“They reminded me of you.”
Sentiments I would have never believed myself capable of a few weeks ago seem natural now, something about her willingness to open up and be honest with me unlocking a similar vein within myself.
“Mmm.” She inhales, and I can only assume she has them there next to her. “Roses and peonies. You remembered my perfume.”
“Of course I did.” I still can’t get the scent out of my head. I swear I woke up smelling it this morning before I realized I was alone in my hotel room.
“How’s work going?”
I sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose. “It’s going.” I have a newfound respect for Connor and all the bullshit he has to deal with daily. There’s a reason I didn’t go into project management. “Mostly I was looking forward to talking to you tonight.” This whole being in opposite time zones has already proved to be difficult, and I only left her a few days ago.
“You’re sweet.” There’s a smile in her voice, and I wish I was there myself to see it, to lean in and kiss the curve of her lips, to taste her the way I’ve been imagining all day. Could this separation have come at a worse time? “You know, I was having a dream about you,” she continues, yawning.
“Did I wake you?” I check the alarm clock by my bedside. It’s eight-thirty p.m. here, which means it’s seven-thirty in the morning there.
“Yes, you woke me,” she laughs. “I don’t understand how you willingly wake up at such an ungodly hour every morning.”
“But you’ve woken early plenty of times.”
“To be with you,” she says softly. “I wanted to spend some time with you before you left all day for work.”
I roll my lips between my teeth, glad she can’t see the smile trying to break free. I’m pretty sure I’ve smiled more in the last two weeks than the last two years. “What was your dream about?”
“Where are you right now?”
I glance around, as if I’m supposed to be somewhere else. “My hotel room.”
“Are you alone?”
The slight tease in her voice finally clues me in, a surge of arousal racing through me. “Yeah. Completely alone.” Is she going to tell me about it? “Was it a, uh, naughty dream?”
“Maybe.”
My dick perks up. “Stuff we’ve already done? Or haven’t done?”
“Haven’t done.”
“And was it something you want to do?”
“Mmm hmm.” Is it my imagination or is she breathing faster?
There’s a pause, and I blurt out, “Describe it to me.”
“Over the phone? Like… phone sex?”
Oh, shit. She had to call it that, didn’t she? I look down at my pants, my dick pressing uncomfortably against my fly now. “Have you ever done that before?”
“No. Have you?”
“No,” I admit. “We don’t have to, I just thought-”
“I want to,” she interrupts. “I just wanted to make sure we were on the same page.”
“Yeah, we are.” Finally, it seems like.
“Okay, should we set the mood or something?”
What, like light candles? Lay rose petals on the bed? I’m in a hotel room alone after a twelve hour work day in a foreign country. “What do you mean?”
“Like setting the scene. Describe what you’re wearing.”
I look down at myself. “A shirt and pants.”
She laughs lightly. “You’re supposed to be sexy.”
How do I make a shirt and pants sexy? “How about you go first?”
“Well, I’m wearing a new negligee you haven’t seen yet.”
“Yeah?”
“Mmm hmm. And the bodice is very sheer. You can practically see through it.”
Oh, fuck. I see what she means by setting the mood now. “Anything underneath?”
“I’m sliding my panties off right now.”
I close my eyes, remembering her in my office that first night I’d got her off, my hand catching on the tie of her robe, and that sinfully sexy lingerie set she’d had on. “Lace ones?”
“Yes.”
I unbutton my pants, sliding down the zipper till my cock pops free. “Tell me about your dream.”
“Well, it kind of started out the way we woke the other morning. My back against your front.”
You mean the morning I was half asleep and out of my goddamn mind to be doing that stuff to her? I can’t regret it, though. Not if it led to where we are now. “Yeah, I remember.”
“And you were… thrusting against me.”
I grin, imagining the spreading blush on her cheeks. She’s such the perfect mixture of siren and innocent. “How’d it feel?”
“Amazing,” she sighs, like she’s reliving the experience. “So hard. And I was really wet.”
I groan, clutching the phone tighter to my ear as I grasp myself, pumping slowly. “Are you wet now?”
“I’m getting there. Tell me what you’re wearing.”
My hand pauses. “Serena, I- I don’t know what to say about me. I want to talk about you.”
“You have to give me something,” she insists. “You didn’t have a problem the last time we were together in your gym.”
“That was in the moment. You had me so hot, I barely knew what I was saying.”
“Then let’s get in the moment,” she says, all seductive teasing. “Are you unbuttoning your shirt? Unzipping your pants?”
“I unzipped them as soon as you told me you were undressing.”
She makes a mmm noise. “And then what did you do?”
I take a deep breath, just going for it. “I started getting myself off when you said how wet you were in your dream.”
“That’s what I want to hear. See, you’re good at this.”
I shake my head. “Not like you. You’re always sexy.”
“That’s only because I’m with you. Trust me, I’d be a stuttering mess with anyone else. But with you, it’s natural. You can say anything to me. I promise I’ll love it.”
An unexpected warmth spreads through my chest, her words both soothing and inciting me. She’s right. If I can’t say anything to her, who can I say it to? “I’m imagining you’re here with me. That your hand is on me, stroking me from base to tip. That I can see your nipples through your negligee. That I’m pulling the straps down so I can suck on them.”
She moans, the sound spurring me on. “I’m running my tongue over you, tasting your sweet skin, bringing a hand down to find you bare for me. I enter two fingers and you are so fucking wet. Are you wet for me now, Serena?”
“I’m so wet,” she pants. “I’m touching myself right now.”
My mouth dries. “You are?”
“Uh huh. It’s your fingers touching me. Your fingers playing with my clit.”
Oh, fuck. My hand returns to my dick, gripping myself roughly. “Tell me more.”
“It’s your fingers pumping in and out of me. Your other hand squeezing my breast.”
“What about the rest of the dream?”
Her voice is featherlight, her attention clearly elsewhere as she says, “You pulled my panties aside and slipped inside me from behind. I’ve never done it in that position, but it was like you completely filled me. I couldn’t get enough.”
“We’ll do it one day,” I promise. “As soon as I get back.”
“I want that,” she says shakily. “I want you in every way imaginable.”
“However you want me.” I’m not sure where the words are coming from, but like I said before, once she gets me this hot, I hardly recognize what I’m saying. It’s purely instinctual. “I’m yours in any way you want.”
“Yes,” she breathes, the throaty way she says it urging me faster, a bead of precum releasing. I spread it around the head, imagining her licking it off, goosebumps racing across my skin at the notion.
“So you liked it when I fucked you?”
“Mmm hmm. You were so big, filling me up. The way your body surrounded me, it was like you were consu
ming me. I never wanted it to end.”
“And what about now? If I was there now, how would you want me?”
Her breaths are harsh over the phone line, and I wish more than anything I was there to witness her getting herself off. “Your mouth on my breasts first, fingers in my pussy, working me up.”
A full body shudder runs through me. “Say pussy again.”
She makes a noise of satisfaction. “You like when I talk about my pussy? The way it’s wet for you? How I want your mouth on it next? Please, Archer, I want you to lick my pussy.”
“Fuck,” I shout, my thighs shaking with the effort it takes to hold myself back, even as my fist flies furiously over my cock, unable to help myself. “Please tell me you’re close. I can’t control it much longer.”
“I don’t want you to control it. I want to hear you come for me so bad.”
I let go then, groaning into the phone, letting myself revel in the sensation as I come for her, something about the request incredibly hot.
“That’s it,” she murmurs. “You’re so sexy. I can’t believe I’m married to you. That you’re mine.”
I bask in her words, closer to her than ever before. How is it that being apart can draw you further together?
“I’m so close.” Her voice is strained, on the verge of tipping. “Tell me- Tell me what you’d do to me.”
“I’m there between your legs, holding your thighs open, parting you with my thumbs, licking that pussy, flicking your clit. Your back bows, screaming my name as you come for me. I hold you open, licking up every last drop you give me, wanting everything from you.”
She makes a gasping sound, her breath hitching. “Oh- Oh God, Archer. I’m-” She moans, the sound making my dick twitch again despite the workout I just gave it. “I- Oh God, I love you. I love you.”
I go still, listening to her continued moans as she comes down from her high, her breaths gradually easing. My heart’s in my throat, the phone pressed so tightly to my ear, it’s a wonder I don’t break it.
“Archer?”
“I- I’m here.” And completely unsure how to respond. It’s too soon to say that, right? It’s only been two weeks. Some of the most intense two weeks of my life, sure. And I’ve spent more time with her than any other woman, opening myself up in ways I never imagined, put in situations I never dreamed of. But that doesn’t mean it’s… love. It can’t be. Marriage was never in the cards for me, let alone love.
“You don’t have to say anything back,” she whispers.
“No, no. It’s fine. I-” I suck in a breath, holding it for a count of five before I exhale. “I’m not ready to say anything like that.”
“I understand. Completely. No pressure.”
I nod, not that she can see me, and I open my mouth to say something, but nothing comes out, the silence between us extending.
“Did I ruin everything?” she eventually asks in a voice so small, my chest flares with a sickening pull. God, I’m an idiot.
“Of course not. I’m sorry if that was too honest.”
“No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything. It just kind of… happened.”
“Did you mean it?” I squeeze my eyes shut, immediately regretting the question. Why am I hellbent on prolonging this? It shouldn’t even matter if I’m not ready to say it myself. I care about her, yes, but how do you even know you’re in love? When you can’t stop thinking about someone? When you want to be with them all the time? When their happiness is your own? What’s the criteria?
“Yes. I know this is all brand new to you, but like I said, I’ve had a thing for you for a long time. And being with you the past couple weeks has only strengthened my feelings. I’ve been falling for you since day one.”
I swallow, my heartbeat pounding in my ears again. “I- I don’t know what to say.”
“You don’t have to say anything. I just wanted you to know.”
“Thank you,” I murmur. Jesus, that sounds lame, doesn’t it?
There’s silence again and I blurt out, “I should go. I have to get up early and I’m still jet lagged…” That’s a lie. I adjusted days ago.
“Yeah, of course. I’ll talk to you later. I- I miss you, Archer.”
I place a hand over my sternum, rubbing at the sudden tightness. “I miss you too.” There’s no guilt in saying that at least.
I disconnect the call and look down, my dick still hanging out of my pants, cum all over the bottom of my shirt. After a phone call like that, I should be riding high, body relaxed, endorphins flowing. Instead, I might as well be back to square one with Serena.
Fuck.
I strip out of my clothes and hop in the shower, the tub miniscule compared to my walk-in shower at home. But the size of the tub doesn’t occupy my thoughts as much as the disappointing way she’d told me I didn’t have to repeat those three words back to her, the remorse in her voice as she’d thought she’d ruined our relationship, the hesitancy as she’d told me she missed me.
It’s not like I could lie to her and tell her I loved her back. It’s too soon. It has to be too soon. I’ve never been in love. I don’t know how it’s supposed to be, what I’m doing, why-
I brace my hands on the tile wall of the shower, drawing in great lungfuls of air until I can take a proper breath. I nearly choke on the steam, but continue breathing in and out until I’m calm.
What I need to focus on is helping Connor out of this bind Dad’s put him in, and then I can figure out how to salvage things back in New York. Maybe the answer will be clearer in the light of day. Maybe I’ll come up with a way to explain myself more eloquently.
Or maybe I’ll find out I was the one who just ruined everything.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Serena
I turn off the stovetop burner and pour the melted butter over my popcorn, then sprinkle it liberally with parmesan. If I can’t have Archer right now, I can gorge myself with snacks at any rate.
And after that phone call yesterday morning, maybe it’s better to have some breathing room. This way, I have privacy to wallow in my mortification. At least everything up to the very end had been amazing. If he can get me going like that from halfway around the world, how much hotter will it be once he’s finally back home?
Assuming he’ll want anything to do with me.
Ugh.
I walk over to the couch and bring up Netflix on the TV, checking my phone for the millionth time, but he still hasn’t called or responded to the text I sent earlier. From what it sounded like a few days ago, his father has him busy all day, and it doesn’t help that we’re on opposite schedules, but has he really not had a chance to reach out to me?
Or does he just not want to?
I queue up The IT Crowd, but before the intro can finish, there’s a knock at the door. Crap, this is the thing I always hated about living alone. There’s no one else to answer the door.
I press pause and get up, freezing halfway there as something occurs to me. This is the penthouse. You can’t even take the elevator up without permission from the lobby attendant. Lori’s already gone home for the day, as well as the contractors still working on my old bedroom and bathroom. So who’s on the other side?
Wait, could it be… Archer? Is that why I haven’t heard from him? Is he here to surprise me?
I rush to the entryway, biting my lip to contain my smile, but as I open the door, I sober immediately. It’s not Archer.
It’s two police officers.
“Serena Montague?” the taller one asks, his hands settled on his belt, perilously close to his gun.
I go still, swallowing hard. “Yes?”
“We’ve received notice that you’re trespassing. We’re here to escort you off the premises.”
I blink stupidly, the words not registering. “What?”
He repeats his spiel, but it doesn’t make any more sense upon repeating.
“No, there must be some kind of mistake. This is my husband’s apartment.”
The s
econd officer grabs a paper out of his back pocket and unfolds it. “We have the owner here listed as Harold Bishop. Is that your husband?”
“No, that’s my father-in-law.” My heart pounds, practically a death knell in my ears, and I grab onto the door frame for balance. “I- I don’t understand. I live here.”
The two exchange glances, the taller one narrowing his eyes. “Ma’am, do you have any kind of claim of residency here? A lease agreement? Bills? Anything with your name on it?”
I shake my head, my throat closing up. What’s going on right now?
“Eviction laws are different, but if you can’t prove you’re a tenant, we can’t help you.”
“But I have permission to be here. From his son.”
“Well, where is he?”
My lower lip trembles. “He’s out of the country.”
The second office makes a hmm noise in the back of his throat. “That’s convenient.”
“No, no. I’ll call him. You can talk to him. He’ll tell you this is a mistake.”
I turn around and make a mad dash for the coffee table, my hands shaking so badly, I nearly drop my phone.
“Ma’am, if you’re not calling the owner, it doesn’t really mean anything.”
My fingers stab at the phone screen, a part of me sure that if they just speak to Archer, he can get this all sorted out, but it’s like the call function’s been disabled or something. It won’t let me make any calls.
I return it to the table, looking back up at them slowly. The taller officer’s eyes are a bit kinder, but both appear set in their mission.
“You can’t just kick me out,” I sniffle, tears forming in my eyes. “This is my home. I have nowhere else to go.”
“Listen, this call came to our captain from the commissioner himself,” the first officer says. “We don’t have much leeway here, and if you leave now, we won’t formally charge you with anything.”
I glance between the two, my mind racing, but what choice do I have? They’re cops and I have nothing to prove I live here, apparently. I nod, wiping my nose with the back of my hand. “Let me just get my things.”
The shorter officer goes to shake his head and the other one stops him, laying a hand on his upper arm. “We don’t know what’s yours and what belongs to the owner of this apartment,” he says kindly.
Marrying the Billionaire (Bishop Brothers Book 2) Page 19
