“Don’t . . .” he growls.
“And the next minute,” I grin, “I’m preparing myself to never talk to you again.”
The truth spins into the universe, knocking us both around a little. He shifts his weight foot-to-foot and I just stand as still as I can, waiting for him to respond. I know my answer to the unsaid question: I want to get to know him. I want to know what he likes for dinner, what kind of ice cream he likes, how he unwinds in the evening. But I’m not going to show my hand yet, not before he does.
“If everything were equal, if there were no extenuating circumstances, what would you want to see between us?” he asks, his tone gravelly.
“I’m not sure . . .”
“You aren’t sure?”
Guilt burns through me because that’s not true. And as his shoulders slump, just a hint of a drop, it makes me feel like an asshole.
“No, I am sure,” I breathe. “I’d want to spend time with you. As much as I can. I would want to get to know you, make you smile, make you laugh. Make you dinner and then undress you and help you relax.”
I’m pressed against him before I know it. His chin sits on top of my head, his heart thundering in his chest. He doesn’t let go, just speaks with me still in his arms.
“I don’t know what it is about you and I know we will have to take it slow. But I want to take it, Brynne.”
“Take it where?”
“To wherever it leads. I don’t want to feel like I can’t call you. I don’t want to go a day without seeing you or being afraid to piss you off if I show up. I want to feel justified in wanting to protect you and calling you mine. Not in some trophy way or in some barbaric way either. Just being proud that a man like me could manage to snag a girl like you.”
“Oh, Fenton,” I say, trying, and failing, to not swoon.
“The easiest thing I’ve ever done in my life is feel this way about you, rudo.”
I run my hand down the side of his cheek, the stubble coarse against my skin. “I’d love to see where this goes. I’ve never wanted anything more.”
His hand clasps over my wrist, holding mine to his face. He drags it to his mouth and plants a kiss in my palm. “You’ve put things in perspective for me.”
He slips off his jacket and tosses it onto a chair. My fingers find his tie and begin undoing the intricate knot.
I feel the heaviness of his gaze, the heat of his breath as I slip the silk from around his neck and add it to the jacket. Beginning to unfasten the buttons down his chest, I can feel his heartbeat rumbling.
“I still have things I want to say,” he breathes.
“Not now.”
The shirt slips off his broad shoulders, the stars making his skin nearly glow. My fingers dip beneath the waistband of his dress pants and his breath hitches in his throat.
“Brynne . . .”
“Nope. We talked. Now we fuck. That was the deal.”
Jerking his belt, I snap him out of his reverie. With quick, methodical movements, I undo the belt and yank it out of the loops.
“Brynne . . .”
“Later, Abbott.”
He laughs and takes a step out of my reach. “You think you’re calling the shots just because you have a filthy mouth?”
“Um, yeah.”
“Sorry.”
His features darken as he drags a chair behind him. He stands in front of it and undoes the button of his pants. He frees his cock, running his hand up and down the long, solid length.
I start to take a step forward and he gives me a look that stops me.
Fenton sits in the chair, grabbing his dick at the base. “Take your shirt off.”
“Is that how this is played?”
“Tonight it is. No talking.”
“I—”
I’m cut off by his narrowed eyes. The words disappear into the thick, warm night air. Lifting my cami to the base of my breasts, I watch his reaction, measure the effect I’m having on him. The slight widening of his eyes, the slack jaw let me know I have his rapt attention.
Good.
Turning away from him, I brush my hair to one shoulder and then lift with no hurried movement until my cami is over my head.
Glancing at him over my shoulder, I shrug. “Now what?”
“Face me.”
Tossing my hair back, I pivot back around. He strokes his cock, the head swelling with the pressure. I want to wrap my lips around it and suck, tasting him. But I know he won’t let me; he’s pinning me in place as it is.
Bending at the waist, making sure he gets an eyeful of cleavage, I remove my heels. They hit the deck with a thud.
Running my hands down my chest, abs, and to the top of my jeans, I watch as his gaze follows my movements. I undo the button and lower the zipper as torturously slowly as possible. His jaw ticks, wanting me to hurry, but he’s not about to ask me to.
I turn away from him again, letting my hips swivel. I hear him mutter under his breath, but I don’t look back. Instead, I stand on my tiptoes, grabbing the deck rail in front of me with one hand and letting the other slip into the front of my pants. I lean forward, letting my ass pop towards him, and widen my stance.
My bud is swollen, my slit slippery already with desire. I moan as my fingertip touches my clit and I hear the chair creak behind me.
Glancing over my shoulder, I see Fenton sitting back down. His pants are gone and he’s deliciously naked, just a look of pure lust painted on his handsome features.
“Ah,” I cry, keeping our eyes locked while I work my fingers over my sensitive spot. His fist works his cock in time with my hand, at a pace that’s demonstrative of how much we both crave this release.
“Don’t even think you’re going to make yourself come.”
His words pierce me, nearly throw me over the edge on their own. I soar to the top, ready to hit the climax, but right before I hit the line, I stop. My head sags forward as the blood rushes from my brain, my body reprimanding me for quitting too soon.
I slide my hands into the sides of my jeans and push them, one inch at a time, over my waist. I kick them off, standing in front of him in nothing but a white lace bra and panties.
His gaze is intense, scalding my skin as it takes in every curve and bend of my body. I walk towards him, one, two, three, four steps, and wrap my fingers in his hair.
Dragging his face to mine, our mouths meet in the middle. Our tongues dance together, whispering promises of what’s to come.
He bites down on my lip, his hands finding my ass, and nudging me forward. I straddle him, never letting our contact break, until my feet are planted on either side of him. He guides his cock under me, brushing my panties to the side, and I sit down swiftly on his length.
“Fuck,” I hiss against his lips, needing to move but needing to let my body adjust to his size. His hands dig into my waist, holding me down against him.
“Your body fits me like a glove,” he mutters, his tongue drawing across my bottom lip. I suck it into my mouth and he jerks. As he does, his cock moves and triggers me to move with it.
I slide up and down his length, his solidness making me quiver. His mouth finds my breasts, sucking on one, then the other, and the combination causes an internal explosion.
“You. Are. So. Wet,” he groans, tilting his hips. “Fuck, Brynne.”
“It feels so good.” I put my weight on my feet and control the movement of my body against him. My head tosses back as he slips inside me, his fingers finding my clit and rubbing it in slow, small circles.
My movements quicken, the build-up coming in a frenzied pace that I no longer have control over. He slips his mouth around one of my nipples again. He bites down, rolling it between his teeth.
“Fent!” I yell, with no thought given to the fact that someone below could hear. I just pump my body along his, feeling his shaft slide into me and hitting my G-Spot at the back of my pussy. It’s an incredible, sensational feeling. “That. That’s going to make me . . .” I say, but the last few wo
rds come out as a stutter.
“Open your eyes.” His hands find my hips again and he keeps me moving—up and down. The pressure, the intensity of his cock massaging the back wall of my pussy becomes more than I can take.
Our gazes link mid-air as my eyes flutter open. The way his grey eyes swirl, heat, peer into the crevices of my soul is almost like another form of penetration. It’s too much.
“I’m going to come, Fent.”
He growls, moving his hips so that he’s slamming into me harder and harder. The force mixed with the sexiness of the timbre of his voice pushes me over the edge.
I sit down hard on his cock, feeling the head of it pulse inside me. My body spasms around him, shivering as wave after wave of pleasure slams into me. Colors burst in my vision and I can feel my temperature spike, heat rising through me and pushing out of the top of my head.
I moan, squeezing my eyes shut even as he tells me to open them. I can’t. I can’t do anything voluntarily. My body has taken over, succumbing to the euphoria.
I can feel him still moving inside me. When he groans, and pushes the farthest he’s been, I grind my clit against his body.
It sends another wave of bliss, a bit softer this time, through me and I feel him emptying himself inside me. After what feels like forever, my body sags with exhaustion. I sink against him, my head to his shoulder. He wipes my wet hair off my shoulder and plants a kiss in its place.
“If that’s a part of getting to know you, I think we should get to know each other multiple times a day,” he chuckles.
I try to laugh but I’m just too tired. It’s a shaking of the shoulders instead, a failed attempt to pretend I’m just fine.
Thinking I should get up and find a bathroom, I make one half-assed attempt to push away. It, too, fails. Part of me knows it’s because it’s too cozy to be lying against him like this and part of me knows it’s because if I do, I’ll be calling Presley to pick me up, because when things are too good to be true they usually are and I don’t want this night to end.
Not yet.
The moonlight shines through the windows above the large soaking tub. It overlooks the beach and I imagine opening them and breathing in the salty air while sitting in a deep basin of bubbles.
I could live in here.
Fenton’s master bathroom is a girl’s dream. Heck, it’s anyone’s dream. Encased in golden marble, it looks like something you’d find in a Fifth Avenue penthouse rather than a beach house in Malibu.
In the corner, there’s a large walk-in shower with more shower heads than necessary or practical. There’s a large television across the room from the tub and I wonder if he sits in this and watches baseball games or the news in the morning. At the other end, a walk-in closet that’s bigger than my bedroom is only half-filled with clothes. I know. I looked.
I slip one of Fenton’s UCLA t-shirts over my head after getting a quick shower with him. He went to make some calls and I type out a quick text to Presley that I’m not coming home and then power my phone down. She’ll blast me with a million texts, most of them inappropriate, and I don’t want to deal with her. Not tonight. Not with Fenton lying in his bed in the next room, waiting on me.
My cheeks ache from the grin that I can’t ease off my face. Thinking of Fent waiting for me, of the things he said to me tonight about wanting to see where things go, is enough to make me feel like a kid waking up on her birthday. Everything is full of promise. There’s the potential for so much fun, so much good, so many surprises to be lurking around the corner that it takes all I have not to jump up and down.
Flipping off the light, I open the door. I see Fenton propped up on a pile of pillows. His eyes are closed, his skin still damp. The bed is hulking, taking up all of the space between the windows on either side of the room. Even so, Fenton looks so broad, so strong.
So delectable.
My fingers itch to trace the muscles on his abs, to feel the solidness of his chest under my palms. I start towards him and his eyes flutter open.
“Hey, there,” he grins, pulling back the blankets. “Get in here.”
I can’t help the excitement that flitters in my chest as I climb into his bed. He grabs me, drawing me across the mattress and into his arms. I snuggle into him, breathing him in.
“Mmm,” he whispers. “I like seeing you in my t-shirt.”
“I hope you don’t care. I didn’t plan on coming here tonight, so I didn’t bring anything.”
“Of course I don’t care. I love it. But you could’ve been naked and I wouldn’t have objected.”
I can hear his heart pound in his chest. I know mine is doing the same thing. We’ve taken a step towards wherever we end up and I have a million questions, but I’m afraid to ask. Instead, I let my fingers trace the ridges of his arm, the thick veins that wrap the muscled limbs.
“How do ya feel?” Fenton asks.
“Great. Tired. Happy. You?”
“The same. Strangely.”
“Strangely?”
“This wasn’t really on my to-do list,” he laughs.
“What wasn’t on your to-do list?”
“Finding a phone in a bunch of bananas and becoming hooked by its owner.”
“Hooked, huh?” I laugh.
“Pretty much.”
I pull back far enough to see in his eyes. “It wasn’t in mine either, you know. You are supposed to be my rebound.”
“You had a fatal flaw in your line of thinking,” he grins.
“Oh, yeah? What’s that?”
“A rebound means to bounce back after hitting something.”
“Yeah . . .”
“There was no way I’d have been able to let you just go back. You’re stuck with me for a while.”
He pauses, waits for me to respond, but I’m stuck in a limbo of words. I want to cheer, to smile, to do a little shimmy under the covers—maybe roll over on top of him for another round. But that seems a little overboard, especially when I’m not even sure what he does mean, exactly.
“So you’re my . . . bounce?” I ask.
“I’ll be . . . your dribble—taking you forward with the touch of my hand.”
“You’re so stupid,” I laugh, rolling onto my back.
He props himself up on one elbow and looks down at me. His lips twitch in amusement. “Stupid, huh? Boy, you know how to make a man feel good about himself.”
“Like you need any lifting up.”
“You think I have an ego?”
“Not a crazy one. But how could a man like you not know you’re . . .”
I let my words drift away. There are no words that could complete that sentence, not the right way. It would be too much or not enough, or God forbid, stupid. My cheeks heat as I realize I shouldn’t have started this because the look on his face tells me he’s not going to let it go.
“I’m not what?” he prompts.
“A complete asshole for putting me on the spot,” I laugh.
“You put it out there. I just want to hear what you think.”
What I think is that he’s the ultimate male. That he could’ve hung the moon if he wanted to. That he is quite possibly a piece of perfection with every bit of an eight-inch, thick cock. But I can’t say that.
“I think you’re gorgeous,” I say instead. “Sexy. Intelligent. I think . . . you’re kind. Compassionate. And . . . maybe a little ruthless about what you want. But honestly, I kinda like it.”
I feather my fingertips over his lips. Pressing them together, he plants a kiss on my fingers.
“How could you not know you’re all those things?” I ask.
He peers into my eyes, his gaze so intense I feel like he’s seeing my bared soul. It’s humbling and nerve-wracking, but I can’t cover it up from him. I don’t want to. I want him to see me for what I am, to not ever feel like I have to hide from him. If wherever we’re going is going to work, I don’t want it to end up like my relationship with Grant.
He doesn’t answer my question. Instead, h
e asks one of me. “You want to hear what I think about you?”
“I don’t know. Do I?”
“I think you are strong. Smart. Capable. You hide your vulnerabilities and fears behind your strength. You’re easily shaken, but don’t let it show because showing that would equate to weakness in your mind. You’re the only person I can be around for longer than two hours and not want to slice my wrists.”
“That’s good,” I laugh, a nervous crease in my voice.
“It’s very good,” he grins.
“So, this thing between us now. What does it mean, exactly?”
His features darken, his bottom lip pulling between his teeth. He runs a hand along the curve of my hip, gliding it over my abs, and holds on to my other side. His palm is warm, a little rough, as it splays against my skin.
“It means whatever you want it to mean,” he says, his voice low. When I don’t respond, he continues. “I’ll tell you what it means to me. You make me feel a way that I’ve never felt before. You energize me, inspire me.
“My work is important to me for a number of reasons. But I’ve been doing it for years now and the last couple have felt monotonous. I’ve thought about getting out of my fields and saying fuck it and buying a yacht and sailing, like I told you. But with whom? Where to? I’ve taken my inheritance and I’ve built it up, much higher than my parents ever imagined it could be. But what for? I have no one to share it with and it never dawned on me . . . until I met you.”
His fingers trail up my side, skimming my breast, until he cups my cheek. His eyes bore into mine and it makes my heart beat so fast I think it’s going to explode. I have no idea where he’s going with this and the anticipation, the possibilities, are running away with me.
“But you come along and zap life back into me. I’m laughing for the first time in months about things that aren’t debaucherous. I’m making plans for vacations and to expand certain parts of my business, and all the while, you’re in the back of my brain. I want to work as quickly as I can and go find you. And I think that says it all.”
“I don’t know what to say,” I whisper.
Wherever It Leads Page 22
