“My God,” I moan, letting my head fall forward. I focus on every touch, every sound, trying to process all the stimuli I can gather. Every push of the toy seems exaggerated, every sound louder than it should. It’s overwhelming.
The vibrator dips barely into me. He then drags it up my slit, rubbing against my swollen bud.
“I’m dying right now.” My voice is shaky, my body beginning to tremble. “Fenton, I can’t. Please.”
“So beautiful.”
I can barely hear him over the buzzing. I can barely hear myself over the rush of blood pounding by ears. All I can process is how good the vibrations feel against my overstimulated body.
Dragging it down my sex again, he lets it slip away. I immediately feel the loss.
I suck in a breath as his mouth cups my clit. It’s warm, wet, the direct pressure of his tongue against me more than I can take. “Fuck,” I hiss, the feeling more intimate, more intense than anything I’ve ever felt in my life.
My body starts to shake. I rock back against his face. One hand cups one of my breasts, the other palms me right above my ass. His thumb is right above my anus, the pressure only adding to the chaos rioting inside me.
“Fenton!” I feel it build, feel my body ride the wave to the top. He licks, his tongue pressed hard against me. He drags it from my clit to my opening and lets it dip inside. A finger is working my clit, his tongue working my opening, and all I can do is rock against him and eat up every shred of pleasure he elicits from me.
It builds and builds with every flick of his tongue. He assaults and massages me, works me into a frenzy, and before I know it, before I can brace for it, I hit the top and explode. “I’m coming!”
I squeeze my eyes shut, even though I can’t see, and feel my entire body shudder with more force than I’ve ever felt. Every muscle clenches, my body shaking violently as he continues to strum me like an instrument.
“Fenton! Oh my God!”
“You feeling that, rudo?” he purrs from behind me. His fingers continue to rub against me, bringing me gently back to the present.
My arms start to buckle. I can’t feel them or my legs. I reach for the blindfold, but feel too wobbly to risk it. Instead, Fenton wraps an arm around my middle and lifts me up and into his arms. A part of me wants to leave the blindfold on, to not look him in the face, but I have to. I have to see what he’s thinking.
He’s watching me with a reverent look etched on his handsome features. The light shadows his face, but his eyes are crystal clear. He stands in the middle of the room, holding me in his arms as I try not to fall into a pit of pesky feelings.
The air, still heated from the moment, crackles between us. His touch feels different now. He feels it too. His hands squeeze me gently, his eyes softening as I catch my breath.
“Did that feel okay?” he asks.
I think he’s kidding because of course it felt okay. It felt amazing. But, for once, there’s no smirk, no sign of his amusement.
“You know damn good and well that was more than okay,” I laugh. “But I’m assuming it’s not over?”
He narrows his eyes, like he’s searching mine. Eventually, after a long moment, the corners of his lips turn up. He doesn’t respond, just carries me through a doorway, through the master bedroom, and into the ensuite. He flicks the light on and places me on my feet.
“I’ll give you some privacy,” he says. “If you need me, I’ll be in the guest bathroom.”
And then he’s gone.
My cheeks are flushed and my lips swollen. Otherwise, I look pretty much normal after a quick shower. But internally? I am a hot freaking mess.
On one hand, I’m in a state of bliss. To have a man’s attention, to be treated like some kind of goddess, is more than I ever imagined. But on the other hand, I have no idea why he stopped when he did. He got nothing out of that and that bothers me. Typically, guys are more interested in what they get out of it than anything, and I have no baseline to compare this against.
Did I do something wrong? Did he lose interest?
I don’t even want to go face him, but this room opens directly into the master. I don’t have another way around him.
I give myself a final glance in the mirror. The pale pink gown hits just barely below my ass and dips dangerously low into a V in the front. Edie insisted I get it. Presley suggested wearing it with heels, but now’s not the time for that. I’d fall on my face for sure considering my legs still feel like gelatin.
With a deep breath, I swing open the door. A soft light glows from the top of a bureau on the far side of the room. This bedroom is expansive, bigger than the living room in my house. The furnishings are a dark wood, offset by white walls and linens. A king-sized bed faces me. Crimson sheets and blankets drape the mattress and Fenton is stretched out, looking at his phone. His strong arms, the ones that were wrapped around me only minutes before, flex in the light as he moves one to grasp the headboard above his head.
The sheets are draped around his waist, highlighting his rock solid abs. He looks casual and ridiculously hot, like it’s a Sunday evening and we’re going to cuddle and watch a movie before having mind-blowing sex.
Dear Lord.
Even having my world just rocked, my body still feeling the aftershocks of the work-over he gave me, I’m ready to go again. I feel the burn in my core, the tingling between my legs.
I’ll never have enough.
When he hears the ensuite door shut behind me, he looks up. His eyes glued to me, he places his phone on the bedside table. “Wow, Brynne.” He scoots up in bed to get a better look. “That’s my favorite thing on you yet.”
I stand, frozen to the spot. I don’t know if I’m supposed to climb in bed with him or find the guest room. He would never be rude, that much I’m sure. But I feel so awkward that I want to disappear.
“What’s the matter?” His eyebrows pull together.
“Everything is fine. Great, actually. I just . . . You know, I don’t know what I’m supposed to . . .”
I try to pull my gaze from his, but he has it locked. Shaking his head, he pulls back the sheets. “Come. Get in bed with me.”
“Are you sure?”
His laugh dances through the room like it’s the easiest thing he’s ever done. “Didn’t I tell you I was bringing you to Vegas to spend time with you?”
“Yes, but—”
“Then get your fine ass over here.”
I pad across the room, my cheeks the color of the sheets, and climb in. I settle myself against the pillows, leaving a little room between us.
My teeth work over my bottom lip. Fenton’s thumb catches my lip and pops it away. He drags his fingertips down my neck, across my clavicle, and gently strokes my arm as he withdraws.
“Everything okay?” he asks. The timbre is back to cashmere, soft and caressing, and I instantly feel more at ease.
“Yes.”
He searches my face, looking for the truth. I hide it as best as I can, not wanting a silly conversation about how I feel inadequate. He just gave me the most erotic orgasm of my entire life. He just outdid every man I’ve ever been with and he didn’t even actually fuck me. And yet, somehow, I feel like I wasn’t enough for him.
“You’re thinking and I want to know what about,” he says.
Yawning, because even though I’m confused, I’m also utterly satisfied. My muscles ache, my mind feels heavy with a fog that only comes after being wound up and let loose. “Everything is fine, Fenton. I just want to go to sleep.”
“If there’s one thing I dislike more than any other, it’s dishonesty. And you’re lying to me.”
I watch his features, gauging his temperament. He doesn’t seem angry, not off-the-wall angry, anyway. Annoyed? Sure.
“I’m not lying to you,” I protest. “It’s just late and I’m tired.”
“I don’t give a shit what time it is. If something is troubling you, I want to know what it is.”
“I—”
“And so
mething’s bothering you. Did I make you uncomfortable?”
“Oh, no,” I insist, rolling onto my side so I’m looking straight at him. “Everything you did was amazing. Completely amazing.”
“So what is it then?”
He’s genuine, sincere, and it makes my walls crack. I guess if I’m going to be here for a few more days with him anyway, we may as well get it out in the open. “I’m just worried that you didn’t enjoy that.”
He roars with laughter, his hand finding the side of my face. “How could you ever think I didn’t enjoy that?”
“You didn’t . . . you know . . .”
“I didn’t get off?”
I flush. “Exactly.”
He nods, understanding. “Brynne, how many men have you been with?”
“That’s none of your business.”
“I’m not judging you.” He ponders a way around the question. “How old are you?”
I consider arguing him on this point too, but the warning look in his eye makes me reconsider. “Twenty-four. How old are you?” Not that I care, but if I have to answer, so does he.
“Twenty-nine.”
We just watch each other. I’m not sure what our ages prove, but he seems to think he won a battle.
“Let me tell you something,” he says, scooting a little closer to me. “What just happened tonight was exactly what I wanted to happen tonight for a number of reasons.”
He looks to the ceiling for a second, sorting through what he wants to say. I feel a lump in my throat, but I listen anyway because I want to understand. I want to feel beautiful in front of him. I want to feel like I can be with him for the next few days and be confident and enjoy myself.
“Being a good lover isn’t about how quickly you can get off. It’s about the interplay leading up to it, the anticipation of what’s to come. That’s why I let you fuck with me a little bit in the last day—there was no way you were going to be in charge tonight, but it let you work yourself up. It kept you thinking about it, thinking about me. Sex is as much a mental stimulation as a physical one. People forget that.”
He’s right. I’ve never considered that, never had someone spend so much effort to work me up before. It definitely took it to the next level. I was dying at his hands, nearly begging for his touch.
“Feeling you want me, watching you react to me was the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen. I can’t tell you what it gives me to know that I gave you those feelings.”
I feel the grin stretch across my lips and I see it reflected on his face. I can’t help it. I don’t want to help it.
His chest rises with a deep inhale. “And another thing—your tough little girl attitude is not lost on me. I saw it on your face the day at the supermarket. Your vulnerability is tucked away in your green eyes, a piece of innocence that you protect with your attitude. That drew me to you just as much as your banging body, and that’s something I want to protect. And that’s why I wanted you to see tonight that this wasn’t about me. I didn’t bring you here to use you for entertainment. I brought you here to . . .”
My heart lurches, beating so hard I think it’s going to slam right out of my chest.
“I wanted to get to know you too, you know?” He peers at me through his thick lashes. “And as much as I wanted to press you against the wall and bury myself inside you, I wanted you to realize, to know without a doubt, it’s not just that. I don’t just want to fuck you.”
“But you will fuck me, right?” I ask, my voice breaking on the last word as I fight a smile.
“Definitely.”
I suck in a breath, already anticipating it but knowing it’s probably not going to happen tonight. He seems determined to have barriers tonight. Fucker.
He reaches across the sheets and wraps an arm around my waist. Rolling me over to face away from him, he slides me across the mattress and into his chest, my back to his front. He brushes my hair off my shoulder and waits until my breathing evens out.
“Do you understand what I’m saying?” he asks.
I nod.
The stillness extends throughout the room, everything absolutely quiet. I can hear his heart beat, the rhythm steady and strong. If I listened closely enough, I’d fall into a deep sleep.
“I know I probably seem insecure,” I say quietly. “I just haven’t had someone do that to me before.”
“Do what before?”
“You know? Just . . . put me before them.” I stifle a sad laugh. “Every man I’ve been with has made sure, regardless of anything else, they got off. And you were just so focused on me. I was just a little confused.”
I feel his throat move as he swallows. “I don’t want to talk about you with other guys.”
“Okay.”
“I wanted to take care of you. I wanted you to feel how much you turned me on.”
“I definitely felt that.”
“Good. And I like that you’re a little insecure. It just means you’re real.”
He tugs the blankets over our bodies. I don’t pull away. I’m too tired and it feels entirely too good being in his arms, my head tucked under his chin, his arm around my waist, to consider pulling away.
“Hey, Fenton?” I whisper.
“Yeah?”
“For the record,” I yawn, “I didn’t fall in love with you tonight.”
He chuckles, the sound rumbling through me. “Good to know.”
My eyelids grow heavy and drop closed. I drift off to sleep wrapped in the arms of Fenton Abbott.
I curl my legs under me and take a sip of my coffee. The sun is shining bright, but the tint on the windows keeps most of the heat out. The city looks deader in the day than it does in the middle of the night, which is amusing. But it is Las Vegas.
The clock on the far wall strikes eleven. Any normal weekday at this time, I’d be working at the bookstore. Today isn’t normal though. Nothing about any of this is normal.
I woke up an hour ago, completely spent from the previous twenty-four hours. Between the traveling, the excitement, and the time with Fenton, I was wiped.
Sleeping against Fenton was its own version of heaven, his arm clenching around me the entire night. It was oddly intimate and comfortably distant. Physically, we couldn’t be any closer, but emotionally—we still barely know each other. Still, I drifted off and didn’t even wake up when he left at some point between then and now. I searched the suite for a note or an indication of what to expect today but there was nothing. He was just gone, nothing left behind besides his scent all over me.
Inhaling a deep breath, I can still catch notes of his musk and cologne on my skin.
My fingers strum against the mug. I’m not sure whether to wait here for him or to go on about my day until I hear something. If I had some sort of timeline, that would help. But I don’t.
I’m rolling around the idea of heading back down to the pool or to the little shops in the hotel when my phone buzzes on the table. Grinning, I lean forward and pick it up from the exact spot I occupied hours before.
“Hello?”
“Well, your father heard from Senator Hyland this morning,” my mother says immediately.
I jolt up from the sofa and begin to pace the floor. “And?”
“He’s trying to start a dialogue with the Nekuti group. The US won’t negotiate with them because it’s against the law, but Hyland is trying to get them to talk.”
“That’s great!”
“I think so. Hopefully we can get them to demand a ransom. We’ve been talking to some people to be able to come up with the money if that happens. It couldn’t come from a US bank, but apparently there are ways to get around that.”
”We just need something to go on,” I sigh.
“I have a really good feeling about Hyland on our side. He thinks Mandla has more information than they’re letting on and has really been pressuring them to turn it over. He’s exactly what we’ve been needing, someone on our side.”
“It’s about time. We’ve gone this long wit
h no one giving a shit. Someone needs to do something besides you and Dad.”
“I agree, honey. But we’re finally on the right path, I think. Besides, Brady is fine. I feel it. When you’re a mother, you can sense when things aren’t right. I just . . . I never should’ve let him go.” Her voice breaks and it breaks me.
“No, Mom. You can’t do that. We’ve been over this a million times. He’s a grown man. He knew exactly what he was doing.”
“I know. And I know he knew the risks and did it anyway.” I hear her try to hide her sniffle from me. “He’s always been such a good boy. I just can’t imagine what he’s going through.”
We both get lost in our own thoughts for a beat. I watch the steam shoot from my cup of coffee—it rises up in a single line and disappears slowly into the surrounding air. It reminds me of life—we are here one second and the next, we could be evaporated into a memory.
“I need to go. I have a few things to do today. Call me if you need anything, sweetheart.”
“Love you, Mom.”
“Love you, Brynne.”
I pad into the master bedroom and find an emerald green bikini in my suitcase. I slip out of my robe and gown and into the swimsuit.
I need some sunshine and fresh air.
A grin slips across my lips as I remember Fenton’s warning. I jostle through the suitcase until I find a white swimsuit coverup.
And I better take this too.
“I don’t know, Presley,” I say into the phone, searching for an empty chaise. “There really are no words to explain it. It was just . . . it was the best thing I’ve ever had done to me.”
“That’s it! I’m going to the grocery store today and dropping my phone into the avocados. Done.”
Giggling, I spot an open lounge a few feet from the pool, beneath a looming palm tree. It has lots of shade and even more privacy. There are no chairs in the immediate vicinity and I’m fairly confident I can kick back and not be splashed or annoyed by the inebriated twenty-somethings.
“Good luck with that,” I offer. “Because even if someone does find it, what are the odds he looks like Fenton?”
Wherever It Leads Page 9
