We moved to the bar following our meal. I followed behind her, unable to tear my eyes from the swing of her ass beneath that silly little dress. I’d had a few drinks myself by this time. The heat and warmth of the alcohol moved through my veins and loosened my tongue. We slid into a dimly lit corner booth.
“I’ll have a Sun King,” I told the bartender.
“And what will the lady have?” The bartender turned to her, a flirtatious smile on his lips.
“I’ll have a martini,” she replied.
“You look like the kind of girl who likes it extra dirty,” he said, giving her a wink.
My fingers curled with the urge to give him a taste of my fist.
“The dirtier, the better.” She smiled at him, parting pink lips. Jealousy rumbled through my veins, burning and molten-hot. I wasn’t sure what bothered me the most—knowing another man wanted her or knowing I couldn’t have her. Either way, I didn’t like it. Even though I had no intention of being with her, I wanted her to want me. The bartender’s gaze connected with mine, and the smile slipped from his face.
“Was that absolutely necessary?” I asked her when he’d left.
“Probably not. But I enjoyed it anyway.” She cast a flirtatious glance at the bartender, who smiled at her from behind the bar. Her blue gaze blinked back to me. “Not everyone hates me, Mr. Seaforth.”
“Is that the kind of guy you go for now?” I asked. She confused me at every turn. I couldn’t imagine her wasting time on a man without a hefty income. Her gaze flitted to my mouth again, and my cock responded by thickening. At this rate, I wouldn’t be able to leave the booth for a good long while.
“He’s cute. I’d do him.” She regarded the bartender, trading smiles with him once more. I smoldered in my seat. When her focus returned to my face, a mix of relief and tension heated my chest. “You’re better looking.”
“But that’s not enough for you,” I replied. What I really meant was that it hadn’t been enough for her to stay married to me. The need to understand why she’d left me overwhelmed my thoughts. I said I didn’t care, but I did. Her rejection had fueled every corporate takeover and every one-night stand over the past ten years. I’d done it all to prove her and my father wrong. I’d made a success out of myself without my father’s help, but it still wasn’t enough.
“It was never about your looks or your money, Sam,” she said in a small voice.
We stared at each other for a long minute. She took in every detail of my lips, nose, and eyes. Having her undivided attention felt better than I cared to admit. Once, I had been the sole focus of her life. I missed that kind of devotion. These days no one gave a shit about my existence. Most women only wanted into my bed or my bank account. My mother had passed away a few years ago. My father dedicated his life to ruining mine. My sister, Vanessa, had married a French diplomat and moved to Paris. Aside from Tucker and Beckett, there was no one.
“If you met me at a bar, would you try to pick me up?” I asked.
She lifted an eyebrow. “As long as you didn’t speak.” She was teasing. A glimmer of our former playful camaraderie shimmered over me. “Would you hit on me?”
I let my gaze rover over her. Hell, yeah, I’d hit on her. She’d let her hair down. Long, chestnut waves swept over her shoulders. Her breasts taunted me, high and round and full. Were her nipples still pink like rosebuds? I used to love the way they’d tighten when I circled them with my tongue. Reading my thoughts, a blush swept up her neck and into her cheeks. She swallowed and ran her tongue over her lower lip. The action sent my cock into full alert. I was completely hard by this time, and she’d done nothing more than look at me. I exhaled a long sigh. I was so fucked.
“Yeah. I would,” I replied, and shifted to relieve the pressure behind my zipper. She affected me in a way no other woman ever had. The fine threads of attraction still stretched between us, dangerous as a spider’s web. Was it knowing she was unattainable that piqued my need to have her? Or a need to show her what she’d given up?
“Would you take me to a hotel?” she asked. Her voice was low and husky, too familiar. I knew that tone and what it meant, where it would lead. I followed, heedless of the risk. “Or would you want to do it here?”
“Either.” I swallowed against the constriction in my throat. “Both.” A vision of her pressed against the wall, breasts flat against my chest, one of her legs wrapped around my waist, sent a zing of need straight into my groin. Her gaze locked onto mine. “I’d fuck you so hard you wouldn’t know your name afterward.”
“I’m wet just thinking about it.”
I searched her face for signs of teasing, but her eyes were dark and somber. Neither of us was playing around now. This was serious talk. I became hyperaware of her as a woman. The rise and fall of her breasts. The heady scent of her perfume, sweet and fresh. The subtle shift of her body when I leaned toward her, acting and reacting in response to each other. I wanted her more than anything, but hell would freeze over before I let her reject me again. She needed to come to me this time.
“Show me.” My voice sounded rough to my ears, barely more than a whisper, but she heard it. Now I knew what I wanted. I wanted to control her, bend her to my will, make her obey.
Her hand took mine beneath the table and guided it along the inside of her thigh, over the elastic band of her stocking, and up the strap of her garter belt. When I felt the brush of neatly trimmed pubic hair, my cock twitched. Sweet bleeding Jesus. The girl was going commando. Lust buzzed in my head. She nudged the tip of my finger inside her folds, where she was slick and wet.
“Damn,” I rasped. Our gazes remained locked. Years of longing and hurt danced back and forth between us. In my head, she’d been a mixture of fantasy and nightmare. With the tantalizing heat of her wrapped around my fingers, the present washed away the past. All I could think about was controlling her and making her yearn for me. Before I was through, she’d beg for it, and once she acquiesced, I’d reject her, the way she’d rejected me.
At this inopportune moment, the bartender returned with our drinks. Seeing my glare, he wisely kept silent and returned to his station. Dakota ran a fingertip around the rim of her glass, a smart-ass smirk on her face, unaware of my plan. The smirk disappeared when I slipped a finger inside her. Her eyes went wide with surprise. I brushed my thumb over her clit, making slow, tiny circles. She bit her lower lip until it turned white around her teeth.
“I bet I could make you come like this. Right here,” I said, my imagination piqued by the challenge.
“You wouldn’t,” she said on an exhale. I could tell the idea excited her, though. Every time my thumb made a circle, her pupils grew wider, and her nostrils flared. “Are you crazy? Someone might see.”
“No one can see. Besides, they’re not interested in us.” The bar was well made with tall dividers between each booth. Our booth had curtains draped around the perimeter, shielding us from the patrons on either side.
“Maybe I’m not interested,” she said. Her statement ended in a little gasp as I teased her with my fingers.
“You still want me.” I studied her face, the high color in her cheeks, and the tremble of her hand resting on the table, more turned on than I’d been in years. She’d always had that effect on me. A decade later, nothing had changed.
“I never stopped wanting you.” Her hand migrated to my fly and squeezed my length. “It was never about not wanting you.”
“No.” I shook my head. I needed to stay in control and couldn’t with her touching me. She moved her hand away, obedient for the first time all week. She liked my game. I was in control now, and the knowledge sent a heady rush of triumph surging through me.
We both had one hand above the table and one below. While my right hand teased her, she gripped the top of my thigh with her left. I took a drink of my beer but kept my gaze on her face, enjoying the way she fought for control of her expression. She couldn’t control her eyes, however. The faster my fingers moved inside her, the wilder the light in her ey
es became. Her chest lifted and fell, each breath a struggle. Her nails bit into the muscle of my leg. I couldn’t look away, fascinated by the way she responded to my touch. I’d wanted control over her, and I had it now.
“Sam.” She spoke my name, a soft whisper, her voice cracking on the single syllable. I felt her tighten around my fingers. Her legs twitched and her body tensed as she came. The ripples of her orgasm shot up my arm. I held her gaze with mine, daring her to look away. She didn’t. In the hazy depths of her eyes, I saw vulnerability and regret intertwined with need. She drew one shuddering gasp and leaned back in the seat. I’d meant to break her, but in that moment, with my fingers slick from her desire, I couldn’t bring myself to do it.
***
Rockwell dropped us at her apartment building. I told him to wait fifteen minutes, and if he didn’t hear from me, to leave and I’d catch a cab. He had the good grace not to smirk when I told him this. I followed Dakota into the elevator and to her door. We were both a little drunk from too much liquor and from each other. Inebriation gave me courage and overrode my common sense. It was the only excuse I could come up with for what I was about to do.
I stood inside the entry of her apartment and waited while she went to tidy the bedroom. I studied every square foot with curious interest. The furniture was adequate but nothing special. The whole place was no bigger than a postage stamp. Hell, my bedroom closet was larger. I’d felt big and awkward as a teenager, my six feet four inches dwarfing the small space. I’d expected something grander, stuffed with expensive décor. After all, she had a million dollars to her name, and I was paying her a decent salary.
This peek into her private life jumbled my preconceived opinions. Where had all the money gone? I raked a hand through my hair before shrugging out of my suit jacket and slinging it over the chair. She’d never been an impulsive spender when we’d been married. To the contrary, she’d counted every penny, clipped coupons, and made an art out of thrift. Her clothes were nice but not ostentatious. Maybe she’d travelled around the world or had a secret drug habit. No, I knew better. She was too smart for drugs and too scared of flying for world travel.
By the time she reappeared, I’d managed to school the confusion off my face. She held out a hand. I took it, mesmerized by the haunted depths of her large eyes. We didn’t speak as she pulled me into her bedroom. It was barely big enough to hold the bed. I had to turn sideways to fit between the mattress and the wall.
“What are am I doing here?” I asked, voice cracking on the words. It had been easy to push away reason when my dick was hard, but now I wasn’t so confident. A million doubts surfaced in my muddled brain. All I could think about were the dozens of ways she’d wrecked me, the potential ways she might hurt me again. I watched her kick off her shoes, eyes glued to mine, and licked my dry lips. She could only hurt me if I cared, which I didn’t. Did I?
“I want you, Sam.” She pulled her dress over her head, revealing a satin bra and matching garter belt, nothing else. My memories of her body paled next to the real thing. She was toned but curvy in all the right places, heavy breasts straining against the cups of her bra. My cock began to harden again, eager to feel the wet heat of her. She tossed the dress on the floor and climbed onto the mattress, kneeling in front of me.
“Don’t talk,” she said, and pressed a finger to my lips. “Just let me do this.” Her fingers flew over the placket of my shirt, releasing the buttons with practiced speed. The familiarity of the act made my stomach drop.
“I thought you didn’t fuck your bosses.” I couldn’t help throwing her words back at her, giving her a chance to back out before we went too far.
“You’re not my boss right now,” she said. Her face tilted to mine, brow furrowing. “We’re Sam and Kota. We were married.”
The weight of her words settled around my shoulders. We were married. Not friends, not lovers, but husband and wife. The permanence of our relationship went deep, and the roots of it still tangled in the depths of my soul. Till death do us part. She hadn’t meant the words when she’d said them, but I had. Divorce might have legally separated us, but the court system had failed to evict her from my soul.
“I don’t trust you.” My voice scratched my throat. I felt raw and vulnerable, like she’d peeled away my skin.
“It’s alright. I understand.” She smiled up at me, her eyes brighter than usual, even in the dim bedroom. “You may never trust me again. I don’t deserve that honor. But for one night, let’s forget about the mess of our past.” She pushed the shirt over my shoulders and slid her palms over my pecs. When her fingers reached the waistband of my pants to tug on my belt, her request made perfect sense. I could do that—forget for tonight—just tonight. Once again, we were in the same headspace. “I want to taste you, Sam, feel you inside me. It was always good between us. We were good at this.”
The way her gaze flew to mine, full of question and needing reassurance, gave me instant amnesia. I forgot about my insatiable desire for revenge and control. Her hand slipped inside my boxers and gripped my cock. I groaned and bent my head to find her mouth. All I wanted was to bury myself inside her and remind her she was mine.
CHAPTER 25
Dakota - Now
A DECADE OF fantasies was nothing compared to the reality of Sam. He stretched out on the bed, one arm tucked behind his head, fully naked in front of me. His gorgeous green eyes were hooded, sheltering his thoughts. The smooth, tanned stretch of his torso beneath my fingers sent jolts of electricity up my arms. A smattering of gold hair trailed from his navel down to his long, thick cock. He was lean and toned from neck to toes, a blond Adonis in my bed, erect and ready for the taking.
Before now, we’d been playing with each other. This seemed much more serious and not at all inconsequential. We were treading on treacherous ground. Chances were good that one of us would leave this bedroom wounded and battle-scarred. I knew without a doubt it would be me.
Strange how I played it safe in life with everything but my heart. I always looked twice before crossing the street. I double-checked the locks on my door before bed each night. I balanced my checking account daily. When it came to Sam, however, I tossed my heart around like a volley ball, heedless of where it might land.
A dull, sweet ache throbbed between my legs at the sight of him. I trailed a hand over the ripples of his abdomen, savoring the warmth of his skin beneath my touch, the woodsy scent of his cologne. He seemed familiar in the best possible way. Once, I’d known his body better than my own. He had changed subtly, grown leaner and more taut, broader and harder. I straddled his legs, wearing nothing but my stockings, garters, and bra. His eyes travelled over me, growing darker and more heated, sending a shiver of anticipation down my back.
“Take your bra off,” he commanded in a scratchy voice. His palms rested on my thighs, warm and large. “I want to see your tits.” I reached behind my back to undo the hooks. “But you can leave these on.” He slipped a finger beneath one of the garter straps and tugged. “These are sexy.” When he let go, the band snapped against my skin.
The straps of my bra slid down my arms. I felt shy and uncertain, like I was eighteen again and it was our first time. I needed to know he wasn’t going to cut me down at the last minute or laugh at my efforts. My nipples tightened into painful peaks when the open air hit them. His eyes met mine. Any qualms I had drifted away at the appreciation in their depths. He couldn’t fake that.
“You’re beautiful, Kota.” He cupped each breast in his palms, weighing them, and brushed his thumbs over the tips. When he sat up and sucked a nipple into his mouth, I trembled at the sensation of heat and wet and suction. “I’ve missed these.”
His words broke me in an entirely new way. I pulled his face up to mine and took his mouth. Our kisses were sloppy and hurried, as if we were trying to devour each other. He wrapped his arms around my waist and pulled me against him. The length of his cock nestled into the apex of my thighs. I ground my hips against him, overcome with the
need to have him inside me.
In one fluid motion, he flipped me onto my back and settled between my legs, spreading my knees wide with his. I understood his need to take control and relinquished it willingly. I had wounded his ego, stripped him of the power in our relationship, and broken his heart in the process. If he needed to take the steering wheel, I’d be a willing passenger if it meant one more night together.
I fumbled in the top drawer of my nightstand for a condom. He held the base of his erection with one hand, while I rolled the thin sheath over the tip and smoothed it down his shaft. Our harsh exhalations broke the silence. We’d done this a hundred times before, but it had never felt so new, so raw, so different. We weren’t kids anymore, weren’t married, and this wasn’t going anywhere past tonight.
His gaze lifted to meet mine. Emotions tangled inside me, knotting and twisting around each other. How many times had I dreamed of this? How many times had I awakened during the night, damp with sweat, quivering from post-orgasmic release, only to realize the bed beside me was empty? I devoured the sight of him, taking in every angle and plane of his cheeks, the straight line of his nose, and the strong angle of his jaw. I felt famished, devastated by insatiable hunger for him. Just him. Only him.
His eyes darkened, taking in my reaction. When I was a kid, Crockett and I had done somersaults down a hill in the park, turning over and over and over in a dizzying dive to the bottom. I felt the same way now, disoriented, plummeting down without heed to direction or destination, tumbling headlong into the unknown abyss of Samuel Seaforth.
He grabbed my hip and shoved into me—deep, commanding, and proprietary. A startled breath hissed between my lips, like steam escaping from a boiling kettle. Fire spread through my veins and into the farthest reaches of my limbs, consuming me. He was a match to my gasoline, the catalyst to my destruction. When he drew out and slid inside me for the second time, I came in a violent shudder, ripples of agonizing pleasure coursing along my legs.
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