Chapter 24

Lola

“I’m sorry,” I tell Garrett as I push inside his room. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

I feel like such an idiot, panicking because of a few ridiculous stories. We both went into this with our eyes wide open—Garrett even warned me what it was going to be like. Then, the first day I actually have to live up to my end of the agreement, I freak out like a child.

It’s not a good look for me and it sure as hell isn’t a good precedent to set.

“It’s okay,” he tells me as he picks me up and starts carrying me toward the bedroom. It’s something he does a lot, and something I’m more than okay with, I realize as I wrap my arms around his waist.

Normally, I’m not crazy about men manhandling me, even in consensual sex, because it upsets the balance of power. But with Garrett, I don’t care about any of that. The only thing that matters when I’m with him is the reverent way he touches me and the care he always takes of me.

It’s time I start taking that kind of care with him.

Which is why, when he lowers me to the bed, I roll right back off.

“Are you okay?” he asks, and I can see his face close up right in front of me, looking like he’s expecting the worst.

“No,” I answer. Because I’m not. “I was a moron and I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

“You were human,” he disagrees as he reaches for me again. “And it can happen a thousand more times and I won’t care, except that I hate to see you suffer. This life, it’s a lot for me sometimes, let alone for someone who didn’t grow up in the limelight. You think I don’t understand that?”

“Why are you so good to me?” I ask. It’s a real question, not some cute little response that doesn’t mean anything. Because no one in my whole life has ever treated me as well as Garrett does. Not my mother, who was always too busy looking for the next man to take care of her to worry about taking care of her only child. Not my father, who was more concerned with hiding my existence from the world than he was with acknowledging that existence in any but the most basic ways. And definitely none of the (very) few men I’ve let get close to me since I reached adulthood.

But Garrett does it so effortlessly, giving me what I need before I even have a clue I need it, as if taking care of me is a privilege instead of a burden.

“Because you deserve it. Because I—” He breaks off, eyes going wide as he leaves the rest of his answer unsaid.

I don’t know what he was going to say, but my heart goes wild anyway. Because there’s something in the way he’s looking at me, something in the way his hands are skimming so lightly, so tenderly, down my arms that has emotion burning deep inside of me. I know it’s only been a few days, know this whole relationship thing is just supposed to be pretend. I’ve spent the last twenty-four hours reminding myself that that’s exactly what I want.

Yet now that I’m standing here looking at the concern on Garrett’s face, feeling the exquisite care with which he touches me, I can’t help wondering if there’s more to this thing between us than either of us expected. Can’t help thinking that I’ve fallen for His Royal Hotness—no, for Garrett—even though I promised myself I wouldn’t.

There’s a part of me that wants to run away again. And this time I won’t come back. This time I’ll find someplace to hole up and lick the invisible wounds that are already starting to hurt—at just the idea of walking away from Garrett.

But I can’t do that. Not when he’s looking at me like he’s fallen just as hard. And not when everything inside of me is begging me to touch him, to hold him, to fix whatever those months of torture broke deep inside of him.

“It’s okay,” I tell him, moving closer until my body is pressed up against his and I can feel the burning heat of his skin through our clothes. “I’m right here.”

His hands slide from my arms to my back and from my back to my ass. I know he’s getting ready to pick me up, but I’m not going to let him. Not this time.

This time, it’s my turn to be in control. My turn to walk him toward the bed. My turn to lower him softly upon it. The need to take care of him, to show him some of the same care that he’s always shown me, is an inferno burning within me.

“Lola, let me—”

“No,” I tell him as I straddle his hips. “This time it’s your turn to let me.”

I reach for his hands, twine our fingers together. Then press them back against the bed and hold them there. Hold him there as I rock my hips gently against his. Once, twice, then again and again as his jaw goes tight and he thrusts up against me.

“My turn,” I remind him, leaning down to press my lips to his. He opens immediately, his tongue licking along my lower lip before thrusting inside my mouth to stroke against my own. I’m tempted to pull back—he needs to know that I’m the one in charge here—but it feels so good that I linger for long seconds, reveling in the warm chocolate-and-whiskey taste of him.

He groans as I deepen the kiss, his fingers flexing against mine in an obvious need to take control. But I don’t let go. Not this time. Instead, I keep him pinned in place as I finally manage to pull my mouth from his.

We’re both gasping for breath now, chests shuddering and bodies straining against each other. It would be so easy to slip his clothes off, so easy to lower myself on top of him and take him deep within my body. But I want more from tonight—more from him and more from us.

So, instead of unbuckling his belt, I settle for taking off his tie. For flicking open the top two buttons of his custom-made dress shirt. For pressing my mouth against his skin and licking small, slow circles over his collarbone and the hollow of his throat.

He groans, arching against me. “Lola, please—”

“I’ve got you,” I whisper against his throat. “Let me show you.”

He groans again, low and dark and desperate, but he settles back against the bed with a nod. “Do your worst,” he says with a wicked grin, right before he throws an arm over his eyes.

I don’t answer, just smile back. Because I can’t tell him that I’m not looking to do my worst here. And I sure as hell can’t tell him that I’m looking to do my best to take care of him, to give him the tenderness he so desperately, desperately needs.

Instead, I undo a few more buttons on his shirt, pressing kisses to each swath of newly exposed skin as I inch my way down his body. When I’ve opened the last button, I coax him into sitting up just enough to slip the silky fabric off his shoulders.

He’s a little stiff as he settles back against the bed, and I know it’s because of the scars. He’s more relaxed with me now than he was when he first let me see them in my kitchen, but I can feel the tension in his body. I know that he’s still waiting for me to ask. Still waiting for me to try to force him to open up about the most terrifying and painful time in his life.

That’s not what tonight is about. There may come a time when I ask about the abduction, not because I want the gratuitous details but because he needs me to know. Needs me to listen. But tonight is not that night.

Which is why, at least for now, I focus on the top of his V-cut as it tapers into the waistband of his pants. I press kisses to it and lick along its edges, relishing the way Garrett tenses for a whole new reason now. The way his legs tighten up and his hands fist in the butter-soft sheets.

“Lola, sweetheart,” he says, voice all dark and husky. “Let me—”

“Let me,” I interrupt, kissing my way up the center of his chest and flicking my thumbs back and forth across his nipples as I do.

“Baby—”

I stop him with a kiss that takes both our breaths away, that has him trembling and heat coursing through me. When I finally move away, he groans. Fists a hand in my hair. And pulls me back down.

We kiss and kiss and kiss, until my lips are swollen and my jaw aches. Until fire burns in my veins. Until I want nothing more than to take him inside me.

Every time we’ve made love, he’s taken care of me. Pleasured me. Made me feel like the most important, most exquisite woman on earth. I want to give back to him, need to make him understand how much I adore him and how important he’s become to me in so little time.

This time, when I pull away, I slip down his body before he can pull me back in. I kiss my way back down the lean muscles of his chest, the hard planes of his abdomen. I’m trembling so much that my fingers fumble with his belt buckle, can barely get it undone.

Garrett reaches down, helps me, and then I’m unhooking his pants, lowering his zipper. Reaching inside his boxers and pulling out his long, hard cock.

He groans as I stroke my hands down his length, his hands fisting in my hair as I stroke a thumb over the leaking tip. “Fuck, Lola.” His voice is gravelly now, and it turns me on even more. Garrett’s always in charge, always in control, and the fact that he’s yielded that control to me—and that I’m pushing him beyond the boundaries of that inimitable control—makes me hotter than anything ever has.

It also makes me wonder what it will take to shatter it completely.

With that goal in mind, I scoot farther down the bed. I rub my cheek along his hard, silky length before turning my head and softly kissing just the tip. He calls out, reaches for me, but I push his hands away as I swirl my tongue around the head of his cock. Then I reach between his legs and cup his testicles in my palm.

Garrett groans, his eyes hot as they follow my every move. He reaches for me again, and this time I let him tangle his hands in my hair as I lean forward and slowly flick my tongue up the length of him.

“Lola, sweetheart, you’re killing me.”

“Garrett, sweetheart,” I mimic with a wicked smile. “I haven’t even started.”

I swallow him down then, pulling him deep as I continue to stroke my tongue back and forth along his length. He groans, tugging at my hair until it burns just a little, in the best possible way. I can feel myself getting pulled under, can feel my sex growing hotter and slicker with every tug of his fingers.

Reaching up, I grab onto his hip to steady myself—to anchor myself in the middle of this maelstrom of pleasure and heat—and slowly, slowly pull back until only his head is between my lips. He arches a little, his hips thrusting upward as he searches for more. I stay where I am, though, and keep him where he is, too, as I flick my tongue back and forth across the small bundle of nerves centered at the bottom of his tip.

His fingers twist in my hair as he calls my name, harsh and breathless, but I don’t stop. I can’t. It feels too good to do this to him, feels too good to watch the always-in-control Garrett lose a little more of himself with every slide of my mouth, every stroke of my tongue.

“Lola, Lola, Lola.” Half-chant, half-mantra, he calls my name again and again and again.

I like the sound of it, like his sweat-slicked skin beneath my palms even more, so I reward him by sucking all of him slowly, carefully, into my mouth and down my throat.

He groans again, and when I look up at him, it’s to find him staring down at me with dark eyes and blown-out pupils. He looks good like this, so good, all sexed up and raunchy as hell. This Garrett is so different from the prince the world gets to see that I can’t help the shiver of delight that moves down my spine. Can’t help the little thrill that tightens my nipples and makes my sex throb hotly. I love that I get to see him in a way that no one else does, love even more the fact that the eyes staring down at me are unguarded, open.

Sucking him even deeper, I run my tongue along the underside of his cock just to see how he’ll react. He doesn’t disappoint, his hips slamming up like a piston, thrusting in and out of my mouth again and again and again.

“Fuck, Lola, sweetheart. You’re so beautiful,” he says hoarsely. “So fucking beautiful. But you’ve got to stop. I don’t want to come yet.”

His words slide along my nerve endings, sending shocks of electricity through the most sensitive parts of me. I pull off, then let his cock rub against my breasts as I tell him, “I want you to come. I want to see you lose control.”

He mutters something filthy in French as he reaches down and pinches my nipple between his thumb and index finger. I cry out—I can’t help it—as my whole body goes on high alert. I’m breathless now, shaking, my nipples tight and my underwear soaked through.

It would be so easy to give in to him, so easy to let him take over and make me come half a dozen times. But that’s not what tonight is about and it’s not what I want, no matter what my body currently feels.

I pull away. I don’t go far, but I do put just enough space between us for Garrett to understand that I’m not messing with him. Not this time.

“I need you to come for me,” I say. “I need to see you.”

He doesn’t answer, but then I don’t expect him to as my lips close over him once again, my tongue continuing to move back and forth along his length as I reach for his balls and press my finger to a spot on the underside that makes him cry out. That makes him try to pull away.

But I’m having none of it. Cupping his ass in my palms, I pull him tightly against me and once again slide his entire length down my throat. I stroke my tongue across the underside of his cock and rub my fingers on the sensitive spot right behind his balls. Then I hum in the back of my throat, and the ensuing vibrations have him calling out my name in a husky, strangled voice that only eggs me on.

I hum again, then suck him as deep as I can take him without gagging. He stiffens, calls out my name one more time, and tangles his fingers more tightly in my hair. And then he comes, emptying himself into my mouth in an orgasm that goes on and on and on.

When it’s over, I release him slowly. He’s obviously drained, his skin flushed and his whole body trembling slightly. His breathing is harsh and his arm is thrown over his closed eyes.

His scars are standing out in stark relief on his flushed, sweat-slicked skin, and I take a moment to look at them. Really look at them. They’re a map of his suffering, of the pain he endured, and every part of me aches at the injustice of what he went through. Of what he’s going through still. And though I want to kiss every scar, want to smooth my hands over each and every one of them, I know that doing so will only make him suffer more.

So I settle for running my hands down his heaving sides and pressing soft kisses to the salty skin of his chest and shoulder and neck.

He wraps an arm around me and pulls me close. As he does, he turns me so that my breasts brush against his mouth. I’m still dressed, but that doesn’t stop Garrett from pressing kisses to my taut, aching nipples. Doesn’t stop him from reaching beneath my skirt and tearing my underwear off my body with one smooth yank.

Then he’s pulling my blouse off and flicking my bra open. Sliding a hand between my thighs. I’m hot and wet and so desperate for his touch that I cry out the moment his fingers slide against my sex. He groans in response as he slips one finger inside of me, followed closely by a second. I gasp as he works them back and forth, his thumb rubbing against my clit as I ride his hand.

It feels so good, he feels so good. I tilt my head so I can watch him watching me with that intent stare, those lust-blown eyes. And when he pulls me over him, my legs straddling his hips and his slowly lengthening cock nestled between my ass cheeks, I can’t help but gasp. Can’t help but moan his name.

His fingers move harder and faster within me and his other hand comes up to tweak my nipple. “Come for me,” he orders, his voice all black magic and beautiful.

And though I want this to last longer, though I want him to keep looking at me with those lust-blown eyes forever, my body can deny him nothing. I come on command, orgasm flooding through me, tightening every muscle in my body until I’m calling his name.

Garrett holds me throughout it, strokes me through it as he whispers sweet nothings in a darkly erotic mix of French and English. And then he’s sliding home before the contractions deep inside me have even stopped, lifting and lowering me on his cock until I can’t think, can’t breathe. Until all I can do is feel the ecstasy sizzling through my bloodstream.

Our eyes meet and hold, and it’s so intense I start to look away. But Garrett reaches up, holds my chin between his fingers, and keeps my gaze locked on his as he slams into me again and again and again. His beautiful blue eyes are blazing, burning, beckoning me closer even as they promise things I’m not sure I’m ready to believe.

But each second that passes with his eyes searing into mine takes me higher, each thrust of his hips bringing me closer and closer to coming again. I fight it, try to stop it. I’m not ready for this to end, not ready to move beyond this sensual maelstrom that makes me feel closer to Garrett than I have to anyone, ever.

But then he’s slipping a hand between us, stroking his thumb firmly against my clit. And suddenly it doesn’t matter what I want. It only matters what I need—and what Garrett needs from me.

“Come with me, sweetheart,” he whispers as he looks deep into my eyes. “I need to feel you. I need—”

He breaks off as I do as he asks, giving up the last vestiges of my control as my orgasm roars through me. I start to close my eyes, start to drop my head back, but he barks, “No! Let me see!” and I’m helpless to do anything but obey.

Helpless to do anything but give him everything as we come and come and come.

When the last ripple of sensation finally fades, I collapse against Garrett’s chest. I bury my face in the crook of his neck and concentrate on breathing, just breathing. Because what started out as a way to comfort him, to pleasure him, somehow turned into something so much more. And now I’m raw, the intensity of what just happened hollowing me out and making me feel strangely shy and tongue-tied as emotions surge through me at an alarming rate.

What will I do if I fall in love with him?

Or worse, what will I do if I already have?