened around the whiskey glass. The announcement startled him, though it shouldn’t have. Winston and Mother would assume he’d married Cath for purely mercenary reasons. He’d played his part, and now he’d get his reward. It wasn’t as though he didn’t deserve it. He’d more than earned this promotion. Still, it galled him to have it handed to him this way.
But wasn’t that why he was here, at least in part? To be sure, he’d seen a way to help Cath, but he’d also seen a way for Cath to help him. He’d accepted the devil’s bargain, intending to get the board’s stamp of approval on the promotion and then tell his family the marriage had been a ruse from the start. He would beat his mother at her own game. In a few months, the board would be informed of his divorce. Simple. No one would get hurt, and he and Cath could both have what they wanted.
So why did he feel like a complete git every time he let himself dwell on the plan?
“Thank you, Dad. I’m honored, of course.”
“Come now, Nev, you’ve earned the right to crow a bit,” Winston said. “You met the terms, and now you deserve your reward. Though I have to say, I’d no idea you’d go so far as to marry her.”
Nev clenched his teeth and bit back an insult, the action reflexive after all these years. It never did help to get angry with Winston; he’d carry on baiting you with a bland smile on his face until you snapped. Better to keep out of it.