“No, but someone else does.” He sets a scrap of paper down in front of me. “I found this in my pocket just now.
The script is bold and commanding, exactly like the man I spent the evening loving. The message causes my heart to stumble mid-beat.
You can trust Baily. She’s on the pill.
I look up and meet his gaze.
“I’ve never left myself a message like this before. He… I must really believe in you.”
“Because I went on the pill?” I’m sure I’ll never understand how his mind works.
Slowly, he shakes his head. “No, because you invested in our relationship that way. You fought me on it at first, but decided to do it anyway. You put faith in our relationship—it’s what I’ve been waiting for.”
“So, you’ll forgive me too?”
He looks at the pristine white tablecloth and I get the feeling he’s afraid to meet my gaze. “Forgiveness isn’t mine to give, but to ask for. I’ve treated you abominably. I see that now. Bullying you, imposing my burdens, holding back information about myself while demanding your secrets. I didn’t trust you the way I should have. I’ve been an ass, but I can’t force myself to walk away, even if it’s in your best interest.”
“It’s not.”
Slowly he looks up, his celestial blue eyes full of hope. “Will you still have me?”
Taking his hand in mine, I slowly twine our fingers together. “I love you, Connor Edge, every side of you.”
His eyes go wide and he whispers, “Say it again.”
“I love you.” It’s easier, now that the seal is broken, the words effervescing from me.
He tugs me into his lap and his hands shape to cradle my head, to hold me in place above him. Firm, masculine lips meld with mine oh so sweetly. I expect the liquor on his breath to overwhelm me, but it enhances his own spicy flavor in an addictive way.
Part of me is content to stay exactly like this, fusing together with him. But another part craves more, skin to skin contact, being filled by his hardness, engulfed in his heat.
Connor’s hands rove my back restlessly and before I realize what he’s doing, my bra is unhooked.
“I need you naked,” he growls.
I stand up and glance over at the stairs. “Shouldn’t we…?”
“Right here, right now.” The button on my jeans pops free and he lowers the zipper. Hooking his thumbs through my underwear, he drags everything down to my knees. “Hop up on the table.”
I remove my shirt and bra and do as he asks. He whisks the material off my legs. His impatience to bare my body is the ultimate aphrodisiac. He guides my feet to the table, splaying me open wide, so the wet folds of my inner sex are caressed by the cool air.
I brace my hands behind me for balance. My nipples ache, my clit throbs, and I feel poised on the verge of coming.
“So lovely,” he murmurs, resettling in his chair. “So pretty, spread out for me like a banquet. I can’t wait to sample some of this delectable dish.”
I expect a full on assault with his mouth, but instead he lowers himself slowly, nuzzling my thigh with his whiskered cheek. He lets out a breath and my clit actually twitches in anticipation.
His eyes meet mine and I see the blue fire there. “A meal worth savoring.”
I’m trembling all over, greedy with lust, seduced by his appreciation of my body. “Connor…”
Thumbs stroke gently over my labia for an endless moment before pulling me wide. Hot breath torments my inner flesh and I hear him suck in a breath, scenting me, just like I saw him do earlier with wine before taking a taste. Embracing the bouquet, he called it.
Then his mouth makes contact and I gasp. He’s pleasured me this way before, but somehow it seems different this time. As though he’s falling into me, or taking me into him.
He lays hot, open mouth kisses to every bit of me, his tongue following the contours of my folds. He doesn’t ignore my clit, but neither does he go right for it. Instead it’s just another peak in the topography he’s carefully mapping.
My channel is dripping and goosebumps cover my skin. I’m torn because I want to go over, to experience the orgasm that I know will blow my mind, but I also don’t want this sweet torment to end. I try to memorize how he looks, the light from the chandelier casting shadows across the two of us. It’s such an erotic scene, with him poised at the edge of the table and me spread out like some sort of sacrifice to his unquenchable lusts. I whimper as he drags deeper, sipping from my well.
His arms snake behind my bent knees to grip my thighs and open me wider. I lie back on the table, uncaring of the clattering of expensive china as I writhe under his delicious assault. My whole body quakes, responding to every lash of his tongue, but still he doesn’t push me over. I need his fingers in me, or better yet, his cock, filling me, stretching me. As soon as the thought surfaces, I know I won’t come until the fantasy is fulfilled.
Propping myself up on my elbows, I whisper, “Connor, I need you now.”
The words barely leave my mouth when he’s up, fighting with his belt. I shiver as he yanks the length of leather free and then attacks his pants, getting them out of the way.
“Have I come inside you yet?” He pushes his pants down and grips his erection in his hand. Vaguely, I remember him asking me to save that pleasure for this version of him. Guilt gnaws on me. If Rochelle hadn’t interrupted us earlier, my answer would be different.
“No,” I say, with the intention of explaining, but then he’s on me, inside me, caressing my inner walls with his hard flesh.
“Thank you.” He rests his forehead against mine so he can stare into my eyes while thrusting shallowly into my body. “You feel incredible.”
“So do you,” I say, because it’s the truth. I want him deeper but the smooth head of his cock keeps rubbing a hot spot inside me and it feels too good to complain. My fingernails sink into his biceps and I wrap my legs around his waist, hooking my ankles just over his ass.
“Say it again,” he breathes. I know what he wants to hear.
“I love you, Connor.”
His eyes close and a serene expression overtakes his strong features. My breath hitches and all the physical yearnings of my body fade away. It’s as though my words opened some window to heaven and Connor is now lost in nirvana and I can’t help but lose myself in his glory.
But then it’s gone and he’s pinning me to the table and shoving his stiff prick in to the root, hard and fast. I whimper because I’m once again poised on a knife’s edge. The orgasm is so potent I can practically taste it. “I’m so close.”
I see it in his eyes, the knowledge that neither of us will last much longer. “Come with me,” he urges. It’s softer, sweeter than the demand his other self would make, but just as irresistible.
I cling to him, following his lead. My walls close around him but he powers through as though with a battering ram. His hips snap sharply forward and back. My heels dig into the taut muscles of his ass, spurring him on until I feel the first hot jet of his come bathe my inner channel.
He doesn’t close his eyes, and seeing his pleasure sends me over. My back arches and I cling to him in ecstasy, digging my nails into his skin so deeply I wouldn’t be surprised if I draw blood.
It’s incredible, this shared moment of sheer perfection. His lips feather over mine softly even as his cock fountains inside me and my body ripples around him, milking every last drop from him. The beauty of the moment brings tears to my eyes.
And then it’s over. He buries his face into the curve of my shoulder and I bring him back down onto the table with me. Sweat slicks across my skin and my breathing is erratic as I gulp in air and give myself time to recover.
He feels so good, his weight pinning me to the hard surface of the table. I’m sure we ruined the pristine white cloth, probably broke a bowl or two, but as I trail my fingers through the silky strands of his hair, I can’t bring myself to worry over the financial ramifications of that little slice of heaven.
After
a while, Connor withdraws his still semi-hard shaft. I miss him instantly, especially when he goes about tugging up his pants and buttoning his shirt. A chill of foreboding causes me to shiver. Perhaps I’m being melodramatic, it could simply be a draft letting in the cool fall air, but the fact that he didn’t return my heartfelt confession has me on edge.
“Let’s go upstairs.”
I slither off the table and glance at the mess. “What about the—”
“I’ll get it later. I doubt I’ll sleep much after we talk.”
Picking up my clothes, I follow him upstairs. My legs feel as limp as our stir fry noodles, a few of which are stuck to my back.
Connor leads me past the Victorian room, as I’ve come to think of it. I wince when I realize the crystal bowl with the ginger root is still in there. I don’t want to keep anything from this Connor, but neither do I think he’s ready to hear all the kinky details I get up to with his other self. Guilt flays me for not admitting I forgot that promise I made, about letting him come inside me first. I didn’t lie, but neither did I make an intentional choice. This is nuts. I feel like I’m cheating on him, with him.
Connor leads me to the very end of the hall, to the master suite. It’s enormous, with huge windows overlooking the rolling hills of the grounds. The moon is full again tonight, bathing the Rosemont in an ethereal glow. I shiver as I see his bedroom overlooks the pool, and in the distance, the outline of my cottage sits against a copse of pines.
Connor leads me into the bathroom. There is no tub in here, just a massive shower with five showerheads. He turns the water on, then starts disrobing. Though I’m impatient to have our talk, I feel scuzzy enough to bide my time. He’s so reclusive right now and I don’t intend to rush him.
He takes my clothes, removes my keys and cell phone from my jeans pocket and sets them on the counter, and tosses the soiled garments in the hamper with his own. It’s such a domestic type of chore, and seeing him do it like this is part of our routine squeezes my heart.
He tests the water temperature and ushers me under the spray. I tip my head back and he moves up behind me, combing through my hair with his fingers, before adding some herbal shampoo. He lathers, rinses and repeats the process as though he’s done this a million times. I lean against him and enjoy his ministrations.
His hands skim my body possessively as he cleans me with a washcloth. I raise my arms and spread my legs when he indicates, unable to hinder him in any way. I’ve never been pampered like this before and I savor every second of it. That time in the Hamptons doesn’t count. We were fighting then and I didn’t enjoy it the way I can now. Though I should be fully sated from our sexual antics downstairs, my body responds to his touch, nipples and clit stiffening as though trying to attract his attention.
He smiles up at me, obviously delighted that I’m an insatiable slut for his body. I blush, but refrain from worrying my lip. I can’t help being turned on by the sexiest man I’ve ever seen, especially when he’s rubbing things over my body. He continues to wash me as though nothing is amiss.
He’s much less thorough with his own cleansing, quickly sloughing water and soap under his arms and over his chest and belly, his genitals. It cools my ardor somewhat to see he doesn’t have an erection. Obviously, whatever he intends to tell me is putting a damper on his sex drive.
Connor shuts the water off and helps me out onto the bathmat. He dries me with a fluffy white towel, the same exquisitely soft kind I remember from the Hampton house.
“I got this for you,” he says, the first words he’s spoken since suggesting we come upstairs.
Opening a door, I see two bathrobes, one cobalt blue and the other jet black, hanging on the inside hook. He removes the blue one from the hook and holds it out for me.
I don’t move. “You bought me a bathrobe?”
He nods silently, still offering it to me.
My mind whirls like a carnival ride. He did this because he wanted me back, even when he was angry at me, when I was afraid he’d moved on. A sneaking suspicion fills me. “What else did you get for me?”
He gestures impatiently with the robe. “Are you going to wear it?”
I compress my lips to keep from smiling. He’s so defensive, but the fact that he didn’t answer me tells me my hunch is right. The robe is soft against my skin,
He dries himself and shrugs into his own robe, which I bet is also new. He bought us matching bathrobes and hung them in his closet. He’s so incredibly sweet, how could I not love him?
Connor has a sitting area with a fireplace attached to his bedroom. He urges me to sit on the navy and gold sofa and I do, wondering how much longer he’ll stall. My curiosity is eating me alive. He ignites the gas logs to help dispel the chill in the high-ceilinged room and then retrieves a blanket from the bed to wrap me in. I would prefer to be wrapped up in him, but he’s full of restless energy.
“Are you thirsty? Should I get you a glass of water?” He looks hopeful.
“I’m fine, Connor.” Curling my feet up under me, I wait for him to talk.
He nods and begins to pace. “I know now how you felt, telling me about your mother. It was kind of like a test, wasn’t it? I’m sorry I failed.”
“Connor,” I whisper, reaching my hand toward him. “It’s okay. I’m just touchy about that. It’s my biggest hot button. My neurosis to deal with.”
Connor nods slowly. “I’m still sorry. I wish I’d told you then just how important you are to me, and that nothing you told me would change the way I feel about you.”
I may not be the brightest bulb in the strand, but I know what he needs to hear. “Connor, I love you and nothing you tell me will change the way I feel about you.”
“We’ll see soon.” He smiles at that, but it quickly fades. “You remember Noah Burkowitz?”
I’ve met his attorney and wondered about the bizarre relationship between the two men. The lawyer seemed absurdly protective of more than Connor’s assets. “Yeah, I do.”
“We’ve been friends for fifteen years, since we met in the V.A. hospital at West Point where we were both being treated.”
I blink. Connor’s a vet? None of the tabloids have ever revealed that nugget of information. I feel myself frowning. Something doesn’t add up. Connor’s family has money and connections; he could receive the best treatment available. “Wait, fifteen years? You’re not even thirty. What were you doing in a V.A. hospital?”
He releases my hand but holds my gaze. “Being treated for C-PTSD.”
I blink. “I know what PTSD is, at least in general terms. Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, right?”
He nods. “Right. In cases of PTSD, the trauma can stem from a single event, such as a brutal battle or a rape. That sometimes affects veterans who have been involved in wars, or children who have endured abuse.
“The C stands for Complex Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. The main difference is that with C-PTSD, there is a loss of identity that stems from prolonged trauma with no viable escape routes. It happens when you’re trapped in hell with no way out.”
I’ve forgotten how to breathe. I want to say something, but he’s pacing again.
“My personal hell lasted for three years, from the time I was six until right after my ninth birthday. You won’t see this in the papers. The people who took me blackmailed my family.”
“Took you?” I whisper.
“I was kidnapped.” He stops, turns to look at me, his face full of anguish. “Baily, I don’t know what happened to me there, but it fucked me up.”
Questions fill my mind. “How did you get free? Who took you?”
“I don’t know. I can’t remember anything.” His gaze meets mine. “But he does.”
My lips part but I don’t know what to say. I swallow and then push the words out. “He? As in, the other you, control freak, hyper vigilant you?”
“Yeah. Or at least I think he’s aware. We don’t exactly keep an open dialogue. I’ve tried therapy, both analysis and courses of dru
g treatment, but I’m a tight lipped bastard.”
His hands are shaking and though I can’t think of any words of comfort, I need to offer it. Rising from the couch, I move slowly forward, not wanting to startle him. My arms go around him and he melts into my embrace.
“Now you know as much as I do. Or at least as much as this version of me does.”
I hold him for a long moment, my heart breaking for him. “What can I do? How can I make it better?”
Connor inhales deeply and puts some distance between us. I’m afraid he’s withdrawing again, the same way I did after my heartfelt confession. It hurts to open up to another person, to bare your soul and hope to God they won’t annihilate you now that they have the power.
But I’ve underestimated Connor yet again. Instead of retreating, he kneels down, one knee pressed to the floor, the other at a right angle. Reaching into his bathrobe pocket, he extracts something small that glints in the firelight. My jaw drops when I see that it’s a princess cut diamond solitaire in a gold setting. A classic engagement ring.
“Baily Sinclair, will you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”
~Continued in Part 4
Coming in November from Sanibel Moon Books~
http://www.sanibelmoon.com/
Caught Up In You 3: Designer Love and Empty Things (Edgeplay) Page 7
