Uncovering You: The Complete Series (Mega Box Set)

by Edwards, Scarlett

  Jesus. When he speaks like that I can barely fight the butterflies that come to life in my stomach.

  Do I want to fight? Or am I ready to give in completely?

  “You’re asking for something I cannot give,” I say. I need a seat—support—something to hold on to or lean on, to help me steady myself.

  I walk to his desk. He watches my every step with a predator’s precision. I waver under the intensity of that gaze before finding my seat.

  I eye the bottle on his desk. He sees me looking and pulls it out of reach.

  “Why are you really here, Celeste?” he asks.

  “I…” I swallow. “I came to talk to you.”

  “You didn’t want to talk on the phone last night.”

  I stiffen. “I had nothing to say.”

  “I had plenty to ask.” He shifts in his seat. “The outburst you had before hanging up made my questions more relevant. You told me you don’t want to be fixed.” He lowers his head so that his eyes reach deep into mine. “That implies there is something that is broken.”

  “I…”

  “You premeditated this discussion, Celeste. You gave away something you want to keep closely guarded. The question is: why?

  “I can think of more than a few reasons,” he continues. “None of which I like, and none of which I want to assume. So, this is how it’s going to work.” He leans forward and places both hand on the table, fingers spread wide. “You have things you don’t want to tell me. Fine. I’m not going to pressure you otherwise. But Lord knows you didn’t come here today to see me as Professor Landon, in the same way as your friend. You came here to see me…” he lowers his voice, “… as James, your secret lover, as the man who makes you come. You came here…” his voice goes even lower. “As my woman.”

  I squeeze my legs together to fight the sudden onset of arousal from hearing his words. His woman? That’s who he sees me as?

  I can’t give way to that fantasy, no matter how desperately I want to.

  It would be false. Just like my time with Brad was false. Just like his love for me proved false. I do not want to cling to a safety net that does not exist.

  “I came here as myself,” I tell him, portraying only a tenth of the conviction I need to. “Nothing less and nothing more.”

  He smiles. He sees the waver, and he smiles.

  Damn him if this isn’t all a game. Damn him that he likes to see me off balance. He likes giving me shit!

  It’s impossible to stay immune. The little dimple in his cheek does that. The way his eyes glimmer when they reflect the sun does that. The aura of his presence does that. It’s that of a man at the top, a man in control, a man who has everything he can ever want… and has his sights set on me.

  Feelings are not what I need. Feelings are nothing I can deal with. They are never, ever anything I can allow.

  I made up my rules for that very reason.

  But physical sensation, in contrast? That I can grant. That, I can give into.

  “You want to know why I’m really here?” I ask. “You want to know why I came to see you? You want to know the very real reason of why I came… professor?”

  He smirks. “Humor me.”

  I lean forward, giving him a great view of my cleavage. “I came…” I whisper, “…because I wanted you.”

  A fire sparks in his eyes. Desire flashes across his face.

  “I came…” I continue, my voice raw and sultry, “…here…” I run a finger over my tight nipples, “so that you… can fuck me.”

  I tug my shirt to reveal the hot pink lace bra underneath.

  His eyes sear into mine. “Fuck. Yes,” he growls, and surges out of his seat.

  We meet each other halfway. Our mouths collide, and I fall against the table. I squirm on top, all the while kissing him, breathing him in, letting him take over. My hands tangle through his hair and run down his shoulders and over his back. I grip his butt—his firm, tight butt—and I tug him closer, crotch against crotch.

  He deepens the kiss. His hands go to my waist and dip beneath my shirt. His fingers dig into my soft flesh. I love the fierceness, the possessiveness of it all. I love how strong his fingers feel when they claw into me. I love the passion of his kiss. I love how he can make me forget everything—really forget everything, not just block it out –and be consumed entirely by the moment.

  I feel his hard dick through the layers of fabric separating our bodies. It presses against my core. My hand slides down his front, under his waist, past his briefs, and I take hold of… him.

  He shudders as I stroke his cock. His forehead goes against mine; our lips part.

  “Oh fuck, Celeste,” he whispers, such need straining his voice.

  I’m on fire. I pulse my hand faster, feeling him grow in my fist with every full jerk. His hands explore the back of my neck, then dive beneath my shirt to unclasp my bra.

  I pull off my shirt and shimmy out of my bra. The straps roll off my shoulders. His mouth latches onto a breast. My head falls back, and I give a heady moan as his tongue laps at my nipple.

  And then he’s pushing me back, gently but firmly, onto his desk. I land with my head amongst the books and papers. My legs clasp around his waist, and I hook my ankles together.

  He leans over me and kisses me again with raw, hard, and passionate kisses. My hand keeps stroking his cock. I love the delicious firmness. I love the hard ridge of the crown. But we’re wearing too many clothes, him and I. We need to remedy that as soon as possible.

  So I break from the kiss and push up on his chest. “Get me naked,” I breathe.

  He complies with an animal sound of lust. I slither out of my jeans and meet his eyes as he slides my panties down my legs.

  And then my head falls back, and my spine arches up as he feasts on my pussy. My hands clamber for support, but on the wide oak table all they end up doing is disrupting the mountains of books and papers and journals he has on there.

  I moan as he laps at my folds. He spreads my legs wide, running strong hands over my thighs.

  Then he breaks away.

  “Look at me,” he commands.

  I bring my head up. His slacks have managed to fall to his knees. His cock is showing. It’s thick and strong and full of blood. He undoes the first two buttons of his shirt, growls, “Fuck it,” and tears it over his head.

  I’m presented with a vision of his glorious body. But I don’t have much time to savor it. He slips a condom on, turns me to the side, and smacks my ass.

  “You want me?” he breathes.

  “Yes,” I gasp.

  “You want me to fuck you?”

  “Yes!” I plead.

  He smacks my ass again, then grips the flesh and makes it jiggle. “This pussy,” he says, sliding a finger through my core and eliciting a needy moan from me, “is mine for the taking. Isn’t it, Celeste? Say it!”

  “It’s yours,” I say. I can hardly think, my body is running on pure hormonal lust. The cold lacquered wood clashes against the heat of my skin.

  “Louder,” he growls. He positions his cock right at my entrance. I can feel it there, so tantalizingly close. “Tell me what you came here to do.”

  “To get fucked.”

  “Louder!” he commands.

  “TO GET FUCKED!” I scream, and he gives a guttural sound of pleasure.

  “Damn right,” he mutters, and plunges into me.

  My eyes open wide, and I gasp at the first hard entrance. He rams himself into me with full force, without mercy. He takes hold of my legs and positions them to his liking. Every time he forces himself in, I slide against the desk. My breasts slap against my body. His hips slam into mine. I lose myself in the intense pleasure, in the ferocity with which he fucks me. This is what I wanted. This is exactly, what I came here to get. Oh, God, oh God, yes…

  “Harder!” I beg. He’s already attacking me with unrelenting passion, but I want more. “Please, dear God, James, harder, harder!”

  He bends at the waist and
leans his torso over me as his hips continue to pulse. He swipes away my hair to expose one ear. “You’re fucking mine,” he grunts, the gritty hoarseness of his words sending my pleasure to new heights. “You hear that, Celeste? You’re my lover, nobody else’s.” He smacks my ass, hard. Shit, it’s going to be red for days. “You’re fucking mine. Understand? Mine. Mine. Mine!” His hands tighten around my neck, and he takes a strangle hold. I can’t breathe. Blood stops flowing to my brain as exquisite waves of ecstasy run through me.

  “Say it,” he growls. His breath is hot against my skin. His passion is frightening. “Tell me who you belong to.”

  “I…I…I’m yours!” I gasp.

  He releases my neck, and all the blood comes rushing back. He rips out and takes the condom off and shoots hot cum all over me.

  While I lie there gasping, trying to comprehend all that happened and what I admitted, he turns me to him by the chin and kisses my lips.

  “Now,” he promises, “I’m going to make you come.”

  22.

  Another hour we spend fucking.

  If not more.

  His stamina is astounding. When I thought he was done, he surprised me with one more. Then another. Then one more.

  Halfway through, somebody knocked. It scared me and took me out of the moment. But James ignored the sound and just continued on. It’s like another gear was unleashed in him. And coming so close to discovery made me go wild. It made me crave him even more.

  By the end, we’re lying together in the middle of his damn floor, exhausted and satiated and utterly consumed by each other. I don’t think either of us has the energy left to speak.

  James rouses first. He sits up and runs a hand through his hair. “Christ,” he says.

  I smile up at him, content as a newborn kitten. I reach out and brush my hand along his thigh. It’s a languid movement, soft and lazy. My brain cannot process anything else yet.

  He looks me over. I can feel his eyes on my skin, feel them take in every smooth curve and ugly imperfection. Lord knows I have a lot of them.

  But he doesn’t notice. He just looks at me and he sees… well, I don’t’ know what he sees. But I’m sure as hell that he doesn’t see me. He doesn’t see the girl who is dying on the inside, the one who hides so much from all those around her…

  The one who hides the most from herself.

  Suddenly I feel very self-conscious.

  I bolt up. James looks startled. “Where are you going?” he asks.

  “Out,” I say shortly. I can’t tell him the truth. I can’t tell him that the woman he thinks he sees is an illusion. I can’t tell him how damn vulnerable I feel or how many of my rules I’ve broken just being here. I can’t tell him of the guilt, the confusion that’s tearing me up inside.

  I can’t tell him anything. He has no right to know. Nobody does. That’s the way I want it, until the very end.

  When that end comes? Well, I’ll be like the woman struck by the bus. One minute I’m here; the next I’m gone. There won’t be collateral damage. Nobody else will be hurt. I’ll be the only one who disappears, like a candle snuffed out by a gust of wind.

  A candle with a very, very short wick.

  “Celeste? What’s wrong?”

  James’ voice rouses me to attention. I realize that I’m standing, one arm on the table, hunched over… trembling.

  Crying? No, dammit, I’m not that weak. I’m not crying. Why the fuck would I cry?

  I blink away the wetness in my eyes. James steps up behind me. He tries to hold me, but I pull away.

  “Don’t,” I warn. “Don’t—don’t touch me.”

  “Celeste?” His voice is muddled by confusion. “What’s going on? Are you all right?”

  “Fine,” I say. “Just –fine.” Angry, I wipe away the moisture on my cheeks. I keep my back to him so he can’t read my emotions.

  I spot my clothes on the floor and make a beeline for them. I pick them up and put them on in short, quick jabs.

  Utter silence fills the office. I don’t dare look at James.

  I can still feel his eyes on me.

  “Thanks for the… fuck,” I say. I wince. My voice is unsteady.

  It’s too late to take the words back now.

  “Hey.” He snatches my arm and twists me to look at him. “You better tell me what the fuck you’re doing…”

  But when he sees my red eyes, his words die. His grip weakens.

  That gives me the chance I need to escape.

  Confused, reeling, and embarrassed, I flee the office alone.

  ***

  My heart doesn’t slow until I’m back in my own apartment, locked inside my room.

  The apartment was empty when I arrived. Now that I’m here… safely here, far away from James… I sag against the door and sink to the floor.

  I put my head between my knees and close my eyes. I will not cry. I hate crying. Even though my insides feel like they’re being ripped to shreds, I will not succumb to the emotion.

  I take a series of slow, deep breaths. They’re meant to be steady but come out in sputters.

  They’re a testament to all the feeling storming inside me.

  Guilt. Regret. Sadness. These aren’t things I was supposed to feel. But now that trifecta of emotions sits at the forefront.

  I hate it. I hate the sudden instability, the loss of inhibition. I hate that all this came about from apparently nothing.

  Just from my own weakness. Just from my own flaws.

  That’s why I struggle so much to let people in. That’s why I can’t let people get close. Even Summer, purportedly my best friend? Our friendship is only skin deep. I don’t really know her, and she sure as hell doesn’t know me.

  But for a time, I was fine with that. It was exactly what I needed. When we reconnected this past summer, I shut down her attempts to really dig deep. She’d wanted to know all that happened in our five-year separation. I told her as little as I could. Most things I kept way, way down.

  She sensed it, I bet, but she didn’t press. She had her secrets, too. Not asking for mine meant she didn’t have to share hers.

  The two of us developed this sort of false camaraderie, based in part on our past friendship and in part on our reluctance to share. We saw each other exactly as we wanted the world to see us. Everything was—and still is—only skin deep.

  Maybe that’s why I reacted so poorly to her insistence to go to the hospital with me. Lines were crossed… but there were never lines we explicitly agreed on. They were unspoken and invisible.

  Just like with James.

  I went to him needing one thing. And I got it: He fucked me well.

  I need to remember that. Our relationship can only be based on sex. Sex, lust, passion… but no feelings.

  23.

  Summer steps through the doors of our apartment carrying a truckload of books. She sees me in the kitchen, shoots me a nasty glare, and storms into her room.

  I wash my hands under the kitchen tap, dry them, and go out to face the music.

  I find Summer setting up shop on her desk. She’s dumped the books, taken out her notes, and propped open her laptop.

  She pretends not to see me.

  “Summer…”

  “Studying!” she says, a bit obnoxiously.

  “Summer, I want to talk.”

  “Yeah? Well tough fucking luck, ‘cause I don’t.” She stalks out to the couch and pulls out our secret silver chest, then slides it across the floor to me. “Go on, here, have fun. It’ll take the edge off.” Her eyes shoot up to mine. I can see the anger boiling beyond those lids. “God knows you need some relief.”

  “Summer, I’m not going to masturbate,” I say, a bit angry but not too much. I can’t get baited into a repeat of lunch. “I want to talk so I can apologize.”

  She shakes her head and plugs her ears with headphones. “Studying,” she mouths, looking at her screen.

  “Dammit, Summer! Listen to me!” I reach over and pull her earbuds o
ut. She glowers back.

  “Look,” I sigh. “Today, at lunch, I was a bitch.”

  “You can say that again.”

  “But the reason I did it is because I don’t want you to worry.” Here comes the lie. “The hospital called me for a quick follow-up. It’s nothing interesting. Not important.”

  She crosses her arms. “Well, you sure made it seem important when you were so adamant about going alone.”

  “That’s just the point,” I say. “It wasn’t. That’s why I made it into a big deal. That was a mistake. I was being stupid. It’s my fault.”

  “No kidding.”

  “And I really didn’t think you should miss Professor Landon’s class for it. Seeing as, you know,” I try a smile. “You adore him and all.”

  “I just wanted to look out for you,” she admits. “I thought that’s what besties are supposed to do.”

  “They do, yeah,” I say. I reach out and put my hand on hers. She doesn’t pull away. “And to show you I’m sorry… I made some dinner.”

  “You—what?” Summer looks up at me. “Girl, are you crazy? You can’t cook!”

  “I followed a recipe online,” I shrug.

  She narrows her eyes at me. “Why?”

  “As a… peace offering?” I attempt.

  I wait… and relief blooms through when Summer finally smiles. “Yeah,” she says. “Fine. I accept. Hell, Celeste, I can’t stay mad at you.”

  “And I don’t want you to.” I smile back. Now it’s time for the bluff. “And if you really want… you can come with me to the hospital tomorrow.”

  “And miss my favorite class?” she laughs. “Nah. Nah, you say it’s no big deal, and I trust you.”

  ***

  I trust you.

  Those words haunt me all through dinner. As I pretend everything is all rosy, I want to scream at her that NO, she shouldn’t trust me, and that NO, I do not deserve that trust.

  Instead, I keep quiet and shoot the shit about regular, everyday things.

  After the make-up dinner we head to our separate bedrooms. I’m ready to call it a night.