Inarticulate

by Eden Summers

  He glided his fingers to the back of her hair and released the clip. Strands fell to her shoulders and tickled her neck as he placed the hair piece on the television stand, his focus never leaving her.

  She had no power to look away. No strength. She was at his mercy.

  Willingly.

  Wholeheartedly.

  He cherished every part of her face with his scrutiny, taking in her appearance like she was a puzzle he wanted to not only complete, but immortalize. With each breath he inched closer—his legs, his chest, his lips.

  Time quickened with the rapid pulse of blood in her ears, and the outside world ceased to exist. There was no Rydel or Grandiosity. No Penny or Dominic. There was only Keenan and the chilling, steel eyes she would never forget.

  The heat of his exhalations brushed her lips. It was an excruciating tease, a caress of awareness that lasted a lifetime before his mouth descended, taking hers in a kiss so gentle and soft she whimpered in sensation overload.

  She closed her eyes at his expertise and placed her palms inside the opening of his jacket to rest on the hard planes of his chest. He parted her lips with his tongue, deepening the connection, manipulating her emotions. They were one, their bodies fused with anticipation, their mouths molded in passion.

  It was just a kiss, not unlike any other in physical form, yet everything inside her was different. Her heart was rampant, her lips tingled.

  She wanted more.

  She needed more.

  There would never be enough.

  His fingers continued to hold her, his grip tightening in her hair. The palm of his free hand came to rest on her waist and slowly descended. She could feel the trail it made as if he were burning her beneath the robe. From her hip, then slowly to her ass. He palmed her flesh in his grasp and ground into her, making her moan at the distinct hardness of his erection at her abdomen.

  She’d never desired a man so much it hurt. But there was pain now, an ache low in her belly she couldn’t ignore. It wasn’t mere arousal or the hunger of a starved libido. It was emotional and physical. She just didn’t understand why or how. Keenan had her wrapped around his finger and it hadn’t even taken a syllable.

  He pulled back and left her gasping for air. Her arms fell to her sides and her heart fell with them. He stared back at her, his smile nowhere to be seen. There was no warmth in his features. Only ferocity. Pure lust.

  She didn’t want to break the silence. Her mouth wouldn’t work even if she wanted it to. If he couldn’t speak, neither would she, but the pressure to fill the void irked her. She never knew how much she relied on words to self-soothe until she met Keenan. They eased discomfort and dissolved nerves.

  Now there was only instinct and intuition.

  He held her focus as he shucked his jacket and threw it on the end of the bed. She wasn’t going to swallow. Nope. No matter how dry her throat or how wet her pussy, she refused to give him any more power. He already had enough. She was weak—her knees, her arms, her restraint.

  Her fingers twitched, wishing he would hurry as he grasped the top of his shirt and manipulated the first button through the hole. One by one, he exposed more skin to her periphery, yet she fought not to break his gaze. He was the first to look at her with such raw savagery; he could very well be the last. Each second of the connection was like a drug she wished to save for later. She was hoarding his passion, memorizing it, storing it in a safe place at the back of her mind to bring out whenever the need arose.

  Her palms itched to touch him, and instead of listening to the meek voice inside telling her to be careful, she reached out and made contact. Her skin collided with muscle and the fine dusting of coarse hair on his pecs and still, their eyes danced.

  She couldn’t stop looking at him.

  Wouldn’t stop.

  Refused.

  She slid her hands higher and guided the shirt off his shoulders, down his arms, to his wrists and let it drop to the floor. Swallow after swallow, she tried to soothe the dryness of her throat, but nothing in her body wanted to comply with her demands. Everything inside her was attuned to his frequency.

  He grabbed her hips and a breath shuddered from her lips as he guided her backward to sit on the small desk. Large hands gripped the tie of her robe, the soft tug, tug, tug of the knot coming undone, along with her control. Her heart was fluttering in her throat. Her stomach had become an Olympic rhythmic gymnast.

  Would she hold enough appeal to satisfy his desire? Would she be enough?

  The forefront of her mind told her his opinion didn’t matter. He could love her body or strut his sexy ass to the door. But in the back of her thoughts was a constant drone of unease. A man this alluring, this intoxicating, wouldn’t be affected by mediocrity.

  She wanted to impress him. To make his eyes narrow in lust or widen in appreciation. She needed that hit of undiluted emotion that washed away the need for words. She needed to see the fascination he couldn’t announce and feel the praise in his touch.

  The front of the material separated, the trim settling on the inside of her breasts. She remained still as Keenan stole his focus from her eyes and tracked his full attention down her body. Her skin tingled under his scrutiny, from her lips to her throat, her sternum to her stomach, all the way to the trimmed patch of curls at the apex of her thighs.

  His nostrils flared. His fingers twitched at his sides. She sucked in a breath, deep and empowering. Her nervousness vanished. How could she hold on to doubt when he looked at her with such hunger? With one look, that look, he transformed her into a supermodel. She was flawless beneath his appraisal.

  She gripped the edge of the desk, her movements spreading the material further, and let him look his fill.

  His attention backtracked, from her pussy, to her belly button, her sternum. Every inch made her heart rate increase.

  He met her gaze, briefly, so briefly, before he decimated the space between them in one step and took her mouth with his own. She didn’t have time to think, to gasp. He was all over her, one arm sliding around her naked waist, his other hand circling the back of her neck.

  This kiss was the evil twin to its predecessor. This kiss was rough and punishing, vicious and feral. Their tongues clashed in harsh strokes, their teeth clinked. She scrambled for his shoulders and tugged him as she dug her fingers into his skin.

  He growled, a deep rumble of sound that emanated from his throat. It was beyond sexy. It was animalistic. Hedonistic.

  It made her stop. Think. Reevaluate.

  “You can growl?” She pushed at his chest, her cheeks flushed with the excitement of the heady vibration. She’d heard that sound from him before, but she couldn’t ignore it now. It was too wondrous.

  “That was sexy as hell.” She was panting, trying to calm her breathing when he seemed to be entirely under control.

  His gaze became guarded. His pleasure fading.

  “I mean it.”

  He ignored the compliment like it was a thinly veiled criticism and leaned into her, this time taking his lips to her neck. She had no time to ponder. He nipped along her carotid and gifted her with his sound again. The deep rumble sank into her chest and made every rib tingle. She arched her neck and fought for control.

  She couldn’t wait to have more of him. The thought wasn’t whimsy or wishful thinking. She could not wait to have more of him. It was an impossibility.

  “I’m done with waiting,” she whispered and cascaded her hands from his shoulders, down his chest, over his muscled stomach, to the waistband of his jeans.

  He pulled back and met her gaze, silently giving her permission to go further.

  “You’re just going to watch?”

  He didn’t move, didn’t even change his expression. All she received was a lazy blink of those gunmetal eyes.

  “Fine. Be a spectator. I’ll unwrap my present by myself.”

  She lowered her attention to his waistband as his chest convulsed with laughter. Starving her, tormenting her, wasn’t nice. He
’d soon learn from his mistakes.

  The clink of his belt mingled with the sound of labored breathing. She undid the button at the top of his jeans, lowered the zipper, and froze.

  “Holy…” He didn’t wear underwear. At least not today. The bulge he’d been hiding stood proud, staring at her. Her throat dried to the point of pain. Her desire for him grew uncontrollable. It had to be pheromones or poor air ventilation.

  Something.

  Anything.

  The delirious need wasn’t normal. Not for her.

  She tugged his pants in a frantic rush, her robe gaping before him, and left his waistband to stand in the middle of his muscled thighs. There wasn’t a hair, freckle or scar on this man that wasn’t perfectly situated. He was flawless. A picture of masculine perfection.

  If only he could…

  She shook away the selfish thought and peered up at him. His eyes were dark and full of male pride as he leaned to the side and grabbed a condom from his lowered pocket. He didn’t readjust his pants, didn’t even move them an inch from where she left them. He kept himself on display, his cock standing proud, the thick veins pulsing along his shaft.

  He sheathed himself with an unshaking grip. She knew he was watching her, seeing her fascination and desire, and still she couldn’t drag her gaze away from his hands and the way he worked his length.

  The men she’d slept with had never been so blatant. They didn’t protest if she was in a frumpy mood and asked for the lights to be switched off. They weren’t proud of their bodies like Keenan was confident with his. This man made sex seem like a natural progression for two strangers. There was no shame or trepidation. It was logical. Even essential.

  She bit her lip at the unfamiliar reassurance and felt her pussy clench, preparing itself for the necessary stretch of muscles needed to accommodate him.

  He glanced over his shoulder, eyed the bed, then looked back at her in question.

  No. She shook her head. She wanted him here, on the desk, with her fingers in his hair and his hands palming her ass.

  He inched closer, his legs pressing into hers, and nudged her thighs apart with his knee. His steely focus peered down at her as his rough hands gripped her hips and lifted, placing the curve of her bottom on the flimsy wood.

  He was close, his cock almost brushing her entrance, when his palm came to land on her sternum. He seared her, branding her flesh as he trailed his touch through her cleavage, to one shoulder, then the other, pushing her robe off.

  The fluffy material pooled at her back, comforting her in her nudity. There was still no shame. There couldn’t be. Not when he cherished her with the appreciation in his eyes.

  He gripped the base of his shaft and when he lowered his focus, she was compelled to follow, all the way down to where the head of his cock was poised at her pussy. He trailed himself back and forth, back and forth, sliding himself through the slickness of her arousal.

  Every nerve inside her was thrumming. Every heartbeat was labored. He knew what he was doing by making her wait. He was well aware she was delirious with need, and when she was sane again she’d repay the favor. But until then, she’d continue to pant into the silence and pray for the sweet bliss of orgasm.

  He rested the tip of his cock inside her and grabbed her hip tight.

  She was poised at the top of the rollercoaster, holding her breath for the steep descent. He gripped her chin in his free hand, and stared deep into her eyes. There was a wealth of communication between them. She didn’t need his voice; she could already hear it in her mind. His desire was screaming at her, and his passion whispered in a delirious chant.

  Then he plunged deep inside and took her lips in a harsh kiss, shattering her with sensory overload. Whimpers pulled from the back of her throat. She wanted to give him silence, but there was no control over the needy sounds. She was a victim of passion. A prisoner to mindlessness.

  She wrapped her arms around his neck and held tight. With each thrust, he devoured her mouth, kissing the oxygen from her lungs. Still, she couldn’t get enough. She doubted she ever would. He was too much—too much passion, too much confidence. He enslaved her with a mere glance and she never wanted to be set free.

  She encircled his waist with her legs and groaned at how he sank deeper. His growl returned, the carnal sound making her shudder. He pulled back and watched the way he plunged inside her. She couldn’t follow his focus this time. Her pussy was already tightening with the prelude to orgasm and she wasn’t ready for this to end yet.

  Instead, she closed her eyes, let her head fall back, and relaxed into his supremacy. He kissed her neck, her shoulder, her breasts. Every inch of her skin was tattooed by his lips.

  “Keenan…”

  He increased the pace of his thrusts and the ferocity of his lips. She was helpless to stop her body taking over. She straightened as her core began to spasm and she gripped his chin, forcing his mouth to hers.

  They nipped and licked, their tongues tangling and colliding as they came undone together. With each pulse of orgasm she gripped him tighter and jolted with the pounding of his hips. Over and over she toppled into euphoria, her gasps slicing the air between them.

  He didn’t slow until her pleasure had faded and she was drooped against him, devoid of strength. The exhilaration dissipated from her veins as her breathing calmed and her mind cleared. She straightened and stared up at him, not knowing what to say or what to do. She was the only one who could fill the silence and yet her tongue was tied.

  Bliss left the room in a vacuum and awkwardness took its place. He stood there, his chest pounding as he looked at her in expectation, waiting for something profound when she couldn’t even remember her own name.

  “Thanks.”

  That muscled chest of his began to convulse in laughter, turning her cheeks to flame.

  “No,” he mouthed and raised his hand to his chin, cementing her embarrassment as he repeated the gesture of appreciation he’d given the waitress at the restaurant. “Thank you.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Savannah began to sulk as Keenan pressed a firm, chuckling kiss on her lips and then sauntered his sexy, jean-covered ass to the bathroom.

  There wasn’t a definition in the Oxford dictionary to explain her humiliation. It was too profound for words.

  “Don’t mind me,” she muttered and grabbed the robe nestled behind her bottom. “I’m just ruining that perfect moment, one breath at a time.”

  She shrugged her arms into the heavy material and secured the tie around her waist. A rush of water sounded from the bathroom and the faucet was quickly turned off again, followed by the unmistakable grate of an ascending zipper.

  He strolled back into the room, the ends of his hair dripping with water, his face glistening and his expression set with determination. He didn’t stop his progression until he was upon her, kissing the humiliation from her system.

  His lips defied comprehension. They took away her thoughts and cognitive skills.

  He lifted her, cradling her body in his arms as he circled to the bed and placed her on the coverings.

  She remained quiet, unwilling to risk embarrassing herself again as he lay on his side next to her, peering down at her in whimsy or maybe thoughtfulness. It was a look he hadn’t gifted upon her before.

  “Why are you staring at me like that?” she whispered.

  She felt like a princess under his gaze. A goddess. Someone worthy of worship.

  Respect had always been a companion in her career. People admired her professional skills and business mind. But this wasn’t comparable. The way he revered her was unlike anything she’d experienced. It was too powerful to be real.

  He pursed his lips, a silent shh drifting between them as he slowly untied her robe with one hand. The lapels fell open, exposing her belly, and lower, all the way down to her toes. With teasing fingers, he trailed his touch over her skin, back and forth, over and under. The exploration wasn’t sexual, it was far more meaningful than that.
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  He treasured her with his fingertips and made the casual act of what they just shared into something with depth. Something she wasn’t prepared for.

  “Stop.”

  His focus gradually lifted to her eyes, but he didn’t comply, he didn’t quit moving his fingers in a nonsensical trail that made blood rush through her ears at a painful pace.

  “I want to know you.”

  His gaze didn’t change, didn’t even flicker. He looked at her like he knew all her secrets, yet she didn’t even know his full name. “What makes you tick, Keenan?”

  He didn’t respond. He simply kept drowning her in his touch. Rough skin against soft flesh.

  “Come on. Give me something. Do you have any siblings?”

  He grinned, shook his head in exasperation and pulled his cell from his pocket. Her stomach flittered with excitement. She was finally going to get some answers. She wasn’t even disappointed when he furthered the distance between them to rest his back against the headboard.

  He typed into the device in his hands and flashed the screen at her. I’m an only child. You?

  “I’m the same.” She rolled onto her stomach, her lips too damn close to the muscles surrounding his ribs, and looked up at him. “What about work? What do you do?”

  His brows pulled together as he typed. With Grandiosity and Rydel being a point of contention, can we skip the career talk?

  “Sure.” She tried to ignore the pity welling inside her and failed. It was clear his position in the company inspired contempt, and she hoped it wasn’t because he was comparing his career to hers. “What’s your favorite memory?”

  He smirked as he turned his focus to his cell and tap, tap, tapped. Almost two weeks ago when an unbelievably sexy woman accused me of being an asshole for not talking to her.

  She snorted. “You could’ve warned me. It’s not like it’s impossible for you to communicate.”