Private Disclosures

by Raleigh Davis

I don’t want to stop him. I don’t want it with an intensity that makes my muscles quake.

  His fingers brush the waistband of my yoga pants as he gathers the first bit of my shirt hem. Then he takes another inch in his fist and he touches my bare skin.

  A shudder runs through me, sweetly painful. Dev presses his palm against my stomach, steadying me. His hand is rock solid, his touch warm, electric.

  I’ve literally dreamed about this moment. Hot, fevered dreams that I wake up from in a sweat.

  This is a thousand times better than those dreams. Because he’s real and he’s touching my bare skin and the alarm isn’t about to go off—I am.

  He takes another inch of my shirt in his hand, lifts it until it’s just under my rib cage. It’s less than I’d show in a bikini, but his gaze makes me feel as if I’m entirely naked. So heated, so reverent, as if he’s uncovering treasures. And it’s only my stomach.

  “Oh.” He reaches out with his free hand and traces the line of one of my tattoos peeking out from under my shirt. “Can I see this?”

  If tonight goes like we’re planning, he’ll see all my tattoos. But his asking to see this particular one—possibly the most innocent one I have in the most innocent place on me—does something strange to my heart. The same strange thing it often does with him.

  “Yes.” My voice is soft, thick with desire. I’m throbbing with achiness, and he’s barely done anything.

  He inhales with appreciative anticipation, tracing the lines that he can see. His every stroke is light, but they echo through me like an earthquake. When he finally pulls my shirt over my head and off, my thighs are shaking.

  Once I’m shirtless, he sets a hand on either side of my ribs, framing me before him. He gives a low sigh of appreciation. “Wow.”

  The tattoo on my stomach is a tropical garden, lush and colorful, with birds of paradise bursting out of leaves of the deepest green. It’s actually part of a larger piece that continues to my chest, but my bra cuts that off. The lines of the garden fade at the edges, the colors growing fainter and fainter until it’s only black and white, so that the images seem to be rising out of a dark, bleak outline. Or dissolving back into it.

  Dev strokes the leaves, the birds, the flowers, taking it all in with his hands. His fingers are long, strong, and his touch isn’t light. He wants to know my skin.

  I glance down, see his erection straining against his fly. My hand burns to stroke him, but I hold back. He said tonight was only about me and my pleasure, and I want to honor his request, the same as he’s honored mine.

  “You need to be on the bed for the rest of this.” He gathers me up with muscular grace, my bare torso and shoulders tingling at the touch of him against me.

  “I like that idea.” I pull his head down to mine and kiss him. Light at first, one kiss, then another, lips to lips. It’s like being tickled with a feather, quick but potent.

  He lets me take the lead on the kissing, and I can feel his smile on my mouth, the pull of his lips, the slight tension there. He likes this.

  So do I, but I want more. So I press my tongue to his lips, tasting him and asking for deeper. Oh, and he gives it to me. By the time we reach the bed, we’re both panting, our mouths locked together. I’ve got a hard grip on his hair, and I’m so wet and hot I can feel it through my yoga pants.

  With deliberate care, he lays me on the bed, his arms like steel, although he swallows hard once he’s done.

  “So beautiful,” he whispers. He can’t seem to stop touching my tattoos. “I never could have imagined this, not anything like this.”

  I stretch like a cat, beguiled by the notion that I’m beyond what even his brain could produce. He’s got a very big brain, but I’ve managed to blow it.

  He dips his head, and I brace myself for a kiss on my belly. Except not well enough, because I squeak when he licks me. Hot and soft and wet, a long, loving taste of my skin.

  “Okay?” he asks without looking up. The amusement in his tone is a dark sparkle.

  “Fine.” I’m breathless, still squeaky, but I don’t care. I want that tongue everywhere on me.

  He obliges, tracing my tattoo with his mouth as thoroughly as he did with his hands. It raises me to a frantic fever pitch until I want to tear off the rest of my clothes, bare all of myself to him.

  “Easy, easy,” he murmurs between kisses. “We have time. So much time.”

  It doesn’t feel that way. My body is running toward something big, something I’ve been chasing forever, and if I don’t hurry, it will disappear. And no, it’s not an orgasm. It’s more than that.

  “Please.” I’m asking him to take me to that place or at least get the rest of my clothes off. My pussy needs attention, especially from his tongue. Now.

  He helps me to sit up, then works off my sports bra. Somehow he manages to make even that a tease.

  When he sees my chest, he gasps. Which is exactly the reaction I was hoping for.

  Out of the jungle on my torso, a phoenix is bursting free, fiery heart inked right over mine, its wings of flame curled over my breasts. I got it after Kaleb’s baby was born, made the appointment the day my mom sent me the birth announcement.

  The baby was adorable, Kaleb and Harper looking so proud, so happy. So joyous. And I felt so angry, so abandoned, and also awful that I felt that way about a baby. Some dark part of me wanted that to be my baby even though I knew by then I never would have been happy with Kaleb.

  I needed to mark myself but in a beautiful way. One that would remind me each and every time I saw it that I could move beyond pain to become something better.

  Dev lifts his hand, his expression stunned. He wants to touch, but he’s also hesitant. So I take his wrist, set his hand right on the heart of the phoenix. Beneath, my heart beats, hard and fast.

  We breathe together as he holds me like that, his hand between my breasts. Anticipation builds in me until I’m trembling.

  And then his fingers curl. A slight flex, a start, and his hands begin to move. He finds the lines of flame in the wings, the lines of me beneath, the curve of my breast, the jut of a nipple. His touch goes from learning to teasing, and I’m panting, jerking, almost out of my mind again.

  “I can’t even tell you how you look, how you feel,” he says, voice rough with intent. “I don’t know the words—they don’t exist.”

  It’s the same for the sensation building in me. It’s past my words, almost past my mind. And he hasn’t even touched me in the place I need him the most.

  “I don’t need words,” I manage to say.

  He smiles knowingly. And then he’s reaching for the waistband of my pants.

  I nearly sob with relief as I help him take them off, along with my panties. Being elegant or sexy or taking my time doesn’t appeal at all—being completely bare to him does.

  He arranges my legs so that I’m open, exposed, and the look on his face would kill any hesitation I have stone dead. He’s… he’s looking at me like I’m a wonder again. Although I suppose he’s never really stopped.

  “I love this.” He traces the quote running around my leg. “What’s it from?”

  “Anaïs Nin.” I gasp when he skims my curls. “She wrote some very dirty, very poetic stories.”

  “Mmm.” He brushes my curls again, smiles when I gasp once more. Torments me in the sweetest way. “It’s perfect. Every inch of you is a masterpiece.”

  Lord, he’s getting me worked up with all this perfection and masterpiece talk. I’ve made my body into a canvas, and having him appreciate it so deeply is almost as lust inducing as his hands on me.

  He lowers his mouth to my pussy and shows me real lust then. He licks and kisses and makes deep noises of satisfaction like he’s feeding a desperate hunger in himself.

  I’m so close to the edge it doesn’t take much of his talented mouth—or those noises—to have me at the peak of my climax. It’s so close—building, building, building, until I think I can’t take another moment or I’ll shatter. And then it
keeps going.

  “Dev.” I’m begging him to help, to give me what he promised.

  With two thick fingers, he slips inside me, stroking my core, his mouth licking and sucking. And then I’m caught by it, my entire body clenching in the most exquisite way, unraveling into wave after wave of pleasure.

  He gentles his touch, stays with me as I come back down. I’m limp, wrung out, covered with a fine sheen of sweat. I can’t remember the last time an orgasm went through me like that. Probably never.

  Gathering me close, he tucks us both beneath the covers. He’s still wearing his clothes, which makes me frown.

  “You should change,” I mumble. I can feel his erection pressing into my hip, thick and hard, but I don’t reach for it. He wanted to give me this, entirely free and clear of his own pleasure. And I’ll let him. This time.

  I don’t think too hard on what that means for us, that there will be a next time. Something to wrestle with tomorrow.

  “I will. In a second.”

  He doesn’t suggest I take a shower, call for a car, go home. He’s invited me inside and he’s not kicking me out.

  So I decide to stay.

  Chapter 16

  I want to touch Anjelica again. I’m desperate to touch her again.

  But I don’t. She’s sleeping, and while she agreed last night to let me touch her—God, did she agree, full throatedly—we haven’t discussed anything in the cold light of day.

  I almost don’t want her to wake up, because then she’ll leave. But I can’t lock her up or ask her to do anything she doesn’t completely want to. I don’t want her to stay out of pity.

  Watching her like this is even skirting a line. I can’t help it though—she’s so beautiful and she’s in my bed. I’d dare anyone to look away from a dream come true.

  Eventually though I get up and order in some breakfast. I know her favorite is lox and a bagel, heavy on the capers, hold the onions, which I call in to a café around the corner. I order some coffee too, the kind we get at Bastard Capital, which is also her favorite. I know because she’s the one who orders it for us. I think we wouldn’t even notice if she gave us instant coffee crystals, but she always goes above and beyond.

  When I come back, she’s still sleeping. So I duck into the bathroom, shower, shave, and dress for the day. The entire time, I’m very aware of her on the other side of the door, so aware my half erection never subsides. Today is going to be a long day if this keeps up. I used to be better at managing my reaction to her, but the floodgates are open now.

  She’s awake when I come out, sitting up with the sheet tucked around her even though she put on one of my T-shirts last night. Her expression is shy and creased with sleep. Her amazing hair is the most glorious tangle—she’d probably scream if she could see it, but I’m loving it. It makes me think of spending all day in bed with her.

  “Sleep okay?” I’m not quite sure how this morning should go or how she wants it to go, but that seems safe.

  She nods. “Did you? I kind of took over your bed.”

  “There’s plenty of space.” I run a hand through my wet hair. “I ordered breakfast. Your favorite.”

  Anjelica smiles as she ducks her head. “Thanks. I’ll be down in a minute.”

  So that’s how she wants the morning to go—no more intimacy, at least not the physical kind. But we can smile and speak without awkwardness.

  I’m happy with that.

  I leave her to get ready. The breakfast arrives, and I set it out on the dishes I hardly ever use. I debate putting it in the dining room, but I decide on the kitchen in the end. Anjelica seemed to like this room last night.

  When she comes down, I’ve already got my laptop open, working through my messages on Slack.

  “Morning,” she says briskly. Her hair is wet, hanging in loose curls around her face, and she’s wearing her clothes from yesterday. “Why are you frowning?”

  “I should have washed your clothes. Or ordered new ones.” Stupid of me not to think of it, but the morning-after logistics haven’t been something I’ve dealt with in a while. A long time actually. Years, in fact.

  She rolls her eyes affectionately. “Do you know how to wash clothes?”

  My breath hitches. “I’ve been washing my own clothes since I was nine,” I say softly.

  Her face falls. “Right. I should have remembered.”

  “No,” I say, “you shouldn’t have. I should have told you.”

  She reaches for my hand. “You just did.”

  Her smile makes me want to slay dragons, move mountains, bring back whatever treasure she asks for. I wish I could think of more of my secrets to give her, just to keep seeing that smile. But I think she has them all.

  When she pulls back her hand, I let myself feel the loss. Just this once.

  “You really did get my favorite,” she says as she takes in her breakfast. “And there’re no onions.” She takes a sip of coffee. “Mmm, that’s good.”

  I salute her with my own cup. “It’s nothing.”

  “I’m going to disagree.” She piles her bagel high with lox and tomatoes and capers. “What’s on the agenda today? An office break-in?”

  “Yes, but we don’t have to break in. Minerva told me how to get in to Fuchs’s office. Unless there’s a hidden part she can’t access, we should be good.”

  “There’s definitely a hidden part we can’t access,” she says. “Remember who we’re talking about. So how do we get into that?”

  The most obvious answer is Finn, but he’s not too happy with me at the moment. He’s never before said no when I’ve asked him for help, but that streak might be broken if I ask him now.

  “Minerva might be able to crack any locks.”

  Anjelica gives me a look because she knows Finn is the logical choice too. And she’s disappointed I didn’t suggest it. “Let’s see what we find. Maybe he’s made it easy for us.”

  She starts to laugh at her own joke, and I have to join in. Because of course it won’t be easy and because her laugh is infectious. There’s nothing snarky or mean about her laugh—she loves life and people, and it shows.

  We finish our breakfast in an easy quiet. I’ve got a million things to deal with at work and so does she—she’s scrolling through her phone, typing out replies with her thumbs. She’s incredibly quick with that tiny phone keyboard.

  “How’s your company looking?” I ask. “The one you were talking about at the partners’ meeting?”

  Her eyes light up. “Oh, I hope really well. I just love the founder so much. Her vision for the app is so…” She sighs. “She believes in it so hard. I want to make it happen for her. We’ve got a meeting this morning actually.”

  I hold back the words of caution I want to give her. Anjelica already knows that she should maintain some distance, to not love the founders you invest in. You need a clear head at all times and to know when to pull the plug. If you love something, you’re not going to be able to make the tough choices.

  It’s the founder’s dream, not Anjelica’s. She doesn’t have to take on that burden.

  But I’d only be repeating things Anjelica’s aware of. Still, her excitement makes me uneasy. I don’t want her to be hurt if this company goes under. Or if the next one does, or the one after that. The failure rate in the tech world is much, much higher than the success rate, even for Bastard Capital.

  “I hope it goes well” is all I say. “Do you want to go to Corvus in the afternoon then?”

  She taps at her phone screen. “I can have Georgia reschedule my afternoon, yeah. And jeez, look at the time. I—” She catches my eye, takes a deep breath.

  She’s preparing her farewell. I can see it, the uncertainty in her expression. She’s not sure how to do this. I’m not sure myself.

  “I’ll call up the car,” I say, saving her from trying to find the right words. “And…”

  Now I’m lost. Thank you would be all wrong, and while I really, really hope we do this again, I’m not going to pressu
re her. And I already know I’ll see her soon.

  She bites her lip, hesitating, then leans over and kisses me. It’s not exactly chaste—she puts too much tongue in it for that, thank God—but it’s not leading anywhere. It’s a kiss for a kiss’s sake, the mood of the morning perfectly caught in it.

  When she pulls back, I find something to say. “I’ll miss you.”

  She touches my jaw. “But I’ll see you soon.”

  And those are the right words. We found them.

  I walk her down to the waiting car, help her inside. I watch it until it disappears, then wait a moment more. We definitely crossed some kind of bridge last night, but I’m not certain where exactly we’ve arrived. And I don’t have the time to sit around and ponder it.

  When I get back to my apartment, I open my laptop. And stare at it.

  I know what I need to do. Anjelica does too. So why aren’t I doing it?

  Being at odds with my partners wasn’t supposed to upset me. I said it didn’t, and I wasn’t lying. Before, I would have called up Finn even if he was angry at me. Because I wouldn’t care, or at least I’d tell myself I don’t.

  But I do. I don’t want to call him, to face the awkwardness between us. The thought is making me feel… bad. Anjelica wants me to feel bad so that I’ll fix it, but I don’t like this. This is what I’ve tried to avoid.

  Clenching my jaw, I grab my phone. He’s probably asleep and won’t even answer.

  Only he does. On the second ring.

  “What?” That’s how he answers, and it bristles.

  Fuck, I’ve got to say something, and nothing’s coming to mind. All I want to do is tell him I need help, but I sense that would be wrong.

  Correction, I know it’s wrong. I need to break the ice between us, even just a crack.

  “I’m surprised you’re awake.” There, that’s a decent start.

  “Gonna just leave a voice mail?” Finn says dryly. “You know I don’t listen to those.” There’s a rasping sound, like he’s rubbing his beard. “Doc got up early to go for a run.”

  So he woke up too, and he’s waiting for her to get back. Probably fighting the impulse to go after her and make sure she’s okay. Doc can more than take care of herself, but Finn likes taking care of her too.