“I do.”
“You’re an ass.”
“I’ve been called worse.”
Lennon slid his fingers out of her, pulled them to his mouth and licked them clean. She scowled at him the whole time.
“I just wanna know,” he continued, dropping his hand again to her pussy, his thumb finding her clit. “If you thought of me the way I thought of you.”
“I thought we’d…” Her brow furrowed. “Didn’t we already go over this?”
“Yeah, but it bears repeating,” he replied. “When you made that tape—”
“We’re on the tape again? I thought you were eating me.”
“There’s time enough for both.” Lennon grinned and nipped playfully at her clit, enjoying the way she tightened and trembled under his touch. “What did you think of when you were fucking yourself?”
“I told you. The thought of someone else finding it—”
“I know that’s what got the engine started,” he murmured. “What kept it going?”
The air fell thick with her heavy breaths. Her face scrunched up as if in search for an answer, and while Lennon understood her predicament—he found it rather difficult to concentrate when driven dizzy with arousal—the answer was important to him. Granted, he didn’t know why it was important until her quivering lips parted and she started speaking again.
“I…someone. I saw someone. With me. I don’t know. Someone.”
“Not Hunter?”
Kenzie made a face. “No. It was never him. He was never… When I’d imagine myself with someone, it was never him. Even when I was with him.”
Lennon nodded. “What about me?”
“I didn’t know you then.”
“No, I mean since. Have you done what you did on that tape and imagined me watching you?”
The answer was immediate and honest, the same way a defendant replied whenever presented with an easy question.
“Yes.”
“Touching you?”
Again, she whispered, “Yes.”
“Joining you?”
Kenzie shivered. “Yes.”
“I’ve wondered,” Lennon continued, “what it’d be like to watch you while you’re watching me. Not a camera. Not for someone else. Just for me.”
Another beat passed in which long looks were exchanged. Then Kenzie sat up slowly, and Lennon went with her. She scooted herself back to her side of the elevator, flattened her back against the wall, and spread her legs open wide. Her slick, swollen cunt lay completely bare to his eager eyes.
“Do it with me,” Kenzie said.
“What?”
She nodded at his crotch, and his erection stiffened under her appraisal. Lennon couldn’t move fast enough, dragging down his fly and again taking his cock into his hand. He didn’t start stroking until her fingers settled on her clit. Until she began massaging herself in an achingly familiar way—a way he could have choreographed. He felt the burn of her stare as he looked at her face, his hand pulling eagerly at his cock. A blissful, burning awareness settled through his body, as though every second he’d spent watching her do this, rewinding and watching again while desperate for the sensation of her body against his, had mounted into one tidal wave of need. Her fingers disappeared inside her body, pumping where his had been just moments ago. And then something strange happened—something he wouldn’t have predicted if he had a thousand years to consider it.
It wasn’t enough.
The kicker to getting what you wanted was sometimes discovering you didn’t actually want it at all. And fantasy was shit compared to reality. Lennon had no idea what he’d been determined to prove, but it wasn’t enough. Watching her fuck herself when it could be him, when his fingers, tongue, or cock could be buried in her pussy, when those gasps riding off her lips could be at his doing, was surprisingly hollow. The sight excited him, sure, but he wanted more. He needed more.
He needed her, and he needed her now.
“Stop,” he said, his voice hoarse.
Kenzie obeyed immediately, hurt drowning her pleasure. “What? Did I do something wrong?”
“No. No. I did.”
“I don’t understand.”
Lennon shook his head. He didn’t understand, either, but likewise felt no inclination to waste words when he’d already wasted time.
“I want you,” he said. “Not over there. With me.”
“But—”
“I was wrong. Please.”
Kenzie wet her lips and considered him. Her gaze dropped to his erect cock, and the yearning he saw on her face couldn’t be imagined. Another moment passed before she moved, pressing forward so she was on all fours, and crawled the space separating them. She still wore one pant leg, still packed on the heavy sweater. Behind her lay both the videotape and the Buckingham file. Lennon’s mind formed a line for him, separating her side of the elevator from his, and in a way, separating the past and future from the present.
Only now.
When her lips brushed his, everything else melted away. Her mouth searched and teased, caressed and yielded. Her tongue was shy, only coming out to play when beckoned with his own. The kiss remained timid only for a moment though, and gained momentum and bravado until they were battling each other. Demanding, grasping, fighting in the only language they had left.
Lennon wordlessly shuffled for his wallet to procure a condom, his lips refusing to leave hers. Kenzie, just as wordlessly, ripped the condom free of its foil prison and took his cock into her hot hands. She squeezed and stroked, teased the tip with her finger, then rolled the thin rubber over his length.
Lips parted and hot gasps filled the air. They moved together, Lennon grabbing her hips as she straddled him and angled his cock under her opening. Their eyes locked and held when she sank onto him, her vaginal walls stretching, hugging, pulling him in tight and deep. Lennon pressed his hand to her backside, a small sigh erupting from his lips. He wanted to kiss her but couldn’t bring himself to break eye contact.
Like so many other things the night had provided, this felt like a dream. Her pussy clenched tightly around him, gripping him like a glove, dragging up and down his cock in long, slow strokes. Every plunge inside her warmth sent a new wave of shivers across his burning flesh. A storm of sensation burst through his mind, riding him along with her, pressing against his lips in a need to tell her something—anything. How incredible she felt. How beautiful she was. How, how, how a thousand things. But Lennon couldn’t find his voice, and by the same token, the silence between them felt too intimate to disturb. Instead he focused on her. The beads of sweat gathering at her brow, the damp places along her sweatshirt, the shining awestruck burn of her gaze, the way she seemed to fight with words but, like him, declined to speak.
Kenzie gained momentum without encouragement. She drew up and plunged back down, the wet suction of their bodies driving him home. The part of him built on the principle “seeing was believing” was desperate to see his cock sliding inside her—stranded and disbelieving, even now, that any of this was occurring outside his head. But the way she gripped him, the way she moved, the way she sighed and cooed and threw her head back, that couldn’t be imagined. He drove hard and deep, thrusting up in desperation to match her pace. He found her clit again, pressing it softly with his thumb so it teased her with every drive. The startled gasp that fluttered off her lips was chased by a grin, and he swore the world lit up with it.
She grew hotter and wetter, burning him alive. Her muscles squeezed and pulled, seemingly determined to keep him locked within her even as she drew away. Lennon’s balls tightened. He was close, so close, but he needed her to reach it first. He needed…
Kenzie’s lips crashed upon his, her whimpers pouring into his mouth as she tightened, bucked and spasmed. She milked his cock until he had no choice but to follow her over, shooting semen into the condom as white-hot spears of pure ecstasy unmade him from the inside out. Lennon had no idea how long it lasted but it felt like forever—forever, yet not l
ong enough. And, when she finally stilled against him, her pussy hugging his slowly deflating prick, the world strangely felt new again.
Lennon wasn’t a romantic. He knew sex changed things but likewise believed he kept a level head on his shoulders. He also knew to distance the physical from the emotional, though perhaps not with the same cold detachment as those men who bedded a different woman every other night. And though he knew this thing with Kenzie was fleeting, a part of him couldn’t help but wonder.
It meant more to him than just a passing fling. That much went without saying. He just didn’t know where to go from here. As the haze around his head began to thin, the only other thing that remained concrete was his conviction that the world awaiting his return would feel strange if he didn’t take her with him. Perhaps it was foolish to hope she’d follow, but hell, he’d already proved himself a fool.
So, foolishly, he hoped.
Six
The entire night had been an exercise in self-preservation, and Kenzie didn’t know how she had fared. The discarded Buckingham file sat on the opposite side of the elevator, along with the tape. Her body was on a high of sexual satisfaction, enjoying Lennon’s rugged after-work scent and the way his arms enveloped her fully. She sat between his legs, her head resting against his chest and her hands wedged firmly in the front pockets of her sweater. They had dressed in awkward silence once his cock had slipped out of her. The used condom… Shit, she didn’t want to know what he’d done with it. And she didn’t particularly want to know what was going through his head, or anything beyond the immediacy of now in the face of the inevitable.
The intensity of what they’d shared had shaken her foundation. Kenzie wasn’t the sort of woman who could trust things would work out for the best; therefore it wasn’t in her interest to hope needlessly where hope had no place. There was no reason to believe anything would come from what had transpired here, except perhaps the satisfaction of having fulfilled mutual fantasies. Lennon hadn’t spoken about anything more, though he had waxed loftily about what their relationship might have been under different circumstances. Wishful thinking was for fools—nothing more than castles in the sky under the duress of reality.
Tonight had provided a break from the norm and given them both a chance for closure. There was no need to call a rose by any other name. It was what it was.
Kenzie swallowed hard and settled against him. She felt Lennon inhale deeply at her movement. Silence had yet to be broken, but not speaking would make whatever came next all the more difficult.
“Why Lennon?”
He cleared his throat, sending imaginary tremors through her skin. “’Cause I wanted it. You did too.”
She smiled and crossed her arms. “No. Why Lennon? It’s a strange name.”
“It’s my name.”
“You have a strange name.”
“It has an appropriate amount of consonants and vowels. What makes it so strange?”
“Well,” she replied, “it makes you sound a little murder-y, for one.”
Kenzie felt him grin, though she wasn’t sure how one could feel a grin. She didn’t bother to see if she was right; she liked it when he smiled, and would prefer her mind’s image over reality if she was wrong.
“Murder-y?” Lennon asked.
“And anti-American.”
”Ah. Wrong spelling.” His embrace tightened. “And the reason is I was born on November 8, 1981.”
“The…huh? The reason for what?”
“You asked about my name. My parents met, dated, and got hitched in three months. They were Beatles fans—huge Beatles fans. In fact, they’re in Tulsa this weekend to catch a McCartney concert. And John Lennon was murdered in 1980. It’s actually what got them talking.” He shrugged. “My father’s name was Jonathan, and he didn’t want me to be named after him, and since he wouldn’t have dated my mother without Lennon’s death, it seemed…you know, come to think of it, I’m not sure if naming me Lennon was really sweet or really morbid.”
“Go with sweet.” Kenzie sighed and settled back. “They must’ve plucked you right out of law school.”
“They did.”
Kenzie wet her lips. “Is it strange we’ve never talked like this before?”
“I don’t know about strange, but it’s definitely unfortunate.”
She felt him brush a tendril of hair from her ear and shivered when his breath tickled her skin.
He then whispered, “Why McKenzie?”
“My parents were huge Beatles fans, but thought it’d be weird to name me McCartney.”
“Really?”
“No.” She paused. “Ah, my mom’s best friend in high school was named McKenzie. She was killed in a drunk-driving accident.”
“I’m sorry.”
That statement always rubbed her the wrong way, and she heard it from everyone once divulging the origins of her name.
“Why? I never knew her. I didn’t mourn her. The only connection I have to her is I have her name.”
Just as she’d felt Lennon’s grin earlier, she felt his frown now. “I…it’s just a human response. I’m sorry. I’ll never be sorry again. Sorry.”
Kenzie snickered. “Now you’re making fun of me.”
“Sorry.”
She laughed again and elbowed him—softly, though, not wanting to hurt, rather jab in jest.
“It’s just weird. When you’re named after someone who died, especially young and tragically, people seem to want to place that dead person on your shoulders. Like I am my mom’s friend, McKenzie, and not just…me. I have the responsibility for this woman I never knew. I don’t really know where I was going with this, but—”
“No, I understand.” He nuzzled the back of her head and she heard, rather than felt, his kiss.
A soft, comfortable quiet settled between them—the sort one didn’t notice at first. It was enough for a slew of thoughts she’d held at bay to swarm inward once again. While logically she knew only a few hours at most had passed since she made her not-so-stealthy escape from Lennon’s apartment, it seemed days had rolled by. She’d entered this agreement with a firm understanding of why her motives were justified, how she deserved vindication after being cast aside, and then Lennon’s absolute, assured guilt in possessing the video. These were things that weren’t subject to interpretation. No amount of explanation could possibly validate the wrong he’d committed against her.
And then he’d pushed himself into the elevator, and her fabric of anger-woven vendetta had unraveled. Not only that, she’d learned some things about herself in the process. She’d shoved him away only to realize he wouldn’t shut her out, and somehow she doubted being trapped had anything to do with it.
Something burned deep within Kenzie’s belly. Beyond the tape, beyond the admissions, beyond the earth-shattering orgasm he’d given her along with the promise of more… Simply being held was something she’d never had. Hunter certainly hadn’t cared to snuggle after he climaxed. They had never cuddled on the couch or laughed at the same things. In fact, most of their dates revolved around him making lewd remarks and her rolling her eyes and pretending she was in on the joke. It was one thing for Lennon to hold her now. The squeezes, gentle caresses, soft kisses were a part of the package she hadn’t considered—something that separated what was real from what was desired.
That scared her more than she cared to admit.
Ostensibly, there was no reason this had to be the end of the line. Lennon had feelings for her and she had feelings for him—most adults in this situation would accept that and proceed. Perhaps her ever-elusive happily-ever-after could follow a night of forced closeness and the intimacy they now shared as a result. It was true, she could one day tell her children the story of how Mom and Dad had got together after being stuck in an elevator with one another—omitting, of course, the X-rating. It was possible, but she didn’t see it.
At the moment, she didn’t see anything. Not the hallway, her bed, what the morning would bring. Handing the
Buckingham file over to Kayla Bryant at once struck her as idiotic and selfish, and Kenzie knew then she could never go through with it. Regardless of how her failure to do so would affect her bank account and her brother’s college ambitions, nothing could justify putting Lennon’s career on the line. It didn’t matter what he’d done or what she’d thought he’d done. The whole endeavor was never her—rather shades of someone she didn’t know who tried to borrow her face and personality for a few selfish hours. How she’d convinced herself to do it in the first place would forever remain a mystery.
Kenzie sighed. “I’m sorry.”
“What?” Lennon replied.
“For all of this. For breaking into your place, for taking the file—”
“You don’t need to apologize—”
“Yes, I do. It was wrong. Everything’s been wrong. I’ve been wrong.”
“What we did earlier didn’t feel wrong.”
Warmth spread through her belly. She resisted clenching her thighs in memory of him being buried between them.
“No,” she agreed slowly. “But everything else…”
“Everything else what?”
“I dunno. I’m all muddled.”
Lennon was quiet for a moment. “I’ve been thinking…about all of this. You, me…that tape and the Buckingham file—”
“I won’t fight you for it.”
“You don’t have to.” Another still beat. He expelled a deep breath. “I want you to take it.”
Kenzie froze. There was no way she’d heard him correctly. “What?”
“I had you fired—”
“You had me reassigned.”
“Yes, but I knew.” Lennon squeezed her to him, as though afraid his admission would send her running back to the other side of the elevator. “You were gone completely. On some level, I had to know.”
“You’re just telling yourself that because you know now and you feel guilty. I can’t take the file, Lennon.”
“Sure you can.”
“Not at the cost of your job or worse.”
“So what? Someone broke into my apartment. That’s not my fault.”
Blackout Page 5
