A Feast of You

by Sorcha Grace

  “No,” I moaned as he stroked rhythmically. “William, I want you.”

  “You have me.”

  Did I? Or did I have pieces of him here and there but never the whole?

  His lips closed over my tight peak, relieving the hurt. Between my legs, the heel of his hand pressed firmly against my clit. His fingers slid into me, finding my G-spot and stroking.

  Pleasure and pain, pleasure and pain even as I spiraled into another climax that was almost uncomfortable, following so closely on the first.

  “Enough,” I panted when the waves of pleasure subsided and I was able to speak. “William, untie my wrists. I need to touch you.”

  “I’m not done touching you.”

  “Please.” My voice trailed off into a moan when his damp fingers circled my clit. “Let me touch you.”

  “Not yet.”

  Not yet. Hadn’t it always been not yet with him? He held himself apart, stripping me bare to the core while he kept himself at a distance. Even now, after the revelations about his father, he wouldn’t let me comfort him. He wouldn’t allow me in to witness his raw pain, his hurt, or his weakness. He shut me out, and I didn’t know how to reach him. I didn’t think he’d ever let me reach him.

  And if he never allowed himself to be truly vulnerable with me then how could we ever survive? How could we get through every trial and tribulation bound to come into our lives over the years? I wanted to be his partner, but I couldn’t hold his hand if he kept me bound.

  Something happened then. I shut down. William continued to stroke and play with my body, but for the first time, I didn’t respond to his demands. When his fingers couldn’t bring me to climax, he put his mouth on me. His tongue flicked and sucked, and I should have been arching as orgasms slammed through me. But I didn’t feel anything except a coldness where the bonds, literal and figurative, held my wrists.

  He knew me so well and could tell something was wrong, but he only worked me harder. When his mouth failed to get me off, he slid his cock over my raw skin.

  My breath caught when he spread my legs wide to stroke my clit with the head of his hard member. And then slowly, slowly, he filled me.

  I tensed against the invasion. This wasn’t how I wanted him.

  “Let me in, Catherine,” he demanded.

  “You let me in, William.”

  He made no reply, and I didn’t know if he understood or not. I was soaked with arousal, and he thrust inside me, burying himself to the hilt. His hands lifted my hips so I was more exposed as he thrust in and out, his pubic bone grinding against me with his every inward push.

  I didn’t fight the first stirrings of pleasure, but I didn’t welcome them either. He fucked me relentlessly, and still I didn’t come. He positioned me roughly, his hands shifting my hips and then raising my legs so my ankles were locked on his shoulders.

  The new angle allowed him to penetrate me even deeper. He stretched me, stroking every tight muscle and ridge inside me. He knew the rhythms I responded to, and he moved his hips in motions I couldn’t resist. A bead of sweat from his brow dripped on my breast.

  “Fuck it,” he said, voice hoarse. “Come. Let go and come.”

  There was no pleasure in his voice and no pleasure in the orgasm that wracked my body. There was only the peak and the fall and then feel of him spilling himself into me.

  When it was over, he pulled out and wordlessly untied me. I reached for him, but he was already out of the bed and leaving the room.

  Twenty-Six

  My phone chimed the next morning as I tried to force down a piece of toast. I felt like shit. William hadn’t been in bed when I woke up. I’d looked for him throughout the penthouse but came up empty. I’d tried his cell, which went straight to voicemail. I’d even called down to Rajesh and asked him to check if William was in the gym working out. He hadn’t been.

  Rajesh had told me the doorman had pulled the Range Rover out front for William just before five a.m. I had no idea where he was, and I hated that he’d left without saying goodbye. We’d talked about that once upon a time, but maybe it didn’t matter now. Hell, I didn’t even know where William had slept last night, and visions of being alone at Casa di Rosabela came flooding back. I hadn’t handled being alone, being kept in the dark, very well in Napa in January, and I wasn’t doing much better this time around.

  It was lonely and scary not knowing where William had gone, given his state of mind. And how could he leave me after what he’d done to me in the middle of the night? Tying me up while I was sleeping? Fucking me senseless, then leaving? Things hadn’t been right between us since The Webster, and we were on the verge of spiraling out of control. I could feel it, and I knew he could too. So how could he leave me now?

  I grabbed my phone, hoping the chime was William calling me. Only Beckett’s phone call would have been more welcome at the moment. I needed my best friend, but I didn’t want him to come over if William was going to come home at any minute, so I hadn’t called him yet.

  The caller ID read Hutch Morrison. I leaned a hip against one of the barstools and stared, unseeing, at the stark kitchen. “Hey,” I answered, trying my best to sound normal.

  “Hey, yourself. How’s my favorite girl?” Hutch asked in his familiar drawl.

  “Hanging in there. How’s my favorite chef?

  “Pretty good. I just finished up a helping of coconut brioche donut holes with Tahitian

  Vanilla jam that would make your eyes cross.”

  “Coconut, huh?” I sipped my coffee, but it tasted particularly bitter this morning and my stomach roiled.

  “Not your favorite?”

  “If you’d said peaches, I might have swooned.”

  “You might swoon anyway. There was white chocolate banana bread French toast too. Delicious.”

  I had to admit, that did sound heavenly. “And did you share this feast with anyone?”

  “As a matter of fact, I did.”

  “Really?” I leaned forward, resting my elbows on the counter. Had Hutch finally broken his celibacy streak? “Tell me everything.”

  “I shared it with Fiona Joy.”

  Fiona. The designer who’d asked Hutch to come to Paris to cater her Fashion Week dinner. I knew where this conversation was headed. I still hadn’t given Hutch an answer about going with him to photograph his role in the event. I tried to deflect as my stomach tightened.

  “Isn’t she already in Paris?” With everything that had happened with Elin, I wasn’t sure if Fashion Week had started or not. Hell, I didn’t even know what day it was.

  “She is. We had to have breakfast on different continents. But she was double checking that everything was set for the dinner, and she reassured me that you were welcome to photograph any part of it. She’s very much looking forward to meeting you.”

  Hutch paused, and I knew he was waiting for me to speak. “That’s your cue, darlin’.”

  “I don’t know, Hutch. Paris is a big trip.” I was stalling and we both knew it. This opportunity had come at the worst possible time. I wanted to be here with William. But where was William? On the other hand, I’d agreed to do the cookbook project for Hutch. I signed on for the job—the job of a lifetime—and going to Paris was part of that job. Plus, I did want to go. I’d be crazy not to.

  But wasn’t my place here with William? He needed me now more than ever, and I needed to be here for him.

  I closed my eyes, readying myself to tell Hutch No, when the hairs on the back of my neck stood up. I sensed without looking that William was behind me

  “I’d like to give you more time,” Hutch said, breaking the silence, “but we fly out tomorrow. This is clutch time, Miss Catherine. Are you in or out?”

  I turned around and looked at William. His stormy eyes were a brilliant ice blue. On first glance I would have said that he was pissed, but the longer I looked at him the more I realized that his eyes looked vacant and sad.

  “I need an hour,” I told Hutch. “Please.”

 
; On the other end of the line Hutch let out a disappointed breath and I knew I was trying his patience. No matter how much he liked me, this man was my boss and here I was acting like a millennial intern.

  “I’ll call you back in an hour. That’s how much I want you on this trip with me.”

  I managed a “thanks” before hanging up, never breaking eye contact with William. As I took the phone away from my ear, I prepared myself for the fight of a lifetime with the man I loved.

  Except it never came.

  “You should go,” William said.

  I stared at him in disbelief, all the things I was prepared to say to him evaporating out of my head.

  “William, I’m not going to Paris with everything that’s going on here. I would never...”

  But he cut me off. “There’s no reason for you to stay. After yesterday, we both know where this is headed.”

  “What do you mean ‘where this is headed’?” My voice was breathy and tight, belying the panic that was about to overtake me. William wanted me to go.

  He lifted his hand and absently ran it through his hair. “My father, Catherine. You saw it for yourself, you heard Charles tell me what type of man he was. And look what he attracted. Even from the grave his mistakes have ruined my life and they’ve almost ruined yours. That’s my family’s legacy. I will ruin your life. I want you to leave.”

  “No.”

  “Catherine...”

  “No,” I said again, cutting him off. “I won’t leave you now.”

  “I’m telling you to go. We shouldn’t be together. Go to Paris. Stay away from me.”

  Suddenly the room felt too warm. A wave of dizziness washed over me as the acid started to rise in the back of my throat. William’s words were like a punch to the gut from a prize fighter, and I felt physically ill. This was the man who’d told me that I was his and that he never wanted to lose me. Yet here he was pushing me away and shattering me into a million pieces in the process.

  “William.” His name was barely louder than a whisper when I said it, tears clouding my vision. “You said we would get past this.”

  “That was before I knew what being with me would mean for you.” His voice was flat and dull and emotionless. A shiver ran through me, and the tips of my fingers started to tingle. I couldn’t believe this was happening. I was the one who ran away when things got bad. I never expected to be the one who was told to leave.

  “I thought you were going to protect me,” I pleaded.

  “This is me protecting you.” His resigned response was almost cruel because it was so totally and utterly wrong.

  “I thought you loved me...” My voice trailed off. I looked at him then, willing the tears not to spill down my cheeks. Please, please, please, I begged silently. Don’t do this.

  I waited for him to say something, but he didn’t. He wouldn’t meet my eyes, and I watched as his head bowed forward as if he was in deep thought or simply defeated. I didn’t know which, but the silence that loomed between us was heavy and ugly and awful. He loved me. I wasn’t wrong about that. But what more could I do to convince him to stop shutting me out, to let me in?

  And then suddenly the answer presented itself as clear as the light of day: nothing. If after everything we’d been through William didn’t love me enough to open himself up to me, there was nothing I could do. He’d asked, no, demanded, that I trust him until finally, I did. I trusted him implicitly and I’d opened myself to him completely because I loved him. And I loved him now with every fiber of my being. He knew the worst about me—about Jace and the accident and maybe even about Jeremy—but he’d told me none of it mattered because he loved me and I’d believed him. That he wouldn’t open himself up to me in the same way was devastating. If right now he didn’t trust me to love him no matter what, he never would. And nothing else really mattered.

  “You should pack,” he finally managed to say.

  “Fine,” I choked.

  I moved past him, heading into the bedroom to start. There was no way I’d actually be able to choose anything appropriate for Paris, but I didn’t know what else to do. My head spun, and my cheeks were wet with tears. I pulled my suitcase out of the cubby in the closet where I’d stowed it. I grabbed a handful of clothes and threw them in. Shoes followed next, then underwear and toiletries. I had no idea what I packed, and I didn’t care. I spied the framed picture of Jace and me in Hawaii that I’d brought to William’s from my condo. I’d never felt comfortable displaying it, so I’d kept nestled among my folded sweaters. I tossed it into my bag.

  Laird had followed me into the closet, concern in his doggy eyes. He never liked suitcases because it meant either he or I were going. Oh fuck, what was I going to do about Laird? I gave him a hug. He’d be okay here for now. Asa and Anthony would look after him for me. I’d have to figure out the rest when I got back.

  I stood up too fast and another wave of dizziness hit me, making my stomach churn and rise. Beads of sweat broke out on my forehead, and I had to lean against the wall and close my eyes until the room stopped spinning.

  I headed to the darkroom next. Beckett had my cameras and most of my location stuff since I’d left it all at the studio for the WML Champagne shoot, but there was still some equipment here I’d need in Paris. William’s thoughtful hand was all over this room, and my tears started in earnest as I looked at the beautiful space he’d made for me. I quickly shoved what I thought I needed into various bags and got out of there as quickly as possible.

  Finally, I emerged with two overstuffed camera bags on one shoulder, my laptop bag and my purse on the other, and my suitcase rolling behind me, ready to leave. William stood in the living room, my surfer photograph above the fireplace staring down at us, looking so wild and out of place in the stark room. William had tried to act like the Cat Ryder photograph fit right in with his museum-quality collection of modern art gracing the walls throughout the penthouse. But it never had. Just like I had never really fit right into his life. Believing it to be true didn’t mean it was true, as much as we both might have wished it did.

  William watched me with cold eyes and made no move to stop me. I couldn’t believe this was happening. The man I loved wasn’t just letting me go without a fight—he was pushing me out the door, all because he was convinced I couldn’t handle being a part of his life. My heart broke into a million pieces, and I was so fucking mad that he was being such a complete idiot.

  I tried to walk past him, but the pull was too strong. When my arm brushed his, the spark was palpable, like I’d been stung.

  “Why are you doing this?” My voice cracked as I spoke. I was still standing next to him, our arms still touching. “I can’t believe you’re telling me to go.” I hiccupped, unable to hold my tears back any longer. I turned my head to look at him, but he stood staring straight ahead, the windows behind him showcasing the falling spring snow.

  I set down my bags and let go of my suitcase and stepped in front of him. “Look at me, God damn it.”

  He dropped his chin and our eyes met.

  “If you can’t see that I love you, that I want to be with you and a part of your life, that I don’t care about what your father did or Elin Erickson or all of your money, then I don’t know how to change your mind. I love you, William. I really fucking love you. Why isn’t that enough?”

  In my desperation to get across to him, I did the only thing I could think of: I kissed him. My trembling lips found his, but he stayed perfectly still and didn’t respond. He didn’t kiss me back or reach for me. And that was all the answer I needed.

  I lost it then, the pain coursing through me like a virus. “It’s all been a big fucking lie, hasn’t it?” I sobbed up at him. “You said you’d never hurt me and now you’re tearing me apart. You’re killing me,” I wailed. “Why are you doing this?”

  No response.

  I backed away and wiped at my eyes and my running nose with my sleeve and tried to regain a shred of my composure. I look a deep breath. “I was re
ady to be with you no matter what, William. But if you can’t see that, if we’re over because you can’t let me into your life, then that decision is yours.”

  I gathered up my bags and my suitcase and managed to walk down the hall without looking back, but I knew my trembling legs betrayed my resolve. I kept hoping William would stop me.

  He didn’t.

  I stepped into the elevator, dropped my stuff, turned, and hit the button for the lobby. I looked up to see William, framed by the huge windows of his penthouse. His head was down again. Then he looked up and my breath caught. His inky dark hair was wildly disheveled and there was so much anguish in the stormy eyes I had grown to love. I wanted, desperately, to run to him, but before I could, the doors closed on my last look of him.

  * * *

  No one waited for me when I stepped into the lobby. For the first time in weeks, I was free to come and go without a shadow. It was strange and exhilarating all at the same time.

  I reassembled my bags and started to pull my suitcase across the wide expanse of polished marble floor when yet another wave of dizziness hit me along with a powerful surge of nausea. “Oh no,” I muttered. I dropped everything with a loud clatter and ran toward an elegant silver wastebasket near a couch in the sitting area, into which I very inelegantly threw up.

  I retched a few times, hating that it was happening but completely powerless to make it stop. My throat burned and my eyes watered. Finally, when the contents of my stomach were all out of me, I lowered the wastebasket, ready to find a place where I could dispose of the mess. I was met with a sympathetic look from Rajesh, the building concierge, who was standing just a few feet from me. At that moment, I just wanted to curl up in a ball and disappear.

  “Miss Catherine, please come and sit down and let me bring you some water. I’ll call up to Mr. Lambourne right away. I’m sorry you’re not feeling well.”

  “Don’t do that,” I replied.

  “But, Miss Catherine, you’re not well. Surely Mr. Lambourne should...”