10. “YOU CAN HIDE BESIDE ME, MAYBE FOR A WHILE” #2
“Maybe he’s trying to impress her. This could be his champagne wall.”
He shook his head. “You’re brutal.” Leaving them to figure out the food pyramid for themselves, he said, “If you let her bully you now, she’ll never stop. Trust me.”
When he passed the bowl, Cordelia looked up at him and growled, then stole a hunk of kibble and skittered away like a scavenging coyote.
“Where’s she going?”
“Little dogs do that.”
King rose and followed her into the other room.
“King, come back. You have a whole bowl here.”
Jocelyn chuckled and went to the foyer to pick a bottle from the fancy wall. As she searched for an attractive label, Cordelia trotted back to the kitchen, her nails ticking over the Italian tile as King dutifully trotted after her.
“I have to run out to the car. I bought King some new toys.”
“Okay.”
“Relax and make yourself at home.”
A little hard to do in this granite-and-glass, not-so-relaxing place, she thought. “‘Kay.”
If he planned to have kids here, his decorating was in for some changes.
Cordelia slinked by with another giant piece of kibble, and King followed. Soren returned with a knitted basket on one arm and a bulging bag of plush dog toys on the other.
Jocelyn selected a label with a big S on the front that reminded her of the Shrek logo. “Salon Le Mesnil Blanc de Blancs,” she read, butchering the French. “Is that a good brand?”
“Crack it open and find out.” One by one, he tore the tags from the toys and stuffed them into the basket.
Jocelyn peeled back the foil and twisted the wire casing around the cork. It loosened with an exciting pop that made her giggle. Fizzy vapor spilled into the air with a soft hiss.
“I’ll get two glasses.”
“Mmm,” she said, already taking a sip. “Good idea.”
“How is it?” He held out a champagne flute as she poured, then set it aside so she could fill the next one.
“Tart like green apples and lemons, but also refreshing.”
He handed her a glass. “Cheers.”
“Cheers.” She clanked her glass to his. “Where do you buy a bottle like this?”
“You don’t. Salon is only produced about three times in a decade, so it’s very rare. You can’t just walk into a wine and spirits shop and buy it. It has to be allocated through connections.”
“Allocated?”
“Mm-hm.” He took a sip. “This was gifted to me by the board when I took over Hawthorne as CEO.”
Bubbles fizzed on her tongue as she stilled. She had to force herself to swallow. “This was a gift?”
“I guess I was waiting for a special occasion to open it.”
She pulled out her phone and took a picture of the label, uploading it into a search. “Soren! This is a thirty-five-hundred-dollar bottle of champagne!”
“So?”
“So, I picked it because the label reminded me of Shrek. Oh, my god.” She face-planted into her palms, and he laughed.
“Do you like it?”
“I better fucking like it. It’s three grand.”
“The price doesn’t matter. I just care that you like it.”
“I need a drink.”
“You have one.”
She was now afraid to touch the glass. “Why didn’t you say something before I opened it?”
“I did. I said pick whatever you want.”
He carried the basket of toys into the great room, and she followed, deciding that she wasn’t responsible enough to leave her chaperone’s side on this field trip.
Soren called for the dogs. “King, come.”
Cordelia barked, bolting in from wherever the dogs had been hiding. King followed with a big, open-mouthed grin that made Jocelyn smile in return.
Soren tipped the toy basket on its side and spread out the options. “They’re all yours, buddy.”
The dogs launched at the pile, nosing through the selection, sniffing and wagging.
Cordelia claimed the largest of the bunch, a stuffed snake with a ball-like head. When she yanked it from the pile, King watched with mesmerized curiosity.
“Your mongrel’s emasculating my thoroughbred.”
“She’s doing no such thing.” Jocelyn settled on the floor beside the leather sectional because that felt safer than sitting on the furniture with a beverage.
With the dogs occupied, Soren topped off her glass and settled in next to her. “Music?”
“Sure.”
He typed something into his phone, and guitar rippled from hidden speakers throughout the house, cocooning them in an alternative vibe as Matchbox Twenty crooned about pushing boundaries and taking trust for granted.
“I love this song.”
“I know.” His hand rested on her thigh. “I remember.”
She stared at his fingers for a long moment, playing a game in her head, wondering how long she could pretend this was normal. The longer it stayed there, tracing gentle whirls through her jeans, the more unnerved she became.
Chugging her Shrek-pagne, she said, “Can I have some more?”
“Sure.” He removed his hand to retrieve the bottle, and she took a moment to catch her breath.
Fucking she could handle. Fucking was fast and left no time to think. Intimacy, however, moved slow and left plenty of time for intrusive thoughts to slip in.
“Is it hot in here?”
“I can lower the temperature.” He did so with another entry into his phone.
“Quite the space house you have here.” She took another six hundred dollar gulp of bubbly. The alcohol was finally getting to her head.
“Do you want to—”
“Have sex? God, yes.”
He stilled then laughed. “I was going to say watch a movie.”
“Oh.” She tipped back her champagne, chugging down the last four-hundred-dollar swallow. “Sure. How about Goonies?” She held out her glass. “More please.”
“Okay, I can see this isn’t working.”
“I told you—Hey!” He took her empty glass and set it on the end table. No coaster.
Standing, he kicked the dog toys aside and tossed the fur blanket on the floor. Then, with the flick of a switch, he turned on the gas fireplace. Flames ignited, and the room transformed with a golden glow.
“Lie down. Clothes off.”
“Excuse me?”
“I’m giving you a back rub to help you relax.”
“I don’t want a back rub.”
“Too bad.” He pointed to the blanket. “On your belly.”
She met his challenging stare, refusing to move, but eventually crumbled, letting him win this little standoff and promising she wouldn’t give in so easily next time.
“Fine. But my clothes are staying on.”
“We’ll see.”
She crawled onto the blanket and sat with her back to the fireplace, arms akimbo. “I don’t like massages.”
“That’s because you’ve never had one from me.” He shoved her back, catching the backs of her knees and yanking her closer. He pulled off her suede boot and held it up. “You can model these later for me—naked.”
He pulled off the other and tossed them aside. Then he reached for the zipper of her jeans, stripping her legs bare in seconds flat. Refusing to look at him, she rolled her eyes back as far as she could without giving herself a headache.
He peeled off her panties and pushed open her legs.
“Hey, what kind of massage is this?”
“The kind where you come.” Diving forward, he dragged his tongue through her slit, closing his lips around her clit.
Jocelyn’s back arched as her arms unlocked from her chest. Her hands balled into fists at her side when he did it again.
“You’re too in your head.”
True, but now her body was starting to pulse, and she welcomed the distraction.
He dragged the flat of his tongue over her sensitive flesh, slower this time, like he had all night and intended to savor every minute of it.
No urgency like she usually felt when he took her.
No race to the finish, they typically sprinted toward.
Just that maddening, unhurried exploration, as if he were learning her this time, instead of conquering her again.
“Soren.” His name came out as a warning when she realized he was doing things differently on purpose.
“Hmm?” His response hummed against her clit, the vibration rolling through her core.
“Are you trying to—” Her breath hitched when he did something fancy with his tongue. “—torture me on purpose?”
“Keep talking. I like the way your voice shakes when you’re trying to sound annoyed.”
She wasn’t trying.
She was annoyed. And melting. So many sensations tangled into one until she felt trapped and over-sensitized.
When she squirmed, he caught her hips, refusing to let her escape the onslaught of pleasure. His hands smoothed along the outsides of her thighs, thumbs tracing slow circles into her clenched muscles she couldn’t seem to relax.
“Easy. Just let it happen.” Everywhere he caressed her, she softened against her own will, her own body betraying her mind in response to his drugging touch. “Relax,” he murmured against the inside of her thigh, pressing maddeningly soft kisses into her flesh. “I’ve got you.”
Okay, he had no business saying such intimate things to her while he was down there whispering sweet nothings into her vagina. And damn her gullible heart for believing the crap coming out of his mouth.
His words landed somewhere beneath her ribs, in a place she usually kept locked up tight.
“You don’t have to be so gentle.”
“You just worry about you.”
She was worried about herself. Gentle was dangerous. Gentle disarmed her in ways desperate roughness never could.
“I know you’re holding back, Soren.”
“I’m moving at the exact pace I want to go, Joce. Stop stressing and enjoy it.”
It was too intense. Too delicate. When he came at her like a demanding brute, she could meet him head-on. Give as good as she got. But this slow, reverent worship was a language her body couldn’t speak.
She could write it. But living it in her own body was different. This was too close, too real, and she preferred using her characters as detached fictional filters rather than playing the main role herself.
A breathy gasp left her throat as he moved his fingers, rubbing her clit and building that wave to unsustainable heights that would inevitably crash over her and wash the last of her senses away.
“Soren, wait.”
He ignored her plea and licked into her again. Fingers strumming her towards completion, she whimpered and squirmed. Her hips rose to meet him without permission. Another sound escaped her throat, soft and unguarded, and then she was trembling beneath him.