Chapter 23
Chapter Twenty-Three
BLAKE
-I want to know what love is-
The DJ has hung up his hat, and the laughter and noise in the music room fades to a soft murmur, the once-vibrant energy ebbing like the tide pulling back from the shore, leaving behind a gentle hush that settles over the space.
I lean against the door frame, my arms crossed over my chest, watching as the party winds down.
Stray balloons bob lazily against the ceiling.
The air hangs heavy with the lingering sweetness of melted chocolate from the fountain.
Its tiers are cooling with sticky remnants.
The food trays are empty, and there are empty plates with crumpled napkins and discarded skewers. Soon, the cleanup begins around me.
Staff move with quiet efficiency, stacking plates with soft clinks, wiping down surfaces with damp cloths that smell faintly of lemon cleaner, their faces flushed from the alcohol and the warmth of the room. It's been a good night, better than I expected.
Dora, her salt-and-pepper hair slightly disheveled, from the hugs and toasts, turns to Freya, who's rubbing her eyes with small fists.
"Come on, little one," Dora says softly, her voice warm and maternal, extending a hand. "Time for bed. Let's get you ready."
Freya yawns, nods sleepily, and takes her hand. The two of them head out. I watch them go, a pang hitting my chest.
I should be putting Freya to bed, but I can’t tear my eyes away from Carolyn.
I watch as she joins the cleanup, her movements graceful and totally natural.
She bends to pick up a fallen balloon, the striped sundress shifting against her thighs, the fabric whispering softly.
God! Her innocent beauty draws me in like a magnet.
Watching her now—her hands efficient, a faint sheen of sweat on her collarbone—stirs something restless in me, a heat that simmers steadily.
Her breasts pressing against the thin material of her dress as she reaches for a stack of plates, and I feel my pulse quicken, my body betraying me even as my mind screams for control.
The staff filter out one by one, their footsteps fading down the hall, leaving the room quieter, the air thicker with the unspoken tension building inside me.
As the last maid slips away, I cross over to her. The scent of her perfume—floral and warm, mixed with the chocolate she has consumed—hits me like a wave. "Don't forget," I say, "we have that function coming Friday night."
She straightens and turns to face me, her blue eyes meeting mine with a softness that unnerves me. "I won't forget," she replies with a hint of breathlessness.
There's a beat of silence, the room's warmth pressing in, and she glances at the remnants on the table—the half-eaten chocolate cake with its buttercream frosting. "Did you like the cake?" she asks, tilting her head slightly, a curious lilt in her voice. "I didn't see you have any."
I hesitate, my gaze dropping to her lips for a second too long. The way they part is driving me crazy. "You know I don't like cake," I say, my words coming out rougher than intended.
She takes a step back and nods quickly. "Yeah. Of course. I knew that." Then, after a pause, her eyes flick away shyly. “I like to see you try it, though. It’s really good. I mean, like really, really good.”
The words hang there, innocent but loaded, and I feel a rush of heat, my mind twisting them into something more.
"Show me how good it is," I murmur, stepping closer, the air between us thickening.
I watch as color blooms on her cheeks, a deep flush that spreads down her neck, making her skin glow.
She blushes so easily these days, this new version of her, and it ignites something primal in me. My cock stirs with craving.
As if in a daze, and never taking her eyes away from me, she dips her finger in the frosting and brings it to my mouth. I open my mouth and suck her finger in. Her mouth opens in a gasp. Sweet. Oh God! So fucking sweet.
“Good?” she whispers hoarsely.
I nod wordlessly. What the hell is going on between us?
She pulls her finger away, and I turn away before I do something stupid.
Muttering goodnight as I head upstairs, even before my bedroom door clicks shut behind me, I am already stripping off my suit and flinging the fabric on the floor.
Heading into the en-suite shower, I twist the knob and stand under the shockingly cold stream from the rain-head fixture. It is good.
It takes away the need to throw her over my shoulder and fuck her senseless.
Eventually, I let steam fill the marble-tiled space, and hot water cascades hot and relentless on me.
The spray pounds against my skin, sluicing down my chest, but my mind can’t be denied.
It goes right back to her—the striped sundress clinging to her curves, the way her breasts pushed against the thin fabric with every breath, full and inviting, the nipples hardening with sexual arousal.
My hand wraps around my cock almost without thought. It is hard and aching. I stroke slowly, and imagine grabbing her by that ponytail—yanking it back to expose her throat. Her gasp fills the air as I push her against the kitchen counter downstairs.
God, I wanted to fuck her right there, in that space when she put her sticky finger into my mouth. I imagine hiking up her dress, slamming my cock deep into her, feeling her heat wrap around me, and pounding into her until she screams my name, her body arching, breasts bouncing with each thrust.
The fantasy builds, vivid and consuming, the taste of her finger on my tongue as I kiss her roughly, her legs wrapping around my waist, nails digging into my back.
I come hard, groaning into the steam, my release spilling over my hand, but it's not enough.
The ache returns almost immediately. My strokes resume, faster now, imagining her on her knees, those blue eyes looking up innocently as she takes me in her mouth, her ponytail bobbing.
I come again, shuddering under the water, my breath ragged.
But I just can't stop, my hand moving relentlessly, the images flashing. The way her dress rode up her thighs as she bent over in the music room, the soft curve of her ass.
Over and over, pleasure crashing through me in waves, my body trembling, until finally, spent and gasping, I slam my clenched fist against the tiled wall, the impact stinging my knuckles, water splashing everywhere.
What the fuck is happening to me?
I lean my forehead against the cool marble, the steam swirling around me, my heart pounding like I've run a marathon. I feel like I'm losing all control of my life. This obsession with her is consuming me, ruining me.
Turning everything upside down, but I don't know how to stop it.