Chapter 43
GIBSON
Christian would have made a beautiful submissive. He’s long, lithe, flexible. His smooth, flawless skin turns the most perfect shade of pink when smacked. He looks beyond fuckable in leather and gags. But I can’t dominate him when all I want is to be with him.
I’m not saying I can’t be rough, or I’m tossing the nipple clamps in the dumpster—I’m saying I don’t want to make him cry in surrender over some psychic pain he can’t verbalize. I want to find my own way into his heart so I can share the burden with him.
It takes a few minutes to get him off the bench. I’m clumsy with relief and the fear of failing him. He needed something from me, and I wasn’t able to deliver, but maybe he’ll let me try some other way. I help him sit up, and he throws his arms around me.
It knocks the wind out of me because I wasn’t expecting it.
He’s usually more hands-off the first few minutes after a scene.
I’ll take this, though. I nearly stumble forward in his embrace, but he helps me steady myself when he wraps his freed legs around my waist, hugging himself to me like a koala. “I’m sorry,” he whispers.
“It’s okay,” I say, thinking he means my near stumble.
“You didn’t want that, and I didn’t need it. I freaked out, but I should have just said that.”
“Freaked out?”
“I wanted to be the one you had dinner with.”
Oh, Christ. This man. He’s tearing me the fuck apart, and I’m welcoming it. “I wanted that, too, baby. I missed you.”
“Was it okay?”
“It was nothing. Let’s get out of here. I’ll tell you everything.”
He nods, his chin digging into my shoulder, and then slowly, he lets me go, but not before I kiss him.
I help him get dressed, and we make our way down to the basement.
In the glow of white string lights, we lie together on his couch, legs tangled, chest to chest, with one of the pillows from his bed beneath our heads.
He runs the pad of his thumb over my eyebrow, and I play with some of the wilder strands of his hair.
“It was just dinner. Lasted about thirty minutes. She enjoyed being out of the city for a while. Asked me why I changed the password to my checking account because she was trying to Zelle someone and couldn’t. I told her it was a fraud alert.”
“That’s it?”
“And she asked how my month had been.”
“What’d you say?”
“I said ‘productive.’”
“You didn’t elaborate?”
“Sure. I told her I closed on the warehouse on 12th, and that I have all the permits in order to start demo on the Wall Street building.”
“Sounds like a fun talk.”
“I wasn’t up for a direct Q&A. Honestly I think I needed to get the lay of the land before I decide what’s next.”
“And did you?” he asks softly.
“You know what I noticed? While we were sitting down to dinner?”
“Hm?”
“The complete lack of warmth. And it’s not just an absence of warmth, it’s like someone’s actively pumping in cold air.
Her smiles are brittle. Her laugh is hollow.
She’s acting. All the time. She didn’t need a break from the city.
She needed a break from faking it. And I don’t blame her.
I do the same thing until I can’t stand it anymore and fuck up, which only pushes her further into her hiding place. ”
“I’m sorry,” Christian whispers.
“I’m not feeling sorry for myself. I promise.
What I’m saying is, it’s been like this so long, I started to think it was normal.
That this is who we are together. And for as much as we don’t have secrets, our entire relationship is a lie I’ve been telling myself, and maybe she is, too, but mostly it’s been me from the beginning.
I thought I could help, and she said she would let me.
That might have been her only lie.” And it was the worst one, because I needed it so badly to be true.
Christian nods, still stroking my eyebrow, and I recognize he’s being extremely patient with me. He doesn’t want to know any of this. He wants to know what I’m going to do. “I love you,” I say so softly it’s mostly just a mouth movement.
“I love you, too,” he sighs.
“I’m having the marriage annulled.”
His eyelids flutter in rapid-fire blinks. “Annulled?”
“It was never consummated. The prenup wouldn’t apply, it would be like it never existed, because it didn’t.”
A look of genuine concern transforms his face. “Jesus, Gibson, how are you gonna manage that?”
“I’m going to make her agree to it.”
“How?”
“By offering her money. A lot of it.”
“Will she agree to that?”
“Well, it’ll require a few things to go my way and some cooperation on the part of some of her former lovers, but ultimately yes. I think she’ll agree to it.”
“You’re not blackmailing her are you?”
“I don’t think of it like that. She’s welcome to tell anyone she wants that it was a divorce, and she made out great, but once she agrees, an annulment won’t be as complicated or take as long.
It was my lawyer’s idea. I would have just taken the hit and dealt with the fallout, but if this works, it’s easier long run. ”
“If she agrees.”
“Either way…it’s over. It needs to be over. Thank you for helping me see that.”
His gaze drops to my mouth, and he presses forward to kiss me. It’s a sweet, slow kiss that doesn’t last nearly long enough.
“I know I said don’t do it for me, but I’m pretty sure I want you all to myself.”
“Yeah?”
“I should have better words for what I’m feeling, but I think I just like you better when you’re with me.”
I smile. “Me, too.”
“I know I can’t give you what she took from you, but I want you to know I think you’re the most amazing man. You’ve always been there for me, even before—I’m sorry if it’s weird to bring that up.”
“It’s not. We’re good.”
His forehead meets mine when he lets out a soft laugh. “I’ve always known I could count on you,” he says, “I’ve always trusted you. You were the first person I knew here.”
“You’re kind of a sap, you know?”
“I’m a poet. I don’t know what the fuck you expected.”
“I might have been blind drunk the first time I kissed you, but thank God for strong whiskey.”
“Seriously,” he laughs. “And you were so fucking hot that night.”
I run my hand down his back, over his ass, and squeeze, remembering his eyeliner, wondering if I can talk him into putting that into a regular rotation. Not that he needs it. “How about now?”
“So much hotter.”
“Oh, now you’re hard,” I laugh, feeling the grind below my belt.
“Fucking nipple clamps?”
“Look, if you ever don’t want to work for me anymore, you’d make the most gorgeous BDSM model. I know people who can make that happen for you.”
He laughs between kisses on my neck. “I’ll let you take pictures, but that’s where I draw the line.”
“Christ, you’re a fucking wet dream. Get on my dick.” I turn onto my back, pulling him on top of me.
“Yes, sir.”
* * *
I hang up my phone, slam my laptop shut, stand, and snap my fingers to get Christian’s attention. “Up.”
He’s on his feet in an instant, and I don’t know if he recognizes the fierce need in my tone, or if his is boiling over, too. “Everything okay?” he asks.
“Fine.” I open up the desk drawer where I keep lube and shove the small bottle in my pocket.
I left multiple hickeys on his neck last night in all my reverence and enthusiasm. This morning, the memories of our desire have created a powerful blend of lust I haven’t been able to shake no matter what task I’ve tried to tackle. Striding to my office door, I open it and gesture him out.
“We going to my place?” he asks quietly.
Marianne is home, and though she’s likely still sleeping, we’ve gone back into secret affair mode.
I can’t wait the time it would take to get down to the basement, though.
My cock is erect and aching, balls tight with the load they want to spend.
If I have to endure an elevator ride with him, I’ll combust.
The initial urge came about an hour ago when he was leaning over my shoulder to point out something I don’t remember on my computer screen.
I’d caught his scent, both the top notes of his cologne and the pure maleness underneath.
Memories of last night flooded me. He’d ridden me for what felt like days of intimate lovemaking, blowing my mind and cracking open my heart in the best way.
But now I need to wreck him. I had the foresight to know I’d get overwhelmed at some point, so I made arrangements after his armpit came so close to my face.
“We’re going to the roof,” I explain, once we’re out the front door.
“Fresh air?” he asks.
“Something like that.”
The nearby stairwell beckons, and we walk up. I resist the urge to shove him to the wall and take him here and now—that could be good, too, but it would ruin the surprise. One of these days, I’ll fuck him in a stairwell, but that fantasy will have to wait.
“Got another plan?” Christian asks when he sees the sign on the rooftop door marking it closed for maintenance.
I point at it. “This? I had the superintendent put it up an hour ago. The only thing needing maintenance today is my cock.”
He tugs the corner of his lip into his mouth, and I pull it free, stroking his chin before opening the door on the bright, sunny August day. “I want you completely naked,” I tell him.
“I have a slight fear of heights.”
“Perfect. Strip. And make it good.”
A breath punches out of him before he reaches up to loosen his tie. As he unbuttons his collar, more of my marks come into view—an angry violet in the stark sunlight. I lick my lips. I swear I can still taste him.
I may no longer feel capable of breaking his skin with a braided flogger so he can go someplace in his head that doesn’t include me, but I don’t think I’ll ever be able to stop leaving reminders of who he belongs to all over him.
I unbuckle my belt while he works his way through his buttons. Opening my fly, I reach inside my boxer briefs to stroke myself, squeezing tight.
“I don’t get to watch?” he asks.
I arch a brow. “If you ask nicely.”
His head tilts in mock exasperation. “Please, Gibson. Show me your big dick.”