“I’ve wanted to fuck you since I woke and found you gone from my bed. Ask me for it. Please.” He thrusts gently against my sex as he speaks, and there is no denying my want as well. My body is drenched in wetness, not just from the rain that beats down on us and around us, enveloping us in a soft echoing waterfall.

“Please fuck me.” Without hesitating, he grips my hips and pushes his entire length inside my body as his gaze holds mine and his mouth drops open. The pain is a stab to my womb, and as I cry out he patiently watches my eyes for the pain to subside. I nod when I’m ready for him to move again, and he withdraws quickly before thrusting back within my tight sheath. His hands remain on my hips as he continues to stroke in and out of my body, his intensity building with each stroke, and as his thrusts quicken and the pounding force as well, my body loosens and relaxes to his invasion.

The orgasm building within my body promises to erupt in ecstasy at any moment, and as his breathing becomes faster and his movements more desperate, I come with an incredible moan and my head falls back. The spasms that wrack my body are ceaseless, and as they work their way through my body, the rain beats down on my upturned face and chest. Jordan’s release comes soon after, and as a growl is released from his throat he pulls me to his body, holding me tight to his chest with my head buried in his neck. His stomach muscles quiver as surge after surge of his cum is released within the condom.

He holds our bodies together while our breathing slows and eventually returns to normal. The rain continues to cascade over us. It cools and refreshes my skin as the flush finally abates, and when he pulls from my body, the water runs down my stomach, washing over the sensitive skin of my sex. As I slide from the hood of his car, he pulls the skirt of my dress back down my thighs, and once his clothes are back in place he opens the passenger door of his car for me.

I look at the leather and then at myself with a grimace on my face, and he leans to my ear and speaks. “You’re not getting any dryer standing out here. It’s okay. Get in.” I settle into the seat as he rounds the car to the driver’s side, sliding in next to me. And as he starts the car and pulls into the quiet deserted street, his hand moves to my leg and then eventually to my hand.

***

God, she’ll be the death of me, but I will surely enjoy every moment of my demise. Watching her on the street tugging at her shoe, standing drenched and frustrated was a turn on. I wanted to help her; like some chivalrous prick from another time, I wanted to be her knight in shining armor. Seeing her fall to her butt didn’t help matters. I was practically out of the car before I’d put it in park to pull her to her feet.

The entire evening was one long build-up to my cock invading her body. Catching site of her in yet another failed attempt at style had me wanting to defend her to the death from the pariahs at Foster’s. They’re not all cruel, judgmental assholes, but there are certainly enough to cause my sweet innocent crush more than enough embarrassment than I can handle. My nerves were already shot from our nightmare of a meeting earlier in the day, but then Vera came along and my hackles were raised at once. Adeline looked amazing, underdressed but ten times more beautiful than any of the other women in the room. Pins held back her long, chestnut hair from her face. The length trailed down her back in loose curls that nearly reached her waist. The dress had me drooling. The fabric was a structured little piece that fit to a T. The strapless top showed me exactly where my lips wanted to be on her collarbone, and the skirt that fell above her knees was a constant temptation to my hand that so wanted to caress her thigh.

When I finally had her within my arms on the dance floor, I was ready to mount her body. Her breath was ragged, and she wanted it. Her admission that Mark had come on to her threw me for a loop completely. I wasn’t mad at her, but I was livid at him. What a pompous prick to think he could behave in such a way just because she turned him down, but again, my frustration came out aimed in her direction. I was more hurt she hadn’t confided this bit of information in me before now, but I wasn’t angry at her; not her. She suffered so much at Mark’s hands this afternoon that all I wanted was to take her away from the nightmare she faced at Trigg’s, and now I’ve managed to cross the line I’ve been fantasizing about crossing for weeks now.

The very act of driving with her beside me in the car is a turn-on. It reminds me of our first night together when I knew nothing about her at all and didn’t care to. How very much things have changed since that night. I don’t like that I want her still. It complicates my life and, more than that, my emotions. Life is easier when you don’t care, and I’ve lived my life by that mantra for years now. Quite frankly, I’ve enjoyed my life very much as a result. But I want to care for her, and that fact alone socks me with a vulnerability I don’t want anything to do with.

She guides me to her apartment in the South Loop. It isn’t in a bad neighborhood, but the old house turned apartment building is in a sorry state of disrepair. It’s evident by the hanging gutters, the chipped and broken stucco, the paint-peeling fascia, never mind the tired and skimpy-looking shingles that gave up doing their job years ago. I want to go in with her, but once I’ve walked her to the door I stop short of entering. She is nervous, and she wants to ask, but she’s terrified of my response.

“I should go.” And though I say the words, I can’t pull my gaze from hers or turn to walk away.

I’m watching her eyes, but as I do my gaze drops to her lips. I wanted those lips so much I could barely contain myself, and even now, imagining that taste once again is hardening my arousal. Her door is standing wide, and I can smell the scent of her home through the opening. It smells deliciously of her, and it’s beckoning me to follow. I can see the interior of her living room. The ceilings are tall with original crown molding, and the trim work is wide but pitifully painted over. Her floors are old, worn hardwood that looks rustic and charming. Naturally, my only real thought is what it would be like to have her on that floor grinding splinters in my knees as I took her body; yes, I’m that pathetic at the moment. Her furniture is cheap and likely used, but eclectic. Even on a budget, she has taste. God, I want to follow her in.

“Are you sure you don’t want to come in?” Nope! Not sure at all!

“Maybe next time,” I reply, stifling my real desire. She catches my reference and gives me a sheepish smile, and as I take her lips once more, exploring and getting absolutely lost in her taste, I admit what I don’t want to admit: there will absolutely be a next time.

***

When I arrive home, I drop my keys on the kitchen island and open a bottle of wine. I retreat to my bathroom and jump in the shower. I’m confused, and I don’t do confused. I do confidence, and I’m thrown for a loop. Why didn’t I stay? She gave me all the permission I needed. She wanted me to stay, and there’s no denying I wanted to be with her; my still-hard arousal is proof enough of that. So, why the hell did I leave? I used the only condom I had with her on the hood of my car, but still, I could have had plenty of fun with her even without one. Even the first night we were together, I wanted to wake to her body next to mine, and I had that very opportunity tonight and chose to pass. It was hard to turn down. Even as I spoke the words, my brain was throwing its hands up in exasperation, but I needed space. I needed to think. I need to screw my fucking head back on.

When I climb into bed with my wine and a book, I look to the emptiness that surrounds me. I used to like this emptiness. It meant I was untouchable, I was in control, I was safe, and my life was easy. But looking around now, I am just pathetic. I’m alone, lonely even, and she is sleeping in her bed where I want to be, miles from me. I toss the book to the floor and shut the lamp off quickly, hating my life for the first time in a very long time. The easy, simple, hedonistic life I had created is no longer easy or simple.


Chapter 9

As I hop off the ‘L’ Monday morning, I’ve nearly forgotten about the debacle of Friday… Correction: debacles. I’ve thought of little else except Jordan, and not our meeting with Mark, nor about dinner, but about the hood of his car. For the second time in as many weeks, I’ve been reckless. I’ve decided being reckless is kind of fun … Jordan is kind of fun. After a weekend away from him when I wanted nothing more than to see him, I’m restless, I’m eager, I’m pathetically excited.

However forgetful I might have been about the events of Friday, I’m reminded swiftly the moment I sit at my desk and Vera approaches. “Come on. You’re expected in Foster’s office… I said come on! I don’t have all day.” Bitch. As I stand to follow, Vera takes off like lightning, leaving me in the dust. I have to jog just to catch up, and as Vera looks back once and regards me with her normal dose of Adeline hatred, I cringe. I don’t want to think about the catastrophe that was Friday, but apparently that’s exactly what I’m in for.

As I enter Foster’s office, I look around expecting Jordan, but he’s absent. Vera, however, is not, and she makes her presence very well known as she speaks. “Here she is. She was apparently late this morning.” I was not! I had no idea I could hate a person so much, but I’ve discovered I’m really quite good at hating her. Mr. Foster pays her comment no mind and asks me to sit. As I do, Jordan enters, and I’m left craning my neck around to see him as he approaches behind me. He looks glorious and amazing as always. He’s wearing another ridiculously awesome suit that fits to a T. This one is an indistinguishable shade of gray or brown, and he’s paired it with a deep brown-colored shoe that has a squared off toe and looks as perfectly antique as his designs. I’m left catching my breath as he takes the seat next to me without the slightest hint of nervousness at my presence—good to know only one of us is so pathetic.