Wherever It Leads

by Adriana Locke

  “Sit,” I breathe, pointing to the bed. He drops onto the edge, his weight causing the mattress to dip. He rests his hands on his knees and looks up at me through his thick lashes.

  Summoning every bit of self-confidence I can find, I lift the hem of my t-shirt and pull it slowly over my head. I toss it to the side, keeping my gaze glued to his. He doesn’t move, doesn’t react except for the swallow I see bobbing in his throat.

  I pull my hair into a messy bun at the top of my head and then turn in an unhurried circle. I can hear my heart beating in my ears, my confidence a little shaky. I’ve never done something so forward in front of a man before, least of all a man like Fenton that has probably seen women entirely more beautiful than me. Regardless, I want to do this for him. I want to distract him from his day, make him feel the way he made me feel.

  His eyes are wide when I face him again, his mouth hanging slightly open. Silently, I cheer that this is working. On the outside, I try to play it off like I do this all the time.

  “Do you see this?” I ask, cocking my head to the side.

  “Oh, I fucking see it.”

  “Good. Because lots of men might have seen this today.”

  His jaw clenches, his eyes burning. “I don’t know what you’re getting at, but you’re—”

  “Fenton? Shut. Up.” I saunter towards him with all the nonchalance I can find, and stop right in front of him. I pick up his hand again. His skin is hot, his palm sweaty. It’s dizzying how much this man can push the buttons to my libido without even trying.

  I lift his other hand and his brows lift too. He’s unsure what’s happening. Hell, I am too.

  I place each of his hands on my sides. His neck rolls around under his tie, his nostrils flaring.

  Any attempt at hiding my state of intoxication is futile. If his fingers would only drop a few inches lower, he’d feel how wet I am for him. I can’t let that happen because I know if it does, he’ll take over and I don’t want that. Not yet.

  “Do you feel this?”

  His fingers press harder into my body. “Yeah. I feel this,” he groans.

  I lay my hands over his, holding his palms against my sides. “Good. Because no man touched this today.”

  He jerks me forward until his chin is nearly touching my breasts. I can feel his hot breath brushing over my skin. My nipples harden, my pussy clenching as he overtakes all of my senses.

  “I cannot tell you how lucky that makes you.” He presses a kiss on my sternum. “And him.”

  “I didn’t mean to make you mad.”

  He rests his forehead against my chest, his hands sliding down my back, over my ass, and to the backs of my thighs. He holds me in place, virtually wrapping himself around me.

  I can’t breathe. Not because my air is somehow cut off, but because it’s impossible to breathe with him like this. Like he needs me. So I wrap my arms around his head and lace my fingers through his hair and wait for him to pull back.

  We stay that way for a long couple of minutes. I can feel his heart beating, feel him calming down from whatever was getting him frazzled. When he finally pulls back, his face is somber.

  “I’m sorry for . . .” he winces, unable to come up with the right term.

  “Being an asshole?”

  He nods, a sheepish grin on his face. “Yes. For that.”

  “Say it.”

  “What?” he laughs, pulling back further.

  “Say, ‘I’m sorry for being an asshole, Brynne.’“

  “Now who’s being ridiculous?”

  “Say it.” I take his hand and press it between my legs. “If you want to touch that again tonight, you’ll apologize.”

  “Oh fuck,” he groans, trying to push into me. I take a giant step back. He squares his shoulders and pastes on a not-so-genuine smile. “I’m so, so sorry for being an asshole today, Brynne. Please forgive me.”

  “You’re forgiven.”

  He rolls his eyes, making me giggle. “Anything else?” he asks.

  “Want to tell me about your day?”

  “Not really.”

  I shrug and climb on the bed behind him. Grabbing his lapels and tugging, he helps me shrug his jacket off. I toss it to the side and press my front against his back, reaching over his shoulders to his tie.

  He doesn’t resist. He leans his head to the other side and I work at the tie.

  His jawline is rough and stubbly, brushing against my arm and sending chills up my spine. I discreetly look at his face and take in every bend and nook, looking for some flaw, something that isn’t completely perfect. I come up with nothing.

  “My mom always says when she’s had a crazy day at work that it’s just work,” I say, hoping it helps. “So maybe you should just try to think like that. Whatever happened today is just work. Tomorrow is another day.”

  “It’s not that easy. Not with what I have going on.”

  I free his tie and toss it to the side. I begin working on the buttons.

  “There are few things,” he says, “That make me more frustrated than knowing I could solve a problem and being held back.”

  “Are you sure it’s your problem to solve?”

  He just nods, unbuttoning the bottom few buttons. “Maybe not technically, I guess, but it is. I feel like it’s mine to solve, and the assholes I’m working with are incorrigible.”

  “Um, you own restaurants, right?”

  He looks at me out of the corner of his eye. “Yeah.”

  “Okay. So, what? You need to install a new fire suppression system or something?”

  He chuckles, shaking his head. “I wish it were that easy, Brynne.”

  I undo the last button and remove his shirt, nearly gasping. His back is on full display, and for a second, I forget about our conversation. I take in the ridges of his muscles, the dips and swells of each piece. His shoulders are broad, everything rippling like a work of art when he glances at me over his shoulder and catches me admiring his body.

  “Sorry,” I grin, my cheeks flushing.

  “Don’t be sorry. It’s nice thinking you like looking at me.”

  “Of course I do. Who wouldn’t?”

  “For the record,” I say, shifting so I’m right behind him, “It’s just one of the things I like about you.” I take his beefy shoulders in my hands and knead them back and forth.

  “Fuck,” he hisses, hanging his head. “That feels fucking good.”

  He doesn’t know how good it feels to have him under my hands, to feel his skin move beneath mine. He’s a layer of silky skin stretched over the hardest muscle fibers I’ve ever felt. I’m certain I could get off just touching him.

  “Oh,” he groans as I move to the back of his neck. The timbre of his voice shoots straight through me.

  “Do you like that?”

  “Yes.”

  I let my breasts brush against his back. He rocks back against me, increasing the contact.

  “Well, I like this too,” I breathe. “I love feeling your body in my hands.”

  “You have no idea.”

  “I think I do.”

  Skirting to the side, letting my nails drag across his skin as I climb off the bed, I stand before him again. “Stand up.”

  He does as I ask, unfolding himself to his full height. I watch as his abs move and his V becomes apparent. I bite my lip and try not to grin.

  My fingers find his belt buckle and I deftly undo it. My knuckles brush against his cock, swollen and rock hard. I fumble with the button on his pants. He shoos my hands away and undoes it himself, dropping his pants and kicking them off with his shoes and boxers to the side.

  I suck in a breath as I take him in completely for the very first time. I do what he does to me: start at his face, at his deep grey eyes, and let my eyes feast on every inch of his lean, tight body. When I make it to his cock, I can’t go any farther.

  My mouth goes dry as I realize how big—and how hard—he is. I’ve always been bad at math, but he’s the biggest of any man I’ve
ever been with.

  I force a swallow passed the dryness in my throat and let my gaze be pulled to his face again. “Sit,” I order. He complies.

  Bending, I place my hands on his shoulders. I lower my lips to his and he’s waiting. His lips move immediately against mine, sucking my bottom lip between his teeth. He bites gently, hard enough to nearly make me yelp. He releases it, licking the spot he bit and then kissing me with all he has.

  His hands are on the backs of my legs again, pulling me into his body. I tug his hair, angling his head back.

  “Brynne . . .” he groans through his assault. “For the love of God.”

  “Ah,” I moan in his mouth, straddling his leg. I grind my pussy against his leg, dropping my hand to his cock. His breathing is stuttered, his body moving with every breath he takes. He tilts his pelvis, my hand sliding down his cock. I can feel his body tense, as needy as mine.

  I drop to my knees and wrap my hand around his length. He’s huge, for sure, but it’s how hard he is that blows my mind. Glancing up at him, I lick my lips seductively. He chuckles in disbelief.

  “I’m not sure who I need to thank for you losing your phone,” he grins as I squeeze him from base to tip, “But I’d like to let them know I can never thank them enough.”

  I run my tongue along the head of his shaft before sucking the head into my mouth. He pushes more into my mouth, growling.

  His hands find my hair as I suck him deeper. My tongue rolls around his cock, massaging it.

  I squeeze the base and pull up the length, the solidness making my pussy clench. I run my mouth down and back up him, swirling around the head at the top. Finding a rhythm, my breasts bouncing against his leg, he begins to swell.

  Before I know it, he pushes away.

  “Hey!” I say, looking up at his face.

  Fenton grabs me under my thighs, his biceps flexing under the lights, and lifts me so that I’m sitting on him, my legs extended behind him on either side. We’re face to face, chest to chest, pussy to cock.

  He’s pressed against my clit and I undulate my hips so that it rocks against his hardness.

  “I wanted to suck you off,” I say, my eyes fluttering closed. The feeling of him against my wetness is incredible, and I work myself against him relentlessly.

  “There is no way you’re ever going to make me come without you getting yours first.”

  “But—”

  He hushes me with a slow, sensual kiss. I feel his hand between my legs and I shift back. Before I can wrap my head around it, prepare for it, his cock slides into me in one long, hard thrust.

  “Shit,” I purr. A rush of blood slams into my brain, making everything oversensitive and fuzzy at the same time. He grabs my ass and glides in and out of me, his cock hitting the very back with every exquisite shot.

  “Do you like that?” he taunts, his cock coated with my wetness. “Does that feel good to you?”

  “Oh. My. Fuck.”

  I force my eyes open to see his face. His features are pulled together, a look of complete and utter lust written all over him.

  His shoulders move with each movement, his cock swells again inside me. I wrap my hands around the back of his neck, lacing them together, and holding on as he finds a tempo that is a state of nirvana.

  The slapping of our skin echoes around the room, the sound of my moans and his growls webbing together to push me over the edge.

  I can smell his testosterone. I can taste his desire when he brings his lips to mine again.

  It’s all too much.

  “Fenton,” I say, my voice riddled with urgency. “I’m . . .” I don’t even get it out. I fall over the edge into a state of unbridled bliss. My body goes off, dozens of lights bursting before my eyes, my legs shaking uncontrollably as my body crashes around him.

  My pussy pulses and when he groans, the shock waves start up again. I grind my body against him, digging my pelvic bone into his. The friction is tantamount to sensory overload and I collapse onto his shoulder, completely spent.

  “Why are you looking at me like that?”

  I roll onto my back in the giant bed. It’s the first time in a long time I feel completely content. My body hums, satisfied, my mind quiet despite the always-there stresses of life. It’s a feeling I could get used to.

  My hair, still wet from the shower I took with Fenton after our rendezvous, is wrapped in a soft white towel. My body is wrapped in another one just like it. The material is soft under my hands, but I prefer the hardness of Fenton’s muscles as I suds up his skin. Washing his body will forever be my happy place.

  “Looking at you like what?” he asks.

  “Like you are. Like you’re figuring me out or something.”

  “Oh, rudo. I’m not figuring you out. I figured you out a long time ago.”

  “What’s that mean?” I ask. “You‘ve called me that before.”

  “What’s what mean?”

  “Rudo?”

  He grins and pulls his gaze to the ceiling. “It’s just a word.”

  “It’s one I haven’t heard before. Did you, like, make it up one day and decide you want to use it?” I laugh.

  “Something like that.”

  I shake my head. “I’m going to need a little more than that, Fent.”

  “It fits you, I think. It’s seems to wrap up everything I know about you.”

  “You don’t know a lot about me.”

  “I know more than you think. Your eyes tell me everything.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Mm-hmm. Even from your picture, I could see what a naughty little girl you were behind that innocent little smile.” He taps my lips with the pad of his finger. I snap at it, capturing it between my teeth, and pull it into my mouth. I suck it gently before releasing it.

  His eyes darken. “If you want round three, keep it up.”

  “Give me a few minutes and it’s a go.”

  He chuckles, rolling onto his back too.

  “So what do my eyes tell you?” I scoff, wondering how he has me pegged.

  “Well, they tell me that you’re very intelligent. They’re assessing, calculating. And you’re kind, but have a mean streak a mile wide at times.”

  “Wow. You’re better at this than I thought,” I laugh.

  “See?” He slips his arm behind my neck and jostles me closer to him. “Rudo. It fits you to a tee.”

  I love the comfortable feeling between us, no weird vibes or awkwardness at all. We’re lying side by side in towels after a thorough fucking, and it feels like I’ve known him my whole life.

  He wants nothing from me but my time. He doesn’t push me and doesn’t corner me or give me lines that I know are complete bullshit. Everything with him is transparent and organic and that, in itself, is worth its weight in gold.

  “You also have a great sense of humor. You like to think you’re the boss in your relationships.”

  “Correction—I am the boss.”

  “Not in this one.”

  “Um, Fent. We aren’t in a relationship.”

  He glances at me out of the corner of his eye. I’m not sure what he’s thinking or what that look is supposed to mean. I tighten my towel around my chest.

  “True,” he admits.

  “So tell me about you,” I say, shifting focus. I’m enjoying the lazy Sunday feel, even though it’s not Sunday, and I don’t want that to end. Seeing him so relaxed and carefree, especially after how he was a few hours ago, makes my heart sing. “What’s there to know?”

  “Nothing, really. I’m pretty much a ‘what you see is what you get’ kind of guy.”

  “Well, I like what I see,” I whisper.

  A long pause stretches between us until, finally, he rolls back onto his side. He strums down the length of my arm with his fingers, watching the goose bumps pop up in response. “I like watching you react to me like that.”

  “How can I not? You know all the buttons to push. You make it impossible.”

  He shrugs, an unc
onvincing smile sliding across his cheeks. “I thought you weren’t going to fall in love with me?”

  I grab a pillow and smash him in the face. He catches it and throws it behind him, laughing.

  “I’m not in love with you,” I laugh.

  “Sure you’re not.”

  “I’m not! I’m just a woman that’s turned on by uber-sexy men. I mean, I’m sure women across the board react to you,” I giggle. “Look at you. You’re gorgeous. You’re smart. You’re charming.” I tap him on the end of his nose. “But even so, I’m not going to fall in love with you.”

  “How do you know that?”

  “Because someone told me love doesn’t exist.”

  “And someone told me it does. So I’d say the potential is there. I mean, look at me.”

  I giggle and snuggle into the blankets and watch his eyes twinkle. “What?”

  “I was just thinking how fun these last few days have been.”

  “They have been, huh?”

  He reaches out and brushes his knuckles against my cheek. “More than I even imagined.”

  There’s a question that’s been on my mind and the time has never been right to ask it. The opportunity is wide open now, but I’m afraid of the response. I know my heart has bridged the gap from straight-up rebound to someone I could imagine seeing again, and his answer could feel like salt in an open wound if I don’t watch it. Taking a deep breath, I go for it anyway.

  “Do you do this a lot?” I ask, my words out in a rush before I change my mind.

  “Do what a lot?”

  “Do this? Take a girl on a weekend.”

  Whether he means to or not, he leans away a number of inches. He seems to consider his reply before giving it to me. “Not a lot. I have before, though.”

  “Girlfriends? Or girls you met when you found their phones?” I try to make light of the situation, even though there’s a lump I cannot deny sitting squarely in the middle of my throat.

  He grins. “You’re the first girl I’ve met in the produce department. But I’ve brought . . . I wouldn’t call them girlfriends, exactly. More like dates, I guess, along on trips.”