Break Me (7 page)

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Alex Blankenship stood in her living room, carrying a take-out box from the pizza dive on the corner, and holding a six pack of a microbrewed IPA that had probably cost three times what the pizza had. He looked larger than life, and completely out of place.

“I’m sorry your meeting was a bust,” she said, rooting through her kitchen drawers for a bottle opener. “Move whatever you need to set things down.”

“I shouldn’t,” he said. His voice sounded tight, almost choked. When she glanced at him, she saw his eyes were locked on the curve of her ass as she bent over, going through a lower drawer. She shifted her hips slightly from side to side, and watched his breath catch as he licked his lips.

The thought of his tongue sent waves of need through her core, sparkling like electricity.
Control
, she thought.
Just a little bit of control. Please
.

“Why not?” She didn’t mean for her tone to come out that airy and flirty, but once it was free in the world, well, what was she going to do?

“Because if I set these down,” he said, that tight tone still filling his voice, “then my hands will be free. And if my hands are free, I don’t know how I’m going to resist the urge to lift you up on that counter and fuck you until you scream.”

Bottle opener in hand, she turned back. To torture him, she put her elbows on the counter and leaned back, crossing one ankle over the other and tossing her head for a moment so that her hair fell around her shoulders. He made a little sound that she loved. “And what if I say no?”

That seemed to wash over him like a bucket of cold water. He set the pizza down on the space on her coffee table, and the beer on the floor next to it. His hands went into his pockets, then, because apparently that contained them.
Sex kryptonite lined
, she thought, and choked down the nervous giggle.

“Honestly,” he said, his voice careful now, “If you said no, I think I’d leave you the pizza and beer and go. I—if what you need is friends, Zoey, I can do that, and I will honor our agreement, but I don’t think I can be your friend tonight.”

“You hurt me last night,” she said. “You scared me.”

He nodded. “I should never have stepped in that room with you. I knew that hurting you was a possibility, and I told myself that I could stay in control.”

“But you didn’t.”

“But I didn’t.”

She nodded. In an odd way, it was better than an apology.

“So what are you here for, then?” Zoey asked. In her head, it was a polite, vaguely flirtatious question. Out of her mouth, it clunked a bit as it hit the floor. He winced. She couldn’t really blame him for that.

“To apologize,” he said. “To say that I’m incredibly sorry that I hurt you. To say that I understand if you never let me touch you again.” He gestured at the pizza and the beer. “To offer a peace offering.”

“What’s on the pizza?”

He shuffled his feet. “I, uh. Guessed that you were the kind of person who would appreciate the local dive. I stuck my head in there, and they knew you. So I ordered your favorite. I couldn’t decide if it was stalker-creepy or awesome, but I went with it.”

“And how do you feel about pepperoni and mushroom?”

“It’s not a combination I’ve had, but I’m eager to try.”

She watched him and let her thoughts chase themselves around for a few moments. No, maybe this wasn’t the smartest thing ever. She could tell herself, over and over, that she wasn’t going to end up in bed with him. But the crazy thing was, there weren’t rules about this, or at least, nothing other than the rules they made for themselves. Besides, she missed his hands coursing over her skin, missed it like she missed raindrops in a field and being able to see the stars at night. “It’s really good,” she said, settling into her old sofa and passing him the bottle opener.

Relief spread over his face, but he hid it quickly. Maybe he worried that she’d be overwhelmed or intimidated by his own attachment to this. It was a silly worry, but she could see where it would come from. She patted the couch, next to her, and he sat down. He pulled two beers out of the six pack.

“Mind it warm?”

That same electric vibration sparkled up her spine. Was every interaction going to be like this now? How long would she spend treating everything he said as a double entendre? And was she even wrong? “Not at all. Not if it’s good.”

“It’s really good,” he said. She watched his forearms flex as he cracked open the bottles. He was dressed in more casual clothes than he would have worn to his meeting. Chinos, a button down shirt, open at the throat and the sleeves rolled up. Did he keep a change of clothes at the office for partying after hours?

Stop it
.

His pants looked like they’d cost more than her couch. Which, honestly, wouldn’t have been hard.

She squeezed her eyes shut and forced herself to take a deep breath. He was sitting on the couch. Not lording over it, and not trying to hover over it in case her relative poverty somehow stained him. He was here. He’d come to her this time. He deserved credit for that.

When she opened her eyes, he was looking at her expectantly, the bottle extended to her. She took it and smiled. The first sip was bright, almost sharp, but the second—the hops came through, mellow and warm, with a hint of fruity softness. “This is good,” she said, glancing at the label. It was a company she’d never heard of, but that wasn’t surprising. Every bar in the city had a microbrew, it seemed like.

“A friend of mine makes it.”

“You know someone who knows microbrews?”

His smile seemed brittle. “I know a lot of people, Zoey. Not everyone is a rich snob.”

“No—that’s not why I’m asking,” she said. “I’ve actually been wanting to do a profile on someone in the community. Is the microbrew thing over, what’s it like, how do you deal with hipsters. Stuff like that.”

His expression softened. She hadn’t even noticed that it was harder. “I’ll put the two of you in touch.”

“Please.”

“Plates?”

“Oh—yes, of course. Let me—”

He pressed a hand into her thigh, and she felt like a live wire had been brushed over her skin. His pupils dilated fast and hard, and she heard the small sound she made. “Zoey,” he said, his breath strangled.

She was very proud of herself. She took both the bottles from him, his and hers, and she set them on her coffee table. She reached back and pulled the pony tail out of her hair. And then she slid into his lap as if she were magnetized, his hands coming to her hips to complete the circuit of electric need between them.

“I don’t have a condom with me,” he breathed between kisses, then nipped at her lower lip, drawing it out between them.

“I don’t care.” She surprised herself with that, surprised him too, by the way he slipped a finger between their lips and caught her eyes. “I’m on the pill,” she answered. “Are you clean?”

He took a long, ragged breath. “I haven’t been tested in a year or so. I should be fine, but I’d rather go get a fresh round before I take that step.”

She put the reins on her libido and nodded. “That’s a good idea. And yeah, I probably should as well.”

He kissed her again, his lips moving from her mouth down her chin and along her neckline to her collarbone. “I feel like history has shown us, though, that we do just fine without penetration. After all.”

“There’s a few things in my bedroom I could show you.” She felt the blush flare over her skin as she said it.

He shook his head. “No. I need—to get the vision of you hurting out of my head first. I’d rather we keep things vanilla for a bit.”

She nodded. “Just so long as I get to touch you.”

“If I had my way, we’d never stop.”

A while later, he stopped her again. “The pizza’s getting cold.”

“I don’t care.”

He chuckled as he bent his head down to her cleavage. “Fair enough.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

Friday night, Zoey stood in Alex
’s penthouse, staring at her reflection in the mirror. The dress fit like it had been designed precisely for her, and the rich wine red, which she’d worried would set off the ruddiness on her cheeks, instead brought out bright auburn highlights in her hair. Claire had directed her to bring her own eyeliner and mascara, BB cream if she wanted it, but otherwise had delighted in bringing out her own suitcase of makeup. Their coloring was different enough that Zoey had worried that Claire wouldn’t have shades that would look right on her, but it was a needless worry; it turned out that Claire had all the shades.

“My god,” Zoey had said, pawing happily through the eye shadow palettes and lip stains.

“It’s pretty fun, what people send to your house when they know that if you get photographed, you’ll tell people you were wearing their stuff.” Claire’s expression, however, didn’t look like she actually thought it was much fun. More like she thought she should say that it was. Zoey couldn’t help but reach out and twine her fingers through the younger girl’s. Claire gave her a grateful smile. “So everything’s okay with you and Alex now?”

Zoey smiled, thinking of the last few days. They’d spent them mostly at her apartment, and she’d been pleasantly surprised with, well, how handy he was. He’d done dishes for her, cooked for her, repaired the dripping faucet after he looked up the instructions on the Internet, and if she hadn’t stopped him, he would have gone out for Spackle and paint to repair the cracks in the plaster. “Things are good,” she said. “It’s—relationships aren’t guarantees, Claire. But I promise. I won’t walk out of your life unless you want me to, no matter what happens with him.”

The girl stared at her a moment, and then turned away quickly, digging into her suitcase. “I’m thinking a light layer of this gold shadow,” she said, in an obvious attempt to hide her emotions, “swiped over with some of this pink glitter. I know it sounds extreme, but it’ll be light and pretty. Okay?”

Zoey worried that she’d said something completely wrong until she saw Claire blot carefully at her lower lashes, clearly cognizant of her mascara. “Sounds awesome,” Zoey said.

Her makeup was amazing. She couldn’t pinpoint exactly what Claire had done differently. For the most part, her products were the same, or less expensive than what Zoey usually saved up for. She followed the same general path of foundation, eyes, lips, and made similar choices in color. Maybe it was like cooking, where the meal someone made for you was always just a little more delicious than the one you made for yourself.

“You’re a wizard,” she said to Claire. The girl looked up from the deep, vivid lip stain she was spreading over her own lush lips, and smiled.

“The canvas is halfway decent,” she said, raising just one eyebrow. “It helps.”

The party itself was the exact opposite of that. She hadn’t caught more than offhand mentions from Claire and Alex as to why the party was here, not at Olivia’s home, but why she’d still made it her event. It was incredibly clear from the first moment that everything happening was about Olivia Blankenship showing off her daughter. The fact that her daughter had just turned 18 was nothing but a convenient excuse for her. Zoey didn’t see a single person Claire’s age at the party. Most of them were older than she and Alex by a couple of decades.

But Claire functioned like a movie star, walking from one group to another of her mother’s friends. She introduced Zoey to people, laughed at really bad, usually misogynist, jokes that made Zoey cringe. She never gave a single hint that this was anything other than what she would have chosen for herself.

And maybe it was exactly what she would have chosen
, Zoey scolded herself.
Maybe she did choose it. Not everyone lives like you, and that’s okay.

But she looked around the room, and she knew she’d choose the intimate gathering with close friends and close family every single time. This was far too much for her.

She tagged along with Claire for a little while, and then broke off when they circled near to where the catering had been set up. She munched on shrimp, discovered that she still thought caviar was too gritty to be eaten unless it was on a sushi roll, and sipped at a glass of champagne that made her nose feel weird.

When Alex came into the room, everything stopped.

She’d never seen him in this capacity. Well, she’d seen him on TV, or at events from very, very far away. But she’d never seen him walk into a room, pause briefly to absorb the adoration of all the gazes that turned towards him as he adjusted his cuffs with a small, quiet smile on his face. She’d never watched him scan the crowd, and had the eyes he was looking for be hers. Her heart slammed against her sternum as he found her, his eyes widening and his smile broadening. He came to her, wrapped an arm around her waist and kissed the corner of her mouth. She felt that she could hear a large percentage of the people in the room give a little sigh as she let her hands fall on his shoulders, closing her eyes to block out everything but the feeling of his lips brushing against hers.

“There’s someone I want you to meet,” he said. “Come with me.” He wound his fingers through hers and lead her away from the food.

He proceeded to introduce her to someone high up at every major publication in both New York and Philadelphia, all of whom had apparently arrived to celebrate the birthday of the youngest Blankenship. She talked to all of them, and had half a dozen business card tucked inside the narrow pocket in the skirt of her dress—bless Claire for noticing it and pointing it out to her—before Alex was done showing her off.

It felt strange. She was no newbie at networking, but the way he was leading her around the room… “You didn’t make them promise to give me cards or anything, right?”

Alex had gotten his own glass of champagne. He took a sip, wrinkled his nose, and set it down on the tray of a passing waiter. When she nodded, he took hers as well. “Of course not. I told you I wouldn’t. I’m just introducing you. You’re doing everything else on your own.”

“People are looking daggers at me. They’re trying to kill me with their eye beams.”

He raised an eyebrow. “I wouldn’t think that a proper southern girl could be intimidated by a little bit of jealousy.”

She laughed, too loud and too hard, and the smiles of people around her were barely tolerant. She didn’t care. Alex was watching her, and the heat in his eyes was what she needed. “Sha, it’s not that. It’s pretty sexy to know that other people want what I have.”

Both his eyebrows were up now, but his eyes were sparkling with warmth and laughter. “Oh, I see. So I’m sexy because other people want me. Uh-huh.”

She poked him in the ribs, not hard enough to hurt, though he made a face like he was wounded and folded over her just enough to get a chance to catch her hand and brush his lips over her wrist, sending her pulse into drum roll territory. “You know better,” she said, her voice too thin and breathy. Claire had declared that her panties ruined the line of the sheath, and she was in very serious danger of wetness dripping down her thighs if she wasn’t careful. She pressed her knees together and tried to think sane thoughts, instead of thoughts of him shoving the plates off the table and fucking her while everyone watched. “I want you because I want you. The fact that they want you too, but I get you—that’s just the cherry on top.”

He growled in her ear, and she gasped. Her nipples tightened, tenting out her sheer bra and showing clearly against the thin fabric of the dress. “Where should I take you, then? Here? The bedroom? How close do you care to be?”

“I don’t care,” she whispered. “But now. Please now.”

If his eyes had gone any more Alpha male, she was pretty sure he would have thrown her over his shoulder and been done with any kind of patience. “This way,” he said.

He led her through the open entrance of the great room, and towards the kitchen, but before he reached that bustling center of the party’s actual activity, he turned into the breakfast nook, where they’d talked that first morning, when everything had seemed—well, sane had been a bit of a stretch, but better than it was now.

Zoey wasn’t sure, later, who touched who first. She knew that her pussy was wet and aching for him, and when her hips touched his—either because she pushed herself back against him, or because he pulled her back towards him, she wasn’t sure—she could feel the iron rod of his cock, eager and ready for her. “How tight is this dress,” he asked as he investigated the skirt. It was easy enough for him to pull up to her hips, kissing delicately down her neck. He didn’t look at first, just ran his hand over the curve of her ass, looking for the line of underwear that he would need to remove; when he didn’t feel anything, he shivered against her. “Oh, princess.”

She turned around, bold as brass in his arms. She looped her forearms around her neck and let her naked cunt brush against the fabric of his pants. “How bad do you want me, sha? You can take me here, if you want. Anyone could walk in any time, but I don’t mind.” In truth, the thought of it, the thought of choking back her sounds, swallowing her moans and cries as he drove her over the edge made her pussy tighten and burn with wanting.

“You sure?” he asked. His voice was steady, but there was something in it, something careful and cautious. He had himself on a tight leash, she suspected, and that was good. That was very good.

“One of my naughty fantasies is being tied down to a bed and fucked by guy after guy. Whoever’s not fucking me is jacking over my tits, playing with my mouth, teasing my ass. And I’m just tied down and can’t do anything about it.” It made her cheeks burn to say it out loud, but the way his pupils dilated, the way his breath picked up quickly—he liked the idea, she was almost sure of it.

“We’ll talk about that later,” he said. “If it’s something you want to make happen.”

She reached between them, running her hand over his cock. Even through his pants, he was harder than she’d ever guessed he would be. She could imagine the feel of him in her hand, the outer skin of him burning hot, sliding over that granite core that drove into her. She dropped her head back and let her hips fall forward, brushing against him again, and he moved smoothly, one hand lifting her skirt until it was at waist level in front, the other hand lifting her leg and wrapping it around his knee. She hooked it there, and he lifted her, sliding her ass up onto the table. His mouth devoured hers, her tongue plunging into his mouth, letting him swallow the little noises and desperate cries that kept escaping from her as he pulled a condom from his pocket, unzipped, and sheathed himself. His fingers crept between them, tracing her inner lips, testing her readiness, and she bucked her hips for him. It was her turn to swallow his groan after that. “Want you,” she whispered. “I want you now.”

“I don’t want to hurt you.” There was such agony in his eyes. He was doing a great job of covering it, tamping it down, but she thought maybe it was going to be there for a long time. That maybe it was okay, too. He’d crossed a line, and while she didn’t exactly like the idea of him being afraid, if it kept him from crossing it again while he solidified it in his mind—that was okay.

She wrapped her legs around his hips and positioned him at the opening of her, wiggling him just a little bit inside. His eyes closed and his teeth clamped down on his lower lip. “I’ve gone whole entire days without you,” she said. “It was cruelty and punishment wrapped around misery. If you don’t fuck me so hard I think I’m going to split open, I will cry. And I will ruin my makeup. And that will make your sister cry. And how do you feel about that?”

He grunted, laughing just a little. “Not really a time when I want to talk about my sister.”

“Then fuck me,” she said, punctuating each word with a little dig of her heels into his ass. He’d been so gentle, so kind, since the incident in the play room. They hadn’t had penetrative intercourse since that night, and she needed him. She needed him to know that she was okay, and she needed him to bury himself inside of her and heal the thing he’d broken. “Fuck me hard.”

His eyes opened, and that shit-eating grin that made her clit sit up and take notice spread across his lips. “No.”

“Excuse me?”

He cupped her breast through her dress and kissed her neck again with lips lighter than butterflies. “You heard me.”

She squeezed her heels, but he was made of granite, and he didn’t budge one inch. He was taunting her at her opening, and she could feel her pussy clenching, trying desperately to draw him in. It was an odd sensation, nothing she’d ever felt before, but it was intense, erotic, and it was shooting up her spine to her brain like coffee and spice. “Please,” she whispered, realizing that she was much closer to coming that she’d assumed. “Please, I need you in me.”