"I regret almost everything I've ever said to you," he says, his voice quiet and gruff. "But nothing as much as when I lied about the emails. I was trying to protect you, but…"
"You took advantage of my trust," I hiss. "How is that okay?"
"It's obviously not," he says, looking irritated already. "Did I say it was okay? Have I ever so much as implied that anything I've ever done in my life is 'okay?' It is what it is, Meghan. And I thought you liked me for who I was. I thought you…" He stops, sighing. "The way you looked at me that night, when I sent your mother packing, I swore you loved me."
"Maybe I did." My voice is shaking, and I barely recognize the sound. "For a minute there. When I forgot who you really were."
He rests his head in his hands for a minute, finally raking his fingers through his hair and looking up again. "Do you just want an apology, Meg? Is that why you're here? Or do you still feel something? Does it seem like you're sleep-walking through your life now? Did your heart leap out of your chest, the first time you heard my name since you came to my house? Do you dream about me? Do you wake up moaning my name?" His tone grows softer, and I hate him for trying to evoke all the passion he knows I can't resist or control. "Because I do. I did. That's how it is for me, Meg. I can't forget you. Not that I expected to. But I thought it would be easier to cut and run."
"So what is this?" I'm breathing faster, and I don't know if it's anger or excitement or some fucked-up combination of both. "You give a bunch of money to save the puppies, and show up here all grunge-rock to actually get your hands dirty, and you think that's gonna make everything better?" I starting to get shrill, but I can't help myself. I might actually be losing my mind.
He's exasperated. At least that's a familiar emotion. "I swear to God, I didn't know. Shelly will tell you. I begged her a thousand times, before I came here, every time, to make sure you were nowhere near the place. I didn't want you to find out. Specifically because I didn't want you to think that."
"So why are you here, then?" I want to know.
"Better than drinking myself to death on the kitchen floor," he says. "Which seems to be where I'm headed, otherwise."
"I don't feel sorry for you," I tell him, because I actually do. God damn it.
Adrian sighs. "Good. You didn't answer my question."
"What?" I've completely lost track of what the hell he's talking about.
"Do you still care?" he asks me. "Even a little?"
Tears spring to my eyes instantly. How can I keep playing it cool when he's standing in front of me, looking like that?
"Of course!" I almost shout. "After my mom left, I…" My voice trails off to a whisper, now. "…I didn't think it was possible to feel that way about anyone."
Pain crosses his face. He closes the distance between us, grabbing my arms gently and holding me still while he talks. It's such a subtle gesture of dominance, and I probably shouldn't love it, but I do. I still do.
"Leaving that night was the worst thing I've ever done in my life," he says. "And believe me, that's saying something."
I have to chuckle slightly. "I don't believe you."
"Believe me," he says. "I know I broke your heart that night. And I knew that would happen. I was fucking selfish. I've been selfish my whole life, Meg, which I'm sure you know. But the important thing is that I know. I've always known, but now it's different. I've felt the full consequences of my actions for the first time in my life, and if you don't think it's humiliating to admit that…it doesn't matter. This isn't about me - that's the point. My whole life, everything's always been dispensable. Replaceable. Do you know how many cars I crashed before I even turned sixteen?" He lets out a little bewildered laugh. "And I never hurt someone so badly they wouldn't come back, if I waved my wallet in front of them. My parents always told me to be more careful, but I didn't know the meaning of the word."
He licks his lips a tiny bit, looking down at me, and I feel a rush of arousal I haven't felt in months. It's too much, having him spill so much of his heart, his hands touching me, and so help me, I just want him.
But I know I have to hear what he's saying. I blink, trying to re-focus on his words.
"Until you, I didn't know," he says. "I'll always regret what I said to you, what I did. I was reckless with the one thing that really mattered."
I stare at him, trying to make sense of the storm inside. "What else did you lie about?"
"Let's see." His eyes search my face. "I lied when I said I didn't think it was a good idea for us to keep on sleeping together. I lied when I said it was a mistake, that night when I made your mother disown you. I know I should feel sorry, but I fucking don't. I hope she never speaks to you again. It kills me that it'll hurt you, but I know she's bad for you." A ghost of a smile. "Even worse than me, if that's possible."
"You weren't bad for me," I sob, unable to hold it back anymore. "Somehow, I don't know how, you were exactly what I needed. When we were together, and I don't just mean fucking - I mean just together, as people, when you didn't feel the need to act like my boss…it always felt right."
"I know." He touches the side of my face, with tentative fingers. "I know. It scared the hell out of me."
"Why'd you quit?" I ask, finally.
"Because I don't want to be that person anymore." He says this with conviction, and something twists and bursts in my chest. "I don't know who I want to be, but Risinger Industries is in my past now. Of course it's still in my family, and I'm still disgustingly rich." He smiles a little. "But as much as I can, I'm trying to get away from it. I'm done being careless. I hate being reckless. Most of all, I hate that you'll always look at me and see someone who hurt you."
"Getting rid of the company doesn't change that," I murmur. I can't stand it anymore. I launch myself up on tip-toes, and I kiss him. The noise he makes is surprised, pleased, maybe a little confused, if a muffled sound can convey all of that. But there's nothing confused about the way he kisses me back.
Resting my head on his chest, I can hear his heart beating a million miles a second. When he starts to talk, I can feel his voice vibrating through his ribcage.
"When I met you, you know, I hadn't written anything in ten years. More. My dad hated it. He found all my journals and burned them, when I was twelve. I already had my future in front of me. He didn't want me wasting my time. And that desire I felt when I met you - beyond the obvious, that itch to pick up a pen and let a story flow out of me the way they always wanted to - it scared the hell out of me. It made me angry. It was my father's anger, I realize now. It was the fear of him, still haunting me.
"But I couldn't just ignore it. I meant every word I wrote in that email. You didn't look like the women I'm supposed to want, but you were desperately sexy, and I knew if I let myself, I'd ruin you. So I didn't.
"Instead, I wrote. I let everything out in stories, and not just the ones I published. There were some I didn't dare, because I knew you'd recognize yourself if you ever saw. Like that time the vent in the hallway wouldn't stop rattling and maintenance wouldn't come, and you climbed up on a stack of chairs with a butter-knife to fix it. I never met a woman like you - hell, I never met a person like you. The way you talked to me. Not caring if you hurt my feelings, not sparing a single thought for my ego. Before long, my only fantasy was you, taunting me, with that smile on your face, until I found a way to shut you up." He licks his lips again, quickly. "Sorry. Trying not to get carried away, but it's hard."
I let out a totally undignified sound, and maybe, maybe I get a little bit of snot on his shirt. He doesn't even flinch. It must be love.
"Yeah," I mutter. "I noticed."
There's a moment of silence, with nothing but heartbeats.
"I hated myself for firing you," he says. "I really thought it was the best thing. And I really was just going to give you the slip and walk away, but fuck, Meg…I couldn't help myself. I needed you, one last time. And then I did nothing but worry about you. I knew you'd never accept any help from me, so that
was all I could do. As much as it killed me. But I knew, I knew you'd be fine. When Shelly told me you had a new job, I wasn't surprised." He sighs, looking down at me with such softness and concern that he'd be unrecognizable to anyone else in the office. But not me. I've seen it before, in flashes, and felt it in his touch. "I missed you so fucking much."
"It's been weird, hasn't it?" I laugh a little bit. "Five years, we talked to each other almost every day." My throat starts to close, and it's so hard to say the words - I can still taste the fear in the back of my throat. Thinking he'll turn and run away again. "I missed you too."
With a hand on either side of my face, he lifts it, meeting me halfway, but not kissing me again. Not yet. "Have your feelings for me changed? I mean, really changed, aside from all the shit you've got every right to hate me for?"
"No," I whisper.
"Good." His lips brush mine. "I want to talk to you, Meg. I want to talk more. I want to talk for hours, and explain everything, and apologize a thousand times. But first I want to make love to you. Not fuck, you understand. We've done plenty of that, and we'll do plenty more. I need it. You need it too." He kisses me, finally. It's long, and slow, and it leaves every inch of my body tingling. "Do you know how long I've wanted you?" he asks, his voice husky. "Every day of my life. Every time you wore one of those skirts with the slit up the side, I'd have to jerk off under my desk once or twice, just so I could concentrate. For years now, every time I come, I picture it painting your skin. I can't imagine ever wanting anyone else."
My whole body is throbbing. "I loved that," I confess. "When you marked me. I still think about it all the time, especially when I don't want to."
"Come home with me," he murmurs, nuzzling my neck. "Before I have to fuck you right here and ruin my whole plan."
"Home?" I look up at him. "You mean, your home?"
He nods, smiling. "Yeah," he says. "My home. My bed. What else would that mean?"
"You asshole." I'm glaring, smiling, and crying all at once. I don't know what the hell's happening anymore. "You set me up for this. All that shit about how you don't let anyone in your bedroom. I bet that's not even true."
"Cross my heart," he says. "You can check the security footage if you want."
"Why the hell would I be the exception?"
Adrian almost laughs, but not quite, closing his eyes for a moment. "I think you can figure that out for yourself, Meg."
"Tell me anyway." I press myself against him, pillowing my head on his chest again, ignoring the very loud voice in the back of my head telling me this is a bad idea. "I like the way you weave those words, Mr. Risinger."
He sighs, brushing a wild strand of hair behind my ear. "Because you are home to me, Meghan. You always have been."
He kisses me, and incredibly, I believe him.
Chapter Eighteen
Adrian's bedroom is breathtaking.
Well, to be more accurate, his bedroom ceiling is breathtaking. I can't speak for the rest of it, really. This man's idea of "making love" apparently has a lot to do with kissing his way down my body for twenty minutes, and as nice as that is, I'm starting to get a little impatient.
Oh, but it is nice.
"You're so fucking beautiful," he breathes, his lips trailing down my chest to my stomach. "I should've told you that. The first second I saw you, I should've told you that."
I giggle softly, goosebumps rising all over as his breath tickles the sensitive skin between my hipbones. "It definitely would've set a different tone for our relationship."
He chuckles, his lips just inches from where I want them. "Don't even pretend like you wouldn't have punched me in the balls."
"I wouldn't have," I insisted, my hand drifting to his hair, fingers scratching lightly at his scalp. "Hell, with the way you operate, I'm still convinced you could've had me naked on your desk within the first week, if you really wanted to."
He sits up, and I let out a deep sigh.
"Hold on, you little sex fiend, we're having a conversation about this." he frowns as I squirm. "Do you really think I didn't want that?"
I shrug. "You could've had it, that's all I'm saying."
"I don't believe you," he says, with grin. "But that's not the point. I couldn't, Meg. Not with you." His face gets serious, and softer, somehow. "Even if I could've just snapped my fingers and had you draped across my desk, I didn't want it to be like that. Not with you. I had to make sure it didn't happen. I didn't want to turn on the charm, I thought you deserved something a little more genuine than that." He makes a slight face. "I might've overdone it."
"You think?" I wiggle my hips. "You know, we can talk about this later. Or tomorrow. Or anytime when I'm not…"
His mouth quirks up at the corner. "Go on."
I sigh again. "Come on, Adrian. Stop teasing me."
"I wasn't trying to," he points out. "You were the one who wouldn't stop talking."
"Then shut me up."
He plants a kiss on my inner thigh, and I shudder. "I don't think this is very likely to shut you up," he murmurs. "Unless, of course, I find a way to put something in your mouth at the same time…"
Adrian gets up, and gestures for me to follow. Then he lays down on the bed, flat on his back, and pats the mattress beside him. I blanch.
"No," I say, without thinking.
His eyebrows shoot up. "Do you remember your safe word, sweet thing?"
I nod.
"Are you toying with me?"
I shake my head.
"Then why," he says, fixing me with a dark stare, "why are you saying no to me?"
I can feel myself blushing all over. "I can't do that. Not like this. You need to be on top."
"This?" he echoes. "I haven't asked you to do anything yet. You know what assuming does."
My arms are hugging my torso protectively. "I know exactly what you want me to do, and I'm saying I can't." I swallow hard, hating myself. "Please just…don't make me."
Adrian sits up, scooting closer to me and touching my elbow. "Did you have a bad experience?"
I shake my head.
"What, then?"
Biting my lip, I stare at the mattress. "I just don't want to. I don't…I don't want you to see me like that."
To his credit, he stifles a laugh. But I can still tell that he wants to.
"It's not funny," I insist.
"I know it's not." His hand rests on my arm, not grabbing, not insisting, just reminding me of his presence. "I won't force you to do this, Meg. I can't. But if you do…I promise it'll at least make a dent in that insecurity of yours."
Slowly, I look up at him. His eyes are shining, and his tongue flicks out to wet his lips. And despite the fact that I've basically dumped a bucket of cold water on the proceedings, he's still very, very visibly aroused.
"Why?" I whisper, although I already know the answer.
"Because," he says, a little hoarsely. "I fucking want this. I've wanted it since I met you. I thought you might hesitate, so I never brought it up." He swallows, hard, and I notice the pulse point by his throat, notice how quickly it throbs. "Think about it, Meg. You won't have any room to doubt how sexy you are, with my face buried between your legs like that, and my cock in your mouth. You'll feel it. Every twitch and throb from how fucking amazing it'll feel to taste you like that, to devour you like that, so you're all I can taste and smell. You'll never, ever doubt my desire again."
Fuck it.
I feel drunk as I lean down to kiss him, and he gives me a little sneak preview of the coming attractions with his tongue darting into my mouth. But he pulls away quickly, anxious, wanting. Wanting me. Wanting to be so completely surrounded by me in the most intimate way possible, and yeah, that's a pretty enticing thought.
He crawls back on the bed and I turn around, situating myself just right, my heart squeezing painfully in my chest as I kneel on either side of his shoulders. I hate that I can't see his face.
"Is this okay?" I whisper, staring at his legs, at his erection str
aining towards me.
"Lower," he murmurs, his exhale brushing against my sensitive flesh.
I go lower.
He grasps my hips, pulling me onto his tongue. My whole body jumps like a live wire, an unearthly noise coming from the back of my throat. My toes actually curl.
"Oh, God," I groan, pitching forward, almost forgetting what I'm supposed to do while I'm here. I can hear him chuckle, feel him chuckle, and he lets go his grip, lifts me up just enough to speak.
"Not bad, hmm?"
He's a little smug, but I can forgive that.
"Yeah," I breathe, clutching handfuls of the sheets. "More."
"Quid pro quo, Clarice."
"This is probably the worst time to make a Hannibal Lecter joke, you kn….oohhhh." He's pulled me back in, and I barely remember words anymore.
But I do remember how much I want to make him feel just one fraction of what he's doing for me. I lean forward, licking and sucking him into my mouth, and his groan vibrates through my core. Fuck, he's right. I can feel his every reaction to this, and it's beyond amazing. He grows even harder and thicker in my mouth, his shaft pulsing and jumping every time my inner muscles clench.
He's on another level. His tongue laps at me like I'm an oasis in the desert, a series of soft, muffled noises accompanying the slow undulation of his hips as I find my rhythm. I've completely forgotten to be self-conscious, and every caress rockets through my heart like an electric shock. I've never felt anything like this. The angle gives him access to every hidden sweet spot that I never knew existed.
With a jolt, I realize I'm going to come.
Fuck, fuck yes, fuck yes. Oh, my God, Adrian…
That's what runs through my head, but with his cock nudging my throat all that comes out is a string of unintelligible noises. Clawing at the sheets, my legs shaking, I come and I come, and I come, longer and harder than I ever have in my life.
He pushes me off while my body's still twitching, and for a moment I wonder if I started accidentally suffocating him. But no, that's not right. I've landed in a heap, more or less on my stomach, and I look at him over my shoulder to see a man possessed. His face is covered in my wetness, his eyes blazing. With a soft grunt, he grabs my hips and lifts me up.
His Secretary: Undone Page 19
