by Carrie Elks
Her eyes flashed as she hesitated, before pulling it over her head. She was wearing only a small pair of pale pink panties, the rest of her was bare.
Naked, blonde, curled on his bed. Jesus, did it get any better than this?
‘Put your arms above your head.’
This time she did it straight away. Her arms stretched above her, lifting her breasts, her nipples visibly hardening. Wearing only his pants, Lachlan closed the gap between him and the bed, kneeling on the mattress. Grabbing the belts, he tied them around her wrists, fastening her to the intricate iron headboard behind her.
‘You okay?’
She nodded.
‘Trust me?’
She tugged at the belts tied around her wrists. He’d left them loose enough not to cause her any discomfort. Enough force and she’d have them undone in no time – he was no Boy Scout. Still, something about the way she was staring up at him sent a jolt of pleasure through him. Sure, he’d never done anything like this before but with her, it felt goddamned amazing.
‘Do you trust me?’ he asked again, somehow needing to hear her say it. He knelt over her, straddling her hips with his thighs, just as she’d straddled him last night. He looked down at her, drinking her in. It was taking everything he had not to pull her panties off right then.
‘I trust you,’ she whispered.
Relief coursed through his veins. Unbuckling his belt, he let the leather hang loose, unbuttoning his pants and sliding them off. Then he was just in his shorts, the ridge of his excitement prominent against the black fabric.
She trusted him. Hearing it was as much an aphrodisiac as seeing her almost-naked body splayed beneath him. He could feel his dick pulsing hard as he lowered himself to her, desperate to feel her skin against his.
She trusted him.
It was everything he needed to hear.
19
The good I stand on is my truth and honesty
– Henry VIII
Lucy could barely keep her breathing under control. Every time he touched her she could feel her heartbeat speed, her skin singing to the tune of his fingers. He brushed his lips against her inner thigh, soft and teasing, and she arched her back to show him her need.
‘Remember last night?’ he asked her. ‘The way you teased me until I begged?’
She nodded, lifting her head from the soft pillow. She tried to arch into him, but her tied-up hands prevented her getting purchase.
‘I want to hear you beg now.’ He kissed her thigh again, and she could feel him smile against her skin. ‘I want you to beg like you’ve never begged before.’
‘Lachlan…’ She sighed, the breath rushing out of her in its haste to be free. ‘Please don’t.’
Another smile, this one as wicked as the last. His eyes were twinkling as he stared at her. ‘I’m not sure how I like you best,’ he said softly. ‘Kneeling over me, or supplicant beneath me. Both ways you’re gorgeous.’
Her hands curled into fists, making the towelling cords dig into her wrists. She could taste the anticipation, a metallic tang that coated her tongue. She inhaled a fresh lungful of air to take the flavour away. Slowly, she unfurled her fingers, relaxing her hands as they remained above her head.
He was still looking at her, still waiting, and there was something about his reticence that touched her. And at that minute she knew that whatever she said, he’d abide by. He wouldn’t push her any further than she was willing to go.
‘I want you,’ she told him. ‘I need you inside me.’ She pulled at her hand, intending to stroke his soft hair. She couldn’t help but feel frustrated at the cord holding her back. He reached for his wallet, grabbing a foil packet and opening it. She watched silently as he unrolled the condom down himself.
‘Never change,’ he said, placing his hands either side of her, taking the weight of his body. She could feel his skin brushing against hers. Chest against chest, thighs against thighs.
God, it felt good.
He hesitated for a moment, looking down at her, before brushing her lips with a sweet, half-there sort of kiss. One that left her wanting more.
Then he was pushing inside her, a rush of breath escaping his mouth. He stilled himself for a moment, as though he was already reaching the edge. She wasn’t far behind, the pleasure already pooling in her stomach, and she inclined her hips, encouraging him to move, needing to feel him grinding against her.
‘Still killing me,’ he whispered, his lips grazing against hers. ‘But it’s a damn good way to die.’
‘Are you okay?’ Pulling out of her, he cupped her face with his hands, his body heavy on hers as they both tried to catch their breath. Her arms were laid by her side – he’d unfastened the belts almost as soon as he’d pushed inside her, begging her to touch him, to hold him, to run her finger through his hair.
‘I’m more than okay,’ she whispered, her voice thin from a lack of breath.
He grinned, leaning back on his elbow, running his fingers down her arm. ‘You look so beautiful.’
That was another thing about him, he knew how to say all the right things. But more than that, the way he looked at her only underscored his words, making her feel as though she was the most important person in his life. An illusion, of course, but a pleasurable one anyway.
‘You don’t look bad yourself,’ she said.
‘You want anything? Water? A shower?’
‘Maybe in a while,’ she said, her body leaden from all their exertion. ‘I just want to lie here for a bit.’
He put his arm around her, pulling her close until she was nestled into his side. Her legs were curled beneath her, her head resting on his shoulder. He stroked the hair from her face, kissing her exposed skin. She could feel his lips trace the line from her brow to her ear – the same line her scar intersected.
‘It’s still my night, isn’t it?’ he whispered.
‘You want to go again already?’
He laughed. ‘No, but you have to do whatever I say, right?’
Her eyes flickered to his. ‘Yeah…’ Her tone was suspicious. She didn’t think he was suddenly going to get a flogger out, but still, the way he asked put her on edge.
‘Tell me about the scar,’ he said softly. ‘Tell me why you got so upset at the gallery.’
Immediately she felt her stomach contract. ‘That’s not fair.’
‘You didn’t put any caveats on it,’ he pointed out. ‘I’m still in charge. And I want you to tell me about this.’
She frowned, trying to read his expression. ‘Why do you want to know?’
‘Because I want to know you.’
His words were enough to send her heart racing. ‘Maybe you don’t want to know this part.’
‘It doesn’t work like that,’ he said softly. He ran his fingers through her hair, his thumb trailing along her neck.
She closed her eyes, a scene playing behind them. The rain pouring down, the screech of tyres on an already slick road. A sickening crunch as reality shrank to the size of a pinhead, the darkness eating it up. She started to shake with the memory, and he pulled her closer, murmuring softly in her hair.
‘How old were you when you got this?’ he asked, brushing his lips against her brow.
‘I was fifteen.’
‘That’s young.’
‘I didn’t think so at the time. I thought the world revolved around me. It was all so black and white back then.’ She’d always segmented her life into two – before the accident and after. ‘Everything changed, everything, and it was all my fault.’
‘How was it your fault?’ Lachlan frowned. ‘You weren’t driving, were you?’
She shook her head, feeling the familiar ache forming in her chest. ‘No, but it was my fault anyway.’
‘Of course it wasn’t, how could it be? Your mom was driving, right?’
‘Yeah.’ Her voice was low.
‘So how was it your fault?’
‘We had an argument, I was screaming at her. Telling her she was the worst
mum in the world. She turned to look at me and jumped the lights, and the next thing I knew she was trying to swerve away from a van coming head-on towards us. She clipped the kerb and we span back into the road, smashing into a van parked on the side.’ Lucy reached up to wipe her eyes. ‘I don’t remember much else, not until I was in the ambulance. They told me she wasn’t wearing a seatbelt. That wasn’t unusual for her. She always had her head in the clouds, she didn’t think about things like safety. She thought she was invincible.’
‘It wasn’t your fault she didn’t wear a seatbelt,’ he said, his voice low. ‘And you didn’t make her look at you. She should have known better than to take her eyes off the road.’
‘You’re wrong,’ she whispered. ‘It was all my fault. It was me who started the argument. Me who wouldn’t shut up even when she told me to. Me who threatened to tell my dad everything…’ She trailed off, shaking her head. ‘It doesn’t matter anyway.’
‘Threatened to tell your dad what?’
Nervously, she twisted the sheet between her fingers, rubbing the pads against the soft fabric. ‘It doesn’t matter. It’s old history.’
‘You’re shaking,’ he said, his hands gentle as he held her. ‘It’s okay, babe. It’s okay.’
She knew it was. She’d made it all okay – by sheer force of will. She was still making it okay, as much as she could.
And yet this need to tell somebody – to confide the secret nobody else knew – was almost overwhelming. More than that, the need to tell him, the man who thought imperfection meant beauty, the man who thought scars were like cracks filled with gold, was nagging at her core.
‘I found out she was involved with another man,’ she told him. Her voice didn’t waver, not a bit. ‘I was screaming at her in the car, telling her she was a terrible mother, a terrible wife. I shouted some horrible things at her.’
Lachlan blinked, lifting his head up to look at her. ‘What? How serious was it?’
‘I don’t know how long it had been going on, I guess I’ll never know now. I’ve never told anybody about it.’
‘That must have been a shock.’
‘I was so angry at her. And then she died, and it felt as though my whole life was crumbling away. I only had minor injuries, a cut-up face and a broken wrist where I slammed into the dashboard. They released me the next day, and then when I got home it was as though everything had fallen apart.’ She closed her eyes, remembering that house in Hampstead, more mausoleum than family home. ‘My dad just couldn’t cope with the grief, he pulled away from us all. And my sisters were inconsolable. Seeing everybody so broken, and knowing I’d caused it…’ She shook her head. ‘I had to fix it.’
‘But your sisters know now, don’t they?’ Lachlan asked. ‘You told them about it?’
‘I didn’t… I couldn’t.’ She screwed her face up. ‘They idolised her, especially after she died. And when I tried to talk to dad about it, to tell him about her affair and our argument, he looked straight through me and refused to talk about it. By the time we were older, we were all doing so much better, there was no way I wanted to blow their worlds apart again.’
‘They’d understand.’ He frowned. ‘It’s not your responsibility to hide the facts from them. It’s not your responsibility to carry everything on your shoulders.’ He brushed a lock of hair from her brow. ‘You really should tell them the truth.’
‘It doesn’t matter any more,’ she said softly, her words muffled by his skin. Warm and soft against her lips. ‘It was years ago. What matters is now. We’re doing okay, all four of us.’
Lachlan looked down at her for a moment, brushing her cheek with a kiss. She could feel his lips against the dampness of her skin. ‘You’re amazing, you know that?’
Part of her wanted to sing at his words. The other part of her – the girl who screamed at her mother, the one who had to watch her family disintegrate in front of her – knew so much better than that.
He twisted in the bed, a smile on his lips. ‘You want to stop talking about this?’
‘Yes please.’ She gave him a watery grin.
‘Wanna tickle me instead?’
His offer was so out of left field, yet so perfectly right for the moment. ‘That’s a big sacrifice,’ she said. ‘But yeah, I’d love to tickle the hell out of you right now.’
Sighing in mock-resignation, Lachlan rolled on to his back, lifting his arms above his head. ‘I don’t do this for all the women, you know.’
‘Glad to hear it.’
‘Just for the ones that are as messed up as me.’
‘That’s rude.’ She clambered over him, the smile still playing around her lips. ‘True, but still rude.’
‘I can be ruder.’ He thrust his hips beneath her. ‘And it’s still my night, remember?’
She could get used to waking up with aching limbs. The soft white sheets surrounded her, soothing her skin. The morning sun was shining in through the gauzy curtains, the light diffused as it hit the cream hotel-room carpet.
Her eyes blinking in protest at her sudden wakefulness, Lucy looked around. The other side of the bed was empty, the sheets carefully rearranged so as not to disturb her. The only evidence that Lachlan had ever been sleeping beside her was a dent in the white self-striped pillow.
And that aroma, sugary and sweet. What was it? She sniffed, her eyes drawn to the table on the other side of the room. There was a tray there, filled with fruit and pastries, plus a large flask of what could only be coffee. A jug of orange juice was beside it – simply seeing it there was enough to make her dry mouth call out.
Climbing out of the bed, she grabbed her robe, wrapping it around herself. No belt. Ah. She blushed, remembering exactly why that was.
Next to the breakfast tray was a brief note.
Good morning, sleeping beauty. Didn’t want to disturb you with my brash American voice so I’m making some calls in the business lounge. Let me know when you’re awake. Lachlan x
His handwriting was as masculine as he was. Slanted and strong. She’d seen it before, of course, but only in business. She found herself folding the notepaper carefully, and sliding it into her pocket.
Pouring a juice, she lifted the glass to her lips and tasted the sweet nectar, letting the liquid linger on her tongue. This weekend was full of firsts, and being brought breakfast in bed – or at least in her bedroom – by a man was another.
Yes, she could definitely get used to this.
But she shouldn’t.
Her flight left this afternoon, and by tonight she’d be back in Edinburgh. Back to her old apartment, to her old life. To predictability and comfort. And that’s what she wanted, wasn’t it? To be in control. Not living at the whim of some rich American guy, no matter how luxurious the surroundings.
She caught sight of herself in the window, at her messy hair and her flushed cheeks. She didn’t quite recognise the girl reflected back at her. And maybe that was a good thing, maybe she could leave that girl behind in Paris, along with any feelings she might have for Lachlan, because they’d both agreed this weekend was a one-off.
Even if the thought of it made her heart ache.
Her stomach growled, as she looked at the pastries. Croissants and pains au chocolat, along with raisin brioches. Sweet and flaky, their crumbs already covering the tray, they looked almost too good to eat. Unsure she could last much longer, she flicked her phone on, sending Lachlan a quick text, letting him know she was awake.
Within a minute he replied.
Get back into bed and don’t eat a thing. I’ll be up in ten.
Part of her bristled at his orders. A bigger part felt hot at his words. She smiled, tapping out a reply.
You’re not in charge any more, remember?
His next reply came almost as soon as she pressed send.
Please?
Grinning, she put her phone on the table, shrugging off her robe and letting it fall to the floor. Her stomach rolled again, making its need for food vocal. Reaching out, she p
icked up a crumb with the tip of her finger, lifting it to her lips and licking it with her tongue.
God, it was delicious, so buttery and sweet. Disobeying the rules had never tasted so good.
Their cab pulled up beside the pavement at Charles De Gaulle airport’s departure zone. Lucy grabbed her bag, turning to Lachlan. ‘I guess this is it.’ She glanced at her watch. ‘I’d better go, before I miss my flight.’
Lachlan’s own flight didn’t leave for another four hours. She’d be back in Edinburgh before he even took off.
