Leather Bound (11 page)

I’m not that tall; why does a fall from my own height end up with me so banged up?

‘What?’ I was trying to get my words out through my gasps of breath. ‘Are you. Doing here?’

‘Um.’ Kyle looked as confused as I felt.

‘We were supposed to meet at Cream,’ I said. The air was coming easier now and my head didn’t actually hurt where I’d bonked it. Only my ankle continued to whine about being twisted. It was the same ankle I’d broken when I was in college, during a particularly stupid bike-riding incident that we won’t talk about, but this time the pain wasn’t nearly as bad. Hopefully, I’d just pulled one of my usual dumb moves and hadn’t actually broken anything.

‘Are you OK?’ he asked.

I nodded, but didn’t get up.

Kyle, clearly realising that I wasn’t going to get up anytime soon, plopped himself down beside me.

For the first time I really looked at him. I mean, other than the look of ‘Holy crap, what’s he doing there, I’m falling on him.’ He was dressed in dark jeans and a black T-shirt, topped with a grey suit jacket. His blond hair was brushed back so that it fell in long strands across his forehead. I always forgot how beautiful his eyes were, green like perfectly ripe olives.

And, at the moment, they were very very confused olives.

‘I thought you said to meet you at your house at seven,’ he said. ‘I’m a little early, because we hadn’t talked and …’ He stopped, shaking his head. I knew him well enough to know that meant he was trying not to get upset. My heart did a little tug of guilt and sadness.

‘Not my house,’ I said. ‘The Cat House. Cat.’ As though that made it so much clearer for him. Considering I’d never even heard of the Cat House until today. And hadn’t actually said the Cat House on the phone.

‘You wanted me to meet you at the Cat House?’ he asked.

‘No, but I thought you might come with me. Wait. You know the Cat House? How?’ Because even though Stefan had been keeping a tight lid on it while we’d talked, I’d heard the surprise in his voice when I asked after the Cat House, and something beyond surprise when I said I had tickets. So why wasn’t Kyle looking confused?

‘I –’ he started.

‘Wait.’ We were still sprawled on the ground. I rotated my ankle and was rewarded with nothing more than a small blip of pain. Awesome. ‘Help me up first?’ I asked.

He took my hands in his and pulled me up. I took a tentative step on my aching ankle, and found it held me surprisingly well.

‘Inside,’ I said at his inquisitive look.

The door was still open, of course. It wasn’t like I’d found the time to lock it, or even shut it, between leaving and making my flying leap-fall over Kyle.

I wanted to talk about the Cat House, about why everyone seemed to know about it but me, about what he was doing there, and about a million other things. But what I didn’t want to talk about was probably the very thing that Kyle did want to talk about.

As he helped me into the house and shut the door behind me, I figured that was exactly what he was going to ask and I steeled myself against it. He had every right to; I’d practically run away from him and hadn’t looked back. I still didn’t know what I’d say, but it was time to face it, to stop running away from it, whatever the consequences. He deserved that, and probably much more. Definitely much more.

I turned as he locked the door from the inside, my shoulders square, prepared. Instead of being met with a question, I was met with a surprisingly close view of Kyle’s face. His green gaze was raking me, taking in the red dress, the stockings. I could feel the cold of it, not faraway cold, not angry cold. Not even really cold, but it was the only way I could think of to describe the intensity, the laser-focus with which he was looking at me.

‘What?’ I asked.

‘I want to know,’ he said. ‘why you have a client that takes you to the Cat House. I want to know why you’re dressed the way you are, because it’s hot as hell. And I want to know if your ankle is OK. Mostly, I want to know the answer to the question that I asked you days ago.’

‘I have some questions, too,’ I started, but he put one finger to my lips, silencing me, clearly not finished.

‘But right now, what I really really want to know is why you aren’t kissing me.’

He leaned in and kissed me, deep and hard, bringing me towards him with a single clasp of his hands around my ass. He tasted of sweet milk and honey, his tongue a welcome and gentle explorer of my mouth. His kiss was totally different from Davian’s.

And yet I wanted him just as much.

* * *

‘I don’t,’ I gasped, forcing myself to pull away from the kiss. ‘I can’t. I mean, I want to, but I feel –’ God, why did I always have to feel so bad about things? Why did everything have to have so much weight?

Kyle held my face in his hands, the heat of his palms. ‘I know,’ he said. ‘I know what you’re going to say. I know you can’t. I know it was stupid. I know. I know. I know. So shut up for now and kiss me, OK?’

I did. I kissed him. It was hot and sweet and a little sad, but I closed my eyes and I knew I wouldn’t cry. He tasted like cinnamon and sugar, a sweet spice that let my mind go momentarily silent. His hands in my hair, so familiar, so desired. The way I anticipated his moves, his fists tightening in my loose curls, the soft push of his tongue. His sigh was a remembered pleasure. I’d missed it, even though it had only been a few days.

I swept my fingers down and dragged them over the front of his dark jeans. I found the hardening length of his erection with my palm and cupped it, swirling my thumb over the tip until he groaned and pushed into my hand.

‘Come with me,’ he said. He tugged me towards the bedroom and laid me down on the thick green spread. Same colour as his eyes. You’d think I’d have noticed that before. He lowered himself down beside me, one hand tracing the curve of my hip down over my thigh.

‘One of my favourite places,’ he said.

My hand found his cock again, harder now, lengthening beneath the fabric. ‘One of my favourite places,’ I said. Which almost made me burst into tears. I was tangled in guilt and confusion and something else that I couldn’t identify.

‘Stop,’ he said. ‘Save it for later.’ He clearly meant it, and I let myself trust what he was saying.

‘OK,’ I said. And I went back to kissing, to touching, to getting lost in the feel of him. His lips. His fingers brushing over the fabric of my dress. The push of his cock against my hips.

He tugged the neck of my dress open as far as it would go, tucked two fingers beneath the fabric and circled them over my nipples. I groaned, pushing against his touch, asking for more. Needing more.

‘I’m going to have to take this off you,’ he said, voice so close to a growl that I shivered involuntarily.

‘Please, please, please,’ I said. We fumbled getting the dress over my head, leaving me in nothing more than a bra and stockings. I was bare beneath the black nylons, and he drew in his breath.

‘Oh,’ he said.

His gaze was enough to send me tilting, to make me arch my hips up towards him.

‘Touch me,’ I begged. It was as though agreeing to let the questions between us stand, at least for now, had opened me back up to the lust that was heating every part of my body in tiny pulses. I gave in to it.

When he touched me, it wasn’t what I ached for, the press of his fingers to my wet centre. It was to pull the stockings down over my ass and hips in the slowest move I’d ever seen. Watching me being revealed. Funny how I can’t stand to be exposed out in the open, but having one person watch me with such fierce desire nearly brought me to my knees.

‘Oh, my God,’ I said. ‘You’re killing me. Killing.’ I was almost gritting my teeth, the desire to be touched was so strong. I fumbled for him, to show him what I wanted, touch upon touch upon touch, but he interrupted my gesture by sliding one finger ever so slowly along the outer edges of my pussy. I bloomed at his attention, my wet lips opening, granting access, asking for more.

Without waiting, he thrust a finger into me, curling it, a tap-tap-tap against my g-spot that I couldn’t resist answering. I squirmed, slipping into the perfect position, letting his touch against me roll through my body.

‘You’re so wet,’ he said. Still thumping my g-spot, he leaned down and caught my clit in the suck and pull of his lips.

‘Aurr,’ I said. Nothing at all like a word. He laughed against me, the heat of his breath on my clit contrasting with the cooler air. Another finger. Or two. It was hard to tell from up here. All I could tell was I was wet and filled, aching to be taken fully, to be taken over the edges of whatever Kyle was about to offer.

He suckled harder, pulling the tender bump of my clit into his mouth before tonguing me. His fingers curled and curled, drummed and drummed. Every touch a sensation higher, a little more pleasure, until they ran together, all those zings of yum, into one big shudder. My orgasm stood on the cliff, just waiting for the right moment to jump and fly.

Kyle knew it. He caught my gaze, those gorgeous green eyes drilling into me.

‘Come for me, Jae,’ he said. The sound of my name, his name for me, caught up with the rolls of pleasure, and I came, jumped over the cliff, pleasure and noise and ohmygods and him groaning as my body tightened around his fingers. It was delicious and quick, and then I was panting and giggling.

He waited until I was nearly still, my breathing falling back into itself, then he slid his fingers from me, the slick sound of my pleasure loud in the room.

‘I seriously want to fuck you,’ he said.

‘That’s funny, because I seriously want you to fuck me.’

A second later, ‘Need,’ I amended. ‘I need you to fuck me.’

Laughter from us both as he reached for the condom box I kept on the dresser. And a twinge of sadness too. He was the one man in my life who knew where I kept the condoms. No one else in the world knew that right now.

The deep thoughts slipped away as he rolled the condom slowly over his erection, his cock filling the rubber sheath. It was a beautiful sight. A sight that I wanted. I rolled a finger along the soft hang of his balls, watched his erection respond to the touch with a jump.

I tugged my stockings all the way off and dropped them on the floor. He positioned himself over me, giving me a gorgeous view of his beautiful hips, his sheathed cock, the long muscles of his arms. Then he was in me, my pussy so open that there was no moment of pause, just first I was empty and then I was filled with him. His tip hit my sensitive g-spot, slid over it so that I mouthed a low groan.

Cupping his ass in my hands – who could resist that warm skin, the way the muscles bunched lightly as he thrust into me – I pulled him tighter against me, as if he could actually go deeper than he already was, and he uttered a low ‘fuck, Jae’ that nearly sent me over the edge.

Then he stopped moving. The lack of friction made me feel crazy, needful, edged.

‘Givegivegive,’ I begged, pulling him inwards, trying to bend his body to my needs.

‘If I move, I won’t last,’ he said.

‘Don’t care.’ My voice was all breath, a drumbeat of want in the back of my head.

He shifted, moved away from me, then plunged back in. I wanted to wrap my legs around him, tight and capturing. But he was already moving, driving me back against the bed. Every time he backed away, he was almost completely out of me, some part of him hitting my clit with each withdrawal until it was a maddening ache.

‘Come for me, Jae,’ he snarled, his words caught between his teeth, ending with a soft grunt of pleasure. ‘Come for me so I can come for you.’

He shifted once more, slid out of me and in, my clit coming fully alive. I came with a low keen that rose and rose. Kyle joined me, his voice lower, and I felt him pull away from me, his ass flexing beneath my grip as he came, saying my name.

He lowered himself against me and we stayed that way for a long moment. This is the last time I’ll lie beneath this man, I thought with an odd, sudden certainty, although I didn’t really know why. After all, we might stay lovers. Or whatever it was that we were. Right?

Then he sighed and shifted, giving me a kiss on the cheek before he rolled away, onto the bed beside me. That moment was coming, the one I’d been avoiding. I could feel it barrelling toward us.

‘You don’t want to marry me, do you?’ he asked.

God. That was one of the things I always appreciated about him. He spoke his mind. But sometimes it felt like a steamroller.

I shook my head, afraid to open my mouth because I knew tears would come. I didn’t want to cry. I would not cry.

‘It’s OK,’ he said. ‘I shouldn’t have asked. And not like that.’

The tears came anyway, despite no words, making his face a watery blur. I tried to stop them but, as soon as I blinked, they cascaded down my cheeks.

He reached out a hand and wiped them away. Which somehow made me cry more.

‘I’m not crying. I just have allergies,’ I said, an old joke, waving my hand in front of my face as though it would help.

‘Well, stop it then,’ he said. ‘Before your tongue swells up and you choke to death.’

He wrapped his arms around me, and pulled me close. We were still sex-sticky where our bodies came together and I was tear-sticky where my face rested on his shoulder. When I knew I could speak without crying, I said, ‘I just wasn’t expecting it. And … I don’t know. Isn’t what we had enough?’

‘Had,’ he said. Musing. My heart panged hard in my chest. I was fucking this all up.

‘Sorry,’ I said. Tears threatened again, but I swallowed them back. Stupid eyes.

He ran a hand through my hair. ‘I know,’ he said. ‘I just thought, I don’t know. That we were moving someplace else. Toward a future. I don’t want a casual thing any more. I want a serious thing. A forever thing.’

He pulled away slightly so he could look at me, running his gaze over my face. ‘With you.’

‘I’m sorry,’ I said again. Wishing I had something better to say.

I could tell from his eyes that he heard everything I meant to say in that phrase.

‘You’re a good guy,’ I said. I meant it. ‘Far better than I deserve.’

‘Nah,’ he said. ‘We’re just different. We need different things.’