No Going Back

by Ainsley Kincade

  Grinning against her, I slid my tongue along her folds once more before spearing it into her entry and making her cry out for real. Reagan squirmed beneath me, trying to hold onto the pleasure as long as possible. Pre-cum was soaking my boxers as I groaned against her entry. I couldn’t hold on much longer listening to her moan and cry out. Every sound she made threatened to tip me over the edge.

  “Oh God, oh God, oh God,” she panted as her body stiffened and her muscles quivered to the point of uncontrolled pleasure. Her body convulsed as she lost control and climax rolled through her.

  Completely boneless after finding her release, she couldn’t even seem to open her eyes to satisfy her curiosity when I shifted away from her. It wasn’t until I stepped off the bed that she forced her eyes open and saw me removing my wet boxers and her eyes widened at the sight of my cock painfully hard and swollen with mind-stealing need.

  It only occurred to me then that our first time together hadn’t given her any kind of view of me. Pinned above me on the kitchen wall, this was the first time she was seeing me completely bare. I watched the muscles in her neck contract as she swallowed. Her hands pressed into the blankets, pushing her up to half sitting as she continued to stare.

  Putting one knee on the bed, I gave her a minute to tell me no if she wanted to. Her expression was still wide and bordering on frightened, but she nodded slowly. “I didn’t realize you…” She licked her lips. “I know how incredible you made me feel last time, but…you’re so beautiful…”

  “I won’t hurt you,” I promised again, leaning down to kiss her parted lips. She barely responded, gaze still trained on my cock. In that moment, I realize there may have been another concern in her mind other than my size. “I love the feel of your silky skin and tight muscles over my bare cock,” I said, “but if you’re not comfortable with that, I’ll wear a condom.”

  For half a second, she considered the offer, then shook her head. “I want to feel you, and I…trust you.”

  Understanding now what a difficult thing to admit that was for her, I felt honored by it. Reagan deserved better than what she had experienced in her past. Not just sexually, but this was a start to show her she wasn’t making a poor choice. She watched as I fisted my length and ran it down over her clit and folds. She whimpered and gripped my sides, as if she couldn’t decide whether to stop me or urge me on.

  Keeping hold of myself, I rubbed the head of my cock against her entry. Hot wetness coated me almost instantly. I pressed against her with more force, rubbing my length across her most sensitive areas, especially those still swollen from her orgasm. Reagan seemed surprised by her body’s readiness for another round, but welcomed the exchange of pleasure. The eager look in her eyes pulled me deeper into her, my head fully inside her before pulling back, teasing, warning, making sure she was ready.

  I was already on the verge, my balls so tight they were practically screaming at me to get on with it. Yet, I kept my pace slow, running my head against every nerve ending inside her warmth until she was nearly mindless with pleasure and need. Every movement I made, I struggled to take in another breath, to keep control. My cock pulsed each time I entered her and threatened to undo me. She was so tight, her muscles tried to draw an orgasm from me with each thrust. The tighter she became, the more I had to push, and the more I fought to hold off my own pleasure.

  Finally, Reagan couldn’t take it any longer and her nails dug into my skin, pulling, urging, begging me to finish both her and me. Her strangling pleas and freely voiced cries of passion stole every last bit of control I had. Thrusting full into her, my whole body responded to the cry of pleasure it drew from her and I thrust into her again and again until I shattered and release stilled my body as hot cum poured into her quivering body, her nails dragging down my back as she gasped and convulsed from her own release.

  Trembling myself, I pulled out of Reagan and collapsed beside her. Instead of awkwardness as there had been last time, she instantly curled up against me and buried her face in the crook of my neck. “Thank you,” she whispered, meaning bleeding through her voice that her thanks wasn’t just for physical satisfaction.

  ***

  Waking first, I slipped out of his grip and wrapped myself in my bathrobe. Last night had been completely unexpected. Not the sex necessarily, but everything else. I’d had no intention of telling him about David. I hadn’t talked about that to anyone since before going home that summer to hide out with my dad. Strangely, I was glad I’d told him. I felt lighter, less burdened.

  A smile crept onto my mouth as I began pulling ingredients quietly from my cupboards and mixing together a bowl of pancake mix. I was melting butter in the pan when my phone, forgotten on the kitchen counter the night before, began to buzz. Curious who would be calling so early, I picked it up and looked at the Caller ID.

  Happy, but a little worried, I answered the call quickly. “Hey, Dad, is everything okay?”

  He laughed. “Why wouldn’t it be, baby girl?”

  “Well, you don’t usually call this early. It’s what, five a.m. your time? What are you doing up so early?”

  “Taking a weekend trip with Ernie. Fishing up in the mountains. Wasn’t sure I’d have cell service up there to call on Sunday like I usually do, so I figured I’d check in now. Haven’t heard from you as much lately and I’ve been worried about you is all.”

  “That’s sweet of you, Dad. I’m doing fine, though, just been busy lately.”

  “Work?” he asked.

  “Yeah,” I said automatically, then paused. He heard the indecision in my silence.

  Grunting as he, most likely, settled into his old easy chair, he asked. “What’s going on, sweetheart?”

  There was worry in his voice and I was quick to allay it. “Nothing bad, it’s just…I’m seeing someone.”

  Now he was the one not talking. That summer I’d shown up at home unexpectedly, he’d asked if everything was okay, took my answer that I was just homesick at face value, and never brought it up again. I think he suspected it was guy trouble of some sort. We didn’t talk about that sort of thing, though, so he’d left me to sort things out on my own. In some ways, I appreciated that. There were times, though, when I could have used a sympathetic ear or shoulder to cry on instead of doing all my crying alone in my bed after he’d gone to sleep.

  “Well,” he finally said, “that’s nice, honey. He’s treating you good?”

  “Very good.” In more ways than one. My dad didn’t need or want to know that, though.

  He cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable. “Well, good. Anyway, I’ll call when I get back so you know we made it home okay.”

  “All right, Dad. Have fun.”

  “Will do. Love you, baby girl.”

  “Love you too, Dad.”

  As I was setting the phone down, I jumped at the feel of arms suddenly around my waist. “Mr. Ga…I mean, you startled me.”

  “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you,” he said, “but did you just start to call me Mr. Gabriel again? Didn’t we already have this discussion?”

  I leaned into him, breathing in the lingering scent of his cologne even as I shook my head at him. “It’s habit. I’ve never called you by your first name before. It’s weird.”

  “No, it’s weird that you keep referring to me as Mr. Gabriel, in any setting. Unless you’re calling me that because you’ve become Mrs. Gabriel, knock it off, got it? It’s creeping me out.”

  Too stunned by his casual usage of the words Mrs. Gabriel, I simply nodded and didn’t dare let my mouth utter a single word.

  “That was your dad on the phone?” he asked, the name issue apparently forgotten.

  Pulling back, I looked at him sideways without extracting myself from his hold. “Eavesdropping?”

  He chuckled. “Came out to find you and didn’t want to interrupt. I didn’t mean to listen in.” He pulled me back against him and buried his face in my hair, breathing in deeply. “You told him about us.”

  “Yes,�
�� I said, suddenly wondering if he had a problem with that…and wondering if… “Do your parents know?”

  “About you?” He laughed, his chest rumbling against my back. “Yes. They’ve known for a while, actually. My mom’s been hounding me to make a move with you about as long as Marie has. When I spoke to her yesterday during lunch, she told me it was about time when I admitted I’d finally taken her advice.”

  “Oh,” I said, not sure how to respond to that. It seemed strange that she would know me, in a way, for so long when I had no clue who she was. Apparently, she was happy with the news, though, so that was encouraging, I supposed.

  Turning me in his arms, I tensed when I glanced up and saw his worried expression. “What?”

  He tried not to look guilty, but didn’t quite hit the mark. “My mother would like to…meet you. Next Sunday, for brunch, with my dad. They already had a trip planned to visit and she’s eager to include you.”

  Reaching behind me for the counter, the request scared me more than I would have thought. “I’ve never done that before,” I said, half to myself.

  “Meet a boyfriend’s parents? Why not?”

  I shrugged. “Well, I didn’t date in high school, and the couple guys I dated in college came from out of state and I never had the opportunity, I guess.”

  “Will you think about it?” he asked.

  Frightened as I was, I found myself nodding. Somehow he made facing scary things more manageable. The question suddenly crept into my mind to wonder whether I did the same for him, as Marie hoped. “Have you thought about my offer?” I asked.

  He pulled back, gaze darting to the pan warming on the stove. “Constantly.”

  “But?”

  “I don’t know.”

  Marie’s request was on my mind, but even more than that, the way he seemed to shrink in on himself even thinking about taking up his camera again made my heart ache. The way I’d felt this morning after confessing my darkest moment to him was a gift. I wanted to return the favor. Maybe what he needed was to ease into it, not be shoved off into the deep end as Marie wanted. Crossing the little kitchen into the living room, I picked his phone up from the where he’d left it the night before and walked back to him. He seemed confused when I handed it over.

  “You want to be official?” I asked. “Nothing makes a relationship more official than Facebook, right?”

  He stared at me, still not sure what I was getting at, or at least pretending not to understand. “If you want to change your status to ‘in a relationship’ with me, take a picture of us to post. Just on your phone. That’s it.”

  “You’re serious?” he asked. “If I take a picture on my phone, you’ll let me publicly announce our relationship, where everyone we know can see?”

  When I nodded, he ran a hand over his mouth. His gaze dropped to the darkened screen of his phone. I could tell he was considering the challenge, none too happy about it. For a moment, I worried I’d pushed too far and upset him. Just as I was considering whether or not I should apologize, he yanked me up against him, crushed a kiss to my mouth, and mumbled “fine” against my lips a half second before I heard the fake shutter sound of his phone’s camera.

  Pulling back, I glared at him. “I didn’t mean take a picture right now! I haven’t even brushed my hair or showered!”

  He grinned through his shock at actually having snapped he picture. “You should have been more specific.”

  When his attention went back to his phone and I saw his fingers move, I dove for his phone. “Don’t post that! Are you insane?”

  He spun away from me, fingers dancing across the screen as I tried to get it from him and he switched to holding it above my head. I hadn’t even come close to wrestling it from him before he gave up and turned the phone to face me.

  His relationship status update filled the screen, a picture of us kissing, of me completely lost in the feel of his lips on mine, blurred the details of my hair tossed up in a sloppy knot and practically no makeup left on my face but a smear of mascara and eyeliner under my eye. I wanted to slap him for posting the picture, but I couldn’t help being captivated by it. We both looked so…happy.

  His phone buzzed, snapping me out of my haze and drawing my attention to the comments. Marie’s profile picture hovered next to her comment of, “It’s about fucking time. Don’t forget to turn your HR paperwork in today.”

  Chuckling, I turned the phone to my boss, and now official boyfriend, so he could see what she’d said. He rolled his eyes, tossed the phone on the counter and pulled me in for another kiss. “Thank you,” he whispered before kissing me again.

  I knew those two words held as much in them as mine had the night before as I fell asleep in his arms.

  ELEVEN

  The Threats

  Are we on for brunch?

  My mother’s text had been on my mind all morning. I hadn’t brought it up again since first mentioning it Friday morning. Wednesday now, my mother was insisting on an answer. The trip to come visit me that weekend had been planned several months previous, but she was worried they’d be intruding and had mentioned rescheduling if Reagan wasn’t ready to meet them. Even though I suspected that was true, I hesitated saying so.

  As my employees filed into my office for our mid-week meeting, everyone was much more relaxed than usual. That was largely due to the fact that the current edition of the magazine they’d been working on for three months had gone to print that morning. The rest of the upbeat moods had to do with the change in atmosphere around the office. Only Reagan came in eyeing her coworkers.

  “All right, well let’s get started. Pitch ideas for fall. Who wants to go first?” I asked.

  “I’ll go first, Donovan,” Clara said, making a few people smile and Reagan shake her head. She pitched her idea for an article on trends in family photography, using my name as many times as possible. Half the room was chuckling by the time she finished. Reagan was scowling at me again.

  Pedro took up the cause next, then Isaac, then Melanie, then Francine. By the end of the meeting, Reagan had her arms crossed, no longer pretending she was listening, though I swore I could see a hint of amusement beneath her glare. She was the last manager to pitch. I could tell from the way she pursed her lips she was debating her next move.

  For the last three days, I’d refused to acknowledge her if she addressed me as Mr. Gabriel. Her usual formality had been downgraded to simply not calling me anything and saying what needed to be said without preamble. It was a move in my direction—in my opinion—but she saw it as a way around my childishness.

  Her lips parted as she carefully formed her words. “I did have one major project, outside what we’ve already got backlogged, that I wanted to pitch,” she said.

  Her gaze was fixed on me, and I knew there was a challenge about to be laid down, though I had no idea what to expect. “Okay. Go for it, Reagan.”

  She crinkled her nose at my addressing her by name, but continued. “Amateur mistakes and how to correct them.” Crossing one leg over the other, her eyes narrowed just enough to make sure I knew this was for me. “I want everyone in upper management to take a picture, then our photographers will recreate the image, correcting whatever mistakes you all make. Brandon thinks it’s a great idea, and so does Marie.”

  “Marie?” I questioned, trying not to let the churning of my stomach show in my demeanor.

  Reagan nodded. “Loved the idea, actually, and insisted everyone in upper management participate. She’s even willing to play along and contribute, and can’t wait to see what you come up with.”

  The room was silent. Dead silent.

  “I’m not an amateur,” I said. My heart was racing, but I forced myself to relax into my chair.

  Easing into a challenging smile as her irritation faded a little and her playfulness took charge, she said, “True, but you’re out of practice. Maybe Brandon can give you a few pointers on taking candids without making your girlfriend look like a slob with mascara smeared across he
r face.”

  Her sickly sweet smile made it very difficult for the others in the room not to laugh. I would have laughed, too, if it hadn’t been for the sickening feeling in the pit of my stomach. This was half payback for the picture and messing with her all week, half a shove in the right direction which she made because she didn’t like seeing me unhappy.

  That last part was what finally won out. “Okay,” I said, immediately wanting to take back the words when the faces of my employees lit up with shock, “but only if you say yes to brunch with my parents this weekend.”

  Rolling her eyes at me for bringing up something personal during a business meeting, she pursed her lips and glared. “I was already going to say yes, anyway,” she lied, “so you didn’t exactly win anything there.”

  She could tell herself that if she wanted. Pushing back from my desk, I stood. “Well, get to work on all those pitch ideas. A few of them are big enough they need to be put into motion within the next few weeks.”

  They shuffled out, some clinging to the humor of the ongoing game, those who knew me better still shocked I had agreed to Reagan’s challenge. Reagan, however, stood her ground, knowing I would have something to say to her after what she’d pulled. Instead of jumping to her own defense when I met her gaze, she cocked an eyebrow and waited for me to say something.

  “That was a dirty trick.”

  “So is you refusing to acknowledge me, and cornering me about brunch with your parents during a staff meeting.”

  “You won’t even call me by my first name outside of work,” I said. The force in my voice made her brows rise. I walked around the corner of my desk, completely disregarding her personal space. “I want to hear you say my name. At my apartment, yours. At a restaurant as we talk. In the middle of a meeting.”

  “Why?” she demanded. “Why at work? Your insistence about using your first name at work just makes it more awkward for me to make the switch at all. I don’t get it. It feels too familiar, too…sexual.”