Fearless (7 page)

To make matters worse, I have probably just committed professional suicide, as least as far as writing the memoir for his dad. But I refuse to sacrifice my integrity for a job. I can get another job, but I'll never get my pride back if I don't leave right now with my head held high.

I look at my reflection in the oval, gilt framed mirror over his sink, frowning. I look, quite simply, like a woman who has been fucked well and enjoyed it. My lips are slightly swollen and redder than usual, my skin is flushed and glowing, and my dark hair looks like it has had a man's hands buried in it. I snatch a brush off the vanity and angrily drag it through my hair, brushing out the tangles. I will leave with whatever small shred of dignity I have left. I slip my shoes on and open the bathroom door just as he walks into the bedroom, still naked. If I didn't feel so miserable, it would probably be comical.

“What are you doing?” he asks, his voice low and even.

“Leaving,” I say. Belatedly I remember that he picked me up last night and I have no way home. “Take me home please,” I add with as much dignity as I can muster.

“I thought you were getting in the shower,” he says cautiously, looking at me as if I'm some mad woman capable of going off at any minute.

“No. You told me to get in the shower!” I say angrily. “That doesn't necessarily mean I'm
going
to get in the shower.”

“Okay,” he says slowly. “Emma, please get in the shower. Is that better?”

“Why? So you can make me come again? So you can prove your prowess with women, even, or maybe especially, women who are uptight and unadventuresome?” I spit out. “What's your record of most orgasms you've given a woman at once? Four times? Six? Ten?”

“Emma,” he says warningly. “You're starting to piss me off.”

Oh really! Well that makes two of us. “So what! I don't really care if I piss you off. Be pissed all you want, because I'm leaving.”

I head toward the door but he stops me, his grip like steel on my shoulders.

“No, you're not,” he says matter-of-factly, holding me immobile.

Angry, I try to shrug him off but his vice-like hold on me, although gentle, is unyielding, his body hard and immoveable as I try to push him away.

“Is this what you do, Emma?” he says more softly. “Run away when things don't go according to your plan?”

I pause for a minute, thinking of how I had learned to avoid Tim's moods and anger by simply walking away. He never wanted to know what I was thinking or noticed when I was hurting, so I learned to deal with things on my own.

“Maybe,” I say in a small voice.

“Not this time, not with me,” he says firmly. “I want your complete honesty. We are going to talk about this, and if you still want to leave then I'll take you home, but you're not walking out of here with some half-brain notion in your head about what's going on between us without at least telling me what you're thinking.”

His face is stern and uncompromising.

“Why?” I challenge. “You got what you wanted. I got what I wanted. It's a win-win.”

“And what exactly is it that you think I wanted?” he asks, and the hard look in his eyes makes me take an involuntary step back.

“Sex. It's what we both wanted. And you got the added bonus of being the guy who could give me three orgasms in twelve hours when I told you I wasn't good at them. To be the man to introduce me to mind-blowing sex that I will compare every future experience to. And it was, hands down, the best sex I have EVER had in my entire life.” I feel tears prick my eyelids and will them away. I don't want him to see me cry. “I'm sorry. I thought I could do this, but I can't. Thank you for a wonderful time, and I really mean that. I will never forget it. But I'm not going to be another girl so eager to have sex with you that I do whatever you tell me to do. And I don't want to be your project. I'm not a challenge to be conquered.”

“Is that what you think?”

“Yes! The minute I told you there was no way I could have another orgasm you were determined to prove me wrong. You ordered me into the shower!” I add indignantly. “Have you ever heard of asking nicely?”

“Emma, I don't have anything to prove. I could make you come ten times in a row if I wanted to,” he said levelly.

My traitorous body comes alive at both the thought and his absolute certainty.

“Yes, I do want to make you come over and over again until you scream my name, but only because I want to be the one to give you pleasure and fill your every need, not because you are some kind of project. I hope I have ruined you for any other man, because I don't intend to share you. Contrary to your opinion of me, I do not take that many women to bed, and I have never for a second thought of you as a conquest or a challenge. Why would you think what we did together means any less to me than it did to you?”

“Because I'm not good at this,” I say. “Because I overthink things and over analyze everything, and I'm not good at letting go and being uninhibited, which is what you are obviously used to. You can clearly have any woman you want. Women who are clearly much more experienced than I am.”

Although his grip on me remains tight, his eyes soften as he runs his thumb across my bottom lip. “You're the woman I want, Emma. You are the most beautiful, responsive, and sensual woman I've ever met. Your asshole of an ex-husband deserves to be shot for making you feel otherwise. You are perfect just the way you are. I'm sorry about the shower. I'm not good at asking nicely. I'm used to demanding what I want and getting it. It's who I am, but I'll try to ask nicely every once in a while if it makes you happy. You have all the power, Emma. You have the power to give me what I want or refuse me.”

With the way he's looking at me, I'm having a hard time imagining refusing him anything. “What
do
you want?” I ask.

“You,” he says simply. “All of you, exposed and revealed only to me.”

“So part of your attraction to me is my inexperience?” I press.

“A little,” he admits. “But only because it makes you mine. It means we get to explore what turns you on together. I love your inhibitions, because that means I get to be the one to push you past them.”

“Why me?” I want more than anything to believe he wants me as much as I want him, but I'm not sure.

“I wanted you the first time I laid eyes on you, so much so that I convinced Dr. Matthews to let me meet with you on Monday instead of him. I don't know what it is, but there is something primitive and fundamental between us that compels me to make you mine. You drive me crazy simply by existing. I have never felt like this before. I want to know you. I want to make you laugh and hold you when you're sad and know the secrets of your soul. I want to push your boundaries and hear you beg. I want to give you everything you want and then more. I don't care about your past, or how experienced you are. We'll find our own way together. Say you believe me Emma,” he says, his breath ragged. “Say you'll stay.”

I am completely undone. I whisper, “I believe you. I'll stay.”

He pins me to the wall with his body, his hands on either side of me holding me captive as his lips claim mine with an urgency I don't understand.

Bending his head so his lips are so close to my ear that I can feel his breath, he murmurs, “Emma, please shower with me.”

Giddy with the knowledge that this gorgeous man wants me and impossibly turned on, I look up at him flirtatiously from beneath my lashes. “Well,” I say, considering. “You did ask nicely.”

I quickly duck under his arm, escaping his confinement. “I'll think about it,” I say mischievously.

Instantly, Beckett lunges toward me, but I'm smaller and faster and I easily sidestep him. Laughing, I race toward the doorway. He overtakes me in three long strides, capturing me by the waist. Nuzzling his nose into my neck, he says warningly, “Don't play with me Emma.”

Emboldened by what he said, I have a wicked desire to see how far I can push him. I take his hard cock into my hand and say, “But you're fun to play with.”

“That's it!” he says with that dark look in his eyes that sets my pulse racing. In one smooth move, he scoops me off my feet and throws me over his shoulder. I squeal and kick my feet, catching him in the stomach. He smacks my bottom, a stinging smack that inexplicably sears straight to my clit. He strides across the room and into the bathroom with me still upended over his shoulder and sets me down next to the shower. “Move an inch and I will tie you up and fuck you until you beg for mercy,” he says calmly.

Oh god. I am breathless with desire for him. He can make me wet with nothing more than his words, so raw and primitive. I don't think he will actually follow through with his threats, but I'm not completely sure so I stand still while he turns the shower on.

“Promises, promises….” I can't help but add teasingly.

“You have no idea what you're saying,” he says roughly, pushing his fingers through my hair and bringing his lips hungrily to mine. I kiss him back greedily, my need matching his.

He stops kissing me long enough to undress me, but this time there's no slow eroticism to the way he removes my clothes. He roughly tugs my dress off, and then my bra and panties.

He presses his mouth against mine and it feels like he's claiming me. Placing his hands under my butt, he squeezes my ass as he lifts me off my feet. “Wrap your legs around me,” he says. The heat in his eyes intoxicates me.

He lifts me easily and I wrap my legs around his waist, our bodies touching in the most intimate of places, chest to chest and center to center. I want him more than I've ever wanted anything. Opening the shower door, he carries me into the steaming shower, pressing my back against the cold marble wall as he takes my mouth possessively.

Turning so the water sluices over our bodies, he sets me down on the built-in marble seat. He turns slightly and I can't help but admire the lean lines of his body, slick with water. Grabbing a bottle of body wash, he squirts some on a bath sponge and then rubs it until it's covered with a thick lather. He turns back to me and lifts my hair, running the soapy sponge gently around the back of my neck, over my shoulders, and down my back, making small erotic circles. Hmmm. If I'd know he was ordering me into the shower for this maybe I wouldn't have protested so much.

But in the light of day, I'm embarrassed by the intimacy of him bathing me. “I can do it,” I say, reaching for the sponge.

“Let me,” he murmurs. “Let me take care of you.”

With a sigh, I try to relax and focus on the sensation of the sponge moving erotically over my skin, setting each nerve on fire. He washes my back and then my arms, moving the sponge gently over my chest, around and over each breast, roughly abrading each nipple before moving down across my stomach. My muscles quiver with desire. Kneeling before me, he takes my foot in his hand, running his tongue along the arch before following the trail of fire left by his tongue with the sponge. He circles the sponge around my ankle and up the length of my leg, inch by delicious inch, until he's caressing my inner thighs. I hear a whimper as he lifts my other foot and repeats his erotic ministrations, and realize it's me.

Then he's dropping the sponge and scooting me forward until I'm sitting on the edge of the seat and he's kneeling before me as the water gently flows over both of us, washing me clean. With his hands on my knees he nudges my legs apart, opening me to him. He runs kisses up my inner thigh, alternately nipping the sensitive skin and then soothing the small stings with his tongue and lips, until he reaches the apex of my thighs. I gasp at the touch of his tongue circling my clitoris, relentlessly flicking and swirling around and around until I don't think I can bear the intensity any longer. Tipping my head back, I thread my fingers through his hair, pulling him closer and urging him on as I feel my body quicken. He tongues me insistently, granting me no reprieve until I can't take anymore. With a cry I explode, the white hot rush of the orgasm blinding me in its intensity. My nerves, my body, and my soul are on fire.

He gives me a minute to recover, raining small kisses up my belly before kissing me hard on the lips, slipping his tongue into my mouth so I can taste my own arousal. It's intensely erotic. As we kiss, he pulls me to my feet and crushes me against him so I can feel his hardness pressing against my stomach. Suddenly, I want nothing more than the feel of him hard and full inside me, pushing me to my limits with his punishing thrusts.

“I want you inside me,” I say. My voice sounds strangely hoarse.

“I don't have a condom,” he says.

“It's okay. I'm on the pill. And I don't have any diseases. I practice safe sex.” With a strangled laugh I add, “Actually, I practice no sex.”

With a throaty chuckle, he says, “I'm clean too. Are you sure?”

“Yes,” I moan impatiently. “I want to feel you come inside of me.”

He kisses me hungrily then, his lips demanding all that I can give him.

“Put your hands on the wall,” he says softly and I obey, turning toward the wall and placing my palms against the slick marble. His body presses up against me from behind, his hands sliding over my breasts, rolling and teasing my nipples until they're hard points before traveling down to caress my mound, thrusting a finger inside me.

“Ah Emma,” he groans. “You are so wet for me. I love how you respond to me.”

Grasping my wet hair in his hand, he pulls gently, forcing my head back until it rests on his shoulder.

“I'm going to take you from behind,” he whispers into my ear. “I'm going to fuck you until you scream my name.”

His raw words are intoxicating and my breaths are coming out in hard, soft pants, the anticipation making me squirm with need. I brace my palms more firmly against the cold marble, needing the support it provides as my knees weaken.