by Kate Stewart
Then he teased me mercilessly until I begged him to take me. And when he did, all playing ceased, our eyes locked, and he tore through me equally as starved. He kissed me with so much fervor, that I forgot myself, forgot that we were wrong.
In those minutes of his tender and apologetic lovemaking, as he hovered above me gripping the top of my mattress and thrusting into me like it was his birthright, I just knew, no other man in my life would ever know me so intimately, or could ever reach inside me the way Tobias has.
When we’re together, he makes it easy to forget the dangerous game we’re playing. To forget that we’ve been stealing selfish moments for the last three weeks. Three weeks that we’ve spent playing house in Roman’s mansion.
Being with him this way feels nothing like punishment. It’s been just the opposite, unparalleled bliss. I haven’t regretted a minute. Foolishly I’d tucked my heart away for safekeeping only to turn around and gamble the whole of it on a man I still can’t fully bring myself to trust, despite all his confessions. My heart is weary, and I will not fault it for being cautious.
But it’s not as if I have a choice. With Tobias, it was never a decision. He’s obliterated all my barriers save one, and in giving in, I’ve been thrust into a living dream.
My sensibilities have been warring lately as I toy with the idea of trying to trust him, because my heart can’t stop the free fall it started since the night he confessed the one thing he wanted is me, is us, and more selfish moments. And like him, I’m choosing daily to play ignorant to what that means.
We’re ignoring the cracks in the ground of our foundation, tap dancing over them while consistently giving in to the pull and getting lost in the other. We’re kinetic when we’re together, magnets drawn continuously to the other.
Since we’ve given in, I’ve memorized him. The faint mole on his cheek, the weight of him when he’s on top of me, the depth of his kiss, the curl of his tongue, his salty sense of humor, his quirks, his fetishes. He’s become an expert at gauging me, just as capable of goading me, of finding my buttons. He sees our similarities, because he studied his opponent, considered me an obstacle before setting himself free to indulge. And that’s the hardest part to get past. Because if some part of him still considers me business…
Yet, that’s damn near impossible to believe at this point. Inside Tobias, I’ve discovered the heart of a romantic. More than once, he’s surprised me with gestures fit for a queen. He’s spent endless hours while I work my shifts preparing multiple course French feasts and pairing them with wines before and after we dine to share in our place, another of our daily rituals. Days ago, we got caught in a storm in the clearing and made love through it.
He’d fed me his dizzying kisses as we lay in the grass drinking from each other’s skin. After, we stayed up until dawn, playing chess as he spoke to me about his favorite frequents in France. Sharing just enough to keep me intrigued but not enough to uncover the secrets he guards.
And therein lies the real problem.
He’s all but mastered my anatomy both inside and out. He quenches my desires while fueling my insides. But his greed doesn’t seem to be for my benefit alone. It’s as though he’s living out some of his thousand dreams with me.
It’s the idea that eventually we’re going to have to stop playing ignorant to what’s happening between us that keeps me on edge. I don’t want to find out once again that I’m the fool.
Aside from that. I’m leaving. Soon. I’m heading back to Atlanta in mere weeks.
I’d almost broached the subject last night after we shared another pricy bottle of Louis Latour. And as I lay in the grass cradled in his arms, I could feel the tension in him, the hesitation.
“Are we ever going to talk about this, Tobias?”
He turned me to face him, and I could see the revelation he was holding, but instead, he kissed me, stoking our fire higher to blind us both from the flaming truth.
Instead of protesting, of demanding a real conversation, I released my relieved breath onto his tongue and kissed him back.
And it’s here we remain selfish, untrusting, greedy.
What could possibly become of us?
But I gladly pay the price for every minute spent with him, because the alternative, our inevitable end is too crippling, too painful to acknowledge.
“I’m cooking,” he smarts, ripping me from my wayward thoughts, “so it’s the chef’s choice.”
“Well, I want cinnamon.” I search the spice rack and grab a bottle, breaking the seal.
“No cinnamon.”
“You’re so damn bossy.”
“Chalk it up to a side effect of my line of work,” he snarks, expertly whisking the batter into submission as I taunt him with the bottle.
“How about three shakes?”
He stills his movements and looks over to me, and I swear I see a bit of heat spread over his face. “Three swishes of the tumbler before you take a drink. Three taps of your toothbrush against the sink. Three flips of the bathroom light. Three flicks of your pinky before you move a chess piece. Three pumps of body wash. Happy three seems to be your number, Mr. Touch of Just Right OCD.”
I flip the top to the cinnamon as he sets my profile ablaze with his glare. I flick my eyes to his, a knowing smile on my lips. “You tried, Mr. King. You really did. You masked it as well as you could, but I didn’t miss it. And honestly, I find it endearing you have these tics.”
He raises a thick brow. His ink-black hair still drenched from our shower. And there’s very little more alluring than a soaking wet Tobias. I’d proven as much a few seconds after we stepped out of the shower.
Before I remembered my dream.
The raw stab the image produces has me wincing as I move toward him, shaking the bottle in taunt.
“Don’t you dare,” he threatens, slowly backing up.
“But I love cinnamon,” I push out my lower lip.
“That’s your problem.”
He cradles the bowl protectively away from me, still whisking as I prowl toward him.
“Don’t test me, woman.”
“Fine, I won’t put it in the food.”
“Glad you’re seeing things my way.” He watches me as I shake three dashes of the spice into my palm before I lift it, and blow. Tobias wheezes as a cloud of cinnamon covers the side of his face, momentarily blinding him. Cursing, eyes flaming with the promise of retribution, he slams the bowl down and lunges for me just as I leap out of reach. Giving chase, I barely manage to get through the back door and yelp when his fingertips brush my hip just as I clear it.
“You better fucking run,” he roars behind me as I sprint past the pool and dare to glance back. He’s hot on my heels, eyes dancing as he gives chase. I’m barely able to make it through the garden when he manages to hook me around the waist on the lawn.
I yelp his name when he twirls me around like a ragdoll, my feet dangling in the air before he lowers me to the grass and begins rooting into my neck as I choke on spicy fumes.
“Damnit man, you reek.”
“J’adore la cannelle,” I love cinnamon, he retorts snidely shaking the residual water in his hair across my neck and chest before coating me with the powder, creating a paste across my flesh as I frantically try to push him away. It’s when he pulls back that he robs my breath, his eyes bright, his smile so blinding, I shudder beneath him. It’s when my smile dims with the image that’s been screwing with me all morning that he draws his brows.
“What is wrong with you today?” He scrutinizes me beneath him, his eyes probing. “Are you still mad at me? I told you it couldn’t be helped.”
“No.”
“What is it then? You’ve been giving me hell all morning.”
I gaze up at him for a few seconds before I dart my eyes away. “I might have had a dream.”
“This is about a dream,” he says in the same breath.
“I told you,” I sigh, pushing at his chest to no avail. “I’ve explained this. They
’re real for me.”
“But they aren’t real, Cecelia. And you can’t hold a dream against me.”
“Says you, and it felt real.” I can hear the ache in my own voice. “You locked me out of my own bedroom.”
“You had a dream that I locked you out of your bedroom, and you’re mad at me?”
“Yep.”
He narrows his eyes. “There’s more.”
“Nope, that’s the gist of it.”
“You’re lying.”
“I’m not.”
He reaches between us, gripping my thigh and squeezes.
“S-s-stop. I c-can’t breathe inhaling all of this cinnamon. Get off me. I’m hungry.”
His fingers begin traveling to the hem of my sleep shorts before inching toward the promised land. “I can do this all day,” he assures, unflinching when I pinch his skin. “Tell me, what was I doing in this dream?”
“Non.” No.
“Non?” He leans in, darting his tongue along my bottom lip just as his finger faintly brushes over my clit. I moan, and he captures it, kissing me breathless as he sinks more of his weight onto me, pinning me to the grass.
“Damnit, man, you’re suffocating me.”
“Tell me, and I’ll set you free.”
“No.”
He resumes his touch, suckling my chest and teasing me without reservation.
“You’re a cruel and evil man,” I rasp out, digging my fingers into his scalp.
“Word of the day, soumission.” He muses as my hips buck due to his touch.
“Submission? Dream on, pal.”
“Have you forgotten already? One finger.” He licks a trail from my neck to my ear. “And I’m pretty sure that was a tear I licked off your temple.”
“You’re never going to let me forget that, are you?” He licks his finger in threat.
“Tobias,” I mewl, hearing the husk in my voice. “It was just a dream.”
“Ah, but I’ve been paying for it. At least enlighten me on what I’m guilty of in your land of make-believe.”
“You were mean to me.”
He pins my wrists and leans in as I struggle. “Mean to you?” He rolls his eyes. “That you can handle.”
“Breakfast,” I remind him.
“It can wait,” he retorts.
“You were starving.”
“It can wait.”
“Tobias, damnit, let me up.”
“You’re your own worst enemy right now.”
“Debatable,” I say, lifting to bite his chin, and he dodges me easily. “This is bullshit. You outweigh me by nearly a hundred pounds. I’m utterly helpless.”
“Guess you better find some leverage. Or you can just tell me what I was doing.”
Briefly, I entertain headbutting him and get a smug grin.
“It will hurt you more than it will me.”
“Get out of my head.”
“Gladly, it seems to be a scary place today. But only after you give me what I want.”
“Fine.” I close my eyes. “There may have been lingerie models behind you when you slammed the door in my face.”
Heat creeps up my neck and I peek up at him with one eye open. He stares down at me a second before bursting into laughter.
I push at his chest. “It’s not funny.”
He dips his head and nuzzles me. “Oh, mon bébé, are we jealous? No wonder you rode me this morning like you were trying to tame a horse. Going for the gold, huh?”
“It’s not funny,” I shove at his chest, my heart lurching as I again picture him eyeing me with a slew of half-naked women behind him before he shut me out. Gazing up at him, I feel the stretch of my own reluctant smile as he glitters down on me with affection. It’s this look, the look on his face now that keeps me breathless, a relapsed and happy addict.
“Maybe I’ll get used to cinnamon, for you,” he sips a little of the spiced water on my neck with eager lips before making me painfully aware of the difference between the first time he kissed me and now. Everything has changed.
Everything.
He works his sinful mouth, sliding his flavored tongue against my own, and he kisses me and kisses me while the sun warms our skin. “You think adding cinnamon to breakfast will make up for the horrible things you’ve done?”
He shrugs, “You mean the fiction you’ve made up?”
I shake my head and dodge his next kiss as he chuckles. “I would not do that to you, mon trésor.”
My treasure.
The man just called me his treasure. If it was a slip, he’s not regretting it, nor is he taking it back. In fact, he’s staring right at me without an ounce of second thought. It shouldn’t surprise me, not after the recent events of the weeks we’ve spent together. But every day he sheds more light on parts unknown, and every day I find myself more surprised in the best way.
Words evade me as we stare at the other unspeaking, giving in to our natural gravity, the magnitude far too strong to fight. And now that we’ve acknowledged it, embraced it, fed on it, there’s no turning back.
Because the truth is that I no longer hate Tobias King.
I’m in love with him.
My insatiable need for him flows like lava through my veins spurring the ache, one I know, soul-deep he’s the only one capable of sating. Seconds pass as he recognizes what I’m not saying. I look up at him, imploring him not to exploit my weakness, but what’s mine, he claims is his own.
“It hurt,” I confess.
“Your dream?”
“Yes.”
He frowns. “Ce qui te blesse, me blesse.” What hurts you, hurts me.
“Do you mean that?”
He places my hand to his chest to let me feel the truth. His heart hammers against my palm as my own heart toes the ledge, carefully peeking down at the endless stories below and weighing the risk before shaking its head at me.
Not yet.
It’s trust we need, and it’s all backward, but that’s our nature, and if I’m honest, it’s all we lack. Well, that and the thousand other secrets he’s not letting me be privy to. Those matter.
So even if my heart is playing masochistic daredevil, my head is doing its best to keep me above water.
He lifts from me, easing my comfort, and in turn, I cradle him between my legs. We’re filthy, in need of another shower, but I wouldn’t trade a second of this stolen moment, because I can feel the reckoning coming. And we’ve put it off for far too long.
“Ask me anything,” he whispers, pressing his thumb into the corner of my mouth before tracing my lip as his cinnamon coated hair hangs between us. “Ask me, and I’ll tell you.”
“We’re not business anymore,” I whisper, partly a declaration part question. We’re chest to chest as he slowly shakes his head.
“No, we’re not.”
I can’t bring myself to ask him, and so I don’t. Instead, he leans in and presses his lips to mine before he speaks. “You warned me not to fall in love with you. You said you wouldn’t make room for me.”
“You told me you wouldn’t,” I remind him, my soul soaring with his confession.
He leans in close, his nose brushing mine. “Then I guess that makes us both lia—”
“Well, brother, would you take a fucking look at this? Are you seeing what I’m seeing?”
Tobias tenses before going ramrod straight, his expression sobering as he pulls himself to kneel a second before I jackknife, my pulse skyrocketing as I turn from where I sit on the ground and lift my gaze to meet the livid eyes of his brother.
Beside Dominic stands Sean, and at the sight of them, I’m thrust into a reality of the worst kind. I stagger to my feet as I dart my disbelieving gaze between the furious eyes of two men, that not long ago, I pledged myself to. Two men I swore I couldn’t, never wanted to live without. Two men that ceased to exist after leaving me begging for them in the street as they drove away.
Dominic’s gaze drips acid, peeling me away layer by layer as he takes the two of us in, dr
essed in nothing but unmistakable guilt. Sean’s expression is equally as damning, his jaw set, his eyes blistering us both with rage.
Tobias stands and takes a step away, distancing himself from me, but it’s way too late. Trembling, filled with dread, I face them both speechless as they collectively batter the two of us from where they stand, their posture threatening in a way I’ve rarely been privy to.
Dominic is the first to speak. “So, I would say we should catch up, brother, but I can see what you’ve been up to. Or should I say who you’ve been into.”
“Where have you been?” I rasp out, my eyes drifting from one to the other, soaking in the changes. Dominic’s hair is cropped close to his head, his physique bulging with new muscle. Sean’s hair is tucked under a ball cap and he’s bulked up just as much. Even their demeanors seem different. And judging from their collective expressions, it looks as if they’ve survived hell and just been refused the chance to tell their story.
Dominic leers at me from feet away, his silvery gaze laced with disgust as if it pains him to look at me. My heart lurches in every direction as I sink into the ground, stunned by their sudden arrival.
“Where have we been?” Sean hisses before he darts his gaze over my shoulder. “Want to answer that for her, Tobias?”
He takes a menacing step forward, fisting his hands at his sides, opening and closing them as he shifts his stare between us as if he’s not sure which of us he wants to strike first.
I turn toward Tobias. “What’s he talking about?”
Tobias closes his eyes as Sean speaks up. “I guess it’s a good thing we caught that early plane, isn’t it, Dom?”
Tobias’s expression cools considerably. “Don’t play innocent, Sean.”
“Innocent? No, I’m not fucking claiming that.” He snaps his fingers sarcastically before pointing at Tobias, his voice filled with condescension. “What was your speech before you sent us off? We needed to get our heads right. So, you sentenced us away for ten fucking months to be Boy Scouts and pay for our crimes. And what did you do?”
“What do you mean you caught an early plane?” I ask Sean, who looks at me in a way I never imagined possible. He ignores my question and takes a step toward me. “I asked you to trust me. I told you I would make this right.”
