Deliciously Obedient (34 page)

The ability
to choose without expectations.

It made her
want to say
fuck you
and
I love you
all at once.

And right
now, she would do exactly that with Mike, except instead of words,
she would use her body.

The
apartment was, now, familiar to her, and a chiding internal voice
pleasantly pointed out that she was about to sleep with two separate
men within forty-eight hours of each other on the same bed.

That had to
be some kind of record, right? Inured now to her own defiance of
every norm she’d carefully sculpted over the years, the fact that
she’d just been so intricately intimate with Jeremy in the same bed
Mike led her to made the transgression all the more...appropriate?

After all,
Jeremy had encouraged this. Approved of it. Even...nurtured it.

Who was she
to turn away from having her lover ask her to explore her very core?
As Mike’s hands rose to cup her jaw and his mouth descended on
hers, she had only one regret.

That Jeremy
wasn’t here, too.

Imagining
this moment so many times, even in her dreams, what she hadn’t
accounted for was the steady familiarity and wholehearted grace of
their joined touch. His lips brushed hers like old lovers coming
home, his hands warming her hips and waist as they slid along her
body. In all the intrusive moments when images of Mike filled her,
she had assumed the level of passion would make her heart fairly
burst from her chest, but now?

No.

What filled
her, instead, was the rush of an ancient understanding between them,
archivists sifting through clothing now discarded, hands cataloguing
bodies neither had been given enough time to learn. Their touch was
slow, their tongues exploring each other not with a fevered pace but
with the privilege of certainty.

Being
undressed by Michael Bournham carried a panache with it, and while
none of her clothes were bespoke, she was about to be naked. The
thought made one half of her mouth rise up in a wry smile as they
kissed, and he broke the connection, peering at her.

The room
seemed warmer than it had any right to be, the bed neatly made and
smelling strongly of a fresh scent, like bedsheets washed in too much
detergent. No matter
—
what
she wanted to inhale was Mike’s musk and spice and scent of sex,
the essence of him as she tasted and teased for the duration of
whatever they were commencing.

A pang of
guilt caught her belly off-guard, Jeremy invading her thoughts, but
as she reminded herself that her coupling with Mike was done with his
full agreement she relaxed, then frowned, pushing away what she knew
she was
supposed
to feel, and letting herself experience what
was
truly
in her heart.

Conflict
would only be present if she let jealousy enter, and Jeremy’s
explanation made sense. She added a corollary: love could expand to
include more than one person if she let herself find what was true to
her. Not to her family, or society, or the media—but to her and
only her.

“I have
missed you so desperately,” Mike whispered, pulling his taut,
compact frame hard against her softness. “You can’t imagine,”
he added, mouth on her neck, nipping as the sound of his breath felt
like a prayer.

“Trust
me,” she whispered, “I can imagine. I see you in my dreams.”
Her hands slid over his bare ass, reveling in the feel of him under
her palms. The movement pushed his erection into her belly and she
moved her hips to the left, making him groan.

Those eyes.

“Your
dreams? You haunt my thoughts. Every waking moment, Lydia. I can’t
get you out of my head, and getting you into my bed is better than
nothing, but I can’t take anything less than everything. I need
you. I’ve spent ten years crafting a life where what I want
supersedes what I need. You’ve upended all of that. You. Only you.”

With a
piercing look that let her see into his soul, his words poured out,
hands on her nude shoulders, his warm breath tickling the tops of her
breasts as he spoke with a hoarseness that scraped at the wall around
her heart. Those words. Those eyes. This man...how she wanted to
believe him.

Needed to
believe him.

“Why me?”
Insecurity would have made her ask that weeks ago. Not now. The
question stood as a test
—
not
a plea.

How he
responded would seal their fate.

“Why
you?” His breath sounded like a train in the distance, the inhale
sharp and full of kinetic energy, the exhale growing quieter with
time. “I don’t know,” he said, the outer edges of his eyes
turning upward with a bewildered smile. “If I knew the answer, I
wouldn’t be here like this.”

“What do
you mean?”

A sweet
kiss on her cheek, then her other cheek, then her collarbone was his
answer. Both nude, their bellies brushed against each other, her
thigh caressing his thick cock, his bicep grazing her breast. The
questions weren’t formalities, though making love was
—
at
this point
—
quite
the given.

These words
were meant for the
after
.

“I mean
that I don’t live in a world of I don’t knows. Michael Bournham
doesn’t not know. Hell, Mike Bournham, for that matter, doesn’t
live in that kind of uncertainty. No part of my life prepared me for
needing someone the way I need you. You are as vital to me as air and
water. Hurting you was like opening up a vein.”

His voice
choked with emotion and her own eyes filled. Stroking his cheek made
him look up, startling her as she saw the sheer, unencumbered emotion
reflecting back at her. “My own ambition got in the way of being
with you, Lydia, and if I can’t find my way back into your heart,
then I’ll never forgive myself. That’s why I went to the
campground—because I couldn’t bear to think that I’d broken
whatever bond I needed with you so badly that I’d lost you forever.
Was it stupid? Yes. Was it wrong? No.”

Another
sweet kiss, this one on her lips.

“Because
I fell in love with you so long ago that my need is just years of
restraint finally giving way.”

The push
came from her own restraint taking physical form as the force of her
hands thrusting against his chest made him fall with grace to his own
bed, pulling her down with him. Quickly, she was on him, on the bed,
all mouth and hands and lust and desire, her own need to touch him so
fierce she couldn’t have held herself back if her life depended on
it. Hungry and intense, their mouths and hands worked to make up for
lost time, the sense that there was plenty of time vanquished, as if
some unseen hand moved the clock forward.

Mike made
her feel as if this were both the first and the thousandth time she’d
been touched, his hands so sure, his gaze confident and unyielding.
As he took one nipple in his mouth she ran her hands up his back and
sighed, his name chanting through her head, no longer the intrusive
gadfly it had been these weeks but, now, the word was a lover’s
promise.

Like their
encounter in the elevator, in the supply closet, in his office and at
her apartment—each hot and treasured—the sultry heat of his
presence made the commonplace lovemaking she’d spent with all but
Jeremy seem like a bland waste of time.

All but
Jeremy.

Mike’s
hands pushed at the small of her back, guiding her forward, his wet
lips on her other breast, breaking her thoughts. Enjoy this, she told
herself, and just when she feared the thoughts would spiral in an
endlessly repeating pattern her body pulled her back in, aided by the
divinely seeking Mr. Bournham, whose tongue willed her blood to
furiously find the places that needed release.

Most of
all, her heart.

“I can’t
believe you’re really here,” she murmured, leaning over him, her
lips barely touching his ear. His tongue tweaked her rosebud nipple
and pulled off as he flipped her over, fluid and athletic. The
grooved lines of his muscled arms and chest called out to her,
beckoning, her hands unable to stop touching him. Lifting her knee
just so, she stroked his thick, veined rod with the top of her
kneecap until his powerful hand stopped her, pinning her leg cold.

“I’ll
make you believe I’m here.”

And, with
that, he did, her body a live wire, infused with the wet rush of
wanting him in her, craving the feel of him over her and joining
their bodies and hearts with the simple act of giving each other what
they needed most:

Connection.

If
seduction had been part of what she wanted, and if earlier in the
night she’d sought his absolution, that all faded as Lydia thrust
her hips up toward him, wrapping her legs around those carved hips,
her flesh begging for him to find her arousal and meet it with his
own.

One
measured hand shifted away from them as Mike reached for a condom
that materialized out of nowhere and he dispensed with the
formalities. Aching to have him fill her, she locked eyes with him.

“I’m
trusting you,” she whispered. Pain shot through his expression, the
look of a man torn by his own regret, and she took one finger and
traced the planes of his cheekbones, studying him.

“And I’m
proving myself to you,” he replied as he entered her, the mix of
words and fire so exquisite she held her breath, not wanting any
sensation to supersede
this
. Just this.

Only this.

Closing her
eyes, the vulnerability she hid from the world was unveiled here, her
hands memorizing the sharp edges of his body, how he was all sinew,
bone and muscle making love to her, a sliver of moonlight giving the
room a gentle glow.

“Oh,”
she moaned, the easy rise of her release beginning, so soon—too
soon, almost. Almost. Making love with Mike had been the focus of so
many thoughts, feelings and dreams that she wanted to make this last
forever.

You can
,
she thought.
Just keep saying yes
.

Jeremy
floated through her mind, an image of the three of them together
entering her consciousness and yet she had no reaction. The thought
simply was, a pleasing question her subconscious was asking as Mike’s
body loomed over her, his thrusts gliding her to ecstasy. Kissing
him, she met his rhythm, their timing so intuitively in sync you
would think that they’d choreographed what now swept her away.

“I missed
you, too,” she called out as his pelvis curled, changing the
quality of their joining, and a sudden climax flushed through her.
Wordless sounds sang from her throat as she met him with each push,
his arms on either side of her, neck tight, his hips moving faster to
bring them both to a twinned pleasure she savored.

As free and
uninhibited and open as she could want, she shed her expectations and
let her body and heart sing, the tingling and explosions making her
claw his back, drive him deeper into her, and his own groans told her
they were together.

Together
.

Breathing
labored with joy, she enveloped Mike, crossing her ankles around his
ass, spreading her arms out and wrapping him tight in a Lydia cocoon.
His mouth stretched to a smile she could feel on her shoulder as he
cleared his throat and said:

“Thank
you.”

Tears,
unexpected and poignant, filled her eyes. One slipped down her
cheekbone and into her ear, trickling down to Mike.

“Are you
crying?” he said in a hoarse voice, the closest sound he seemed
capable of making that sounded like panic in his tone. “Did I hurt
you?” He peeled off her in an instant, palm touching her as if
taking inventory. “My God, Lydia, I
—
”

“No, no,”
she reassured him. “Not tears of pain.”

“Of what,
then?”

“Hope.”

The
tenderness in those bright eyes filled her with visions of a future
she’d long buried, her own hope that someone
—
anyone
—
would
ever match what she wanted a faded dream.

And the
idea that two...well, that was just crazy talk.

Right?

Mike used
one finger to remove her tears and then kissed each cheek as she
closed her eyes, too overcome to think or speak. So many words and
ideas and thoughts needed to be said, but as he wrapped her in his
arms and pulled the sheets over them, she let herself be truly
vulnerable, silently asking for what she needed most with him.

To just
be
.