Now, there’s nothing left to win. He’s laid all of his cards on the table and I have to decide what to do with them.
“I’m scared now,” he says, quietly. I can almost hear the the quiver in his voice, or maybe that’s wishful thinking. “Terrified, in fact. You could walk out on me. You should walk out on me. And I don’t know if telling you all this is making that more or less likely. But it doesn’t matter, ‘cause now you know.” He strokes my hair, and he swallows hard, his eyes locked with mine. “I’m sorry, Meghan. I know that’s hollow, and it’s cheap, and it’s too little too late. But I’ve never meant anything more in my life.”
I stare at him for a moment.
“Did you say you’d never been in love before?”
That’s the worst possible thing to say, at this moment, but I can’t let it go.
“Yeah,” he says, softly, warily. He doesn’t like that I’m fixated, he wants me to hear what he’s saying. And I do. But there’s one more thing I need to hear.
“Before what?” I whisper.
He gives me a look. “Don’t.”
“I’m not playing games,” I insist, my hand drifting to the side of his face, more or less without my permission. “I heard every word you said, Adrian. But you glossed over the most important part.”
“That doesn’t make it better,” he says, roughly. “If anything, it makes it worse. Don’t let that be the reason why you…”
“It’s not,” I tell him, stroking his cheek, feeling the beginnings of stubble in the smooth areas scratching against my palm. “God damn, you’re almost as stubborn as I am.”
He lets out a little almost-laugh. “Maybe that’s why we get along so well.”
“I like that you challenge me,” I said, softly. “The way you do it is pretty fucked-up, sometimes, but I’m better for it now. Once I got some distance, I could see that.”
He shakes his head, that little worried stitch appearing between his eyebrows. “I messed you up, Meg. You already told me that.”
“I was messed up long before we met.” I half-smile. “You’ve talked to my parents. There’s no hope for me to be normal and well-adjusted. I stuck with you because it was exactly the kind of fucked-up I needed in my life. I have a new boss now, you know. He’s nice. He’s really nice and reasonable and I’m crawling out of my skin in that fucking job. I miss you.”
An eyebrow goes up. “A new boss?” he asks, suspiciously.
I giggle softly. “He’s sixty-five years old, happily married, with three kids.”
“I don’t trust him,” Adrian growls. “He’s got eyeballs, doesn’t he?”
Sighing, I scoot in close again. “Focus. Did you hear me? I said I miss you.”
“I heard you.” He holds onto me tightly, silently, for a moment.
“I don’t want you to be an asshole,” I tell him. “That’s not what I need from you. But I do want you in my life. I want you to push me and challenge me, as long as you let me push back. You need somebody to call you on your shit. I won’t be your conscience, because that’s fucked-up and condescending and I deserve better than that. But I will stand by your side. And when you tell me to, I’ll kneel at your feet. Because I want to. Because I like the way it feels when you look at me that way. Like I’m the only thing in the world that matters.”
I take a deep breath.
“I love you, Adrian. I sincerely hope you won’t hold that against me.”
He chuckles softly, and some deep sense of relief bursts inside my chest.
“You know what this is going to be like, right?” He kisses my forehead. “We’re going to fight all the time. When there’s nothing to fight about, we’re going to fight about how long it’s been since we had a fight.”
“Uh huh.” I snuggle against him. “And then we’ll fuck it out of our systems and start over the next day.”
“Sounds exhausting.”
“I hope you’re up for it.” I grin, lifting my face up to his, and he meets me halfway. Our noses brush against each other.
“The real question is, are you?” He slides his hand down to the small of my back, a gentle possessive touch. “The noises you were making earlier, I thought you were gonna pass out. Or maybe expel a demon. Are you sure you can take that kind of stress every day?”
“You’re so fucking pleased with yourself.” I hook my leg around his hip, feeling him twitch and harden at the silent invitation. “I swear to God, it’s like you never made a girl come before.”
With a sudden burst of movement, he flips me onto my back, and I squeal with surprise and laughter, only to feel my voice break into a moan as he slides into me again, so slow and perfect. Five heartbeats pass before he’s buried deep, and I let out a throaty laugh, my head thrown back into the pillows.
“Promise me you’ll never stop talking to me like that,” he whispers, not moving. Not yet.
“I promise.” I swallow hard, feeling like my heart’s about to escape from my chest. “So long as you never stop doing this.”
“Like I could.” He smiles, starting to move in a slow, deliberate rhythm. My whole body tenses, and I whimper softly, wanting so much more, harder, faster.
“Is this okay, baby?” He looks at me with concern. He thinks I’m still sore. Ha. Well, I am, not that’s not the problem. It’s a sweet ache, and it makes everything even better.
“Yeah,” I whisper. “More.” And that makes him smile.
“I gotta be gentle with you from time to time, sweetheart.” He kisses me swiftly. “Otherwise you won’t appreciate it when I’m rough.”
Curling my fingers around the back of his neck, I pull his face to mine. “Listen to me. This is very important. Okay? I want you to know this.” My breath catches in my throat as my body warms and melts to him. I whisper into his mouth: “You. Are. The. Worst.”
“I am,” he murmurs against my lips. “But at least I love you.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
INBOX
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Face down, ass up.
I’ll be home in an hour.
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Okay, Pitbull.
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
LINK: YouTube - Summer of 69 - Bryan Adams
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
LINK: YouTube - I Would Do Anything for Love (But I Won’t Do That) - Meat Loaf
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
LINK: YouTube - Liar - Mumford and Sons
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
LINK: YouTube - She’s Playing Hard to Get - Hi-Five
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
LINK: YouTube - Give Me Everything - Pitbull (ft. Ne-Yo, Afrojack, Nayer)
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
And we’ve come full circle.
Hurry home, baby. I’m…uh…what’s the wine term for when a vintage is ready to drink?
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Open.
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Seriously? I regret starting this metaphor. That sounds filthy.
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Well, are you?
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Why don’t you get your ass over here and find out?
INBOX - AUTO REFRESHED 1 MINUTE AGO
(LAST MANUAL REFRESH 2 H
OURS AGO)
From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
LINK: YouTube - I Just Had Sex - The Lonely Island (feat. Akon)
CHAPTER TWENTY
ADRIAN
In the end, it’s those dimples that do me in.
Six months, we’ve been dating, and I know that’s not enough time. But after five years of foreplay, I’m chomping at the bit. I have dreams about our wedding. Yes - me. Six foot four, fine Italian suits, vicious in the boardroom, drinks bourbon at lunch and looks like he’s fucked his way through the Agent Provocateur catalog. I now dream in taffeta and fondant flowers.
It’s absolutely disgusting.
Helpful, though, for my new job. I’m not pretending to be a woman anymore, but I find readers like me better this way. I’ve still got an edge, but it’s that soft romantic side that keeps people coming back. I actually write a lot slower now, since I’m not trying to cram it in between “real work.” I’m more thoughtful about it. I’ve confessed to the world that Amanda was inspired by a wonderful woman I know, the love of my life. Every day, there are teasing comments on Facebook asking when I’m going to propose.
Soon, I tell them. Soon.
There are wedding bells for Dirk and Amanda in the very near future. And after that, of course, a baby.
And for me?
God. I don’t know. But I think I caught Meghan cooing over some baby Halloween costumes on Pinterest the other day. She played it off like it wasn’t baby fever, and informed me that baby fever is a sexist and insulting concept anyway, scowled at me, and went back to the board of hot men in suits. I don’t know why she needs to look at hot men in suits on the internet, but then she doesn’t question my browsing habits, thank God. So I let it go.
It doesn’t scare me, though. The baby thing. Not nearly as much as I think it should.
A few weeks after she moved in, Meg was laid off. She never particularly liked the job she took after I fired her, and now she spends most of her time down at the animal shelter she convinced me to save. There’s a rumor going around that the owner will retire soon, and I think we both know where that’s going.
I don’t really mind that she comes home smelling like a kennel, because she’s never looked happier.
Over dinner, I ask her when she can get a few weeks off from her work there. She’s going for another bottle of wine and she stops by my chair, kissing me on the cheek.
“What’s that for?”
She smiles as she jams in the corkscrew. “Thank you for talking about it like it matters.”
“Of course it matters.” I set my fork down. “What, do you expect me to make fun of you for not having a real job? You’re not my employee anymore, you’re my girlfriend. A certain level of common courtesy is required.”
She’s laughing. “Oh yeah, did you learn that from Miss Manners? That’s sweet.”
“You know, when you thank me for acting like a human being, it makes me wonder how low the bar really is.”
“It’s just positive reinforcement, dear.” She offers me some of the wine, but I shake my head.
“So if I get a kiss on the cheek for not making fun of your charity work, what do I get for taking you to Hawaii for our anniversary?” I grab her hand before she has a chance to react, pulling her close enough to surround her waist and pull her into my lap. She was self-conscious the first few times, but now, she settles in like a house cat.
Her eyes light up, but she’s in one of those bratty moods. I can tell already. “And what anniversary would that be?”
“Six months.” I know where this is going, and my palm is already itching to swat her.
Later. Soon.
But it’s so blatantly obvious that she wants it. God damn it, I’m trying to be tender for once.
“You know what the word anniversary means, right?” She rests her forehead against mine, wiggling in my lap. I’ve been thinking about this all day, and I was half-hard as soon as I touched her. Now, there’s nothing half about it. “I’ll give you a hint, it’s the same root as annual. As in, yearly. Not six-months-ly.”
“You know, a good girlfriend would already be on her knees by now.” I pull her in tighter, nibbling on the side of her neck. She shrieks a little, trying to shimmy out of my grasp. She’s got a terribly sensitive spot just under her ear, and I love to take advantage of it.
“Oh, but you like me so much better when I’m bad.” Meg smooths my tie absently, glancing up at me from under her lashes. “Better than a kiss on the cheek, isn’t it?”
My dick twitches in agreement.
I chuckle softly, as her hands roam across my chest and try to work their way under my belt without undoing it. “So that’s what I get, for being a thoughtful, wonderful boyfriend? A spoiled little brat?”
“An excuse to turn me over your knee.” She licks her lips. “You’re welcome.”
“I don’t need an excuse,” I growl. She won’t stop squirming, and I can’t wait any more. “Get on your knees and finish what you started. If I feel you’re properly grateful, I’ll devour you until you scream. If I’m not convinced, you get a spanking and nothing else.”
She pouts. “Can’t I have both?”
I glare at her. “No.”
I’m a terrible liar.
So that’s how I end up on a beach in Hawaii with my once and former secretary, and I do not buy an engagement ring before we leave, because that would be insane.
I think about it, though. I think about it when she thanks me that night I tell her about the trip, so perfectly with her mouth and tongue, and then actually thanks me later, sincerely, with love shining in her eyes. I think about it when she says she’s sorry for being such a brat and strokes my hair and tells me how excited she is, and how wonderful I am.
Then, I have to eat her out until my jaw aches to keep myself from proposing on the spot.
When it comes time to leave, we hold hands in the airport. I’ll say that again: we hold hands. In the airport.
And I’m grinning like an idiot the whole time.
But I’m fine, really, I’m keeping it together, until we get to the beach and she steps out of the coverup and I quickly realize I should have made her model that swimsuit when we were in private. What the hell is wrong with me?
What is wrong with me, in fact, is that I had a feeling we’d never make it to the beach if I did. And I was right.
It’s been a long journey, getting here. Last summer she must have bought ten different suits. From those cutesy swimsuits with the built-in skirt, to a normal one-piece, to a tankini, to one of those vintage high-waisted bikinis that covers almost as much. All beautiful, and all desperately sexy, but this one signifies something else. Something important.
I picked it out for her. I’ve imagined her in it, but never actually seen it, not until now. And aside from mentally reciting the periodic table of the elements to stave off a very inconvenient erection, I’m consumed with the realization that I’m the only person in the world whose opinion really matters to her.
And if that’s not love, what is?
The reality of the situation is this. Some people on the beach are going to be attracted to her. I want to kill every single one of them. Other people, they’re going to look and judge. I want to kill them, too. Slowly.
But she doesn’t care.
The confidence that shines from her is something I have cultivated so carefully over the last six months. I can’t actually take credit for it, because I know what it really means. That she’s chosen to believe me. To value my opinion over the ugly judgment of strangers. That she’s chosen to love me.
Halfway to the water, she turns and looks at me. “Are you coming?”
With the breeze picking up her fiery hair and shifting it across her shoulder, her eyes sparkling, and the deep blue of the skimpy suit setting off her skin, it’s sort of a crime that the only thing I can look at is the little dimples just above her ass.
You know th
e ones I’m talking about. If you’ve ever admired a woman with curves in a bikini, you know exactly the ones I’m talking about.
I go to her and grab her hand, pulling her against me. “This was a mistake,” I mutter into her hair, glaring at everyone in the vague proximity.
She giggles. “It’s too hot out here, anyway. Let’s go back to the hotel.”
This request is accompanied by her fingers dipping just slightly under the waistband of my swimming trunks. Between our bodies, it would be hard for anyone to notice, but I grab her wrist anyway.
“Stop that.”
Meg is still giggling.
“You wanted this to happen, didn’t you?” I ask her, accusingly, though I can hardly hold back my smile.
She bites her lower lip. “I hoped it would,” she confesses. “You’re at your most handsome when you get that look on your face. You know, like you’re trying very hard not to picture your cock sliding into me.”
I growl. My hand is gripping her half-naked ass and I’ve got a feeling someone’s about to tap me on the shoulder and remind me that this is a family beach. “When we get back, I’m going to make you bend over and spread your legs for me,” I murmur in her ear. “You’re not to move until I get tired of looking at you. Then you’ll hold those perfect tits together for me to fuck. I need to see your pretty neck marked with my come.”
His Secretary: Undone and Unveiled (The Complete Series Collection) Page 21
