Butterfly in Frost

by Sylvia Day

  He shoves his jeans and briefs down his long powerful legs, kicking them aside. My gaze drops between his thighs, a soft whimper escaping me. He is so hard and ready, his penis curving up from the wide root to the broad head that reaches for his navel. A slick bead of precum runs down the side of the thick shaft, following the line of a thick, prominent vein.

  Yanking open the bedside drawer, Garrett grabs a condom and rolls it on. There is a determined slant to his jaw, his gaze feverish. He’s holding on by a thread and about to let go.

  Oversensitized and overwhelmed, I roll onto my stomach and crawl toward the other side of the bed, my tumbled hair drifting all around me. I feel the mattress dip under his weight; then his hand wraps around my ankle, staying me. I tense, afraid I won’t survive his unleashed lust. Then my head bows, my entire body softening in supplication. That simple touch, the small connection between my skin and his palm, is enough to soothe me.

  My elbows bend, lowering my chest and shoulders to the comforter, my ass lifted. Garrett’s hand slides up my thigh to my hip; the other steadies me by the waist.

  “You okay?” he asks, with that jazz-bar voice that is a seduction in and of itself.

  I nod, my eyes closing. I widen the spread of my knees.

  His lips press against my lower back; then his hands grip the front of my thighs above the knees and gently pull my legs flat on the bed. He stretches out alongside me, one heavy arm across my back, one leg over both of mine. His hot, damp cheek is against my shoulder. His cock prods my hip, eager and insistent.

  He hugs me like that for long moments, his chest heaving, his body trembling.

  Confused, I query, “Garrett?”

  “There’s no obligation, Teagan,” he says hoarsely. “I can wait.”

  “What?” I wiggle away enough to turn my head toward him. We lie face-to-face. The gold is gone from his eyes. “I’m ready. I just needed a minute.”

  His gaze is desolate in its lack of light. “I can’t risk fucking this up. As much as I want you, it’s not worth losing you.”

  I touch his face, running my fingertips over his brow. “Garrett. I want you. I do. It was just a lot, you know. You’re a lot. I had to calm down a little.”

  When he doesn’t move or speak, I twist to lie on my side. His leg slides away to free me of its weight, but I follow, hooking my knee over his waist and tugging, pulling our hips closer.

  He eyes me warily, his big body straining with the need to rut. Every ridge and valley of his torso glistens with sweat. His penis stands proudly, defiantly erect between us.

  I want it. I want him.

  “You told me once I could have it,” I remind him, “if you could watch me take it.”

  He doesn’t move, aside from the heavy lift and fall of his chest. Then the tense muscles of his torso ease visibly, and the bleakness in his eyes softens into something tender and hopeful.

  Garrett reaches between my spread legs, his fingers sliding gently through my slick cleft.

  A shiver racks my body. “I’m too sensitive,” I whisper.

  “Just need to know you’re ready.”

  “I’ve never been this ready.”

  He manages a strained smile, his hand retreating to rest on my hip. The smile disappears the second I take him in my hand, stroking from base to tip with the circle of my fingers.

  A low moan rumbles from his chest. “Teagan,” he gasps. “I can’t . . .”

  I slide closer, stretching my arm pinned between us up and over my head to pillow my cheek. He does the same, his fingers linking with mine. With my other hand, I pull the rigid length of his penis away from his abdomen, positioning him to fill me. Despite his warning, I stroke the flared crest of his cock through my cleft, my eyes half-closed with drugging pleasure.

  Garrett’s head falls back, his jaw clenched. His muscular legs quiver. His grip on my hand is painful, but I don’t complain.

  I notch the broad tip of him into the opening he ravished with his tongue and push my hips forward. The feel of the wide head pushing through my tender, swollen tissues spreads heat through my veins. I rock my hips, working that big shaft deeper. Intoxicated by the feel of him, by his utter stillness as I use his body, I run my hand over his chest, finding and teasing the flat disks of his nipples. My hips swirl, my body moving in a sinuous dance, my sex gliding onto and off his stiff cock, taking more with every push of my hips.

  The sharp sound of rending fabric startles me. Garrett’s other hand is behind him, gripping the comforter. Sweat slides down his torso, pools in his navel. I can hear his teeth grind as my sex ripples around him. I am impossibly turned on by the way he watches me and the ferocity of his gaze, which promises equal retribution for the sensual torture I’m inflicting now. He’s literally ripping things apart with his need to take over, but he holds out, waiting for me.

  Biting my lower lip, I return his stare. I want to tell him so many things. I want to share how I feel, how grateful I am that he showed up on my doorstep. But now is not the time, and my throat is too tight to speak.

  So I nod.

  With a growl, Garrett slings his arm around my back and twists, taking me under him in one effortless movement. He plants the hand gripping mine into the bed, the other cupping my buttock to angle me the way he wants. His knees dig in. He pulls free in a fluid withdrawal and thrusts hard, tunneling in to the root. I cry out, my back arching.

  Head bowed, he pants, his hips grinding mindlessly, screwing his cock deep. “Sorry.”

  I clasp his hips with my thighs. “Stop being sorry and fuck me.”

  His gaze meets mine, the gold bursting through the green. He retreats, then slides deep, gentler this time, more precise. My sex tightens in delight, delicate nerves stroked to pleasure. His body heats instantly, his flesh blazing against mine. The scent of his skin intensifies, awakening something primal and possessive inside me.

  Watching me, Garrett moves, swiveling his hips as he plunges inside. I’m compelled to writhe by the way he stretches me, the powerfully sensual feeling of fullness. Sweat drips from him to my chest.

  “You feel so good.” His voice is leaden with pleasure. “You’re squeezing me so tight.”

  I lick dry lips. “Faster. Harder.”

  “I want it to last.” He pulls back, thrusts. Withdraws, plunges deep. The rhythmic pumping, unhurried and adept, stokes a fire in my blood.

  Tightening my legs around his hips, I spur him on, lifting into his leisurely drives. The tension builds, rippling through my sex, milking his shaft. He curses, his pace quickening.

  My neck arches. I’m no longer capable of rational thought, my entire being centered on the wet, hot slide of his cock between my thighs. “You’re so deep . . . Garrett. So hard and thick . . . Make me come.”

  He breaks then, his hands curving under my shoulder blades to hold me as he starts fucking in smooth, powerful drives. I’m coming before I can take a deep breath, the building pressure in my core releasing in a rush. Groaning, Garrett powers through the rippling waves of my orgasm, his body shaking as the climax takes him.

  My nails dig into his waist; harsh cries rip from my dry throat. Hips churning, he pulls me tighter into him, careful to support his weight on his forearms. I hold him, my lips moving across his cheek.

  I taste the salt of his sweat. Then his cheek presses against mine, and I realize it’s tears.

  12

  “We’re so classy,” I tease Garrett as we both sit naked with our legs crossed on the blue velvet sofa, wrapped in throw blankets and eating a hastily compiled charcuterie board with our bare hands.

  “I’m fucking starving,” he mumbles around a bite of cheese, finishing it fast. He’s looking too handsome for words, his short hair an adorable mess. He reaches for a slice of prosciutto, and the throw slips off his broad shoulders to pool in his lap. His bare torso is a work of art.

  Behind him, the sky is a rainbow of pinks and oranges, the sun still making its leisurely dip toward the horizon. I want to tak
e a picture of him like this. I want to preserve this moment forever.

  “We can order something for delivery,” I suggest.

  He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, straightening. “Do you want something else? I can cook.”

  “Nope, I’m good.”

  “I can make some spaghetti Bolognese. Or ramen—the real deal, not the packaged shit. I can whip up breakfast, too. Eggs, bacon, pancakes.”

  I smile. “This right here is fine with me. Really.”

  He studies me. “You sure?”

  “I picked out all this stuff, didn’t I?” I gesture at the board, then roll up a slice of mortadella with pistachio nuts and nibble on it. “I only suggested takeout because I’m worried it’s not enough food for you.”

  I know that maintaining that ripped body of his requires plenty of fuel.

  He grins at me. “You fuss over me, Doc. I like it. I like it a lot.”

  I snag a piece of spicy soppressata and sandwich it between a folded slice of provolone. “Where’s your camera?”

  “In my office. Why?”

  The mention of his office, which brings to mind the photos inside it, stiffens my spine. I shake my head. “Never mind.”

  “Why’d you ask?”

  “I just wanted to take a picture of you right now, the way you are. A good one, not one on my phone.”

  Because this moment we are sharing is a step away from reality, a magical time when we see only the best in each other and avoid acknowledging anything negative. I want to capture a small piece of this honeymoon period while I can. Because the bad times will come, and, as much as I hope for the best, I expect the worst.

  Garrett shoots me a measured look from beneath those ridiculously thick lashes. “Want me to get it?”

  I shake my head and stretch my legs out to stand. “No, stay just like that. If you get up, you’ll blow the shot.”

  His gaze lifts to follow me as I rise. “You going to get it?”

  I look toward the hallway, thinking, pulling the throw tighter around me. So much has changed over the course of the day. I’ve changed. We have changed. But some things are very much the same.

  “It’s a problematic shot anyway,” he murmurs, chewing on a bite of salami. “The light is behind me.”

  I understand he’s giving me an out. But a man who makes his living through photographs will own a camera that can make any shot work, even without ideal lighting. I look at him. “Do you want me to get it?”

  Licking his fingers, Garrett studies me. “I want you to spend the night. I don’t have anything more ambitious on the agenda.”

  Absorbing that, I nod. “Okay.”

  I pad in bare feet over to the console by the front door and collect my phone. Returning to the couch, I open my camera app, swipe over to the low-light setting, and snap the picture.

  “Well?” he queries, popping an olive in his mouth.

  I turn the screen to face him, smiling.

  He raises his brows. “Not bad.”

  “Not as great as the flesh-and-blood version, but it’ll have to do.”

  Leaning forward, he offers me his mouth. “The flesh-and-blood version’s right here, babe,” he murmurs into the kiss. “And not going anywhere.”

  It feels naughty putting on the same clothes I wore the day before when I get out of the shower. I look in the mirror as I twist my damp hair up into a knot. My lips are plump and red, my eyes rimmed with shadows. There’s a dull ache of exhaustion throughout my body and other aches of a more intimate nature. It’s barely nine in the morning, and I’m already contemplating a nap. Garrett, however, is ready to work.

  “Here you go,” he says, filling the doorway to the bathroom and holding out a mug of steaming coffee. He’s dressed in worn jeans with random paint splatters. The best descriptor for him right now is scruffy, which is a sensational look on him, of course.

  “Thank you.” I know from the sight and smell of the coffee that it’s been prepared just the way I like it. Taking a sip, I give a little moan of delight.

  Garrett stares at me. “You can’t make that noise around me.”

  My mouth curves. “Why not?”

  “You know why not. My dick’s now hard enough to drive nails.”

  I look for proof. “That’s impressive.”

  “I’m glad you think so.” He leans his shoulder into the doorjamb. “You’re coming right back?”

  “Oh, I don’t know about that.” I take another sip. “I figured I’d let you get to work, and I’ll go walk the dogs with Roxy. Maybe take a nap. Maybe get some work done myself.”

  “I’ll take a nap with you.”

  I arch a brow. “I think we’ve already established that you and I together in the same bed doesn’t equal sleep.”

  “Just letting off some steam.” He gives me a slow smile. “I can behave.”

  Garrett’s extremely healthy sex drive has been on my mind all morning. How long has he gone without? Or maybe he hasn’t. Maybe I’m the latest in a long string. I tell myself I have no right to care either way or to read anything into it.

  “What’s wrong?” he asks, straightening.

  Damn if the man isn’t too perceptive. An inevitable side effect of how intensely he pays attention to me. I’m still trying to adjust to that. I am used to being an afterthought.

  I manage a smile. “Nothing.”

  “That means something.”

  “Not always. Sometimes nothing is nothing.” I change the subject. “Would you like to go out to dinner tonight?”

  “I’ll go anywhere with you.”

  His eagerness to please makes me uneasy. He can’t set aside his own wants and needs to accommodate what he thinks I want. That strategy isn’t sustainable for the long haul.

  “If you get busy or inspired or . . . whatever—just let me know,” I tell him, aware that after the way I responded when he missed dinner at Roxy and Mike’s, he’s going to be hesitant about canceling anything. “I promise I won’t be upset if you just let me know it’s not a good time to break away.”

  He steps closer, taking up all the space in the bathroom. “I’m always inspired by you. You’re my muse.”

  My heart gives a little flip, but I try to play it off. “And here I thought you were just using me for sex, but even your ulterior motives have motives.”

  “If I’ve got a need, Teagan—you fill it.” He wraps his arms around my waist. “And I’m determined to make that work both ways. I’m going to become necessary to you; that’s my plan.”

  I set my mug on the vanity and search his face. When his fingertips run over my cheeks, I close my eyes.

  “Have I told you how much I love your freckles?” he asks. “I’m glad you don’t cover them up.”

  “There are too many to even try.”

  Garrett kisses the tip of my nose, then reaches down to cup my rear. “I love your ass, too.”

  My gaze narrows. “Asians aren’t known for their curves, and I’m no exception.”

  “You’re half-Asian and all perfect, including this.” He gives my buttocks a squeeze.

  “You’re just buttering me up so you can get to work,” I say dryly.

  “Not true, although I do have something new in mind I want to get started.” His eyes light up thinking about it.

  “Well then, don’t let me hold you back.”

  “To the contrary.” Garrett’s smile is a thing of beauty. “You set me free.”

  Garrett walks me back to my house, despite my protests.

  “If you decide to snooze,” he says, following me inside, “I want to know about it.”

  “I’ll consider it.”

  “Teagan.” He says my name with a teasing note of warning. “If you end up sitting around, come back over.”

  “Go away now, Frost.” I toss my keys on the end table. “You have things to do.”

  “Sure.” He grins. “You’re one of them.”

  “You’re ridiculous.”

  “That’s the
way you like me.” He catches me up and kisses my neck.

  I place my palms on his bare chest. “Let’s just plan on dinner, okay? Seven o’clock? We can head down to Salty’s at six, and you can have a drink or two at the bar before we eat.”

  His playfulness turns into contemplation. “What happens when you drink?”

  “I cry. A lot.”

  “Is that a bad thing?”

  Inhaling deeply, I open up a little. “Life, for me, is like trying to breathe underwater most days. Adding tears makes it feel like I’m drowning.”

  “Ah, babe.” Garrett presses a kiss to my forehead. “I won’t let you drown. I promise.”

  My hands curl into fists against his skin. He doesn’t understand that when you crack something open and everything spills out, you’ve got nothing left but a shell.

  I kiss his chest, then slide my arms around him, giving him a quick hug. “You go get to work.”

  He frowns. “I always hate leaving you. It never feels right.”

  “Hey.” I smile. “I’m not going anywhere, either.”

  “I’m holding you to that.”

  He lets me go and reaches for the doorknob behind him. Pulling the door open, Garrett reveals Roxy standing there, with her finger on the doorbell.

  “Good morning, Roxanne,” he greets her.

  She stares for a moment, which I certainly can’t fault her for. He is shirtless, after all.

  Her hand lowers back to her side. “Garrett, good morning. How are you?”

  The moment she asks the question, she winces.

  He steps back to let her in, then switches places with her to move outside. “You showed up just in time. I do the gentlemanly thing and walk a girl home and end up getting groped, kissed—”

  “Garrett!” I protest, trying not to laugh.

  “I’d tell you all about how I suffer as the object of her lurid sexual fantasies,” he goes on, backing away. “But I’d be lying, ’cause I like it.”

  “Shut up!” I take a step to go after him.

  He winks at Roxy, then meets my gaze. “Don’t miss me too much, Doc.”

  Garrett heads back to his place as I join a laughing Roxy at the door.