by Lynda Aicher
The parking garage beneath the building was mostly empty. He had the elevator to himself, which wasn’t a surprise. It opened to a lighted exterior lobby. Trevor stood behind the glass doors that marked the Faulkner Investment Group entrance. The grandness of both the building and the offices themselves were a statement to the money that flowed within it.
Trevor met him with a cold glance and even harder stare. “I don’t know what happened, but I hope you fix it.” Trevor’s tone wasn’t as harsh as his expression.
Matt found only honesty projected at him, so he gave back the same. “You and me both.”
“To be clear, though. I will bust your ass if you step out of line in the scene—or anytime with her.”
He’d do the same damn thing if their positions were reversed. “Understood.”
Trevor led him up the main staircase off the lobby and down a hall to a smaller conference room. The other men were already in it, but Matt barely saw them. He didn’t care who else was there to watch, and he had little interest in what they might think of him. He was here for one reason only: Kennedy.
Trevor ran through the same spiel as before regarding scene rules. None of them had changed. This was voyeurism only, unless she granted specific permission for more. That landed like a sucker punch to his gut. He wouldn’t stop anything but watching another man please her would be pure torture.
But he’d lost any right he might’ve had to object to anything she did.
His mouth was dry, his pulse thumping so hard he counted the beats where they throbbed in his neck as he followed the men down the hall. Each step was made with force and restraint as he battled the urge to run into the room and away at once.
The boardroom was lit by a sole lamp on the credenza that ran the length of the far wall. Windows lined the exterior, displaying a skyline of buildings and lights. And Kennedy sat on the end of the table, her bare back to the door, feet propped on the edge.
The sight stole his breath. Pain sliced through him in a combined twist of want and regret. The line of her spine was graceful, her hair soft as it flowed over her shoulders. One hand was between her legs, the other braced on the table as she pleasured herself.
She was so damn beautiful. That was his Kennedy. Strong. Confident. Sure of herself and her sexuality. She owned the room and every man in it right now.
Pride lifted his shoulders as it blazed a path to his heart, but it was quickly followed by shame. He’d taken all of that from her today with one thoughtless move.
The other men edged around the table to gain a better view, but Matt stayed at the back. He didn’t need the visual when he already knew every inch of her. Her mouth would be parted, her cheeks flushed, her freckles dark marks of temptation. Her breasts were slightly fuller on the underside, her nipples a deep rose that peaked with the slightest touch.
But who would pull on them? Bite them until she arched into the pain?
He choked back his groan, hands fisting before he slid them behind his back. A sliver of calm cut through his mounting torment. She had this. She didn’t need him. She’d never needed him. And that was precisely why he’d fallen so hard for her.
Her low moan rumbled through the air to caress him with its heady notes of arousal. Her head fell back, her throat exposed in a lovely request he would accept. The bruise on her neck had faded to a faint dark mark, but he was the only man in the room who knew what it was, what it meant and how it’d gotten there. Only him.
His possessive streak blazed to life on a pulse of his dick and a rush of longing he embraced. She was everything he never dreamed he could have. He could only hope that he hadn’t crushed his chance of having even more with her.
Of holding her again. Of loving her. Of cherishing every damn thing she gave him.
Lust reigned on the faces of the other men, and Matt didn’t begrudge them for it. One glanced to him, frowned, but his attention quickly returned to Kennedy.
She lay back, her chest rising as she rolled her hips. Her eyes were closed, passion stamped on every feature. Her hand moved in a steady motion between her legs, her breaths short.
There were no toys on the table, no condom either. This was simply Kennedy: pure, exposed and…alone.
His heart broke as understanding took hold.
Her bold statement was a mask for what Trevor had obviously seen long ago. Beneath the strength and power was a woman alone on a cold table. Untouchable or afraid to be touched? She’d claim the first, but how close was the second?
His throat burned as he blinked back the rush of emotions that threatened to choke him. How did he help? What could he do? His arms ached to scoop her up and never let her go—but she wouldn’t want that. Not Kennedy.
He blew out a long, slow breath, took another. He couldn’t hold onto love, just like he couldn’t force it. He could only show her what she meant to him and hope it was enough.
Her hips bucked, lifted. She slid her other hand down, a moan falling free. One of the men undid his pants and fisted his erection. They were relegated to the edges of the room, but Matt struggled with their proximity. They were all too close to her—and he wasn’t close enough.
Trevor was in the back corner just a few feet away from him. He appeared to study the scene with a detachment Matt was incapable of. What did he see? More importantly, what did he know?
Trevor’s mask didn’t crack when he looked to him, but his brow rose with a question that could’ve been one of many. There were a few dozen racing through Matt’s head.
A low grunt pulled him back to the scene. A second guy was jacking off to the increased rate of Kennedy’s movements. Her eyes were squeezed tightly closed, her face turned to the side. Her lower lip was trapped between her teeth, the tendons straining in her arm. A soft but distinctive slurp burned the picture of her fingering herself into his mind.
Lust built in his groin. His dick was hard, desire present like it always was around her. But their connection was just a faint buzz over his skin. She didn’t know he was there. None of this was for him. It was most likely about him, though.
And there came the kick to his nuts.
His suit was suddenly claustrophobic, threatening to suffocate all he’d strode to achieve. He wanted to go to her, to touch her and drive her wild. He wanted to tease and sooth and watch her come undone beneath his tongue. Her musky flavor flooded his mouth, her cry coinciding with the one in his mind.
And he was stuck there watching what he’d caused and unable to do anything about it—except to let this play out. He wanted this for her because she wanted it. He’d never judge her for taking what she needed.
Relationships were built on understanding, and he’d failed on that with his ex-wife. That old guilt rose to the top of the pile he carried with him. His lack of observation and understanding had hurt them all, but especially his children.
And now?
He’d thought he’d had it all under control—and that had been his downfall.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Kennedy squeezed her eyes closed, her finger moving in hard circles over her clit, two fingers thrust into her vagina. Every muscle strained for the ending she’d built. Her orgasm hung on the edge but wouldn’t crest. It was right there…holding in her core…teasing her with the release she…wanted…so…badly…
Her cry was one of frustration more than desire. She pried her eyes open, finger slowing on her clit, which teetered between numb and oversensitive. She flicked it softly as she sought the gaze of the first man she saw. His eyes were heavy, lust openly displayed. He stroked his palm down the outline of his erection in his pants, licked his lips.
Yeah, he wanted her. She hunted for the rush of power that usually came with that knowledge. It simmered in her chest but didn’t spread. It didn’t fill her with strength or give her the high like it normally did.
The table dug into her shoulder, and she shifted, letting her hips fall back to the hard surface. Her breaths were labored, skin heated. Everything should’ve
been right. The situation was one she loved. Men in suits, all that authority watching her, wanting her, longing to have her when they couldn’t. She held them all suspended beneath her desire—and all she could think about was Matt.
How he’d touched her that last time in the Boardroom. How he’d known what she’d wanted and given it to her and more. He hadn’t judged her then or ever. Not once.
Her eyes fell closed, her memories dragging her pleasure forward. She imagined him between her legs, his tongue teasing her clit instead of her finger. Heat swelled over her pussy, her walls clenching on the thought of his fingers plunging into her. She mimicked the image, riding her own fingers when she longed for Matt’s.
A low grunt urged her on, but it wasn’t the husky rumble she knew by heart. The one that sunk deep and turned her to mush. That was the one that fed her now, that said she was strong and beautiful and his.
She cursed her thoughts right along with her heart that denied her wishes and hungered for his touch. She didn’t need a man. She didn’t need someone to confirm everything she knew about herself. She didn’t need to be coddled and reassured. She didn’t need…
But she wanted it. She wanted all of it. And now that she’d had it, she wanted it even more.
To have Matt here in the room with her, doing to her what every other man wished he could do. That…would be…
She stretched for her orgasm, increasing the pressure on her clit as she rode that one spot, that one place that buzzed beneath her skin and bunched her release into a tight little knot…right…below… There!
Her cry sprang free on the crash of ecstasy that finally broke. She curled up, straining for every last drop of pleasure that spread to her toes and scorched her skin. Her breath held in her lungs, her muscles tense, her pussy hugging her fingers. Her walls pulsed, looking for something bigger, something thicker and harder to grab.
She fell back on an anguished sob. Her chest rose and fell with each quick intake of breath, her head spinning as the brief intensity faded to a dull afterglow. A man grunted through his own orgasm, his sounds distinctive enough to visualize the event. She didn’t look, though, when she would’ve before.
Yeah, she’d done that to him. She’d driven him to that state. He probably wanted to sink into her and fuck her until she cried out again. He couldn’t, though. Not here. Not without her permission.
And that knowledge gave her nothing tonight.
She closed her legs, resting her hands on her stomach. The quakes started deep within her chest as little ripples. They spread over her heart and dipped into the emptiness she’d refused to acknowledge for so damn long. She tried to smother them, tried to find the strength she relied on to hold her steady. Yet they raced beneath her skin in uncontrolled waves that never quite expanded into a full shudder.
“The scene is over, gentlemen.”
She bit back the sob holding on her tongue. It gouged at her throat and bled into her sinuses until everything burned. No. No. No. She wouldn’t break here. Not yet. Not in front of the very men she’d just mastered. Or had she?
Were her displays just an illusion of her creation?
Of course they were.
Her response came so quickly she couldn’t reject it. They were always for her. Always. Since that very first time. She’d done the scenes because she’d wanted to. They’d given her the feedback she’d craved without the risk of anyone getting too close.
But everything was different now. She was different.
She blew out a quiet breath and tracked the men as they left the room. A mumbled thank you came along with words of praise. They floated past her, barely hitting her consciousness before they were gone. They were meaningless now.
She sensed Trevor as he came around the table, tapping a warning on the surface. He was always courteous like that. Aware of her headspace often before she was. His suit crinkled as he leaned over her. She tensed slightly but kept her eyes closed.
“Matt is here.” He whispered the words in her ear, his breath a shock of warmth before the chill hit.
Dread sped down her spine in a flash of denial. She tensed, thoughts spinning random chaos. Why? How? How long had he been there? But they were gone in the next instant, washed away beneath acceptance. Just like that, her muscles relaxed, and her thoughts emptied.
Matt is here.
He. Was. Here. And he’d stayed hidden. He’d let her do her thing without interfering. And now?
The low click of the door signaled Trevor’s departure. He’d left her there with Matt, which meant he wasn’t worried. For whatever reason, Trevor approved of Matt. It shouldn’t mean anything, yet it did. Two decades of friendship, along with Trevor’s unwavering loyalty, raised his opinion far above her parents’.
She sat up and wrapped her arms around her legs, hugging them to her chest. The position probably gave away too much, but she didn’t care. Her clothes were on the chair in the corner. She could get them, but that would require standing.
She laid her cheek on her knee, a shiver trembling through her. Awareness tingled over her back, but Matt remained silent. Why? Was this the end for them?
That thought had another shot of regret twisting hard and deep. She wasn’t sorry about doing the scene. It’d been her choice. But she honestly wasn’t ready to let Matt go. Not when she still loved him.
She loved him.
She wasn’t certain how or when that’d happened, but it had.
Material rustled, the whisper of silk on cotton. She squeezed her eyes closed. Out of fear? Yes. It balled beside the regret and clawed open the insecurities she’d thought long trampled.
And today had proven exactly how wrong she’d been.
His scent rushed up to cut and comfort as he settled his suit coat around her shoulders. Warmth eased into her and chased away the cold. Her hold on her legs tightened as she tried to squeeze back the ache that continued to grow. It spread up her throat, dug at her heart and tried to swell from her eyes.
“Kennedy.”
Oh, God. The softness in his tone was almost her undoing. She’d started rocking at some point, short little movements that kept the grief at bay. She focused on that, keeping the rhythm that somehow prevented her from crumbling. Breathe. Just. Breathe.
“Kennedy,” Matt said again, his pain a rumbled hitch that broke. “I’m so sorry.”
He brushed her hair away from her face, his touch gentle as he drew his fingers through the strands. The action calmed her almost instantly. It took her straight to the quiet moments when she laid in his arms, skin to skin, hearts in rhythm.
Her rocking slowed, stopped. A tear slid out, but she brushed it away with her knee.
“I—” His voice cracked. He dropped his head to hers. Its weight brought another wave of miserable comfort. “I’m sorry. That’s all I can say. I’m so damn sorry for hurting you. For driving you to this point. For taking what you hadn’t consented to.”
Each word filled her with hope when she’d thought it gone. He was sorry. He was sorry.
“I don’t know how it happened. I would never do that to you on purpose. Never.” Anguish spilled from every syllable. It drenched the room in his pain and soothed her own.
He got it. He got her.
Wonder glossed over her doubts but not her hesitation. His apology didn’t fix her own issues. She swallowed, searching for understanding in the sea of unknown. Exhaustion mellowed resolves she’d once thought absolute. She was tired of being alone, of fighting for something that’d lost its importance.
“I’m the one who responded,” she finally whispered. “I didn’t have to react. No one else would’ve. But I did.” That was the part she couldn’t get over. “It was me, more than you. I did this to myself.”
“Oh, God. Ken.” He wrapped his arms around her, holding her together when she was ready to shatter. “No.” He pressed a kiss to her head, holding it. “No,” he whispered. “Don’t think like that.”
“How can I not?”
H
e urged her chin up. She didn’t resist when she could’ve. Instead, she let him cradle her face, raising it until she had to look at him. Pain and sorrow were etched into each line in his brow, highlighting the sadness and regret in his eyes.
“You reacted out of surprise,” he told her. She leaned into his touch, her eyes closing as she savored the light stroke of his thumb on her cheek. Did he know he did that? That it silenced the trembling and warmed her when so little did?
That he used it when she gave herself to him?
“No.” Her denial came out on a soft note of acceptance. “I reacted because it was you.” He was the only one who’d ever earned that level of trust from her.
He dropped his forehead to hers. “You’re killing me, Kennedy.” His anguish was back, along with the hurt he didn’t try to hide. “You trusted me and I fumbled it. I should’ve been more aware. I should’ve—”
“Shhh.” She laid a hand on his cheek, offering the same comfort he gave her. “It was more me than you.” She’d known that all along. Now she had to figure out how to deal with what it’d uncovered. “You’re taking blame that isn’t yours.”
“But—”
“No.” She swiveled her head, lifting just enough to lay her lips to his. That was all, but it was enough. The connection filled her with light when she’d been floundering in the dark. Her love sprung forward, a reminder of all that he’d given her. Of the security and quiet. Of the strength without restriction. Of the belonging she’d unknowingly craved. “I won’t let you do that.”
She eased back so she could be certain he not only heard but accepted what she said. “I am not your ex-wife.” He inhaled sharply, going stiff. “What happened, happened. We were both surprised and responded poorly. That’s on both of us, not just you.” She waited for that to sink in. Did he get it? Would he continue to bury himself in guilt that wasn’t his to own?
He closed his eyes, winced before he turned his head to kiss her palm, holding it. Her heart did that flutter thing when he opened his eyes. Gone were the doubts and recriminations that’d been drowning him before.
