Chapter 19
Rafe
The gym door closed behind us, shutting out the sound of laughter and conversation, but not quite muffling it completely.
We stood there for a moment, suspended in time, her back against the wall and my body caging her in.
I hadn't planned to drag her away from our friends like some kind of animal, but those words she'd spoken earlier had been replaying in my head on fucking loop.
Four days I'd been holding back, giving her space, fighting against the memory of how she'd come apart in my lap.
Four days of imagining her underneath me, on top of me, wrapped around me.
And then she'd gone and said that shit right before we arrived, knowing I couldn't do a damn thing about it. Until now.
"Rafe," she breathed, her eyes wide and dark in the dimly lit room. "What are you doing?"
I didn't answer. Couldn't find words that would adequately explain the hunger that had been clawing at my insides since that afternoon in the music room.
Instead, I pressed closer, pinning her more firmly against the wall with my hips.
The soft curve of her body yielded to mine and her breath caught as she felt the hard evidence of exactly what I was doing.
Her chest scraped against mine with each quick, shallow breath she took.
The thin silk of her dress was a pitiful barrier between us, doing nothing to hide the heat of her skin or the way her nipples had tightened into hard points.
When I reached down and slid my hand beneath the hem of her dress, she made a small, desperate sound that sent more blood rushing to my already painfully hard cock.
"We shouldn't—" she started, but her protest died as my fingers traced the seam of her underwear.
"Shouldn't what?" I asked in a low rumble. I pressed my finger more firmly against her, the thin fabric of her underwear doing nothing to hide how wet she already was. Her head fell back against the wall with a soft thud, eyes fluttering closed as her hips pushed forward into my touch.
"We can't do this," she whispered, even as her thighs parted wider, inviting me in. "Not here. They'll know—"
"Know what?" I leaned down, my lips brushing the shell of her ear. "That I can't keep my hands off my wife? That I've been thinking about touching you again since the moment I stopped?" I slid my finger beneath the edge of her underwear. "That you're so fucking wet for me already?"
Her answering moan bounced off the walls, and her hand flew up to cover her mouth. The knowledge that she was this desperate for my touch, this greedy for pleasure, sent a thrill of satisfaction straight through my system.
"Shhh," I cautioned, even as I slipped two fingers inside her. "Don't want everyone to hear what we're doing, do you?"
She shook her head, teeth sinking into her lower lip to keep quiet as I began a slow, torturous rhythm with my fingers. Her hips jerked, and a tiny, broken sound escaped her.
"That's it," I murmured, my free hand coming up to cup her face. "Take what you need from me."
As she rocked against my hand, her eyes stayed locked with mine.
Something about that direct gaze sent a wave of guilt crashing through me.
Here I was, finger-fucking her in my best friend's gym while everyone waited for us in the other room, and I still hadn't told her the truth about the part of me I'd kept hidden for so long.
My voyeuristic tendencies had been my dirty little secret for years—the reason I frequented places like Vice and Virtue.
The places where I could watch without participating, maintaining that safe emotional distance I'd cultivated my entire adult life.
Watching was safer than feeling. Watching let me control the narrative.
But with Cecelia, I didn't want distance. I wanted to show her every dark, twisted desire I'd kept buried. Could I tell her that? Could I reveal that part of myself and risk her disgust, her rejection?
The thought froze the breath in my lungs.
"Rafe?" Her voice, breathless but concerned, broke through my thoughts. "Where'd you go?"
I forced my attention back to her, to the warmth of her body and her tight pussy around my fingers. "Nowhere," I assured her, resuming the movement of my hand. "Just thinking about all the things I want to do to you."
Breathing faster, she arched into my touch. "Like what?"
Instead of answering, I bent down and pressed my lips to the side of her neck. Her pulse fluttered wildly beneath my mouth as I sucked gently, careful not to leave marks that would be visible to our friends.
"I want to take you somewhere," I said against her throat, the words emerging before I'd fully formed the thought. "After dinner."
"Where?" she gasped as my thumb found her clit, circling it with deliberate pressure.
I hesitated. Did I tell her about the club or would it be better to show her?
"Just say yes," I murmured, increasing the pace of my fingers inside her. "Say you'll come with me."
Her breath hitched as I curled my fingers and found a particular spot that made her tremble.
"Yes," she agreed breathlessly. "Anywhere. Just please, Rafe, let me come. Please—"
The plea in her voice nearly broke my resolve. But then a wicked and tantalizing idea formed and I withdrew my fingers completely.
"Not yet," I told her, bringing my fingers to my mouth and sucking them clean. The flavor of her exploded on my tongue—sweet and so fucking addictive. "You don't get to come yet."
Her eyes flew open and narrowed with outrage. "Are you kidding me?"
"Dead serious." I pressed a quick kiss to her forehead, enjoying the fury building in her gaze. "I want you on edge all through dinner. I want you thinking about my fingers inside you, my mouth on you. I want you desperate."
"Bastard," she hissed, but there was no real venom in it, just frustrated desire. "I hate you."
"No, you don't." I captured her mouth in a hard, possessive kiss. "You want me. And I want you."
I kissed her again but this time, she bit down on my lower lip, hard enough to draw a drop of blood. Jerking back, I touched my tongue to the small wound and tasted copper.
"Feel better?" I asked, unable to keep the smile from my voice.
"No." Chest heaving, she glared up at me. "I'll feel better when I finally get to come. Which I apparently won't be doing anytime soon, thanks to you."
I stepped back, straightening my tie and running a hand through my hair. The sight of her—lips swollen from my kisses, cheeks flushed, dress slightly askew—sent another bolt of desire through me. But I held firm.
"One more thing," I said, voice dropping low. "I want your underwear."
Her eyebrows shot up. "You want my what?"
"You heard me." I moved closer again, crowding her against the wall. "Give me your underwear."
"Are you insane?" She shook her head. "I’m not giving you my underwear. I refuse to walk around my sister’s home with nothing under my dress."
"You're right," I conceded, dropping to my knees in front of her. "You're not going to give them to me." I pushed the hem of her dress up, exposing the emerald lace that matched her outfit perfectly. "I'm going to take them."
Before she could protest further, I hooked my fingers in the waistband and dragged the lace down her thighs. She gasped, hands flying to my shoulders to steady herself.
"This is crazy," she whispered, even as her thighs parted slightly, offering me a glimpse of what she'd been denying was mine.
I couldn't resist. Leaning forward, I pressed a single, open-mouthed kiss to her center, my tongue darting out for a quick taste that had her fingers digging painfully into my shoulders. Then I pulled back and tucked the scrap of lace into my pants pocket as I rose to my feet.
"Now I have a souvenir," I told her, adjusting her dress back into place. "And something to make sure you don't forget what we were doing in here."
Her breathing was still unsteady, eyes still dark with unfulfilled desire. "As if I could forget."
I smiled, satisfaction curling through me at the knowledge that she'd be thinking of nothing but this—of me—throughout dinner.
Guilt still nagged at the edges of my mind.
I'd started this thing between us with manipulation and blackmail.
I'd forced her into a marriage of convenience, not giving a damn about what she wanted as long as it served my purposes.
But things had shifted. I'd started to care—hell, maybe I’d always cared about her—and I wanted more than just her body.
I wanted all of her. Every smile, every laugh, every sharp retort. I wanted her nights and her mornings and all the moments in between. I wanted her to choose me, not because I'd backed her into a corner, but because she wanted me as desperately as I wanted her.
And tonight, I would show her a part of myself I'd never shown anyone. The darkest parts of my desires, the places I went when the world became too much. If she rejected me after that, at least I'd know it was the real me she was rejecting.
"We should go back," I said, glancing at my watch. "Before they send a search party."
"This isn't over," she warned, smoothing her hands over her dress one more time
"I'm counting on it." Taking her hand, I twined our fingers together. "In fact, I'm looking forward to it."
The weight of her lace underwear in my pocket was a reminder of what was to come, and the hunger in her eyes was a promise that, whatever happened next, neither of us would emerge from it unchanged.