Chapter 11 #2
“$20,000,” I confirm, swallowing hard.
The crowd gasps when Mrs. Stussman follows up by bidding $23,000. She stares at me when she says it, smiling gleefully.
That grin dries up when I counter with $30,000. I wipe my sweaty palms on the linen napkin in my lap.
The room is quiet, tension thick in the air, as the auctioneer counts down. “$30,000. Going once. Going twice.” He bangs his gavel on the metal stand that holds his papers, emitting a ringing sound. “Sold to the young lady for $30,000, a new record for this event.”
Everyone claps, they break into cheers and excited chatter. Around the table the doctors shake my hand and smile.
Parker congratulates me. “You did it!” he exclaims, but he’s distracted, with his attention held by something over my shoulder. I turn to follow his gaze and find that he’s looking at a statuesque brunette in a tight-fitting green dress.
“Do you know her?” I ask.
He straightens his tie, oozing confidence. “Not yet, but I will in a few minutes. Are you okay if I leave before West gets back or do you need me to stay?”
“I’m fine. Go get your prize, Tiger,” I say, laughing at the eager puppy-dog expression on his face as he bounds off in pursuit of the woman.
“It was nice meeting you, Jessica,” Parker calls over his shoulder.
“You too,” I yell back, really meaning it. I laugh at the saucy wink Parker shoots me just before he taps the lady on her shoulder.
Jessica
“I guess you own me now,” says a deep voice in my ear. The tiny hairs along the back of my neck raise at the sound. I don’t know how he always sneaks up on me like that.
“Did I do okay?” I turn and ask West. “Was it too much money?” I shrink back, nervous about his reaction.
He sits in the chair next to me, where I’ve kept a plate of food waiting for him with a napkin over it. “It’s fine. I would’ve donated that amount anyway.”
My breath whooshes out in relief. “It’s wonderful that you want to help kids at risk like that.”
Something flits across his face, gone before I can identify it. “Yeah. I suppose.”
I sniff dramatically, lifting my nose into the air. “Do you smell that?”
Confused, West glances around. “No. What is it? Food? Perfume?”
I send him a triumphant grin and declare, “Marshmallow. That’s what I’m smelling and it’s coming from you, Mister Softie.”
He pretends to be disgruntled, but I see how his lips twitch. “Hardy-har-har. You and Parker should go to Netflix, do a duo stand-up comedy routine.”
The thought of that makes me giggle. “You know, Parker really likes you. I can tell.”
West leans closer like he’s sharing a secret. “Don’t ever repeat this to that insufferable knucklehead, but I kind of like him too. The days when he’s in the OR are way more fun.”
I gasp, widening my eyes. “Why, Dr. West,” I tease. “Did you just admit that you can have fun?”
I expect him to laugh with me, but instead his expression heats. His eyes drop to my lips, and an electric tension grows between us. I scour my mind, wondering what I did to make him look at me like this.
Was it when I called him doctor?
A single finger unfurls and reaches out to trace my lower lip. My mouth parts automatically, and he slips in a little deeper. Right there in the crowded room, he drags my lip down with agonizing slowness. I resist the urge to take that single digit fully into my mouth, to suck on it like it’s his dick.
What would he taste like?
His eyes darken like he can read every dirty thought in my mind. He lowers his voice until it’s a sexy rasp. “Oh, I know how to have fun,” he whispers so low that I lean closer to hear. “It’s just that my idea of fun and yours might be radically different.” There’s a hint of warning in how he says it that should scare me off but instead has me clenching my thighs together beneath the table. This is a conversation I want to explore further, but not here. Not with all these people around.
I clear my throat, the sound loud. “Eat your dinner,” I say, slightly breathless. With a quick wave of my hand, I gesture to his plate, “before it gets cold.”
He picks up the napkin and sets it aside, then cuts into his steak with surgical precision.
Now that dinner and the auction are over, guests get up and wander, networking with each other. I look around for our waiter, but he’s nowhere to be found.
“Do you want a drink?” I ask West. “I can get you another gin and tonic.”
“That would be great, and a glass of water, too. Thanks.” He chews his food with his head down, one arm curled protectively around the plate.
Tracy waves at me from across the room as I walk over to the bar. She’s talking to a short man, and I can’t help but wonder if it’s her small-dick husband. Vienna sausage. I’m not getting that image out of my mind for a long time.
Everyone waited until after dinner to refill their drinks, so there’s a line. I take my place at the end, behind a tall man about my age. He’s good-looking with brown hair cut short and a well-fitted tux. He glances back at me, and we exchange the pleasant half-smiles of strangers. I figure that will be the end of it, but he does a double take and turns to me with a soft, “Good evening.”
“Hello,” I answer back, my attention drifting past him to count the number of people ahead of us. Six . I tap my foot, impatient to go back to West.
The stranger notices. “Are you in a hurry?” he asks. “You can cut in front of me if you need to.”
I force myself to still. West will be fine waiting, I remind myself. He won’t lose it without me. Heck, he might not even notice I’m missing. “No. That’s kind of you to offer,” I tell the man. “It’s not necessary, though. I can wait.”
We move forward a couple of steps. I expect him to turn around and ignore me, but he doesn’t.
“Do you work at the hospital?”
“No. I’m a teacher.”
He quirks his head, wrinkling his brow, until I explain, “My friend works here. He asked me to come with him.”
“Ah, well that was nice of you.” He smiles warmly. “A teacher. What an important profession. I wish it were paid that way.”
“You and me both.” I give him a rueful smile, remembering my old apartment with Brad screaming at the door. Maybe if I had lived somewhere nicer—safer—that wouldn’t have happened.
“How about you?” I ask, attempting to hold up my side of the conversation. “Do you work in the hospital?”
He holds up both hands like I’m about to rob him and grins. “Guilty as charged. I’m an interventional cardiologist.” He sticks out his hand and says, “Dylan. Nice to meet you.”
The line inches forward as I introduce myself.
“Have you been here before?” Dylan asks, indicating the conservatory with a wave of his hand.
“A couple of times,” I answer. “Once I brought a group of kids from the Student Council on a field trip. I had them bring paper and colored pencils. They sketched a copy of their favorite piece of art. They liked it and spent over an hour working on their drawings, which was longer than I had expected.”
“Sounds like a wonderful activity thought up by a wonderful teacher.” Another smile from him. His cologne is nice, woodsy with a hint of spice.
We move up in line, with him walking backward, while we talk about how great the gala is, how the weather had been so cold, and how he prefers beer, but I like wine. I don’t miss the appreciative glances he sends over my body and how every time we go forward he steps a bit closer. Normally, I’d be flattered, maybe even interested, but right now all I am is annoyed.
The bartender talks to each person in front of us, flirting with the women. I want to scream at him to hurry up. West is waiting, and I have so many things to say to him. I want to tell him how proud I am that he’s donating all that money. I want to ask about those other women bidding on him. I want to know why we never have sex.
When we finally get to the front of the line, Dylan orders his beer and then turns to me. “I’d offer to buy you a drink, but since it’s an open bar that kind of defeats the purpose.”
I laugh politely. “That’s okay. I can get it on my own.”
He moves aside and waits while I order my drink and West’s. I shuffle to the side while the bartender makes the gin and tonic.
Dylan’s eyes drop to my lips and then to my bare shoulder and finally to my chest. We’re crowded together, hemmed in by the wall on one side and the line of people at the bar on the other. It’s claustrophobic, the press of strangers and Dylan, whose elbow rests against mine.
“Jessica.” He reaches an arm around me and pulls me close, bending his mouth to my ear like he needs to be in this position for me to hear what he’s saying, but that’s bullshit. I could hear him just fine before he touched me. I stiffen at the contact, my stomach turning over uneasily.
“I’d love to take you out sometime. Is there any way I can get your number?”
“Thanks for the offer, but no.” I pause and then say, “I’m kinda seeing someone right now.”
Dylan’s wide smile dims. “That’s a shame. What can I do to convince you?” His thumb caresses the bare skin of my shoulder. I shudder at the sensation, a quiver that he mistakes for desire.
“See?” he says, drawing me closer so that our hips touch. “We have instant chemistry. I knew it the first time I saw you.”
I flashback to West walking into that exam room months ago, the zing that went through my body at the sight of his gorgeous profile.
That was chemistry.
This is not.
“I’m sorry, but I’m really not interested.” My drinks are waiting for me at the end of the bar. I twist in Dylan’s arms and reach for them, but he holds onto me, his grip tight. I’m just about to tell him to let go when a deep voice has me wheeling back around.
“Get your filthy hands off my date.”
West stands there, his expression pinched with anger. If he were a cartoon character, steam would be coming out of his ears.
Dylan doesn’t budge. He just glares back. “Fuck off, West. I’m talking to the lady.”
“You’re about to be talking to my fists.” West balls his hands by his sides and takes a menacing step forward. “I said, Leave. Her. Alone .”
“Why?” Dylan asks. The congenial man from a few minutes before is gone. Instead, he morphs into someone who oozes bitterness. He raises his voice until it’s loud and mocking. “What are you going to do, West? Count?”
West’s face darkens even further with that, but he doesn’t back down.
Dylan continues, “We’ve all heard you do it. 1, 2, 3. You fucking psycho.” He speaks even louder, catching the eyes of the people in line to make sure they’re listening to this exchange, which they are. More and more heads turn our way.
“Everyone talks about how insane you are behind your back,” Dylan sneers, so focused on West that he doesn’t notice me ducking under his arm to escape. “You think just because you’re good-looking and did well at school you can get away with murder, but that’s not the case.”
West steps closer and quietly hisses, “You’re jealous of the grant money I got from the University of Illinois. Don’t try to pretend this is about me when, really, it’s about you.”
A whining tone comes into Dylan’s voice. “That was my money, and you know it. I had the better proposal.” Just as I squirm free from his arm, Dylan grabs my wrist and drags me back. “You take something from me, and in return I’ll take something from you.”
If I weren’t so busy trying to get away, I’d smack myself on the forehead for not seeing it sooner. Dylan’s flirting with me was a set up. He knew who I was all along. Probably noticed me bidding during the auction and thought I’d be the perfect weapon for revenge.
The realization infuriates me. I yank my arm out of Dylan’s grasp just as West winds up his fist to punch him in the face. Before West can make contact, I grab his arm and pull it down. His strike misses Dylan by inches. The crowd gasps, people gathering around now to see what the fuss is all about.
“West,” I say, willing his eyes to meet mine. “West, stop. He’s not worth it.”
West doesn’t hear me. His venom-laced stare is directed at Dylan. He brushes me off and brings back his fist. I throw both my hands over his forearm and yell, “I said, knock it off!”
West tries to shake me loose for a second time, but I hold on and hiss, “Are you really going to give up medicine for this loser? Because that’s what’ll happen if you hit him. Then how can you help those women in your clinic? The depressed ones? The ones who need you?”
That gets his attention. He lets out a frustrated growl, but he drops his hand and allows me to drag him away. I lead him past the whispering crowd and out of the room, into the long hallway that goes to the lobby. A set of bathrooms is off to the side, hidden behind a large potted bush with glossy green leaves and white flowers so large they droop under their own weight.
I head for the plant, intending on tucking us behind it until West cools off, but that’s not what happens. As soon as we reach the restrooms, he takes over, grabbing me by the wrist so hard that I wince. With one foot he kicks the door to the women’s restroom open. He barges in, lugging me behind him. Two women dressed in fancy ball gowns are inside washing their hands at the double sink.
“Get out,” West barks at them with so much authority that they don’t even question him. The ladies gather their beaded handbags and scurry out of the room. West lets me go with a small shove forward. I stand and rub my aching wrist as I take in the elegant bathroom with its dimly lit wall sconces, rubbed bronze fixtures and paneled walls. A vase of fresh flowers sits next to the sink. Without a word, West turns his back to me and flips the deadbolt on the door, locking us in together. Keeping his back to me, I hear him whisper, 1, 2, 3, 4. He gets to twenty and then takes in a deep breath.
When he turns to face me, his expression is so dark and murderous that I move backward, away from him. I continue back, each step matched by one of his own as he comes closer. The wall behind me stops my back-pedaling.
“Why are you mad at me?” I squeak, alarmed by the rage I see blazing in his eyes.
“I fucking hate it so much. What just happened.” His palms land on each side of my head. He cages me in with his body, so close I can feel the heat of his skin burning against mine.
“I’m sure they’ll forget those things Dylan said,” I rush to reassure him, to smother his anger.
“I don’t give a fuck what that dickhead said. Don’t care what anyone thinks about me.” His face is inches from mine. His chest presses against me, flattening me against the wall.
“Then why are you so upset?” I cry out, baffled by the intensity of his reaction.
His lips move to my ear, his stubble chafing my cheek. “I hate that he touched you. If you hadn’t stopped me, I would have killed that bastard.”
I search his face, sure he must be bluffing, but find only fury, which is terrifying. My mouth gapes open, and my mind empties until some primitive part of my brain takes over. It tells me to run.
Be careful.
Tracy was right. This man is dangerous. I prepare to flee.
West presses closer, trapping me. His gaze pierces mine, unrelenting, as if he’s not just looking at me but through me—stripping away all my layers.
I tremble under those intense gray eyes, my breathing erratic and my heart speeding up.
That’s when he says two simple words.
“Fuck it.”
He kisses me.
His lips descend on mine, brutal and demanding. His tongue plunges into my mouth, seeking, touching, exploring like he’s the conqueror and I’m the territory he’s invading. It’s the best kiss I’ve ever had, completely overwhelming. Endorphins flood my brain. Arousal explodes through my body, making me instantly want him. I whimper against his mouth, my hands fisting his shirt so I don’t slide to the floor from the dizzying rush of it all.
When he finally breaks away, I’m a panting mess of need. I gaze up at him through half-lidded eyes. “What was that?” My words come out slow, my brain dazed.
“A kiss.” His lips are already on the move to suck and lick along my jawline. I tilt my head to the side, exposing the vulnerable soft skin of my neck to him. He could bite me there, lacerate my carotid artery and let me bleed out on the bathroom floor, but he doesn’t.
“You don’t kiss,” I say, my voice a breathy whisper so soft I’m not sure how he hears me.
“I don’t date either, yet here we are.” His hands are as busy as his mouth, sliding along my sides to my hips. West gathers bunches of fabric from my skirt, drawing the gown up until he reaches the hem. Then he slips his fingers under the yards of tulle. He grasps my bare hips with both hands and pulls my pelvis forward. His hardness presses against me, so big that I gasp from the feeling of it. He takes advantage, returning his mouth to mine. Soon, I’m giddy from it. From the way he kisses me like there’s no other place he’d rather be. Like the only thing he cares about in the entire world is me .
West has reached my panties now. With a quick tug he rips them off. They shred into pieces and a rush of cold air hits my exposed core.
My eyes snap open to watch as he casually tosses them into the trash can by the sink.
“West!” I exclaim, distressed since that was my nicest pair of underwear.
“I’ll buy you new ones. Fly you to Paris to pick them out,” he says against my collarbone. His hands dig into my ass as he pulls me against his length. His upper body leans into me, holding me still.
There’s a questioning knock from the bathroom door. I jerk my head up at the sound, my heart rate spiking even higher.
Oh no! We can’t be discovered!
“West! We have to stop. This is a women’s bathroom,” I hiss, embarrassment warring with lust as he teases my earlobe with his tongue.
“So what?” he murmurs as his fingers slip into my folds, parting them.
“You’re not supposed to be in here!” I protest.
He snorts. “I already told you. I don’t give a fuck what people think, and you shouldn’t either.” Without slowing the prowling of his mouth or hands, he sends a firm, “Go away,” toward the door.
I can hear a woman’s incredulous voice outside ask, “Was that a man?” The words grow fainter as the speaker retreats, moving back to the conservatory.
His lips are on mine again, erasing my embarrassment, eradicating the thought of anyone besides the two of us. All my life, I’ve followed the rules, but when he touches me like this, I want to break every one of them. It only takes a minute to make my decision.
I want this.
I want him.
Here and now.
Don’t give a fuck. That might be my new motto.
He swallows my moans when he takes both hands to the place where I need him most. His fingers brush, rub, and circle my clit. A heady rush of pleasure radiates out from my core, warming me. I cry out when two fingers enter me, filling me as they move deeper.
“Such a needy cunt, isn’t it?” he asks, the filthy term turning me on even more.
“Yes. Yes,” I babble mindlessly. “Need it—you.” My hips thrust against his hand.
“Whose pussy is this?” He adds another finger and moves it in and out.
“Yours,” I pant, my legs trembling as pleasure sends electric waves dancing up my spine.
He kisses me, hot and hard, his lips bruising. “Whose mouth is this, Jess?” He’s stroking me from the inside now, quick thrusts of his fingers that drag along the tender skin in my core.
“Yours. Yours.” An orgasm is building in me, tension tightening each muscle. Pleasure spreads until it’s a warm blanket over my entire pelvis.
“Whose body to be used as I see fit?” He increases the speed of his hand, winding me up like a spinning top. It's overwhelming, the pleasure he sparks in me. The urge to come is so strong.
“Yours! I swear it.” I scream as he flicks his thumb over my clit, releasing my orgasm with that simple movement. My entire body clenches hard and then releases. I shake like I’m in the middle of a world-ending earthquake, like my bones are going to rattle apart. West keeps me steady, his hold firm until the worst of it subsides. Dampness streaks my cheeks, tears or sweat, I can’t tell. My head lolls against his shoulder, heavy and spent. My eyes close, dragged shut from the weight of my eyelids. I’m drowsy now, my body wrung out.
There’s a zipping sound and the rip of a condom. I feel the press of his sheathed cock against my entrance. He nudges me gently. I widen my legs and hitch one knee over his hip to give him better access. He grunts when he pushes inside, then goes deeper until he’s fully seated. The sensation of him inside me wakes me up. My heart thumps so hard I’m sure West can feel it. Our harsh panting fills the room with sound. It echoes off the walls and marble floor, making it seem like there are a hundred of us having sex in here.
I open my eyes to find West staring down at me with such a mix of emotions that I can hardly separate them. There’s the residue of his anger from earlier, a hint of wonder, a bit of tenderness, and of course desire. He looks at me like I’m the only woman on the planet, in a way that makes me feel truly seen for the first time since my parents died.
“I missed this,” I tell him, dragging my fingernails down his back. I cup his bare ass and yank him closer, burying his cock in me as far as it’ll go. We both moan. “I thought you didn’t want me,” I say, confessing my worst fear. “Earlier, when you were mad. I thought maybe you hated me.”
He leans his forehead down to touch mine. “I hate that I don’t hate you.” He pulls out of me with agonizing slowness and pushes back in the same way. He kisses me, open-mouthed, full-lipped kisses, his tongue tangling with mine. The air between us heats, warmed by the mingling of our breaths.
“Let me in,” I tell him, my breath sputtering with each deliberate stroke of his body into mine. “Show me who you are.”
“You’re not ready,” he counters, just as breathless as I am.
“Try me,” I challenge and lift my lips to his. I kiss him with every ounce of confidence I possess.
West returns the kiss. His teeth graze my lower lip, then gently bite down. Soon he’s thrusting harder and faster. My back slides higher against the wall with each movement. My orgasm grows more gradually this time, enough that I maintain my senses. I watch West’s face as he gets closer, entranced by how he licks his lips and his eyes squeeze shut.
“Mine. Mine. Mine,” he chants each time our bodies slam together. “Only me, Jess.”
“Yes.” The rolling of West’s hips gets me closer and closer to my climax. I press my lips to his ear and in a clear voice say, “Only you.”
We come together in a chorus of moans and cries. West kisses me again. I gasp into his mouth, my body humming from the orgasm.
Later, when my breathing has returned to normal and my dress once again falls to the floor, I tease him. “Do you always walk around with condoms in your pocket?” I don’t know why, but that little detail seems hysterical to me.
He finishes zipping his pants and smirks. “I do with you around. Wouldn’t want to miss the opportunity to fuck you.”
I lift my chin and send him a mock glare. “I feel like I should be offended by that.”
He grins back at me, a completely different man than the one who entered this bathroom. “Don’t be. You’re very fuckable. Especially in that dress.” His grin widens as his eyes travel over my body, head to toe. Ever-changing, his mood shifts again and settles into something more serious.
“You want to know me better? All of me?”
I match his tone, to let him know I’m sincere. “I do.”
West holds out his hand to me. “Then let’s go home. I need to show you something.”
I take his warm palm and nestle it against mine, lacing our fingers together.
We exit the gala. Bypassing the conservatory, we head straight for the lobby and then out to the car. We’re mostly silent on the drive back, each of us lost to our own thoughts. I don’t know what’s on his mind, but in mine there’s a single word that repeats over and over.
Home.