by Roni Loren
Neither did I. And I couldn’t imagine ever tiring of his touch. I’d worried early on that the thrill of this kind of relationship would wear off. That the dynamic could get old after the initial intrigue faded. But being with him like this was my escape. Even if I’d had a day of work at the ER vet clinic that had made me want to take up heavy drinking, I could go into this sacred space with Foster and all of that would fade away, leaving only the two of us.
I loved it.
I loved him.
Though I hadn’t had the guts to admit how desperately yet.
He thrust into me again and I bit my lip, the sensation edgier and more intense than regular sex. Need built in me like a tsunami—looming there. I fought hard to hold back the tide, my fingers aching from my grip on the rug. But I knew I had only seconds of resistance left in me, especially with this bombardment of new sensation. It was too much, too good, too sweet. Foster slipped a hand onto my belly, angling me just right, brushing over my clit. The move seemed to send fire into my blood. I whimpered into the carpet, my brain going fuzzy with half-formed thoughts and fully formed desperation. “Foster, I can’t . . . please, sir.”
“Go for it, baby. Let me feel you come around me,” he said, his voice belying his own dwindling control. He draped himself over my back, and reached around to remove the clamps.
The blinding rush of sensation returning to my nipples shot through me like lava, making me scream and collapse to the carpet, my arms trapped beneath me. Orgasm rumbled on the heels of the pain, bursting through and crashing over me. Sounds I didn’t know I was capable of dragged from my throat.
“That’s it, angel. Let it all go.” Foster didn’t break stride. He thrust into me with long, steady strokes, his body blanketing mine and stealing my breath in the best way possible.
I was pinned beneath him, writhing, helpless, his weight and motion dragging me against the shaggy carpet. The soft fibers teased my skin, tickling my clit and sensitized nipples, driving me past the point I thought I could take. I clawed at the edge of the rug, my noises and movements turning animalistic, primal. I couldn’t stop it, couldn’t do anything but let him have me.
Foster braced his forearms next to my head, and he rocked deep into me, his muscles tightening, his breath ragged in my ear. He was right there with me. Beyond control. Beyond restraint. Then his low, guttural moan twined with mine, and he was pulsing, his hot release jetting inside me.
And for that suspended moment, we were one—two bodies fused in the heady bliss of shared ecstasy. Two hearts . . .
I closed my eyes and rode the last waves of pleasure. Then, when my spasms finally quieted, I laid my cheek against the carpet and did the only thing my body could manage—I succumbed to the exhaustion.
—
My mind was drifting, my body surrounded by warmth and my limbs languid and heavy, like floating in a sea of gooey caramel. Lovely. I attempted to nestle deeper into the sensation.
“Cela?”
The voice seemed to come from both far away and inside my head at the same time. Was someone calling me? My lips parted to respond, to ask who was there, but instead everything came out muffled and slurred.
“You awake, angel?” a familiar voice asked, the words soft.
Foster.
That pulled me from my dream state, dragging me back to the memory of what had happened tonight. I blinked, trying to clear the fog in my brain, and the flickering orange glow of a fire filled my vision. “Maybe.”
Foster, who’d apparently been stretched out along my backside with his arms around me, shifted from behind me and sat up, tucking me back into the cozy corner of the couch. He smiled down at me, pushing my hair off my forehead. “I was starting to worry you weren’t going to wake up until our flight in the morning. Your parents already think I’m some crazed, obsessive boyfriend who stole you away. They would really hate me if I caused you to miss Christmas.”
“You have no idea,” I murmured, adjusting myself so I could sit more upright. I was wrapped tightly in a blanket, though I had no memory of how I’d ended up that way. Subspace, for the win. “Plus, Andre would kill me if I bailed. He’s going to drop the I-kiss-boys-too bomb on them.”
“I have a feeling lots of spiked eggnog will be consumed over this holiday.”
“Count on it. But hey, we should thank him. It will take some of the spotlight off of us.” I smiled. “I’m sorry I fell asleep, guess I was more exhausted than I realized.”
“No, it’s fine. I put you through a lot tonight. I think your body finally waved the white flag.”
I rubbed my eyes and glanced around, trying to get my bearings now that I didn’t have a blindfold on. But when I looked to the left, I had to do a double take. A wall of windows overlooking the slope of a hill and a moonlit lake beyond spanned the far side of the room. What the hell? The Ranch didn’t have any hilltop cabins. I peeked behind me, finding an archway to a large gourmet kitchen. And they definitely didn’t have cabins this modern or this big. Confusion swamped me. I turned back to Foster. “Where are we?”
He glanced toward the stretch of windows. “We’re in a place I never thought I’d come back to again—the house my family moved to after Neve disappeared. I own it.”
I raised my eyebrows. “You own a house?”
“Yeah, have for a few years. My parents left it to me when they built their place in Florida.”
I let my eyes drift around the room, over the expensive furniture, the beautiful stonework around the fireplace, the polished wood floors. The place was gorgeous and, from the looks of the shadowed hallways, huge. “I think you could fit your entire apartment into this room alone. Why haven’t you used it?”
He sighed. “It’s a great house and view, but the times I spent here were some of my roughest—lonely years. I basically lived here with a rotating herd of paid caretakers while my parents traveled doing their charity work and chasing leads about Neve.”
I frowned, reaching out for his hand, knowing that, though his parents were making an effort to build some sort of relationship with him again now, there were still decades of hurt to heal.
“The last Christmas I spent in this house, I was fifteen. We had this monster-sized tree. It touched the ceiling and had hand-painted ornaments from Paris. It could’ve been in a showroom or the centerpiece on some TV holiday special. Beneath it were enough presents to fill a dump truck. From the outside looking in, the place looked idyllic, like every kid’s dream. But if I hadn’t invited Pike over, I would’ve spent Christmas alone. My parents had a benefit in New York for their foundation. Pike and I spent the night getting drunk on peppermint schnapps while burning wrapping paper in the fireplace to watch the flame turn colors.”
The sadness that crossed his face made my heart hurt for him all over again. My parents may have smothered me, but at least I was never short on attention or love. Christmas at my house was so full of people, there was hardly space to sit down. “Oh, Foster.”
He turned back to me then, a resigned smile. “It’s okay. I’m not telling you this so you feel sorry for me. Just explaining why I’ve let this place sit. A big, empty house filled with those kinds of memories was the last thing I wanted.”
“I understand,” I said softly. “But why are we here now?”
Foster brushed his knuckle along my cheek, watching me, studying. Debating. He frowned. “You asked me a few weeks ago what I wanted for Christmas, and I told you nothing, that I had everything I wanted.”
I leaned into his touch, giving him a small smile.
“But I lied,” he said, lowering his hand.
That gave me pause, a little pinch of worry, I tucked the blanket more tightly around myself. “Oh?”
“Yes. I know we promised to be completely honest with each other.”
I nodded.
“But I’ve
been failing you on that these last few months. Because what I’ve really been wanting is something more than I’ve asked for.”
I wet my lips, my stomach dipping a bit at where his words could be leading. “Okay.”
I could hear him take a long, deep breath, as if he needed extra oxygen to say what he needed to say. “I promised myself I wouldn’t put pressure on you, wanted to give you time to explore this kind of relationship because you were so new to everything. I told myself it was to protect you, but really, it was to protect me.”
I frowned, not understanding.
“I think part of me was always still waiting for the other shoe to drop, for everything to fall apart again. For you to change your mind and move on.”
The insecurity in his words tugged at me. “Foster . . .”
“But I can’t help how I feel, how you make me feel. And I’m done being chickenshit about it. What I really want for Christmas is to have you by my side every night . . .”
My brows knitted. “I’m at your place almost every night, or you’re at mine.”
He looked down at our linked hands, brushing a thumb over my knuckles, then raised his face to me. “I don’t want to just date you. I know we haven’t been together that long, but I also know what’s in my heart. And what I think I see in yours. I want more with you. I want everything, Cela.”
I blinked at him in the muted firelight. His expression was as stripped bare as I’d ever seen it. Vulnerable. Nervous. The sight made it hard for me to draw breath. I was so used to seeing the confident and collected Foster that this side was a revelation. He’d left his armor at the door tonight.
Then his request finally registered. I want everything. My voice shook a little when I managed to get words out. “What are you asking?”
“Exactly what you think I’m asking. But I’m not going to get on one knee yet. Know that I will, and I’d marry you tomorrow if you’d have me, but that’s definitely a decision I’m not going to lay on you yet. We’ve got time for a ring. But as a start, I’m asking you to live with me, angel—here. I’ve had everything remodeled and updated. I want to build a life here with you. And I want you to wear my mark of ownership.”
I stared at him, struck speechless by the requests. Live with me. Wear my mark. One day wear my ring. My heart knocked hard against my ribs. He was asking me to move in, to be his—forever, putting himself out there in a way I knew had to be punching old fear buttons for him.
So many things zipped through my mind—the sheer gravity of the decision, the implications, the permanence. For all these months, we’d spent so much time together, but we’d still kept some space. We would sleep over at each other’s place, but not every night. And though I wore a collar when we made trips to The Ranch, it was only on during scenes. It was as if we were both playing with parachutes, always anticipating that one of us might jump off the plane.
If I said yes, I knew this would transform, deepen to a level I couldn’t even fathom. I knew what Foster craved from me—a craving I’d felt blooming within myself with each passing week we were together. Owned. When I came home after work, I’d become his, my submission a daily gift. Even though I had let myself imagine it, fantasize about it, it was a lot to process. But as I closed my eyes and pictured what that life would look like—Foster and me sharing a home, the two of us facing the world together, intense nights of being under his command mixed in with days of being surrounded by his laughter and love—well, I couldn’t quite access any fear over that.
Instead, like water rising in a well, an overwhelming surge of happiness spread within me, filling every nook, and threatening to burst through my pores. I knew all too well the sense of loss I felt when he unlatched my collar at The Ranch or when we had to part for the night.
In the beginning, the idea of true submission to Foster had scared me, had made me worry about putting myself in another suffocating situation like the one I’d grown up with. But my parents had controlled me through guilt and shame, and had used my natural urge to make those around me proud and happy against me. They’d let their love and overprotectiveness of me overshadow what may have been right for me.
But in my heart, I knew Foster would never take advantage of my desire to please that way. He’d been the one cheering me on these last few months while I went through my tough ER position. The one who’d held me when I lost my first patient in surgery. He wanted me on my own two feet in the world—strong, capable, successful. But behind closed doors, he wanted me under his care.
And I could think of no place I’d rather be.
“Foster,” I whispered.
He leaned over to the coffee table to grab something, then squared himself toward me on the couch. In his hands, he held a small, flat box. I stared down at it, my breath quickening as he flipped it open. Inside lay a delicate choker-style necklace with a silver pendant in the shape of . . . a wing.
“I promise this one has no tracking device involved.”
My lips lifted.
“I want you to be mine, angel.”
Tears coated my throat, but I held them back, not wanting to taint the moment by crying. I reached out to trace the curve of the angel wing. It was a piece of jewelry I could wear out—a day collar—and no one would know what it meant. But I would. I’d be wearing his mark. And the thought made everything go warm inside me.
“If it’s too soon or too much or you’re not ready or you think I’m crazy or this house isn’t what you . . .”
I grinned and raised my fingers, pressing them against his mouth. “Shut up, Foster. Nervous rambling is my job.”
He smiled beneath my fingertips, but the worry still hovered at the corners of his eyes.
Seeing his uncertainty only made me fall for him more. His hard, dominant side spoke to me on an elemental level, but that tenderness beneath affected something much deeper, filled spaces and corners inside me. I held his gaze, lowering my hand and told him exactly what I’d been feeling for months. “Don’t look so worried. You remember I’m in with love you, right? Like, stupid, crazy, drawing-hearts-in-my-journal in love with you. I want it all, too. Forever, Foster. Us. Like this.”
He was silent for a moment, as if he hadn’t heard anything I said. But then all the starch seemed to leave him.
“Thank God.” He closed his eyes, his tense posture fully deflating before he opened them again. “I love you, too. So much. And I know what I’m asking is a big step. I know it’s a lot.”
I leaned back against the arm of the couch. “Yes, it is a big step. And if we’re sticking to the honesty rule, I can say that I’ve never imagined wanting a relationship like this.”
He nodded, going a bit somber, like he was anticipating the gauntlet.
I reached out and brushed my fingers against his stubble. “Not until you.”
The beaming smile that broke through that five-o’clock shadow of his was bright enough to rival the moon outside. I’d never seen such a beautiful sight. My man, shirtless and grinning, his happiness like pure light. And now I was going to get to wake up every morning to his face, feel that love around me, and be his.
I let the blanket slip off my shoulders, not wanting anything between us, and climbed off the couch. I eased myself down to my knees, all the while holding Foster’s eye contact. Then I lowered my head and presented my neck to him, the submissive move making me feel more in control of my life than I ever had before. Finally, I was on the path of my own choosing. “Merry Christmas, sir.”
“Merry Christmas, angel.”
He gathered my hair to lay it on one shoulder, and I felt the quiver in his hand, the depth of emotion behind the simple caress. And when he fastened the choker around my neck, and the cool curve of the angel wing touched my collarbone, a soul-deep, peaceful calm settled over me, leaving no doubt as to where I most wanted to be.
Never hav
e I ever . . . been this happy.
Turn the page for a sneak peek at the next Loving on the Edge book
NOTHING BETWEEN US
Coming Winter 2015
12:35 A.M.—SPRING
Georgia Delaune had never been particularly drawn to illegal activity. Or taking risks. Or, okay, fine—sexually deviant behavior. She was woman enough to admit what this was. So finding herself hiding in the dark, peering around the curtains of her second-story window with a set of binoculars, should’ve tipped her off that she was officially losing her shit.
But since moving into the house on Fallen Oaks Lane six months earlier, she’d known this moment was coming. Before now, she’d convinced herself that she’d only been catching inadvertent peeks and unintentional glimpses. Her neighbor would surely shut his curtains if he didn’t want to risk being seen, right?
She groaned, lowered the binoculars, and pressed her forehead to the window frame. God, now she was blaming the victim. He gets naked in the confines of his own home. A home that’s on a treed corner lot with tons of privacy and a seven-foot-tall fence. How dare he!
This was so screwed up. What if he saw her? He could call the cops, and she’d be slapped with some Peeping Tom charge—or Peeping Tammy, as the case may be. That’d be an epic disaster. Especially when the cops found no information on a Georgia Delaune. Plus, afterward, she’d have to move because there’d be no facing her neighbor again. Not after he knew what she did at night. And there was no way in hell she was moving. It had taken too much time, effort, and planning to find this spot, to finally feel even a smidgen of security and safety. These walls were her only haven, and she had no intention of leaving them.
But despite knowing the risks, when she saw a lamp flick on and light glow in the window of Colby Wilkes’s bedroom, she found herself dragging a chair over to the window and lifting the binoculars to her eyes. It took a second to adjust the focus, but when the lenses cleared, the broad, wet shoulders of her dark-haired neighbor filled the view. Her stomach dipped in anticipation.
