Chapter 35
Chapter Thirty-Five
I don’t know where I’m going, really, except that I have to get away from Kimo. If that’s what he really thinks of me—that I’m just some gold digger after his money—then there really isn’t anything more to say.
...Although, if I’m being honest with myself, I suspect that was just something he said out of anger. I suppose I can’t really fault people for the things they say when they’re upset. God knows I’ve never been one to hold my tongue when I feel like I’m backed into a corner.
I aimlessly push my way through the building, trying to give myself some space to think. I don’t want this to be the end with Kimo. But I also don’t know how to dig myself out of this hole with him. I don’t know how to stop defending myself, how to be vulnerable with someone and just say, I’m sorry. I was wrong .
Somehow I find my way to the empty third floor of the building. There are only darkened offices up here, and though I can hear faint traces of music floating up from the gala below, it is otherwise mostly silent. I walk to one of the windows and realize that I’m looking down into the ballroom. What looked like mirrors from downstairs are actually one-way windows, allowing me to covertly see what’s happening in the ballroom. Like a masochist, I search for Kimo in the crowd, only to find that he’s conspicuously missing. He must have gone home.
“Mattie.”
Startled, I jump and whirl around to see that Kimo followed me upstairs. He holds up his hands as if in surrender, gauging my face carefully before venturing forward. “I’m sorry,” he says. “That was really out of line, what I said about the money. There’s no part of me that thinks that’s really true.”
Even though I suspected as much, I’m relieved to hear him say it. I nod in acknowledgement. “Thank you.”
He sighs, running a hand through his hair, which is no longer so neatly pulled back. I like it better this way, I think—rumpled and a little bit wild, just like him. “I just want it to be done, you know? I wake up sick every morning thinking about what happens if those kids get taken away from me. Pika offered me this out, and...I’m scared of what happens if I don’t just take it.”
I’m the one to venture a step closer to him now, responding to the fear and vulnerability I hear in his voice. I can’t help it. Even if things are over between us, even if he doesn’t want to be with me anymore, I’ll never be able to hear Kimo sound afraid and not do everything I can to try to fix it. “I understand. But I’ll help you. The whole team will. And you have Jay. He’s the best out there, he really is.”
Kimo’s face shutters at that. He gives me a wry, searching look. “Yeah, Jay’s great,” he says flatly. “He’ll probably be wondering where you’ve run off to.”
Something swells in me as I recognize Kimo’s obvious jealousy. A very small, very petty part of me wants to egg him on a bit, see just how jealous he can be, but I decide to take the high road. Be honest. “There’s nothing going on with Jay. He knows that, too. I just said all of that stuff to make you jealous.”
I hold Kimo’s gaze, watching for his response. He takes another step closer to me, deliberately eying me up and down. “So all of that talk about you not wearing any underwear...was just for show?”
Well, full honesty, right? “Actually, I’m really not wearing any underwear,” I admit. “But that was never for Jay. It was partially because you really can’t wear anything under this dress. But mainly, it was for you.”
Kimo lets out a little growly noise, taking another step forward and closing the distance between us. My whole body lights up with anticipation. I understand, suddenly, why all the heroines in Helen’s romance novels always have heaving bosoms: it’s partially because of the restrictive bodices, true, but it’s also nervousness, excitement—the feeling like you’ve just run up ten flights of stairs even though you’re standing completely still. Just waiting for him to touch me.
Kimo holds that intense eye contact for a moment longer before deliberately sliding his gaze down my neckline, to the top of my bodice, where my heaving bosom—modest as it is—is on the verge of spilling over. He hooks his index finger into the front of the bodice, his knuckle grazing over the swell of my breast, making my breath catch in my throat, before he pulls the front of my dress forward as far as it will go and peers down at the gap left between the fabric and my skin. “No bra,” he confirms, his voice low and growly.
His other hand starts a slow path up my thigh, disappearing underneath the slit in the skirt. The pads of his fingers brush over my core. “No panties.”
I moan and buck against him, needing more, now . “Kimo...”
To my dismay, he removes both his hands from me, pressing them up against the windowpane and pushing against it hard.
It’s my turn to growl, in dismay. “ ублюдок . If you trick me into just falling asleep with you again tonight, so help me God...”
Kimo just keeps pushing up against the glass, even making a fist and pounding it. “Trust me, baby, sleeping is the last thing on my mind right now. But I need to test the structural integrity of this window.”
This man is trying to kill me. “Now? Why? ”
Finally, seeming satisfied, he gives the glass one last rap with his knuckles. “To make sure we can do this.” And with no warning, he picks me up by my thighs and lifts me, my back pressed to the glass.
I gasp, first in surprise, then pleasure, as Kimo leans in to kiss me. I’m half propped up on a small ledge built into the window frame, so for once I’m just a little bit taller than him, though his bigness still engulfs me as he presses his body up against mine. I feel him hard and erect through his suit pants, rubbing slowly but eagerly against my bare thigh as his tongue explores my mouth.
After a moment, he pulls back, resting his forehead against mine. “I hope this isn’t too presumptuous, since we were just in a fight and all, but for the record, I did bring condoms with me.”
I laugh breathlessly, nuzzling my nose against his. “That’s okay. So did I.”
He pulls back enough that he can look into my eyes, and his expression is so genuinely perplexed that I giggle—a sound that, frankly, I didn’t know I could make, it’s so girly and sweet. “Where?” he demands.
I’d asked Nina to sew a little pocket into the front of my bodice to hold some cash and a condom. I didn’t tell her that’s what it was for, of course, since I wouldn’t want to accidentally give her an aneurism; but given my past luck with Kimo, I never want to leave home without protection again.
I don’t explain all that to him, though—where would be the fun? “Come and find it,” I challenge him.
Kimo grunt-growls again and then kisses me until my head is spinning. Still using one hand to help keep me propped on the little ledge, he touches my gown’s low-cut back with the other. “How attached are you to this dress?”
For my own sake? Not all that much. But considering how long Nina worked on it, I’d feel bad letting him tear it to shreds, no matter how much I might want him to. Plus, there’s the whole issue of how to get home without any clothing. “Very,” I warn him.
He sighs and leans his forehead against mine for a moment before regrouping. “Okay...” He fumbles around the back of the dress. “Is there a zipper?”
I can’t help but giggle again, he sounds so genuinely frustrated, not at all like my usually easygoing Kimo. “Yes, it’s hidden underneath some ruching, and there’s a clasp at the top...”
I reach back to help him, and between the two of us, we manage to find the hidden clasp. If I didn’t already know how comfortable and safe I feel with Kimo, it would have been glaringly obvious in this exchange. A one-night stand fumbling around to get my clothes off would have been a huge turn-off; with Kimo, it feels unbearably endearing, not to mention hilarious.
Although, not quite so hilarious anymore as he eases the dress off me, gently letting it drop to the floor. I’m in nothing but my heels and a good faux-pearl necklace, my bare ass pressed up against a window overlooking a ballroom filled with people, including my boss, nothing but Kimo holding me up.
“Fuck, Mattie,” he breathes, taking me in. “You’re so beautiful, I can’t stand it.”
I pull him closer, needing to feel him up against me, needing his mouth on mine. There is nothing slow about this kiss, only eager. Every brush of his hand on my skin feels perfect, just right, but also somehow not enough, because it immediately leaves me wanting more, more—an unquenchable thirst that feels like it will never be satiated.
When his free hand moves to my pussy again, I moan in protest and shake my head. “No, not that.” I’ll never be able to come pressed up against a window, so there’s no point wasting his time. “I want you inside me, now.” That much is true, at least. I’m desperate for his cock, desperate to feel him inside me.
Kimo tsks me, keeping his hand in place. “What did I tell you, huh? You can be the boss everywhere but here, babe.” He sweeps a daring thumb over my labia, eliciting a shocked gasp from me. “I’m the boss here, yeah?”
He must take my moan as confirmation because his fingers slide their way down to my clit. They circle and rub and thrum there, all while Kimo watches my face intently to follow my response.
I close my eyes and let my head fall back against the glass. I’m not going to come. I know I’m not, so I won’t stress about it, I’ll just enjoy the feeling for what it is, and in a few minutes he’ll move on...
And it does feel good. It’s a feeling I know won’t go anywhere further from just touching alone, but my core feels pleasantly aware, then after a few moments, throbbing with need.
When I feel Kimo’s body shift a moment later, I think he’s already giving up, and I eagerly await the next part, when he’ll thrust his cock into me. Instead, I’m surprised when I feel Kimo maneuvering himself so he can simultaneously prop me up and dip his fingers in and out of me, still lightly circling my clit with his thumb.
My startled gaze meets his. I watch his lips tug into a smirk, then look back into his eyes.
It isn’t even just the mechanics of what he’s doing, even though it is impressive. (How is he multitasking so efficiently?) It’s the look in his hazel eyes as he’s watching me, like this part isn’t the appetizer—it’s the meal. Like he’s in no hurry whatsoever, just content to do this for as long as it takes?—
The orgasm crashes over me, taking me unawares. One minute I’m in the middle of a coherent thought, and the next my thighs are clenching and that sharp, intense euphoria shudders through me. I come loudly, too caught off guard to censor myself, my gaze still locked on his.
I shudder once, then again. That was...that was...
“Incredible,” Kimo murmurs, leaning forward to kiss me softly. He removes his fingers from inside me but they continue to ever so lightly dance over my center. The sensation down there is still so strong that any more pressure might hurt, but what he’s doing is just enough to stretch out the pleasure for as long as it can last.
He kisses me, slowly, savoring. His warm, lightly callused hands begin to smooth over my bare skin, starting with the not-as-intimate bits—legs, belly, back, arms, neck. Any lingering tension in my body melts away as I melt into him. I run my fingers along his scalp, and his responding growl sends heat pulsing through my center. It’s weirdly hot being naked while he’s still fully dressed, the soft material of his suit pressing against my skin, but all at once I need to touch him, explore him, need him to be as close to me as possible.
“Take off your clothes,” I entreat him, surprising myself with how breathy and needful I sound.
Kimo happily complies, setting me on my feet. Still feeling a bit shaky after the unexpected orgasm, I lean back up against the glass, closing my eyes again. I hear the rustle of Kimo’s clothing, the tear of the condom wrapper. That gets my attention, and when I open my eyes, I see the glorious length of him, sheathed and ready.
I’m ready, too, wanting—needing—to see him as undone as I feel. But I guess I shouldn’t be surprised when he lifts me up and kisses me again, holding me at just the right position so that he’s nudging at my entrance but not sliding in quite yet.
“Kimo, please.” I’m not above shamelessly begging him, or even more shamelessly rubbing my pussy against him. “Please. I need you.”
Another low, throaty growl. I never thought I’d be so into this whole caveman/werewolf thing, but it’s driving me absolutely wild. “You need me, baby?” he asks, reaching a hand up to cup one of my breasts, rolling my nipple between his fingers.
My answering moan seems to be a satisfying enough answer. He enters me slowly, for the first time, gently easing his way in until he fills me up. Our eyes meet, hold. I’m used to barely making eye contact with my partners, both of us almost pretending the other person isn’t there. Kimo doesn’t look away, and his expression won’t let me look away, either. He’s usually so happy-go-lucky, so affable, but right now his face is dark and intense and hungry. He looks and sounds and smells like pure sex—his glistening, naked body and his low grunts of pleasure and the scent of sweat mingling with his cologne. I move my body in the rhythm he’s set, seeking my own pleasure, but also wanting to increase his. I want to blow his mind. I don’t want him to ever come again without thinking about me.
Pressing my breasts into his chest, I lean in for a kiss, taking his lower lip between my teeth and giving it a none-too-gentle tug. When I meet his feral gaze again, I deliberately squeeze my core around his cock, rocking my pelvis up and down, up and down.
“ Fuck.” There’s nothing slow or gentle now about the way Kimo’s moving. He thrusts into me fast and hard, knocking me back into the window. His hands grip my ass, guiding me in tandem with his movements as he fills me up completely, again and again. I’m an athletic girl, but my strength is nothing compared to his. All I can do is cling on for dear life as he rides me hard, a force of nature. The glass is cold and hard against me, but I’m hardly aware of it. The only sensation I can feel is the heat pooling once again between my thighs, the impossible pleasure.
“Oh, fuck,” I cry out in surprise half a second before I come for a second time, tightening and squeezing around him again and again.
That seems to be all it takes for Kimo before he gives a final jerk and then implodes inside of me. It’s my turn to support him as he half collapses against me, still on his feet but momentarily incoherent with pleasure.
It takes a moment for us both to catch our breaths. When he comes back to himself, his mouth seeks out mine—slow and sweet, a promise.
“Whoa,” he says under his breath, letting out a shaky laugh of surprise.
“Whoa,” I agree, reaching up to cradle his head against me.