Chapter Eighteen
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Soren
I was her dirty little secret.
I was the apartment she slipped into after dark.
The hands she sought when no one else could see.
The post-climax clarity that had her stiffening in my arms, then scrambling to dress and get out of my apartment before she could allow herself to see what was already so glaringly obvious to me.
That this wasn’t some random hookup, some casual affair.
There was something between us.
And it wasn’t just our similar traumas, our similarly shaped scars from being unloved, from being hurt and hungry, and desperate to prove ourselves.
There was just a sense of comfort around her that I’d never once felt before. It was almost the feeling of home that I’d never known.
I comforted myself with her complete and utter lack of control.
The first time she’d stayed away a whole week.
The next time, just three days before she was bursting into my bathroom unannounced, eyes on me as she stripped out of her clothes, then climbed into the shower niche with me.
The time after that, it was only two nights.
And the next time?
She was home before I even got there myself. I’d walked in to find her draped over the couch with Chinese takeout spread over the coffee table, and her nose buried in a book.
“I was hungry,” she said, gesturing toward the food. “You weren’t here to cook,” she added, glancing over the book to narrow her eyes at me.
I slid onto the couch, pulling her legs over my lap, then reaching for the lo mein that still had her fork sticking out of it.
“Maybe I can make it up to you with breakfast instead.” I tried to keep my tone casual, even if there was a desperate ache in my chest for her to say yes, to be there in the morning when I woke.
“I can’t stay.”
“Why not?”
“I just can’t.”
“Not even if I make French toast with challah bread with a side of homemade hash browns and whatever eggs you like?”
Her gaze cut to mine, narrowed because we both knew I was playing dirty. Food was her Achilles’ heel.
“You get up before God does,” she said, flipping her page a little dramatically.
“I’ll sleep in.”
I’d stay in bed all day if she wanted.
“You have work.”
“I’m the boss.”
“Teresa will worry.”
Well, she had me there.
Teresa had herself convinced I had some sort of chronic, incurable disease that required nightly treatments, because she couldn’t think of a single other reason I’d be leaving work early every night after a decade of staying until nine or later.
“She’ll get over it.”
She ignored that for a minute, reading a few pages before glancing back up at me.
“Is it really that much better with challah bread?”
“Darlin’, it’s life-changing.”
To that, she rolled her eyes and snorted.
“You’re getting a little cocky,” she told me as I put the carton back on the table, wanting her more than food.
“Says the woman who licked the plate the last time I cooked.”
“It was saucy still,” she said, lifting her chin.
“You had three servings,” I reminded her, plucking the book out of her hands after she slid the bookmark into place. “And some of mine.”
“I was hungry. All they served at book club was coochie boards.”
A snort escaped me at that as I pulled her legs until she moved to straddle me. “Do you mean ‘charcuterie’ boards?”
“No. I meant coochie,” she said, eyes dancing. “We read an alien romance where the dudes only get to completion if they’ve got their faces buried in the V. Someone thought it would be funny to only serve V-shaped foods. Which meant it was mostly halved fruit and carefully folded deli meat. Oh, and pussy flower cupcakes from the erotic bakery. Those were my contribution.”
“There’s an erotic bakery?”
“Yep. Dicks everywhere,” she said, smile bright. “I know where I’m getting the next bachelorette favors.”
She mentioned these book club friends of hers all the time. But was careful not to mention names.
I couldn’t help but wonder if they knew about me. And, if they didn’t, why not?
Were we crossing professional boundaries? Sure. But she wasn’t my subordinate. We were both adults. There was no rule or law saying we couldn’t do exactly what we were doing.
So why all the secrecy?
Saff’s hands slid up my arms to wrap around my neck. Comfortable, familiar. My hands tightened on her hips as she leaned in and pressed her lips to mine.
It was the first time she’d taken charge and led with softness and sweetness. Normally, she was all rough demands.
There was a warm, crushing sensation across my chest as she sighed against my lips before letting her tongue slip inside to toy with mine.
My body was aching to move this forward, but I let her set the pace. Her lips moved down my jaw, over my ear, then down the side of my neck, her tongue teasing over the pulse point.
She kept moving downward, her hands slipping between us to work each button free before kissing her way down my chest, my stomach, then—as she lowered herself to the floor—her tongue teased across the waistband of my pants as she worked my belt, button, and zipper free.
Anticipation sparked across my nerve endings as she reached inside and closed her hand around my length.
My head fell back on a deep exhale as her tongue teased across the head before sucking me into her mouth.
There was none of her usual urgency, though. Her movements were torturously slow, like she was enjoying the giving too much to rush it.
So when my hands glided into her hair, I didn’t try to make her move harder and faster, like the need for release that was clawing at me. I just moved her hair out of the way so I could watch the way she worked me.
It took superhuman self-control not to give in to the need for release when she let out a little whimper around my cock. Like she was enjoying this as much as I was.
Only then did she slowly move back, looking up at me with warm, needy eyes.
She moved to stand, and I sat up, reaching for the hem of her tee, pulling it up and off.
Goosebumps teased over her skin as my fingertips skimmed up her belly, teased under the bottom of her bra, then reached around to slide the clasps free.
The material fell to the floor as I leaned forward, pressing a kiss to the center of her chest, feeling the way a little shiver moved through her.
My hands trailed upward, closing over her breasts, fingers circling, rolling, twisting until little whimpers escaped her.
They drifted down, snagging the waistband of her pants and panties, and drew them down.
“Come here,” I demanded as she stepped out of the pants.
“No,” she said as I started to pull her to straddle me. “Like this.”
She turned, moving to straddle me but facing away, her back leaning into my chest as she let out a soft sigh when my hands were helpless but to explore her.
Her hips dropped down, and her hand slipped between us to guide me.
My body tensed as she rose over me, then slowly lowered down—inch by inch—her little mewling sounds making me need to fist my hands on her thighs so I didn’t grab her and pull her down.
If she wanted slow, I was going to let her go slow.
“You feel so good,” I murmured against her neck as she finally dropped onto my lap, my length settled deep.
Her head turned, seeking my lips, kissing me softly for a long moment. Before the need overtook her and her hips were rocking restlessly.
The position had me gliding against her front wall, engaging her G-spot, so even the tiniest of movements had her whimpering and moaning.
My hand slid between her thighs, engaging her clit as she kept rocking, driving herself slowly toward that cliff.
Then, with a hard pulsing around my cock, she came, her whole body shaking as a long, deep moan escaped her.
Her body was limp against me afterward.
But I wasn’t quite done with her yet.
I wanted her shaking with need.
I wanted her overwhelmed with sensation.
I wanted her tuned in.
I wanted her walls down.
I wanted her vulnerabilities raw and exposed.
So I could show her that I could handle them with care.
So even as she was still coming down from one orgasm, my hips started to gently rock up into her, driving her right back up.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
Ignoring her whimpers to go faster, holding her hips still when she tried to set the pace herself.
I drove her up through a slow, deep orgasm that had her gasping my name.
But I still wasn’t quite done with her yet.
“I can’t,” she whimpered, breath frantic.
“One more for me,” I said, kissing her neck as my hands skimmed over her thighs, hips, stomach, breasts, creating little sparks of need until I felt her walls tightening around me again.
I set the pace slower still, loving the way she whimpered and trembled as she got closer and closer.
“That’s it,” I murmured, pressing a kiss to the side of her head. “Let go.”
This time when she came, it was silent save for the gasp for breath. Her whole body tensed then trembled. I wrapped my arms around her, holding her together as she shattered apart. Then, on the tail end of her climax, I came deep inside her.
The soft sniffle as her body shivered told me I’d gotten her exactly where I wanted her.
Open, exposed, emotional.
So I could show her that she could trust those parts of herself with me.
My hands moved softly over her. Not to entice, just to comfort.
When her chin tucked, trying to hide, I took her chin, turned her toward me, and pressed my lips to hers.
On a little sigh, she shifted so she was sitting across my lap to give me more access.
My hand shifted to frame her face, feeling the lingering wetness from her overwrought emotions during her last orgasm.
I kissed her until my own lips felt like they were tingling. And after I broke apart, her head tucked under my chin, just letting me hold her.
I didn’t know for how long—a half hour, maybe more.
Eventually, though, she started getting restless.
“If you want to head up to the shower, I can clean this up before we head to bed.”
I figured by not putting the whole ‘you’re staying over’ thing as a question, I increased the chances of waking up to her still tangled in my sheets.
“Okay,” she agreed. “But bring up the book when you come.”
I sat there watching the view as she climbed off of me, then walked up the steps, her thighs pressed tightly together.
I shouldn’t have liked the idea of my release inside her as much as I did. To be fair, I had no other frame of reference.
See, I never needed Teresa’s constant warnings to wrap it up. I never wanted to let something as stupid as my sex drive mess up the rest of my life.
Saff was a first for me.
And as insane as it was to think so early on, I wanted her to be the only.
Hell, one day in the future, I wanted all our practicing to produce something that tied us together forever. Something with my calm and her fire. With my love of cooking, and her obsession with books.
The best of both of us—that was what I was seeing in my future.
But before I could have that, I had to make sure she stayed the night.
So I cleaned up the food mess, grabbed the book, and climbed into bed.
Where I read to her until she fell asleep.
Setting the book on the nightstand, I turned out the light, then pulled Saff into my arms.