by Karr, Kim
She was mine.
Paris
I WAS SURPRISED at the charm the building held.
It was old world meets contemporary. It reminded me a lot of St. Helena, which was interesting considering how much he despised the place.
Quiet, we both shivered as we stared at each other in the elevator. My eyes continually conveying how sorry I was and his telling me not to worry about it.
It had taken us more than two hours to go the short distance. The rain was coming down so hard, visibility was nearly impossible.
Tyler was a muddy mess and even so, his presence was indomitable. I hated to admit it, but this grown-up version of Tyler turned me on, and I devoured the sight of him. Having changed since dinner, his faded jeans fit him like a dream. Holding both his and my jackets in his hand, he was wearing a long-sleeved Henley that as wet as it was, molded to his muscled chest and looked snug around his bulging upper arms.
It was obvious he worked out.
Like two magnets, we moved closer, the zing of electricity that was always there between us seemingly growing stronger with some invisible tether. It felt like the walls were closing in. As if the universe wanted us closer than we were.
He ran a hand through his wet hair, smoothing it back from his forehead, allowing me to see his beautiful blues even more clearly.
Tyler stood only mere feet from me and yet I felt myself step forward as if my body wanted to be nearer but hadn’t told my brain. Before we got too close, the elevator doors opened. All of a sudden I felt the strangest flutter in my belly.
Butterflies.
They were there, fluttering at my insides, whipping and stirring and searching.
I stepped out of the car quickly and into his foyer. The view of the Golden Gate Bridge was the first thing I noticed. I slipped a little as I went toward it, but Tyler was there with a hand under my elbow and a firm forearm for me to hold on to.
“Easy,” he said.
My body wanted to melt into his simple touch. “It’s these shoes, they weren’t meant to wear in the rain.”
He glanced down at them. “They’re nice, though.”
Raising one leg, I reached back to remove one. “Thank you,” I said, glancing at him. “They’re like the ones Marlo Thomas always wore in That Girl.”
He smiled. “Yeah, I remember you have a thing for old clothes.”
“Not old. Vintage. From the fifties, sixties, and seventies.”
“Right,” he laughed. “Because those aren’t old.”
I let that go. I wasn’t going to win.
We dripped.
We breathed.
We stared.
And with the heat between us, our teeth were no longer chattering.
I took off my other shoe while he removed his combat boots and then I proceeded to once again step toward the window.
The reddish-orange color of the bridge was rectangular in shape and spanned the large bay. It had two towers that came to a point at the top with tons of steel wire cables linking them together.
I’d never seen it this close and couldn’t help but admire it.
The sound of his footsteps whispered along the floor as he approached from behind me. I looked over my shoulder to see that penetrating, piercing gaze. Hungry. He slowly moved forward, drops of water making a splash, splash on the wide plank boards beneath his bare feet.
I swallowed.
The soaring ceilings didn’t dwarf him one bit. Power radiated from him with each step.
I turned away, unable to shield my own hunger from him. “Your place has the most amazing view.”
He edged up behind me. “It’s a close second to the valley, that’s for sure.”
Chills danced across my skin. “Yes, I guess nothing compares to the majestic kingdom we grew up in.”
His palms grazed my shoulders and he glided one all the way down to my hand. “Kingdom, I like that.”
I sighed.
It was storming outside and yet it felt even fiercer in here. Lust. Electricity. Tension. They all came together in the form of two hands clasping.
He tugged me in his direction. “Come on, let’s get that forehead of yours taken care of.”
My pulse thrummed like a wild animal as I followed him up the open staircase and through his messy bedroom with its unmade bed.
A finger of jealousy clawed at my gut.
A bed he’d shared with some woman. Many women.
Fucked.
Pleasured.
And none of them were me.
It was insane, I know, especially since I’d basically told him I didn’t want him, but that was such a lie.
The bathroom was new but old. The walls were white, the floor black-and-white tile, and an old-fashioned clawfoot tub with an arched window above it that overlooked the bay, the bridge within sight. “Do you use that?” I asked pointing to the tub that was calling my name.
He strode toward it, cranking the water on. “Not once. Came with the place. I don’t have anything to put in other than water but go ahead and use it.”
I laughed. “What? No bubble bath or scented oils for you?”
His head shook amusement. “I prefer bar soap.”
Of course, he did. A thrill skated my spine that I couldn’t quite place. It was the ease in which we spoke. The comfortableness between us that made even the most awkward situation bearable.
With the tub filling, he stalked toward me. I could feel the air constricting. Charging. And I wondered if the storm had followed us inside.
After washing his hands, he scooped me up and set me on the counter.
His presence overwhelmed me. Filling my senses with the scent of him, the sight of him, the feel of him.
Taking a washcloth, he ran it beneath the warm water and then gently he wiped around the gash. “I think you were right, it’s fine. But just to be safe, we’ll put something on this after you’ve cleaned up. I’ll leave some clothes on the bed.”
He wasn’t staying.
Wasn’t joining me in the tub.
It was what he’d promised.
To keep it platonic, and yet I felt my heart fall as if it were splashing in that very tub of water I wanted to sit in with him.
I was a mess.
He kissed my forehead. Soft. Gentle. Caring. “Just come down when you’re ready.”
Warm air whooshed around me from the steam of the running water and I blinked in surprise.
He hadn’t even tried anything.
The door closed quietly and I sat on the bathroom counter in shock. Something was changing between us. The hardness was softening. The buried friendship uncovering itself. The insane attraction growing even stronger.
Ten years ago, we’d been inseparable, but we were young and had no idea what relationships were all about.
I wasn’t even sure I did now, either.
Scooting off the counter, I stripped out of my wet clothes and set them on top of his hamper.
I stared at the tub as it filled with water. I was cold. So cold. And what? I wanted him to warm me after I told him so clearly to stay away?
Yeah, I was a mess.
I turned off the water and decided on the shower.
Avoiding getting the gash wet under the spray was tricky, so I did the best I could. I used his no-nonsense shampoo to wash my hair and his simple bar of soap to clean my flesh.
After the bone-crushing cold had seeped from my body, I turned the water off and got out.
Drying myself with his fluffy towels, I wrapped one around my head and the other around my body.
Over at the mirror, I stared at myself for a long while. I’d always warred with who I was and who my father wanted me to be, but that part of my life would be over now, wouldn’t it?
So who was I?
Laughing to myself because I had no idea, I pulled the towel from my head and ran my fingers through my hair. I’d have rummaged in the cabinets if I thought Tyler might have a blow dryer, but I already knew he wouldn’t.
At least I knew who he was.
When I opened his bedroom door, I was surprised to see he’d cleaned his room up. A pile sheets were placed beside the bathroom jam, as if he didn’t want to come in to toss them in the hamper, and his bed was made.
On top of the comforter sat a man’s button-down and a pair of sweatpants. Beside the clothes, on the bedside table, he’d placed a steaming mug.
Oh, Tyler.
With a smile I couldn’t keep from my lips, I hurried to it. Sure enough, it was hot chocolate with broken pieces of candy cane crushed on top. How he even remembered, I had no idea. I think I had forgotten myself how much I loved that.
Sitting on the bed, I took a delicious sip. The mattress was soft. The pillows fluffy. I didn’t want him to have to give it up.
We could sleep in the same bed.
It was no big deal.
I pulled the shirt he’d left around me and breathed it in. It smelled like him and I felt oddly at home in it.
The room was warm, as if he’d cranked the heat, and I decided to skip the sweatpants.
I opened his door and stepped out onto the loft. This place was amazing. The sweeping views of San Francisco were unlike anything I’d seen of the city before.
He’d done well for himself and I wondered why he hadn’t married a Jane Whitmore School girl as his friends had and settled here to raise a family. I didn’t keep in touch with any of the people from that short time in my life, but now being back in St. Helena, I did wish I had.
Then again, I’d never been good at keeping in touch with anyone.
I always was, ‘that girl’, the odd one. The strange one. The one with the grumpy old man for a father and no mother, who didn’t have a car and had to sneak out of the house to go anywhere.
I shook off the memories.
Things had changed long ago.
But had I?
I strolled down the stairs and glanced in the small half bath at the entrance. Tall mirror. Moroccan tile. Antique sink. And white towels. Simple. Elegant. Nice.
Turning back, I looked around the entire open space with its huge sofa and small kitchen and grown-up everything.
It was him, but he was nowhere in sight. I set my cup down and strode toward the roaring fire with its flames crackling and roaring. As I approached it, I heard the sound of a shower running not far away.
I followed the noise all the way down the hallway and into a room that was filled with gym equipment.
The en-suite bathroom door was ajar, and although I should have gone back to the kitchen and finished my hot chocolate, I couldn’t.
I didn’t want to.
Was I making a mistake? Then again, I’d made a lot of mistakes when it came to Tyler Holiday.
Quietly, I pushed open the door. This bathroom was much smaller than the one upstairs, but very much the same. Stand-alone shower, black-and-white tile floor, clawfoot tub.
Tyler was under the spray, his head bent down, his hands scrubbing his hair.
Steam hovered between the two of us but not so much that I couldn’t see him through the clear glass. His hard, sculpted body. His beautiful profile. No matter how much he hated that he was beautiful, he still was. He was the single most gorgeous man I’d ever met.
Curiosity took hold of me. I wondered if he’d put his hand on his cock and stroke himself? If he would seek his own release since I’d told him I wouldn’t be his?
Would I watch as he moved his palm up, down, and then twisting it around the head of his beautiful cock?
Yes, I knew I would.
When he tipped his head toward the spray, I gasped and slapped my own palm over my mouth.
Just seeing the way his muscles corded and the spot above his ass where the dimples dented his skin sent a jumble of emotions quivering and shaking inside me.
He shut the water off, and although I should have ran down the hall barefoot, I didn’t.
I wanted him to see me.
After shaking the excess water from his head, he opened the glass door and stepped out.
My eyes trailed down his body and desire flamed wild and free in my own body, leaving me weak in the knees.
I cleared my throat.
He glanced up. “What’s wrong?” The concern in his voice cut through the heat, impaling my stupor, jerking my attention up to his face. A face that was as striking as the rest of him.
Grown-up.
Powerful.
Dominant.
I shook as I took a fumbled step forward. I couldn’t believe I was doing this, but I was. I wanted this, despite our tainted past, despite our unknown future. I wanted him.
He reached for a towel. “Paris,” he said, his voice lowering this time, “is everything okay?”
His tenor made those butterflies in my belly flip and turn in flight. I nodded. “Everything is fine. I was looking for you.”
Wrapping the white terry around his lean waist, he looked at me in confusion.
Leaving no question about my intentions, I took another step forward and started to unbutton my shirt at the same time.
His eyes burned brightly with lust, enough to make me shiver with the raw heat emanating from them. “What are you doing?” he asked, even though he knew exactly what I was doing.
Standing directly in front of him, I let my shirt drop to the floor. “I want you,” I whispered.
He reached for me. “I want you, too, Paris, you know I do,” he said, his husky voice dancing across my skin.
Then I did what he’d wanted me to do from that first night. I dropped to my knees, taking his towel with me at the same time.
Oh, God.
His cock.
His cock was bigger than I remember and his long length protruded, bouncing and dipping before me.
I licked my lips, placing my palms on his hips.
Those big hands clasped the sides of my face. Just as I was about to take him in my mouth, he forced me to look up at him.
Raw passion glinted in his eyes, a dangerous combination of want, lust, and years of pent-up need. “Are you sure, Paris? Are you sure you want me to fuck that sweet mouth of yours, because it won’t be like before. I’m not that young kid anymore who came with a quick blow. You’re going to have to work hard to pleasure me.”
I bit my bottom lip and trembled with the scandalizing promise of his words. “I’m sure, Tyler. I want to make you feel good,” I whispered and leaned forward, the very tip of his cock grazing my lips.
“Oh, fuck, lick me harder,” he demanded, a growl echoing through the small space.
He was all dominant.
Stone.
All man.
Every inch of him.
I had an insane urge, no, a savage need, to lick every inch of him from the clench of his hard jaw to the tip of his bare toes.
Just as my tongue flicked out and swept across his soft flesh, Tyler hissed. “Fuck . . . Paris, you feel way too good already.”
Satisfaction wrapped itself around me and gave me the courage to reach outside of my walls. Ever since Tyler and I broke up, I’d kept men at a distance. Not allowing myself to get lost in them, to ever give more than I got, to take chances.
A raw groan escaped from his throat and he rasped a curse, surging forward. Giving himself to me. “I need more. Suck me, Love, suck me harder.”
Boldly, I wrapped both my hands around his base and sucked his wide crown into my mouth. Pressing my tongue to the underside of his cock, I took him deeper into the hot cave of my mouth.
Slowly.
Very slowly.
Teasing him.
It was strange because I was trembling as I sucked and licked him, and when he started to tremble too, the entire room spun around me.
“Oh fuck, that smart mouth,” he rasped, hooking his fingertips beneath my jaw, drawing my eyes up to meet his.
My pulse accelerated and nearly exploded when I saw the ravaged passion on his face.
“Fuck . . . Paris . . . fuck . . . it feels so
good. Fuck . . . so good.”
Incoherent words spoken in a husky, raspy tone that flew from his mouth as he fucked mine.
Madly.
Wildly.
Greedily.
Almost savage-like.
And I loved it. I loved every single minute of it.
His palms slapped the wall and then his hips rocked forward for more. I used my mouth, my tongue, and my teeth to drive him wild, concentrating on his head while my hand stroked his shaft.
“Paris. What are you doing to me?” His grunt was hoarse.
His question only made me want to do more. I took him as deep as I possibly could, tasting every sweet inch of him and then slowly, I eased him all the way back.
I did that over and over, flicking and teasing him as I did. I was definitely working for it, but I also wanted to see just how long he could last until he came. The problem was, I wasn’t sure I could last as long as him.
I was wet, so wet. No, it was more than that. I was dripping with a raw, emanating need that pulsed from between my thighs.
Needing more myself, and without thought, I allowed my free hand to slide down my belly and to my swollen sex.
As soon as I did, his hands grasped my head and he gave my hair a slight tug. Instantly, my gaze shifted upwards.
“I tell you when you get to touch yourself. I tell you when you get to come. And neither is now,” he rasped.
My eyebrows kissed my forehead in surprise.
Where had this dominance come from?
And why the hell did it turn me on?
As if reading my mind, his thrusts turned rough, hard, and demanding. “More . . . harder . . . please.”
Those broken fragments of sentences were back, and the thrill I felt that he was practically begging me had me forgetting all about pleasuring myself.
Water droplets fell from his hair, down his taut belly, to my hands. Within seconds, I was pumping him frantically, savagely, wildly. Before I knew it, I was working his cock as hard as he was working my mouth.
As soon as I did that, everything about this man went hard. So incredibly hard. From his abdomen, to his balls, to his powerful thighs, and then to his cock.
The ungiving tile beneath my knees was irrelevant when his hips snapped forward in the most frantic and frenzied way. “Fuck, Paris, fuck. I’m going to come.”
