Chapter 9 Ainsley
AINSLEY
No, this isn’t happening. I’m still sleeping. I haven’t been able to get Talon out of my head for days—of course, this is a dream about him, that’s all. I’m going to wake up now.
“What are you doing?” he asks once I start squeezing my eyes shut and opening them, then squeezing them shut again.
“I’m waking up. I’m waking myself up.”
“You’re not asleep.”
That’s not what I want to hear. “If that’s true, you just broke into my apartment.”
“Yeah, and you came out wielding a hair dryer. What was that supposed to do? Blow-dry me to death?”
Holy hell, this is real. He wouldn’t get snarky with me in my own dream.
I drop the blow dryer and make a run for it before I know what I’m doing, scrambling for the front door. I don’t know what I’m thinking or what I plan to do. I only know I need to get out of here, now.
He reaches me before I can open the door, and once he’s got an arm around my waist and a hand over my mouth, there’s nothing I can do. He’s too big, too strong, and all the kicking and swinging of my fists in the world doesn’t make a difference. I might as well be fighting a brick wall.
“Stop it.” He doesn’t sound angry as he carries me back to the bedroom. Irritated, if anything. “You’re wasting your time, and there’s no reason to fight me.”
He lowers me to the bed with his body half draped over mine.
His hand is still over my mouth by the time he nearly touches his lips to my ear.
“I didn’t come here to hurt you. There is nothing to be afraid of.
” I can only squirm and groan behind his hand.
Who is he trying to kid? You don’t break into a woman’s apartment in the middle of the night, then act like this is just a normal visit.
“I don’t want you to be afraid. I can explain all of this, and I want to trust you. Can I trust you? If I take my hand away, will you promise to listen and not scream or throw a fit?”
Can I promise that? Do I want to test this man? That’s the real question. If he’s willing to break into my place and sneak around, what else is he capable of? How could I have been so wrong about him? Tears well up in my eyes, then trickle onto his hand.
“Ainsley.” He sounds like a disappointed father. I should know since I’ve heard enough disappointment. “I would rather hurt myself than ever hurt you. I know that isn’t easy to believe right now, all things considered, but it’s the truth.”
The thing is, I want to believe him. Plus, I can’t fight him and risk having him lose his temper. I nod in agreement, and as promised, he lifts his hand away.
“What are you doing here?” I whisper. I’m frozen in fear, almost sick with it. Now would not be the time to throw up all over the place. Though if it gets him off me, maybe I should consider it.
“I wanted to see you.”
“You know there’s such a thing as a phone, right? I gave you my number when I booked the wedding.”
“I know that. But… I wanted to see you now. It’s not easy to explain.”
“Give it a try.” No, I probably shouldn’t give him attitude, but now that my first rush of fear has passed, anger is taking its place. Rage. This is my home, the one place I should feel safe.
He made me feel safe. Safe to be me with no apologies, no hiding. Now he’s taken that from me, and I’m supposed to be happy about it?
He sighs. “I haven’t been able to get you out of my head for a minute since Saturday.”
I really wish my heart wouldn’t skip a beat. I have to stop myself before I do something stupid, like blurt out that I haven’t been able to get him out of my head, either. I can’t encourage him.
“And I know this is unconventional,” he murmurs. “I could have done things the normal way, but that’s never been the way I do it. I’m sorry I scared you, but I’m not sorry I did this. Not when I’ve been dying to touch you for days.”
Dammit. He’s doing something to me, something bad.
He’s making me wish he would do more than just touch me.
What is wrong with me that it’s so easy for him to manipulate me this way?
Do I even care? How can I? When I erupt in goose bumps every time his mouth skims my earlobe?
I close my eyes and shiver involuntarily, and again when the hand he used to cover my mouth now slides over my throat.
His touch is as light as a feather, and a soft sigh eases its way from between my parted lips.
I must be out of my mind, the way he so clearly is. Does it matter right now? Because every part of me—other than my brain—is screaming for more. There I was, thinking nobody would ever touch me again the way he did.
Now I have him here, and he is touching me gently, making me want to scream and beg for more, and he’s hardly done anything at all.
“This is all I wanted. You. The excuse to touch you. Please, don’t punish me for that.” He presses his lips to my neck, and my back arches.
It shouldn’t be like this. There’s no reason it should be like this.
But I can’t help it. Even though I know it’s wrong, that I should kick him in the balls and call the police, I want him. I crave him. How is that possible when I’ve only been with him once? Is it because he was the only one?
Or was he the only one because somehow, I knew he was out there waiting for me?
For heaven’s sake, it’s bad enough my body is betraying me. I don’t need to think stupid things like that on top of everything else.
But look what he was willing to do to be with you. Right. He was willing to break into my apartment rather than pick up the phone. What a hero.
Am I pushing him away, though? No. I’m arching my back again when he closes a hand over my breast, rubbing his palm over my nipple and making it harden in an instant. If he would only do that forever and never, ever stop. What’s the use of fighting? Why should I deny myself this?
It’s like he’s reading my mind. “You know what you want. Take it.” His breath is hot on my face, and I turn it toward him, my lips seeking his. A shudder runs through me when he brushes them against mine before probing with his tongue.
No, it’s not enough to be touched like this. I want his skin against mine. If this is going to happen, I want all of it. Not a quickie in a closet and not a make-out session. “Touch me,” I beg before he kisses me again and again until I don’t know who or where I am.
I only know he’s unbuttoning my shirt, and now I wish I was wearing something sexier than a pajama set with frolicking kittens printed on the fabric. It doesn’t seem to bother him. No, when he thrusts his hips, he drives his hard length against my hip.
“What’s wrong?” He freezes when I flinch, lifting his head, his eyes searching my face in the light coming from the other side of the open door.
“I never… you know.” We might have had sex, but I was more or less fully clothed. “Nobody’s ever seen me like this before.”
“You’re beautiful. Every inch of you.” His lips touch my forehead, my nose, my cheek. “Everything about you. Let me see you. Let me taste you.” And as he whispers his words like a hypnotic spell, he slowly eases my shirt open until it falls to both sides.
I hold my breath as he stares down at me, his throat working when he swallows, his jaw tightening. His fingertips dance over my skin, massaging my breast while he plants gentle but burning kisses against my throat.
It’s so good it almost hurts. But that’s nothing compared to the feel of his tongue as it sweeps over my nipple. It’s like a shock blasting its way through me but in the best way possible. My god, how did I live without this? How did I live without him?
He’s so gentle, almost reverent, moving back and forth, teasing me until all I can do is groan my frustration. Now I am hurting, wet, and aching so hard it’s painful. I don’t realize I’m lifting my hips until he chuckles, releasing my nipple with a light popping sound. “Aching, aren’t you?”
“Yes!” I admit. I don’t care if it sounds pathetic. “Yes, touch me, please!”
“I am touching you. You’ll have to be more specific.”
“Talon, please!”
“Relax.” He kisses his way down my stomach while almost playfully tugging at my shorts. “We have all night.” I like the sound of that. I don’t care about anything but feeling more of this, letting him wake me up to everything I’ve missed.
So even though I’m nervous, I lift my hips again, this time so he can work the shorts and panties down my legs.
I don’t think I’ve ever been this scared, not even when I heard him out in the living room.
My heart’s racing so fast that I think I’ll be sick, and I want nothing more than to cover myself with my hands.
“You’re so beautiful.” Again and again, he whispers it like a prayer, and slowly I begin to relax, letting my legs fall open when he nudges them.
He slides down the bed a little until he’s between my thighs, and I’m caught between fear and pleasure again as he runs his lips over the insides.
The scruff on his cheeks chafes my skin, but even that’s good, and it isn’t long before my fingers are tangled in his hair, and the room is filled with the sound of my breathless gasps and my moans.
I can’t believe this is happening. I can’t believe it’s happening to me. That this man wants me this badly, that it’s because of me he’s breathing so hard, grunting like an animal as he gets closer to where I need him most. I’m still scared, but more than that, I’m dying for more.
My body erupts in goose bumps when he blows over my wet, swollen lips. “Oh god, yes…” I close my eyes, every scrap of my focus tuned in to that single part of my body, concentrating on the delicious sensations that start at my pussy and radiate through me.
“Such a pretty pussy,” he whispers. Instead of cringing in embarrassment, I open my thighs wider. If he doesn’t let me come soon, I’ll die. I wish I had the courage to say it.