Chapter 16
Chapter
Sixteen
OBSIDIAN
W hen I wake the next day, the urge to fly out of bed and track down that little prick Brandon still presses against my sternum. I don’t because I don’t want to leave Ariana alone and because I want to give her the space to decide how she wants to deal with it.
That doesn’t mean I won’t take my revenge on him if Ariana doesn’t take hers, but the wound is still fresh, and she may not really know what she wants to do at this point.
I understand the impetus to want to forget it. My mother did the same thing for many years with my father. Hell, I did the same thing for years with my father.
What it comes down to is that I’ll give her whatever she needs—time, space, more apple crullers, it doesn’t matter. Because seeing her broken last night triggered something I can’t seem to unravel.
I’ve been committed to trying to get rid of her, and now all I want is to pull her closer and tuck her into my side, protecting her from any harm. I don’t even know what the fuck that means. Sure, I want to bed her, but this urge, this is more than just my dick talking.
We’re leaving shortly to head back to Midnight Manor, and I’m all packed up, waiting in the living area of the suite, but Ariana hasn’t made an appearance yet.
Is she okay? Should I go check on her?
Jesus, these thoughts are going to drive me fucking nuts. Before last night, I would’ve just barged into her room and told her to get her ass moving. It was all much simpler before she worked her way under my skin and burrowed in so deep I can’t get her out.
I’m saved from having to ponder what to do further when her bedroom door opens and she strolls out, wheeling her suitcase behind her. She’s dressed in a slim fitted pair of beige dress pants and black lace blouse with short sleeves. Her eyes aren’t puffy, so I don’t think she’s been crying this morning, which eases the tightness in my chest.
“How are you feeling this morning?” I ask, walking toward her and holding out my hand for her suitcase.
She seems surprised, but she passes it over. “I’m okay. Still a little shaken, but better than last night, thanks.” Her big blue eyes look up at mine.
I’ve grown accustomed to seeing disdain in them, irritation, and the occasional flare of lust, but this morning, there’s something new there—a wary sort of adoration. The way that makes my throat burn, how it makes me wish, makes me hope, I could be someone different than I am so I could be worthy of that look… my jaw tics.
Hope.
Hope is such a vicious, insidious thing.
How many times did I have faith and hope that my mother would leave my father? That my father would change, morph into something he wasn’t? And then, as I grew older and realized that would never happen, all I’d hope for was that he’d die and we’d never have to bear the brunt of him again. And then he did, and it didn’t change anything—his torture remained even after he was buried in the earth. It was just a different kind of torture.
Hope has never done anything for me except disappoint me.
“Obsidian?”
Ariana’s voice draws me from my thoughts, and I realize she said something to me. “Sorry?”
“I just thanked you again for being so great yesterday.” Her eyes shine at me like two pools of deep blue water, expectant. Probably for me to continue being the guy I was last night.
But I can’t do that. I can’t let her hope like I once did, only for it to destroy her in the end.
So rather than tell her I’d have it no other way, that I want to do whatever I can to ease her pain, I just give her a gruff grunt and bite out, “Let’s go. We’re already running late because of you.”
A flash of hurt lands on her face, then something like steely determination creeps over her features. Without a word, she strides toward the door and holds it open while I carry our suitcases through.
“I can take mine,” she says as we walk toward the elevator.
“I’ve got it.”
We don’t speak as we make our way down to the lobby, wait for the valet to bring around the car, or on the ride to the private airport. Which should be fine. Should be what I want. But instead, it’s eating at me because I want to hear her lyrical voice.
Finally, when we get on the plane, she takes her seat across from me and checks her company phone, then looks at me. “Your three thirty had to cancel, so I’ve moved up your five o’clock call so that you can be done early if you want.”
It feels like a small balm to my soul, as inane as the words are.
But I still can’t cave to the look in her eyes. The one that says she wants to go back to last night’s Obsidian. So I simply close my eyes and feign sleep for most of the flight.
Hours later, we land at the private airport closest to Midnight Manor, and it’s clear to me that something shifted in Ariana’s demeanor while we were airborne. I can’t describe it exactly, but she’s carrying herself differently.
I suppose it should be no great surprise when we take a seat in my vehicle to drive home, and she immediately turns to me.
“I know what you’re doing.”
I ignore her, pulling out of the airport and onto the road.
“You’re pushing me away. We’ve both been ignoring whatever this is between us, whatever this pull is, but I think we should talk about it.”
Glancing over quickly, I see that she’s turned in her seat and is facing me, studying me.
“Last night, something terrible happened, and you were there for me. We connected in a way we haven’t before, something that felt like more than just a physical attraction, and now you’re running scared.”
I swallow hard, and my hands tighten on the steering wheel. Am I that transparent? “I’m not running scared of anything.”
“I think you are. And I don’t think it’s the first time you’ve done so with me. Last night proved it.”
I shake my head. “You’re young, Ariana. You’re making things up in your head, romanticizing things. There is nothing between us.” I signal and make a right off of the main road.
“So, finger fucking me the night you were jealous over my brother was nothing?”
“A temporary lapse of judgment.” My dick twitches from the words coming off her tongue and the memory of her hand down her panties.
“I don’t believe you.” She leans over the console and runs her tongue along the side of my neck, over the wolf tattoo. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that,” she whispers in my ear.
My eyes drift closed for a beat, and my hands tighten on the steering wheel. Her tongue felt like warm silk sliding over my skin.
“Get back in your seat,” I snap, but there’s no bite to my words.
“Make me,” she says, sliding her hand down my chest, my waist, until her palm settles over my now half-hard cock.
I bite back a groan as she rubs my cock. I’m a bastard because I don’t immediately stop her. I wait for ten, twenty, thirty seconds until I’m fully hard and pressing against the seam of my pants.
“You don’t want to do this.”
“I do.” Her tongue flicks my earlobe.
My foot presses down harder on the gas pedal, and the car launches forward, her teeth anchoring to my earlobe.
“I am not the man you think I am.”
Her fingers manipulate my belt, then the button of my slacks. “You say that, yet I’m not sure that’s true. You’ve put your worst foot forward with me. I don’t know why, I don’t understand it. But last night you showed me there’s more to you. If last night taught me anything, it’s that sometimes the person who presents themselves as the good guy is actually the opposite, and vice versa.” She slides the zipper of my pants down and over, careful of the hardness that lies underneath.
“I’m not a good guy, Ariana.” I chance a glance down at my lap as she coaxes my length out through the gap in my boxer briefs. Her delicate hand looks so tiny compared to my straining cock.
“Maybe. But I don’t think you’re an entirely bad one either.”
She strokes my cock up and down. It takes everything in me to say my next words and not give into temptation.
“Your head is probably a mess. I don’t want to take advantage of you.” I might be a lot of things, but I could never live with myself if she woke up tomorrow and regretted anything.
She nuzzles her face into my neck as I take another turn, going too fast around the corner and sending her weight into me. “You’re not, I swear. I just… I want to be in control. I want to take what I want… if you want to give it to me.”
My chest cracks open because I understand that desire better than she could ever realize.
Ariana swirls her thumb around the precum leaking from the tip of my erection, and my foot slams on the accelerator.
“I don’t want you to regret this.”
As she brings her face down to my lap, her blue eyes rise to mine. “I would never regret this, Obsidian.”
Then she wraps her lips around the head of my cock, and I’m helpless. The word no is no longer in my vocabulary.
She sucks on the end and swirls her tongue before sliding down and putting as much of me in her mouth as possible. A deep groan works its way from my chest as her fist strokes the bottom half of my dick.
“Christ, you’re such a good fucking girl.” I look away from the road for a second so that I can bear witness to what’s happening and commit it to memory for eternity. “Perfection.”
I return my eyes to the road if only so we won’t crash, and this will continue. We’re flying down the road, but it only adds to the sensation of what’s happening below my waist.
Ariana continues to stroke me and suck me, and she gags a little when she goes even farther down my shaft. Fuck, her throat constricts around the end of my cock.
She works me so well that it seems like no time has passed before my balls draw up, ready to feed my cum into her mouth. She increases her pace, dragging me in and out of her mouth, and I can’t help but increase the speed of the car in tandem.
Our gazes meet when I risk a quick look down at my lap, and it’s obvious how much she’s enjoying making me a slave to her ministrations. She squeezes tighter around my base, working me hard, and I hate that I have to return my eyes to the road.
One hand delves into her hair while the other squeezes the steering wheel. I try to hold out a little longer, but between the speed of the car and the way she’s working me, it’s a pointless endeavor.
I press harder on the gas and bite out a curse, my ass rising off the seat, coming in her mouth while she continues to pump me with her fist. She milks every drop out of me, and I take my foot off the accelerator and pull off onto the dirt shoulder. She pulls away from my lap and lifts her head, meeting my eyes.
The urge to kiss her is so strong. She stays in place, almost as though she’s waiting for me to make the next move… but I can’t. It’s too intimate, and it’s a bridge I can’t cross. One I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to.
So rather than leaning in and meeting her mouth with mine, I open my mouth and say, “We should get going. I have a call to make as soon as I return to my office.”
Her disappointment is instantaneous. Her face falls, and she slides back over to her side, putting on her seat belt as I press the gas and turn back onto the road.
We don’t speak for the rest of the day unless it’s completely necessary, and even then, it’s only work related. I suspect I’ve erected a permanent wall between us, which should fill me with relief.
So why does my chest ache if I’m getting exactly what I wanted?