by Calia Read
Unhurriedly, his face moves closer to mine until our noses brush and his lips ghost across mine. I want to kiss him. Not out of a burning desire. No, I want to see if another man can set my body on fire and possess me the way Étienne does when he kisses me because if Nicholas can, then there’s a strong possibility I can move on from Étienne.
But before I can test my theory, someone clears their throat.
“There you are, Gould.”
I recognize the sound of Étienne’s voice and close my eyes. Nicholas peers at me for a brief second. “We’ll resume this later, all right?”
I nod, but who am I kidding? The chances of me getting this plastered and allowing myself to explore my feelings so freely are slim to none. This kiss was a one-shot opportunity, and like my heart, Étienne stole it.
Nicholas steps away from me and nods in Étienne’s direction. Reluctantly, I look that way and see the furious look in Étienne’s eyes. The wind picks up, making the strands of my hair blow across my face. I tuck them behind my ear, never once breaking eye contact with Étienne. If he wants me to feel guilty for being alone with Nicholas, then he needs to look somewhere else because he won’t find that in me. Still, it’s thrilling to have those defiant green eyes fixated on me and me alone. My body thrives under his stares or when we argue. Even now, my hands are tingling. Although I can’t tell if it’s from him or all the alcohol I’ve drunk tonight. I’m choosing to go with the latter.
With his jaw clenched, Étienne’s the first to break eye contact.
“What can I do for you, Étienne?” Nicholas asks.
“The party is comin’ to a close. Scarlett is ready to go.”
“I suppose that’s my cue to leave.”
“It is,” Étienne remarks bluntly.
Nicholas glances my way. “Would you like me to drive you home?”
I’d rather have my asshole bleached in front of a group of strangers than be in the same vehicle as Scarlett. The last time we were in the car together, I had visions of beating her with an umbrella.
“No, Livingston can escort her back to Charleston,” Étienne interjects.
Nicholas looks at me and arches at a brow, waiting for me to reply. I give a small shrug because this is the one time I’m gonna have to agree with Étienne. I smile at Nicholas. “It’s okay,” I say gently. “It’s probably easier since I’m staying with Livingston.”
Nicholas takes a step closer. “Are you sure? Because I don’t mind at all and—”
“Your sister is waitin’,” Étienne says in a clipped tone.
Nicholas tilts his head to the side and glances at Étienne. An uncomfortable silence descends around the three of us as they size each other up. I’m surprised Étienne doesn’t pee all around me like a dog to mark his territory.
Nicholas rubs the back of his neck and gives me a smirk. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”
I smile and watch as he walks away, but not before he stops near Étienne and gives him a firm pat on the shoulder. “It’ll be my pleasure to look after my sister, your fiancée. Good night, Lacroix.”
It’s impossible not to pick up on the double meaning. Nicholas knows there are lingering feelings between Étienne and me. Hell, a blind kitten can see it. While Étienne watches Nicholas’s retreating form, I quietly slip out of sight because I’m not ready to be alone with him.
I have no idea where I’m going. I’ve only been out in the gardens once, and it was during the day when I wasn’t three sheets to the wind. My legs wobble on the uneven pebble pathway. Why did I wear heels tonight?
“Stupid fucking heels,” I mutter to myself as I try to march away with as much dignity as I can muster.
Behind me, I can hear the slow and methodical footsteps of Étienne. I take a deep breath and continue. Even in my drunken haze, I realize I’m going to have to turn around and head back to Belgrave. Just not right now.
“Haven’t we done this already?” Étienne calls.
“Yes. I don’t wanna talk to you,” I slur.
“If you stop runnin’ and bein’ a coward, then I’ll leave you alone.”
At that, I whirl around. “Did you just call me a coward?”
Étienne’s so close he almost runs into me. Instead of backing up, he stays put and stares down at me. He crosses his arms, and I see the river of veins traveling up his arms toward his wrists. At some point, he shed his waistcoat and vest. His tie is loosened and sleeves rolled up to his elbow. Black suspenders make a sharp contrast against his pure white dress shirt.
“Yes. You run from me at every turn. That’s a coward.”
I shift my body forward, anger radiating from me. “A coward can also be defined as someone who lacks the courage to endure a challenging situation. So if you’re calling me a coward for avoiding you, what does that make you when you called me your surviving trace and then turned around and asked for another woman’s hand in marriage?”
Étienne swallows, and I know I’ve struck a nerve. “I thought we had moved past this days ago!”
“I did too, but you’ve ignored me all week,” I blurt out.
“That’s why you’re upset? Because I haven’t spoken to you? Serene, I thought you wanted space! My God, woman, I’ll never figure you out. I don’t think you know what you want.”
That’s probably the most accurate thing he’s said all night. I’m not about to say that, though. “I’m upset about a lot of stuff, Étienne.”
“You know what? So am I. You’re forgettin’ I waited two years for you,” he says through gritted teeth.
“I wish someone would’ve told me there was an expiration date on our love. Then I could’ve had the chance to move on too.”
“I don’t—”
Abruptly, I brush past him. “This is not the conversation I want to have tonight. Hell, this is the very reason I decided to drink,” I say, knowing that he’s following right behind me. “Go fuck her and have eighteen billion babies that carry the Lacroix name. Do whatever you want. I don’t care!”
“Serene, wait. Obviously, you do care. And stop runnin’. You’re gonna twist an ankle with those heels.”
To get him off my case, I stop long enough to take off my heels. They dangle in my hands, and because my pain is like a beast in my belly begging to be set free, I turn around and throw one heel, then the other. The first one flies across his head. The other shoe hits him on the side of the head, making me smirk.
“Damnit! What the hell is wrong with you?”
I cross my arms, feeling pretty pleased with myself. “Imagine my aim if I wasn’t drunk,” I point out.
He charges toward me, muttering curse words and how I’m too stubborn for my own good. I’m ready for round two, but instead, he bends down and swiftly swings me over one shoulder as though I’m a sack of potatoes.
His grip is firm around my waist as he turns and starts to walk back toward Belgrave. My hair hangs down, the ends brushing against the back of Étienne’s thighs as all the blood rushes to my head. I beat on Étienne’s back and try to kick him, but he bands his other arm around my legs to hold them in place.
“Wait till I’m on the fucking ground. I’m gonna...I’m gonna.” I pause to formulate my words and stop the slurring. “I’m gonna hurt you!”
He chuckles. “God, you are drunk.”
“God, I hate you.”
“No, you don’t.”
“I really do.”
We enter the back of the house, and I continue trying to squirm out of his grasp. “Shit. Serene. Just stay still!”
“Put me down. I’m about to vomit all down your back.”
“No, you’re not,” he states confidently as we move up the stairs.
“I will,” I warn. I won’t. I know when I’m about to vomit, and I’m not even close to that point. But I want Étienne to put me down. His touch is making my mind short-circuit, causing my anger to slowly evaporate. And without my anger, what good am I?
“Chunks everywhere,” I continue. “Visualize it.”
&nbs
p; “Oh, I am.”
He turns left, and even in my drunken haze, I recognize we’re going in the direction of his room. “Hey!” I try to lift my head, but it feels like a thousand pounds. “Take me to my old room.”
Weakly, I point a finger in that direction, but it’s no use. All the alcohol is starting to catch up to me. I’m tired. I need a bed. I’d sleep on a cot at this point as long as Étienne laid me down. Hell, even a bed of hay sounds nice right about now. I stop fighting him and relax, my eyes closing. Étienne removes his hands from my legs and gently pinches the side of my waist. “Are you still with me?”
I groan. “I’m getting sleepy.”
“I’m not surprised. That’s why I’m takin’ you to my room.”
“But—but...” Words are sitting patiently in my head, waiting to come out, but they never do. My tongue feels three sizes too big for my mouth. I close my eyes and take a deep breath. Even in my drunken haze, I notice the way Étienne’s thumb makes soothing circles on my waist, and my body is a traitor, immediately warming at his touch. I feel like a cat being rubbed by its master. I’m surprised I don’t purr and ask for more.
Étienne stops, and I hear the telltale sign of a door opening. He turns, and when the door softly closes, I lift my head. My stupid hair is in the way, but I make out the dresser across the room. Dimly, I recognize Étienne’s bedroom. Pieces of furniture have changed here and there, but for the most part, it’s still the same.
Étienne walks across the room before he finally bends down and sets me on the bed. When he does, my face brushes against his neck, and I inhale the scent of him. Instantly, I grab onto his suspenders to hold him in place. The interesting thing about being drunk is the army of emotions it brings out in you. Just a few minutes ago, I was screaming at him that I didn’t care if he had a billion babies with Scarlett, and now I’m holding him as though tonight is my last night with him.
The wall that usually keeps feelings in check is down tonight, and I should care, but I just don’t.
“Mmm.” I lean in. “You smell good.”
“I do?” Étienne voice comes out choked.
“Yes.” I brush my nose against the curve of his neck. Before I can stop myself, I kiss him there. “I’ve missed the way you smell.”
Very slowly, Étienne reaches up, curls his hands around my shoulders and pushes me away. He looks me in the eye, and I see the battle there. He still wants me, and it’s taking everything in his power not to react to my confession.
He swallows loudly. “I think it’s time you lie down and get some rest. You’ve had a lot to drink.”
“Okay.” I smile drowsily at him as I fall back against the mattress. I turn onto my side and watch as he pulls the sheets up my body. He looks down at me.
“Good night, Serene,” he says, his voice gruff.
“Good night, Étienne.”
I watch as he takes his time turning away. I don’t want him to go. I miss moments alone with him. I miss his touch. I miss kissing him. I miss him being mine. And kissing him days ago brought all those feelings to the surface. There’s no hiding them now.
I sit up in bed, the strap of my dress falling down my left shoulder. “Hey. Come here.”
Étienne stops walking and grabs the edge of the bedpost. He doesn’t look at me. His broad shoulders lift as he takes a deep breath. “Serene,” he warns.
“Come here,” I urge, softening my voice.
Slowly, he makes his way back toward me and stands there, looking down at me. I pull back the sheets. “I’m not sleeping in my clothes. Help me unbutton them.”
He shoots the door a desperate look. “I can bring a maid in here to help.”
“Why can’t you? You have seen me naked,” I point out.
He swallows, and I watch in fascination as he fights with himself on what to do.
“It’s just clothes, Étienne. Nothing to be afraid of,” I taunt.
Étienne leans in until our noses touch. I inhale the crisp, clean scent of him and fight the urge to wrap my arms around his neck.
“What games are you playin’?”
“Nothing we haven’t done before,” I whisper. “And you survived that, didn’t you?”
“Barely,” he mutters before he pulls away. “Turn around.”
Looking at him from beneath my lashes, I rise to my knees, turn around, and pull my hair over one shoulder and patiently wait. The seconds begin to tick by. When I feel his fingers against my bare skin, I jump slightly and suppress my shiver. Étienne starts to work on the buttons, and I try my hardest to stay still.
“Why are there so many buttons?” he mutters to himself.
I smile, and as if he can see my devious smirk, he says, “Wipe that grin off your face.”
“How’d you know I was smiling?”
“I know you like the back of my hand, Serene.”
I look at him from over my shoulder. “I didn’t say a word.”
Étienne meets my gaze. “No, but I know what you’re thinkin’.”
As my dress begins to sag around my body, the air in the room becomes thicker. Tension radiates between the two of us. Slowly, I turn back around until I’m looking at the opposite wall. When his fingers reach my lower back, I bite down on my lower lip.
I feel the last button come free. My dress immediately slides to my waist. The sleeves hang to my elbows. With lightning fast speed, I whip my body around and grab ahold of Étienne before he can walk away because I know that’s what he’s going to try to do.
“Don’t leave yet.”
Our minds are always at war with each other. Lips invariably trying to keep up with our sharp jabs. We’re perpetually competing for the last word. But our bodies coincide so effortlessly. At times, I think we respond to each other almost subconsciously.
Étienne covers my hand, but he doesn’t pull it away from his body. Instead, he laces his fingers through mine and gently squeezes. “I don’t want to leave,” he whispers.
“Then don’t,” I whisper back.
“You said you hated me tonight,” he points out but moves in closer until our noses touch.
“Ah, but the line between hate and love is incredibly thin. It’s easy to cross the boundaries.” It feels good to be near him again. I’m like an addict. I had a taste of him days ago, and now I want more. “Don’t leave,” I repeat.
“Do you see me walkin’ away?” he asks, his eyes glued to my lips.
I shake my head and tug him closer, right as his hands reach up to cup my face.
I’m smart enough to know I’m going to regret this later but too drunk to care. Our kiss is slow, yet heavy.
This feels good. I moan into Étienne’s mouth and move my hands down his chest. I feel his abs jump beneath my touch and continue moving south. Without breaking contact, I jerk his shirt out of his pants. He removes his hands long enough to slide out of his suspenders. When that’s done, I focus on the row of buttons on his shirt. I’m frantic and determined to feel his naked skin against mine. If seeing him with another woman is torture, not touching him is agony.
Deepening the kiss, I tilt my head. My tongue glides against his before I none too gently suck on it, eliciting a small groan. When his shirt gapes open, I give his chiseled body an appreciative look. The dim light in the room only highlights every square inch of his chest, his abs, and the deep V that disappears beneath his pants.
Off. Right now, my mind demands.
Did we kiss days ago? Wasn’t his body next to mine? From how I’m pawing at Étienne, you’d think it never happened. But Étienne’s kissing and touching with the same feverish intensity. We’re both desperate.
His hands have been firmly planted on my hips, but now they trail down my skin to the hem of my chemise. He bunches the flimsy material around my hips. The air touches my skin, and I suppress a shiver. His fingers splay across my bare ass. Other than my dress bunched around my knees, my lower body is completely exposed. Even in my drunken haze, I’m tempted to yank down my chemi
se when his right hand moves toward my stomach, dipping lower and lower. Étienne stops kissing me, and before I can object, he brushes a finger between my legs.
My breath hitches. Gently, he parts the folds and slips a finger inside me. Étienne gives me a wicked grin and says one word. “Wet.”
Slowly, he pulls out and sinks back in. His movements are controlled and even, and the complete opposite of my irregular breathing and erratic heartbeat.
At some point, a second finger slips in. My legs begin to quiver. Étienne starts to speak in rapid French. I have no idea what he’s saying, but it’s making my brain short-circuit. He could stop moving his hand and continue whispering French words in my ear, and I would orgasm on that alone.
I tighten around him and know I’m close to losing control. I try to find something to grip for balance. The sheets aren’t within reach, so I hook my arms around his biceps. They bunch beneath my touch, causing a whole flutter of emotions. I love his power, strength, and vitality. I love how it never wavers. I love how it’s wrapped up in a six-foot-five present, and no one can unwrap it but me.
I swivel my hips and try to prolong my orgasm. My hands move from Étienne’s arm to the button of his pants. My fingers shake, causing me to fumble several times. Finally, the button slips open and then the next. The material hangs loosely on his narrow hips.
His fingers move faster inside me and so does my urge to touch him. I tug his pants lower, then his underwear. My fingertips graze the underside of his dick. Étienne groans harshly.
Breathless and turned on like never before, I wrap my hand around him and create my own rhythm. Étienne’s breathing becomes choppy, and the hand wrapped around my waist tightens. The fingers inside me increase their speed. Tension builds inside me.
“Oh God,” I breathe. My forehead falls to Étienne’s chest as I climax around his fingers. The feeling of bliss rushes through my bloodstream. Instinctively, my shoulders slump, and my eyes close.
Slowly, I lift my head. Étienne’s looking at me, his eyes glazed over. I lean in and kiss the side of his jaw. As my heart rate goes back to normal, I resume my grip on him. I glide my palm over the hard length of him. I rub my thumb over the tip of him and feel the pre-cum.
