Freedom

by S. A. Wolfe

  I can’t believe how brazen I was last night, ordering him around, and this after I threw a hissy fit saying I won’t sleep with him. I get to blame some of this on the booze that Steve Mercer kept shoving into my hand, though.

  God, I loved seeing the shocked expression on Dylan’s face when I went down on him. I actually shocked myself. I didn’t plan it, but his insistence on not talking about his grief over his friend’s death was hard to take, even though I know it sounds extremely selfish for me to think that way. My ranking on Dylan’s list is well below Carson and Dylan’s doctor, although I would like to think I am inching my way into his heart and that a time will come when he trusts me.

  It was an odd, unplanned strategic move to render him speechless and immobile. He thinks he has control over everything he does, so I gave him a taste of my being in control. It was a powerful feeling to give him pleasure while at the same time boxing him in. He was frustrated at not being able to touch me or talk, but I wasn’t going to let him speak if he couldn’t share something meaningful beyond sexual utterings.

  True, he has admitted what the phone call was about, however he thought he could brush aside discussing the death of someone who clearly was important to him. I can’t accept that. Does that mean I can’t accept Dylan the way he is? I refuse to believe that since I have no intention of trying to change Dylan. I like him as he is. I may, in fact, love this man who baffles me, so I am sure as hell going to weasel my way into his life, yet this has to slow way down.

  Despite my upbringing, I am a romantic at heart. My physical gesture was not a cure for the grief he withholds, but after he shared a brief part of himself, I wanted to do something that didn’t involve me begging him to talk when he clearly wasn’t going to. Boy, did I find the best way to distract him from his negative thoughts.

  I stand under the shower and let the water drown out any residual embarrassment I may have. After all, I pushed the guy away the night before, refusing sex and to share a bed, only to bring him to his knees with my mouth. When I put my face into the stream of water, I feel two hands settle firmly on my breasts, and a large, hard body meets every part of my flesh from my calves to neck. My eyes pop open, and I turn my head to see Dylan smile as he brushes his head against my cheek.

  “You left the bed too soon,” he murmurs into my ear while his erection pushes into my lower back.

  “No. Last night was a one-time thing. I wanted to make you feel better. To make you feel something good. But we’re not going to jump back into sleeping together and banging each other at work. I’m sorry if I—”

  “I know, Emma. I know what you’re doing,” he says, turning me to face the shower wall and away from the water before he places both of my hands on the cold tile.

  “What am I doing?” I am trembling from both the absence of the hot water and from his firm but gentle hands that glide down to my waist.

  “You’re showing me who I am,” he whispers in my ear. “You’re showing me what it’s like to go through the motions of being with someone, giving in sexually while managing to be empty inside. I’m not a poet, but I understand you. And I’m not empty inside when I’m with you.”

  His voice is husky with desire and restraint.

  “I sent the wrong message, Dylan.” My words are a complete lie, and I am a terrible actress. I have conflicting thoughts about what I’ve done. Giving him a bit of pleasure because he’s become more to me than anyone else, and at the same time, I thought I could act like a heartless sex fiend—a taste of his past. They are contradictory acts, and I’ve proven that.

  “No, you didn’t. Don’t move and don’t talk.”

  “Oh, please. You can’t copy me and expect me to—”

  “Hush, woman. It’s my turn. This isn’t a one-sided relationship.” His mouth tickles my neck.

  “It’s not a relationship, Dylan. Not that kind.”

  “What kind? Where two people like each other a lot and spend time together, maybe live together and deal with their problems together? If you don’t think it’s that, then you really don’t know jack. And by the way, I get bonus points for remembering your name. Emma.”

  I can hear the smile in his voice.

  “Dylan—”

  “No talking.” He clamps his hand over my mouth before he grinds his erection against my backside, and I hear the intake of his breath.

  His hand slides off my mouth and down my chest where he fondles my breasts as his other hand caresses my butt cheeks before slipping underneath to my sex. His fingers rub me slowly in soft, grazing circles, triggering little sparks of desire that make me shudder.

  My forehead presses into the tile wall as he makes me wet, his fingers slipping in and out of me. He kisses the back of my neck and his tongue flicks down across my shoulder. He then pinches each nipple until they are hard, throbbing peaks while his kisses continue down my back to my ass. He actually bites my butt cheek and I whimper. Then he turns me around so my back is flat against the tile. He begins kissing my stomach, and I reach out to touch his head. He immediately clamps both of my hands against my sides and looks up.

  “No touching.” He grins.

  That’s when I know I am in trouble.

  As Dylan continues kissing my stomach, his tongue leaves a scorching trail down my pelvic bone. His knee pushes my legs farther apart as he nips and licks my center until my body is thrumming with a molten craving for more, then he sucks on my clit and makes my knees feel like goo. I can’t fall or move, however, because he is gripping my hands tightly against the side of my thighs to keep me upright.

  His tongue slips in and out of me and I moan. I try to squirm as he then adds more pressure, yet I am stilled into a state of euphoric paralysis when he sucks so hard on my clit that an orgasm explodes through me. I can’t move as the spasms shoot through my limbs. I gasp and think I am falling when I realize that Dylan is pulling me into his arms and standing up, cradling me.

  “Are you relaxed?” he asks with a hint of a smile.

  “Perfectly.” I’m limp in his arms.

  “Good. You get ten more minutes in bed while I shower.”

  I am amazed that he actually deposits me onto the bed and then heads back to the bathroom with a full-on erection. He didn’t even try to get something in return. He has some major willpower, then again, maybe he’s going to take care of himself while he’s in there.

  Twenty minutes later, we are both dressed in fresh suits and my hair is semi-dry and twisted into another bun. Dylan watches me primp and apply make-up, but says nothing about the hot sexual favors we’ve given each other.

  ***

  We arrive at Mercer’s trendy warehouse style home décor store, a short walk from the hotel. It’s before retail hours so the vast space is empty. A pretty store manager leads us upstairs to the corporate offices where there is a spacious conference room with a breakfast spread and large, industrial windows that provide an inspiring view. I expected to be more nervous, yet having Dylan by my side has secured my confidence.

  “Oh, my God,” I whisper to myself.

  “What?” Dylan questions as we unpack our computers.

  “I just realized I have spent every moment with you by my side since that night you gave me a ride home.”

  “You left out the part about kicking me out of bed two nights ago,” he says wryly.

  No one else has entered the conference room yet, so we are alone. Dylan whisks around me, setting up our gear for our presentations. He is chiseled perfection with the fine suit; his handsome face; the tall, muscular physique that can’t be camouflaged by clothing; and those scars that make him even more alluring. He is hot, and my nerves and senses are completely aware of his every movement. My mind keeps drifting back to us in the shower and every moment with him before that.

  “I’m serious. It’s like we’re tied at the hip. This isn’t normal even for married people, Dylan.”

  Dylan stops typing on his keyboard and glares at
me then walks briskly over to my side of the table with a marked intensity. He puts his hands on my hips under my suit jacket and turns me away from the conference table.

  “Listen to me.” His deep voice is strict. “This may have started because I said I wanted to help you—to make sure you’re safe from your ex and the shit he’s caught up in—but make no mistake, we are tied together. Aside from where we’ve come from or who we’ve been with, that was then, this is now. And now we’re together. I’m not the most talkative guy when it comes to sharing, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to tell you what’s going on in my head. It means I’m not good at it. But I am trying. For you… I’m trying to do this because of you.”

  His serious declarations are the most romantic words ever said to me, even more potent than Robert’s “I love you.” To me, Dylan’s possessive grip on my waist paired with those powerful statements is an unexpected intimate gesture. I am reeling from his physical and emotional hold on me, and I am no longer falling in love with him. I have fallen.

  Captivated by his unwavering blue eyes that touch me in a new way, I am about to respond when others begin filing into the room. He lets go of my waist.

  “Get something to eat while you can. You need some protein. The buffet has eggs,” he says gruffly.

  “I’m too excited about our presentation to eat.”

  “You were very excited this morning, too,” he replies with a mischievous glint in his eyes. “You need food. I don’t want you fainting on me.”

  I scoff but blush as I think back to what he did to me in the shower. Dylan chuckles wickedly.

  ***

  Our presentation goes very well over the next four hours. Although I feel like I am high, running on nervous adrenaline, I know my material, and I am very comfortable with the Mercer executives and sales representatives. The only person who makes me nervous is Dylan.

  As I stand at the front of the room, explaining the visuals displayed on the theater screen rolled down from the ceiling, Dylan remains across the room, leaning against a wall with his arms crossed as he watches me. When I begin to explain Blackard Designs’ new vertical integration approach to our sales minimum, he arches an eyebrow in surprise. It’s a plan I’ve run by Carson but never told Dylan, and he looks amused at my audacity to introduce new sales quotas that are expected to increase our revenues by thirty percent. Through the spiel, the Mercer reps sit around the table and patiently listen. They don’t seem upset with the new requirements and sales quotas I babble on about. I expected some pushback and am pleasantly surprised when I don’t get any.

  When I finish with my presentation, Dylan steps in to impress them with the new designs. Since he still likes to work in the studio and factory as well as work directly with the design team, he knows the furniture lines better than anyone at Blackard, including Carson. Besides that, Dylan is the ultimate showman.

  I sit down off to the side and watch him describe the photos of each new piece of furniture. I also notice the female reps watching him as if he is a greased up, half-naked wrestler. Who knew furniture could be so exciting? But Dylan’s enthusiasm takes over the room. He is a much better speaker than me, and to his credit, he knows every woman’s name in the room. Suddenly, they all have questions for him. Dylan points to each one by name and responds thoroughly to each inquiry.

  After questions, he ushers everyone out of their seats and takes the whole group downstairs to the store where Carson has had all the new furniture delivered. Gemma and Noelle, our design team, were here the day before to set up the furniture in appealing displays throughout the store, mixing it in with other brands and accessories.

  I follow along as Dylan leads the pack, several of the women sticking close to him. I don’t blame them. It must be a primal instinct that they want to get as close as possible to the largest, most attractive male. Although, he doesn’t seem to notice them and keeps looking for me in the crowd until our eyes meet every few minutes. As I straggle in the back of the group with the men, I roll my eyes to myself. I want to laugh and say out loud, “It’s only furniture, and stop bumping your breasts and girly bits into my guy!”

  It is at that moment that Steve Mercer puts his arm around my waist. “It’s going to be a banner year for Blackard, isn’t it?”

  He gathers me close to him as if this is a prelude to something more between us, and I am stunned that the Mercer CEO is being so forward with me. When he pulls my hip flush with his side and his fingers press into me, a rush of anger fills me and I imagine how I could kick one of his legs out from underneath him and flip him on his back into a painful pretzel.

  Before I can react in any way, however, Dylan is in front of us. He pushes right between Steve and me, throwing Steve’s arm off my waist to replace it with his own.

  “Thanks for entertaining Emma. I’ve got this.” Dylan is very nonchalant about it as well as domineering as he towers over Steve.

  I smile weakly at Steve as if it is a thank you for not fondling me I suppose.

  Steve looks a little ruffled at Dylan’s appearance and quick reflexes, but he adjusts his cuffs in an aloof manner. “She’s delightful, but it’s time for me to take my crew out for a very late lunch. Are you joining us?”

  “No, but we’ll be at the wrap party tonight,” Dylan answers, holding me tighter against him.

  “Great. We could use some one-on-one time together,” he says this to Dylan but winks at me. “I look forward to seeing you again, Emma.”

  When Steve leaves to join his group, Dylan walks me outside to the pedestrian-heavy sidewalk. “Shit,” he mumbles. “That guy has been up every skirt. When I saw him touch you, I was so tempted to flatten his face.”

  “Dylan, this happens in sales all the time. You know people are touchy-feely in this business. He put his arm on my waist, nothing more.”

  “Well, Little Miss Ninja, why didn’t you throw him to the ground or give him the Vulcan Grip on his nuts like you did to me?”

  “I didn’t think it would be very professional, especially if I want to stay in this business,” I laugh.

  “Probably not, but I would have enjoyed seeing that.” Dylan stops walking and looks down at me. “That was our first time working together outside of the office, and I liked it a lot. You were great. You blew me away with those new minimum investments. That was gutsy.”

  “Thank you.” I start blushing from the way he keeps staring at me. “Carson knew about it, in case you’re wondering.”

  “I figured. I didn’t think you pulled those big numbers out of your cute, little ass. I assumed you had discussed all of this with Carson beforehand. Why didn’t you tell me?” He looks a little disappointed, and it pulls at my stomach.

  “I wanted to impress you.” I sound unsure of myself. “We had a rocky start at work, and I wanted you to be confident with me as a business partner. I didn’t want the sex part to cloud your thinking, either.”

  His mouth drops open as he huffs out a breath while those baby blues don’t leave my eyes, and my body begins to tremble a bit. I suppose that admitting to myself that I am in love with Dylan has escalated my worries about working with him and speculating if he sees me as an equal at work or as his little, live-in sex mate.

  “I have complete confidence in you. Never question that,” he replies. “And by the way, I’ve had enough of this bun business.” He yanks my hair out of the chignon, causing it to fall in thick, tangled waves down my back.

  “Dylan, it’s a mess.” I reach up and attempt to finger the strands into something presentable.

  “It’s sexy as hell. I think we should go back to the hotel room for lunch, or are you still freezing me out?”

  “Oh, hello, big boy,” I say dryly. “What I did to you last night hardly counts as a freeze out.”

  Dylan grins and runs his hands under my hair and cups my head. He leans in close to my face. “Hmm, I could interpret that in several ways. I’ll just say, that was fantastic, and this bi
g boy and his big boy part would like a repeat performance.”

  “I’ll bet. But I was thinking we could talk about what happened yesterday when you got that phone call. I thought we could discuss when you went away to that place.”

  As Dylan sighs and his warm breath caresses my face, I am inclined to go back to the hotel room and jump into bed with him, but it doesn’t seem like the right thing to do. We are prolonging the inevitable, pushing aside the issues that disrupt our lives so they can come back to torture us later. That’s the problem with starting a new relationship—it’s easy to get caught up in the sex and all the exciting physical aspects and store the potential problems behind an invisible curtain—but the problems always surface, eventually.

  “I thought, after last night and this morning, we were good,” Dylan says, annoyed.

  “We’re good at sex. Do you really think I’m still not upset about this Jess thing you had? And that you won’t talk about your treatment? Last night, I thought I was…”

  “You thought what?” His hands drop from my face in exasperation.

  “I thought I was showing you what it’s like to get a sexual favor from someone who doesn’t give a shit about anything but sex. Like you were with all those women,” I say, feeling sick at the thought.

  “Then you’re a lousy actress.”

  “I know. I am. Because I do care about you and I thought I could get back at you.”

  “By giving me a blow job?” he asks loudly.

  People passing us on the busy street glance our way with amused expressions.

  “I had it planned differently. I wanted to show you what it’s like to do what you want and then walk off without a care, but I was torn because I really did want you to feel better,” I whisper.

  “I don’t talk enough so you want to punish me by giving me a blow job? But you feel bad for me, too, and want to make me feel better by giving me a blow job?” he says sarcastically. “I thought I was on to what you were up to, Emma, and I wasn’t too worried because we’re together all the time. Arguments are normal. I guess this wasn’t a typical pissing match, though. You really thought you could walk off and leave?” He’s riled.