Caught Up In You 3: Designer Love and Empty Things (Edgeplay) (9 page)

 Every muscle is slick with sweat, every line pulled taut as he pleasures himself. He’s glorious like this, the picture of male arousal. He showed so much restraint with my body, never pushing me too far, but he is merciless with his own. His left hand comes around my hip and I can feel the air moving from his busy hand. The slick sound of his motion, skin to skin, working in tandem to crest that final peak.

 The first hot jet of semen splashes across my skin, right into the crevice. I actually cry out at the sensation as another streak marks my private flesh. Our eyes lock as he continues to come against my ass. The knowledge is there in his eyes as well. We’re filthy, base creatures, reveling in hedonistic abandon. There’s no place I’d rather be.

 He collapses on top of me, burying his face in my hair. His weight is delicious on top of me, his cooling cum melding our bodies together. The air in the room is filled with the scent of sex and the harsh breaths we’re both struggling to catch.

 It seems like an eternity has passed since we entered this bedroom. We drift for a time, spent and floating in that ether reserved exclusively for post-coital lovers.

  “Am I forgiven?” I ask at length.

 He stirs and grips my chin. Those blue eyes seem calmer now than I’ve ever seen them. “As far as I’m concerned, yes.”

 I hear what he doesn’t say. “But not with the other you.”

 “Mr. Edge is trickier. The lines aren’t as clearly defined for him. He’s operating in the dark.”

 “Why do you call yourself that?”

 Connor shifts back and props a hand beneath his head. “Because he’s the public façade. The proper, user friendly version. I’m not fit for most company.”

  “Which is the real you though?” I need to know this. I’ve connected with this side of him in a way I’m starting to doubt is even possible with the more aloof version.

 Using his index finger, he pushes some hair away from my face. It’s such a light, tender gesture. “Both? Neither? Somewhere in between? Everyone has different facets of himself, different sides that he shows to different people.”

 “But how come you are aware of everything that happens and he isn’t?”
 “Enough questions.” Connor rolls off the bed. “I’ll run us a bath.”

 Stung by his curt dismissal, I curl up onto my side. The thought of still being on the outs with the Mr. Edge version of Connor bothers me. The sexually dominant Connor possesses answers, but he won’t share them with me. Why?

 Why didn’t I tell him about my grandfather’s illness? Because I was afraid. So what is Connor afraid of?

 He has everything, at least on the surface. More money than he knows what to do with, looks, and other than his divided personality, his health. But he’s paranoid beyond reason, cagey and untrusting of most people. He goes to great lengths to conceal his true self, even from himself. There has to be a reason for that.

  I need to find out what.

Chapter Seven

 I
follow Connor into the oversized bathroom. White votive candles are scattered about the room and the scent of vanilla fills the small space.

 “Turn around,” he instructs.

 Slowly, I pivot away from him.

 “God, you’re luscious.” His words are rough and filled with emotion.

 I blush under his observation. “You’re the only one who thinks so.” And I love him for it. I’ve come to terms with my feelings. I’ve never been a reckless person, but with Connor, I throw caution to the wind time and again.

 He tugs my hair until I tip my head back. “You started a bar fight, Baily.”

 “Not really.” I think back to that Saturday a few weeks ago when two of my male friends got into it at the local watering hole. “Greg was already drunk and Eric has always been stubborn. Their personalities clashed. It was stupid and it wasn’t about me. I was just there.”

 He shakes his head and twists my hair up off my back, clips it to secure it. “You’re so naive. Men only fight about one thing, territory. Those bozos were infringing on mine.”

 “I don’t like being referred to as part of your territory,” I say.

 “It’s not meant to be insulting or to go against the women’s rights agenda. I know you are perfectly capable of caring for yourself. But you can’t reason with millenniums of ingrained instinct. It’s imprinted on our DNA. Alpha males lay claim to the choicest resources around and you are my crown jewel.”

 I don’t know how to respond to his crude yet somehow flattering explanation. He runs a wet washcloth over my lower back and butt, removing the evidence of his passion from my skin, before helping me into the tub. It’s a modern convenience, big enough for six people and lined with jets.

 Connor follows me in and I settle between his bent legs, resting my head on his chest. Warm water bubbles around us and I breathe out a sigh of contentment. “This is nice.”

 He traces the bumps of my spine in a steady up and down motion. “What can I give you?”

 I frown and look up at him. “What do you mean?”

 Lines form around his brow. “I mean, I don’t have anything to hold you here with me. I know you must be restless with nothing to do. What can I give you that you’ll actually take?”

  This is the reason I came to see him in the first place before we got sidetracked. “I want to go back to school, get my degree so I can be a nurse.”

 He sucks in a deep breath, his chest rises and falls. I stay pressed up against him, waiting for him to speak. “It isn’t safe.”

 “Connor, just hear me out, please.”

 He engulfs my shoulders with his large palms. “Baily, someone tried to kill you. I don’t know who or why. Lying low for a month isn’t enough. I can’t send you off into the world knowing that you could be in danger every second. I’ll go insane worrying.”

  I sit up and put space between our bodies. “Listen to me very carefully, all right? I don’t need your permission; that’s not what I’m asking for here. I want you to support me in what has been a long standing dream. But I’ll do it with or without your help. With would be nicer. For both of us.”

 To emphasize my point, I wrap my arms around his neck and crush my breasts against his chest. He inhales sharply as I press my sex to his, demonstrating my eagerness for us to get along.

 “You’re not playing fair,” he murmurs, rocking himself against me. I reach down, parting my labia so the head of his cock rubs against my clit directly. It amazes me that we could both feel such a strong desire after the earlier scene, yet our bodies strain toward each other as though magnetized.

 “You never play fair.” I nip at his earlobe. “Why should I?”

 I wrap my fist around the plump head of his erection and he throws his head back. Power surges through me as I pump him with my fist in long, drawn out pulls.

 “I love touching you,” I whisper. “You’re so hard, and so smooth. But you know what I love even more?”

 “Baily....” His hands seek out my hips and pull me even more tightly against him. His eyes are heavy lidded, almost as though he’s drugged. Maybe he is. I know that’s how I feel in the throes of our combined passion.

 But right now I’m clear headed. I have a point to make. “You ask me what you can give me? Freedom. The right to make my own life choices. I make some good ones.”

 I move my hand away and sink onto his solid length. His eyes fly open and I see panic there. “Baily, I’m not—”

 I kiss him to stop his protests and whisper the truth. “It’s okay. I’m on the pill. I have been for weeks.”

 His sigh is pure relief. “You scared the hell out of me.”

 It shouldn’t sting that he’s so paranoid about impregnating me. I’m not ready to be responsible for a tiny helpless life, so why should I expect him to be? Yet I feel like there’s something I’m missing, some monster that dwells in the darkness of his soul that he hasn’t shown me.

 “Ride me,” he whispers, nuzzling my neck, and I push away my unease. Without a condom he feels even hotter and I can tell from the little gasping sounds he makes that our lovemaking is different for him too.

 “You like this?” I squeeze him with my feminine muscles, and the tendons in his neck stand out, answering my question. I’m thrilled he’s responding to me this way. I wasn’t sure his controlling self would like it. “See what can happen when you give me a little room to maneuver?”

 His lips part and I take advantage, thrusting my tongue into his mouth, tasting him and letting him sample me in return. His hands find my breasts and his calloused palms abrade my nipples. I add a circling of my hips to each downward stroke and he grunts in satisfaction.

 He’s almost ready to agree; I can see the indecision warring with the pleasure on his face. There’s fear there too, fear for my safety, but it’s not the red alert panic he’s demonstrated before. He’s starting to trust me the way I trust him. Without reservation.

 “Connor?” a feminine voice calls from the hallway.

 His eyes fly open and a string of profanity the likes of which I’ve never heard from him falls from his lips. He’s still hard and throbbing inside me.

 “Who is that?” I ask, searching his expression.

 His lips part but I don’t hear his response as the bathroom door opens and an elegantly dressed blonde peaks around the corner. She takes one look at the two of us, and a feline smile curves her lips.

 “Sorry to interrupt, but we had a date.”

 ~*~

 “A date?” I ask Connor when he returns carrying my clothes. “What the hell happened to exclusivity!”

 “I can explain.” He runs a hand through his hair, looking flustered and irritated. The irritation is probably because he didn’t get a chance to finish what we started in the tub. But with his blonde “date” waiting downstairs, relieving his sexual frustration is not uppermost in my mind.

 Those words do little to reassure me. “By all means.”

 “Rochelle and I are faux dating, for the tabloids. We go out every few weeks to a club or a restaurant, until I’m sure we’re photographed together.”

 “So you’re dating.” My bra falls from my numb fingers. I cross my arms over my chest.

 “It’s not real, Baily.”

 “With you, nothing ever is.” I pick up my clothes and turn my back to him to disguise the hurt the situation has inflicted. “If it’s just pretend, why haven’t I met her before?”

 “She’s only been here once before. She’s an actress and she just finished filming in Dubai. Come meet her now. You’ll see you have no reason to be jealous.”

 I open my mouth to deny his accusation, but he’s right. She’s an actress; I thought her face was familiar. With a start, I realize I’ve probably seen her and Connor photographed together. Of course I’m jealous. She’s beautiful and he shows her off to the world while he hides me away like some dirty secret. I pull on my clothes under his intense scrutiny.

 “You’ve lost weight.” Connor doesn’t look happy about it. “Come on, we can all have dinner together.”

 If he’s expecting some wild threesome action, he’s setting himself up for disappointment.

 Rochelle has made herself at home in the kitchen. An open bottle of wine stands at the counter and she’s sipping from a goblet lined with gold filigree. Everything about her speaks of casual sophistication and I can’t help feeling intimidated in my country bumpkin attire of denim and flannel.