Lost In Between: Finding Me Duet #1

by K. L. Kreig

  His lids drop low. He growls as if in pain. “Incredibly tempting, but once I slide between those slim thighs of yours, Willow, it will be a long fucking time before I’ll be able to make myself leave. And I’ll need the energy. I plan to fuck you until you can’t think about anything except begging me to deliver your next orgasm.”

  Excitement, anticipation, and body-shaking nerves make for a noxious combination in my middle. Knowing that I’m actually going to let this passion between us go from fantasy to reality tonight, I just want to get started before I lose my nerve or change my mind like I did a dozen times on the way over.

  “So.” I clear my throat, trying again. “So, what are these grand dinner plans then?”

  Because all I can think of now is getting it over with so we can move on to the sliding between the thighs part.

  Stepping back, he runs a hand down my arm, lacing our fingers. Hungry eyes are locked on me, eating me up. Heat builds between us until I’m sure he’s going to change his mind and take me right here, right now, out in the open. I wouldn’t object.

  Without a word, he leads me back into the house. Stopping in the kitchen, I feel the loss of our connection more than I want to when he lets me go, turns toward the fridge, and tugs one side open.

  “I’m grilling.”

  “Is anyone else coming?”

  “Why? Worried about spending the evening alone with me?” he drawls in that cocky baritone brogue of his as he starts to gather several plates of food from the clear shelves.

  “No,” I lie.

  Glancing over his shoulder, he stops what he’s doing and says with a straight face and a seriously dark tone that makes my pussy gush, “You should be.”

  Fucking…fuck.

  What have I done? And furthermore, why can’t I make myself care?

  19

  Three days.

  That’s all I lasted before I had to see her again. I was already regretting I said I’d only need her ten hours a week. The truth is…I want more. How much more I haven’t figured out yet. All I know for sure is it isn’t enough.

  So tonight isn’t about being seen. It isn’t about my father. It isn’t about obligation. It’s about us. Just us. I want to know more about Willow. I told myself when I drifted off last night this was a bad idea. I repeated it this morning and every time I called. And called. And called her. Only a month in and I’m going off script, but I can’t make myself stop.

  I like her. A fucking lot.

  I had to see Willow tonight because I wanted to. I was calling her anyway with some bogus reason, but fate dropped a gift, wrapped and all, right into my lap in the form of a valid one when Noah popped into my office mid-morning and threw the latest issue of the Seattle 7-Day on my already-cluttered desk.

  “Vultures,” I spit after reading the ridiculous front-page headline:

  Has Seattle’s very own real-life

  “Christian Grey” snared another victim?

  Christian Grey? Really?

  And victim? Jesus, they act as if I have a dozen bodies buried in my backyard because they didn’t survive my red room of pain. This reporter is ridiculous.

  “Isn’t this what you wanted?” Noah retorts. He’s confused at my reaction. Join the fucking club.

  “Yeah, of course,” I mumble. Scanning the brief article, I quickly deduce it’s from our first night out. It mentions how we were seen cozily dining at Frenchie’s and how we left together. It doesn’t mention Willow by name, but I know that’s only a matter of time now. I study the picture that accompanies the article. While you can’t see Willow’s face, as her back is to the camera, you can clearly see mine.

  Undiluted, raw desire is reflected in my hooded eyes as I whisper sins in her ear.

  It’s an intimate moment, and I’m intensely conflicted. I don’t want the entire city to be witness to it. Yet this is exactly what we were after. I should be happier than I am. Our first outing brought even better results than I had hoped for, though I find I don’t want Willow to be fodder for gossip. I have concrete skin. I could give a flying fuck what the media says about me, but if they start dragging her through the mud simply because she’s associated with me, I will bury them.

  “Looks like you two are getting on well?” I don’t like the laughter I hear in my friend’s voice.

  “Fuck off, Noah,” I snap with heat. Tossing the paper down, I walk to my bay of windows and try to rein in the flailing pieces of confusion whipping around inside me.

  “What’s going on, Shaw? You’re acting weird.”

  I don’t fucking know.

  But before I’m forced to come up with another bullshit line, Dane saves me. “Sir, Jack Hancock is on line one. He says it’s urgent.”

  “I’ll take it.”

  When I face Noah, he raises a questioning brow but is wise enough not to say anything before leaving.

  I haven’t shown Willow the article yet. Not knowing how she’ll react, I wanted to wait until after dinner. I know I told her there would be media, but I have a feeling based on the clear want, and more importantly, the tenderness I saw on my own face, we will be hounded even more than I anticipated. And while I wanted to strip her down and fuck her where she stood only a half hour ago when she finally submitted, I knew if I did that we would be spending the rest of the night with only our bodies doing the talking.

  As much as I’d have been fine forgoing dinner, we need to discuss this. We need to plan and I need to prepare her for what’s to come over these next few months.

  With a beer in hand, I take turns keeping an eye on the fish and vegetables I’m grilling to watch Willow wander around my grounds, taking everything in. My cock jerks as a gust of wind snags the hem of her pale-yellow dress, and I catch a glimpse of the silky white panties that are holding her pussy captive.

  Her head snaps to see if I’m looking. I grin widely. Yeah, beautiful, I got a glimpse of your heaven. I expect her to look away, embarrassed, but she doesn’t, and we stand still for several moments watching each other. I would have let supper burn, but she’s the one who finally breaks the connection by smiling shyly before sashaying toward the lake with her dress now firmly in one hand to prevent another flare.

  Fucking hell, that woman embodies the very definition of sex appeal. And the thing about it is, she doesn’t even try. That’s what makes her so damn fascinating. She’s confident in herself, but she’s also completely unassuming. It’s an unbelievably attractive combination you don’t find in most beautiful women. She’s smart, funny, and sexy as hell. Everything about her is sexy. Her voice, her walk, her mind, her lips, her eyes, her tits, that nose ring. I could go on and on and on. She is the entire package of everything I find attractive about a woman wrapped up in about 120 pounds of sheer flawlessness.

  I’ve brought other women to my home. I’ve cooked for them. I’ve wined and dined them. I’m not one of those guys who refuses to share his own bed for a night of reckless abandon, but I am particular about who I bring here. One-night stands? No. Women I’m dating? Yes.

  Lianna and I spent quite a bit of time here, actually, but I will admit that I always reached the point when I wanted her to leave. In reality, like everyone else, she always seemed like a guest I couldn’t wait to usher out the door at the end of the night. Rarely did I let her stay until morning.

  But Willow? Totally different. She looks good here in my house. Very fucking good. When I saw her sitting regally in my chair that first night, my breath actually stuck in my lungs. I wouldn’t even let Lianna sit there.

  Willow, though…she looked like a stately, majestic beauty perched in her rightful throne.

  I imagined fucking her in it and fucking her bent over it. I imagined her sitting at my feet while her tongue massaged my cock before taking me deep and blowing my mind. I’ve imagined so many carnal things that have involved her and that fucking chair. Wait till I get her to my bedroom or to my gym or to my hot tub. I’m afraid I’ll never want her to leave.

  And that�
�s exactly why I shouldn’t have invited her over tonight. It’s precisely this feeling of perfection I can’t allow to grow out of control, or I’ll do the one thing to her I swore I wouldn’t. I will hurt her when this ends.

  When she told me we couldn’t confuse what we’re doing, all I could think was the lines are already so fucking blurry I don’t know if I can get them back into focus. Then I blurted out something I should have chewed into tiny bits and swallowed instead.

  It was true, though. I have no idea what she’s doing to me. Being with her is messing with my head. It’s making me act like a man I don’t recognize. My outburst at La Petite? Driving over to her house to wait two hours for her to get home because she wouldn’t answer my calls all day? No…that’s not me. That’s stalkerish, borderline psychotic even. I don’t like it, and I should find a way to stop it. Only I already know I won’t.

  And while I can admit I want her, I also want her to want me. After I calmed down the other day, I realized I don’t want a possession to flaunt. I want whatever is going on between us to be mutual, or she’ll feel used. That’s the last thing I want her to feel.

  I check the fish one more time, seeing it’s done. Setting everything on the table outside, I’m getting ready to call for Willow when I see her walking up the stairs.

  She freezes as our gazes collide. Something unparalleled passes between us. It twists into place inside, cementing me to her. Or her to me, maybe. I fight the urge to rub my chest at the way my heart just expanded.

  Jesus Christ.

  This is fucking temporary, Merc. Temp-o-ra-reeeee.

  “Dinner’s ready,” I practically croak.

  The fragile moment breaks when her eyes drop. I take a deep breath to clear my head. It marginally works but is all for naught when she stops in front of me and gives me that brilliant smile, sucking me back into her. I’m helpless to fight it, and the kicker is… when she looks at me like this, I don’t want to.

  I’m fucked.

  This is bad.

  Bad.

  Bad.

  Bad.

  20

  “Wow, that was fast,” I mumble. Shaw mentioned something about the media early on, but I didn’t think he was serious. Why would anyone care about the mayor’s son and who he dates?

  I’ve read the short, uninformative article twice. I should be worried about what this means for me—I’m going to be exposed to the entire city of Seattle. Pretty soon, everyone will know my name, what kind of car I drive, my schedule. It won’t be long before they start digging into my past. My father’s suicide and my sister’s drug overdose will be consumed by the public as if we’re some sort of zoo animals in a glass bubble. I’ll have to relive it all over again in black and white and listen to sympathetic platitudes from people everywhere I go.

  The thought is gut twisting.

  Again, I did not think this decision all the way through.

  Right now, I should be in an all-consuming flat-out panic, trying to figure out how I’m going to return the twenty-five percent already sitting in my bank account. But I’m not.

  All I can concentrate on is the stark look of want on Shaw’s face in this picture. There’s something more in his eyes, though, than just lust. Something everyone else will see, too. But is it just an act, or is any of it real?

  My gaze lifts, latching onto his. He knows I’ve seen it, that I’ve been sitting here dissecting it for the past ten minutes. But he doesn’t address it, so neither do I.

  “I was thinking maybe I could contact this reporter and see if she wants to interview us.” He gauges my reaction, but I’m still processing.

  “Why would you do that?” I finally ask. The last thing I want to do is get my name in the press any quicker. The longer they don’t know who I am the better.

  He pushes off the counter he was leaning against and takes a seat beside me at the table. “Because then we’re in control. We spin our own story our own way on our own timetable. Trust me, it’s far better to control the media than vice versa.”

  It makes sense, I suppose. “I guess you’re right.”

  “There’s no guessing about it. I am right. I’ve managed the media for years, Willow. This is the right next step. I told you I would protect you, and this is the best way to do that.”

  I nod. I’ve had no exposure to this sort of thing, so I have to trust him. “Yes. Yes, okay. If that’s what you think is best.”

  He nods once. “I do.”

  My eyes fall briefly as he twines my hand with his. Electricity dances on my skin like it does every time we touch. When I raise my eyes, my stomach free-falls at the barefaced yearning I see in the sharp lines of his lightly stubbled face. I start breathing faster.

  “Shaw…” My voice cracks along with my willpower.

  Tugging me until I stand, he positions me between his spread legs. Placing his hands on either hip, he leans forward and nuzzles my stomach, running his nose in hypnotic, erotic circles from one side to the other. The hot moisture of his breath penetrates the thin fabric as he kisses me through it. I fight hard to keep my head from falling back at the sensations gathering strength inside me like a violent windstorm.

  Nudging me closer, he slides his palms to my ass, squeezing each cheek. His hands travel down, down until they hit the bare flesh of my thighs and start their unhurried descent back up.

  “I can read your body so well already. The way it reacts when I’m near.”

  He drags the loose fabric up and over my hips. I gasp and jerk when he places an openmouthed kiss on the flesh right above my panty line. I’m so turned on I can barely get enough air through each slight inhale.

  “The pulse in your neck picks up. Your heart pounds fast inside your chest. Your breaths become shallow and choppy, like now.”

  I swallow my denial. It would be a lie anyway.

  Standing, he grips me snug in his desire-filled gaze as I let him completely divest me. I wore no bra, and except for my panties, I’m fully exposed. Vulnerable doesn’t begin to describe how I feel.

  “You want me to kiss you, don’t you, Willow? Slow, deep, so methodical I steal your thoughts until you’re only left to feel. You’re dying for me to run my tongue down your neck, over your breasts, swirl it around your belly button, not stopping until I dip all the way between those silky folds that are already wet for me.”

  He’s hotter than sin and a mind reader. Win, win.

  Molten eyes sweep down my now exposed body, singeing me on their descent. My eyelids are heavy with longing, but I fight them open, unable to tear myself away from the erotic way his gaze kisses my skin, leaving prickles behind.

  “You are exquisite,” he gruffs thickly.

  My nipples are painfully erect under his fiery stare. Bringing both hands up, I whimper when he grabs the tingling buds, pinching and twisting them none too gently, sending a flash fire of need to my pulsing, empty core.

  He kneads and plucks, and his name fires on a rush of air when he circles one nipple with the wet tip of his tongue. Just when I think I’ll explode from sheer frustration, he finally opens his mouth and takes the entire thing inside. His pulls are hard; his bites hurt like hell.

  I want his mouth on mine, but I want it exactly where it is, traveling to my other needy breast. I want him to pave his way over my entire body before he fucks me with it until I cry. “Shaw, please.”

  I knew he’d be like this. Almighty. Potent. Controlling my breaths, my reactions. Working my body like a puppet. Exacting, as though we’ve already talked in the dead of night about what I crave.

  This is precisely why I resisted him and why I won’t be able to get enough.

  “Please. I need more.” I realize I’m already begging, which I said I wouldn’t do, but who fucking cares? Pride is just a meaningless five-letter word at this point.

  “You have no fucking idea how sweet that sounds.” Lips now at my ear, Shaw fills me with wicked words when I want him to fill me with other things instead. His tongue, his fingers, his
cock. Anything to ease this interminable ache I’ve had for weeks. “I know what you need, Willow. You need to fuck my fingers until they’re coated in your release. You need to slide onto my cock, slow and steady and let me stretch you until you can’t remember what it was like to be without me. Then you need me to fuck you, fast and hard, until your toes curl and I obliterate these crazy thoughts you have that this shouldn’t be happening because we both know it has to. Tell me that’s what you need.”

  Yes, yes. A thousand times yes.

  He is temptation and I am a sinner.

  With a murmured yes, I surrender myself on his altar of iniquity knowing there will be no angel of mercy that can save me now.

  21

  Her choked submission nearly has me coming in my jeans.

  Coalescing need clashes inside me. I want to fuck her violent and dirty and never stop. But I want to take my time exploring every dip and curve with my fingertips and my tongue. I want to kiss her skin with my marks and brand it with my seed. I want to make her come a dozen times before I fuck her until she knows only me.

  Digging deep, I draw on my many years of experience, forcing myself to slow down. I need to relax, or what I envisioned doing for hours will be over in mere minutes. I’m so close to exploding it’s disconcerting.

  “Be very sure this is what you want,” I rasp against the soft column of her neck before taking a nip. “Once I start, I’m not stopping until I physically can’t fuck you anymore.” I’m not sure I’ll stop even then.

  One hand grips the back of her head, angling it for better access to the assault I’m placing down her throat, and the other is already tunneling underneath the line of her panties, pushing them into her crack as I savor the velvety feel of her bare ass for the first time.

  My entire body vibrates with such powerful need for this woman I should be shitting bricks about now. I want to tear her completely apart. Rip her open. Own every scrap of who she is. Her breathy pleas and soft moans reduce me to nothing but a crazed Neanderthal.