Everything for Us
Page 22
She’s gonna get a little warming up tonight, though. Then she’s gonna get some humiliation to cool her back down. I’ll piss her off real good, all while wearing my brother’s face, and leave him to clean up the mess and explain how he can be such an insensitive asshole. In the meantime, I get to get a little taste of the good life. Sounds like a win-win to me.
I continue across the room and step out onto the balcony, right in the middle of something funny evidently. Marissa is laughing her ass off, hanging all over some tiny brunette as if she’s the only thing holding her up. And she probably is. Marissa’s plastered.
As the tuxedo-clad servant passes to exit the balcony, I grab a beer from his silver tray. The top is already off. How convenient.
I stand just outside the French doors, taking a long swig from the bottle as I wait for Marissa to notice me. When she does, she squeals in delight and launches herself at me, throwing her arms around my neck and smashing her body to mine.
She leans back to look at me, her face close to mine, her arms still draped loosely around my shoulders. “I had no idea. Seriously. This is the best surprise ever. I thought you meant it when you said you were busy.”
I shrug, turning my head to take another long pull from my bottle. My dick twitches when I feel her tongue on my throat. Apparently she warms up quite nicely when she’s drinking.
“I’m so glad you changed your mind,” she purrs, rubbing her chest against mine. “And I love the wig. Longer hair suits you.”
My hair is loose, my bangs hanging on either side of my face, all the way to my chin. It’s a wonder she recognized me at all. Or thinks she did, anyway.
Impulsively, I wrap my free arm around her waist and lift until her feet are off the floor. Slowly, I back her up until I feel the resistance of the railing behind her. Then I set her down again.
“Why so glad?” I ask, keeping talk to a minimum so there’s a lesser chance of her discovering who I really am.
“Because I need someone to kiss right now. And it’s only us girls out here.” She pauses to look around. I do the same. But for us, the balcony is empty now. “Well, was,” she giggles. It appears everyone has left and wandered back inside. It’s just me and Marissa and the half million people milling around on the streets below us, some of them no doubt watching.
“Well, I’m here now,” I say, staring down into her almond-shaped eyes. She might be a frigid bitch most of the time, but she’s got some spice in her. I can see it in the smoky invitation of her gaze, in the sexy curve of her mouth.
“Yes, you are.” She leans into me, pressing her lips to mine. While the kiss is warm, like she’s familiar with whom she’s kissing, it lacks real . . . heat. I wonder if this is all that she and Cash share. This superficial, perfunctory kind of chemistry.
I remind myself that I don’t give a shit about them or their relationship. I came up here for one reason. It’s just a bonus that I get to slake my lust for revenge with lips like this, with a woman like this. She’s a far cry from the kind of females I usually visit when I’m on shore.
Moving my hand up her spine, I wind my fingers into her hair and tug her head back and to the side, deepening the kiss. I slide my tongue against hers and I feel the vibrations of her moan. She seems a bit unsure of herself at first, but it doesn’t take her long to respond to me.
She threads her fingers into my hair and holds me to her. She’s liking this, which will just make it that much sweeter for me.
I slide my hand from her hair and drag it down the smooth skin of her bare back. I reach between her and the railing and give her ass a squeeze. I press her h*ps into mine and give her a little feel of what’s between my legs. I’m gratified when her fingers curl into a fist and tug at my hair.
“You like that?” I whisper against her mouth.
I can feel her shallow breath fanning my face. “Yes.”
“How ’bout this?” I ask, grinding my rigid body into hers.
She does this breathy gasp-moan kind of thing and leans back to look at me. There’s a question in her eyes. For a second I think I’m busted, that she knows I’m not Cash. Or, to her, not Nash.
But she doesn’t ask the question. Whether it’s because she doubts herself or because she doesn’t really want to know, I don’t know. But she keeps quiet and just goes with it. “I like that even more.”
She pulls my head back down to hers and lifts her leg, running her calf along the outside of my thigh, opening herself up to me a little more.
I slide my hand over her hip until I feel the skin of her bare leg. I run my palm up under her dress to the edge of her panties. With one quick jerk, I tear the wispy material. I feel her nails dig into my scalp. It just prods me to continue.
My clear intentions of humiliating her and, therefore, my brother become diluted in the burning lust for the hot little minx in my arms. But the thirst for revenge is too strong. It doesn’t disappear completely. Still, I want to push her to a place she would never go, to a place she’s not entirely comfortable with. Even if she doesn’t remember it and Cash never finds out, I’ll know. And that’s what matters. I’ll know.
I turn my body slightly to the side and move my hand between her legs. I slide a finger inside her. She’s so wet it drips down to my knuckle. Blood rushes to my dick and I groan into her mouth as she moves her h*ps against my hand.
I pull my slick finger out of her and move my head back just enough that I can see her face. Her eyes are wide, her pupils round with excitement.
“Open,” I say simply, my eyes dropping to her mouth.
Her lips fall open and I slide my finger between them. My stomach clenches into a tight ball when she closes them on my finger and sucks. I’d be willing to bet she’s never done that before. But I could be wrong. So I push her further.
Reclaiming my finger, I reach around behind her and I take the beer bottle into my right hand. Moving it between our bodies, I touch the cool glass to the inside of her leg. Her shiny lips part on a gasp. It fuels me like gasoline.
She’s excited. But how much further will she go?
I drag the bottle up her leg to the heat I can feel coming from between her thighs. I touch the cool rim to her and she shudders visibly. But she doesn’t stop me. She just watches me, panting, her fingers still tightly wound in my hair, her face an inch from mine.
“Do you think I can make you come in front of an audience?”
I hear her breath hitch. She holds it as she listens, her eyes flickering beyond me as though confirming that we aren’t, in fact, alone. My guess is she’s so involved in the moment, she’s forgotten we’re practically in public.
She doesn’t answer. But she doesn’t move, either. So I slide the tip of the bottle inside her. I feel her knees buckle and I wind my other arm around her, holding her up as I move the bottle neck farther into her. Very, very slowly, I pull it out. Her lips tremble.
She closes her eyes and her breathing comes in deep, fast gulps. She’s close. I can almost feel it.
“Look at me. I want to watch you.”
When she opens her eyes, I push the bottle back into her, farther this time. She bites her lip to keep from crying out. I slide it out and back in, rotating my wrist, moving the bottle inside her, bringing her more pleasure with every tiny movement. I pull it out and push it into her again, and again, and again in quick succession. In my hair, I feel her fingers fist and relax, fist and relax until her eyes closed again. I see her mouth fall open and I feel the gush of her breath hit my face. I know she’s coming. Coming for me, the guy she thinks she’s dating. Coming for me, with thousands of strange eyes on us. I press my lips to hers, licking her tongue with mine as she rides the wave, rides the bottle I have shoved between her legs.
When her breathing slows, I sink my teeth into her bottom lip just before I pull back to look at her. Her sleepy eyes open a crack to stare at me. She’s not smiling, she’s not frowning; she’s just watching me. Curious. Maybe a little confused.
I pull the bottle from inside her and take a step back. With my eyes on hers, I bring it to my lips. Purposely, I tip the bottle back, inch by inch until cool liquid hits my tongue. The flavor of Marissa mingles sweetly with the cold beverage. I swallow.
“Best beer I’ve ever had,” I say.
I release her and, without another word, I turn around and walk back the way I came. I don’t glance back until I reach the bottom of the steps.
When I turn, I see Marissa standing at the top of the stairs, watching me. We stare at each other for a few seconds. With a smug smile, I turn and walk out the door. Without another glance at the house or Marissa inside it, I disappear into the crowd.
I make my way along the street, trying to leave behind what just happened. But the lights, the music, the people, the hype of the night—nothing can get Marissa out of my mind. The farther I walk, the more I think of her. The look on her face, the feel of her lips, the passion that rests just beneath the surface. My body throbs with it. The worst part is, I know it won’t do any good to look for someone else. She’s the only one who will satisfy me tonight. And I can’t have her.
She may never know it, but she won the night. Tonight, Marissa made me a victim of my own game.
“What are you doing?”
Brittni’s unwelcome voice stirs me, bringing me back to cold reality with a thud.
“I’m leaving,” I say, deadpan. “Thanks for the drinks.”
Even in the dark, I can see her open mouth and offended expression. More than ever, I don’t give a shit. There’s only one person’s opinion that I’m really starting to care about. I just don’t know what to do about it.
TWENTY-FOUR
Marissa
The click of the deadbolt opening wakes me. I listen closely, trying to determine if I was dreaming the sound or if it was real. The closing of the door assures me it was real. Very real.
My heart starts to race inside my chest as my mind flits through my options. I’m just getting ready to ease out of bed and head for the bathroom to lock myself in when I hear the light metallic clink of keys hitting the table in the foyer. It’s where I always put my keys. For some reason that makes me feel less threatened. Anyone breaking in with an ill intent wouldn’t likely be dropping off his keys on the table.
One thought runs through my head, one face.
Nash.
When he appears in the bedroom doorway, I recognize him instantly. Something about the way he moves is familiar to me, like I’d be able to pick it out anywhere, as long as I could see a silhouette.
He doesn’t say anything as he makes his way to the bed. I’m both excited and a little aggravated, considering that he left the bar last night with a trashy blonde. Thinking of her, of how it felt when he left with her, rises to the surface first.
“Where’s your friend?” I ask tightly.
At first he doesn’t say anything. I can see his movements and hear the shift of his clothing as he undresses. Despite my irritation, desire sweeps through me, making me breathless and achy.
He walks to the side of the bed, staring down at me in the dark. I can see just enough of his face to discern his expression. It’s serious. Determined. Heated.
“I realized something tonight.”
The mattress depresses where he sets his knee on it. I feel the brush of his fingers against my skin as he curls them into the covers at my shoulder. He pauses, as if waiting for me to respond.
“What’s that?”
My stomach is full of lava. It pours through my core and down my legs when he slowly pulls back the covers.
“I realized that no matter how tightly I closed my eyes, no matter how much I tried to ignore it, no matter how much I wanted her to be . . .” His voice is so quiet, I have to strain to hear him, even in the silence. “She just wasn’t you.”
My racing heart flips over in my chest.
Nash’s hand stills, hovering at my hip. He’s waiting for my permission, for my acceptance. For my participation.
I reach down and cover it with mine. Now we both wait—motionless, speechless, breathless. It’s as if something important is being decided. Or declared.
Then, purposefully, I roll onto my back and bring his hand to my breast. I hear him suck in a breath.
“Show me,” I demand simply. I know what I want him to show me. I know what I hope he meant by wishing she had been me. What I don’t know is if he’ll do as I ask, if he’ll show me that he’s in this, too. Just like me.
He makes no verbal response, but his answer is as clear as if he had. He slides onto the bed, stretching out beside me. He stares down into my face, his eyes sparkling black diamonds in the sliver of the moonlight pouring through the crack in the curtains. He watches me, his thumb absently moving back and forth over my nipple.
Finally, he lowers his head to mine, his lips brushing softly, sweetly over mine. “I don’t know what to do with you,” he whispers.
“Love me,” I answer, reaching behind his head to pull his mouth more firmly against mine. I don’t want him to comment and ruin the moment. I just want him to love me, like we aren’t two broken people with an impossible future. At least we can have this—this moment, this feeling, this one perfect night.
My heart and my soul and my body thrill at his touch. Nash’s hands and fingers, his lips and tongue move over me like they were made to do nothing else in life. Expertly, he brings my aching body to a fever pitch before he slips between my legs and positions himself at my entrance.
It feels as though the entire world is on pause, waiting in breathless anticipation for him to thrust into me and ease the ache that only Nash can give me.
My eyes are closed and every nerve in my body is focused on the place where our bodies are touching most intimately. His voice surprises me when he speaks.
I continue across the room and step out onto the balcony, right in the middle of something funny evidently. Marissa is laughing her ass off, hanging all over some tiny brunette as if she’s the only thing holding her up. And she probably is. Marissa’s plastered.
As the tuxedo-clad servant passes to exit the balcony, I grab a beer from his silver tray. The top is already off. How convenient.
I stand just outside the French doors, taking a long swig from the bottle as I wait for Marissa to notice me. When she does, she squeals in delight and launches herself at me, throwing her arms around my neck and smashing her body to mine.
She leans back to look at me, her face close to mine, her arms still draped loosely around my shoulders. “I had no idea. Seriously. This is the best surprise ever. I thought you meant it when you said you were busy.”
I shrug, turning my head to take another long pull from my bottle. My dick twitches when I feel her tongue on my throat. Apparently she warms up quite nicely when she’s drinking.
“I’m so glad you changed your mind,” she purrs, rubbing her chest against mine. “And I love the wig. Longer hair suits you.”
My hair is loose, my bangs hanging on either side of my face, all the way to my chin. It’s a wonder she recognized me at all. Or thinks she did, anyway.
Impulsively, I wrap my free arm around her waist and lift until her feet are off the floor. Slowly, I back her up until I feel the resistance of the railing behind her. Then I set her down again.
“Why so glad?” I ask, keeping talk to a minimum so there’s a lesser chance of her discovering who I really am.
“Because I need someone to kiss right now. And it’s only us girls out here.” She pauses to look around. I do the same. But for us, the balcony is empty now. “Well, was,” she giggles. It appears everyone has left and wandered back inside. It’s just me and Marissa and the half million people milling around on the streets below us, some of them no doubt watching.
“Well, I’m here now,” I say, staring down into her almond-shaped eyes. She might be a frigid bitch most of the time, but she’s got some spice in her. I can see it in the smoky invitation of her gaze, in the sexy curve of her mouth.
“Yes, you are.” She leans into me, pressing her lips to mine. While the kiss is warm, like she’s familiar with whom she’s kissing, it lacks real . . . heat. I wonder if this is all that she and Cash share. This superficial, perfunctory kind of chemistry.
I remind myself that I don’t give a shit about them or their relationship. I came up here for one reason. It’s just a bonus that I get to slake my lust for revenge with lips like this, with a woman like this. She’s a far cry from the kind of females I usually visit when I’m on shore.
Moving my hand up her spine, I wind my fingers into her hair and tug her head back and to the side, deepening the kiss. I slide my tongue against hers and I feel the vibrations of her moan. She seems a bit unsure of herself at first, but it doesn’t take her long to respond to me.
She threads her fingers into my hair and holds me to her. She’s liking this, which will just make it that much sweeter for me.
I slide my hand from her hair and drag it down the smooth skin of her bare back. I reach between her and the railing and give her ass a squeeze. I press her h*ps into mine and give her a little feel of what’s between my legs. I’m gratified when her fingers curl into a fist and tug at my hair.
“You like that?” I whisper against her mouth.
I can feel her shallow breath fanning my face. “Yes.”
“How ’bout this?” I ask, grinding my rigid body into hers.
She does this breathy gasp-moan kind of thing and leans back to look at me. There’s a question in her eyes. For a second I think I’m busted, that she knows I’m not Cash. Or, to her, not Nash.
But she doesn’t ask the question. Whether it’s because she doubts herself or because she doesn’t really want to know, I don’t know. But she keeps quiet and just goes with it. “I like that even more.”
She pulls my head back down to hers and lifts her leg, running her calf along the outside of my thigh, opening herself up to me a little more.
I slide my hand over her hip until I feel the skin of her bare leg. I run my palm up under her dress to the edge of her panties. With one quick jerk, I tear the wispy material. I feel her nails dig into my scalp. It just prods me to continue.
My clear intentions of humiliating her and, therefore, my brother become diluted in the burning lust for the hot little minx in my arms. But the thirst for revenge is too strong. It doesn’t disappear completely. Still, I want to push her to a place she would never go, to a place she’s not entirely comfortable with. Even if she doesn’t remember it and Cash never finds out, I’ll know. And that’s what matters. I’ll know.
I turn my body slightly to the side and move my hand between her legs. I slide a finger inside her. She’s so wet it drips down to my knuckle. Blood rushes to my dick and I groan into her mouth as she moves her h*ps against my hand.
I pull my slick finger out of her and move my head back just enough that I can see her face. Her eyes are wide, her pupils round with excitement.
“Open,” I say simply, my eyes dropping to her mouth.
Her lips fall open and I slide my finger between them. My stomach clenches into a tight ball when she closes them on my finger and sucks. I’d be willing to bet she’s never done that before. But I could be wrong. So I push her further.
Reclaiming my finger, I reach around behind her and I take the beer bottle into my right hand. Moving it between our bodies, I touch the cool glass to the inside of her leg. Her shiny lips part on a gasp. It fuels me like gasoline.
She’s excited. But how much further will she go?
I drag the bottle up her leg to the heat I can feel coming from between her thighs. I touch the cool rim to her and she shudders visibly. But she doesn’t stop me. She just watches me, panting, her fingers still tightly wound in my hair, her face an inch from mine.
“Do you think I can make you come in front of an audience?”
I hear her breath hitch. She holds it as she listens, her eyes flickering beyond me as though confirming that we aren’t, in fact, alone. My guess is she’s so involved in the moment, she’s forgotten we’re practically in public.
She doesn’t answer. But she doesn’t move, either. So I slide the tip of the bottle inside her. I feel her knees buckle and I wind my other arm around her, holding her up as I move the bottle neck farther into her. Very, very slowly, I pull it out. Her lips tremble.
She closes her eyes and her breathing comes in deep, fast gulps. She’s close. I can almost feel it.
“Look at me. I want to watch you.”
When she opens her eyes, I push the bottle back into her, farther this time. She bites her lip to keep from crying out. I slide it out and back in, rotating my wrist, moving the bottle inside her, bringing her more pleasure with every tiny movement. I pull it out and push it into her again, and again, and again in quick succession. In my hair, I feel her fingers fist and relax, fist and relax until her eyes closed again. I see her mouth fall open and I feel the gush of her breath hit my face. I know she’s coming. Coming for me, the guy she thinks she’s dating. Coming for me, with thousands of strange eyes on us. I press my lips to hers, licking her tongue with mine as she rides the wave, rides the bottle I have shoved between her legs.
When her breathing slows, I sink my teeth into her bottom lip just before I pull back to look at her. Her sleepy eyes open a crack to stare at me. She’s not smiling, she’s not frowning; she’s just watching me. Curious. Maybe a little confused.
I pull the bottle from inside her and take a step back. With my eyes on hers, I bring it to my lips. Purposely, I tip the bottle back, inch by inch until cool liquid hits my tongue. The flavor of Marissa mingles sweetly with the cold beverage. I swallow.
“Best beer I’ve ever had,” I say.
I release her and, without another word, I turn around and walk back the way I came. I don’t glance back until I reach the bottom of the steps.
When I turn, I see Marissa standing at the top of the stairs, watching me. We stare at each other for a few seconds. With a smug smile, I turn and walk out the door. Without another glance at the house or Marissa inside it, I disappear into the crowd.
I make my way along the street, trying to leave behind what just happened. But the lights, the music, the people, the hype of the night—nothing can get Marissa out of my mind. The farther I walk, the more I think of her. The look on her face, the feel of her lips, the passion that rests just beneath the surface. My body throbs with it. The worst part is, I know it won’t do any good to look for someone else. She’s the only one who will satisfy me tonight. And I can’t have her.
She may never know it, but she won the night. Tonight, Marissa made me a victim of my own game.
“What are you doing?”
Brittni’s unwelcome voice stirs me, bringing me back to cold reality with a thud.
“I’m leaving,” I say, deadpan. “Thanks for the drinks.”
Even in the dark, I can see her open mouth and offended expression. More than ever, I don’t give a shit. There’s only one person’s opinion that I’m really starting to care about. I just don’t know what to do about it.
TWENTY-FOUR
Marissa
The click of the deadbolt opening wakes me. I listen closely, trying to determine if I was dreaming the sound or if it was real. The closing of the door assures me it was real. Very real.
My heart starts to race inside my chest as my mind flits through my options. I’m just getting ready to ease out of bed and head for the bathroom to lock myself in when I hear the light metallic clink of keys hitting the table in the foyer. It’s where I always put my keys. For some reason that makes me feel less threatened. Anyone breaking in with an ill intent wouldn’t likely be dropping off his keys on the table.
One thought runs through my head, one face.
Nash.
When he appears in the bedroom doorway, I recognize him instantly. Something about the way he moves is familiar to me, like I’d be able to pick it out anywhere, as long as I could see a silhouette.
He doesn’t say anything as he makes his way to the bed. I’m both excited and a little aggravated, considering that he left the bar last night with a trashy blonde. Thinking of her, of how it felt when he left with her, rises to the surface first.
“Where’s your friend?” I ask tightly.
At first he doesn’t say anything. I can see his movements and hear the shift of his clothing as he undresses. Despite my irritation, desire sweeps through me, making me breathless and achy.
He walks to the side of the bed, staring down at me in the dark. I can see just enough of his face to discern his expression. It’s serious. Determined. Heated.
“I realized something tonight.”
The mattress depresses where he sets his knee on it. I feel the brush of his fingers against my skin as he curls them into the covers at my shoulder. He pauses, as if waiting for me to respond.
“What’s that?”
My stomach is full of lava. It pours through my core and down my legs when he slowly pulls back the covers.
“I realized that no matter how tightly I closed my eyes, no matter how much I tried to ignore it, no matter how much I wanted her to be . . .” His voice is so quiet, I have to strain to hear him, even in the silence. “She just wasn’t you.”
My racing heart flips over in my chest.
Nash’s hand stills, hovering at my hip. He’s waiting for my permission, for my acceptance. For my participation.
I reach down and cover it with mine. Now we both wait—motionless, speechless, breathless. It’s as if something important is being decided. Or declared.
Then, purposefully, I roll onto my back and bring his hand to my breast. I hear him suck in a breath.
“Show me,” I demand simply. I know what I want him to show me. I know what I hope he meant by wishing she had been me. What I don’t know is if he’ll do as I ask, if he’ll show me that he’s in this, too. Just like me.
He makes no verbal response, but his answer is as clear as if he had. He slides onto the bed, stretching out beside me. He stares down into my face, his eyes sparkling black diamonds in the sliver of the moonlight pouring through the crack in the curtains. He watches me, his thumb absently moving back and forth over my nipple.
Finally, he lowers his head to mine, his lips brushing softly, sweetly over mine. “I don’t know what to do with you,” he whispers.
“Love me,” I answer, reaching behind his head to pull his mouth more firmly against mine. I don’t want him to comment and ruin the moment. I just want him to love me, like we aren’t two broken people with an impossible future. At least we can have this—this moment, this feeling, this one perfect night.
My heart and my soul and my body thrill at his touch. Nash’s hands and fingers, his lips and tongue move over me like they were made to do nothing else in life. Expertly, he brings my aching body to a fever pitch before he slips between my legs and positions himself at my entrance.
It feels as though the entire world is on pause, waiting in breathless anticipation for him to thrust into me and ease the ache that only Nash can give me.
My eyes are closed and every nerve in my body is focused on the place where our bodies are touching most intimately. His voice surprises me when he speaks.
