14. Reid
— ? —
Reid
I didn’t sleep.
Not a single minute, not a single moment of unconsciousness. I lay in the dark with my eyes open and my mind racing and the guilt churning in my stomach like acid.
The lie I’d told her in the hot tub. The thing I should have said and didn’t.
Why did you really come to Newport?
Contacts. Business contacts.
She’d looked at me with those sharp eyes, and she’d known I was lying, and she’d let it go anyway. She’d trusted me enough to let it go.
And I’d repaid that trust with silence.
But underneath the guilt, worse than the guilt, was the memory of her.
The striptease. The confidence in her eyes as she’d undressed, slow and deliberate, daring me to look away. The way she’d stepped into the hot tub like she owned it, like she owned me, like she’d never been more certain of anything in her life.
The steam rising around us. Her skin flushed pink from the heat. The way she’d watched me across the water, waiting for me to crack.
I was completely, catastrophically gone for this woman.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw her. The arch of her back. The curve of her shoulder. The way she’d looked at me when I’d asked about her marriage, surprised, then thoughtful, then soft. It had looked like trust.
I didn’t deserve her trust.
Every time I started to drift off, my body reminded me exactly how close she was, three feet away, breathing softly, wearing nothing but one of my T-shirts. I could hear her breathing, slow and even in sleep. Could smell her shampoo on the pillow next to mine.
I lay there in the dark and stared at the ceiling and thought about all the ways this could go wrong.
She didn’t know why I’d come to Newport. Didn’t know about my father, about the Chadwick Endeavor, about the fifteen years I’d spent building a machine to destroy her husband’s company. If she found out, when she found out, she might never forgive me.
I should tell her. I should wake her up right now and confess everything. Lay it all out, the surveys, the settlement, the rage that had driven me for half my life.
But I couldn’t. Because telling her meant losing her, and I wasn’t ready for that. Not yet, not when I’d only just found her.
The hours crawled by. 3 a.m. 4. 5. 6.
Near 7 a.m., she groaned and rolled toward me.
I froze.
She was still asleep, I could tell from her breathing, slow and even. But her body had other ideas. She pressed against my side, her head finding my shoulder, her arm draping across my chest. Her leg slid between mine, and suddenly she was wrapped around me like I was a body pillow.
I held my breath.
She shifted again, and suddenly we were spooning, my arm around her waist, her back against my chest, her body curved into mine like she belonged there. Like this was the most natural thing in the world.
My hand settled on her hip. I couldn’t help it. She was so warm, so soft, and she fit against me so perfectly that my body responded before my brain could catch up. My cock went from half-hard to full and aching in seconds, pressed right against the soft curve of her ass through the thin shirt.
She ground back another time. A small movement, barely there, but enough to make my vision blur. It was as if she was chasing the friction even in her sleep.
I cursed under my breath.
Her breath caught. A tiny hitch, almost imperceptible.
“You awake, little menace?” I growled into her hair, voice rough from a sleepless night and pure filthy want.
“No,” she whispered.
And pressed back again, harder this time. Deliberate. Her ass rubbing right over the thick length of me, and I saw fucking stars.
I nearly lost it. My hand tightened on her hip, fingers digging in, every muscle in my body straining toward her.
The want was overwhelming, a physical thing, a pressure in my chest and balls that made it hard to breathe.
I wanted to roll her over, shove that shirt up, spread her open and show her exactly what she was doing to me.
Wanted to bury my cock so deep she’d feel me for days.
Wanted things I didn’t have clean words for.
“If you don’t stop grinding on my cock like that-”
She went still. Her hand found my arm around her waist and gripped it, holding me in place. Then she sagged back against me with a small, defeated sound. A half sigh, half moan.
“Okay.”
I was disappointed and relieved at once.
Disappointed because I wanted her so badly it hurt, wanted to sink into that tight little body, wanted to hear my name broken in her mouth while I fucked her stupid.
Relieved because this wasn’t right, not like this, not half-asleep, not when there were still so many damn things between us.
“Going to shower,” I grunted, extracting myself before I did something irreversible.
She laughed as I got up. A knowing laugh, teasing and warm, and I felt it straight down to my dick.
“Cold one?”
“Shut up, menace.”
I walked to the bathroom and didn’t quite close the door. Carelessness, I told myself. The room was warm. The hotel was empty. There was no reason to be careful.
Bullshit. I left it open because part of me, the stupid, desperate part, wanted her to hear. Wanted her to know exactly how wrecked she’d left me.
I turned on the shower and stepped under the spray, letting the water pound over my shoulders, trying to clear my head.
Trying to think about anything other than the woman in the next room.
The feel of her ass grinding back against my cock.
The little sound she’d made. The way my T-shirt had ridden up enough that I could feel bare skin under my palm.
Then I heard it.
A soft sound from the bedroom. A moan. Low, needy.
And then, unmistakably: “Reid…”
I went still. Water ran over me, forgotten. My cock twitched hard.
“Reid.” Again. Breathier this time. Filthy with want. Like she was already touching herself and pretending it was me.
I stepped to the doorway, shoved it wider, and looked.
Fuck.
She was on the bed, covers thrown off, my T-shirt rucked up around her waist. Eyes closed, head tipped back against the pillows, thighs spread. One hand was under the shirt, moving in a slow, filthy rhythm I recognized instantly, circling, stroking, dipping lower.
“Reid…” My name on her lips like a prayer and a dirty little plea all at once.
I groaned, loud enough that she heard it.
Her eyes flew open. She saw me standing there dripping wet, cock hard and heavy between my legs, and she froze. Hand still under the shirt. Cheeks flushed scarlet. Lips parted.
The moment stretched between us like a live wire. Neither of us moved. Neither of us spoke. The air felt thick enough to choke on.
I wanted to cross the room, rip that shirt off, bury my face between her legs and eat her until she screamed. But she’d drawn the line last night, no touching, opposite sides, keep it contained.
I wasn’t crossing it. Not unless she begged.
“Are you thinking about me, menace?” My voice came out dark, rough, pure gravel.
A long pause. Her chest heaved. Those sharp eyes went darker, blown wide with lust. She licked her lips.
“Yes,” she whispered.
I smirked, slow and filthy, letting her see exactly what that single word did to me. My hand wrapped around my cock and gave it one deliberate stroke, base to tip, thumb smearing the bead of precome already leaking.
“Then let me see. Show me what that pretty pussy looks like when you’re thinking about me.”
Her breath punched out of her. She didn’t move for a second, weighing it, the want warring with whatever caution she had left.
Then she moaned, low and shameless, kicked the last of the covers away, and slowly dragged the T-shirt all the way up. Past her hips. Past those perfect tits. Off.
She was naked. Completely fucking naked. Legs falling open wider. And Christ, she was soaked. Glistening. Fingers already slick as she spread herself for me, showing me everything, pink and swollen and dripping.
I nearly blacked out. Gripped the doorframe hard enough that the wood creaked.
“Jesus Christ, Blythe. Look at you. You’re fucking dripping. All that for me?”
“Yes-” Her voice cracked. Two fingers sliding through her folds, circling her clit. “God, yes.”
“Good girl. Keep those legs open. Wider. I want to see every filthy inch while you play with what’s mine.”
She moaned louder at that, mine, and obeyed, thighs spreading until there was nothing left to hide. Her fingers moved faster, dipping lower, pushing inside herself with a wet sound that made my cock jump in my fist.
I stroked myself in time with her, rough and tight, the way I wanted to be inside her. Water still dripped down my chest, ignored.
“Tell me what you’re thinking about,” I ordered. “Don’t you dare get shy now.”
“You.” Ragged. Broken already. “Your hands. How big they are. How they’d feel instead of mine, holding me open, fingering me stupid.”
“Yeah? What else, menace?”
“The hot tub-” She gasped, back arching clean off the mattress, two fingers pumping now. “The way you looked at me. Like you wanted to drag me into your lap and fuck me right there. And your cock. God, Reid, I can’t stop thinking about your cock. How thick it looked. How it would stretch me.”
“Fuck.” I squeezed the base hard to keep from coming too fast. “You want this cock, baby? Want me to ruin that tight little cunt while you take every inch?”
“Yes - shit-”
“Then earn it. Finger yourself the way I would. Three fingers. Now. Stretch that pretty pussy open for me.”
She whimpered but did it, added a third finger, thighs trembling, the wet filth of the sounds filling the room. Her other hand came up to pinch a nipple hard, twisting.
“That’s it. Such a good fucking girl. Look at me while you do it. Don’t close those eyes. I want to watch you fall apart on your own fingers and know it’s because of me.”
Her gaze locked on mine, glassy, desperate. Mouth open. Little punched-out moans every time her palm ground against her clit.
“Reid - I’m close-”
“I know. I’ve got you. But you don’t come until I say. Rub that swollen little clit harder. Nasty circles. Yeah, just like that. Fuck yourself on those fingers like it’s my cock.”
She was a mess. Hips rocking, tits bouncing with every thrust of her hand, juices shiny on her thighs. The most beautiful filthy thing I’d ever seen.
“Please-”
“Please what? Use your words, menace. Tell me exactly what you need.”
“Need to come - please, Reid, let me come - want to come for you-”
My own fist was flying now, tight and brutal, precome making the slide filthy. Balls drawing up. Lightning at the base of my spine.
“Then come. Come all over your fingers while I watch. Scream my name if you want. I don’t give a fuck who hears. Soak the sheets for me, Blythe.”
She shattered.
Back bowing hard, thighs clamping around her hand, a broken cry ripping out of her as she came hard and messy, pulsing around her own fingers, utterly gone.
That was all it took.
I followed her over with a guttural groan, come striping my fist and stomach in thick ropes, vision whiting out, knees damn near buckling. I kept stroking through it, milking every last pulse while I watched her twitch and gasp through the aftershocks.
For a long moment neither of us moved. Just stayed there, me braced in the doorway dripping, her sprawled naked and wrecked on the bed, breathing like we’d run a mile. Not touching. The space between us crackling hotter than any skin-on-skin I’d ever had.
“Gonna shower,” I muttered finally, voice completely destroyed.
I stepped back under the spray and stood there a long time, not moving, forehead against the tile.
Water washed the evidence away, but nothing could touch what had just shifted. What I now knew down to the bone.
She was under my skin, all the way in, and there was no going back. No pretending this was business or convenience or revenge with benefits.
I was irrevocably, completely, disgustingly gone for this woman.
And I wouldn’t have it any other way.