Chapter 8
eight
. . .
I stand in the doorway of Sutton's home office, my heart hammering against my ribs like it's trying to escape.
It's been two days since he destroyed Raymond's life on national television, two days of heated touches and whispered promises that left me aching for more.
Tonight, I want everything. Every part of him.
Every inch of what he's been holding back since he found me in the rain.
My body thrums with a need I've never felt before—not just desire, but a desperate, clawing hunger to be completely possessed by this man who has claimed me in every way except the one that matters most.
He sits behind his massive desk, the blue light of his computer screen casting shadows across the sharp planes of his face.
He hasn't noticed me yet, or at least pretends not to, though I'm certain he knows I'm here.
Sutton always knows where I am, as if some invisible tether connects us across any distance.
I take a deep breath, gathering courage I didn't know I possessed until I met him. Until he showed me what it means to be wanted, to be protected, to be cherished. The silk nightgown I'm wearing—another of his gifts—whispers against my skin as I step into the room, the door clicking shut behind me.
That sound pulls his attention from the screen. His dark eyes find mine, and the intensity in them steals the breath from my lungs.
"Cecily," he says, my name a caress on his tongue. "It's late."
I nod, taking another step toward him. "I couldn't sleep."
His gaze travels down my body, lingering on the places where the silk clings to my curves, and heat floods my cheeks. I've never been looked at the way Sutton looks at me—like I'm something precious and rare, something to be savored.
"What do you need?" he asks, his voice dropping to that register that makes my stomach tighten with anticipation.
I take another step, and another, until I'm standing directly in front of his desk. "You," I say simply, the word barely audible even to my own ears. "I want you, Sutton. All of you."
He goes still, a predator scenting prey, his eyes never leaving mine. "You don't know what you're asking for," he says, but his voice shakes slightly, betraying the control he's fighting to maintain.
"I do." I move around the desk, eliminating the barrier between us, until I'm standing directly in front of his chair.
"You've given me everything. Safety. Freedom.
A future without fear." I reach out, my fingers trembling as they trace the hard line of his jaw. "Let me give you something in return."
His hand shoots up, capturing my wrist in a grip that's firm but gentle. "This isn't about reciprocation," he says, his eyes burning into mine. "This isn't a transaction, Cecily."
"I know that." I step closer, until my knees brush against his. "I want this. I want you. Not because I owe you, but because I can't stand another night of wanting you and not having all of you."
A muscle ticks in his jaw, his control visibly slipping. "I've been holding back because once I have you completely, there's no going back. You'll be mine in every way that matters."
"I already am," I whisper, and the truth of it resonates through me like a struck bell. "I've been yours since the moment you found me in the rain."
Something shatters in his expression—the last remnants of his restraint giving way to naked hunger. He tugs on my wrist, pulling me down until I'm straddling his lap, the thin silk of my nightgown the only barrier between us.
"If we do this," he says, his voice rough with desire, "there's no walking away. No changing your mind. You need to be certain, Cecily."
In answer, I lean forward and press my lips to his. The kiss starts gentle, exploratory, but quickly deepens as Sutton takes control. His hands slide into my hair, angling my head to give him better access as his tongue traces the seam of my lips, demanding entry I willingly grant.
He tastes of expensive whiskey and barely leashed power, a combination that makes my head spin and my body melt against his. His hands leave my hair to trail down my back, over the curve of my hips, gathering the silk of my nightgown as they go until it's bunched around my waist.
"No underwear," he growls against my mouth as his palms find bare skin. "Were you planning this, little one?"
I can't lie to him. "Yes," I breathe, rocking slightly against the hardness I can feel beneath me. "I've been thinking about it all day."
His eyes darken further, pupils dilating until only a thin ring of brown remains. "Good girl," he praises, and the words send a warm rush of pleasure through me that has nothing to do with physical touch.
He stands suddenly, lifting me with him as if I weigh nothing, and carries me to the leather couch against the far wall. He lays me down with surprising gentleness, stepping back to look at me spread out before him.
"Beautiful," he murmurs, fingers working at the buttons of his shirt. "So perfect I can hardly believe you're real. That you're mine."
I watch, mesmerized, as he undresses—the broad expanse of his chest coming into view, the tightly coiled muscles of his abdomen, the trail of dark hair that disappears beneath his waistband.
When he's down to just his boxer briefs, he kneels beside the couch, his hand cupping my cheek with unexpected tenderness.
"I'm going to worship every inch of you," he promises, his thumb tracing my lower lip. "Make you feel things you've never imagined."
Before I can respond, his mouth is on mine again, the kiss deeper, hungrier than before. His hands find the straps of my nightgown, sliding them down my shoulders until my breasts are exposed to the cool air and his heated gaze.
"Exquisite," he breathes, bending to take one nipple into his mouth.
The wet heat of his tongue makes me arch off the couch, a whimper escaping my throat.
His hand finds my other breast, thumb circling the nipple in time with the strokes of his tongue, and pleasure spirals through me, sharp and sweet.
He takes his time, moving between my breasts, learning what makes me gasp, what makes me moan, what makes me clutch at his shoulders in desperate need for more.
When he finally continues his journey downward, pressing open-mouthed kisses to my stomach, my hips, the insides of my thighs, I'm trembling with anticipation.
"Sutton," I gasp as his breath warms the most intimate part of me. "Please."
He looks up at me, his eyes almost black with desire. "Please what, Cecily? Tell me exactly what you want."
"Your mouth," I manage, heat flooding my cheeks at my own boldness. "I want your mouth on me."
His smile is pure male satisfaction. "Good girl," he says again, and then his tongue is on me, finding that bundle of nerves with unerring accuracy.
I cry out, my back arching as pleasure unlike anything I've ever known courses through me.
His hands grip my thighs, holding me open for his assault as his tongue works magic against my sensitive flesh.
It's too much and not enough all at once, the pressure building inside me until I feel like I might shatter.
"Let go," he murmurs against me, the vibration adding another layer to the sensation. "Come for me, Cecily. Let me taste your pleasure."
His words, combined with the relentless pressure of his tongue, send me hurtling over the edge. My vision whites out as wave after wave of ecstasy crashes through me, my body convulsing beneath his skilled mouth.
He works me through it, gentling his touch but not stopping until I'm a boneless, trembling mess on the couch. Only then does he rise, shedding his last piece of clothing, revealing himself fully to my dazed gaze.
"My God," I breathe, taking in the sight of him—all hard muscle and taut skin, magnificently, intimidatingly aroused.
"It's not too late to change your mind," he says, though the strain in his voice makes it clear how much it would cost him to stop now.
In answer, I reach for him, pulling him down until his body covers mine, the weight of him pressing me into the leather. "I want this," I whisper against his lips. "I want you."
He positions himself between my thighs, the blunt head of him pressing against my entrance. "Look at me," he commands, waiting until my eyes meet his. "I want to see your face when I make you mine."
He pushes forward slowly, giving me time to adjust to the unfamiliar invasion. There's pain—a burning stretch that makes me gasp—but it's overshadowed by the emotional intensity of the moment, by the look of reverent wonder on Sutton's face as he enters me for the first time.
"So tight," he groans, his jaw clenched with the effort of restraint. "So perfect."
When he's fully seated within me, he pauses, his forehead pressed against mine, our breath mingling in the small space between us. "Mine," he whispers, the word more a vow than a possession. "All mine."
"Yours," I agree, my hands sliding up his back, feeling the coiled strength beneath his skin. "Only yours."
He begins to move then, each thrust slow and deliberate, his eyes never leaving mine. It's the most intimate thing I've ever experienced—this connection that goes beyond the physical joining of our bodies. I feel seen in a way I never have before, known in ways that transcend the physical.
But as the pleasure builds, as my body adjusts to accommodate him, his control starts to slip.
His thrusts become harder, faster, more desperate.
His hands grip my hips hard enough to bruise, angling me to take him deeper, and I welcome the slight edge of pain, the reminder that this is real, that I'm really here with him, that I'm really his.
"Sutton," I gasp as he hits a spot inside me that makes stars burst behind my eyelids. "Oh God, Sutton."
"That's it," he growls, his rhythm becoming more erratic as his own release approaches. "Say my name. Let me hear you."
He reaches between us, his thumb finding that sensitive bundle of nerves, circling it in counterpoint to his thrusts, and the dual sensation pushes me toward a second climax I didn't know was possible.
"Come with me," he demands, his voice rough with strain. "Come around me, Cecily. Now."
As if my body is conditioned to obey his commands, I shatter, my inner muscles clenching around him as pleasure crashes through me in unrelenting waves. Sutton follows a moment later, his release pulsing hot within me as my name tears from his throat in a hoarse cry.
Time seems to stop as we lay tangled together, his weight a comforting pressure, his heartbeat thundering against my chest. When he finally lifts his head, the tenderness in his eyes makes my own fill with tears.
"Why are you crying?" he asks, his thumb catching a tear as it spills down my cheek.
"I didn't know," I whisper, overwhelmed by the intensity of what we've just shared. "I didn't know it could feel like this."
Understanding softens his features. He shifts, withdrawing from me with a gentleness that contrasts sharply with the fierce passion of moments before, and gathers me into his arms, cradling me against his chest.
"Now you know," he says softly, his lips brushing my temple. "And this is just the beginning, little one. Just the beginning of all the ways I'm going to love you."
Love. The word hangs in the air between us, unacknowledged yet undeniable. And as I curl into the warmth of his embrace, I realize that's exactly what this is—not just desire or possession, but love in its most primal, consuming form. A love that terrifies and exhilarates me in equal measure.
A love I never expected to find when I ran from Raymond's house into the rain that fateful night. A love I'm still not sure I deserve, but that I'll spend every day trying to earn.
"Sleep," Sutton murmurs against my hair. "I've got you."
And I do, secure in the knowledge that I am his completely now—body, heart, and soul—and that nothing will ever separate us again.