by Tracy Wolff
Not that I’m about to tell Jaxon that—his ego is more than big enough this morning. Then again, he did give me six orgasms in the last eight hours. So maybe the ego is really just well-deserved pride in his accomplishments...
Doesn’t mean I have to let him know that, though. Which is why, instead of letting him in on the fact that my knees still feel like rubber, I finish my makeup without saying another word. Or even looking at him in the mirror again.
“How about a quick breakfast,” he says when it becomes obvious I’m not paying attention to him. “Breakfast tacos and a cup of coffee to go. You can make up the time by letting me drop you at the museum instead of walking.”
“Breakfast tacos, huh?” I shoot him an amused look as I make my way to my walk-in closet. “How the mighty have fallen.”
He mutters something that sounds an awful lot like, “You’ve got no idea.” But before I can call him on it, he’s off the bed and following me. Suddenly my normally spacious closet feels a lot more crowded. And a lot more overwhelming, even before Jaxon wraps his arms around me from behind and pulls me close.
“Come on, Grace,” he wheedles as he kisses his way down my neck and over my shoulder, inching my robe out of the way as he does. “Let me buy you breakfast.”
He presses a slow, lingering kiss on the sensitive spot where my neck meets my shoulder and my stomach does a backflip. More like three backflips, I admit as I melt against him, letting him take my weight since my knees have gone from rubbery to non-existent in the space of one kiss.
“Why is it so important to you?” I ask, tilting my head to give him better access even though I know I’m starting something I don’t have time to finish. “You bought me dinner last night. And then tied me up for dessert. I’m pretty sure you’ll be okay if I skip out on you until tonight.”
“I very much enjoyed dinner and dessert last night,” he murmurs as his fingers go to the knot at my waist currently holding my robe closed. “And I liked what came after even more. Still, breakfast is the most important meal of the day.”
“I do believe I’ve heard that somewhere before.” I turn to face him. “But that still doesn’t tell me why you’re so determined that I have breakfast with you today.”
“Because I don’t want to let you go yet,” he answers, heart in his eyes and full-on British accent in his voice. “I can’t—” He breaks off, drops his hands. “Never mind. I’m being stupid and you need to get to work. Sorry.”
He blows out a long, fast breath and just like that, I melt. “You’re right,” I tell him, looping my arms around his neck and pulling him in for a kiss. “You are being stupid and I do need to get to work. But I’ve got a few minutes for breakfast tacos...and something else.”
“What el—” He chokes on his own tongue as I slide my hands into the waistband of his sweats and yank them down, fast and hard. “Grace, what are you doing?”
“If you can’t figure that out,” I say as I take his already hard dick in my hand and stroke my way up and down it’s long, silky length, “then I must be doing it wrong.”
“You’re not—” He takes a deep, shuddery breath as I stroke my thumb over the sensitive head. “You’re not doing it wrong.”
“I’m so glad to hear that,” I mock, right before I lean forward and stroke my tongue up and down his cock.
“Fuck! Grace!” His hands slide into my hair and fist there, pulling just hard enough to sting but not hard enough to cause any real pain.
I pull back and look up at him through my lashes. “Fuck, Jaxon,” I mimic seconds before I lean forward and suck him deep into my mouth.
He groans, his hips slamming forward instinctively and I moan as he slides even deeper.
He’s down my throat now, big and long and thick and it’s almost too much. Almost suffocating, having him this deep.
Tears bloom in my eyes and I moan a little as I struggle to breathe. I’ve given blowjobs before—of course I have—but none of them have felt like this. Intimate. Overwhelming. Devastating.
Jaxon must sense it because he tries to pull back, but I moan again, this time in protest as I wrap my arms around his lower legs, cupping his ass in my hands as I hold him in place. And then I go down on him in earnest, loving the way my jaw aches just a little as I suck and lick and slide my way along his cock.
“Fuck, Grace,” he growls again as I run my tongue in circles around his dick—up and down and around until his hips are slamming forward in a rhythm that makes my jaw ache and my head feel just a little fuzzy. “You’re so good. You feel so—”
He breaks of with another groan, and then his fingers are hot on my cheek, my jaw, the sensitive skin beneath my lower lip. His palm is resting on my cheekbone and I press against it just a little, loving the heat of him and the way his touch grounds me as I suck harder and deeper.
As I use my tongue to lap at the sensitive spot on the underside of his head.
As I slide a hand between his thighs to rub the tender spot just behind his balls.
Jaxon is cursing now, a low, litany of words that make no sense but somehow—when strung together—convey just how close he is to emptying himself into my mouth. I want that, more than I ever dreamed I would. Want to watch as he loses that watchful stillness of his along with his control. Want even more to be the woman that makes him lose it so completely.
He thrusts against me again, his hands tangling in my hair as he tries to pull me off. “I’m close, Grace. I’m so...fucking...close—”
I use my free hand to grab on to his ass, to pull him even closer as I pull back just enough to rub the head of his cock against the roof of my mouth before sliding him back down my throat. His answering groan and the way he trembles just a little gets to me in a way I didn’t expect. Then again, everything about Jaxon has gotten to me from the moment I first saw him. More, from the moment I first saw his photograph ten years ago. Why shouldn’t I be moved by the proof that I get to him, too?
“Look at me,” he orders, his voice low and guttural.
I do as he asks, looking up and into his eyes as he fucks my mouth and fucks me up, all at the same time. Because this isn’t just fucking, no matter how much I tell myself it is. This isn’t just a fling, something I can get over as soon as he blows down my throat.
As soon as he blows out of town.
The thought terrifies me like few things ever have, feels like a bucket of cold water poured over my head even as Jaxon loses it completely.
He comes with a hoarse cry that I only vaguely recognize as my name. He pours down my throat with a series of hot pulses that leave me breathless even as I take all of it. Everything he’s willing to give me.
As I do, I give him more of me than I want to. More than I ever imagined I’d give anyone. And when he finishes, when he pulls me up and fingers me to my own shattering orgasm right there in the middle of my closet, all I can think is not yet.
Please, don’t let me go. Not yet.
Please, don’t leave me. Not yet.
Please don’t break my heart. Not yet.
* * *
“Hey, Grace. I’m pretty sure I just saw Jaxon Silva in the main gallery.” Richard’s voice penetrates the fog I’ve been walking around in since Jaxon finally let me out of my closet this morning, after dressing me when my hands were still trembling too badly to do it myself. He’d kissed me in between each button on my blouse, had pulled me into his arms and held me for long seconds after sliding my suit jacket up my arms and over my shoulders. Had even knelt at my feet and kissed my ankles and calves before sliding a pair of open-toed pumps onto my feet.
I’ve never felt more cossetted, more taken care of, in my life. And that was before he insisted on driving me to work—after stopping for take-out coffee and breakfast tacos. Before he sent me a dozen whimsical text messages throughout the day. Before he had a smoothie and gourmet cookie delivered for my “afternoon tea.”
Pleasure slides through me at my boss’s words, and a quick glance at my clock t
ells me what I already know. It’s almost quitting time, which means Jaxon is here to pick me up. I’ve never had a man wait for me in my life, never had one send me flowers or an afternoon snack. I’ve definitely never had one pick me up from work when I was perfectly capable of making my own way home.
I like it, probably more than I should. Especially since I’ve spent the whole day trying to combat my feelings from this morning by reminding myself that Jaxon will soon disappear from my life as quickly as he appeared. He hasn’t said anything yet, but I know he has that gallery opening in France in a couple of days. He’s listed as the guest of honor, so I’m pretty sure that means he’s got to be there. Which means he won’t be here. And since he hasn’t even bothered mentioning it to me, it’s not a big leap to think that he won’t be coming back to Austin—or to me—anytime soon.
Yesterday, Jaxon called this thing between us a relationship and I let him because I’m weak. I liked the sound of it, liked even more the way he looked at me when he said it. All hot and pissed off, like he couldn’t stand the fact that I was questioning him. Questioning us.
But what else am I supposed to do? Just believe that Jaxon is here to stay? Just believe that he’s fallen for me the same way I’ve fallen for him, against all reason or expectations?
No way. Fairy tales like that don’t happen for girls like me and the sooner I accept that, the better off I’ll be. Or so I keep telling myself whenever Jaxon isn’t around, looking at me with those black magic eyes of his. When he is around... When he is around, it’s a million times harder for me to remember what I know. Which is how I ended up tied up last night. Because I wanted to give Jaxon something that he wanted. And because I wanted to make him feel good. How the hell was I supposed to know that I’d be the one getting so much in return?
“Grace?” my boss calls my name. “Did you hear what I said? Jaxon Silva has come back to tour the museum. I was going to go say hello, but I know how much you like his work. Do you want to go greet him instead?”
I want very much to go greet him, but I don’t tell Richard that. Instead, I simply say, “Of course I’ll go check in with him,” before standing up to do just that.
Richard walks away with an absent smile and I’m left with a beating heart and shaking hands as I slide out the door in search of Jaxon. The lover I refuse to let myself fall any more in love with.
Except, the moment I find him in the Modernist gallery, the knowledge that I’ve been lying to myself hits me like a ton of bricks. The way my heart skips a beat when I see him, the way I smile just from being in the same room with him, tells me everything I don’t want to know. I’ve done a shitty job of protecting myself. A shitty job of keeping myself safe. Because somehow, despite the many, many warnings I’ve given myself, I’ve fallen desperately, hopelessly, irrevocably in love with Jaxon Silva.
It’s the worst thing a woman like me could do, falling for a man like him, and for a second, the realization floors me. Makes me unable to move, unable to think, unable to breathe. By the time I can function again, all I can think about is getting away. Putting some distance between us. Finding a place to lick my wounds.
I take a step back, prepare to flee, but he chooses that moment to look away from the Monmarte photograph he’s been studying and that’s when he sees me.
Damn, damn, damn.
I’ve never felt so stupid, or so vulnerable. Even last night, tied up in his ropes, I felt stronger than this. More protected than this. Right now, all I feel is raw and exposed, like I’m just waiting for the death blow he doesn’t even know he can deal.
“Grace, luv.” Jaxon crosses the gallery at a fast walk—too fast—a huge smile on his face as he wraps me in his arms and pulls me in close. “How are you?”
Terrified. Shaken. Devastated. That’s how I am. But I can’t say that to him without freaking him out and worse, without making him feel sorry for me. So instead of being honest, I just bury my face against his neck and breathe in the orange and bergamot scent of him.
As I do, I store it away for later. For when he’s gone and I’m still here, without him. How did this happen? How the fuck did I let this happen?
“Hey, Grace!” Jaxon pulls away with a frown, moves to cup my face in his hands, a gesture I’ve become depressingly accustomed to. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” I shake my head.
He narrows his eyes at me. “I don’t believe that.”
“I don’t know why not.” I paste on a smile. “It’s true.”
He doesn’t say anything else, just watches me with wary eyes. “Bad day at work?”
It’s the out I need and I take it, shamelessly. “Something like that, yeah.”
Immediately, his eyes darken with sympathy. “That’s terrible. I was going to take you out to dinner, but why don’t we just get takeout and go back to your place or my hotel? I’ll give you a massage and we can just veg for a while.”
And damn if all that concern doesn’t make me fall for him a little more. He’s an artist, for God’s sake. Shouldn’t he be selfish and temperamental instead of sweet and understanding? I just can’t catch a fucking break.
And while I’m aware of just how absurd I sound, I don’t care. Because right now it feels like the world is falling down around my ears.
“Actually, I was thinking I’d skip out on tonight. Maybe go home and take a bath. I’m not feeling very well.”
It’s the wrong thing to say, because Jaxon goes into mother hen mode right in front of my eyes. “Not feeling well? What’s wrong?” He puts a hand to my forehead. “You don’t feel hot.”
“I know. I just feel...off.” And it’s not even a lie. I’ve never felt more off in my life. “You know what I mean?”
“I do.” He takes my hand, starts tugging me through the gallery toward my office. “Let’s get your stuff and I’ll take you home.”
“Oh, you don’t have to do that—”
“I know, I don’t have to. I want to.” He frowns down at me as he tucks a flyaway piece of hair behind my ear. “Now come on. Get your stuff so I can get you home.”
I do as he says, only taking time to shut down my computer before grabbing my purse and turning out my office lights.
Jaxon is waiting for me at the front of the museum, his rental car parked in the loading zone. After helping me into the car, he buckles me in, and all the care and concern makes me feel like a terrible person.
It’s only a few blocks to my place, but the ride feels like it takes forever, especially with the worried looks Jaxon keeps sending my way. I feel like a total fraud, but there’s nothing I can do to stop the charade now. Nothing I would do to stop it, truth be known. I need some time to myself, need to figure out what the hell I’m going to do with all these feelings I’ve suddenly caught.
Which is why, when we get to my place, I tell Jaxon, “You can just drop me off in front.”
He ignores me, turning down the street that leads to the parking garage entrance. And oh, God. I can’t. I just can’t be around him right now, when my feelings are still so fresh and raw.
I try again. “Seriously, Jaxon, I’m good. I just need to lie down for a while and you don’t need to be here for that. I’ll call you later.”
“I’m not going to stay, but I’ll see you to your apartment, Grace,” he says as he pulls into a parking spot close to the elevator. “That isn’t up for discussion.”
And while I’ve only known Jaxon for a few days, I know enough to know that when his very British accent comes out to play, he isn’t budging. Which is why I give in gracefully. Because the sooner he does his duty, the sooner I’ll be rid of him.
Except that’s not quite how it works out. After seeing me to my apartment, he insists on coming inside. “Go get into your pajamas,” he tells me. “I’ll make you some tea, and then I’ll be on my way.”
And just like that, the dam bursts inside of me. “I don’t need tea, Jaxon. I just need you to go.”
He freezes, halfway to my kitche
n. “Excuse me?”
“Go!” I’m almost shouting. “Just leave.”
His eyes narrow. “You want to tell me what’s going on here. Grace?”
“I already told you I’m not feeling well. I just—”
“No. This isn’t about you being sick. This is about something else entirely.” He stalks toward me and for the first time since I met Jaxon Silva, I feel like prey. “Is this about last night? Did I hurt you?”
It’s such an easy answer that I almost take it. Almost tell him, yes, that he hurt me when he promised not to.
But he looks so concerned right now and he took such good care of me last night, that I can’t do that to him. I can’t hurt him that way. “No,” I finally say. “Last night was great.”
“Then what is it? What’s wrong, luv?” He reaches to smooth my hair back in that way he has, but I can’t take it right now. If he touches me, I’ll break and then this will be so much worse—for both of us.
“Nothing’s wrong, Jaxon. I just figure this thing has run its course and—”
“Run its course?” His voice is low but the words are a slap nonetheless. “What are you talking about?”
“I just mean, you’ll be leaving for France soon—”
“Where the bloody hell did that come from?” He’s so British now, his accent so thick, that the words are almost indistinguishable. “Who says I’m leaving for France?”
“The internet. You’ve got a gallery opening there in a few days.”
“You think I give a shit about a gallery opening right now? I love you, Grace, and I want to be with you. I’d miss a thousand gallery openings to make that happen.”
And oh my God. Oh my god. He says it so easily, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. I love you, Grace. But it’s not natural. It’s not. Men like Jaxon don’t fall in love with women like me. It’s the way of the world.
“You don’t mean that—”
