Chapter 13 #2
"Please," I beg. "Now. I need you now."
He pulls back, leaving me gasping and bereft. He crawls up my body, positioning himself between my legs. The tip of him brushes against my entrance, hot and hard.
He braces himself on his arms, looking down at me, all restraint stripped away.
"Look at me," he commands.
I open my eyes. The calculation is gone. There is only Brooks, raw, open, and looking at me with a reverence that terrifies me more than his anger ever did.
"This isn't business," he rasps, his thumb brushing my cheekbone. "This isn't a transaction. This is you and me. And I'm not letting you go."
"You and me," I echo.
He pushes into me.
It is a slow, filling slide. He stretches me, filling the empty spaces I didn't know I had. I gasp, wrapping my legs around his waist to pull him deeper.
He groans, his head falling back as he sinks all the way in.
We stay there for a beat, just breathing, feeling the connection. It feels profound. It feels like coming home.
Then he begins to move.
He sets a rhythm that is slow, deep, and devastating. He withdraws almost completely before thrusting back in, hitting a spot deep inside me that makes my vision blur.
I meet him thrust for thrust. My hands roam over his back, feeling the muscles bunch and flex under my palms. I scratch my nails lightly down his spine, and he shudders, his pace quickening.
The friction is incredible. The sound of our breathing, the slap of skin against skin, the rain hammering against the roof, it all blends into a symphony of sensation.
"You're mine," he groans against my neck, biting lightly at the sensitive cord. "Say it."
It's possessive. It's arrogant. It's everything I should hate.
"I'm yours," I whisper.
And I mean it.
The coil in my belly tightens again, faster this time. Brooks senses it. He shifts his angle, grinding against me with every thrust.
"That's it," he encourages, his voice rough. "Let go, Ivy. I've got you. Let go."
I shatter.
It crashes over me like the waves outside, a blinding, white-hot release that makes me arch off the bed, screaming his name. My inner muscles clamp around him, pulsing.
Brooks doesn't stop. He stays right there, holding me through it, moving deep and steady as my body trembles around him. He groans, a guttural sound torn from his throat, control stretched to its limit as he rides out every aftershock with me.
Only when my shaking finally eases does his body go rigid, a harsh breath breaking from him as he gives in, pressed deep and unyielding as his release takes him.
He collapses on top of me, burying his face in my neck. We lie there, panting, slick with sweat, our hearts racing in sync.
The sound of the rain is the only thing in the world.
Later, much later, the storm has passed.
The cottage is quiet, save for the rhythmic dripping of water from the eaves and the soft hum of the air conditioner kicking back on.
I am lying in the center of the bed. The pillow wall is still on the floor, a chaotic pile of velvet and down. The duvet is tangled around our legs.
I am resting my head on Brooks's chest. His arm is wrapped around me, a heavy, solid weight that feels like a shield against the world. He presses a kiss to my hair, inhaling deeply, as if trying to memorize the scent of the rain and the moment.
“Don’t disappear on me,” he murmurs into my hair.
It's not a question. It's not a command. It sounds like a wish he's afraid to speak out loud.
I listen to his heartbeat. It's slow now. Steady.
"Ivy?" he says into the darkness.
"Hmm?"
"Clause 4 is definitely void."
I smile against his skin, tracing a scar on his ribs with my fingertip.
"I think we violated Clause 4 in about six different jurisdictions. And Clause 9. And possibly several labor laws."
He chuckles, the sound vibrating through his chest. It's a happy sound. A sound I haven't heard from him often enough. He tightens his arm around me, pulling me closer, kissing the top of my head.
"Worth it," he says.
"Yeah," I whisper. "Worth it."
I close my eyes, savoring the warmth, the safety. I let myself believe the lie. I let myself believe that this is real. That we are just a normal couple, in a normal cottage, on a normal rainy night.
But then, the reality starts to creep back in.
We have crossed the line. We have obliterated the line.
We are sleeping together. Real sleep. Limbs tangled, skin on skin. No barriers. No contracts.
But the contract still exists.
"Brooks," I say quietly.
"Yeah?"
"What happens tomorrow?"
He tenses slightly. The hand on my shoulder stops moving. The steady rhythm of his breathing hitches.
"Tomorrow is Sunday," he says. "We sleep in. We have the staff leave trays at the door."
"So, room service," I say with a grin.
"Basically," he says. "Free room service. We ignore the world. Maybe we build a fire."
"And after that?" I ask, pushing myself up on one elbow so I can look at him. The sheet falls away, but I don't cover myself. "What happens when the four weeks are up? What happens to the waiver? The lawsuit? The clean break?"
He is silent for a long moment. He stares up at the ceiling.
I search his face. I am looking for the softness, the openness I saw an hour ago.
But it's gone.
His expression is unreadable in the shadows. The vulnerability has been replaced by a trace of the old calculation. The Venture Capitalist is coming back online.
"Let's not talk about September," he says. His voice is gentle, but there is a wall behind it. "We have four weeks. Let's just... be here. Tonight."
It's not an answer.
It's a deflection.
A cold knot forms in my stomach. He is happy to have me in his bed, acting as a partner against Royce and a lover for the summer.
But am I still just temporary? Am I just a very enjoyable way to pass the time until this is over?
"Tonight," I whisper, settling back down onto his chest because I am too cowardly to fight him on it tonight.
He relaxes. He kisses my forehead. "Go to sleep, Ivy."
I close my eyes. The pillow wall is gone. His breathing evens out into sleep, his arm heavy across my waist.
Four weeks. The waiver releases in four weeks, and then he'll have his clean break.
I count his heartbeats and try not to do the math.