Not Until You

by Roni Loren

  “Well, I don’t know—” He tossed me onto the bed and I bounced with an oof.

  “You should have more faith in me.” He sat on the edge of the bed and dragged me onto his lap to straddle him. “The only thing that has seen any action is my fist because I couldn’t stop thinking about you, picturing you like this.”

  His mouth closed over one of my nipples and pleasure arced through me. I braced my hands on his shoulders and let my head fall back as I imagined him taking himself in his hand, sliding those long fingers over his cock. Damp heat pressed against my cotton panties as he moved to the other breast.

  “I’m sorry,” I whispered.

  He lifted his head, drawing my attention back to him. “What about you? I won’t hold it against you if you did. I’m the one who pushed you away.”

  I frowned. “Wouldn’t hold what against me?”

  “If you slept with the dentist,” he said, his tone belying how totally un-okay with it he’d really be about that.

  I blanched. “God, Foster, no. Tonight was the first time we even kissed.”

  He closed his eyes briefly in a thank-God way, then lifted his lids, his gaze intent. “I wanted to beat the shit out of that guy for even daring to touch you. Took everything I had not to interrupt.”

  “He’s a good guy.” I leaned down and kissed his brow. “But he does nothing for me. You”—I grabbed his wrist and brought his hand downward, slipping his warm fingers inside my shorts and panties—“do this to me just by looking my way.”

  He groaned as his fingers parted my folds and found wet heat. “I love how fucking bold you’re becoming. So sexy and confident.”

  “You make me brave.” I rocked against his hand, the stimulation like sweet fire licking up my body.

  He slipped his fingers from my panties and swiped them over my lips, spreading my own taste there, then took my mouth in another heated kiss. I threaded my fingers in his hair and scooted forward, dragging myself along his erection. Everything inside me was already coiling tight. It’d been so long since I’d touched him. I felt starved—each breath, each touch providing the sweet sustenance I’d been craving.

  He pulled back from the kiss, his eyes almost black in the soft lamplight of the hotel room. “God, I’ve missed you.”

  I brought my hands to his jaw, feeling the stubble beneath my fingertips. “Every night I’d crawl into bed to try to sleep, but then I’d remember this, you, and my body would go so hot.”

  His grip tightened on my thighs. “Did you touch that pretty cunt of yours?”

  “Even when I promised myself I wouldn’t,” I admitted, the old flush of embarrassment still rising to the surface at the confession and his crude words.

  “Mmm,” he said, the sound rumbling through his chest. “And what did you imagine I was doing to you, my angel?”

  I bit my lip but refused to let my bred-in shyness rear its head again. “I imagined rough things, your dominance, you tying me up. My skin would actually tingle when I’d imagine your hand or your flogger coming down on me.”

  The look that crossed his face was almost one of anguish. “Christ, Cela, you’re killing me.”

  —

  The open honesty on Cela’s face was enough to wring the air from his lungs. All the times they were together, Foster had always wondered if maybe she’d only been going along with things to please him, to be experimental. But to hear that not only had she missed him, but had also fantasized about his binding her and bringing her pain, made his heart want to grow wings and zoom right out of his chest.

  He knew he had to be cautious. She said she didn’t have answers tonight. There was still a very real possibility that she could walk away from him. But if he’d had any doubts whether or not she was truly wired for being submissive, he didn’t now. She craved what he could give her. And God knows, he ached for her.

  He pushed her dark hair away from her face. “Turn around and lie across my lap, angel. I don’t need you imagining anymore.”

  Her eyes went half-mast and she eased off his lap, turning to lay herself prone across his knees. Her muscles were already starting to loosen, her mind sinking into the moment. When he had her in position, he tugged down her shorts and panties, leaving them at her knees. Fuck, she was beautiful—full breasts pressed against his thigh, hair hanging down to brush the floor, and the feminine curve of her back and ass there like a feast for him.

  He rubbed a hand along the globe of one cheek, enjoying the silky-smooth skin, then he raised his hand and gave it a swift smack. She reared up, her breath catching, and his cock pressed against the fly of his jeans. The bright pink, five-fingered image appeared on that golden skin. He’d never be able to describe to her what that did to him, to see his mark on her, to know that she craved both his softness and his sting, but it was almost religious for him. He brought his hand down again on the other side and inhaled her reaction—the soft cry, the scent of her arousal drifting upward, the surrender in her stance.

  “Give me a color, Cela,” he said, rubbing his palm along the place he’d hit.

  “Green,” she whispered, squirming a bit beneath his hold. “So very green.”

  He smiled. How far she’d come. From being embarrassed about the smallest desire to begging to be spanked. He couldn’t ever remember seeing something as sexy as this woman taking ownership of her desires. He spanked her with a little more oomph this time and she quivered against him.

  Confident that she was totally with him now, he worked her over, darkening her ass and the backs of her thighs with a pattern of red marks. Her skin began to glisten with sweat, and her moans turned into breathy, desperate whimpers. He drew his hand down and between her legs, finding her soaked and hot with arousal. “You need to come, angel?”

  “Yes, please, sir,” she said, pushing up on her toes to grind against his fingers.

  He lifted her up and rolled her onto her back on the bed. She looked up at him with glazed eyes, her cheeks flushed. He knelt on the floor and tugged her panties and shorts fully off. “You have my permission.”

  He undid his belt buckle and the fly of his pants, his erection demanding to be freed from its denim prison, and he draped Cela’s legs over his shoulders. The soft, pink folds of her pussy spread before him, swollen and glistening with her arousal, and he had to hold back the groan. He fisted his cock at the base, trying to tame the need building in him. He wanted to take his time and savor this, savor her.

  He dipped forward and laid kisses along her inner thighs, giving her a quick little pop on the hip when she wouldn’t be still. She huffed her frustration, making him smile, but she made a decidedly different noise when he ran his tongue along her center. Her fingers curled into the comforter, and her hips rocked forward. He closed his eyes, relishing her tart taste and the sweet scent of her desire. He loved how shameless she was, arching against his tongue and making all those soft, throaty noises.

  He eased two fingers inside her, the heat of her making his cock throb, and ran the tip of his tongue around her clit before sucking it between his lips. She groaned, and he pumped his fingers inside her, working her with his mouth until he could feel her pussy tightening. He curled his fingers inside her, finding the spot he knew she needed, and a sharp cry broke through the room. She writhed against the bed, and he held her to his mouth with his free arm, helping her ride the intensity when her body’s instinct was to pull away.

  Her strangled cries were like sweet music seeping into his bloodstream, making his body throb in time with her sounds. When he could tell she couldn’t take anymore, he backed off, rubbing his cheek against her thigh and talking to her in soft tones. “Beautiful, angel.”

  She reached for him, dragging her nails along his scalp and sending hot shivers through him. “I need you, Foster. Please.”

  “Greedy little girl, aren’t you?” he teased, as h
e pushed himself off the floor, shucking off his clothes and lowering onto the bed.

  Her eyelids fluttered open and she gave him a slow smile. “If I wasn’t high on afterglow, I would totally be offended at that.”

  He grinned as he crawled over her, bracing himself above her. “Then I’ll just keep you in a constant state of arousal so I can say any filthy, offensive thing that comes to mind.”

  She ran her hands along his chest, openly exploring every dip and valley. “That won’t be hard. You seem to have that effect on me.”

  He loved how she touched him so hungrily, like each part of him was a revelation. “Feeling’s mutual, gorgeous.”

  He leaned down to kiss her as he positioned himself at her entrance, no longer in the mood to be patient. The moment he sank into her, all felt right with the world again. His woman wrapped around him, her taste on his lips, and her heartbeat pounding against his chest in time with his.

  No. Not his woman, he corrected. Not yet. But he was going to try his damnedest to make it so.

  Unable to resist, he grabbed her wrists and pinned both of them above her head as he rocked into her. She surrendered willingly, her eyes catching his and holding the gaze as he slid deep. And in that moment, he didn’t need her words to know. He affected her as much as she did him. There was something there that he’d never experienced before with anyone else. Even when he thought he’d been in love with Darcy, he hadn’t felt that rip-through-your-chest-and-tug-out-your-soul feeling like he did when he looked at Cela.

  Cela shifted below him, her eyes blinking closed and a flush creeping over her neck. She was so close again already. The passion in her was right there at the surface, bursting through with almost no coaxing. He could spend forever discovering all the ways to bring her right to the edge of her pleasure and then tormenting her until she came apart beneath him. He reached down with his free hand and grabbed her hip, tilting her upward and moving inside her at the angle he wanted.

  Sweat glazed both their bodies as he relentlessly pumped into her, knowing that his girl responded better to a nice, hard fucking as opposed to slow, sweet lovemaking—the virgin had grown into the vixen. And he couldn’t get enough of her and how ravenous she was for him. It made him feel powerful and wanted. Like a man. Like her man.

  “God, Foster, yes,” she murmured, talking out of her head now, so close to breaking apart.

  He increased his pace, the sound of skin slapping skin mixing in with her throaty whimpers, and all his muscles began to tighten. Her crossed wrists thrashed restlessly beneath his tight hold as she raced up the hill again.

  “Come for me, angel,” he said, his breath sawing out of him now.

  Her head tilted back into the pillows, exposing the long length of her throat, and a low, glorious cry filled the room. He sank forward, going straight for the spot where neck met shoulder, the creamy skin beckoning him, and bit down. Her moan turned guttural, and he released her wrists. Her hands clamped on to his back instantly, her nails digging into his skin, and the nip of pain sent his own orgasm thundering down his spine. Pleasure exploded through him, and he groaned as everything went white behind his eyes, filling her with his release.

  Later. Seconds? Minutes? He didn’t know or care, they both got out of bed and took a long bath together in the hotel’s Jacuzzi tub. Neither of them seemed in the mood to talk, both content to bask in the quiet of each other’s embrace. He knew she had a lot on her mind. So did he. And he wasn’t going to push her for anything more tonight. He’d already gotten way more than he had ever anticipated. The look she’d given him when they’d joined together could keep him surviving on hope for a while longer.

  But when they both climbed under the covers, and he wrapped his arms around her, he couldn’t help but say what had been sitting there on his chest all night. He pressed a kiss to her bare shoulder. “I’m in love with you, Cela.”

  The stiffening of her muscles was slight, but he didn’t miss it.

  And that worried him more than anything had all night.

  Even more than the fact that she didn’t say anything back.

  PART VIII

  NOT UNTIL YOU LOVE

  THIRTY-EIGHT

  I woke up groggy and disoriented, a loud sound filling my ears and the bed jostling. I rolled over to find Foster groping around the hotel room in the dark and cursing.

  “Who the fuck would call this early? And where the hell is my phone?”

  I wrapped the covers around me, the chill of the room raising goose bumps on my skin, and climbed out of bed, dragging the sheet with me. “I think it’s over here on the desk.”

  I grabbed it for him, but it’d stopped ringing by that time.

  “Dammit,” he said from the other side of the room.

  I peeked over at the clock. A little past five. Calls this early were never good. For me it usually meant a panicked family and an injured pet, but I had a feeling someone calling Foster this early would be even more ominous.

  “Does it say who it was?” he asked, fumbling around for the lamp.

  I flipped over the phone and hit the button to illuminate the screen. Ugh. Bile burned the back of my throat. I tossed the phone on the bed. “Yeah. It’s Bret.”

  “Bret?” he said, the lamp flicking on, lighting his stricken face. “Shit.”

  I pulled the sheet tighter around me, my chill no longer related to the overactive air conditioner. “I’m going to go shower, so if you need to call her back, you’ll have some privacy.”

  If he caught the biting edge to my tone, he didn’t acknowledge it. Instead, he was already moving toward the phone, probably not even hearing me.

  “Right,” I said under my breath. Guess when she called, the whole world needed to stop. I turned on my heel and headed to the bathroom before the ugly jealousy could cause me to say something I’d regret.

  As I stood under the stream of hot water in the shower, I tried to pull myself back together and not picture Foster in bed with that blond knockout. He’d said Bret was a colleague and a friend now, not a lover. If she was calling, it probably wasn’t for a booty call. My logical brain knew that, but my completely irrational heart wasn’t hearing any of it.

  He’d told me last night that he loved me. I still couldn’t fully digest that turn of events. My cognitive functioning had frozen when he’d said the words. In a lot of ways, it’d been everything I’d wanted to hear. Being with him last night, feeling his touch, had only solidified how strongly I felt for him. And maybe I had fallen in love with him, too. But I had no idea if that was enough. I had moved my life here. And a relationship with Foster meant a certain kind of lifestyle that my brain and body were at war over.

  I couldn’t—wouldn’t—say the words to him if I wasn’t going to be able to back them up with a commitment. I didn’t want to be another hurt in his life.

  By the time I stepped out of the bathroom, Foster was fully dressed and tossing clothes into his suitcase. Any remnants of my jealous bitch side shut her mouth and concern flooded me. “What’s going on?”

  He turned to look at me, face drawn. “Bret said she found some information about my sister’s case and had to go to the FBI with it. They wouldn’t let her give me the details over the phone. I have to get back to town.”

  I wrapped my arms around myself. “Of course. Is there anything I can do to help?”

  He walked over to me, taking my face in his hands, and pressed a quick kiss to my lips. “You can forgive me for leaving before we have a chance to talk things out.”

  “Done,” I said without hesitation. We could deal with the complicated tangle of our relationship another day. “She didn’t give you any indication of what type of news this was.”

  He went back to his packing, his movements efficient but his shoulders stiff with tension. “Well, there really is no good news in this. I’m not
naive enough to think Neve is just going to reappear one day. But if we could find out what happened, who took her . . . I may be able to provide some closure for my parents. Some peace. They’ve spent every day since she went missing dedicating their lives to the cause.”

  “So have you,” I said gently.

  He peered back over his shoulder at me. “I owed that much to her. If I had done what I was supposed to that day, she may still be around.”

  “You were a kid, Foster,” I said, coming to sit on the edge of the bed. “You weren’t old enough to be responsible for someone else.”

  His jaw twitched. “I just need to be able to tell my parents—we got him or them or whoever was involved. Maybe once there’s some justice handed down . . .”

  “They’ll forgive you?” I asked, my heart heavy for him.

  He zipped up his suitcase and stared down at it, his expression grim. “No, angel, they’ll never do that. How could they? But maybe they’ll at least be able to move on.”

  The lonely ache in his voice—that of a kid still looking for love from his parents—made my chest hurt. But I knew there was nothing I could say to make him feel better. That wound was one only his mom and dad could heal. I hoped for his sake that they would mend that bridge.

  “Will you call me and let me know how things go when you get a chance?”

  A brief smile touched his lips and he cupped my cheek. “I won’t have to. As soon as I take care of this, I’m coming right back down here so we can really talk.”

  “Okay,” I said returning his smile.

  “Just tell me one thing.”

  I leaned into his touch. “What’s that?”

  “Tell me I have still have a shot, angel.”

  I closed my eyes, knowing the truth in my heart even if I couldn’t quite face it yet. “You’ve still got a shot.”

  He grinned fully now and laid a soft, toe-curling kiss on my mouth. “I love you, Cela.”