23. Ember
EMBER
Aspare room upstairs looms dark and empty despite the heat still lingering in my body from how close Devon and I were standing by the well, staring into each other’s eyes. Like two opposing magnets, pulling each other in.
I flick on the overhead light. A simple black, antique chandelier blooms to life and flickers before becoming solid.
The bulbs need a good dusting along with the rest of the room.
A monstrosity of a bed sits against the wall on the right.
To my left, a huge dresser sits topped in white marble with a mirror vanity.
Across from the door, there’s a floor to ceiling window with elegant emerald green drapes weathered by the sun and neglect.
The primary bedroom was my first project.
A similar feel to this, only larger with a fireplace, settee, and a wardrobe that looks like something straight out of The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe.
I even checked it for doors to secret worlds, or another cool, hidden passage.
No such luck. Just moth balls and years of settled dust. The room I cleaned up for Bea to sleep in was next.
An even smaller room than this that I could accomplish within a few hours.
But this one, this is one of the bigger ones.
I begin my one-woman army against dust. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to rest again if there’s a single speck of it around. This second floor has an infestation of it. Even covering the sheets protecting the furniture.
I walk to the dresser, peering into the mirror.
I take out the Windex from my tool caddy and spray it like I’m a lone ranger gunman before wiping it with some newspaper I have rolled up.
It will be a full-time job taking care of this place.
Let’s just hope I can make it that far with now having to pay a hefty fine.
This house deserves to be lived in and loved.
Plus, I’ll have to do something else for money if I want to care for it full-time.
Maybe the haunted stays like Bea suggested.
The Ball and Children’s Haunted House will be amazing, but I doubt it will leave me with money to last an entire year.
I wipe the mirror in front of me, circling my hand across the glass to reveal my reflection.
Hairs have come out from behind my handkerchief, framing my face.
I’m dewy with sweat that has dried on my skin like a shiny mask, but the thing I notice most is how flush I am.
I could label it exhaustion, but that’s not totally accurate.
My body responded more fiery than normal when Devon hugged me from behind. I could almost feel the coarse scruff on his face. Or maybe I’m just attention starved.
His personal brand of grumpiness toward me has finally tamed and morphed into something much more overwhelming.
Whatever it is, there’s this cord between us that seems to pull tighter and tighter when he’s around.
From the way he acted in the kitchen for our first kiss to the moment on the couch, I know he feels the pull too.
Even the memory makes my nipples poke through my shirt, and I nearly roll my eyes at myself.
There’s not much I can do about any of this need stoking inside me like a sputtering fireplace.
Maybe I’ll grab one of my spicy books tonight and read before bed. On second thought, that just might make it worse because undoubtedly, I’ll picture the lead as an older, more mature man. I don’t think I’ve ever read an age gap book, but it’s definitely time.
No. That’s not wise. The point is…
I’m not sure what the point is. I think I’m trying to talk myself into satisfying the curl of heat low in my stomach without the cure having anything to do with Devon Lachey. I just don’t know if it’s wise to jump into anything headfirst.
“You’ve wiped that mirror about a dozen times.”
The scream that curdles out of me comes from deep in my chest, wrenched from me like a ghost just passed through my body from behind and yanked it to the outside. I spin, facing a concerned looking Devon leaning against the door jamb.
I rub my sternum. “Jesus.”
“I’m sorry. The stairs creaked on every step, so I thought you heard me. Obviously, you were distracted.”
He peers down at my nipples, which are still hard. Shit. Did he see me peer at them through the mirror? This sports bra covers nothing. “Sorry, I was lost in my own thoughts.” Thoughts about wanting to jump you and talking myself out of it.
His gaze roams down my body. “I wanted to see how you were doing.”
Why do I get the feeling that’s only an excuse for wanting to see me?
Because every time we come together it’s electric. Right.
Because there’s this pull for us to be near each other. Check.
Because he’s ungodly handsome and I haven’t been touched in a while. Check three and check four.
Our gazes lock for too long. Tension curls in my belly again, so I pull out my shirt a couple of times to relieve the heat. “Is it hot in here? I should open a window.”
Without waiting for an answer, I go to the large window on the exterior wall of the house. I turn the lock and lift, trying to make it budge. It doesn’t. Just like every other window in the house, it protests. Sort of like Devon. It’s a little moody at first. You just have to give it enough oomph.
“Let me help,” Devon says, cornering me against the window.
His body barricades me in. He uses his fist to bang around all sides of the frame then pushes up on the top while I use the bronzed handle on the bottom.
It finally breaks loose, releasing with a quick woosh, followed by a grateful burst of cool air against my heated flesh.
“Better?” he asks, and I swear his lips are right by my ear, a reminder from the sleepover with Bea.
I can feel his hot breath, enticing against my sensitive skin.
I stop myself from moaning, my hands gripping the windowsill to anchor me. “Better.”
I go to turn around but he steps closer, making it impossible. “Not yet.”
“W-why?” I try to find his reflection in the glass, but it’s so spotted and weathered that I can only see the tangle of beauty that is the side yard and beyond toward the well. A true nature’s paradise that’s taken over.
“Because if you turn around with those straining nipples aimed at me again, I’m going to have to take matters into my own hands.”
My mouth goes dry. “That’s…bold.”
“It’s called maturity. I’m just calling it like I see it.”
“Devon…”
“We need to set some boundaries, maybe,” he says. “Talk about what’s going on between us and where to take things next.”
“We…do.” It’s supposed to come out like a question, but it lands flat.
Like an agreement. I don’t think my body would deny him much when he’s this close.
I could just step backward a fraction and be plastered against his front.
Every beat of my heart is like a chant begging me to do it.
I’m so close to listening that it’s almost painful.
“I see this going two different ways. One, we take things slow.” He runs his hands up and down my body like he’s already decided that’s not the option we should take.
I find myself saying, “Or?”
“You give in, and I’ll give us what we both want.”
“But then what?” I ask.
He runs his hand up my ribcage. His touch on the rougher side before he closes his hand over my breast and pinches my nipple.
I gasp in protest. Then he strokes it, softening the sting of pain and replacing it with an ache. “Do it again,” I demand breathlessly.
He does it again, and I gasp a second time. This time, he holds it longer until I squirm. Then massages it, easing the pain. I step back into him, and his arm locks around my middle, keeping me in place while his other hand moves from one breast to the other. “I don’t intend on letting you go.”
He plays with my nipple first, then pinches. Pleasure flares in my core, strengthening like a storm. I should put a stop to this. We have so much to do. So much to focus on. Plus, we haven’t—. “Is your pussy wet for me?”
I nearly choke. Dear God. What is he doing to me?
Part of me thinks I should be appalled at his words, but the other part of me takes stock, noting the dampening of my panties at his near abrasive words.
Somehow, it’s not what I expected from Devon, but in others, maybe it’s exactly what I need. I seal my lips, refusing to answer.
It doesn’t bother him. He keeps going. “Have you ever been truly fucked?” His hand leaves my breast, traveling south.
It takes up space, like conquering lands, claiming domains.
“Not the cutesy boyfriend sex where he promises you everything and whispers into your ear while coming prematurely. I’m talking about a total takeover of your body, Ember. ”
God no. I’ve never felt anything like that. How is Devon real? Sweet when he needs to be. Sexy when he should be. Then he can talk like this?
I didn’t see him coming.
I didn’t see the fact that I like this type of talk coming.
“You’re making it hard to say no.”
He pulls away, his hand nearly between my legs, and a part of me whimpers. “Do you want to say no?”
Fuck no. Yes? My body and my mind war with each other. It’s clear what the other thinks is right. I can hardly believe I’m even in this position. How did we get here again?
That’s right. My traitorous nipples.
Or Devon being bold, insinuating complete dominance over my body.
I had promised myself a night with a spicy book, but let’s face it, a real night is better.
Instead of whatever my imagination and my fingers can come up with, I could be getting fucked.
The kind where the headboard methodically hits the wall.
Good news is that these beds could take the beating Devon has in store.
He steps back. Air rushes between us, cooling my skin. “You took too long.”
I reach for him, but he’s already steps away. Stubborn jerk. I turn, glaring at him. “It’s not the kind of thing I want to jump into without thinking.”
He quirks a brow His flannel is rolled up to his forearms. He smells like wood…and something quintessentially man. From spying the tent in his pants, I can see how badly he wants this, and so do I.
I step forward, poking him in the chest, surprised when the tip of my finger hits hard muscle. It almost makes me forget what I was going to say, but I charge on. “You listen to me, Devon Lachey. I’m going to—.”
“Hello?”
I stop, ice freezing in my veins. I was just about to tell Devon I was going to crawl on the bed and he could do whatever he wanted with me for twenty minutes…but his mom is downstairs.
The front screen door creaks open and then bangs closed.
“Fuck,” Devon seethes. His jaw grinds together before he hooks his finger around the waistband of my shorts and pulls me close. “Do you think you can come on my finger before she finds us?”
“It’s a big house,” we say at the same time.
No matter how much his eyes promise escape and pleasure, I can’t do it. Not now.
“Hello, you two?”
Not with his mother calling out cheerfully from the bottom floor. His jaw flexes, and as if resigned, he steps back.
“We’re up here,” I call out, popping the bubble concealing our tension.
It’s probably for the better. On the other hand, I wish this fear would go away because what Devon promises sounds like a good time, and now that I know he talks dirty, I have that to look forward to.
The first stair creaks.
Devon lifts his gaze to me. “I’m not done with you yet.”
From what I can tell, Devon doesn’t go back on his promises.