by Pam Godwin
His gaze lifts to my forehead and returns to my eyes. I wet my lips. His face dips lower, his focus skipping to my cheeks, my nose, and back to my eyes. He’s staring but seems distracted by…
“The lotion isn’t rubbed in, is it?” I touch my brow.
“Not even a little.”
I don’t care, as long as he continues to look at me like this. Like I mean something beyond a paycheck or an orgasm.
He pushes my hand away and gently massages the cream into my skin, his fingers skimming around my eyes, along my jaw, and tracing my lips.
My eyes drift closed as I imagine doing normal things with him, such as shopping for groceries, going to a rock concert, and stealing kisses while waiting in line at a Starbucks.
I long for any of those scenarios. Could he be the one to share those things with? I feel myself latching on. Physically—with my fingers digging into his shoulders. Emotionally—with the every tha’thunk of my heart.
It’s happening. I’m already obsessing, and I haven’t even let him in. I can’t do this. Not again.
Uncontrollable fear swamps my chest, and I shove at him. When he doesn’t move, the sensation of smothering constricts my lungs and chokes my breaths.
He grabs my wrists. “What are you—?”
I go berserk, flailing and swinging and fighting for air. “Get off me!”
“Laynee, stop.” He releases my hands and straddles my hips, trapping me. “You’re reacting and not thinking.”
“Get off. Get off.” I wheeze and slap at his chest. “I can’t breathe.”
“Laynee, goddammit. Remember what I taught you.” He grips my jaw, forcing my gaze to his. “Make space, shrimp, bridge, and roll. We’ve done this a hundred times.”
Shit, he’s right. He fucking drilled it into my head for a month.
With a shredded breath, I lift my butt off the mattress and distribute my weight on the balls of my feet and my shoulders. Snapping my legs straight, I shoot out from beneath him. My body bends at the waist, and my rear end lands where my shoulders were.
I did it! I’m so ecstatic about escaping his weight, I forget to bridge and roll until it’s too late.
He grabs my leg and yanks me back under him. “You have to follow through. Do it again.”
Clenching my hands, I repeat the technique, and this time, when he reaches for me, I’ve rolled far enough away to make a run for it.
But I don’t have to run. He’s not the enemy.
“Good girl.” He sits back on his heels, looking way too naked and chiseled to be in my bed.
“I panicked.” I press my back against the headboard and drag the sheet over my chest. “I’ll never get that maneuver right in a real-life situation.”
“Yes, you will. The rule of thumb is it takes about sixty hours to learn basic self-defense. You’re not even halfway there.”
I nod, flushed, still panting, and avoid his stare. I can’t believe I freaked out like that. If there’s a meter for embarrassment, I’ve reached the ninth level of curl-up-in-a-hole-and-die.
“Look at me.” His gravelly timbre strokes across my skin.
I ball my hands in the bedding and lift my eyes to his.
He leans forward, resting forearms on his thighs, his shoulders broad and bare and distracting. “Tell me what I did to trigger your panic attack.”
“It’s not you.” I rub my forehead, frustrated and exhausted. “I mean, it’s you. You being here. But there’s something wrong with me.”
He watches me for a moment before moving into the space beside me. Lying on his back, he pulls the sheet over his lower body and pats his chest. “Come here.”
Against my better judgment, I long to sleep in his arms, against his warm skin, and he’s giving me that instead of demanding answers. Sliding down alongside him, I tuck in against his body with my cheek on his shoulder.
He reaches up and turns off the lamp. With his arm around my back, his fingers roam, seeking and massaging my scars. The gesture produces a burning sensation behind my eyes. Blake pretended my scars didn’t exist. I always try to ignore them, too. But I can’t. I feel them deep beneath the surface, and Decker’s acknowledging them in the best way possible.
“When it happened…” My throat tightens as my voice shatters the dark silence. “I didn’t want the press to find out for reasons I don’t want to talk about tonight.” The shame is more than I can bear. “I had my choice of surgeons. I could’ve gone to one that would’ve repaired the damage and prevented scarring. Hell, I can go under the knife now and get them removed. But I chose the surgeon I trusted most. The one who would never sell me out. Unfortunately, he doesn’t specialize in cosmetic or plastic surgery.”
“I wish you didn’t hide them. Instead of walking the red carpet in those obnoxious designer gowns, you should wear your scars like precious gems. Now that would be stunning.”
“The court of public opinion wouldn’t agree.” I stretch my fingers across his hard stomach and trace the dents and bumps of his abs. “It would ruin my career.”
“Fuck them. Your body tells a story—an honest one full of trauma and bravery and survival. A story you’re going to share with me tomorrow, even if I have to spank it out of you. Actually, I’m looking forward to reddening your ass.”
“Spanking is a hard limit.” My pulse quickens, despite the unbidden grin that twitches my cheeks.
“I feel your smile.” He brushes my hair behind my ear and touches the corner of my mouth. “Tell me where you feel it.”
“What do you mean?”
He kisses the top of my head. “When you smile, do you feel it in your cheeks? Your veins? Your pussy? Where do you feel happy?”
“I feel it here.” I clasp his hand and place it over my heart.
“That’s right.” He shifts closer, scooting down to eye-level with his body facing mine. “All of this…” He sweeps a hand down my back. “And this.” His finger taps my smile. “And this.” He cups me between the legs, over my panties. “It’s all an illustration of what’s going on here.” His hand returns to my chest. “Sometimes all you need is a shift in perspective, and everything on the outside will change with it.”
“Wow.” I brush my fingers through his hair, lost in his words and the glow of his eyes in the dark. “When did you become so philosophical?”
“When I found out my best friend is a pedophile.” He touches his forehead to mine. “Bad shit happens to everyone. We all hurt. We all struggle. But only the strong will heal. Those who have support and patience and indomitable spirit. When you heal, Laynee, you’ll wear your scars with pride.”
CHAPTER 15
LAYNEE
I wake to a warm, delicious pressure stroking between my legs. Languid and groggy, I open my thighs and arch into the blissful sensation. I love when he rouses me from sleep with his lips, his fingers, and his hard cock. He must’ve been touching me for a while, because I’m already primed, trembling, feverish, and wet.
“Trey,” I moan.
The caress vanishes, and mattress bounces beside me.
“What did you say?”
That voice.
My heart stops, and my eyes flash open. The dark shadow sitting up on the bed is too big to be Trey. The voice is too deep and calm.
I yank the sheet up my body and try to clear my head. I’m in Savannah, not L.A. I’m with a man who’s never hurt me. This isn’t a dream that ends in a nightmare. At least, I hope not. I hope I didn’t just screw everything up.
Falling asleep in Decker’s arms last night was a momentous step for me. I hadn’t done that with anyone in years. Not even with Blake. Not since Trey. Trey’s the only lover I ever truly trusted. Is that why I was thinking about him?
“I’m sorry.” I reach for Decker’s rigid shoulder.
He catches my wrist and holds it in the coil of heat between us. “Who the fuck is Trey? Another ex-husband?”
My chest squeezes. “You said no questions.”
He roughly releases
my arm and shoves off the bed.
“Where are you going?” I lift to my knees, panicky and aroused and burning up with shame.
“I’m going to take care of this.” He flips on the bathroom light, turns sideways in the doorway, and gestures at his groin.
The glow behind his silhouette throws his profile into stark relief, cutting a long hard outline around the erection tenting his briefs.
“Come back. Please.” Every nerve-ending in my body fires to life, energizing me with courage. “I want to watch you.”
He stares at me from across the dark room, lowers his hand, and begins to stroke the huge swell in his briefs. “You know what I want?”
“What?” My whisper sounds like a croak.
“I want to know who Trey is. Tell me that, and I’ll let you watch.”
My hands fist in the bedding. I force my fingers to relax and my lips to move. “He’s the one I was with before Blake.”
“Six years ago?”
“Yeah.” My stomach twists.
He prowls back to the bed and switches on the lamp. “Where is he now?”
I close my eyes. Decker’s already figured out that I trusted the person who tried to kill me. My silence will only make this worse.
Dragging my gaze to his, I blink, swallow, and blink again. “Trey’s dead.”
And I just called out his name while Decker was touching me. If Decker didn’t know I was fucked up, he certainly knows now.
I brace myself for a barrage of questions and judgment. But he remains eerily quiet as he reclines on his back beside me and bends an arm behind his head. His other hand lifts the elastic of his briefs, stretching it over his stiff cock and down his legs.
My mouth goes dry, and my pulse howls in my ears. Holy fuck, his cock is beautiful. Long and thick, it defies gravity and pulses in the lamp light. The plump head beads with pre-come, and his balls sit enticingly in the cradle of his powerful thighs. If I sat on that thing, I’d definitely feel it.
I’d feel it for days.
Lifting my gaze, I find a lazy grin on his stunning face. Those sleepy eyes, plump lips, and coarse stubble—all the lineaments of his expression look stronger, hungrier, in the backdrop of that grin.
“You’re such a sexy bastard,” I whisper. “I bet you hear that all the time, don’t you?”
His arrogant smile tips sideways. “Touch me.” He kicks off the underwear and curls his fingers around his girth. “My chest, my cock… I don’t care where. Just put your hands on me.”
I kneel beside him and slide my palms over the compact ripples of his abs. He’s a masterpiece of flesh and steel. All hard lines, heavy muscle, and taut skin.
I peer into his hooded eyes and let him see my appreciation. But when the smacking sound of his fist fills the room, I’m drawn to it, hypnotized by the sight of this strong, virile man stroking himself into mindless pleasure.
“How many times have you done this since you’ve been here?” I skim my hands lower, tracing the trimmed patch of hair at the base of his cock.
“Every day. Multiple times a day.” He twists his wrist, fucking his fist with confident familiarity. “Do you touch yourself, Laynee?”
“Every day since I met you.” In the shower. In my office. Anywhere I can sneak away. I drift closer, and my nipples graze his chest. “You make me crazy, Decker.”
He groans, and his hand moves faster. “Give me that sinful mouth.”
I lower to my hip, stretch across his torso, and press my lips to his. His mouth lifts, hungry and hot, his tongue whipping as aggressively as the fist on his cock. He devours me with an urgency and fever that melts my insides and steals my air. I become consciously aware of the nerves beneath my skin, the muscles spasming between my legs, and the pull of my heart as it rips from my chest.
“Are you wet?” He nips at my lips.
“Yes.” I lean back to watch his hand glide erotically, furiously, up and down that gorgeous cock.
“Sit on my face.”
I moan with longing, a weakness that never ends well for me. “I like to watch.” Watching is safer.
“Sit with your back to the headboard.” He moves his free hand to join the other, widening his legs to play with his balls as he strokes himself. “I’ll keep my hands on my dick, and you can watch while I eat your pussy.”
My pussy throbs, rushing me toward climax just from his words.
“If you don’t fucking move,” he says, panting through harsh breaths, “I’m going to finish in the bathroom. Alone.”
Shit. “You drive a hard bargain, Decker Gabrielli.”
He half-laughs, half-groans. “Says the woman who negotiates sex.”
His reminder about the deal I offered should give me pause. I avoid intimacy for a reason, but in my lust-crazed haze, I can’t remember what that reason is.
Rising to my knees, I shift toward his head.
“The panties.” His eyes blaze with dark fire. “Take them off.”
I remove them quickly, shove the pillow away, and straddle his face with my back to the headboard. As I start to lower, he groans.
“Wait.” His hands still, one squeezing the root of his cock, the other cupping his balls. “I want to look for a second.”
My inner muscles clench, and I wonder if he can see it. This is such a vulnerable position with his eyes inches from my most private part, taking me in and forming opinions. I imagine most of his lovers are in their early twenties, half my age, and a whole lot tighter…everywhere. The urge to roll away bunches my shoulders.
“Pink and swollen and perfect.” He turns his head and nips at the inside of my thigh. “You’re so fucking wet you’re dripping down your legs.” His cock jerks his hand. “Lower that ass. I need to taste you.”
The stroke of his hand resumes, faster, harder, his knuckles blanching around his length. I lower toward his mouth and rest my palms on his chest, relishing the feel of flexing muscle and sparse hair beneath my fingers. My legs spread wide in the awkward position—awkward only because his shoulders are so broad and his biceps are bouncing against the insides of my knees as he works his cock.
The moment my pussy touches his lips, he groans. I gasp and lift up. But his mouth chases, locks on with diabolical suction, and his tongue slides through my folds.
“Ohhhh, fuck!” My head falls back. My legs weaken, and my entire body liquefies.
I sink against his mouth, my ribs expanding with indrawn breaths and my fingers curling against his chest. He mumbles something, his lips strong and firm, drawing every thought and sensation to the center of my body where he unfurls a maddening ripple of ecstasy with his tongue.
When he groans again, garbling his words, I raise slightly to hear him.
“You taste so damn good. I need you to grind.” He bites my thigh, harder this time. “Hurry. I’m barely hanging on, and I’m not coming until you do.”
My gaze travels down the length of his twitching body. Every brick of muscle is engaged. A sheen of perspiration forms on his skin. And his cock…that gorgeous swell of flesh and blood looks painfully choked in the shackle of his hand.
I’ve been carrying around so much sexual tension over the past month it feels like a pressure-cooker inside me. My limbs are loose. My skin is fevered, and my pussy’s gushing with arousal. So as I relax all my weight and begin to grind, my orgasm grips me instantly, brutally, and without warning. I come so fucking hard I scream without breath, every muscle in my body shaking with the explosion.
His hand loses rhythm, jerking once, twice, his legs and arms shaking. A long deep moan vibrates against my overstimulated tissues, and I lift just in time to hear it morph into a guttural shout.
“Fuck, Laynee. Fuuuuuck!” His body goes rigid, and ropes of come stream over his hand and abs.
I tremble at the glorious sight and roll to his side, boneless and fighting for air. He climbs over me, mouth parted, chest heaving, and attacks my mouth. The tangy flavor of my arousal slides over my tongue as he kisses me hard
and deep, with no less passion than before his release.
Without breaking the kiss, he slips a hand between us and wipes the semen from his stomach. Then he spreads it across mine, up my chest, and around my throat. It’s the most erotic thing I’ve ever experienced.
His lips ghost along my jaw and dip to my neck, lingering there before lowering to my breast.
“Why did you do that?” I arch beneath the swirl of his tongue against my nipple.
“What? This?” He swipes at a white smear on my chest and slips his fingers into my mouth.
I lick the salty essence from his skin and briefly close my eyes. “Yeah, that.”
His hand combs through my hair, and his dark eyes fill my view. “I’ve fantasized about coming on your beautiful skin…among a hundred other things.” He kisses my lips. “We should go back to sleep or those other things are going to happen tonight.” He glances at the clock. 2:23 AM. “Today.” He flashes a grin that turns me into shivery mush.
“Come on.” He rolls back onto his side of the bed and turns off the light. Straightening the pillows, he stretches out on his back and taps his chest. “Get your sexy ass over here.”
Covered in his come, I feel dirty and tired and fucked in the best way possible. And that’s what worries me, but I’ll save that worry for later. Right now, I want nothing more than to be a normal woman, sleeping in the arms of man who cares about me.
Once I’m in the position he wants, with my body curled around his and my head tucked beneath his chin, he says, “I’m going to L.A. with you tomorrow.”
We’ve been arguing about this trip for a few days. For whatever reason, he doesn’t want me to go without him.
“I’ve been talking to your security team.” He strokes a hand through my hair. “I’ll stand in as one of your bodyguards. No one will know about our relationship.”
Our relationship. Those words fill me with both longing and dread. “What’s your motivation to go with me?” I recall something he said in passing about opening another combat sports school. “Are you hoping to cozy up with my contacts and pitch your business ventures?”