Chapter 10 Annie #3
My back is pressed against his chest, his hands splayed across my stomach as we move together.
The position is intimate, sexual, his hips grinding against mine in a rhythm that has nothing to do with the music and everything to do with the promise of what could come later.
His cock presses against the small of my back, rolling into me as if he could fuck me right here. The thought sends a thrill through me.
I let myself get lost in it, in the feeling of being desired and wanted and pursued.
His hands travel up my sides, thumbs brushing just beneath my breasts in a touch that's almost innocent but not quite.
When I lean my head back against his shoulder, he presses his lips to my throat, tongue darting out to taste my skin.
"We should get out of here," he murmurs against my ear, his voice rough with want. “I want to take you home. Have another drink and see where this goes.”
I hesitate. I know he can feel it, the way my movements slow and I tense. “I—” I don’t know what to say. Yes, say yes, part of my brain screams, while the other part warns me away, says that maybe we’ve let this go far enough for tonight.
"Come home with me, Annie." His hands tighten on my hips, pulling me more firmly against him. "Let me show you how good it can be between us."
Every rational part of my brain screams that this is a bad idea.
That I should go home to my own apartment, that I should think about this more, that I should at least tell someone where I'm going. Leon isn’t going to let me go home with Desmond.
He’ll call Ronan if he knows. I’ll have to slip my security in order to do this, and I know that’s a bad idea.
Instead, I hear a different answer come out of my mouth.
"Okay," I whisper, and the word feels like crossing a line I can't uncross.
He turns me back to face him, his hands cupping my face as he kisses me hard and deep, right there on the dance floor with half of Boston watching. It's possessive and claiming, and when we break apart, I'm breathless.
"Let's go," he says, and there's an urgency in his voice that matches the pounding of my heart.
We make our way through the crowd, Desmond's hand never leaving my body, fingers trailing across my back, my arm, anywhere he can touch me. By the time we reach his car, I'm dizzy with the alcohol that’s fully in my system now, my dress clinging to my damp skin. “We’re going to have to slip my security,” I tell him, nervously. “Leon would never let me—”
“Fuck your security.” He slides a hand into my hair, kissing me roughly again. “Let’s go. I’ll get you to my place before Leon knows you’re gone. And you can tell him you don’t need him any longer tonight.”
My stomach twists. This is a bad idea, my mind whispers. But this is why I’m still a virgin. Why I’ve never gotten to experience what Mara has. Because I always have men watching me. Following me. It kills intimacy and passion. Makes it impossible to have any kind of normalcy.
This is why Siobhan died. But Desmond isn’t going to hurt me. If anything, he’ll be more careful with me because he knows what happened to his sister. And we’re going to his place, where he has his own security. No one can hurt me there—it’s not as if we’ll be out in public without protection.
I swallow hard, waiting until he’s peeled away from the curb to text Leon with shaky fingers.
Desmond keeps one hand on the wheel and the other on my thigh, thumb tracing patterns that make concentration impossible.
Every red light becomes an opportunity for him to lean over and kiss me, his mouth hot and demanding against mine.
I manage to get a text off to Leon in between lights. Going home with a friend. Will call for a ride in the morning. Don’t worry, I’ll be fine. Just head back to my place.
"I can't wait to get you alone," Desmond murmurs, his hand sliding higher up my thigh. "I've been thinking about this for so long, Annie. About how you'll feel, how you'll taste..."
My breath catches. This is all moving fast, so fast that I can’t keep up with how it makes me feel, whether this is what I want or not.
But I do, I tell myself. I’ve wanted this for years.
Someone to help me forget Elio. Someone to give what I don’t want any longer.
Someone who can make it so that I can put all of that firmly in the past.
My phone buzzes as Desmond takes a quick turn, heading deeper into downtown Boston toward where some of the high-rises are. I glance at the screen.
Leon: A friend? Is it Connelly?
I bite my lip. I shouldn’t lie to Leon. But if I say yes—
Annie: No. I just want to spend the night with a girlfriend is all. We’ll be fine. Just go home. I’ll call you if I need anything.
Leon: I don’t like this.
Annie: I promise I’m fine. I’ll call the second anything feels off, if something were to go wrong. I swear. Just let me enjoy my night, okay? I don’t want to go home all by myself tonight. It’s just a friend. Nbd.
Leon: I’m going to catch hell for this if anything happens, Annie. Call me if you need anything at all.
Desmond pulls into the parking garage of the penthouse, and my knees feel wobbly as he opens the door for me and I step out. He flashes a keycard to let us in, and then another to take us up to his penthouse, which is impressively luxurious.
It’s all very modern—blacks and greys and whites, hard lines, concrete and iron and glass.
The floor-to-ceiling windows offer a breathtaking view of the skyline, and as I walk through the living room, I hear Desmond pouring us each a glass.
When I turn to see him entering the room, I see that he brought us more wine.
"Like what you see?" he asks, his gaze sweeping hotly over me.
"It's beautiful," I tell him honestly. "Very impressive."
"I was hoping you'd think so." He sets our glasses down on the coffee table and moves closer until I can feel the heat radiating from his body. "But I didn't bring you here to admire my art collection."
"Why did you bring me here?" My pulse beats faster in my throat. Do I want this? Am I ready?
Desmond doesn’t give me a chance to think very long about it. Instead of responding with words, he answers by backing me against the window, his hands braced on either side of my head. The glass is cool against my back, a stark contrast to the heat of his body pressed against my front.
"Because I've wanted you for years," he says, his voice low and intense. "Because every time I see you, I imagine what it would be like to have you in my bed, underneath me, moaning my name."
His voice is raw and hungry, a growl in his throat as he leans in and kisses me hard, his hands tangling in my hair as he claims my mouth.
I wait for that same heat to build, that desperate hunger, but it’s a shadow of what I can feel in him.
There’s warmth blooming through me, the beginning of desire, but it’s not this passion that I can feel raging through Desmond.
His hands are everywhere, sliding along my curves, tracing the neckline of my dress, skimming the bare skin of my thighs.
The wine forgotten, he picks me up, and my legs go around his hips. He hisses out a breath as his hard cock grinds against the silk between my thighs, and I feel a pulse of need as he carries me to the couch, spilling me back onto it as he leans over me, illuminated by the lights from outside.
His hair is a mess, his eyes almost black with desire.
He rocks into me, grinding his length into me, and I let out a gasp as I feel the friction against my clit.
“Desmond—” I whisper, and he makes a low sound deep in his throat, leaning back to look at me.
His gaze travels slowly from my calves to my face with an intensity that makes me shiver.
"You're so beautiful," he breathes, reaching for one shoulder of my dress. "So perfect." The look in his eyes is pure hunger, and for a moment I feel powerful, in control, like I'm the one calling the shots.
But then something shifts. His hands become more demanding, less reverent.
He growls again, jaw tight, and shoves the shoulders of my dress down, baring my upper chest to him.
When he kisses me again, there's an edge of roughness that wasn't there before, a possessiveness that borders on aggressive.
"I've waited so long for this," he murmurs against my throat, his teeth scraping against my skin hard enough to leave marks, hard enough to be more pain than pleasure. "So long to have you exactly where I want you."
His weight settles over me as his mouth finds mine again.
His hands are everywhere, touching and claiming and demanding, and I try to keep up, to match his intensity.
But something feels off, like he's moving too fast, pushing too hard.
He thrusts his hips forward again, grinding his cock against my center, and it hurts as he slams himself against me, his teeth sinking into my lower lip.
"Desmond," I gasp, trying to slow things down. "Wait, I—"
"Shh," he whispers, but his voice has lost its earlier tenderness. "Don't think so much, Annie. Just feel."
His hand slides down my thigh, reaching for the edge of my panties. He pulls them to one side, his fingers grazing over the seam of my pussy, and I hear a frustrated sound in the back of his throat as he realizes I’m not as wet as I should be.
He’s crossing lines I'm not sure I'm ready to cross. The wine is making everything hazy, making it hard to think clearly, but some instinct is telling me this isn't right.
"I think we should slow down," I say, trying to sit up, wriggling away from his fingers. "I'm not sure I'm ready for—"
"Ready?" He pushes me back down, his fingers parting my folds roughly. There's a hardness in his voice now that makes my blood run cold. "You came home with me, Annie. You knew what that meant."