CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
The sound of clomping boots on the stairs woke me up. I sat bolt upright, trying to figure out where the hell I was and what was going on. Looking down at myself, I saw that I was still fully dressed in not only clothes but the thick layer of sweat and dust that had turned into an uncomfortable stickiness all over my body. The troll doll was clenched in my fist. Oh shit. I forgot to call Bradley. I put the doll on the nightstand and grabbed my satchel off the bed, pulling my phone out. Dead. Shit. And I left the charger in my hotel room. A sense of relief went through me, and it scared me to realize it was because I was happy to have a decent excuse for not calling. I had zero desire to talk to him, and it wasn’t just because I didn’t want him to know what I was doing. All I could think about was how much he hated Ruby and how much I really loved her as a friend. There’s something seriously wrong with anyone who hates Ruby. Why didn’t I think about that before?
A door opened somewhere and then closed shut softly. I got out of bed and tiptoed silently over to the entrance of my room. Opening the door and peeking out into the hallway, I saw no one. There was a light on underneath a door on the opposite side of the hallway. Maeve had said that Ian didn’t stay here in the house anymore and the master bedroom was downstairs, so it had to be Mack I was hearing. I pulled my head back in the door and stood there, listening for sounds of his intentions. I wanted to use the bathroom, maybe even take a late-night shower so I could sleep comfortably, but if he still needed to use it, I didn’t want to interfere.
After several minutes had passed, I looked out again. The light no longer glowed from under his door. My heavy bladder wasn’t going to let me chicken out, so I left the room and tiptoed down the hallway, trying not to make a single sound. Once in the bathroom, I shut the door and locked it.
A fluffy pink towel was under the sink as promised, and the edges of the tub had several hair and soap products that promised to rid me of the Baker City grime. I quickly stripped off my clothes and stepped into a hot shower, my eyes closing automatically as the warmth washed over me and tickled my skin. The liquid trickling through my thick hair and seeping down to my scalp gave me goosebumps.
I picked the shower gel that smelled like roses and squeezed a generous amount into my hand. I’d worked up a serious lather to scrub the dirt off my legs and feet when I heard a sound outside the curtain. It seemed to be coming from way too close to not be inside the bathroom, but I was certain I’d locked the door. I froze in place. “Who’s there?” I said softly.
The door shut. Oh my god! What happened to the damn lock!
I crossed my soapy hands over my breasts. Everything was slippery and covered in bubbles, the showerhead placed well behind me and not in a position to rinse my body off prematurely. Earlier it had been a good thing, now not so much.
“Is someone there?” I asked. I should have grabbed the curtain and checked around the edge of it, but I couldn’t move. The idea that I was standing in the shower naked while a man was on the other side of the thin curtain was both frightening and sensual at the same time. There was only one person it could be. But he wouldn’t do that . . . break into a locked bathroom when I was naked in it. Would he?
“You said you wanted to talk.” His voice was deep and not loud, but it wrapped itself around me like chains and held me captive. I should have run. I should have been angry and offended. But I didn’t and I wasn’t, and the words wouldn’t come anyway.
“I’m . . . I’m in the shower.” I squeezed my eyes shut, embarrassed that this was the best I could come up with. I should have been yelling at him to get the hell out.
“I can see that. But I have to run an errand in the morning after chores, so I figured you’d want to talk now rather than wait around another day.”
I nodded rapidly, his reasoning making perfect sense . . . except for the fact that I was naked in the shower and it was the middle of the night. “Okay.” I hesitated, my hands still over my chest. “But no looking.”
“Fine. Even though I’ve already seen you completely naked and then some.”
I heard movement and backed into the water a little. The soap I’d put on the back of my neck was running down to travel between my butt cheeks. The slipping of the bubbles past my sensitive parts and Mack being on the other side of the curtain gave everything an erotic feel. Even my own hands on my breasts felt sexually charged.
I stepped forward and peeked out of the curtain. He was shirtless and bootless, wearing unbuttoned low-riding jeans and leaning against the counter. I swallowed hard, trying to focus on my response instead of his thick chest, six-pack abs, broad muscled shoulders, and adorable face. “What’s that supposed to mean . . . and then some?”
He shrugged, giving me a lazy, sexy smile. “And then some means you were naked, I was naked, and we were both doing things to each other’s naked bodies that leaves nothing more to the imagination. I know how you feel inside.” His lips curved up even more, and I swear I remembered in that moment what his tongue felt like between my legs.
I threw the curtain closed to hide my burning face and covered my chest with my hands again. “Wow.” It was the best I could do. No other words would come to mind. My ears were ringing and my legs were feeling weak enough that I worried I might fall. I held onto the soap holder with one hand just to be sure I wouldn’t.
“I’m sorry . . . is that too forward for you?” he asked. He was obviously perfectly cool with everything, not showing any emotion other than slight amusement in his tone.
“Maybe,” I admitted. Definitely. Holy shit, how is he turning me into a virgin ninny-boob by just standing there in jeans and flirting a little? What is my damn problem? Is he really flirting?
“I don’t see why it should be too forward, since you claim we’re married. Married people do things like we did all the time.”
Now we were getting on more solid ground. Arguing I can do, especially when I have the evidence to back me up. “We are married, I’ll have you know, and yes, that’s true, married people do those things. But when we did those things, we weren’t yet married, so technically it was never consummated. And right now, I’m engaged to be married to someone else, so . . .” I wanted to finish that sentence with a threat, with a demand for propriety, but the words wouldn’t pass my lips. They would have been lies, and I’d already told enough lies for one day.
“So . . . what? You’re engaged, so I should leave?”
“Yes,” I said, lifting my chin. It was easier when he said the words and I just had to agree. Chicken shit.
“And I shouldn’t get any closer to the shower, right?” His voice wasn’t coming from the sink area anymore. Without hearing his footsteps, I knew he was standing just on the other side of the curtain from me. My nipples ached with the knowledge that he was just an arm’s length away from touching me.
“No,” I said in a half whisper. “You shouldn’t get any closer.”
“And I shouldn’t take my clothes off and get in there with you, I suppose.”
“Not under any circumstances,” I said, breathing heavily, proud that my words were finally serving me again, but ashamed to admit that I was hoping he’d ignore them. I was a bad person. Everything my mother’s boyfriend had predicted for me was coming true. Liar. Slut.
He didn’t respond. I waited several seconds for his next teasing comment, but it didn’t come.
“Mack? Are you still there?”
The curtain flew back, and I screamed in shock.
“Ahh! Oh my . . . holy shit!” I crossed my arms over my body in several different formations, doing everything I could to shield myself. “What are you doing, you maniac?!”
He was standing there in the middle of the bathroom completely naked, his cock like a missile pointing right at me.
He grinned big. “I’m getting in the shower with my alleged wife.” He stepped in next to me, crowding me into the heavy stream of water.
“You . . .!” The water was bubbling out of my mouth, making me sound like a crazy mermaid. I brushed it away while I tried to argue. “You can’t come in here! I’m naked!”
“Yes, you are,” he said, closing the curtain behind him. Then he turned to me and put a hand on my waist.
I slapped it away. “Don’t touch me or I’ll scream!” I could have pushed the curtain to the side and stepped out. I could have kicked him or thrown soap into his eyes. There were any number of other ways I could have escaped his grasp, but I didn’t do any of them. I just stood there with the water running over my head, face, and shoulders as he moved in closer, hoping he would touch me again. It was wrong, wrong, wrong to be here with him and wanting this, but denying it was ridiculous. Emotions this strong are impossible to deny.
“Screaming could be fun. If you really, really want me to stop touching you, I will. I swear it.” He put his other hand on my other hip, his fingers digging in and encouraging me toward him. “But if you want me to keep touching you, all you have to do is say, ‘Please,’ and it’ll be done. I’ll touch you all night. All you have to do is ask.” He didn’t smile. He was making me a promise, that much was clear.
We were close enough that his erection was poking me in the stomach. He shifted to make it rest sideways against my stomach and pulled me even closer.
I was too stunned to speak. Some of the soap was still on my skin, and his hands had gathered some of it. His fingers were sliding up my back and down to my ass, massaging my skin with heavy, commanding strokes. A hot wetness come from inside me to lubricate my folds, almost like a release, as if from the moment I’d laid eyes on him today, the passion had been waiting to be unleashed.
“We really shouldn’t be doing this,” I said in a hoarse whisper, staring at the hair that was growing damp around his face and curling at the ends.
“Why?” he asked, bending his head down to lick my ear. With just that simple touch, goosebumps came up again, all down that side of my body.
“Because . . .” I said into his chest, my hands leaving their protective positions and dropping to rest on his upper arms, “. . . I’m engaged.” To a man I don’t care enough about, apparently. I’m a terrible person.
He yanked me up against him roughly, his cock pressing against my abdomen. “No, you’re not,” he growled into my neck. “You’re married. To me. We came first, not him.”
His biceps flexed heavily under my fingers. They were bigger than I remembered. Thicker. “There’s nothing wrong with sleeping with your husband,” he insisted.
I moaned, unable to stop the sound from coming out. He was offering me forgiveness, even though it wasn’t his to give, and I was letting it influence me anyway.
His lips went from my ear to my mouth, leaving a trail of kisses on the way. I moved my mouth toward his eagerly, hungrily, more than ready and willing to feel his lips on mine. But just as they were about to meet, he pulled away. We were touching at the waist, but his torso was leaning back now, leaving my breasts alone and heavy, the nipples aching to be sucked and rolled between his fingers.
He just stood there staring down at me.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“I’m waiting for you to say the word.”
My nostrils flared and my chin came out mutinously. “No.” I pushed on his chest, but he didn’t move.
“No, what?”
“I’m not going to beg you. This is wrong.”
He grabbed me by the back of the head with one hand and forced my lips to his, opening his mouth and sending his thick tongue in to invade mine. My arms flew up to wrap around his neck as I pushed my hips into his. I sighed against his mouth. So much for resistance.
The soap on my breasts made moving against him so easy, so wet and slippery. All I had to do now was angle my lower body up somehow and I’d find that sweet relief that I knew only he could deliver. Memories of his heavy body on mine assailed my mind, making me admit that nothing had ever been as good since that night in Las Vegas.
“Say it,” he growled against my lips.
“No,” I growled back. “I won’t.” It was wrong, what we were doing. I wasn’t going to make it worse by begging. In the back of my mind I was thinking if I didn’t beg, I could blame all of this on the passion, on the confusion that muddled my brain any time Mack was in the same space as me. I couldn’t help it. I couldn’t be blamed. I was just a sorry little slut who couldn’t control her libido.
He grabbed one of my thighs and lifted it up, hiking it over his hip. He guided his cock down to my folds, and I nearly wept with joy when it made contact. He slid the head up and down, moving it across and around my entrance, giving small pulses forward as a tease when he reached the center.
“Just one word, that’s all I need,” he said. His voice was so calm and assured. It was maddening in its businesslike tone. He had nothing but control, and yet I was barely holding on. The only thing I could do was refuse to beg, but otherwise, I was all in. Lifeplan be damned.
He put his other hand on my lower back and pulled me toward him while holding himself out and ready with the other hand. The tip slid in with zero resistance, completely covered in my slippery wetness that the shower hadn’t managed to wash away.
“Oh my god,” I said, holding onto his shoulders, looking down at where we were joined. “What’s happening?”
“I’m going to come inside you now,” he said.
I looked up to see a fierce expression bearing down on me. His nostrils were flared wide and his jaw clenched. His blue eyes were stormy with passion, his hair drenched and hanging down over his forehead. I was swept away in all of it—the dark mood, the challenge, the commanding presence of this man who’d invaded my shower, my private places, seizing what he wanted and demanding that I cave in. One simple word. That’s all it would take.
“No,” I said.
But we both knew I didn’t mean it.
His cock went in slowly, slowly. I thought he was going to stop, a vague memory of our last encounter telling me that was how he did his thing . . . but he didn’t stop. He kept going, filling me until there was nothing left.
I ground into him awkwardly, trying to get as close to him as I could. The shower was too small and there was nothing to hang on to. I grabbed for the curtain when he pulled out and came back inside, and managed to yank the whole thing down on top of our shoulders.
He shoved the plastic off to the side and kept going, not letting the water or the mayhem even cause a stutter in his rhythm. And the whole time he was plunging into me, he never looked away; he stared into my eyes like he was driving home a point. And I felt that point he was making with every thrust. He was taking possession of me, laughing in the face of whatever plan I’d made before coming here. He was calling the shots, not me.
He picked up the speed of his rhythm, our wet bodies making slapping sounds when they came together. I didn’t care. The act was even more erotic knowing we were making a mess and being loud about it.
As I felt the heat building between my legs and coming out from my core, I suddenly felt the need to protest. No one had ever made me feel this way, and it was wrong. It had to be wrong. It made my other experiences with other men seem boring and faked. He was going to ruin everything.
“We need to stop. We shouldn’t . . .”
With every thrust, he gave me his response. “You. Are. My. Wife.” The last word came out as a growl.
I clung to him, no longer caring whether it was right or wrong. All I wanted was for the feeling to keep on going forever. I’d worry about the consequences later.
He stopped suddenly when he was fully buried inside me and leaned over. Shutting off the water, he bit my neck at the same time.
“Ow!” I squeaked. “What are you doing?”
“Get out of the shower,” he said, pulling out of me in one smooth, quick stroke.
I immediately felt empty and abandoned. “What?” My brain was going in about five different directions, completely confused as to what he was doing.
He got out of the shower, his hard-on completely engorged. “Out. Put your hands on the counter and bend over.”
My eyes bugged out a little, but I didn’t argue; I was beyond any of that foolishness. I stepped out, gingerly avoiding the curtain, and did what he said. I turned my back to him, the cool air making me shiver. My nipples turned rock hard as he stepped up behind me and I bent at the waist.
“What are you doing?” I whispered, looking down at the sink. It was a silly question. We both knew what he was doing. I was playing the innocent victim and he the marauding conqueror. It worked to assuage the guilt.
“Shhhhh. Just stand there, and when you’re ready to say ‘Please,’ we’ll finish. Until then, be quiet while I touch you.” His big hands came around and slid across the sides of my breasts, taking them fully into his palms and squeezing them once he reached the front. My nipples were in between his fingers, and he pinched them together while squeezing my breasts over and over. A low moan escaped my throat, and I closed my eyes, lost in the sensations that zipped out of my chest to other places on my body, making me wetter than ever. My insides throbbed with the need to feel him in there, stroking, sliding.
His erection was between my cheeks. I pushed into him, hoping he’d finish what he started. One hand came away from my breast to angle his cock down. It was between my legs now, and as he leaned over to pinch my nipples again, it slid in between my thighs toward the counter. It was close enough to tease but not close enough to give me any satisfaction whatsoever. It was maddening.
“You’re torturing me,” I said, leaning my head back against him as he dropped his lips to my neck and sucked. He bit and then he kissed. He licked and sucked again as he squeezed my breasts. I put my hands on the wall on either side of the mirror, giving him better access.
“The torture can stop anytime you want it to. Just say, ‘Please.’”
I shook my head languidly, refusing once again. “Never.” I sounded and felt drunk.
He dropped a hand and then the head of his cock was angling up to massage my entrance. “Never say never, babe. Never do that.”
“Never,” I whispered, stuck in some wonderland where he was almost filling me again. I already knew what it was going to feel like, and I couldn’t wait to experience it again.
He pushed down on my upper back between my shoulder blades, forcing me to bend over farther. I went down gladly, opening my legs wider and offering my ass up for the taking. He came to me then, rubbing the tip around my folds, getting it wet and slippery.
“You feel so good,” he said. “And your ass. My god, I love your ass.” He squeezed one of my cheeks and slapped it. The sting felt way better than it should have.
“It’s too big,” I said, dropping my head, pushing back a little, silently begging him to come inside. This waiting was killing me.
“Let’s see about that.” He grabbed me by my hips and pushed himself inside my slippery entrance, pulling me back against him to sheath himself completely with my heat. “Oh, god, yeah.” He squeezed my hips. “That ass. Mmm!” He smacked my cheek once more before grabbing my hips again and forcing me forward and back. His arms flexed and extended, moving my lower body to slide back and forth over his full length. “Oh, no, babe.” He pumped his arms faster, pushing his hips forward and back with the rhythm. “This ass is perrrrfect exactly how it is.”
His balls were hitting my clit, making me whimper with unfulfilled need. I pulled my hand away to touch myself and he stopped moving. Grabbing me by the wrist, he hissed, “No. You keep your hands where I can see them.” He forced my hand to the edge of the sink and pushed it down, not letting go until I wrapped my fingers around the edge of the counter.
He went back to pumping himself into me, squeezing my hips in his iron grip and forcing me to stay right where he wanted me. I was at his mercy, halfway to pleased and most of the way to frustrated, all the while loving the way he was taking command and making me do things I was pretending I didn’t want to do.
“Touch me,” I demanded.
He slammed into me harder, our bodies slapping louder with the impact. “Beg me,” he challenged.
“No,” I said, but with a lot less strength of conviction this time. The heat was building and his shaft was getting bigger, thicker. He was close. We were both close. But he was going to get there first.
“Do it,” he growled. “I can’t hold on much longer.” He was breathing hard. “Jesus, your ass is fucking amazing. God dammit!”
My nub was pulsing with need, swollen to the max and begging for his touch. My mind swirled with the implications. We were screwing like animals in his parents’ bathroom, and I was supposed to be already gone back to Florida. But his body felt like it was made for me, and we fit together like it was meant to be. This was what I wanted. Nothing else in the world mattered right now but finding release with this man inside me.
I was breathless, barely able to get the words out. “Please, Mack, please. Okay? Please.” My surrender was made complete with that one simple word. “Please,” I said again, nearly whimpering with need.
He pulled out with a yank and spun me around roughly.
“What?” I cried, thinking I’d been had.
I didn’t have time to figure out what he was going to do before he’d lifted me up and sat me on the sink, spread my legs, and put his cock back into me.
Now we were face to face, eye to eye, and nose to nose. His blue eyes bore into mine, the passion and emotion impossible to miss.
“You’re my wife,” he said, only inches away, his hot breath flickering over my lips. “You married me in Las Vegas two years ago.”
“Yes.”
“And I’m your husband.”
I nodded, tears slipping out.
He gritted his teeth and growled out, “And this is us, consummating our marriage.” He buried himself inside me and pulled me close by my lower back, making sure I was pressed nice and tight up against the base of his cock. He moved in and out, banging into me and filling me, sending me over the edge in four sharp strokes.
“Oh, Mack!” I screamed, holding onto him by the shoulders.
“Ahhrrrrrr! Fuck!” he roared, hunched over and bucking against me, his hair tickling my nose as he bit into my shoulder.
I dug my nails into his back as I rode wave after wave of orgasm. Just when I thought it would be over, he’d push inside me again and send me into another spasm of pleasure. I was lost and didn’t want to come back. I was dizzy and confused, wandering around a kaleidoscope of colors in my mind, not even sure where I was or who I was anymore.
He wrapped his arms around me, held me in his strong arms. He shuddered several times, breathing heavily in my ear, sounding like an angry bull or a freight train. I let the emotion take me away, hearing only the sounds of his breathing and nothing else. It was comforting. Dangerously alluring.
What seemed like a long time later, when he’d finally stopped moving and my body had stopped betraying me, my cries of passion faded into whimpers and then dissolved into tears.
He took a deep breath and lifted his teeth from my skin, resting his forehead in my neck as he sighed heavily. “I love you,” he said simply, his breath tickling my ear.
My heart spasmed painfully in my chest. “Please don’t say that,” I whispered, tears threatening.
“Yeah,” he said, his voice rough with emotion, “I get it.” He pulled his softening length out of me and turned around, his hand already on the door.
“Where are you going?” I asked, my voice revealing sorrow and confusion. I sagged back against the mirror.
“Away. I’ll talk to you tomorrow at nine.”
And then he was gone. The door shut behind him, leaving me alone in the passion-torn bathroom. For a long time I just sat there, finally realizing what a broken heart really feels like. I’d thought before that I’d known. When Luke broke up with me by text message, when other people had let me down as a child, it had hurt. A lot. But I’d been wrong about those painful moments. They had bruised my heart, yes. But this right here? This was real pain. This was true heartache.
I knew without a doubt that I was watching the only man who could ever make me feel this way walk out the door to go sign our divorce papers, and it was true sorrow like no other. I would look back on this trip to Baker City, Oregon, and know that Gavin MacKenzie was the man who cracked my heart into a thousand pieces. And I was just going to let him do it. I had no other choice.
I got down off the sink and moved slowly over to the shower to put the curtain back up, my heart going numb with pain. I rinsed off, jumping when my fingers touched the now overly sensitive parts between my legs. Everything was thick and swollen down there still, and I realized for the first time as I tried to wash everything away that we’d had sex without protection.
Oh, Jesus, how stupid can I possibly be? I stared at the ceiling as the tears dripped down and filled my ears. What am I going to do now?