by RC Boldt
“I think I heard Beck call me.” My sister’s so full of shit, but I can’t manage to tear my eyes off Dax as he straightens but doesn’t move toward the loveseat. He backs away a few steps as Ivy carefully lifts Ella from my chest. “I’ll just be downstairs helping him with… something.” She slips out of the room, leaving us ensconced in near-deafening silence.
His expression contains a hint of torment, and the top few buttons of his shirt are undone. He’s already shucked the sport coat, and his unbuttoned, rolled-up cuffs expose his muscled forearms.
A fierce intensity glows in the depths of his gaze. “I thought you went home with Watson.”
“What? No.” I shake my head vehemently. “I asked him to drop me off here.” I tip my head to the side to peer up at him in question. “Wait. Why did you think I went home with him?”
He scrubs a hand down his face and looks away, appearing almost… embarrassed? “I, uh, went to your place.” Then he adds in a rush, “Just to check on you and make sure you made it home all right.”
A rush of churning emotions barrels through me. Far too many to identify. I slowly rise from the chair. “What was the deal with you and Monica coming there tonight? You had reservations at—”
“Because someone needed to watch over you.”
I jerk back, my lips parting in pure shocked anger. “I most certainly do not need someone to watch over me.” I fist my hands at my sides. “That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.” I grit out the words.
His jaw clenches visibly. “You were on a date with an NFL quarterback.” In a dangerously low voice, he adds, “He doesn’t exactly scream husband material.”
My feet eat up the short distance between us, and I poke his chest with my index finger, punctuating each word with a jab. “Maybe I don’t give a shit about that!” With a disgruntled groan, I drop my hand. “There’s nothing wrong with him wanting to spend time with me.” I take a step back, but an arm quickly snakes around my waist, tugging me flush against his firm body.
His eyes sear into mine, the depths possessing a visceral heat. “You deserve better than someone who only wants a good time.”
“Maybe I’m okay with only a good time.” My voice is muted, and I internally cringe at the vulnerability of it.
Because that’s all anyone could ever want from someone with a past like mine.
“You deserve more than that,” he murmurs quietly. “No man in his right mind could be satisfied with that.” Fierce heat and affection are intermixed in his eyes. “Not with how incredible you are.”
My next question is urged on with an alarming intensity. “What happened with you and Monica?”
His eyes never waver from mine. “We agreed that tonight was nice, but the connection isn’t there.” The right edge of his mouth upticks with the barest hint of amusement. “She asked me if Watson was single.” His expression sobers while he lets his response sink in.
I’m ensnared by the odd mood that’s fallen over us. My gaze flicks back and forth between his eyes and lips. Neither of us moves or speaks; the room is silent except for the white noise of the air-conditioning kicking on. One large hand slides up to cradle my face, the pad of his thumb skimming along my bottom lip as my heart threatens to beat out of my chest. Emotions—uncertainty, nervousness, fear—overwhelm me, and I immediately squeeze my eyes shut.
“Darcy.” His low, gravelly voice is subdued. “Look at me.”
“I can’t,” I whisper.
“Why not?”
“I’m…” I trail off. With vulnerability cloaking me, I’m petrified to meet his eyes.
“Darcy,” he repeats my name on a soft plea. “Please tell me.”
I clamp my lips shut, pressing them thin, attempting to hold the words in. The moment he leans in and rests his forehead on mine—the instant his warm skin touches mine, the truth spills out. “I’m scared.”
“Of what?” His tone holds a hint of tenderness.
I continue to keep my eyes closed, still afraid to look him in the eyes. “Of this. Of ruining a friendship because I…” Unsure if I can find the bravery to voice it, I falter.
“Because you what?” At the gentle prompt, he shifts slightly, his lips grazing along my cheek in the barest caress. “Because you feel this, too?” He backs away a fraction. Traces of uncertainty taint his next words. “Do you ever think about that night?”
My eyes flare open in shock.
He pulls back slightly, his eyes locking with mine. His palm shifts, and he skims the pad of his thumb along my jawline. “Do you?”
My nod is barely perceptible and hesitant. At the sight of my discreet affirmation, his nostrils flare slightly.
“Do you remember how you drenched my pants?” His husky words pluck at my nerve endings, arousing every part of me. The depths of his gaze churns with lust. “You were so damn beautiful when you rode my cock.”
A ragged breath is wrenched from my lips. “I came so hard.” My whispered words hang between us like a secret confession. Neither of us has ever brought up that night; instead, we’ve chosen to pretend it never happened.
But now, the memory of it rushes to the forefront, stubbornly refusing to be denied any longer.
Darcy
Two years ago
Becket & Ivy’s wedding night
We all wave as Becket and Ivy drive away. They’ll soon be at the airport, ready to embark on their honeymoon. They’ve given their blessing to us to continue the party and enjoy the remaining food and drinks.
Of course, no one turned down the invitation. Now, the din of laughter and music, courtesy of Tank, the Jags lineman, flow as freely as the alcohol. Since my duties as maid of honor are finally complete, I decide to snag a bottle of champagne for myself and sneak away. My destination is at the end of the long walkway leading to the private section of the beach.
As soon as I make it up the first three wooden steps, I carefully set the champagne down and remove my heels. Picking up the bottle, I take a long swig. It’s not ladylike, but right now, I don’t care. I simply want to be alone and drop the façade and just be.
“How freaking long is this damn thing?” I grumble while trudging along the walkway. This thing seems like it’s miles upon miles long while I know it’s probably just shy of a hundred yards.
I can tell when I near the end approaching the ocean front simply by the wind that whips around me, sending the fabric of my dress blowing in a flurry of rippling folds. When I descend the three steps to plant my feet on the sandy beach, I wobble ever so slightly. Spotting two chaise loungers side by side, I plod over and settle on one with my bottle.
“Marriage. Happily ever afters. Blah, blah, blah.” Great. Now I’m talking to myself.
I take another long swig of champagne and gaze out at the waves battering the shoreline. Even though I know it’s unsafe to swim alone, it can’t hurt to walk in and get wet up to my knees. I glance down at the amount of fabric that entails my skirt and sigh. That just won’t do…
“Mind if I join you?”
Startled at the male voice, I whip around so fast my equilibrium goes wonky from my alcohol intake, and I nearly lose my balance on the chaise. Damn champagne is dangerous.
A strong hand grips my upper arm, immediately steadying me. “Whoa.”
I finally raise my eyes to discover Dax Kendrick. The top few buttons on his dress shirt hang open, and he’s rolled up his sleeves to his elbows, displaying impressively muscled forearms.
I return my attention to the shoreline with a shrug. “Not great company right now. Just a heads-up.”
The sound of the chaise beside me creaking a little with sudden added weight alerts me to the fact that my less-than-exuberant response hasn’t deterred him.
“You have champagne, so I think that’s a point in your favor.”
My only response is to take another swig from the bottle.
“Feel like sharing?”
I grunt. It’s unladylike, but who cares at this point?
Begrudgingly, I hold out the bottle for him after a beat of hesitation.
“Thanks.”
We sit here for who knows how long, passing the bottle back and forth while we watch the waves crash against the shoreline. The comfortable silence between us makes it startling when he finally speaks.
“You realize we’re the only two who came without dates?”
His words make me bristle, my spine stiffening, and I don’t respond. I detect a faint hint of slurring in his words when he continues.
“I’m the worst friend in the world right now, but I can’t help it. I’ve been keeping myself under wraps for nearly two years, and it’s not easy. But the only alternative is feeling like shit afterward. I know it makes me sound like a damn wuss, but—”
“Wait, what?” I turn my head slowly. It’s more because I don’t want to lose my balance again. “You’re saying you’ve been celibate for two years?”
His entire body stiffens visibly, and I instantly regret my response to his confession. “I’m sorry. You just caught me by surprise because you’re”—I wave a hand, indicating his entire body from head to toe—“you.”
Apparently, copious amounts of champagne rid me of all ability to speak proficiently and with an ounce of finesse.
He huffs out a sound of disbelief, and his mouth flattens into a thin line.
I can’t handle this. Because though he may not be my type—and vice versa—there’s no mistaking the virility that practically oozes from his pores. He’s sexy without trying. Handsome in his own unique way with that nose that’s clearly been broken before yet still complements his face like it’s even better this way. The chiseled jawline with the perfect amount of scruff. His skin a unique mix of bronze and hazelnut so smooth my fingertips itch to caress it.
And his body… It’s hard to not be in awe of it, even with the knowledge that part of his job requires him to maintain his physique. The cuts and curves of his muscular arms alone are awe inspiring.
“I can raise you probably three additional months,” I blurt suddenly.
As soon as the words spill from my lips, I cover my mouth, my eyes growing wide in horror and embarrassment.
His eyes find mine, and I’m surprised by the lack of judgment in his expression. Instead, all I’m faced with is amazement and disbelief.
“No way.”
I shrug and let out a tight laugh. “Building an empire hasn’t left time for much else.” I don’t mention how my skepticism tends to get in the way. I blame it on both my childhood and now my work. Whenever I meet a guy and he shows interest, I continuously wonder if he’s trying to get inside information on one of my high-profile clients.
“But you’re…”
I desperately wait for him to finish. When he doesn’t, I turn to find him studying me intently.
“I miss it.” My admission is quiet and nearly gets lost in the sounds of the bustling wind and battering waves.
I close my eyes and lean my head back against the chaise. “As shallow as it might be, I miss a man’s touch.” I swallow hard. The alcohol’s effect permits me to say things I wouldn’t normally admit aloud. “When he pushes inside me. When he makes me—”
“Come hard.” His husky voice in my ear sends prickles of awareness shimmering through me. Lips brush against the shell when he continues, taking my lead. “I miss sinking inside. Deep.” Shivers wrack my body at the vividly arousing image his words paint in my mind. “I miss the moment I make her come apart.” My shoulder becomes the recipient of his attention now as his mouth skims along my exposed skin.
Wetness pools between my legs. In the recesses of my mind, I know this is wrong. This isn’t smart. We don’t even really know each other.
“Dax.” My breath hitches when he nips lightly at my skin before soothing it with his tongue. “This can’t—”
“I know. It’s not like me to just give in like this. But I think we’re both feeling…”
“Raw.” The word slips out before I realize it. I turn my head slightly and meet his eyes.
His expression softens, and he cups the side of my face with his large palm. The rough pad of his thumb skims along my jaw. “Just a moment. Just tonight.”
I know what he means—what he isn’t putting into words.
Just for tonight. This would be between us, and no one else would know. And I’m good with that. He’s not my type. Lord knows I’m not his.
But right now, we need one another.
His nostrils flare, that golden gaze molten. That lush bottom lip makes me want to take it between my teeth and tug on it.
“Just tonight. Between us only.” I hold his gaze, internally warring with myself. “But no kissing on the lips. No penetration.” Both of those will complicate things further. I—no, neither of us can afford that.
The barest hint of surprise edges into his features before he nods slowly. “No kissing on the lips. No penetration.” He holds my gaze. “And clothes stay on.”
I cock my head to the side quizzically. Clothes stay on? Even my alcohol-addled brain realizes that’s not how this normally works. Nothing that’s any fun, that is.
“And just how do you think that’ll— Ooof!”
Strong arms lift me and plant me on his lap, astride him, and… oh, wow. His slacks don’t do a damn thing to disguise his arousal.
His steely length presses between my thighs where I ache most. When I rock my hips against him, delicious shivers of pleasure travel down the length of my spine. The groan ripped from his throat accompanies the moan escaping my lips. His hands tug at the fabric of my dress, working it up my thighs and bunching it at my waist to remove an additional barrier between us.
I look down and barely bite back a gasp at the sight of my damp panties flush against the dark fabric of his pants. The grip of one hand at my hip tightens, as if silently urging me on, and I rock against the hard ridge of his cloth-covered cock. When he arches into me, my lips part, and I tip my head back, my breathing turning ragged.
His erection is impossibly hard, prodding as I work myself over him. My panties are slick with my own arousal, and when his thick fingers pluck at the side of the fabric bordering my pussy, my breathing stutters, my eyes flaring open in alarm. He tugs at the fabric, pulling it tight against my core.
My already damp panties grow wetter and wetter.
His hard cock juts against me, the rigid length rubbing against my clit, and I arch instinctively.
He lowers the fabric of my dress to bare one breast, eyes locked with mine silently asking for permission. I arch more, brazenly offering myself to him, and his eyes turn molten. My nipple bared, he ducks his head to capture it in the hot confines of his mouth.
I clutch at broad shoulders that feel like they’ve been carved from granite as his tongue toys with the tightened peak, his facial hair abrading my sensitive skin. I rock against him, working myself over his cock, mindless to anything but gaining my release.
“You’re gonna make me come in my pants like a damn teenager.” The muffled words spoken against my breast hold a tinge of amusement yet are mostly threaded with tense arousal.
Instinctively, I increase my movements, riding him and imagining what he’d feel like if he’d strip me of my panties and himself of his slacks. I fist the fabric of his shirt as I give myself over to baser needs and chase the orgasm that’s barely out of reach.
“Dax,” I moan raggedly.
His hand grips my hip tightly. “That’s it.” His words are hoarse, breath hot against my skin as he gently grazes my nipple with his teeth. “Your pussy’s so fucking wet, I can feel it through my pants.” Capturing my nipple between his lips, he sucks hard before laving the hardened tip with his tongue. “Can’t wait for you to soak them through.”
The hand on my hip pulls me down on each of his upward thrusts. The other is on my ass, cupping one bare cheek, fingertips tantalizingly close to grazing where I feel empty. He toys with the lone G-string and sends me closer to the edge. Taunting the part of me
where I’d give anything to have him push his cock deep inside at this moment.
But he doesn’t. He merely continues driving upward, pushing his hard cock against my pussy, the friction feeding my body’s craving. Two more thrusts are all it takes for me to go flying, shamelessly riding him through my release. His aggressive grip on my hip tightens, and his movements turn frenzied before he groans as his own release overtakes him.
31
Darcy
Present
His features tense as though he’s internally warring with himself. “Last time, you didn’t let me kiss you.”
He rakes the pad of his thumb over my bottom lip. Eyes like molten honey lock with mine, and he leans forward a fraction. “I want this mouth, Duchess.” His voice oozes with tangible lust, singeing me with each syllable. “I need to taste it.” A rush of breath escapes his lips as though he’s in agony with wanting.
Golden eyes beg me. He lowers them to track the glide of his thumb across my lower lip, gaze turning hotter with want. “Tell me I can have this.” Those top teeth sink into his bottom lip like he’s physically restraining his need to kiss me. “I fucking need y—”
I seal my mouth to his, stealing his words. His entire body stills, mouth unmoving beneath mine as though in shock. I still, uncertainty edging through the haze of heady lust, and whisper against his lips without opening my eyes. “Dax?”
The thick, muscled arm around me cinches tighter, and a rumbling reverberates from deep within his chest as he groans, “Duchess.”
His other hand rises to tangle in the hair at my nape. He lightly grazes his lips against mine in a featherlight caress. A sound of impatience bubbles up within me, but I fail each time I try to deepen the kiss. He’s insistent on pressing slow, teasing kisses to my lips as though he has all the time in the world. As if I’m not standing here, dying for him to stop being gentle and show me he wants me, aches for me, craves me just as much as I do him.
