Take Hold of Me

by Arell Rivers

  I switch both of her hands into my left hand and run my right downward. Once I reach her tit, I clamp down and squeeze. Although not large, it fits perfectly in my hand.

  “Oh,” she says on a moan.

  I like that sound. I want to hear it over and over and over. Against hers, my lips tick upward and I break our kiss to nuzzle the soft spot between her neck and shoulder. I’m rewarded with another soft moan.

  Leaving her tit, my hand makes its way to her hip and I start to bunch the fabric of her skirt until I have it entirely in my hand. She tries to pull her hands away from my restraining one, but I don’t let her. No. I need to stay in control.

  “Wrap your leg around my waist, Ems.”

  Her response is instant. I push my torso against her open thighs, my hard cock pushing forward against denim. Dropping the fabric, I let my hand explore her pussy again. “So wet for me.”

  “Oui.” She pushes against my hand. “I want you inside of me.”

  Her words are my final undoing. Somehow I manage a chuckle. “You’ll have me.”

  I release her other arm and grab her by the ass. She understands my non-verbal cue and wraps her other leg around me. Turning as one, I walk over and hesitate at the sofa. No. Not our first time. I continue to the doorway that contains her bed, all the while kissing her neck, her cheeks, biting her earlobes. For her part, her lips rain kisses across my jaw while her hands hold around my neck.

  Letting go of her ass with one hand, causing both her legs to constrict around my waist, I open the door and stride into the bedroom. I deposit her on the oversized mattress. It’s king-sized. Good.

  I stand between her legs and bend so that my hands land on either side of her hips, my face inches from hers. My tongue reaches out and licks her full bottom lip, then traps it between my teeth, garnering another moan from her.

  Her hands land on my belt and she undoes it again, turning her attention to my fly. When she opens it, I stand and let my jeans fall to the floor and toe off my sandals. My cock points at what it wants from behind my briefs. When Ems licks her lip—the very one I just bit—it jumps. Sultry eyes raise to mine and a smile I’ve never seen from her transforms her face. It’s the most seductive look known to mankind. I never want her to look like this for a camera.

  I grip her jaw in my hand, rubbing my finger over her cheek. “This look is only for me.”

  “For you,” she repeats. She reaches out for the waistband of my briefs, but I shake my head.

  “You’re still able to talk, Ems. You don’t get this.” I rock my hips. “Yet.”

  Her intake of breath sings down my spine. Reaching behind her, I’m careful not to let my chest come into contact with hers as I need to hang onto a thread of control. My fingers reach the zipper and pull, each tick of its descent ratcheting up the charge within the room. It ends right above her ass. Taking an inhale of musky lavender, I slide the top of it over her arms, leaving her naked from the waist up.

  “No bra.”

  She shakes her head. Good—she’s losing her words. I trace her pink nipples with my fingers, relishing the way her body arches for me. When I’ve teased her enough, my mouth covers each of her pink nipples in turn, both of which are as hard as my cock in their own way.

  Her hands, once again, are at my waist. They come around and cup my cock over my underwear, running her finger over my head. My balls tighten, blood rushing through my body demanding attention. I step back.

  Fixing her with a steady gaze, I instruct, “Let me see all of you.”

  Her hands fall from my body to hers and she practically rips the dress over her hips, stripping her panties with it. Opening and closing my hand, I urge, “Give me your thong.”

  She opens her mouth but only a moan comes out, and she deposits her dress on the floor, the black lacy underwear in my open palm. My fist covers the wet slip of fabric, which I rub over my underwear-covered cock before tossing it on top of my jeans. Ems is naked. Her perfect body is open to my gaze, my touch, my body. My breath catches in my throat as my conscience rears its ugly head.

  Stop, Wills. What the fuck are you doing? You’ll only end up hurting her—or worse.

  “Wills,” her breathy French accent cuts through the voices in my head, effectively silencing them. At least for now.

  Wearing my shirt and briefs, I admire what’s being offered to me. “Scoot back.”

  While she wriggles until her head is on the pillow, I grab condoms from my jeans’ pocket and toss them onto the bed. When she reaches her destination, wide-eyes meet mine. The green is so dark, they almost blend into the pupils. Placing a knee onto the mattress, I stalk upward until I reach her feet. I pull her ankles apart and continue my ascent.

  Her lavender scent makes my mouth water. Stopping when I reach the headboard, I dip my head and kiss her lips. When she moans, I make my way down her body until I position myself where I’ve wanted to be for hours.

  Days.

  Years.

  I lick her pussy where my fingers were on the hammock. Her hips shift under my ministrations, her head moving from side to side.

  “Feel good?”

  “So much. Mon Dieu.”

  She’s speaking half in English, half in French. She’s half there. I lick her clit, run my teeth over the tight little bud. Her body tenses, telling me she’s near. Blowing a kiss onto her pussy, I renew my efforts, this time with my finger inside her. Her legs clamp around my head. Pulling back a fraction, I meet her eyes and put the flat of my tongue on her clit.

  She screams, “I am coming!”

  Her whole face transforms with her bliss, another snapshot I’ve never seen. She claws at the sheets as I curl my finger inside her wet tunnel and prolong her climax.

  While she’s gasping for air, I shred my t-shirt in an effort to get it over my head. My briefs leave my body and I reach for a foil packet. I don’t let her recover her breath before I rip open the condom and roll it over my straining cock. Within seconds, I rub my tip over her pussy. Hot. Wet. Perfect. Just like her.

  “I want to see your expression when I enter you the first time.”

  Under me, she moans and holds my gaze as her hand encircles my cock, halting my progress. Her mouth forms a perfect circle while she strokes me, still poised at her opening. Once, twice, she pumps my condom-covered cock. The sensation drives me to distraction and I remove her hand. With one single stroke, I thrust into her tight body.

  Ems bites her lip and closes her eyes as I hold myself still inside her, my body demanding to thrust. I resist, watching her, waiting to know she’s ready. Ricocheting through the room, my harsh breathing marks the time until her heavy lids open.

  Grinning, she strokes my cheek. “Oh, Wills,” she says, rocking her hips into mine.

  All of my restraint breaks over me in a tidal wave of passion. My lips crash down on hers as my hips thrust in and pull back. I work my hips in a circle and her head falls back, so I take her nipple instead. Our dance continues, sweat covering both of our bodies. Her breath comes in pants, her cheeks flush a pink that matches her nipples.

  Her inner walls squeeze my cock, signaling she is almost ready to come for me again. I pump into her faster. “God, Ems. Yes.”

  She falls apart under me, screaming my name. It’s the most beautiful sound on earth. I wrap my arms behind her back and hold her closer to me as I thrust one final time. My cock explodes within her, taking all of my breath with it. White-hot brilliance blazes before my dazed eyes and I collapse onto her, careful to place most of my weight onto my arms. We remain locked together, gasping for air.

  Pulling back, I nudge wet hair away from her face. “That was” words fail me.

  “Magnifique,” she supplies.

  A smile dances on my lips and I tip my forehead to hers. For the first time in a long time, I’m at ease in my bones. All because of the angel in the bed.

  16

  Emilie

  My body is jelly after our epic lovemaking session, and I fall into the
deepest sleep of my life almost immediately. An unintelligible shout wakes me. Next to me, Wills kicks the blankets off his naked body, uncovering mine as well. I bolt upright and shake his shoulders.

  “Wills! Wake up, you’re having a nightmare.”

  He dislodges my hands. In an unrecognizable voice, he growls, “Drop the gun!”

  Mon Dieu. He is dripping in sweat, dreaming about the stalker. What should I say? As my internal debate rages, he pins me to the bed beneath him.

  “Wills!”

  In response, his fingers dig into my upper arms. “I’ll make you pay for what you did.”

  At his words, my body goes cold. I scream his name over and over, then kick his shin, the only area to which I have access.

  He stills. Blinks rapidly. Then, wide-eyed, shakes his head. “Emilie. What?” He flings himself away from me, his arm over his eyes. “Christ.”

  I roll my shoulders. Turning on my side to face the tormented man beside me, I whisper, “Do you have nightmares often?”

  He remains immobile. “Sometimes.”

  “Want to talk about it?”

  “No,” is his clipped response.

  The depth of his trauma petrifies me. “You should see someone. A therapist can help—”

  In a burst of motion, he jumps out of bed and looks around for his clothes. While grabbing his jeans, he says, “I’m fine. I don’t need a therapist.”

  “What are you doing? Come back to bed.” I pat the mattress. “I know you won’t hurt me.”

  His eyes travel the length of my body. He swallows, and in that instant, I know he is at war within himself. I open my arms to him.

  His hands ball into fists. “You’re in over your head, Emilie. I could’ve hurt you.” He shoves his legs into his jeans.

  “No, Wills. Stay. We can talk about it.”

  “And then what? You can kiss my demons and make them go away?” He laughs, an empty sound that causes my breath to lodge in the back of my throat. “I don’t think so.”

  He zips his jeans and heads for the door, picking up his shirt along the way. Before I can manage another word, he is gone.

  I collapse onto the bed. How did our fabulous night turn into this? I know in my bones that Wills could not physically hurt me. I just need to convince him of this fact.

  One thing is for sure, though. I will never wake him up again.

  Sunlight streams in from the windows overlooking the ocean. Memories of our time in the hammock and in this bed flood my brain. I shift, the delicious soreness between my legs bringing a satisfied smile to my face.

  Which slides away when I remember his nightmare from early this morning. I glance at his empty side of the bed and sigh.

  We had such a breakthrough last night. He was so sweet and loving. We need to get back on track and figure out how to move forward.

  Checking the clock, there is plenty of time before we need to head out to the airport. I refuse to let him wallow with just his demons for company.

  After showering, I head to his hotel room. Standing outside his door, my arms and legs tingle in anticipation of his reaction. I raise my chin and knock. A minute later, the door opens and Wills stands at the threshold wearing only a pair of shorts. In this light, the dusting of blond hair on his arms and legs seems almost golden. He is a living, breathing sculpted work of art rivaling those in the Louvre. With so much more depth. And pain.

  Employing bravado that I do not feel, I ask, “May I come in?”

  His hand flexes around the door, then he opens it wide. Sending up a prayer of thanks, I enter his room. It has a sofa and a large bed, and the TV plays “Ninja Heroes.”

  He begins, “Listen, I want to apologize for last night.”

  “Shh,” I say, placing my finger on his lips and hoping he is referring to his nightmare and not what preceded it. “You cannot control your dreams.”

  In a flat voice, he replies, “I hurt you.”

  “You did not. You would not. I honestly believe that, Wills. I trust you with my life.” I touch his forearm.

  He jumps at our point of contact. Swallowing, his gaze rakes me from head to toe, taking in my jeans, my midriff-baring pink shirt and nude pumps. “You shouldn’t.” His tone is more like a question.

  I rub my hand up and down his arm, relishing the goosebumps that form on it. “But I do.”

  His mouth opens and closes. “Fuck.” He grabs me by the waist. “I can’t resist you,” he growls as he picks me up. I wrap my legs around his waist as he brings us toward the sofa.

  His mouth covers mine on the short walk, the frenzy of his tongue driving my hunger. He deposits my feet on the floor and turns me so my hips are aligned with the sofa’s arm. “Pull your jeans and panties down, Ems.” My hands are only too willing to rush to do his bidding, while the rustling of his shorts tells me he is doing the same.

  Naked from the waist down, I step out of my pumps and kick my clothing aside. “Put the shoes back on,” his plea is whispered directly into my ear. I immediately comply to the sound of a foil packet opening.

  His arms encircle at my waist, his right-hand dipping down to test my readiness. If I could find my words, I would have let him know I was instantly wet when he opened the door for me. Instead, I moan.

  “God, you’re fucking amazing.” He kisses my back and guides me to bend over the arm. His knee comes between my legs and his cock rubs all around my sex. “So hot.” He lines himself up with me and enters my body.

  “Wills,” I manage, pushing backwards.

  In this position, I can do little more than accept everything he gives to me. I reach my arm back, grabbing onto his butt and relishing how his glutes flex with every thrust into my body. I turn my head upward and his lips crash down on mine again. Our tongues mimic what our bodies are doing. The shimmer of an orgasm begins from deep within me, causing me to break the kiss.

  “That’s it, Ems.”

  His passion-filled voice is my undoing. My body explodes around him, forcing an incoherent scream to leave my lips. Wills thrusts into me once more and stills. He roars as he spills into me.

  Soon, too soon, he kisses the back of my neck and pulls back. I test my legs until I am sure they will support my weight. I watch him tie off the condom and head to the bathroom, then he returns to my side wearing his shirt and a smirk. “Those pumps blow my mind.”

  “They are not called ‘fuck me pumps’ for nothing.” Our laughs fill the room, all thoughts of nightmares banished. For now.

  A while later, we lie together in his bed. Placing my hand on his chest, I play with the chain around his neck, kissing here and there. My tongue outlines the tattoo over his heart. He has another one on his bicep, which I saw last night when he carried me into my suite.

  “You are amazing, have I told you that?” As he speaks, he tangles his legs with mine, holding me in place. Always seeking control. Or to hold his demons at bay.

  Banishing that last thought, I reply, “Only about one-hundred times last night, but I never will tire of hearing that from your mouth. And you, Wills, are more than I ever could have imagined.” Everything I learn about this man pulls me deeper and deeper under his thrall. From his pain to his perseverance. “Tell me the stories behind your tattoos.”

  He studies me for a long moment and tucks my head under his chin. “This one,” he taps my hand on his chest, “is a stylized Zodiac symbol for Gemini, my sign. It also was my sister’s.”

  He does not say anything more. I lean back from his body and take a long look at the symbol gracing his pectoral muscle. Gemini, meaning “twins.” I inhale. “Was your sister also…”

  “My twin. Yes.”

  “You said she was your younger sister.”

  “By three minutes.”

  My heart suspends beating. Twins have so much in common that they do not share with others—I have twin cousins and have seen it first-hand. He lost his other half. Warmth rushes through my body that has nothing to do with the passion we shared overnight. “Oh,
Wills, I am doubly sorry.”

  He swallows, his arms coming around my body. This is not a passionate embrace, and I return it, trying to provide some measure of comfort to this complicated, sweet, wonderful man.

  “Did you two look alike? I mean, I know you were fraternization twins and all, but did you share any attributes?”

  His swift bark of laughter catches me off-guard. “That’s ‘fraternal twins,’ Ems.” He laughs again. Laughter while talking about such a sad subject must be good. I file the correct term away, not even fully understanding or feeling embarrassed about my misstep. When he recovers his breath, he says, “Our eyes were the same. And our noses. She liked to say I had a girl nose.”

  I cannot resist. My finger follows his very masculine nose from top to tip. “I like your nose. It suits you.”

  His mouth opens and he closes around my finger, giving it a little nip. “Of course, I told her she had a huge boy nose.” He chuckles again and his blue eyes become unfocused.

  I want to know as much as he will give me. “Care to share?”

  He looks at me as if he forgot I was at his side. “I was remembering her wedding. In my toast, I said something along the lines of I was so glad she finally found a guy who could overlook her obvious male nose and put up with her.”

  I smile. “I bet your parents had a handful with you two. Did you ever pull anything over on them?”

  He turns his head away from me, his body growing taut under my fingertips. A few moments later, he clears his throat. “We were your typical siblings.”

  There is more—much more—to this story. Although his posture screams for me to let it be, I cannot. Maybe I will be able to help him heal this part of his life? “I remember you told me about your Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu classes. Who was your Daddy’s favorite? Did his daughter have him wrapped around her finger, or did his strapping son get all of the attention?”