by Gemma James
10. Love and Logic
Cash
Something dangerous stirs my blood. Rage toward the guy I found kissing Jules. Possessive anger toward her for searing that image into my head. Underneath the anger, my heart is shredding, and I don’t like it.
I’d have to be blind to miss the plea in her eyes. The silent offer of explanation. Despite only meeting her two months ago, I know her. So I know she’s beating herself up right now for what I saw. I know that she’s conflicted, caught between her feelings for me and the asshole who suddenly decided to fight for her.
I enter the lobby of my building, nodding toward security on my way to the private elevator. This is the last fucking place I want to be right now, but I don’t feel like getting a hotel room or crashing on my brother’s couch again, and Jules is obviously…
Busy.
The thought of what they might be doing wrecks me, and I’m tempted to turn around and storm her place. I’d toss that guy out on his ass, except I don’t want to do that to her.
She needs closure. She needs to move on from him before there can be an us.
The elevator doors open, and I drop the flowers and food onto a table and wander further into the darkness. As I stall in front of the wall of windows in the great room, I can’t help but wonder if I’m just a rebound for Jules. The possibility is a jolt to my gut, a slam to the heart. At the center of my being, I don’t believe it’s true. I refuse to believe it’s true.
We connect in a way I’ve never experienced with anyone. That has to count for something.
The penthouse is silent and still, which is weird since it wasn’t much different with Monica here. All the lights are off, and I’m not inclined to turn one on. By way of illumination from the city lights, I take in the disarray of our home.
Even in the darkness, I note the evidence of the authorities. Yellow tape, disrupted furniture, fine powder from dusting for prints.
The bloodstain where Lydia was found.
With a shudder, I move into the kitchen and grab a bottle of whiskey before pouring three generous fingers. This night calls for a drink. Maybe two or three. I toss back the first, pour another, then make my way back into the great room where I sink into a chair to sit and stew and drink alone. I don’t know how long I sit here. Long enough for it to start raining. Long enough for my brother to show up.
Not bothering to be quiet about his arrival, he strides into the place as if he owns it. He’s so much my carbon copy that security probably didn’t even stop him on the way in, and that takes my mind right back to that photo of Monica screwing around in our bed with someone else.
Anyone going over video footage could have mistaken Kaden for me, just like the authorities did.
“I wasn’t sure I’d find you here,” he says, breaking into my dark thoughts.
“Forensics finished up this afternoon. Got the all-clear to come back.”
“Has there been any news yet?”
“Not from the police. The private investigator I hired discovered that Monica paid Hirsch a large sum of money about three months ago.”
“Seriously?”
Several long moments pass as I study my brother, searching for any hint that he’s hiding something. “Did you ever meet Lydia Hirsch?”
He shakes his head. “No, never.” His forehead creases. “Do you think this Hirsch woman threatened Monica in some way?”
“I’m not sure. Whatever she got caught up in, it’s not good.”
“Jesus,” he mutters. “How are you holding up?”
Propping my elbows on my knees, I look up at his towering form in the darkness. “Whiskey happens to be my best friend right now.” I sound pathetic. Probably look more so, but I can’t muster the energy to care. The last forty-eight hours are catching up to me. I take another long sip of the amber-colored alcohol.
“I got a visit from two detectives today.” He settles into the chair next to me, content as I am to have this chat in the dark.
“Are they considering you a suspect?”
“I don’t think so. Surveillance footage proved I never came up here to the penthouse that day.” He glances around the space, taking in the mess. “You should’ve stayed clear of this place until after the cleaners come through.”
“That was the plan. I was supposed to be with Jules tonight.”
“What happened?”
“I found her in a lip-lock with her ex.”
“Shit. Really?”
“Yep. Seems to be a reoccurring theme.” I shoot him an accusing glance.
He chooses not to rise to the bait. “Maybe she’s not ready to move on yet. She shot me down pretty quick.”
The reminder of his date with Jules threatens to boil my blood, and I’m tempted to tell him that she rejected him because he’s not me, but I bite my tongue. Taking cheap shots at my brother isn’t going to fix shit even if it would make me feel better.
“Maybe she just needs some time,” he adds.
I don’t want to give her time. I want to go back to her place now and pin her to the damn wall. I want to bend her over the couch and fuck her hard from behind. I want to withhold her orgasm so long that she’s in tears as she begs to come with every breath.
Yeah, I’m definitely angry, and there’s no denying it, but I can think of no better way to exorcise that anger, to claim what every fiber of my being knows to be true…
Jules Harley is mine.
My cell vibrates from inside my pocket, and my heart jumps with a shot of adrenaline.
It could be news about Monica.
More than likely, it’s Jules.
Both options split me down the middle. Kaden remains quiet, a curious glint in his eyes as I reach for my phone. Two deep breaths later and a swipe of my thumb, and I have my answer.
Jules: Please come back so we can talk.
Relief crashes over me. If she’s asking me to come back, then that means she’s alone. My thumbs hover over the screen, and I’m so close to replying, but I can’t find the right words. Every time I close my eyes I see her in his arms. And then I see her in mine.
I wish like hell I could rewind time, go back to Saturday morning before we fell into bed together. I’d do so much differently, starting with opening my eyes to Monica’s complete downward spiral.
A knife slices through the pieces of my heart. I’d change so much…yet I wouldn’t change a thing.
Another text comes through, and I startle, coming back to the here and now.
Jules: You left before I could explain.
“Is that Jules?”
I nod at my brother.
He makes a point to look at the time on his cell. “I should get to the club. Go talk to her. Air that shit out,” he says, rising. “At least give her a chance to explain.”
Jesus. I let out a breath, and some of the tension in my body dissipates. I’m not sure there’s anything to explain. No matter how I look at our relationship, I can’t find solid ground. We gave in when we should have stayed strong.
We fell in love knowing we’d face a bumpy road full of baggage, so how can I blame her for seeking closure—or whatever it is she’s looking for—with her ex when I’m still wearing a fucking wedding ring?
When my wife is still missing, not to mention possibly responsible for murder?
I can’t.
Not logically.
But that’s the screwed up thing about love—it defies logic. Love turns logic on its pathetic head.
Fuck logic. I want her with every breath inside my lungs, with every drop of blood in my veins. Nothing will quench this soul-burning thirst until I have her underneath me, hot and naked and begging for more.
11. Nirvana
Cash
She doesn’t know I’m coming. Instead of replying to her texts, I headed out the door, driven by urgency and possibly a little lunacy. Because I’m done waiting. We danced around each other for two months before giving in, and ever since then it seems like the world is conspiring to keep us
apart.
My wife.
Her ex.
Too much baggage.
Reaching her door, I announce my presence with three loud raps of my fist. My heartbeat does an erratic, thunderous, dangerous dance in my chest as the soft pad of her footsteps narrow the distance between us.
I can already taste her, feel her, smell her. Hear her throaty cries when she comes. God, she’s in trouble. Heaven and Earth can’t stop me.
She swings the door open, and our eyes meet. She sucks in a breath.
I do too, but it does nothing to calm this disastrous storm inside me. It’s not the product of anger, though that emotion is wreaking havoc somewhere in the trenches of my gut. No, this is the consequence of agony, the result of Fate’s merciless fuck you.
This is the by-product of not only catching her in another man’s arms, but reliving the burned image every time I close my eyes.
This is possessive jealousy on steroids.
“I only need to know one thing. Do you want me?”
Narrowing her warm sable eyes, she pulls her bottom lip between her teeth, and fuck, if I make her ache for nothing else, that come-hither nibble is reason enough.
“Answer me, Jules.” The fierce timbre of my voice widens her eyes.
“What kind of question is that? Of course I want you.”
I push my way into her apartment, backing her up step-by-step, and take her chin in my hand as her front door slams shut behind us.
“I won’t share you.”
“I won’t share you either,” she counters.
“Understood.” Catching a whiff of her vanilla scent, I lower my gaze to her pajama-clad body. “Take off your clothes.”
Her breathing quickens, and the alluring swell of her tits draws my focus. She brings her hands to the buttons of her top, hypnotizing me as she works them free. But I feel the weight of her stare and all but fall into her eyes.
Time seems to stop as she studies me. “You’re angry with me,” she says, a ring of truth in her statement.
“Yes.”
“Nothing happened.”
“You kissed him. That’s something.”
“He caught me by surprise. It didn’t—”
“Finish taking off your top,” I interrupt, voice thick as I gesture toward her cotton PJs.
She shrugs out of her night shirt, and then she’s standing in front of me naked from the waist up. Hell, there’s something so fucking sexy about her vulnerability, and I respond to it in a very visceral way by shoving her to her knees.
“I want your mouth.”
Her mouth on my cock.
Not on his lips.
She works the button of my pants free, pulls down the zipper, and takes my cock in her hand. I’ve never been so ready to come down a woman’s throat, so achy and hard as her fingers curl around me. I grab her by the back of her head and fist her thick locks so she can’t back away.
“I need you so damn much, Jules. This might be quick, but it won’t be gentle.”
“It’s ok—”
I silence her acceptance with my cock, groaning as those tempting lips close around the tip. Even though I’m controlling the movement of her mouth—the depth of my thrusts, the speed—she’s literally got me by the balls. Her fingernails are a light scrape against my sack with each slide of her mouth, from head to base.
“You’re so goddamn sexy.”
She welcomes my thrusts with fervor, even the ones that hit the back of her throat, but I can’t help but wonder if she’s sucking me out of my mind due to guilt. Did she feel something when she kissed him? Is she thinking about him right now, wishing he were here instead of me?
“Open your eyes,” I command, not liking how she’s shutting me out.
Her gaze collides with mine, and God there’s that decadent stare again, like smooth chocolate inviting me in, tempting me to drown in sin.
“You’re wrecking me right now.”
She moans around my cock, and I’m pretty damn sure she’s enjoying the task, but I still can’t get the idea out of my head that she’s got him on her mind.
“I want to murder him.”
She tries edging back, but I won’t let her. For a few seconds we both pant—her through her nose, and me through the space between my lips because I can already taste her on my tongue.
The spice of her desperation.
The sweetness of her apology.
The satisfying flavor of her choice.
“Choose me, Jules. I know my life is one big fuck-up, but I need you more than he does. I want you more than he ever will.”
Because there’s no way I’d let her run halfway across the country without me right on her heels.
Her eyes glisten as if finding a hidden meaning in my words. She digs her fingers into my ass, pulling me closer as her long lashes flutter against fair cheeks. Taking in a sharp breath through her nose, she works me deep enough to gag.
Hell, she’s working me toward complete and utter destruction.
My knees shake under the strength of her skill, and my mind finds nirvana, a blessed void where only the suction of her mouth exists. I want it to last forever. Every noisy slurp, every whirl of her tongue.
“Jules,” I groan, about to come harder than I’ve ever come in my fucking life.
She gags again, and I release all that I am into her beautiful, busy mouth. Her throat works overtime to swallow my load, and afterward, I reach for my tie because I’m just getting warmed up.
12. Soon
Jules
I’m in a daze, slow to realize that he’s removing his tie with purpose as a commanding edge drives his movements.
“Put your hands behind your back.”
“What?” I blink rapidly.
Instead of responding to my stupefied tone, he grips me by the arms. Before I know it, I’m on my feet, and he’s got me turned around, hands at the small of my back as he winds his tie around my wrists. After he finishes binding my hands, he whirls me once more and pushes me against the wall.
I gasp as he drops to his knees. A shiver follows the wake of his warm fingers, tingling along my skin as he slides my sleep shorts down my legs. I step out of the last of my clothing.
Cash wedges a hand between my thighs. “Spread your legs.”
I obey, and he grips me by the thighs, thumbs achingly close to my pussy as he spreads me open to his gaze. He’s got me right where he wants me.
Unable to touch him.
Unable to fight him even if I wanted to.
“You’ve got a gorgeous pussy. I could eat you out all day.” He tilts forward and darts his tongue over my clit, falling into a rhythm that’s tortuous and slow and hot. I’m shaking inside the firm grip of his hands, trapped by his deft tongue and the weakness in my knees.
“Oh God. Don’t stop.”
This is a bit surreal. Even after all the time we spent in bed together, I’m still having a hard time wrapping my head around the fact that my boss is on his knees eating me out in the living room of my apartment.
He moans, sending a vibrating buzz against my sensitive flesh as he reaches up and pinches my nipples. It’s not long before I’m close, straddling the edge so precariously that I can’t suck a full breath into my lungs. Our gazes crash together. He holds me hostage with his sexy-as-sin bedroom eyes as he circles my clit with his tongue. It’s the most erotic sight I’ve ever seen, watching him pleasure me with his mouth.
But it’s not enough. It’s just enough to frustrate me, and I think he knows it.
“Please,” I whisper, thrusting my pelvis against his lips.
“How badly do you want to come?”
I let out a frustrated whimper, because every time I’m about to tip over the edge, he changes the method to his madness. The pressure building inside me is too much, flaring between my legs with tingling heat, and I squirm.
“Please,” I beg again, hungering for his mouth.
“Is this what you want?” He lets go of my nipple and slid
es two fingers inside me, and I pant, hips straining.
“I need more. Please.”
Instead of kissing me where I’m desperate for him, those lips curve into a triumphant smile as he fucks me with his fingers. He drags another moan from my throat.
“Cash, I’m begging.”
“Good. That’s exactly what I want.”
“Please.”
He strokes me with a feathering touch that drives me insane in the best way, and I start to climb again, trembling under his touch.
“Don’t stop.”
Pushing to his feet, he grips me by the throat, and his hand is a firm caress that’s just strong enough to get his point across—that I’m trapped by his will and nothing more. “Don’t come.”
“Are you punishing me?”
“Punish is a strong word, Jules.”
“What do you call it then?”
“A reminder that I’m the only man you should be kissing.”
“It was a mistake. It didn’t mean anything.”
“What I saw meant something.”
I swallow under his grip, lightheaded, breathless, and too hot. Everything from the waist down is on fire and begging for release. “Please. I’m so close. Don’t torture me.”
“A little delayed gratification never hurt anyone.”
“Why are you doing this to me?”
He frames my face between his hands. “Because I can.” Then his mouth is on mine, tongue pushing between my lips, and the way he moans in the back of his throat shoots a tingle through my system. His kiss is harsh and demanding and hungry.
“Let me touch you,” I beg once we come up for air.
Holding me at the nape, he reaches for my bound hands and expertly works at the knots. Breath a heated blast against my skin, he stokes the inferno in my veins by dropping kisses down the slope of my shoulder.
“Cash,” I whisper with a shudder as he frees me from the binds. I plunge my fingers into his hair. “Please.”
“Say it again,” he whispers against my ear.
“Please.”
“No, say my name.”
“Cash.”
