Chapter 18
BABS
I don’t let him get three steps away from me before I start moving. Dress half on, hair a mess, and my heart pounding. He’s hunched over a tumbler like it’s the only thing in the room that won’t turn on him.
I’m unsure what’s going on. Somehow, I took it too far. Never have I had a man with that sort of reaction. I never expected this. I’m completely caught off guard.
“Tell me why you’re angry.”
I carefully approach the bar, wanting to work this out.
“And be brutally honest when you do.”
The second part is an afterthought. He’s been honest with me as far as I can tell, especially yesterday when he mentioned it being more than just a weekend fling. He sets the glass down harder than necessary. The whiskey sloshes, but he doesn’t even flinch.
“You don’t want honesty, Babs.” He pins me with his glare. “You run from it.”
The words sting. Not because they’re wrong, but because they’re so damn right.
“I run because this feels out of control. And yes, I’ve been in control my entire adult life,” I snap, gripping the edge of the bar.
“Look where it got me. Divorced. Alone. Unable to let anyone in. Only able to depend on myself because I rarely let myself down. Not like other people. They always let me down. It’s why I don’t depend on anyone for anything. ”
It feels good to admit that. Feels good to lash out at someone even as undeserving as him.
“So you play,” he mutters. “Because playing keeps you safe. Flittering around your boring lunches and charity events without ever getting involved with anything.”
If his words are meant to hurt, they do.
“And you please,” I fire back, stepping close, leaning over the edge of the gleamingly polished wood. “Because pleasing keeps you chosen.”
He grits his teeth. I swear I see it. A split-second flinch, like I reached in and snatched something private inside him.
“I don’t.”
He swallows hard, stands straight, and pushes back his shoulders. Temporarily distracting me with all his tattoos coming to life under the recessed lighting.
“I’m not a fuck boy. Sure, I have a reputation, but—”
“But?”
“But I’m not a fucking vacation from your life.”
“I never said you were.” My voice shakes, and I hate that it does. “But if you looked past your hurt pride for half a second, you’d see I’m still here. I didn’t bolt. You said I run away, but I’m standing right here in front of you.”
“That’s cuz I flew you out here on my family’s jet.”
I laugh, brittle and hollow.
“You don’t think I couldn’t have flown back this morning? Catch a flight right now?”
My temper flares at the innuendo that I’m broke and need his resources. My family’s fortune may not be on the same level as his generational wealth, but I was quite wealthy long before him and that miserable ex. My family’s money dates back to my great-grandfather.
“I’m not one of your college girls, Hollister. I have resources and self-respect.”
I turn away, insulted and angry. Now I’m the one walking away, from him, from whatever I thought this could be. He’s in front of me in a flash. Hands poised in innocent defense, but his eyes are still wildly angry.
“I didn’t say that.”
“You implied it.”
“I did and I’m sorry.”
He runs a hand through his hair. It sticks up on one side, calling for me to fix it if we weren’t at odds with each other.
“What’s going on? What is this?”
His voice is weary.
I’m weary too.
Of me. Of holding it all together and being everything to everyone and not a thing to me.
“You undo me, Hollister. You make me forget who I’m supposed to be. And that scares me,” I confess for what feels like the umpteenth time with him. “I thought if I kept it light, dragged it out, and edged you that maybe I could stay in control of the situation. Of us. It’s what I do. How I am.”
I’m unraveling. I think he realizes it because his anger and frustration crack, piece by piece. Long seconds pass as he just stares at me.
To the point, I have to ask, “Well, don’t you have anything to say?”
He breathes deep, jaw tight.
“Yeah. A hell of a lot to say. It would be easier to use women. Sleep with them, dump them, and all that bullshit.”
I wrinkle my nose. What did I expect of a guy in his early twenties?
“But then I’m thinking about waking up tomorrow and not touching you because I watched you leave. Practically dared you to go because it’s easier than admitting I’m feeling things. I’m scared I’m more invested than you.”
My hand raises to my neck, fingering the leather band around it. His eyes drift to it for a moment, then back to mine.
“I’m thinking about Dom finding out and what that’ll do. I’m thinking there’s a version of my life where I keep my distance, pretend this never happened, and just act like strangers at the next hundred events we’ll have to go to separately. A woman I knew intimately and now know not at all.”
I blink back the sting behind my eyes.
The truth is suddenly too harsh.
“That version, Barbara, makes me physically sick.”
He reaches for my hand, the one still playing with his necklace, warm from where it’s rested against my skin. I let him take it, my palm slipping into his. His rough callouses brush against my soft skin.
“Your turn.”
My throat, thick with emotion, burns.
“I’m thinking about how easy it would be to call a car and go back to my perfect life,” I admit, and his hand tightens over mine, not wanting me to leave.
“Where no one looks at me twice. Where no one wants me, not like this. Where there’s no scandal.
No headlines. No guilt. But no passion or desire.
No feeling young and free. No living, to be honest.”
I step forward, my body touching his. Our hands clasped at our sides.
“And how desperately I don’t want all that.”
That breaks something in him. Eyes darkening. His chest rises in pride. The anger and frustration clear away until his lips curl into a soft smile.
“What do you want?”
His hand rises to stroke my cheek, cupping my chin to have me look deeper into his eyes. His thumb brushes the side of my throat.
“This.”
I slip to my knees, breaking all contact with him. The intent is clear. It’s not a game. It’s not about power or teasing or control. It’s a surrender, and he knows it. This time, I’m not just giving him head. I’m giving him the one thing I haven’t offered anyone in years.
“Are you sure?”
His question is valid, but I pull down his pants, which he lets me. Steps out of them to stand completely naked like a blonde god over me. His cock is half hard, and staring at me, waiting for my mouth once more.
I pool saliva in my hand, stroking him while his hips gently rock forward. Wanting and needing this to happen as much as I do.
“Why didn’t you just pick me up and fuck me like you did yesterday?”
His gaze is locked on my fist, working his shaft while my thumb smears his precum over his tight red tip.
“I would have, trust me.” A shuddering exhale releases. Not out of frustration this time, but out of how I’m making him feel. “But all my condoms are in my room. I wasn’t about to run naked through the house, with my cock bouncing everywhere to go get some.”
I laugh, loud and hard.
That’s the kind of harsh truth I like.
With a new understanding between us, I dive onto his cock.
His groan is endless as I take him as far as I can.
My fingers cupping his balls lightly and even stroking his taint with my longer fingernail.
He squirms and rocks away from it. But with how fast his cock is hardening against my tongue, I know he’s enjoying the whole experience.
“Fuck, Babs.”
His voice is deep, affected. I use my mouth and hands to create a tunnel.
Elongating the sloppy wetness with a twist of my wrist. His breath stops when I pull back and sucks in when I slide back down on it.
His fingertips tangle into my hair. Not to control or guide.
I know exactly what I’m doing. His stance widens when I stroke toward his anus.
My saliva and his leaking precum collect on his balls.
I use it as fluid, testing to see what he likes and dislikes.
Not severe like last time, just exploratory to catalog for the future.
The future we both agreed upon.
With my lips pulled tight over the head, my fist tight over his shaft, and my palm cupping his balls, I stroke over his hole.
He jumps, swears under his breath, but moves back over my finger.
It’s getting me so horny and turned on, I’ll run naked through his house to grab condoms. Although I’m still in my sundress, so it wouldn’t be so bad.
“Little sinner indeed.”
I keep everything going, but gaze up at him. His mouth is slack, his eyes glued to his cock, watching as it disappears into my mouth and loving every fucking minute of it by the panting of his chest. His hips are rocking opposite my rhythm, creating the perfect coordinated effort to get him off.
He always says I’m stunning, but looking up at him with a light sweat covering his many tattoos, stretched over carved muscles, he’s the ancient god I thought a moment ago.
When my finger pushes against the tight ring of his anus, he clenches down hard. More instinctive reflex than disapproving. It’s hot. Taboo. Wetness pours out of me. Bringing him pleasure is turning me on all over again. A guttural groan rips from his throat as I apply the slightest pressure.
His cock swells even more in my mouth. His grip on my hair tightens, stabilizing himself as his knees threaten to buckle. I can feel his heartbeat pulsing through his shaft. His body trembles with restraint.
“Barbara.”
My name is a plea on his lips.
A whispered prayer to a deity he’s not sure he should be summoning.
I can see the war in his eyes, the struggle between wanting to let go and the fear of what that means.
His hips move more erratically. His control slips as he chases the sensation my mouth and hands are providing. He’s close. His breath hitches.
Deep blue eyes lock onto mine, a silent conversation passing between us. He’s asking for permission, seeking approval for liking the taboo. I give it to him, a slight nod, a soft hum against his hard shaft. I don’t judge what he likes. I just record it mentally.
His eyes flutter closed, his head falls back, and his body shudders as he lets go. His release is hot and salty on my tongue. I swallow every drop, my eyes never leaving his face. He’s beautiful, always, but in his abandonment, he’s gorgeous. A god to his goddess on her knees.
His hand loosens in my hair, moving forward to caress my cheek. When his pumping hips still, I retract my finger and slowly slide my mouth off him. My lips linger on his tip until he opens his eyes. Relief coats his face and posture. The careless grin he wears most suddenly appears.
“That was . . .”
He doesn’t need to finish. I saw the result.
Proud I could get him off so well, as he normally does me.
I love giving head, but I often feel left wanting and unsatisfied after going first. A thought I dismiss as he’ll be ready to go again in a matter of minutes.
Such a plus side to being young and healthy.
His hand moves to my arm, helping me to my feet, and immediately pulls me into a tight embrace. His heart pounds against my chest. His breath is hot on my neck when he buries his face there.
“Incredible,” he murmurs with a few slow kisses to the space behind my ear.
I can feel his smile, his relief, his ease. I run my hands up his back, feeling the slick sweat and the hard muscles.
“I’m glad you think so.”
It’s all I can think to say. He pulls back, giving me an odd look.
“Glad you think so?”
He parrots my words, then swats my ass. Playful and teasing.
“It’s not high tea with the Queen, my little sinner. You can say some vulgar shit about what you just did.”
I smile sweetly at him, knowing exactly what he wants.
“I need to wash my filthy finger.”