Chapter Nine #2
I bristled, ready for Round Two, but something about his voice - ragged, almost broken - stopped me.
“You asked me to come,” I said, keeping my tone even.
He looked at me, really looked, and the force of it made my knees want to buckle. “I don’t want you to quit.”
I stared at him, caught off guard. “I wasn’t going to.”
“You were,” he said, and the words landed like stones. “You were already halfway out the door.”
I thought about denying it, but I’d never been a good liar.
He pushed off the desk, hands braced behind him like he was holding up the world. “I can’t be who you want.”
That made me laugh, a bitter little thing. “Who do you think I want?”
He hesitated. Then, quieter, “Someone who isn’t a disaster.”
That surprised me, honestly. “I want you to stop pretending you don’t care about me.”
Silence. Not the angry, weaponized kind - just a silence that hung between us, something hot and uncomfortable that had my heart beating too fast and my mouth suddenly drying like the Sahara.
He moved first, crossing the space in three strides, and grabbed my wrist, not hard, just enough to pin me in place. His fingers were rough, warm, and I could feel the tremor in them. He stared at me like he was trying to memorize every line of my face.
“You drive me insane,” he said, voice low and brutal. “You’re reckless, you talk back, you undermine me at every turn. I can’t stop thinking about you.”
The words left me speechless, and I wanted to tell him I felt the same.
His thumb circled my wrist, pulse syncing with mine, both of us wild. “You want to know what terrifies me?” he said, teeth bared. “You’re the only person in this house who isn’t afraid of me. And I want you more than I want to breathe.”
Something broke in me. Maybe pride, maybe self-respect, maybe the last sliver of resistance I’d been hoarding for emergencies. I stepped forward, crowding his space, and kissed him.
It was a disaster of a kiss, messy, teeth clashing, hands everywhere, but it was real. He tasted like coffee and anger, and something shockingly sweet. His mouth devoured mine, greedy and unrestrained, as if he’d waited years for this.
He spun us, caging me against the door, one hand fisted in my hair, the other gripping my hip so tight it bordered on pain. He kissed me until I was dizzy, until I was nothing but want, until my knees buckled and I had to clutch his shoulders just to stay upright.
He broke away, breathing hard. “Tell me to stop,” he said, voice shredded.
I shook my head. “Don’t you dare.”
His lips curved, a flash of feral delight, and then he hauled me up, hands finding the backs of my thighs, lifting me with a strength that made my stomach drop.
My legs wrapped around his waist on instinct.
He moved us to the bed, dropped me on the mattress, and for the first time since I’d met him, Gareth Wolfe looked completely, gloriously unhinged.
He stripped his shirt in a single motion, tearing off every button on the white fabric.
I stared, unable to look away from the lines of his chest, the constellation of pale scars, the fine dark hair that arrowed down his stomach.
He made a frustrated noise, tugged at my blouse, and I let him, arms raised, all pretense gone.
Buttons popped, fabric tore, and I was bare to the waist before I could blink.
He took a shuddering breath. “You’re beautiful,” he said, as if confessing a crime.
I reached for him, dragging him down, needing his mouth on mine, but he ducked away, trailing kisses down my throat, across my collarbone, over the swell of my breast. His tongue was hot, his teeth sharper than I expected, and every place he touched felt like it might burst into flame.
He caught my nipple between his lips and sucked, hard, and I gasped, arching into him. He switched to the other, gentler this time, rolling the tip between his tongue and teeth until I was panting.
I whimpered as he slid lower, mouth mapping a line down my stomach, teeth grazing the sensitive skin at my hip. He peeled my skirt down, slow and rough, and when he saw my underwear, navy lace, the nice pair, thank fuck, he groaned, like he’d just been punched.
He kissed along the edge of the lace, then mouthed me through it, tongue flicking in slow, maddening circles.
I was so wet I could feel the fabric stick to my skin, every nerve ending lit up.
I squirmed, desperate for more, but he pinned my hips with his hands and kept going, unhurried, as if savoring every whimper and moan I made.
I was about to lose my mind when he hooked his thumbs in the waistband and slid the panties off, tossing them to the floor without looking away from me in a way that destroyed me. He knelt between my legs, gaze fixed on me like I was something holy.
He bent and kissed me there, a single soft press that made my breath stutter.
Then his tongue was on me, slow and languid, licking up and down the length of me, then circling my clit with infuriating gentleness.
He alternated between long, flat swipes and sharp, flicking pulses, never settling into a pattern, never giving me enough.
I buried my hands in his hair, gripping tight, trying to force him closer, but he just laughed, an actual laugh, muffled by my body, and then sucked my clit, surprising me with pleasure so much I nearly screamed.
He worked me with his mouth until I was shaking, hips bucking, thighs threatening to close around his head. He held me open, relentless, and when he slid two fingers inside me, I thought I might die.
The orgasm hit fast and brutal, a shockwave that left me thrashing, sobbing his name, tears leaking down my cheeks.
He didn’t stop, not even when I begged, not even when I was too sensitive to bear it.
He licked me through the aftershocks, coaxing another orgasm from me before I could even catch my breath.
When he finally pulled away, his mouth was wet, chin shiny, eyes wild. He wiped his face with the back of his hand, then crawled up the bed, caging me with his arms.
He kissed me again, slow this time, and I tasted myself on his tongue. The sensation made me moan, made my whole body melt.
Then the world shifted. He rolled onto his back, dragging me with him, and settled me astride his hips.
His cock pressed against me, thick and hard, straining the front of his pants.
I ground down on him, desperate, and he bucked up, matching my rhythm.
I didn’t even care that I was probably ruining his expensive slacks.
He yanked at his belt, cursing when it caught. I laughed, delirious, and helped him unfasten it, then unzipped and freed him. It was…intimidating. Long, thick, flushed at the tip, a pearly drop beaded at the top. I stared, suddenly nervous, but he caught my chin and forced me to meet his gaze.
“You can stop,” he said, voice a rasp.
I shook my head. “I want you.”
He exhaled, long and shaking. “Then take me.”
I wrapped my hand around him, pumping once, twice, then adjusted myself and lowered on him, slow and easy.
He didn’t push, didn’t hurry; he let me set the pace.
I sank down, slow, feeling the delicious sense of fullness as he stretched me.
It hurt, but it was good, better than good, and when I bottomed out, I thought I’d never felt so full in my life.
He groaned, hands gripping my hips, thumbs digging in. “Fuck, Eden.”
I rocked, experimenting, and the friction made my eyes roll back. He thrust up, careful at first, but I wanted it rough, wanted to feel him everywhere, so I slammed down, hard, and he lost control.
He fucked me like he was trying to erase every other man – and there weren’t many - from my memory. He grabbed my ass, angled me just so, and drove into me until I felt dazed and amazing. I clung to his shoulders, nails digging in, and rode him with everything I had.
But he seemed to have other ideas. He rolled us, pinned me beneath him, and fucked me deeper, harder, grinding his pelvis against my clit until I was sobbing, begging, pleading for more. He kissed me through it, murmuring my name, telling me I was perfect, that I was his, that he’d never let me go.
The next orgasm was blinding. I screamed, shaking, and he followed, roaring as he came, spilling inside me, shuddering so hard the bed rattled.
We lay tangled together, sweaty and raw, bodies still joined, neither of us willing to move.
He stroked my hair, breathing hard. “You’re a menace,” he said, but there was no anger in it, just awe.
I nuzzled his chest, eyes fluttering closed. “You’re not so bad yourself.”
He laughed, soft and genuine, and held me tighter.
For the first time, I felt safe. Wanted. Like I belonged here, in this room, in this house, with him.
I knew it was an illusion. I knew there would be hell to pay tomorrow.
But for now, I let myself believe it.
I didn’t dream, just woke with the early sunlight, tangled in navy sheets, naked, limbs a tangle of soreness and afterglow.
Gareth was already up, of course, I swore he never slept for more than four hours, his body apparently powered by rage and black coffee.
The space next to me still held his warmth, but he was gone, replaced by a perfectly laid out outfit and a note in his handwriting: “Breakfast at 9. -G.”
No hearts. No smiley faces. I rolled my eyes at the ceiling, but my chest was a mess of squirming, giddy things.
I tried to get dressed, but every move reminded me of the night before: the marks on my hips, the way my legs trembled when I stood, the insistent ache between my thighs. My first coherent thought was, worth it.
The next was, you’re an idiot.
I showered, twice, because I couldn’t get the intoxicating smell of him off me, and dressed, thankful the clothes he’d given me were not flashy or showy.
When I stepped into the hallway, I was sure everyone would know.
That I’d have a neon sign over my head that read: I fucked the boss and I’ll do it again.
But there was no one in the hall as I scurried to the kitchen.
Maribel smirked when she saw me. “Sleep well, honey?”
“Like a log,” I lied, face blazing.
She winked, but let me go.
I was too early for breakfast, so I grabbed a coffee to go and made a beeline for the garden, dodging fat raindrops, desperate for air.
The paths were muddy from last night’s rain, the roses dropping their petals like confetti, the scent so thick it was almost sickly.
I made for the gazebo, my new favorite refuge, and collapsed onto the cold stone bench, phone clutched in both hands.
I opened a text thread with Ruby and typed:
I made a terrible, wonderful mistake.
The reply was instant, as always.
You fucked him, didn’t you?
My face blazed white-hot and prickling tingles – that feeling of being caught – rushed over me. The time passing had her giddy.
You did! Omg. Details. Is this about Mr. Tall Dark and Psychotic?
Please don’t call him that. He’s actually sort of sweet, when he’s not mad. It was Olympic-level. I think I sprained something.
Was it consensual, or did he just glower you into submission?
I couldn’t hold back a smile as the memories rushed over me. I started it. He finished it. Several times.
Holy shit. Is it serious?
I hesitated, thumbs hovering. The answer was yes, but I couldn’t say it.
So I played it safe. It’s complicated.
You love him, don’t you? I read it in her disappointed voice.
I don’t know. Maybe. Yes? Also, he’s my boss and I signed an NDA with a no-fraternizing clause?
Girl. You are living a lawsuit waiting to happen.
I shook my head, even though she couldn’t see me. It’s fine. Probably. He left before I woke up and left a note to meet him for breakfast.
Maybe he’s scared? Or maybe he’s just an emotionally stunted man-child.
I shrugged. Both. But he called me “perfect” last night, so that’s something.
UGH. I’m so happy for you and also so scared. Don’t get murdered, okay?
If I do, check the koi pond. The koi were cursed, everyone was sure of it.
Of course. Love you.
Love you, too.
I set the phone down, staring out at the falling rain, the gardener’s boot prints, the tangle of blooms. Everything was too bright, too alive.
The old me would have second-guessed, spiraled, spent hours rehashing every word, every touch.
But now there was only the low, constant pulse of wanting. I’d had him, and now I wanted more.
A cough interrupted my reverie. Leo stood at the edge of the gazebo, hands jammed in his pockets, face unreadable.
“Hey,” he said, voice low. “You got a minute?”
“Sure,” I said, hoping he couldn’t see the aftersex flush on my face.
He sat next to me, close but not touching. “You okay?”
“Why wouldn’t I be?” I kept my eyes on the path.
He shrugged. “You just look…different today.”
I nearly choked. “Hungover, probably.”
He watched me, silent, and I knew what he was thinking. I knew, because I’d seen it on his face before; curiosity, frustration, a little bit of hurt. That annoyed and disgusted me.
“I just wanted to say,” he started, then stopped, rubbing his jaw. Then he stopped.
I waited.
“I saw how he looked at you last night, after dinner. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him look at anyone like that.”
I bit my lip, afraid I might smile. “He’s hard to read.”
“Not really,” Leo said. “Not if you know what to look for.”
“Or maybe he’s worried I’ll spill some state secrets or something.”
He shook his head, then got up. “See you at lunch,” he said.
“Yeah,” I said, but he was already gone.
I watched him go, chest tight. Then I checked my phone, reread my friend’s message, and let myself smile.
I was in trouble. Serious, irreversible trouble. The kind that didn’t end well, the kind that left scars.
But for the first time in years, I felt like I was right where I belonged.
And I couldn’t wait for what happened next.