18. Alba
EIGHTEEN
ALBA
I wasn’t supposed to be doing this. And I definitely wasn’t supposed to enjoy it. It had happened so fast, but, but…
Maybe just this once?—
Vaughn’s hand gripped between my legs, and heat pulsed through me.
I gasped, clinging to his shoulders, my head falling back onto the mirrored wall with a thump.
His scent was all around me. Heat rolled off his body, warming me through.
His hands were big and scarred and possessive, and I didn’t have the will to fight my attraction anymore.
There were so few things in my life that were enjoyable these days.
A rare vanilla latte at the café near my apartment.
The few weeks of later sleep-ins I’d enjoyed since working for Vaughn.
Yoga on the only available patch of living room floor—though these days, the living room was bigger and I had a dedicated yoga space in my home office. But who knew how long that would last?
I’d endured more than a year of drudgery, scraping by without the skills or resources required, with nothing but my own willpower and sheer stubbornness to see me through.
And I was tired . I wanted to let go.
That’s why I didn’t back away, why I ignored the voice in my head that told me I shouldn’t give in to the pull of Vaughn. His touch felt too good.
That, and I wasn’t sure I would’ve been able to stop. There was a pounding desire inside me, some other force that made me into a selfish, needy creature. Tension pulled tight below my navel, the promise of release.
I wanted to give in.
Vaughn cupped one hand over the side of my neck, his thumb running along my jaw. Then he kissed me, the heel of his other hand pressing harder against my clit. I squirmed, panting against his lips, and I felt him smile against me.
“So impatient,” he murmured.
“Vaughn,” I whined.
His chuckle was dark, and it sent little sparks of sensation detonating in my gut.
Then he slid his hand to the waistband of my leggings and tugged it down, catching my underwear along the way.
My hips rocked forward with his yank, and when I leaned back, my ass pressed against the cool mirror at my back.
Vaughn let out a groan when his fingers touched my core once more. I was slick, his fingers sliding against me as he pressed me harder against the mirror. My leggings pinned my legs together, but I rocked my hips forward to try to give him more access.
I was wanton, desperate. I’d completely lost control.
And I loved it.
The heat of his touch against my center made me tremble. The scrape of his teeth against my jaw made me cling to him with my fingernails.
“Look how wet you are, princess,” he said in a low voice. “How much you need this.” His fingers slowed, circling my clit with teasing touches.
“Vaughn, you promised you’d make me come.” The back of my head knocked against the mirror as I pulled back to glare at him.
His smile was bright, and the pressure of his touch didn’t change. “I did promise. And I will.”
“Stop messing around.”
He dipped his fingers back to circle my opening. “What if I like making you pant like this?” he asked, head ducking to kiss my ear, the corner of my jaw. “What if I want to see just how demanding you’ll get?”
“You’re such a jerk.”
He hummed, one finger sliding inside me. The heel of his hand pressed where I needed it, and I trembled against him. He pulled back to watch me, his eyes half-lidded, as he pumped his finger inside me—and then added another.
My breaths became shorter, faster. His touch felt so good.
I wanted to come. Wanted to feel that rush of relief, that flush of heat and pleasure.
I squirmed and sighed and clung to him, and it seemed like my orgasm got further and further away.
When he pulled his fingers out to circle my clit, his hand slick with my arousal, I gulped down breaths and squeezed my eyes shut, willing myself to let go.
But I’d been on edge for over a year. Longer. It was hard to relax, to let my guard down long enough to get there. I wasn’t supposed to be doing this. This man, for all intents and purposes, was my boss. My one lifeline to stability.
And I was ruining it. I’d already ruined it when I agreed to let him touch me. I’d been selfish and stupid and reckless, just like before?—
“Alba, stop.” His fingers stilled.
My eyes flew open. “What?”
He kissed me, then pulled back. One hand was still on the side of my neck, holding my chin up so I’d have to meet his eyes. “Turn that brain of yours off. Stop thinking so hard.”
With the fingers of his other hand, he entered me again, slow and steady, until his thumb was nestled against the side of my clit. Then he stopped and kissed the corner of my mouth. “Let me do this for you.”
I gulped, nodding. “I’m—it’s okay if I don’t?—”
“Let me do this for you, Alba,” he repeated, voice rough. “I’ve imagined it too many times to fuck it up now.”
A huffed laugh fell from my lips. If only he knew how much I’d dreamed of him these past weeks. How many times I’d touched myself, wishing it was him.
But imagining him, solo in my bed or my shower with my hand between my legs, was different from the reality of being here, in a studio where we definitely weren’t supposed to be doing this, with his scent and his warmth and his size.
It was too real.
With Cole, sex had been a commodity. I knew, on some level, that he didn’t really want me.
Our sex life became mechanical, transactional.
Whenever it had been too long, I’d hear my mother’s voice in my head on repeat: You’ll need to take care of your husband.
You’ll have to keep him happy so he has nothing to complain about at home.
At least until you’ve given him a child.
I’d been trained to be the perfect little wife, hadn’t I?
From a young age, I’d been trained to treat sex as something to be used to exchange power.
It wasn’t for my pleasure; it was to keep my future husband happy.
If I gave it away for the wrong reasons, my value in society would plummet.
If I somehow gained the reputation for being loose, then all hope of marrying well would disappear. Even in this day and age.
Sex wasn’t a rush of relief and pleasure. It wasn’t the union of two people. It was something to be used.
And here, in this dance studio, who was using whom?
Vaughn’s eyes flicked between mine, and his movements slowed. He pulled his hand from between my legs, but he didn’t back away. I stood against the wall of mirrors, trembling slightly, trying to push away all the thoughts that swamped out my desire.
But Vaughn saw it all in my eyes. Saw my conflict, felt my tension, heard my ragged breaths—and knew they weren’t from pleasure.
“You’re not enjoying this,” he said, and straightened slightly.
“It’s not—” I gulped, my hands still on his shoulders. I curled my fingers, holding him there. “It’s… I don’t know, Vaughn. Maybe—” I squeezed my eyes shut. “This was a bad idea.”
I wanted him to touch me. I wanted him to look at me like I mattered. But I couldn’t get out of my own head. I couldn’t stop thinking about the fact that having sex with him right now would ruin something.
After all, hadn’t I learned my lesson with James? I’d given him everything—sex, love, money, power—and I hadn’t realized he’d been the one using me all along.
It always came down to using. Being used.
How was I supposed to have sex when that was all I knew? When the one time I thought I’d found someone to love, he’d only been with me for my family’s money? For access to that world that was so hollow and false?
Vaughn’s body was still close to mine, and my fingernails curled into the shoulders of his shirt.
I expected him to back away, to leave me cold and alone.
Wasn’t that the easiest thing to do? I’d rebuffed his advances.
I hadn’t put on a show of loving his touch, of wanting to reciprocate.
I’d ruined this, just like I’d ruined my engagement and my affair and my life.
Rejection was incoming; it always came after I screwed something up.
But he didn’t back away. His thumb stroked my jaw, and his other hand slid up my hip to rest on the bare skin of my waist beneath my shirt. “Talk to me,” he said.
I huffed a bitter laugh. My bare ass was still pressed against the mirrors. The wetness between my legs had turned cold, and I was trembling in front of him. The situation wasn’t exactly conducive to conversation.
Vaughn didn’t seem to care. He widened his stance, eyes flicking between mine, and held me there.
I gulped. “I’m sorry.”
“No. Don’t apologize. Just tell me what’s going on in that beautiful head of yours.”
Oh, God. I was going to cry. Could this get any more mortifying? My gaze slid over his shoulder, and the thumb on my jaw stilled, then pressed until I met his gaze again.
“Alba,” he said, voice low. “I’m not the kind of guy who ignores it when a woman looks like she isn’t enjoying herself. Is it something I did?”
“What? No.” I shook my head. “It’s just me. I’m messed up.”
“Tell me.”
“I…” I opened my mouth, but no words came out. His thumbs stroked my jaw and my waist, soft and comforting, but I still couldn’t work my voice past the lump in my throat.
Vaughn waited, patient, steady, unmoving.
Finally, I said, “The last guy I had sex with turned out to only want me for my family’s money.”
“That coward from the restaurant.”
I nodded, dropping my eyes to his chin. It was easier than looking at his eyes. “I… All my life, I knew that I would marry someone, that I’d have to appear in society as that man’s wife. So I had to learn what that meant. How to act. How to dress. How to make him look his best.”
“Like tying his tie.”
My gaze flicked up to his, and I found his eyes serious. I nodded. “Yes.”
“And sex?”