by Eva Charles
But you brought me here. You welcomed me into your oasis. I sit quietly with the knowledge, even though it’s heavy. Although I have no idea what it means. If anything.
“I brought you here to regroup,” he explains, as though he needs to. Sometimes I think the man reads my mind. “We both needed the break. A fresh start with a new focus.” He pulls his legs back, and I immediately miss the warmth of his skin. “You up for dessert?”
I guess that’s the end of that discussion. Just as well. I’m not in the mood for anything too serious. “What do you have?”
“Peach cobbler. The kitchen at Wildflower brought it over before we got here. There’s cinnamon ice cream to go with it,” Gray adds, as though I might need convincing.
I feel a grin spread across my face. The kind that makes your cheeks ache. It’s my favorite summer dessert, and when it was on the menu, it was my go-to dinner at the club. Gray knows it, too. He gave me endless grief about it. “I wish I could, but I’m too stuffed to eat another bite. I’ll have some for breakfast.”
“Breakfast?” He raises his brow. “You might as well dip a spoon into the sugar bowl. What kind of breakfast is that?”
“A tasty one.” I get up to clear the plates, and before I can blink, he’s on his feet too, holding my wrists with a gentle, but firm grasp. There’s a gleam in his eyes, and I feel a tug of desire that’s not in line with a fresh start and a new focus. Isn’t that what he said earlier?
“I’ll take the dishes,” he says. “I need to grab a couple of things from inside. Where’s the hairband you had earlier?”
“On the nightstand in the bedroom. Why do—”
He interrupts before I finish. “While I’m gone, why don’t you use the bathroom?”
“Gray.” I say his name because I’m not sure what else to say—or even what he means. The wine and the emotion have hit at once and I’m a little lost.
He places a fingertip on my lips to shush me. “It’s not what you think. I planned to start when we were back in the city, but the wait is too much. You’re too tempting.” He cups my cheek, weaving his strong fingers into my hair. “I need to touch you.”
I need it too. More than I’ll ever admit, even to myself.
His thumb grazes my bottom lip. I wait for him to lower his mouth to mine, but instead, he pulls away abruptly and begins to collect utensils from the table.
Unsettled, and more than just a tad confused, I wrap my arms around myself to ward off the uneasiness. “I don’t need you, or anyone else to tell me when it’s time to use the bathroom. I’m not a four-year-old.”
“When I suggest you relieve yourself, it’s not for my comfort.” His glare is piercing. “Do it, or don’t. I won’t be standing outside the door listening for the tinkle. I also won’t be the one living with the consequences of a full bladder.”
I can’t remember the last time I had a discussion that was so infuriating—and embarrassing. “Your seduction game needs work.”
I see the corner of his mouth twitch when he turns to go inside. “I already told you it’s not what you think.”
After I regain my composure, I go inside, trying not to overthink everything while I use the bathroom. It’s not what you think. Then what the hell is it?
I dawdle in the bathroom, because even though I’m aggravated with him, I want him to touch me, and I want to touch him too. After primping my hair in the mirror, I brush my teeth with my finger because my toothbrush is upstairs, but mostly I spend the time hoping that his plans are exactly what I’m thinking.
When I get back outside, Gray has changed into a pair of light sweatpants. Shirtless, he’s covering the table where we had supper with fuzzy blankets, folded in half, and layered atop one another. I’m riveted by the muscles in his broad back, the way they contract, as he lays a snow-white sheet on top of the blankets, letting it drape over the sides of the table.
“What’s all this?” I ask, still riveted by his hard body.
Gray smooths the sheet and rests his backside against the padded edge of the table, his hands on either side for support. He catches me steal a glance at the outline of his cock through the thin, stretchy fabric. He’s not wearing underwear.
He doesn’t say anything snarky. Instead, his eyes wander over me from head to toe without a single word. I tuck some hair behind my ear while he appraises me, like chattel he’s interested in bidding on.
When he’s through with my body, he finds my eyes. “Take off your clothes for me, Delilah.”
His voice is cloaked in the warm, deliberate cadence of seduction. Maybe his game doesn’t need work. It’s so mesmerizing, I begin to reach for the bottom of my dress to pull it over my head. But common sense kicks in before my hands get anywhere near the hem. “You expect me to take off my clothes—out here?”
He tips his head to the side. “It’s exactly what I expect.”
“You said it’s not what I think.”
He shakes his head. “It’s not.”
“Then why do my clothes need to be off?”
“Because I asked you to undress, and you’ve agreed to trust me—even when it’s hard.” He’s got a take-no-prisoners kind of attitude going on, and I brace myself for an earful. “You’re not comfortable being naked in front of me, in a secluded area without another soul in sight, but you’re prepared to have sex while who knows how many men are watching?”
The bastard is actually calling my bluff.
“If you can’t do something this simple, then I don’t see how you’ll ever be mission ready in two weeks.”
He aimed well, and struck a nerve. “This is manipulative bullshit.”
“If that’s what you think, go pack your things and I’ll drop you off at your house tonight.”
I don’t move. Our eyes are locked in a pissing match that I’m clearly going to lose. I don’t want to go home. And it’s not just about the op.
While I’m trying to come up with a way to take my clothes off without seeming like I’ve given in to his whims, he gets up and cradles my face in his hands. His eyes never stray from mine. The heat between us is suffocating.
I can barely breathe, but I don’t look away. Not when his fingertips glide down my cheeks, over my jaw, and past my throat. Not when they reach the neckline of my dress and rest impatiently at the top of my breasts. Not even when he tears the sundress down the middle, and the decorative buttons scatter as they bounce off the flagstone floor.
“I asked you to get undressed. But it was too hard for you.” He pauses, his teeth scraping his bottom lip. “I’m here to help you when life’s decisions become too hard.” He’s holding the tattered fabric in his clenched fists. “If you’re partial to those panties, you’ll have them off before I’m finished preparing the table.” He opens his hands, letting the torn dress pool at my feet.
His show of strength leaves me breathless, and the tug of desire is powerful, and building as I remove my panties. I want him, but I’m not prepared to blindly hand over control. I will never again give my submission to a man who hasn’t earned it. I made that mistake with Kyle. I won’t make it with Gray. “What, exactly, is the plan?”
“Right now, I’m going to tie back your hair so that it stays out of the oil.”
Oil. He didn’t say lube. He said oil. Before I can question him, he takes my hair, handling it like this isn’t the first time he’s braided a woman’s hair. The jealousy creeps up, but before it causes injury, Gray intervenes.
“On the table. This side up,” he murmurs, squeezing my ass lightly.
“What’s this about?”
“Pleasure,” he says, and the word, with all its promise, vibrates between us. “You’re going to do nothing but lie quietly while my hands work out some of the knots in your beautiful body.”
“You’re going to give me a massage?” A massage? Now? It’s not at all what I expected and I’m off-kilter. But I suppose that was his intention.
“Lie down, Blue Eyes. I’m getting impatient.”
“Close your eyes,” he whispers, before bringing an unfamiliar scent to my nose. Something spicy, but subtle. “You okay with the smell of amber?”
I nod, opening my eyes slightly.
“It’s just lightly scented oil. There’s nothing in it that will hurt you.”
I nod again, letting my eyelids flutter shut. I do trust him—at least with this.
“Clear your head,” he commands in that bossy tone, “and just feel.”
With long strokes, he glides his hands up and down my back, before settling into my shoulders. My body yields without struggle as he prods the tight muscles to relax. The surrender is sweet, with soft moans escaping from my lips as he works.
“Where did you learn how to give a massage? And how am I just finding out about it now?”
“I learned a long time ago. It’s a nice way to reward good girls. You’ve had a rough few days. I thought you could use a little pampering.”
I gasp when he starts on my lower back.
An electric current races through me as his fingers coax the muscles into submission. It feels amazing, but I still can’t understand why there had to be so much secrecy about him giving me a massage. Had I known what he was planning, I would have gladly taken off my clothes.
“Why couldn’t you just tell me, up front, that you wanted to rub my back? It would have saved us both some grief.”
He applies more pressure, his fingers digging deeper into the flesh. “I lead the team. You need to follow my instructions, without hesitating, and without asking me to justify every order. This isn’t a foreign concept. It’s how every mission works. Right?”
I push the errant thoughts away. The ones that push and pull, messing with my brain and my body. And yes, my soul too. “Right,” I somehow manage, as his hands knead with unremitting focus.
Once my mind begins to clear, my breathing slides into a comfortable rhythm. I hear the waves crest and hit the shore, but they’re starting to sound far, far away. I’ve drifted somewhere heavenly when Gray’s hands move to my buttocks, manipulating the large muscles.
His touch is intimate, and I try to remain relaxed. But when the warm oil drips onto my lower back and slides between the cheeks, I shudder, squirming against the tabletop.
“You’re tense again. Let go,” he encourages, his fingers deft and skilled. “This isn’t about sex. This is about you getting comfortable with my hands on your body. Instinctively knowing that they will only bring you pleasure—even in pain.”
I sigh wistfully. There is nothing I crave more desperately than the delicious pain that brings pleasure. When he nudges my legs apart, there is no resistance. Lavishing one leg with attention, and then the other, he works the warm oil into my skin, his knuckles occasionally grazing my pussy. I wait in anticipation, longing for more of that kind of touch.
I’m no longer relaxed. All I can think about is my arousal, growing and growing, until it’s bigger than I am. Until it’s bigger than both of us. It’s then, when I’m about to beg him to fuck me, that he slides two fingers into my aching pussy. A gasp twined with a grateful groan twists its way out into the salty air. Somewhere in my head, somewhere faraway, a little voice reminds me that this is a mission. But the surf and the unremitting bliss drown out the good counsel.
“Squeeze,” he demands, and I do, eagerly obeying. I clench my walls around his fingers, hugging tight. “Release, and relax.”
He keeps his fingers inside me, while the other hand massages the back of my neck. “Squeeze those walls around me,” he instructs, again. “That’s it. Feels good, doesn’t it?”
“Mmhm,” I whisper. It’s as though his careful ministrations have zapped so much of my strength that even my voice is barely audible.
Without any warning, he pulls his fingers away. I whimper at the loss.
“Turn over,” he says simply.
I roll onto my side, and then to my back without giving it any thought. It’s as though, in my listless state, I’ve been programmed to follow his commands. In a sense, that’s what all this is about—but right now, I don’t care.
I lie quietly, looking up at him. His features are relaxed, and even in my dreaminess, I admire his maleness—maybe even more so in my fog.
He brushes a few strands of hair off my forehead with the back of his hand. It’s a gentle caress. “Your skin is so soft, I can’t get enough of it. But you are still much too tense. Let’s see if I can fix it.”
He begins with my feet, and when I’m purring, he moves to my calves and then higher and higher until my back arches off the table. “Keep still.” He splays a hand on my belly, his thumb skirting my mound, and presses until my back is flat. “Close your eyes. This is about what you hear and smell, and above all, what you feel.”
Gray slides his hands up my body, avoiding my breasts in a cruel tease. He rolls my arms and shoulders, finding the pressure points and excising the negative energy.
Ahhh! His warm mouth covers my nipple, sucking it into a hard, tight tip. When I whimper, he rests a heavy hand on my belly, holding me firmly in place while his mouth and tongue massage my breasts. My nipples ache from pleasure, but it’s nothing compared to the throb between my legs. A throb I can easily remedy.
I let my hand find its way to my pussy. But in seconds, he snatches my wrist, wrenching it away from the hot, slick flesh. My desperate groan echoes.
“As tempting as it would be to watch you play with your pussy until you come,” he says in a lazy drawl, “that’s not happening right now. Squeeze those inner muscles,” he murmurs, “just like you did around my fingers.” He lays his hand low on my belly, where he can feel the muscles quiver as they tense. “That’s it. Do it again.”
I’m so worked up. My nerve endings are screeching like banshees, and my core is wet and needy, wild with want, but the rest of my body is heavy and limp from the massage.
He stands over me, and brushes my cheek. “Let’s get you up.”
I don’t want to get up. I want more. But I’m slightly woozy from the massage, and let him help me.
“Just sit for a minute. Let your legs dangle.” He hands me some water. “Take it slow.”
As I sip the water, I notice the tent in his pants. I reach for it—for him.
He grabs my wrist, before I hit my target. “Not tonight. I told you this wasn’t about sex.”
Even in my fog, I’m embarrassed for begging.
“Go up and take a quick shower,” he says in a gruff, thick voice. “You’ll sleep well tonight. Good night.”
I pick up my torn dress and panties, balling them under my arm. “Good night.” I turn in the doorway, glancing at the outline of his cock. The thin fabric is no match for what’s awakened inside. He’s as ready as I am. Why is he doing this? “I would sleep better if—you’re clearly interested too.”
“Not tonight, Delilah.” His tone is final. I might get off, but he’s not going to participate. “Don’t make me say it again.”
I take my clothes inside with as much dignity as I can muster. There’s nothing that can cut a woman to the quick faster than being turned down after she asks for sex. At least I didn’t beg. Did I? Oh, God. This is going to be one big mindfuck, as training for a covert mission always is. Only this will be worse. It already is.
After a long shower, I fall into bed. I think about giving myself the release I desperately want, but I’m not sure if there are cameras. I’m also not sure why I even care, although I don’t want him to see me give myself an orgasm, after begging him for it. I do have some pride.
16
Delilah
The burble of running water wakes me from a sound sleep. I
t’s pitch-black in the room. I fumble for my phone—one thirty.
It takes me a minute to orient myself. The beach. I’m at the beach, in Gray Wilder’s bed. I glance at the undisturbed side of the mattress. Alone.
Once my eyes adjust to the dark, I throw off the quilt, and follow the sound of water into the bathroom. I don’t know why I go—yes you do. We have unfinished business from the patio—business that he started. Even after a nap, I still want the grand finale.
The light’s dim, but the glow of the chandelier casts shadows on the ceiling. There’s something enchanting about it, and I take a few seconds to admire how the light and the prisms play off one another.
When the splash of water beckons, I creep to the edge of the room and peek into the cave-like entrance to the shower.
I freeze there, with a silent gasp, my toes curling into the cold floor.
Gray is under a cascading waterfall. His legs apart, one hand gripping a smooth stone jutting from the wall, the other gripping the rock-hard cock jutting from his body.
There’s no door into the natural setting of the grotto shower. Nothing separating us.
He’s at an angle, and I can’t see him full on from here, but I can see plenty.
My eyes dart between his handsome face with its taut jaw, and the fist pumping his swollen cock. The breath gets caught in my chest as I watch his sculpted muscles clench—beauty and violence intertwined in each rough pull.
While he doesn’t stop, his movements slow as though he senses someone watching. I continue to stand perfectly still, breathless. Only when his head pivots in my direction does my pulse take off. But even after he catches me, I don’t shy away.
His eyes are ablaze when they meet mine, his hand still on his thick angry cock. I’m mesmerized by his stark arousal. His primitive need.
I don’t want him to finish without me.
