Chapter 15
“When Did You Get Hot?” - Sabrina Carpenter
Maeve
Please tell me a symptom of cardiac arrest is not your heart pounding so loudly against the sides of your chest cavity that the neighbors in the flat next door can hear it in spite of what I’m certain are soundproof walls.
I wipe my sweaty hands on my dress, not at all sure what comes next.
Pierce might have been thinking about this moment, but I haven’t.
At least not in terms of specific actions.
I assumed it would follow much the same process as with the other men I’ve slept with—we go to the bedroom, take off our clothes, get under the blankets, and have sex.
Something about the look on Pierce’s face tells me this is not what he has in mind. And that terrifies me.
He sets his empty glass on the counter, his movements slow and calculated. My blood responds by surging so forcefully through my veins, I’m in danger of bursting something. I’m sure my face must be flaming red by now.
I clear my throat, needing to cut through this weird sexual energy surrounding us. “Ready whenever you are.”
The corner of his mouth twitches with a smile. “I am aware of that, yes.”
I give him a “then what are we waiting for?” look.
He closes his eyes and shakes his head. “You’re not going to relax until we’re in the bedroom, are you?”
Now might not be the best time to tell him that I’m not sure I’ll relax even once we’re in there, but I play along, gesturing overhead. “The bright lights just don’t do it for me.”
“Let’s go, then.” He leads the way out of the kitchen and down the corridor. If I had known when I was here a few days ago that I’d be back so soon, we could have simply done it then, gotten it over with, and saved ourselves a bunch of time.
His bedroom is lit softly by several table lamps, and it smells exactly the way I remember. This time I allow myself to drink in big gulps of the Pierce-scented air. It’s practically foreplay.
In the center of the room is a massive bed covered with deep-charcoal linens. He has a surprising number of pillows on it for a bachelor, but I suppose that’s the work of his interior designer. It looks very luxurious, masculine, and comfy as hell.
Once again, I jump when the door shuts. Pierce walks farther into the room, rolling up his sleeves as he goes. The sight instantly makes my pulse quicken. As the fabric moves higher up his arms, defined muscles that were only hinted at before come to light.
I don’t know what I was thinking. This was a terrible idea. It seemed doable out in the kitchen, but in here—in his bedroom, for god’s sake—the thought of him touching me, pushing inside me, is almost more than I can handle. Not because I don’t want it, but because it scares the life out of me.
I can’t do this after all. I move toward the door. Before I can open it, however, he’s right there, holding it shut, his hand pressed flat against the smooth wood. “Where are you going?”
“I—I can’t do this,” I whisper, transfixed by the veins bulging in his hands.
He ducks his head so we’re eye to eye. “You and I both know you wouldn’t be here if you hadn’t explored every other option first. Which means you need my help.”
I swallow, and it’s as loud as a jackhammer.
As if sensing how truly terrified I am, he slips one hand under my jaw and into my hair. “There’s nothing to be scared of, Maeve.”
And then his lips are on mine, and it all comes flooding back to me—why I considered this idea long enough for it to blossom into the only possible option.
The taste of him—exquisite. The scent of him being branded into my nostrils—intoxicating.
The feeling of his hands on my face—luxurious.
He is life and breath and oxygen. He is a delectable dessert, a strong glass of whiskey, a warm bubble bath.
He is everything I’ve ever wanted and everything I’ve been too afraid to hope for. He is—
He breaks off the kiss and murmurs against my lips, “Still want to leave?”
I mumble something incomprehensible as I shake my head, eager for him to keep kissing me.
But he doesn’t, the bastard. Instead, he pulls back, shattering all of those embarrassing thoughts I was having into thousands of shards.
He reaches for my dangling diamond earrings and removes them smoothly, as though it’s something he’s done many times before.
“Don’t want these to get caught in your hair. ”
It’s a thoughtful gesture, which is the perfect reminder of how treacherous the ground I’m standing on is. “We should set some ground rules,” I say.
Sighing, he places the earrings on the nightstand. “Will there be a slideshow presentation too, or—?”
I narrow my eyes and reach for the zipper of my dress. “No, but I wouldn’t be opposed to a contract being drawn up.”
“Since you’ve made it clear this will be a one-time thing, I’m afraid it’s a little late for that.” Taking the zipper from me, he pulls it down much more slowly than I would have done, but at least we’re finally getting somewhere. Goosebumps chase the touch of his fingers down my spine.
“Rule number one: no one finds out,” I say.
He carefully peels my dress over my shoulders and lets it drop onto the floor.
As he takes me in, standing here in nothing but my bra and panties, the look that crosses his face is one I can’t place—part awe, part anguish, maybe?
It’s one I’ve never seen on a man before, except maybe at a wedding when the groom saw his bride for the first time, which is a ridiculous comparison, I know.
“Rule number two,” I say, because someone needs to break the tension, “we never mention it again.”
“Mmm,” he murmurs as he toys with my bra strap. “Permission to renegotiate.”
I frown up at him. “Whatever for?”
“I fully intend to remind you of this moment as many times as possible.”
“Hence the rule.”
He doesn’t argue it further, but he doesn’t agree either. His fingers reach for the buttons of his shirt, and I watch in fascination as he starts to undo them. “I have one. No less than two orgasms,” he says.
I bark out a laugh. Is he serious? “I don’t think so.”
“Nonnegotiable.”
“Are you referring to one for each of us or . . .”
His brow furrows. “Of course not. I meant two for you.”
“That’s . . . generous, but—”
“Like I said,” he growls, “nonnegotiable.”
Fucking terrific. That means I’ll have to fake the first one, and now this whole thing will take twice as long. “Fine,” I grind out. At this rate, the sun will be up before I leave.
He studies me, a puzzled look on his face. “Why do I get the feeling you don’t want to be here?”
I undo the clasp of my bra and discard it on the floor. “Because I don’t.”
His fingers fumble over a button as he stares at my bare chest. “Do you not enjoy sex? Or is it the idea of sex with me in particular that you find repulsive?”
Shrugging, I rest my hands on my hips, ready for him to finish undressing so we can get started. “While I wouldn’t say sleeping with my nemesis is on my bucket list, I typically find sex to be quite nice.”
“Quite nice?” His voice is lined with amused disbelief.
“Yes. Pleasant. Pleasurable.”
He blinks several times before responding. The man looks genuinely surprised. “Is that what you think? That sex with me will be ‘quite nice’?”
Why is he making this so difficult? “I had hoped.” God, is that too much to ask? How does he expect me to relax otherwise?
His eyes squint, and my heart skips a beat at the look in them. “I’ll show you ‘quite nice,’” he mutters under his breath. Then he finally—blessedly—strips off his shirt.
Irrational anger blooms in my chest. “Why have you been wearing shirts all this time?” I cross my arms and ogle him. He looks like a Greek god come to life, flesh covering marble perfection.
He smirks, pleased with himself. And don’t you dare tell him I said this, but he should be. The man is exquisite. “You’ve seen me without a shirt before.”
I shake my head, unable to tear my eyes from the masterpiece before me. Everywhere I look is hard muscle and bronze skin. “No, I haven’t.” I would have remembered this.
His mouth hitches even higher on the left side. “Maeve, we’ve gone swimming together a thousand times.”
His words are enough to snap me out of the trance I’m in. “Yeah, but I wasn’t thinking about you as a snack then.”
He wipes away a smile with his hand. I’m glad I’m once again providing him with entertainment, because god knows I don’t seem to be good for much else tonight.
Capturing my wrist in his fingers, he peppers kisses from my palm down to my elbow. I remind myself to breathe. His lips feel like angel’s wings charged with electricity. As they travel up my arm, my blood pressure spikes even higher. If he thinks this is relaxing, he’s got a few things to learn.
Speaking of things to learn, now is probably a good time to warn him. “Just so you know, it’s difficult for me to climax,” I say.
He lifts his head and stares at me as though there’s a glitch in his mental processing.
“It’s not a big deal.” I place my hands on his chest, and holy cow, the man runs hot. “It’s a me problem, not a you problem.”
A low growl slips past his lips as he grabs my waist and yanks me against him. “You’re mistaken if you think for one second that you climaxing is not my problem.”
His mouth meets mine in a rough kiss that has me struggling for breath. One of his hands is planted on the small of my back, keeping our bodies pressed together. The other clamps around my neck as he devours me.
It’s like something has snapped in him. He walks me backward, my lips still captive to his, until the backs of my knees hit the bed.
Satisfied that I’m not going anywhere, he finally releases me, and I take in a jagged lungful of air.
He doesn’t pause, just crouches in front of me and tugs my lace panties down my legs, leaving them pooled at my ankles.