by Luma Rose
Where am I?
My brain is sluggish as I try to remember what I was doing this evening, and then it comes back to me. I was at the gala with Garrin. I must have fallen asleep.
I sit up, and that’s when I make out the shape of a man sitting in a chair in the corner, his legs spread and one hand holding a glass perched on his knee.
“Hey,” I say, my voice scratchy.
Garrin says nothing.
Maybe he’s asleep? His face is lost in the shadows.
“I, uh…” I sit up against the headboard. “I guess I passed out, huh?”
He sips his drink. “You did.”
So, he is awake. Interesting.
“Sorry.”
“Isla, why did you return to Cherry Creek?”
His question startles me. Not because everyone, him included, has asked since I returned, but because somehow it doesn’t feel right to give him my practiced answer once again.
I remain quiet because I don’t know what to say. Either I lie or I tell the truth, but neither seems like an option right now.
“Isla?” There’s a pleading edge in his tone.
In a split-second decision, I decide to be truthful. It will feel good to talk to someone about it, relieve the burden I’m carrying on my own. “My dad has lung cancer. I came home because I wanted to be near him while he’s recovering.”
I run my finger under my eyelids, remembering the earlier conversation with my parents.
“How bad is it?” He lifts his hand holding the glass and brings it to his mouth.
I grip the sheets in my lap like a vise. “He’s already undergone chemotherapy, and now they have to do radiation because the chemo wasn’t as effective as they’d hoped. If this doesn’t work…”
There’s no way I’ll voice the words. If I speak it, it might turn into reality.
He leans forward, and I can see his face in the moonlight streaming through the open window. Pain is etched into his eyes. “I’m sorry you have to go through this.” His voice is soft, nurturing, almost, in a way I’ve never seen or heard from him before. In a way I never imagined Garrin Stone could sound.
“Thank you,” I whisper and a lone tear drips down my cheek.
He stands and sets his drink on a nearby dresser. He’s removed his tux jacket from earlier. The sleeves of his white shirt are rolled up to his elbows, and the first three buttons of his shirt are undone.
I hold my breath, watching him lean one knee on the edge of the mattress, then the other, crawling over to my side. At first, I think he might kiss me, but instead he reaches out, wraps his arms around me and pulls me into his chest, leaning against the headboard.
He’s holding me so tenderly, cradling me in his arms like no one will ever hurt me as long as he’s around, that another tear falls, then another and another until I’m sobbing into his chest, clutching his shirt in my fist.
His hand runs up and down my back to comfort me, but he says nothing to soothe me. No bullshit words that people spit out, no promises that it will all be okay.
After a few minutes, my tears dry up, and in a lot of ways the burden I’ve been carrying feels lighter.
He pulls me away from him, his hands on my shoulders, and looks directly into my eyes. The compassion and pain in his surprises me.
“I remember what it was like watching my mom fight to stay healthy day after day when she was sick. I was much younger than you, but I remember every agonizing second like it was yesterday.” He shuts his eyes tight for a moment before continuing. “She was my safe place, and I had to watch as she faded away to nothing.”
“How did your mom pass?” I ask.
I knew his mother was no longer in his life, but I never knew the specific details. In high school, I made an offhanded comment about moms crying at our graduation ceremony and he said he wasn’t feeling well and hightailed it out of class. I tried to apologize the next day, but he told me not to be sorry, and he has a way of making a conversation final.
“Breast cancer. She fought it hard, but…” He sucks in a quick breath and pain flashes across his face.
“I’m sorry.” I cradle his cheek with my palm. It’s rougher with the small amount of stubble growth.
“I’m here for you if you need me. Whether it’s to vent, cry or beat the shit out of me when you hate the universe.”
A small smile tilts my lips. Somehow those words are exactly what I need to hear.
“Thank you.” I lean in and kiss his cheek.
I pull away and our gazes lock and both of our breathing picks up. When I suck my lips in, a nervous habit of mine, it draws his attention. A sort of nervous anticipation swirls around us, and all I can think about is how he kisses. Is he controlled and calculated like he is with everything else, or is he wild and free, letting anything but his mind lead him?
We both lean in closer, until our noses and our foreheads touch. His breath tickles my face, and when temptation grows too strong, we succumb.
My entire body buzzes when his lips meet mine, and it’s like firecrackers exploding in my veins. His tongue licks the seam of my lips and I open to him, our tongues colliding, he twirls his against mine, showing his dominance. And there’s my answer, he will control this situation. Our arms extend, reaching around one another, and I push my hand through his dark hair, needing something to ground me before I lose all control.
He grips the back of my hair, forcing me to turn my head exactly where he wants me, and I moan into his mouth.
I can’t get enough of his scent, the sound of his labored breaths or the feel of him against my body. Pushing the large skirt of my dress away, I straddle him. As soon as my weight bears down on top of him, his rigid length presses into my center and my hips grind of their own accord because this is exactly what I’ve wanted to do all night.
His hands slide down to the top of the zipper on my back and our tongues explore the other, until he wrenches his mouth off mine and holds me by my upper arms away from him.
“We’re not doing this,” he says.
I blink, trying to catch up to his one-eighty. “Why?”
“No matter what you think of me, I’m not the type to take advantage of you. You’re going through a tough time and you’ve had too much to drink.”
“I don’t think that. And I’m not so drunk that I don’t know what I’m doing.” I try to lean into him again, but his grip grows stronger to hold me back. Though I can still feel his swollen erection underneath me.
“You’re going through a lot right now.”
I shift my hips over his hard cock in order to make my point. “It’s clear that you want me.”
He hisses and shakes me a little by the shoulders to stop me. “That’s not the problem. If you weren’t going through all this shit, I’d have you on your back already.”
“Then what’s the issue, Garrin?”
“I told you. How much clearer do I have to be?” His voice is growing more impatient.
“I’m a grown woman. I can make my own decisions. Just tell me the truth.” I move to slide off him. Once again, Garrin has pushed me away as I’m offering myself on a silver fucking plater.
His arms reach out and stop me. I dodge eye contact until his forefinger and thumb nudge my chin down to look at him. “I don’t want you to regret me.”
His words hit me like an airbag upon impact, leaving me dazed and confused. Garrin doesn’t want me to regret him?
We stare at one another in silence for a few beats, and for a moment he appears chagrined, as if he wishes the words had never left his mouth.
“You’ve had enough regrets from your past. I don’t want to be added to that list.”
If that’s his way to get me to back off, it has the exact opposite effect. I want him more now than a few minutes ago.
It’s like a revelation all at once. I can have normal sexual feelings for a man without overthinking what his motives are. I can trust that someone wants to sleep with me because they want me, not because they hav
e ulterior motives. This epiphany is a turning point in my life, and I know I will never regret anything I do with this man because he’s the one who helped me realize it.
“I want you,” I whisper, running my hands up and down his thighs. “Please let me have you.”
He squeezes his eyes shut like he’s in pain. “Not tonight. Another night when you’re thinking clearer.”
“Please, Garrin. I just want to forget. I just want to feel normal for once.” My hand drifts down to his hard shaft, which stretches the fabric of his tuxedo pants, and I squeeze around his length.
His head drops back to the headboard and he looks down at where I’m touching him with half-lidded eyes.
I continue to stroke him for a minute until his hand flies out from his side and he grabs my wrist.
“I have an idea that will make us both happy,” he says, and I smile like I actually am a good seductress.
22
Chapter Twenty-two
Garrin
For once in my life, I’m trying to do the right thing, and Isla is making it goddamn impossible.
It’s taking the last of my willpower not to give in. As much as I want to see her on her knees in front of me, choking on my cock, I won’t do it. She’s got too much shit going on in her head and she’s had a lot to drink. Based on what she’s said and knowing her past, sex is a big deal for her, and I couldn’t stand myself if she woke up tomorrow hating me.
Not after I’ve already hurt her—so much more than she knows.
Add on that I’m pretty sure that once I’ve been inside her, she’ll have me by the balls again. And where would that leave me when my father comes knocking? Which he will—it’s just a matter of when.
“What’s your idea?” she says as though she can barely breathe.
“I’d rather show you than tell you.” I bring my mouth to her earlobe, using my tongue and teeth to play with it before trailing down her jawline.
She smells so fucking good, I’ll have to search out her perfume and beat off to it.
She moans and presses her ass down into my cock when our mouths clash. She’s battling for supremacy and I’ll give it to her—tonight.
It’s obvious to me that she needs the release, but I’m going to do as little as possible to get her there so that if she does have second thoughts in the morning, they don’t come with a heaping amount of regret piled on top.
I worm my hand up under the billowing fabric of her skirt while she continues to straddle me, looking down at me with half-lidded eyes. She begins to grind. Her olive skin is flushed and I can’t wait to see how red I can make her.
“Lift up.”
She does as I say, biting her lip as if she thinks I hold the golden key to her orgasm. I guess I do, though. It’s been a long time since I gave a shit what the woman got out of it.
I locate the slit in her dress and my hand finds her center. I run my hand along what feels like lace underwear. My eyes shut for a moment, envisioning what they must look like on her. I want nothing more than to see, but for tonight, I’ll have to rely on my imagination.
As I rub my fingers over the thin fabric, her wetness soaks through.
I groan. “Fuck, you’re already soaked.”
She nods slowly, her eyes never straying away from mine.
Moving the fabric to the side, I gently push my middle finger into her. Fuck, she’s wet and she’s tight. I deserve a fucking gold star for not pulling out my dick and fucking her senseless right now. Isla gasps, then moans, and her head drops back, exposing the length of her neck. God, I’d love to sink my teeth into her for a taste, but I remain leaning against the headboard because I’m going to memorize every one of her reactions as I make her scream my name.
Fuck, she’s tight. I bet she’d squeeze my cock so hard. Speaking of my dick, it’s painfully hard in my tuxedo pants, pushing against the zipper, eager to join the fun.
I pull my finger out and Isla whimpers. She guides my hand back down and I insert my finger again. Talk about a fucking turn-on. That shy Isla knows what she wants and isn’t afraid to speak up in the bedroom. I use my thumb to play with her swollen clit. Her chest heaves, her cleavage pushing up out the top of her dress, teasing me as my eyes fixate, waiting for one to pop out.
I continue dragging my finger in and out of her slickness before I add my index finger. My hand is coated with her juices, and although I always make sure my “dates” are taken care of, I never really care what they think. With Isla, however, a sense of male pride fills my chest at how turned on and wet she is.
“You like that, don’t you?”
“God, yes, don’t stop.”
She moves up and down on my hand, shamelessly chasing her orgasm. I sit back, content to enjoy the show and engrave the image of her riding my hand into my brain. Every time she rises up and falls back down, she whimpers. She’s getting closer. The scent of her arousal fills the room and I’ll never smell anything sweeter or more intoxicating.
I reach for her hip with my free hand, the silky fabric of her gown smoothing under my fingertips. “Don’t move.”
She stays slightly raised from my lap, doing as she’s told. Oh, how perfect she would be in bed.
I slowly push a third finger into her and her head drops back.
“Look at me,” I snap. She does as she’s told. “I want to see the look on your face when you come.”
Her plump lips part and she sucks in a breath.
I pump my fingers into her at a punishing pace, sure to press against her clit with my thumb every time I do. The sound of her wet sex while I finger-fuck her makes my pants bust at the seams.
She cries out and her eyes drift closed. After another few seconds I push my fingers into her one last time and circle her clit with my thumb. She tenses around my fingers and cries out, leaning forward and gripping my shoulders tight, her fingernails digging in through the fabric of my shirt. More wetness coats my hand and her hips jerk a few times before she collapses against my chest, breathing heavily.
Jesus, that was one of the hottest moments of my life and neither of us was even naked.
“Garrin…”
“Shhh.” I run my free hand up and down her spine as I free my other hand from under her skirt.
The compulsion to know what she tastes like is too great, so I bring my fingers to my mouth, licking them clean.
I’m so fucked. She tastes better than anything I’ve ever experienced, and it doesn’t escape me how easily I’ll become addicted.
Isla drifts off in my arms, and as much as I want to lie down with her, I can’t stay here tonight. Not only is the physical temptation too great, but I’m softening toward her. My hard, impenetrable exterior is becoming as permeable as the flesh on my bones. She’s seeping her way into my bloodstream, and I’ll soon be an addict if I don’t get some distance.
I slowly shift her off me and drag a pillow under her head, careful not to disturb her. Whether it’s the alcohol from earlier or emotional exhaustion, I can’t be sure. Slipping out of bed, I stand at the side and pull the covers up over her.
She must be uncomfortable in that gown, but I’m not going to undress her without her knowledge. So I slip from the room, quietly shutting the door behind me and retreating to my own bedroom.
There’s zero chance I’m going to get any sleep anytime soon. First, I’ll rub one out in the shower, and then I’ll have four fingers of scotch to try and take the edge off. Hopefully then I’ll be able get the siren in my apartment out of my head.
23
Chapter Twenty-three
Isla
I roll over and feel something tug around my waist. I try to ignore it and get back to sleep, but the roll from one side of the pillow to the other has my brain in free fall. I inhale a deep breath and push back the nausea that accompanies my pounding head.
My mouth feels like I swallowed a bag of cotton balls. Oh my God, I’ve never been this thirsty in my life.
Slowly I push up into a seated posit
ion and crack my eyes open. The room is dim, just a small amount of lighting peering in through the crack in the curtains.
It’s enough for me to see that I’m not in the bedroom I grew up in at my parents’ home.
I take in my surroundings and remember that I ended up at Garrin’s last night. Then I remember what we did. Or more accurately, what he did to me. Warmth pools between my legs as the array of sensations float back through my memory. It was the first time—ever—that I was intimate with a man and able to relax enough to be in the moment and enjoy myself. And my gut says I have Garrin to thank, not the champagne.
But he’s not in bed with me now.
Maybe he’s an early riser?
Slow enough not to jar my head, I slip from the bed and walk over to the adjoining bathroom. I do my business and wash my hands at the sink. Glancing up, I spot my reflection in the mirror.
Oh jeez, I look like hell.
Worse than hell, actually.
I finger-comb my long locks until they’re half acceptable and wipe under my eyes with a washcloth.
Maybe it’s a good thing that Garrin wasn’t in bed to see me first thing in the morning.
Once I’ve done as much as I can do to look presentable, I suck in a breath and decide to go find Garrin.
As I search for my things, all the questions ping in my head like little bubble thoughts. I have no idea how he’s going to react to what happened last night. Will it mean something to him? Or is that how he ends all his dates? He’s been pretty clear to me that most of his “dates” are with women he pays for. Does it mean something that I’m not?
More importantly, how do I want him to act?