10. “YOU CAN HIDE BESIDE ME, MAYBE FOR A WHILE” #5
“I know it terrifies you. I’m terrified, too. But we were always meant to get here. Now, we can stop pretending and face things head-on.”
His vulnerability, raw and unfiltered, was somehow more devastating than his dominance. She reached back to grip his hip, her fingers digging into the muscle, and he groaned at the touch. When she clawed his flesh, his pace intensified, building toward another climax.
“We’re finishing together,” he commanded, his voice rough with need. “I love it when you come with me. The grip of your tight pussy…That flutter…The sounds you make—”
Her orgasm hit with a sharp peak that had her gasping and arching, and he followed her over the edge. Pounding into her, his hips stuttered and stalled as his release poured from his pulsing cock, so swollen inside of her, his moans sounded almost pained.
He buried his face in the crook of her neck as an unguarded cry of pleasure escaped him. They lay in a tangle of limbs, breathing heavily, his arms still locked around her, his face against her hair, as his heart hammered against her back.
If he spoke, he’d say too much. Instinctively, she tried to move, but his hold only tightened.
“Not yet,” he whispered.
She stilled. She couldn’t escape, even if she wanted to.
Like a tea kettle filling with steam, the pressure slowly built. She had to break the silence. Had to bring them back to casual familiarity before things truly went too far.
“I’m thirsty,” she finally managed.
His body seemed fused to her flesh, and pulling apart from each other was an experience in itself. The second she could move, she sat up and refilled her glass with the last few drops of champagne, ignoring how her hand shook when she set down the empty bottle.
“Are you okay?” Wise of him to ask, but foolish of him to expect honesty from her at a time like this.
“Mm-hmm.” She guzzled down the fizzy liquid and instantly wanted a refill. “Mind if I grab another bottle?”
“I can get it—”
“Don’t trouble yourself.” She was up and moving before he completed the offer.
Her guilt about ransacking his thousand-dollar collection of bubbly disappeared. He’d gotten every penny’s worth, and he was about to get a steep lesson in tipping.
She selected something that looked similar to the first bottle, not really caring about the taste and more concerned with the alcohol content. She didn’t need fancy. She needed a liquid sedative.
When she returned to the den, Soren was sitting on the couch, jeans back on with the button undone, the denim hanging low on his hips. He watched her like a housefly he planned to catch, and she moved just as elusively about the room.
“Find something good?”
“I think.” The cork popped with a startling shot, and she refilled her glass. Too aware of her nudity, she pulled the fur blanket off the floor and wrapped herself in it.
That was a mistake. The fibers smelled like sex and Soren. Every soft hair carried a mixture of his scent and hers, along with the lingering stench of her way too personal feelings.
She sat close to him but avoided actual contact.
Sipping from her glass, she took in the room, looking anywhere but at him. His life was so systematic, yet he’d invited a tornado into his den, and the winds subtly shifted as they sat in silence, the stillness before a storm.
Soren hated chaos. He liked order, liked to approach problems methodically, with clear-cut plans that obeyed the rules of logic. She looked for the logical explanation that got her here.
Olivia was probably a very logical person, with her starched collar and polished shoes. She could walk into this place and feel at home in five minutes.
Jocelyn took another sip of champagne as Soren continued to study her.
Had Olivia been here? Had she spent the night? No doubt other women had.
How many times had he used this playlist, lit that fire, and when was the last time this blanket was washed? How did one wash genuine fur anyway?
She eyed the blanket with growing distaste as it draped around her body. “What animal is this?”
“The synthetic kind. I think it’s supposed to be a cross between faux sheepskin and mink.”
Oh, now he was going to be an animal activist to get on her good side. She rolled her eyes. It still looked impossible to wash.
“Do you have to get it dry cleaned?”
“I don’t know. The maid handles that.”
There was that maid again… “You’re quite the pampered prince.”
He smirked, but his eyes remained laser-focused on her, as if sensing a scrimmage coming.
She didn’t know why she gave her intrusive self-sabotaging thoughts space to land, but the more they intruded, the busier her brain got undoing the last hour.
“What’s going to happen between you and Shalimar?” she finally blurted.
“Nothing.”
“That was a quick answer.”
“I’m here, Jocelyn. With you.”
But who was there before her? “Don’t you at least want to think about your options?”
He hesitated a split second, but it was enough for her to take twisted satisfaction in his uncertainty. Hesitation meant she was right on some level, and he wasn’t as confident as he pretended to be.
“What is it you want me to say?”
She hated herself for shaving the romantic edge off the evening so carelessly. It was a character flaw of hers for sure, one she recognized but never quite learned how to control. And while he accepted it in her, it was evident he didn’t like it.
“I guess I want you to be honest with me.”
“I am being honest.”
But he wasn’t. “You like her, Soren. It’s okay. I get it. I mean, she’s pretty. She has all that beautiful blonde hair, and she looks like she never slouched a day in her life. Her nails are the perfect length and she probably never missed a dentist appointment in her life.”
“What are you doing?” He pressed a calming hand on her leg, which was bouncing like the needle of a polygraph machine.
She stared down at his hand, her throat tightening. “I know you have a history with her.”
“She’s just a friend, Joce. Our families go way back, and her dad’s on the board, so we have professional ties, but that’s the extent of my responsibility to the Aldriches.”
She wanted to trust the relief that came with his reassurance, but this was new territory. “Will you go out with her again?”
“Jocelyn, I’m trying to date you. I’ve made my choice. You wanted monogamy, and I’m giving it to you. What else can I say to convince you that I’m all in?”
“So…no more Friday night bride hunting?”
“No. It’s just you and me. No one else.”
The reassurance closed over her like a cast, supportive, but at the same time itchy and tight. She finally met his stare. “Did you ever bring her here?”
“I’ve never brought any woman here. You’re the first.”
“Really?”
“Well—”
Her breath caught. “I knew it.” That quickly, the false sense of security ripped away.
“I was just going to say, Wren’s been here, but she doesn’t count.”
And the tentative sense of security was back.
She smiled, cheeks flushing like a swooning teenager, too inexperienced with her own feelings not to embarrass herself. She bashfully looked at him, poking her bare foot out from under the blanket to push his knee with her toe. “I guess it’s fine then.”
He caught her foot, his thumb rubbing softly over the smooth skin by her ankle. “It?”
“Yeah.” She shrugged. “Your way. We can try it if you want.”
“I want.”
Something warm and gooey unraveled in her chest, but for once she let it just happen. Trust would be difficult, but she was willing to try. For him.
He looked down at her foot. “Is this the ankle you hurt?”
She nodded, and he gently lifted her foot to examine it.
“It looks good. Did you end up seeing the doctor today?”
“No. Astrid made me some anti-inflammatory tea that brought the swelling down. Between that and the aspirin, I decided I was fine.”
He lifted her heel and pressed a soft kiss to her ankle. “And a kiss to make it better.”
Oh, she was in trouble…