Never Let Go: Top Shelf Romance Collection 6

by Steiner, Kandi

  He swallows, his jaw tightening, his throat moving, and his eyes change, just a little, before he speaks.

  “Marry me,” he says, and for such a strong man, there is so much vulnerability in those vowels.

  Chapter 42

  HIM

  I don’t know where the words come from. They fall out of my mouth and hang between us, and damn if I never want to put them back in.

  Marriage is something I stopped thinking about a long time ago, around the first time I had a husband ask me to screw his wife. Monogamy just didn’t seem to be that sacred a concept, the thought of freedom more tantalizing. But then I met her—I fell for her. An hour ago, I was afraid to bring up dating, afraid at the risk I was bringing to my company and our friendship. That was just an hour ago. And now, a proposal? It’s too quick, ridiculously too quick. I’m going to scare her off, going to ruin everything. Her loving me isn’t the same as a commitment that will bind us—

  “Trey.” She touches my face, her fingers soft, and it’s over. You don’t respond to a marriage proposal with a name. I close my eyes and can feel the hopelessness when it hits, the down that comes after a high. Her lips brush against mine, her nails soft against my cheeks, the tickle of her hair as it falls against my ear.

  “Ignore that,” I mumble. “It was stupid.” I need to recover. I need to open my eyes, and make a dirty remark, and give her that smirk—the one that gets me out of trouble and covers mistakes. I need to do all of it, but can’t muster up a smile, can’t come back to life after drowning.

  “Don’t say that.”

  “It was.”

  “I want to marry you.”

  I take a risk and look up at her, the fire’s light playing across her features, and there is a but coming, I can feel it pushing off her tongue. “But,” she says, and then her eyes drop, her fingers running over my bottom lip. I open my mouth and gently bite down on her thumb. Her eyes flick back to mine. “But, I’m worried about the orgy stuff.”

  It is so unexpected, that I can’t help but smile. She scowls in response, and I know suddenly that we will be fine, that we are Kate and Trey, and even if we don’t marry, there is nothing that can come between us. “It’s not funny,” she says, pushing on my chest.

  “The orgy stuff?” I repeat, and I try to contain my smile, to take seriously whatever is about to come out of her delicious mouth.

  “Yes, Trey. The orgy stuff.” She huffs out a breath, sitting upright.

  I can’t stop the laugh that comes at her petulant expression. “I don’t do orgies, Kate.” I quickly amend the words. “I haven’t done orgies. I was only the third for couples. That’s it.”

  “Okay, sorry. The threesome stuff.” She rolls her eyes. “Is that better?”

  “Yes.” I slide my hands up her bare thighs, and I like this position, having her astride me, her pussy bare on my stomach, wet from my come, her hair falling over her breasts, her face flushed from our sex and her current indignation over my pain-in-the-ass past. “What worries you about it?”

  “I’m just worried that you’ll want me to do that. And it’s not that I’m a prude or anything—”

  I pop my hips enough that she bounces up, and she stops talking, caught off balance, her hand reaching out to stabilize herself as she comes back down to my stomach, my hand taking advantage of the moment to slip underneath her. I slide two fingers inside, curving them up and toward me, and her objection dies as she melts forward. “Trey,” she protests, and it is a weak slur of my name, my fingers gently sweeping over her g-spot, and she is so warm, so tight, so wet inside. I wonder how much of it is my come, and how much is her, and how, if I press right there … she curses and digs her fingers into my chest.

  “Jesus, Trey. Don’t stop.”

  “Look at me, Kate.”

  My confidence rises when she tries to lift her eyes to mine. They are heavy, her eyes hooded and glazed, and thank God I am only now discovering this—how responsive she is to just the crook of my finger. If I’d known this early on, I’d have solved every business discussion this way. I’d have insisted that she only wear skirts to work. I would have installed a wall of mirrors in my office and have her face them, have her watch her face as I fingered her, have her see exactly how motherfucking sexy she looks like this. I sweep my thumb over her clit and use my fingers in short thrusts, making sure to brush over that spot, her mouth falling open, short pants leaving it, her hips beginning to rock over me.

  “I will never want to share you with anyone.” I promise her, my eyes on her face, a jolt of pleasure coming through me as she squeezes her eyes shut, a low moan leaving her. I slow my motions. “Tell me you understand.”

  “Don’t stop,” she begs, her hand clawing at my chest. “I understand.”

  “I will never want another woman. Ever.” I resume the manipulation of my fingers and she tightens, the walls of her flexing around my fingers, her g-spot swelling. “There is not another woman who can ever compare to you.” She stiffens, her head dropping back, her neck exposed, and it takes all of my control to stay in place, to keep my fingers’ cadence. I use my other hand and run my palm over her bare breasts, vowing to spend all day tomorrow focused on them, dedicated to my worship of their perfect flesh. Her nipples tighten under my caress, and I bite my lips, the desire to suck them into my mouth almost impossible to resist.

  I don’t know how to convince her, how to tell her that what we just shared was a hundred times better than any sexual experience I’ve ever had. I don’t know how to explain that just the sound of her voice awakens my cock more than a hundred threesomes ever could. I don’t know how to tell her that the thought of sharing her twists my gut in the most painful way.

  “Do you understand?” I stop her orgasm in the breath before it comes, my fingers wilting, my voice strong enough to cause her eyes to flip open, and she grounds her hips on top of my hand, shamelessly trying to maintain my rhythm.

  “Yes,” she gasps. “I understand.”

  “Tell me you’ll marry me,” I order. “No buts.”

  She purses her lips and the hint of a dimple appears in her cheek. “You’re trying to negotiate marriage over an orgasm?”

  I push both fingers into her, cupping them, and watch the blur of her focus. “Yes, Kate. That’s exactly what I’m doing.”

  She gasps, and her hips lift off me as I increase the speed and depths of my movements, finger-fucking her toward the orgasm she wants, her mouth spreading into a smile as she grabs ahold of my other hand, holding it over her breast, her fingers squeezing mine into a grip, her flesh swelling through our fingers. “Yes,” she whispers, her eyes meeting mine, and I jerk my fingers out of her, my wet hand gripping her hip and pushing her back, my cock hard and waiting, the moment when I push her down on it—

  It’s the most beautiful moment of my life.

  Her eyes close, and she breathes out my name, her body shuddering around mine, and I pull her to my chest, holding her in place as my hips hammer upward—short, quick strokes that slap my pelvis against her clit and bury my cock into her heat, her inner walls tightening, then flexing, and when she comes, I can feel it rip through her entire body, her cry of my name more animal than human. She screams the word yes, first quick and shrill, then louder and longer, my movements not slowing, not easing, my control shredding as she gives me everything I want.

  When I come, it feels as if it lasts a minute, and if she ever stopped coming, I couldn’t tell. I give one last, deep thrust and then hold her against me, my cock twitching as the aftershocks tremble through me.

  I close my eyes, and I can’t stop the goofy smile from stretching over my face. I don’t know if she meant the proposal acceptance, but I’ve never been happier in my life.

  In this one moment, everything is perfect.

  Chapter 43

  HER

  I think he’s dead. He’s stretched out, stark ass naked, his eyes closed, a limp smile on that gorgeous face. His cock is lying across his stomach, and if su
cking it will bring him back to life, I’ll be the first volunteer. I smile at the thought and roll off him, pushing to my feet and making my way to the windows, my limbs loose and lazy, my knees almost buckling as I reach up and grip the top of the window.

  “I’ll do that,” he mumbles, his head moving, one eye opening to watch me. I bend over and slide the first one closed, and the corner of his mouth lifts up. “Never mind,” he muses. “You do it much better. Especially naked like that.”

  “Shut up.” I close the other two and return to him, stepping over his chest and stopping, extending my hand. “Come on. We both need showers.”

  “You’re evil,” he groans, his eyes between my legs. “I thought you looked good in my lingerie but fuck.” He drawls out the last word, his eyes shameless in their perusal. “I’d rather you work naked.”

  “That won’t work.” I wave my hand impatiently in front of him. “My fiancé is a jealous bastard. He doesn’t like it when other men look at me.”

  It’s as if I’ve given him a gift. His eyes lift to my face, and his lips twitch into a new smile, a shy one. “I think he likes it when they look. He just doesn’t like it when they touch.” He finally takes my hand, his legs coming up underneath him, and I lift my chin to look up into his face when he stands.

  “Is that so?” I say.

  “I wouldn’t blame any man for ever looking at you, Kate,” he says softly. “You’re the most beautiful woman any of us have ever seen.”

  “You’re so full of shit.” I smile.

  His hands come up, and he holds my face, his eyes deepening as he looks into mine. “Tell me more about your fiancé.”

  “Hmm.” I muse. “He’s very smart. Almost annoyingly so. And he knows it, which makes it even worse. And he’s cocky. But in that confident, sexy way that makes you want him to rip off your clothes as soon as you meet him. But he’s also unbelievably sweet.” He presses his lips to mine, just a gentle pull of love, and then a release, his eyebrows raising for more. “And generous,” I add, earning a second kiss. “And…” I scrunch my brow, as if I am thinking hard for another compliment. And kind. And funny, and loving, and vulnerable, and witty, and intoxicating, and every positive word that Webster ever created.

  “Addictive?” he supplies.

  I twist my lips. “Kind of.” I venture. “I’m not sure yet. It’s a fairly new engagement.”

  “Do you think it will stick?” His hands tighten, and he draws me closer.

  I look up into his eyes. “I do. I want it to.”

  “It will.” He lowers his mouth, and this kiss—it is more of a promise, the sort that wipes away all doubt and tells me a thousand times over, with each brush of his lips, that he means this. That we will stick, that all of this will last.

  He lifts his mouth from mine. “I love you.”

  “I love you too.”

  * * *

  I pull the blanket back and crawl under the sheets, the act almost reverent in its execution. I’ve never been in his bed with him, never slid, bare skin to bare skin, against his body. He had insisted on my sleepwear—a sheer slip from last season, and he wraps a hand around me, pulling me across the king bed and against him, my bottom snug to the bend of his body, his hand closing possessively over one breast. I relax against the pillow, my eyes picking up all of the details before me. The closed curtains, their edges framed in soft moonlight. The glow from the bathroom’s nightlight giving subtle definition to the art, the dark blue walls, the elephant lamp on the bedside table. His breath is warm against my neck, and he squeezes me gently, just a test, as if to see if I am still here. I cup my hand over his and lower my mouth to his fingers, one kiss pressed against the digits.

  In the morning, maybe all this will be gone. In the morning, we both might regret everything.

  I stay awake as long as I can, enjoy as much as I can, the feel of him, the sounds of him sleeping. In the quiet room, I whisper my love for him.

  Chapter 44

  HIM

  “It feels weird,” I confess, sliding a box of cereal toward her. “Being able to do the things I’ve thought about for so long.”

  “I know.” She smiles, opening the top of the cereal box. “I feel the same. Like I’m cheating or something.”

  “Should I have done this sooner?” I ask, leaning my forearms on the counter and watching her, the fall of her dark hair as she looks down, watching the frosted Cheerios fall into the bowl. “Made a move on you?” God, the wasted years. All of the trips we’ve made, the late nights we’ve worked, the times I’d locked myself in my office and jacked off, thinking of her lips around my cock, her body in my hands.

  “I don’t know,” she says, considering the thought. “I’m not sure we would have worked out if we had tried to date earlier.” She uncaps the milk and lifts it, pouring into the bowl. “Like … after I broke up with Craig?” Her eyes meet mine as she sets the jug back down. “I feel like our relationship was so weak back then. I mean, compared to how we are now. There was attraction … but I don’t know if it would have lasted.”

  I scowl at the idea of us ever not making it, even if in a fictional scenario.

  “Plus, you hadn’t dated Chelsea,” she points out. “You probably would have tried to get me in some kind of kinky ninesome.”

  I make my way around the island, hating even the idea of it. “I told you, you don’t have to worry about that.”

  “I know, but I’m just pointing out that Chelsea helped with that. Just like Stephen helped me to see one version of a relationship, and Craig helped me to see a different one.” She scoops a spoonful of cereal and brings it to her mouth, her lips parting for the silver utensil, my dick hardening at just the tiny glimpse I get of her tongue. I want to hop up on the counter right now. Slide her stool over until it is before me, my legs hanging before her, her hand digging into my thighs, her feet bare against the stool’s rungs. She chews, her jaw moving, and I think about how hard she had tried to take all of me, her eyes moving to mine, that jaw stretching, the play of her tongue against my shaft, the—

  “Trey.” Her lips part around the word, and I am off of my stool and pulling her against me, the spoon clattering against the tile floor, her arms wrapping around my neck, and she tastes like sugar and milk, her mouth as greedy as mine, her body light when I lift her up and onto the counter. The reality is better than my fantasy, her panties easily skimmed off, her knees parting, and I pull my mouth from her kiss and move down, to the only thing better.

  Chapter 45

  HER

  five months later

  I close my eyes and rub my forehead, glancing at my watch, the minutes passing interminably slow. Over the phone’s speaker, the translator talks slowly, filling in the gap in time before our French distributor launches into another spiel.

  “Adrien,” I interrupt. “Let’s focus on the root of the problem for a moment. When do you need the catalog? Give me a realistic timeframe.”

  I wait as the translator speaks, French quickly flying between the two, and glance again at my watch. Outside my window, the city lights move, cars driving, office lights turning off, a plane twinkling from its place in the sky. I used to enjoy late nights at the office. I loved the quiet, the productive hours without interruption, my inbox finally worked through, any sleepy spells taken care of via a fifteen minute catnap on the couch. Now, I eye the couch, a sleek modern piece that has gotten more than its fair share of use lately, all of it of the X-rated variety. My phone buzzes, and I glance at the text from Trey.

  Jet’s ready. Take your time. I’ve got a call with Frank in ten minutes.

  I don’t respond to it, moving the cell phone aside and pulling up my calendar, looking at design schedules, and our concepts in progress. It takes another forty minutes to come to a date that pleases Adrien, and another ten minutes to stop his attempt to renegotiate our rate. By the time I hang up, my head hurts. I move to email, firing off updates to the involved parties, and eye the calendar one last time, mentally m
oving through all of the pieces, making sure that everything is in place before I push away from the desk. I snag my phone and text Trey back on the elevator ride down.

  On my way. France is happy.

  I walk through the lobby, smiling at the security guard who unlocks the front door and escorts me to my car. “Have a safe trip, Ms. Martin,” he says.

  “Thanks, John.” I open the door and duck into the car, giving him a small wave before shutting the door. I’ve left this building so many times, heard that parting line so often I could recite it in my sleep. Would he stumble when I returned? Would the first time, the first utter of my new name, sound odd?

  I wrap my fingers around the steering wheel and the diamond glints at me. I press down on the clutch and shift the car into reverse, the growl of the engine giving me my first shot of relief. Everything is taken care of. Everything is in place. I back up carefully, then pulling forward and toward the front gate, my nerves loosening by the time I get on the freeway, heading to the airport. I call Jess and my mother, a short conference call filled with teasing giggles and the threat of a surprise visit. I threaten them with bodily harm, then promise to see them as soon as we return.

  Three weeks off. Tahiti, in one of those tiki huts set out in the brilliant blue waters of the South Pacific. Three weeks where I would become his wife and we would sip frozen drinks, dance on the sand, skinny dip in that gorgeous water, and get a head start on baby-making. Would the company survive? Two years ago, the answer would have been a resounding no. One year ago, I’d have worried the entire time. Now, I feel confident in our team, in our new managers, in the systems and relationships that we’ve spent these years building.