3. Chapter 3
Chapter 3
Elijah
T aking a girl back to my room was the furthest thing from my mind. The only reason I even got a room was so that I could imbibe a bit and not have to worry about driving back to my apartment.
I expected nothing from this night except a restful sleep. To say I was pleasantly surprised when Bex walked out onto the terrace would be an understatement. I wasn’t intentionally standing in the shadows, just looking out over the grounds. She could have seen me if she looked around the area.
There was something…special about her that called out to me. And not just because she’s stunning, with long copper curls that cascade down her milky back, which is completely exposed by the plunging cut of her dress. The deep green of the garment makes the jade color of her irises pop.
Captivating isn’t a strong enough word to describe her.
Not that any of it matters. I meant it when I said I just wanted somebody to talk to. For the few minutes this beautiful stranger spoke with me, I didn’t feel the pressing weight of classes resuming. It’s a feeling I need to chase right now.
But now, as I lead her to my room and slide the key into the slot, waiting for it to turn green, I’m feeling a little ashamed of myself. This poor woman was enjoying the wedding, had a small chat with me, and now has left, all because I asked her to. And I’m not sure what she’s expecting or anticipating.
I used to be smart. I used to be able to figure out the reasoning behind anything and never did something without intention. It seems like at some point I slipped up and have been making mistakes and errors in judgment ever since. The hostage situation was just the most recent fuckup. Or, at the very least, the biggest.
Walking through the threshold, I hold the door open for her to walk in before letting it shut behind me, tossing my keycard on the dresser. Then I'm quickly shucking off my sportscoat and throwing it on the bed. My fingers fly to my tie, and I yank it over my head, adding it to the coat before I undo the top buttons of my shirt and run a hand through my hair.
I spin around, remembering I have a guest. “Sorry. Where are my manners? Make yourself comfortable.” I extend a hand toward the bed. It’s really the only place to sit besides the chair, which I always find somewhat questionable.
The first thing she does is reach behind her and pull off her heels, one at a time. She loses a good two inches in the process. “Ah. That’s much better.” They drop to the floor with a thud, and she runs a hand through her curls, placing the other on her hip.
I all but match her stance, hands on my hips while I look around. “Well, this is awkward. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean anything… You can leave. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”
She lifts her shoulder and twirls a curl around her finger. “I’m not uncomfortable. I’m happy to talk. And honestly, it means I don’t have to make the two-hour drive back to Marigold Park right now.”
Does it make me an asshole that I’m not asking what has brought her here? Clearly, it’s something about the wedding, but I know Zach doesn’t have family close by. She probably came with somebody. Oh shit. “I didn’t… I didn’t pull you away from somebody, did I?” The last thing I need is an angry asshole threatening to kick my ass. My pulse flutters and my palms sweat at the mere reminder.
“No. Mind if I sit?” She hikes her thumb over her shoulder toward the bed.
“Oh, not at all. Please.” I gesture to the end of the bed for her to sit, and plop down next to her.
She immediately pulls her feet up under her and turns at an awkward angle to rub at them. “Sorry. My feet are killing me. I don’t do heels often, and every time I wear them, I remember why it’s such an infrequent occurrence.” Her lighthearted giggle makes my pulse increase.
“I’ve heard that a time or two.” While Liv loves to wear heels, especially because it gives her a height boost, Jameson loves to regale us with the tale of when he took her to the city and had to give her a foot rub because she insisted on wearing heels. He reminds her every time they pack to head down, and does so in front of at least one of us siblings to be a witness.
A wince pulls at her face, and she straightens her back, stretching it out.
“I know we don’t know each other, but I’d be happy to help.” I hold my hands out, palms up to receive a foot. It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve rubbed a girl’s feet, though it may be the first time with somebody I just met.
Her eyes narrow and she looks at my hands for a moment before turning sideways and sliding one foot into my palms. With a smile, I run my thumbs up the sole of her foot, and she drops back with a moan.
It sounds far more intriguing than it should.
I invited her up here to talk, wanting to distract myself from the worries swirling through my mind. But the silence is comforting in a way. Or maybe it’s the company.
While I’ve never been one to feel nervous around others, confident in my own skin and being myself, the ease Bex exudes is unlike what I’ve experienced before. And while I’d love to fill the void with conversation, I’m not entirely sure what to talk about.
Getting to know her seems like a good idea, but she lives two hours away, so I’m sure I’ll never see her again after tonight. It’s not the most gentlemanlike thought, but it seems kind of pointless.
“Oh my God, that feels incredible.” The way she says it, low and breathy, with pleasure weaving through the words, makes my cock jump in my pants.
I glide my fingers to her calves, massaging the muscle as I glide down her silky skin back to her foot. It seems presumptuous of me, but she did come here under the guise of talking. Is that really all she expects?
Am I the asshole for wanting to fuck this woman I just met? For convincing her to come up here to talk, when deep down I know that was never my intention, despite what I told her?
Yeah, I probably am. Is that going to change anything? Not at all.
Because unfortunately for me, the only thing that quiets the voices of failures and regrets and looming doom is sex. Sinking myself deep into a woman and letting her sounds drown out the rest.
Pushing my boundaries, I slide my hands just above her knee, watching as her chest rises and falls quickly before returning to her foot and giving one last press against the sole. I can’t do this. I shouldn’t do this. I should tell her to go.
But then she presses the toes of her other foot into my chest. When I don’t do anything, she raises onto her elbows, cocking an eyebrow. “More?”
Either this sweet little thing has no idea what she’s doing, or she’s game. And there’s only one way to find out.
I adjust the way I’m sitting, turning to face her and pulling her legs into my lap. She falls back to the bed, her hair dangling over the edge. I rest the foot I’ve already massaged against my cock so she doesn’t have to make any assumptions.
When she curls her toes against my erection, I know she’s on the same page as me.
I’m not willing to rush this. I need the distraction for the voices and worries to be shut out. So, I’m going to take my time.
Slowly, I massage her foot, keeping an eye on her as her breaths shallow. Anticipation is a glorious thing. I move my fingers higher and higher, rubbing circles along her calf.
When I get to her knee, I place one hand under each and pull her toward me. The small gasp that escapes her lips makes my cock bob and my eyes widen.
My palms run up the inside of her thighs and under her dress, thumbs skirting along the edge of her panties. I slide my hands around her legs and up her bare ass to grip the waistband of her thong and pull it from her body.
Her back arches, and she lifts her hips to help me take it off, pointing her toes in a dainty and sexy way while I remove it and toss it to the floor.
Biting my lip, I move between her legs and lean over her, trailing my nose along the sweetheart neckline of her dress and up to her neck. She tips her head back as her hands glide up my chest and wrap around my shoulders.
A low hum rumbles through me as I rest part of my weight on her. I brush a copper curl from her face and tip her chin down so I can read her eyes. “Now’s the time to speak up, Bex. Should I stop? Or should I keep going?”
Gripping the back of my shirt and lifting her hips to press against mine, her gaze doesn't waver. “Keep going,” she practically begs.
I trail my hand down the front of her body, tenderly squeezing her breast and pulling her nipple between my fingers. The tension in my muscles ebbs as a light moan bleeds through her lips and I crash my mouth to hers.
I’m not a big kisser. I’ll fuck a woman until she’s a trembling mess, but don’t usually kiss. It feels too intimate. But something about Bex, some sort of magnetism, draws my mouth to hers.
Her lips part on a whimper and my tongue wars with hers. A hint of citrus crosses my taste buds, and I realize it must be from the lemon curd on the cake.
My hand dips between her legs and finds her soaking cunt, making me groan. I tease her a little, running my finger up and down her slit, swirling around her clit, and easing into her for all of a second.
Another tiny whimper falls against my lips, and my cock hardens more than I even thought possible. I press myself against her thigh, showing her exactly how I’m feeling about this.
She shifts her thigh and wraps her leg around my waist, the heel of her foot digging into my ass.
As much as I want to dive into her, to lose myself in her for a little while, I’m not ready to fuck her yet.
Instead, I pull my mouth from hers and lower my face to be between her thighs, looping her legs over my shoulders. Looking at her through my lashes, I make eye contact and hold it as I drag my tongue up her pussy.
Her head falls back with a moan and her hands fly to grip my hair. The more I lick her, the more pressure I use against her clit, the harder she tugs.
But it’s not until I wrap my lips around her clit and suck that she goes wild, bucking her hips against my face as she chases my mouth, wanting more.
And I give it to her, devouring her in earnest. She has the sweetest pussy I’ve ever tasted, and if I wasn’t already on my stomach, it’d bring me to my knees.
“Fuck. Eli.” The way my name pours from her mouth is nothing shy of addicting, and it quiets all the other voices buzzing through my mind.
Her body starts to tremble, and her thighs tighten around my head as she screams and jerks against me.
And there it is. The blankness.