Chapter 24 Alone #3
rage simmering low in my chest.
Raymond strolls off
like he didn’t stomp on the center of my chest.
I turn back to Ben. “A fucking nod?” I snap.
He lifts a shoulder and leans in.
“Jesus, Baby. What do you expect me to do?
“Want me throwin’ hands with your stepdaddy at the Thanksgiving Gala?”
A sharp breath cuts out of me.
I shove my chair back so fast
it almost tips over.
The room turns suffocating—
noise crowding my ears,
heat sticking to my skin,
Raymond’s voice still echoing,
Ben’s nod still nodding.
Not enough oxygen.
I snatch my drink off the table.
I need air.
I need space.
I need—
“Don’t follow me.”
Next, I’m weaving between tables, bodies.
I don’t check behind me to see if he’s following.
He’d be a fucking idiot not to listen.
The second I shove through the terrace doors, November wraps her hands around my throat and tells me to calm the fuck down. Steam curls off rooftops, exhaling the day, and traffic veins pulse across bridges.
In the distance,
the Hudson broods, black and swollen.
My eyes close, cold winds piercing through my dress, and I inhale deep to the muffled heartbeat of the city.
Then a hand wraps around my wrist.
And I’m yanked sideways,
spun around,
slammed up against the cold building.
The breath I just fought for is ripped from my lungs when our eyes lock.
Andrew’s standing over me,
chest heaving like he sprinted.
Eyes midnight
and burning
and absolutely fucking wild.
They’re staring like I slashed open his chest,
forcing him to feel something he didn’t ask for.
Like I’m the reason his hands are shaking.
Good. Now he knows how I’ve been feeling.
His arms cage me in,
palms slamming flat beside my head.
His scent floods me—
bourbon-soaked and maddening.
His jaw’s clenching,
like he’s about to rip me apart with words,
or fuck me against this wall.
A cough slices the air from feet many away,
breaking the silence.
Andrew goes rigid,
eyes falling shut for a beat.
On the other side of the terrace,
in a red dress with brown waves,
a woman leans over the railing,
puffing on a cigarette.
Andrew’s struggling, hesitating,
fighting himself,
losing.
“You came all this way,” I say, “Only to back off when someone’s watching?”
His lips part, wanting to argue,
or kiss me,
or both.
But only an exhale escapes.
So I lean in—
“You shy now?” I ask in a whisper.
His eyes catch fire, and he moves in,
all breath and hunger.
But just before his mouth crashes into mine—
I stop him, my hand cold against his chest.
“No.”
Heat is coming off him,
heart pounding against my palm.
His nostrils flare,
fingers curling into the stone wall,
desperate for me to either give in or end him.
It’s been over two weeks since my mouth touched his. And I’d burn everything down just to kiss him again, every cell in my body crying for it. But I’ll never admit it.
He wets his lip,
tasting every word before he spits them out—
“Why you doin’ this to me?”
Voice shredded,
he’s barely keeping it together.
It’s not a question but a plea. A confession.
I inch my palm up his hard, heaving chest.
“I told you what this was. You walked into the fire thinkin' you could change the rules, now you're mad it burns? Startin' to think I was right about you. Can't stand anyone else touchin’ what you think is yours.”
My eyes lift to his.
“You always this obsessed,
“or only with me?”
A muscle pulses in his jaw.
His fingers sink deeper into the stone
to hold on to keep him from snapping.
He’s vibrating, the space between us screaming for a break or kiss.
I could knock him off the cliff right now.
And he knows it.
“Yeah. I’m obsessed with you.
“Now ask me if I give a fuck,” he grits out,
pulse hammering his throat.
“You love pushin’ me, huh?
“Think this shit’s funny.”
His shirt’s wrinkled,
collar yanked,
breath uneven.
I lift my chin,
my lips so close to his I can feel his breath.
“I think it’s interesting.”
His mouth parts,
a tortured breath dragging out rough.
He’s seconds from losing his fucking mind.
But before he can,
I hold out my drink.
“Hold this for me.”
His brows pull together,
irritation warping into a slow burn.
His hand moves before his mind does.
He grabs the glass, gripping hard enough for his knuckles to turn bone-pale.
We stare at each other.
Breathless. Unbearable.
I reach up, slip his tie through my fingers.
His throat bobs,
fingers adjusting their grip on the drink.
Then I let the words drip out—
“Now you get to kiss me.”
As soon as my words hit the air,
he’s leaning in,
closing the space between us,
the sound of my voice
dragging him in by the collar.
But I turn away at the last second,
his mouth grazing my cheek.
He stops, breath stuttering and ragged.
I melt into the wall,
tilt my head back,
exposing my neck.
Then slide a finger
down the edge of my throat,
holding his stare.
“No,” I whisper.
Then tap below my ear. “Here.”
A growl rips from deep in his chest.
He pounds the stone wall once,
breathing wrecked as he shifts forward,
his body surging closer,
heat pressing into me.
Then he lowers.
Slow this time.
Inch by inch.
Stalking every subtle movement,
daring me to stop him.
Until he’s angling his head,
dipping closer…
lips lowering…
until they sink
just below my ear.
A gasp slips from me when his hot mouth lands, the touch of his lips burning through the cold whipping across my skin.
His mouth trails down my throat,
an agonizing crawl,
making me feel everything.
His teeth scrape, making me shudder.
Then his tongue flicks against my pulse,
and a heavier breath leaves me.
The ice in the glass he’s holding trembles.
“You miss me?” I ask him, needing to hear it.
I built walls of revenge,
but it seems we’re both crumbling under it.
Andrew exhales into my neck.
As if he’s been holding it all in.
“Miss you bad. Miss you stupid.
“Miss you enough to tear this fuckin’ city apart just to get to you.”
His lips climb my throat
to my ear.
“Miss you enough to wish I never met you…
“Just so I could stop fuckin’ missin’ you.”
His words slam into my chest,
fucking up my breathing,
my beating,
my being.
My spine grinds back into the wall,
bone scraping stone—desperate to feel anything other than these emotions invading me.
The ones making me want to collapse into him
and fucking stay there.
I bury my fingers in his hair,
tugging enough to guide,
sinking his head lower,
to my collarbone.
Then to the hollow at the base of my throat.
His hot lips open against it,
tongue swiping across the bone,
before pressing an open-mouth kiss
to the curve of my shoulder.
“Lower,” I breathe.
He follows,
slow, dragging
down the center of me
to my exposed sternum.
My nipples harden against the dress.
His mouth finds the spot beneath my ribs,
the tender place where all my breath lives.
I tangle my fingers in his hair,
tugging his head back until our eyes crash.
And he’s gone—
eyes half-drowned, lips damp and parted.
“Made up your mind yet?” I ask,
exhaling straight through the ache.
His groan rolls against me, mouth landing right over the keyhole tattoo inked into my skin.
He presses a lingering kiss there.
“Yeah,” he breathes, just as a breeze whips through the terrace again.
It twirls my hair,
sends chills racing down my spine.
But his hot mouth keeps moving,
skimming the soft edge of my breast.
Another shudder rakes through me,
goosebumps crawling over my skin.
I press down on his shoulder,
and he doesn’t think,
doesn’t resist.
He just sinks into it.
Lower.
Lower.
Then he’s on a knee, mouth at the curve of my hip, and his hot breath pounds through my dress to get to my skin.
My knees weaken,
my thighs clench.
“You in?” I rasp.
“Or should I stop wasting my time?”
His grip flexes around my drink he’s still holding.
“I have concerns,” he says,
the words grinding out like gravel.
I let the slit of my dress fall open,
revealing the inside of my upper thigh.
His fingers brush my calf,
eyes tracking up the length of me.
And then—
breath-holding—
he dips his head,
pressing his mouth
to the inside of my thigh.
My eyes fall shut.
My shoulders curl back into the wall.
I try to breathe through it,
but every inhale’s a fuckin’ blade.
Andrew’s lips trail up,
tongue running along the edge of my panties.
Warm, teasing, maddening.
An exhale stutters out of me,
my nails raking through his hair.
“Wanna tell me what those concerns are?”
His mouth hovers over the cotton,
breath floating through the fabric,
hot and open and right there.
“C’mon, Sonny. You already fuckin’ know.”
Then his wet mouth closes over my covered clit. A single, hot, wrecking kiss.
My head falls back.
My body trembles.
My pussy’s aching.
It’d take nothing to let go.
To give in.
To let him break me,
have me right here against the wall.
But I grab his jaw,
tilt his head back ‘til he’s staring up at me.
His pupils are blown wide,
his lips apple-red,
chest rising fast,
breath torn to shreds.
He’s beautiful like this.
“There's only one way to be with me,” I say, holding the ache in my voice steady. “Don’t bother standin’ ‘til you know what the fuck you want.”
I push off the wall, stepping past him.
And when I reach the door,
I throw one last glance over my shoulder.
He’s still on his knee.
Holding my drink.
Panting.
Undone.