by Leisa Rayven
We chow down in silence for a while, both of us stealing glances when we think the other isn’t looking, and even though the penthouse is the most spacious apartment I’ve ever been in, the tension in the air makes it feel tiny.
How had it come to this? I’ve never wanted to sleep with a man as much as I want to sleep with Max. I want it so much, I feel ill. My stomach is twisting around itself, my skin is hot, my heart is racing like I’ve just sprinted a few miles, and my brain is fuzzy with a dizzying rush of hormones. The worst part is that, despite my earlier protestations, I’m seriously considering asking him to kiss me ... and not just on my mouth.
I think about how he’d taste as I stare at the thick muscles of his neck. Would he be gentle? Rough? Maybe a bit of both? I shift my attention to the delectable roundness of his shoulders; the plump curve of his biceps; the gentle slopes of his forearms. How long could I kiss him before my body screamed at me for more? A few minutes? Judging by my current state, it would take seconds, maybe less. I stare at his broad chest and taut stomach then become entranced by the angled grooves above his hipbones, the ones right where his pants are sitting. That leads me to notice that the front of his pants is bulging. Could it be he’s just as aroused as I am? And if he is, how can this possibly be anything but disastrous for both of us and our so-called professionalism?
“Hey.” He bends over until his face is in my line of sight. “Eyes up here, missy.” When he straightens, I finish my last piece of pizza and wipe my face and hands.
“Got any alcohol?” I ask. I desperately need something to take the edge off my emotions. Staying down at this end of the island is getting more and more difficult.
“Nope. But I do have some soda.” He goes to the fridge and gets out two bottles of Coke. “Why are you so determined to self-medicate around me? Or is it just the way you deal with life?” When he reaches into an overhead cabinet to get glasses, I marvel how his back flexes and the firm roundness of his butt in those snug pants. “You chug caffeine to stimulate you during the day and binge on alcohol at night. Does it help to numb you from the burning need to connect with someone on more than just a physical level?”
I laugh as he grabs ice from the freezer and fills the glasses. “And here I was thinking it was just my nan and sister who enjoyed browbeating me about my love life.”
After pouring the soda, he walks over and hands me a glass. “You realize that people only browbeat you because they care, right?”
I look down at the bubbles as they rise to the surface and pop. “I don’t know why it’s such a big deal that I don’t want a relationship. It’s insane how society views people who are conscientiously single. If I’d gotten married to some loser and divorced him by now, no one would say a word. But a never-attached twenty-five-year-old is like a mythical harbinger of doom.”
He leans against the island and crosses his arms over his chest. “So, you’re telling me that you’re happy, and determined to go through life alone?”
“I’ve done pretty well so far. I don’t need another person to make me complete.”
“Not needing someone and not letting yourself need someone are two different things. I’m not sure you know the difference.”
“Then why don’t you educate me? I know you want to.”
He leans forward. “One is called independence. The other is denial. Humans need love and affection. We’re pack animals. We’re not designed to be alone.”
“I like being alone. There’s a certain peace in solitude.”
“I agree. But are you sure you’re not confusing solitude for loneliness? All animals need physical contact to feel love. Is that why you have sex with strangers? So you can pretend your need for affection is being fulfilled?”
I stare him down and try to think. I’m not used to being challenged in this way. Explaining my innermost thoughts and opinions isn’t my idea of a good time. I like how things are with my life. Or at least how they were before I met him.
“Do you realize how often you Dr. Phil me?”
“Do realize how often you avoid my questions when I do?”
“I don’t know why you keep turning this interview around to be about me.”
He shrugs. “I just find you fascinating, that’s all. It’s like you think solitude is a logical defense against love, but it isn’t. If cupid were real and needed to literally shoot you with an arrow to make you fall in love, then sure, your idea of locking yourself in a tower with no doors might work. But love is like a dormant disease.” He puts down his glass and steps forward, and when he presses his cool hand over my heart, I pull in a tight breath. “It’s already inside you, Eden. Just waiting for the right person to activate it.”
I force myself to take even breaths and avoid the urge to look away. I hold my head high and wear my best poker face. “Maybe I’m just naturally immune.”
His expression shows glimmers of sympathy, like he’s a doctor giving a fatal prognosis. “No one’s immune. But I do believe you’re stubborn enough to ignore the symptoms for as long as you can, and one day you’ll find out denying it damages you far more than giving someone your heart ever could.”
Just when I’ve reached my last scrap of restraint in either having to kiss him or step away, he makes the decision for me. He takes his glass and strides into the living room, where he proceeds to flick through the impressive range of vinyl albums lining one of the bookcases.
Without looking at me he says, “But, hey ... what do I know, right? I’m just a college dropout who romances women for a living.”
I take a cleansing breath and go and sit on the plush leather couch as he pulls out albums to examine them before placing them back.
“You dropped out of college?” I ask. “This is new information. Care to elaborate?”
He studies the front of an album then flips it over to read the back. “Not really. I was in college when my life went to hell, and I dropped out to deal with it. End of story.” He puts his drink down, so he can slide the record out of its sleeve.
“End of story? That seems like the beginning to me. At least tell me what you were studying.”
He opens the record player and places the disc on the spindle, and even though he doesn’t look at me as he sets the stylus, I can sense the tension in his face. “Music.”
Sultry jazz filters through the high-end speakers as he comes to sit next to me, and he slides down until his head is leaning against the back of the couch. Then he man-spreads until his thigh is touching mine. “I really enjoyed it, too. Maybe I’ll go back one day.”
“So, that’s why Caleb is such a convincing character? He’s a lot like the real you?”
“I guess. I enjoy playing him the most.”
“Where did you attend music school?”
He sighs. “If I tell you that, you’ll try to track down my information, so ... no.”
“Max, come on.” I put my glass on the coffee table and kneel on the couch, so I can face him. “Full disclosure. That’s what you told me. Do you not know the meaning of those words?”
He turns his head to look at me, and for the first time since I met him, he looks tired. As if the burden of being so many people other than himself sits heavy on his shoulders.
“Would you stop trying to make every moment with me about the damn story? Please, just sit here and relax.” When I sit back down, he puts his arm around me and pulls me until I’m curled into his side, my head resting on his shoulder. “Just let’s ... be, tonight. I’ll worry about exposing my dark secrets to you another time. I promise.”
I brace against him by placing my hand on his chest, and dear God ... part of me really wants to relish the casual intimacy of this position, but I don’t know how.
“Just listen to the music,” he says, his tone heavy with fatigue. “Breathe. Relax. Stop talking yourself out of experiences you should be talking yourself into.”
I try to let go. I really do. I close my eyes and lean into him, and he slouches down so we’re both m
ore comfortable. The strong thud of his heart beneath my ear is strangely hypnotic.
“See?” he says, his voice quiet. “Would it be so bad to have something like this in your life? Someone like me?”
I take steady breaths, ignoring the thrumming currents racing from his body into mine.
“Can you feel that?” he whispers.
I squeeze my eyes tighter. “No.”
He chuckles. “You’re the worst liar I’ve ever met.”
The music swirls around us, smooth and elegant. Max lightly runs his fingers down to my elbow, then back up to my shoulder, and the sensation is beyond incredible. I curl my hand into his chest and take his lead by using my fingertips to glide up to his clavicle, then down to the waistband of his pants. His skin contracts with goosebumps, and he makes a growly noise in his chest as he presses his head back into the couch.
“God, yes. That feels too good.”
I love the feel of his skin, and he’s basically given me permission to keep going, so I do. I run my hand over his shoulder and down to his bicep, where I press lightly before making my way to his forearm and feel thick muscles under smooth skin.
“If you’re trying to drive me insane, Miss Tate, you’re succeeding.”
I look down to see that his crotch is swelling in response. “Are you being unprofessional around me again, Mr. Riley? Because this is becoming a habit for you.”
He lets out a humorless chuckle. “When we’re together, I have no control over my body. I’ve given up trying.”
“My offer stands to help take care of your urges.”
“Don’t tempt me. I’m trying to be Zen about what I want to do to you, but you don’t make it easy.”
The need in his voice pushes me over the edge, and moving slowly, I draw myself up and crawl into his lap. His eyes snap open as my knees settle on either side of his hips.
“What are you doing?”
“Getting comfortable. That’s the idea, right? Relaxing with each other?” Following my body’s directive and not much else, I lower down until the insistent throbbing in my groin is pressed against the hardest part of him, and we both moan the second I make contact.
“Fuck ... Eden.” He closes his eyes again. “This is a bad idea.”
“Then tell me you don’t want it.” I slide up while pressing against him. Then I close my eyes and moan as I slide down again, sharp pleasure piercing through me.
He pushes a breath out through his teeth as he closes his hands around my hips. “Oh, I want it, and if we were different people, I’d have already given into the hundreds of urges I have regarding you. But I suspect you’re doing this for all the wrong reasons.”
“When something feels this good,” I say, as I press down, “how can it be wrong?”
I grip his bare shoulders as I circle my pelvis, and every time I hit the spot that makes him groan, I try to make him do it again.
God. This.
It’s exactly what I need from him; the antidote to the relentless pressure he builds within me. The grinding and moaning and pleasureable gasps. Not the other stuff that can’t be cured by his hand, or dick, or well-trained tongue.
This is my solution, and if I can get it without taking my clothes off or getting my heart involved, great. Right now, I’ll take whatever relief I can get.
I rise up and slide down, over and over again, riding the long ridge of him through his pants as I curl my hands into his hair and pretend he’s just like all the other men I’ve had beneath me.
“Eden ... Jesus.”
I tug at his hair, trying to block out anything that distracts me from lighting this powder keg. I’m kindling, and his body is flint, and if I do this right, it will be a cleansing fire that will reset my ridiculous body and its gravitational pull to him.
He groans beneath me and tightens his hands on my hips, and just as I open my eyes to see his tortured expression, he grunts in frustration and stands, making me squeal as he takes me with him. We’re both panting when he sets me onto my feet and steps back.
“Eden, this isn’t what I’m about. It’s not what we should be about.” He exhales and rubs the back of his neck. “I know what you’re trying to do, and ... no. You can’t make something that’s beautiful but complicated into something simple and ugly out of sheer force of will.”
“Max, I –”
“No, just listen for a minute. There’s a difference between making love and having sex. And there’s also a difference between having sex and fucking.” He walks to the window, as if he doesn’t trust himself if he remains close to me. “Sex is just body parts creating friction to get a physical release. Fucking is more intense. It’s desperation. It’s not that you’d like to have sex, it’s that you need it. And you need it with that particular person, right the fuck now.”
He paces, not looking at me. “And then there’s making love. That’s when you need to be a part of that person, and whether or not you come is irrelevant. You get so much pleasure from just being inside them, everything else is unimportant.”
“I understand, but –”
He stops moving and faces me. “No, you don’t, because you’re goddamn terrified that out of those three options, sex is what you want the least from me.”
I throw up my hands. “My vagina would disagree.”
“That’s because you’re used to listening to it above all else while stifling your heart.” He squares his shoulders, challenging me. “Just stop fighting the goddman obvious for five seconds and admit you have feelings for me.”
I laugh. “Oh, that would make your night, wouldn’t it? To prove your domination over me. The great Mister Romance and his unfailing ability to tie women into emotional pretzels.”
“This isn’t about our bet.”
“Of course it is. Everything you do to me is about protecting yourself.”
We glare at each other, but I’m not backing down. I’ll be damned if he wins this easily. It’s bad enough that he can read me like a book and play my body like he was born to do it. There’s no goddamn way I’m going to admit to all the ways he owns me.
“If you want me to admit to something,” I say, “… then here it is: I don’t want to ride off into some mythical sunset with you, Max. That’s not who I am. I want to fuck you and get my story, preferably in that order, and that’s it.”
He clenches his jaw before raking his hand through his hair in frustration. “For God’s sake, Eden!”
“So, Miss Tate is finally out the window?”
He scowls. “You think I can even pretend to remain professional with you anymore? You’re so strong in so many ways, but right now, you look like a scared little girl. Why is it so difficult to cope with the thought that you like me?”
“My God, your ego –”
I stop short when he strides over to me, eyes flashing with fire. “Then deny it. Go ahead. But you better look into my goddamn eyes when you do it.”
He’s leaning down so his head is level to mine, and every smart-ass comment I had lined up to hurl at him dies in an instant. “Max ... I ...” I can’t deal with the way he’s looking at me, like he’s itching to pounce on any half-truths.
“Okay, yes,” I admit. “I’m attracted to you, but that doesn’t mean I have feelings beyond desire.”
“No? Okay then, if you’re so sure that all you feel for me is physical ... let’s go.” He starts unbuckling his belt.
“What?”
“Take off your underwear and get over here.” He walks over to the kitchen and slaps the marble bench. “We could start here then move the couch. Maybe up against the windows. That would be hot. You taking in the view while I fuck you from behind. We could give the tourists on the observation deck a real show.”
“Max –”
He notices that I haven’t moved. “Come on, Eden. If sex is the answer, then tell me what you want, in what position, how many orgasms you’d like ... I’ll do it all. Free of charge.”
“So all that crap about you not
sleeping with your clients –”
“Is a hundred percent true. You’re not my client. You never have been. And even if you were, I’d break every fucking rule I’ve ever held sacred just to be inside you right now. I’ve never wanted a woman as much as I want you, so if you want to fool yourself that this is just about hormones ... fine. I’ll help you work me out of your system one thrust at a time. But then, that’s it. After we’ve had our way with each other, we’re done.”
He’s so worked up, he’s panting, and my breathing isn’t much better. The mere thought of not seeing him again makes me feel sick.
“Come on, Max,” I say, attempting a smile. “This is crazy.” I try to laugh it off, but he’s being serious enough right now for the both of us.
He walks to where I am, the intensity of his eyes drilling into me. “You just looked me in the eyes and told me sex is all you want from me, Eden, so let’s do it. Fuck me until all those inconvenient urges go away, and then I’m out of your life forever. I’ll never inflict myself upon you again.”
“I ... I still need to see you for the story.”
“You can email me questions. I’ll email back. Strictly business. Is that how you want it between us?”
He’s standing close now, and because I can’t look into his eyes anymore, I watch his fists clenching and releasing instead.
“Max, I don’t ... I don’t know what I want.”
He exhales, and when he speaks again, it’s softer. “Yes, you do. You’re just too damn stubborn to say it. You want me, but not for one night. You want me in your life. You want me in ways you’ve never desired any other man, and that has you fucking terrified. You want me exactly the same way I want you.”
“No.”
“Yes.” When I look up at him, I see such raw disappointment in his expression that my stomach squirms with guilt. “But if you’re not ready to accept that, then there’s nothing I can do. I can’t force you to take a chance on me.” He swallows and shakes his head. “Go get dressed. I’ll take you home.”
