by R. J. Lewis
“How high are you?” I demand, body tightening now.
His tongue licks a path down my neck. “Does it matter?”
I’m wet and wanting.
“Yes,” I utter weakly. “It does. It really does.”
“You came here for this, did you not?”
I shake my head. “No, no.”
He pulls back, his face almost grazing along mine.
“Well, you came up here for a reason,” he says next, his breaths hitting my mouth.
My eyes crack open. I feel like I’m under a spell as I force out, “Like I said, I came to see if you were okay—”
“What does it matter?” he cuts in, a flash of emotion flooding him as his gaze locks on my mouth. “Hundreds of people roam my home every week, and you want to know something? Not a single person has given a fuck to ask how I truly am.”
Is that why he throws these parties? Because he’s waiting for someone to reach out?
I look back at him. “I give a fuck.”
“Do you?”
“Yes.”
His shuts his eyes, kissing along my face—wet kisses born to destroy my willpower. I resist groaning as his hand runs further up my inner thigh. His fingers graze the edge of my underwear. He runs a featherlight touch across my core, and my eyes roll to the back of my head. Sparks fly up my body—
“Aidan,” I groan out. “Stop.”
Because while he is under a drug—I’m guessing Molly from past experience—I am not.
“Why?” he wonders. “Aren’t you curious? I am. I think you’d feel fucking glorious around my cock.”
It occurs to me he hasn’t actually said my name. I could be any woman that has come through that door.
I look at him closely, feeling the warmth dissipate. “Do you even know who I am?”
He sucks at the spot under my ear, repeating, “Does it matter?”
His mouth then brushes against mine, but his words have rattled me. I turn my face away and his mouth connects with my cheek instead. His body stills as his breaths come out harshly.
“It does,” I respond evenly, chest moving rapidly. “It does matter.”
There’s a moment of stillness, of quiet.
Slowly, he lets go of my leg. His body is still connected to every inch of mine and peeling away takes considerable effort. I can tell he’s not happy when he finally steps back. I drop my leg down as he turns away and strides to his bed. He rips his shirt off and throws it on the ground, followed by his pants. His actions are brisk but loose, like he doesn’t have full control of himself.
“Hate this,” he whispers to himself. “Fucking hate this.”
He runs a hand down his face, rubbing at his eyes before he smacks the side of his head, shocking me. He then paces the room, in just his briefs, with his eyes closed. I study him as he falls apart, looking more confused with his surroundings. When he begins to pace toward the door, I step forward.
“Don’t!” I demand. “Don’t go out there.”
He spins around to look at me. “I can’t be here. My skin is crawling. I can’t—”
“You need to stay right here.”
He shakes his head, adamant, suddenly appearing troubled. “I don’t want to be alone. I can’t…I can’t be alone like this…”
I take a few steps toward him, gently saying, “I won’t leave you. You won’t be alone. I promise.”
Aidan won’t look at me now but there’s a tortured look to him. His eyes are drawn to a spot on the ground, but his chest is still moving rapidly. I inch closer to him, raising my hands. I feel like I’m cornering a dangerous animal—like any second now he’ll escape me and dart the other way.
I gently wrap my hand around his arm, tensing because I’m not sure how he’ll react by my touch. He eyes my hand, and he says nothing.
“Lay down,” I whisper, drawing him to the bed now. “Lay down, Mr West.”
To my surprise, he follows. He sits down on the edge of the bed, his eyes heavy, but his body…he’s in full control of his body as he grips my arm in return and pulls me down to him. I fall into his lap just as he nuzzles his face between my neck and shoulder, pressing his lips along my skin. I can feel how hard he is through his briefs, and I nearly lose all sense of self as his other hand settles between my legs, rubbing at my core.
I jolt, shaking my head. “Jesus…”
“Shh,” he murmurs, stroking me.
It takes considerable effort not to spread them wide for him, not to grind against his touch. Pleasure shoots through me, and I have to clamp my thighs shut around his hand to stop him. Unfortunately, I simply trap his hand in place and his movements grow hungrier, drawing harder circles into my tender flesh. I buckle in his arms, letting out a soft moan.
“Mr West…” I am panting, fucking panting. “Lay back.” I twist around in his hold and push against his chest. He lays back immediately, but he brings me down over him. His hands now grab at my legs as he settles my body down over him so that my pussy is flush with his hard cock. He groans deeply when it slides down the length of him.
Good God.
This is…
This is not what I intended to happen.
His mouth is back on me, sucking feverishly at my neck and then my mouth. This time, my mouth falls open in defeat as he ravages it, kissing me thoroughly. And yes, I kiss him back. I can’t help myself, I can’t stop for a moment. His taste is intoxicating, even drunk, even on a high—
“This is not you…” I breathe into his mouth. “Mr West…this is not you…”
He is so fucking lost, I doubt he can hear me.
I pull away, and this time he allows me to. His hands roam my entire body as I sit up, my core sitting on his cock. His eyes are barely open, but his hands are at my hips, urging me to move forward a few inches, and then back a few inches.
I tremble as pulses of pleasure course through me. It’s too much—it’s too fucking much. I slide off him completely and rest my side against his body, shaking everywhere. I bury my head into the mattress, wanting to cry from the needy feelings that are erupting out of me. He turns to his side, facing me, and runs his hand up my leg.
“It’s alright, Ivy,” he murmurs.
I stiffen, looking at him. “You know who I am.”
“I could pick out my hopeless assistant from a crowd with my eyes shut.”
“How?”
He runs his nose along my shoulder. “You have a scent—a delicious fucking scent, Miss Montcalm. You are irresistible. Did you know that? You are so painfully seductive. I can’t think straight around you and your smart mouth…”
I swallow, saying nothing as he continues to run his fingers up my leg. When it reaches my ass, he swallows one cheek whole with the large palm of his hand, making me gasp. I watch him as he shuts his eyes now, content to keep his hand there and do nothing else.
“I hate this,” he whispers then, frowning. “I hate this feeling…”
I think he means the drug.
“It’s not feeling good?” I wonder.
“That’s the problem,” he says, his words sounding a little slurred now.
“You don’t want to feel good?”
He barely shakes his head. “I want to feel nothing…”
I study him in the dark. The melancholy on his face makes my chest ache. I run my fingers along the curves of his cheek. He inhales sharply at the touch, eyes still closed.
“Yeah,” he mutters. “Like that…”
I think he means for me to keep touching him gently.
I do.
I brush my fingers along his face and then through his hair. He groans at the sensation, brushing his forehead against mine. He tries to kiss me again, and I lightly let him brush his lips against mine before pulling away to look at him.
He falls quiet after a few moments, his body relaxing completely as I continue to massage his scalp.
“I don’t think you’ll remember this come morning, will you?” I wonder then.
H
e doesn’t answer, but he lets out another soft groan at the soft touches I give him. My heart rises to my throat as I battle the emotions surfacing. He quiets down and his breaths even out, and it’s then I feel the giant lump in my heart.
“I miss you,” I whisper, tears welling in my eyes. “Did you know that, Mr West? I miss you more than life.”
He continues to lay there in silence, slowly drifting to sleep.
I lay with him for who knows how long, even bringing up the sheet to cover us. I let his arm stretch out to hold me. I feel his breaths against my neck as he buries his face there, cradling me to him like a lifeline.
“Ivy…” he whispers, but when I turn to him, he’s fast asleep, dreaming. “Ivy…”
My body trembles with emotion.
Is it wrong I pretend that everything is as it should be? That I never left him to go to Ana’s? That I’m in bed with him and this is our house and he’s all mine and I’m all his? That he holds me because he remembers me—loves me?
I don’t leave his side for hours, and when I finally do, it feels like I’m abandoning him.
Twelve
Ivy
Tomorrow happens, and I was right. He doesn’t remember last night. How could he? He smelled of alcohol, had been fed a drug and wasn’t behaving like his normal self.
While I’m groggy and tired from staying up so late next to him, he looks fresh and flat. Let me emphasize that is what he looks like.
To put it more bluntly, Aidan is an abomination today. His mood is sour, and his words are clipped. I can’t keep up with his demands and wind up fucking up left and right.
“Are numbers beyond your comprehension, Miss Montcalm?” he snaps. “Should we go back to basics? I can order in some colorful blocks and we can use a round table to count them together—”
“You’re going at a fast pace,” I cut in, head pounding. “You weren’t so quick yesterday.”
“Did I ask for excuses?”
“No—”
“Then let me be clear: if you can’t keep up to these very basic calculations, you’re absolutely useless to me. Do you understand?”
I blink back angry tears, feeling my face flush because he is giving me the most condescending look. I don’t know what the fuck crawled up his asshole today. I don’t know if he’s being a jerk on purpose to drive me out of here, and if so, he’s got another thing coming. I’m used to this sort of workplace abuse, just not from the man I love, but still, I’ll hack it, whatever.
“We are clear,” I say, giving him a sharp look.
Even his face is angry.
He flexes his jaw, turning his attention back to the paper. “Good,” he tells me coolly. “I’m glad we’re clear, Miss Montcalm, and that I don’t have to repeat myself forty more times for your unchallenged mind to grasp basic arithmetic.”
Holy shit. Who took a dump in his mouth today?
My glare deepens and, to my surprise, he suddenly looks at me, catching it. I swear, his eyes come alive at the look.
“Have I ruffled your feathers, Miss Montcalm?” he asks then, that cruel smirk forming.
“No,” I retort. Not going to let him know he’s winding me up, hell no, but I’m not going to let him walk all over me again. “I’m used to you being an asshole at this point.”
“My, you’ve got a sharp tongue with me this morning.”
“I’ve hardly said anything to warrant you belittling my work—”
“I criticize poor performance—”
“I’m doing my best!”
“If this is your best, perhaps you should have found employment elsewhere, Miss Montcalm. Something simpler.”
My finger twitches to flip him off. I’m so frustrated with him, I can hear myself growling—growling! What is happening to me? How have I allowed this man to get under my skin in a way that makes me want to bolt in rage? He hears it, too, this unladylike growl that is clawing up my throat, and his lips curve up. “Goodness, Miss Montcalm, you’re in a fiery mood today.”
“Can’t you see why?” I retort.
“I’m wondering if it’s to do with your late nights.”
I just stare at him, eyes narrowing, wondering if he’s referring to last night. “No late nights, Mr West.”
He looks down at his folder. “Are you sure? Because I happened to see you roaming the grounds last night at very questionable hours.”
What the hell is this guy talking about?
“I wasn’t—” I begin to say, and then I pause, thinking of last night. “I checked out the river. Is that not permitted, Mr West?”
“The grounds are open to you.”
“I’d assume they would be given the number of strangers flocking to your estate.”
Now his eyes dart to mine. “Do you have a problem with my company?”
“No, but I do wonder where you are among your fascinating company.”
“I am usually heavily preoccupied,” he says then with a cold smile, his insinuation loud and clear. “Just like you were.”
I look at him, my body growing cold as I wonder what or whom he is usually preoccupied with. If he doesn’t remember what he did to me last night, what of the other nights?
As he spews out more numbers and I struggle to catch up, his words bounce around my mind.
Just like you were.
Did he see me with his brother? Well, he must have because, aside from him and his touchy-feely hands, that was the only person I had been around last night. I peek at Aidan, catching the anger, the way his jaw keeps clenching. It only makes sense that he’s so pissed if he didn’t like I was hanging around Alex.
I don’t get the opportunity to bring it back up. That, and I simply do not have the courage to. The atmosphere is unbearable under his dark cloud, and he won’t break free of it.
I want to scream at him, shake him, slap him across the face and tell him to be nice to me.
Fuck’s sake, be nice to me.
I’m the woman you love.
Remember me.
He continues to bark at me, and I continue to seethe back in response, not letting up once. I refuse to sit there and take his malice. It goes against my nature. By lunch time, the air is fused with bitterness.
I get up, itching to get away. It’ll be the first time I’ve actually left the office during a lunch break, and I can sense he isn’t happy about that.
“Where are you going?” he demands.
“It’s lunch,” I retort.
“I am aware of the time.”
I give him a sour smile. “Well done.”
“Where are you going?” he repeats, watching as I make to move around the desk, and I must bypass him in the process. He immediately grabs my wrist, stopping me. “You’re angry at me.”
I scowl at him. “No shit, Mr West.”
He studies my expression, his tone a fraction softer. “Don’t flee.”
I give him an exasperated look. “Can’t you see why I would want to?”
He nods once, solemnly. “Perhaps I’ve been a little hard on you. I apologize, Miss Montcalm. I’m not used being around such helplessness”—he pauses as my glare deepens—“I will be more mindful of my tone. Just…stay.”
“Why?”
“Because…” he pauses, jaw tensing. “Because I don’t want you to go.”
I watch him for a few moments—my heart is in my throat—and sit back down. His chest sinks in slowly, like he held it in that entire time.
“It’s apparent you didn’t work for me,” he says thoughtfully, more to himself.
“What?” I question, confused.
He eyes me. “I’m trying to figure out who you were before I lost my mind.”
My mouth parts, and I…I say nothing, but my gaze is filled with surprise.
The smile he gives me next doesn’t meet his eyes. “Like I said before, I’m no fool, Miss Montcalm.”
My pulse quickens as he continues to study me. I’m no fool. He remembers saying that to me the night he kissed me in
my suite. Oh, God, and here I thought he was too drunk.
Does that mean he recalls last night…?
But no, he couldn’t have, because he makes no mention of it. He’s totally oblivious of his behavior, and I feel like it would be irresponsible not to let him know.
“You know,” I say slowly, “you had an issue with what I was up to last night, Mr West, and yet…I was with you.”
His movements slow. He doesn’t look at me as his brows come together. “Explain.”
“Nina drugged you.”
His lips pinch together as realization dawns. “You were in my room then.”
“I went to check on you—”
The look he gives me next knocks me speechless. His eyes run over my face, settling on my mouth. “I thought that was a dream.”
“No.”
He appears…mortified. “I touched you.”
“Yes.”
He blinks hard. “Shit.”
“Anyway, I don’t think you cared very much that it was me in the room with you—”
“I think I would have cared very much about that, Miss Montcalm. I am not very trusting when I’m…like that.” Now his gaze deepens on mine. “See, I know you. Why else would I be so brazen?”
I look away, shaking my head in response. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Don’t,” he replies, curtly. “Don’t deny it. Don’t say anything at all, actually. Respect me enough not to argue an obvious truth.”
“Truth?” I repeat stiffly, daring a look at him.
He nods once. “We know each other, somehow. I think…you’re supposed to be part of my support network, sent by Steven because…we knew each other. In what regard, I’ve yet to figure out, but…it wasn’t alongside me in this manner, which explains your inexperience.”
I swallow the lump in my throat. I really should have bolted from the room, anything to avoid this confrontation. I don’t think he’s seeking an admission, because he’s not prying, but he’s probed enough to look satisfied by the reaction I give—even though I try my hardest to look unaffected.
It’s not working.
“I’m sorry for last night,” he finally says uncomfortably. “I haven’t been that way in a very long time…” He clears his throat. “I apologize.”
