Chapter 16
sixteen
WEST
There’s underwear piled on my dresser. Next to the pile of romance books she keeps buying from Books by the Sea. And that damn vibrator is in her bedside drawer because I saw her put it there.
My bedroom smells like her. Warm vanilla and something citrusy, sharp enough to make my throat tighten. I thought I was prepared for this. Hell, I told myself it was necessary. But nothing could’ve braced me for the way it feels to be invaded by Eden Fitzgerald.
She’s so damn messy. I stare at the clothes she threw on the bed as she disappeared into my bathroom in my robe, telling me that she’s sweaty and needs a shower. So right now she’s naked in there, singing a god awful song as the spray rains down on her body.
Naked.
That’s another thing I didn’t expect. That even though I’m pissed at this whole situation, my body seems to be quite enjoying it.
I rake a hand through my hair and drop onto the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping beneath my weight. I’m too tired for this. Too wired. Too aware of every splash of water behind that door.
She has no idea what she’s doing to me.
There’s a new photo on my nightstand. One of our wedding that I managed to mock up using AI from two separate photos of us.
She’s actually smiling in it, which is weird, because I don’t remember her smiling at all during the actual ceremony.
And I’m staring at her like she’s the moon and the fucking stars.
“I’m done,” Eden pushes open the bathroom door, steam escaping around her like she’s in some kind of dream sequence from a movie.
But it’s not the misty air that captures my attention. It’s the t-shirt she’s wearing. Mine. It’s light gray and worn so thin the print’s almost gone. And she has a fresh bandage on her hand.
“How’s the cut?” I ask her.
“Fine.” She glances at her hand. “No blood at all this time.”
“Glad to hear it. I’d hate for it to stain my t-shirt.”
She tips her head to the side. “I thought wearing it would be a nice touch. For Bennett.”
“He’s not here,” I point out.
“I’m practicing.” Eden shrugs. Her hair is damp, curling at the ends, and her skin looks flushed from the heat of the shower. “Are you annoyed with me?” she asks. “About having to move into your room?”
“No. I’m more annoyed with myself,” I tell her. “This is my fault, not yours.”
“You know, right now in Bennett’s universe we’re making rampant love. Making a baby,” she says, changing the subject in the most unexpected of ways. I’ll never understand how her brain works.
Still, it makes my body react like it’s on fire.
“We would?” I manage to get the words out.
She grins. “I am ovulating, remember?”
Jesus, she comes out with the most inappropriate things. “Are you?” I’ve been reduced to two word sentences now. I sit down heavily at the end of the bed, trying to get my thoughts straight.
She shakes her head. “No. Plus I have an IUD. Unfortunately, there’ll be no little Wests running around in the near future.” A smile pulls at her lips.
“Bennett will be devastated,” I murmur.
She lifts her arms up, twisting her hair into a bun with her good hand, using the elastic she has on her wrist to secure it. She seems completely oblivious that the hem of my t-shirt is barely covering her. I’m not oblivious, though.
I’m completely entranced.
“Eden,” I murmur.
Her gaze locks with mine.
“When you’re in my bedroom, you’re going to need to wear underwear. Cover every inch of you.”
She blinks. “Why?”
“Why do you think?” My voice is gritty.
She glances at my jeans. At the obvious ridge there. “I don’t know, West. Why don’t you tell me?”
“Because it’s been a while since I’ve had sex, and I need to, badly.”
Her lips part. Her chest rises with a long, deep breath. “And this t-shirt makes you want to have sex?” She steps closer, until she’s almost between my knees. I grasp the bedcovers to stop myself from reaching out.
I don’t answer right away. I can’t. My jaw’s clenched so tight it might crack. She looks at me like she’s trying to figure me out.
“No,” I finally say, clutching the covers harder. “It’s not the t-shirt.”
“Then what?” she asks, tipping her head to the side. She’s so close her knees bump against my legs and I’m hard as a damn rock. This woman is so damn beautiful it almost hurts to look at her.
“Is it because I’m the one person you can’t have?” she whispers. And damn if she doesn’t lean forward and climb onto me, her legs straddling mine, the t-shirt riding up.
I can’t help it, I have to touch her. It’s gonna kill me if I don’t.
My hands slide up her thighs before I can stop them. Jesus, her skin is warm and soft. My fingers flex against the curve of her hips, and her breath catches like she needs this just as much as I do.
“It’s not about being unable to have you,” I say gruffly. “It’s about not being able to stop wanting you. There’s a difference.”
She doesn’t blink. Nor does she flinch. She just sits there like she knows exactly what she’s doing, and she’s enjoying the effect she has on me.
And then she rolls her hips against me, her chest hitching when she feels just how big that effect is.
“Do. Not. Do. That.”
Of course she does it again.
I groan, low and raw, and dig my fingers into her hips. “Eden.”
She leans forward until her mouth is at my ear. “You told Bennett we were going to be having loud, rampant sex tonight,” she whispers, nipping at my lobe with her teeth. “You gonna make a liar out of yourself?”
My grip tightens. She’s messing with me, and it’s working, but under all that bravado I can feel her heartbeat thudding against mine, fast and unsteady.
“You think this is a game?” I murmur, turning my head so my mouth brushes hers. “You think I won’t follow through?”
Her breath hitches, but she doesn’t back away. “I think you’ll push me away, then go jack off in the shower like you did last time.”
This time she gyrates. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
“You think I jack off in the shower?” I rasp.
“I know you do. I watched you.”
“When?”
She swallows hard, her eyes hazy, like she’s remembering. Damn, she wants me. I can read it in her eyes, I can feel it in her body.
This is so wrong. But God help me, I can’t push her away.
“The other night. After you caught me with the vibrator.” Her cheeks pink up. Her breath is as ragged as mine.
“Did you watch me come?”
Her teeth dig into her bottom lip. She nods, just once. “Yeah,” she whispers. “I watched all of it.”
Jesus Christ.
“Well that’s not fair,” I say, my voice low. Almost hoarse.
“What’s not fair?” she asks, frowning.
I slide my hands up under her t-shirt – my t-shirt – until I’m cupping her bare ass, pressing her harder against my cock. “That you’ve seen me come,” I murmur, “but I haven’t seen you.”
“You want me to go back in the shower and touch myself?” She tips her head to the side, like she’s goading me. Like she knows the hold she has on me.
“No.” I lean my head down, trail my lips across the bottom of her throat. She tastes like sin. Then I look at her, all wide eyed and innocent, like butter wouldn’t melt in her damn mouth.
“I changed my mind,” I tell her. “I want my t-shirt back.” I lift my head. She doesn’t move. “Take it off, Eden,” I command, lifting a brow when she doesn’t comply right away. “Now.”
Her lips part, her eyes go hazy. But like the good girl she is, she reaches for the hem, pulls it over her head, and throws it on the floor.
And then she’s naked. For a moment I’m not sure I can breathe.
Her body is all smooth curves and flushed skin, her nipples pebbling from the cool air or maybe from the way I’m looking at her. Like she’s mine. Like I’ll never be able to look at anyone else again.
“Jesus Christ.” My voice is rough, reverent. “You’re killing me.”
She shifts like she doesn’t know what to do with herself, her thighs tightening around my hips. Her gaze darts away for a second – just a flicker of nerves – but I catch her chin between my fingers and bring her eyes back to mine.
“Look at me,” I murmur. “I want to see your face.”
She swallows. Her hair’s slipping out of that messy bun, tendrils curling around her cheeks, damp from the shower.
All I want to do is make her feel good.
I slide my hand between her thighs, but I don’t touch her where I know she wants me. She frowns, wriggling on me like I’m ruining her favorite game.
My gaze flickers to hers. “Tell me to touch you.”
A breath escapes her lips. “Touch me, West.”
The way she says it. So vulnerable. So honestly. It hits me harder than anything else. This woman trusts me. She wants me.
And I want her. More than I think I’ve ever wanted anything in my life.
“You want me to touch this pretty pussy?” I murmur, running my finger over the crease between her thighs. She squirms again, like she’s desperate.
Oh, join the gang, baby.
“You want me to make you come? Want to fall apart for me, the same way I fell apart for you in the shower?”
She nods. This woman is going to destroy me. And I’m going to savor every moment of it.
I trail my fingers up, slow and teasing, until I feel how wet she is for me. I swallow hard, trying to stay in control, because if I lose it now this’ll be over in seconds.
My voice is a growl. “You’re soaking.”
Her cheeks flush, but her hips arch into my hand. She’s not embarrassed. She’s impatient.
“I’ve barely touched you,” I murmur, circling her clit with my thumb. “And you’re already so close. You bad, bad girl.”
I’m so damn lucky I’m fully dressed right now, otherwise I’d be inside of her in a heartbeat.
“Of course I am,” she whispers, her hands gripping my shoulders. “My husband’s fingers do things to me.”
My husband. God, yes. I hate that I like that.
I slide two fingers inside, watching her head fall back, her lips parting as a gasp escapes. She clenches around me like her body’s been waiting for this. Like I’m the only thing that can fill the aching space inside of her.
And maybe I am.
“Eyes on me, Eden,” I say roughly. “I want you to look at me when you come.”
She tries. God, she tries. But her eyes flutter closed when I curl my fingers, her body rocking against my hand, chasing the rhythm like it’s the only thing that matters.
And then she shatters.
With a soft cry and a trembling body, she comes in my arms. My name falls from her lips like a prayer, and I can’t fucking breathe.
Because this is more than want. More than lust.
It’s her trusting me enough to fall apart. And me wanting to be the only one who ever gets to see it again.
I circle her with one arm, the other still teasing the pleasure out of her. My mouth presses against hers, kissing her through her orgasm.
And when she finally comes down, she’s still breathless, her body slack and beautiful as I lay her on my bed. Her eyes are fluttering, her skin flushed from the pleasure I just gave her.
I want to lie down next to her. Wrap her in my arms and let her fall asleep against me.
But that’s not going to happen.
I stand. My hands shake as I grab the damn t-shirt off the floor and pass it over to her. “It’s been a long night.” My voice is harsher than I mean it to be. “Go get some sleep in your own room. I’ll make sure the housekeeper has it ready for Bennett first thing.”
She blinks at me. Like I slapped her. But she doesn’t argue. Maybe she knows how stupid this was. How wrong.
That I crossed the line way too far. I’m going to hell for this.
She doesn’t say a word. Just pulls the shirt over her head with trembling hands, her eyes flickering away like she’s trying to hold herself together.
I can’t look at her anymore.
I don’t wait to see if she leaves, because I’m already halfway to the bathroom. I shove the door closed with more force than necessary, locking it. And when I palm my engorged dick, I let out a pained groan.
I’m so close to the edge I don’t even turn on the shower. I just pull my cock out, and imagine her kneeling on the floor in front of me, staring up at me with those wide, beautiful eyes, before she closes her mouth over me.
“Fuck,” I grunt, moving my hand faster, imagining it’s her, remembering how she looked as she came on my fingers. How she felt, so perfectly tight.
I shouldn’t be thinking about her like this. Not after I kicked her out of my bed. Not after I touched her like that.
But she’s all I can think about. Her mouth. Her skin. The way she looked at me like I mean something.
And when I come, it’s not soft or gentle. It’s a roar – loud, raw, and filled with everything I don’t want to admit.
Guilt. Shame. The fact that I want her so badly I used her memory even after I told her to leave.
I brace a hand against the cold tile, chest heaving.
Then I turn on the water. Let it scald. Try to scrub her off me. Out of me. Like that’s even possible.
And when I finally step out of the bathroom, towel around my waist, the bedroom is empty.
She’s gone.