It’s exactly how I envisioned it.
Fenton’s living room reflects everything I know about him. Sturdy, brown leather furniture sits around an oversized cinnamon-colored rug. One wall has a dark hued, built-in entertainment center with framed photos, books, and small trinkets that I’m dying to get a closer peek of.
It’s a mixture of responsibility and fun, of classic and modern. The room is sophisticated in some ways, yet comfortable in others. It’s just so Fenton.
He pulls me through the room, sliding one frame of glass to the side, and out onto an expansive deck. The view is stunning. The sea is as far as we can see, although I can’t currently see too far because of the night sky. Silver stars twinkle above, the water pushing in and going out, creating our own private white noise.
Each side of the house is lined with trees, so even though he has neighbors, we can’t see them. There are no lights. Just serenity.
I stand at the railing and gaze across the water. I feel him come up behind me, sense his presence, before he nuzzles his face against my neck.
“Do you like it here?”
“It’s beautiful,” I breathe.
“My father built this for my mother.”
“Did you grow up here?” I ask, imagining a little Fent playing on the beach below. Maybe a dog chasing him or a group of little boys playing tag.
He laughs. “No.”
“You must love it though.”
“I feel close to my family. My mother loved this place. Dad had it built a few years before he passed away and it’s where she lived out the rest of her life.”
“What happened to her?”
“They said a heart attack, but I figure it was a broken heart.”
His arms come around me, grabbing the rail on either side. His chest is pressed against my back and I let my head fall back on his shoulder. His body rises and falls, his breathing regulating with the waves.
I’ve never felt so peaceful with a man before. Even though I’d prepared myself hours earlier to walk away from him, now after his explanation, I feel my walls crumbling. It’s so easy being with him, such a natural give-and-take. I don’t feel like I have to be anyone, give anything, or do anything I don’t want to, and that’s in stark contrast to any relationship I’ve ever been in before. And even though this isn’t a relationship per se, it is . . . something . . . and I like it, even if I can’t define it.
“A broken heart?” I repeat. “What happened?”
“She just couldn’t live without my father, I don’t think. He met her on a business trip and I think he proposed within a few days,” he chuckles. “That’s what they told me, anyway. I never remember them fighting, never remember them being anything but happy. Even when things got hard—and they did—they didn’t let it split them. Some things we didn’t talk about in our house, like politics and religion. But we didn’t argue about it either.”
“Sounds like a perfect relationship.”
“They were just so in love . . .”
His heart, so heavy against my back, skips a beat when he says the words. I grin, knowing he’s waiting on me to comment. I consider not saying anything, but I can’t help myself.
“I thought you didn’t believe in love?”
His delayed response is thunderous. My mouth slacks, my breathing quickening, as I wait for his answer.
“I might not,” he says finally. “But there’s a chance that I do too. Maybe I was just afraid to believe in it, that I wouldn’t be able to sort out real love from the shallow motives I’ve seen a hundred times. Maybe I was scared I’d never be loved for me and not just for my money or who I am.”
His breath dances across the sensitive skin of my neck, making me shiver.
“I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to tell the difference,” he breathes against me.
“Maybe love is hard to explain. Maybe it’s different for everyone,” I counter, my eyes closed as his lips press against my neck.
“Maybe it’s feeling like you can’t breathe without the other person,” he whispers, giving me my definition back. “Wanting to put their needs ahead of yours.”
I feel his throat bob as he swallows, the heat of our bodies together pooling around us, making it hard to breathe. His words stir something deep inside me, the hope that maybe he feels the same way I do. Maybe he loves me.
“Do you feel that?” he whispers.
“Yes.” I know exactly what he’s referring to. The feeling of an invisible rope winding around both of us, pulling not just our bodies, but us as a whole together.
“Can I tell you a secret?”
I nod, afraid of moving too much and breaking whatever spell we’re under. I want to stay right here, forever, if possible, wrapped up in everything Fenton Abbott.
“This is why I carried you out of Ruma.”
“I don’t understand . . .”
He stands, twirling me around lazily to face him. I lean against the railing and he clutches the board on either side of me again, capturing me in his bubble.
“I missed you the last couple of days, Brynne. I took you to Ruma so we would be forced to talk, get what you wanted to say out of the way. But as soon as that was done, I wanted to bring you here. To my home. To have you all to myself.”
His words caress me, flip on switches inside me I didn’t know could be turned. It seems unreal that he is looking at me and saying that, but he is and I lap it up.
“I missed you too.”
“I wasn’t prepared to not be able to not think about you,” he confesses. “I watched you walk into your house after you told me not to follow you and it did a number on me. I figured then that it was just a burn to my ego and I’d be laughing about it the next day. But I didn’t.”
“I told you not to follow me because you told me you’d be too busy to see me again. I’m a big girl. I don’t need an easy brush-off.”
“It wasn’t a brush-off.”
“No, it was,” I laugh. “And I still haven’t figured out why or what changed your mind . . .”
He gazes over my shoulder at the dark water, the lines around his eyes deepening. “It’s a long story, one I don’t really care to discuss.”
Pulling his eyes back to mine, he studies me. “You’re important to me. I know I’ve never felt this way about another person before, so I don’t know what it means. I just know you’re more than a weekend distraction or a dinner date—”
“Or a fuck buddy,” I grin.
“You know I hate that term.”
I shrug, making him roll his eyes.
He continues, “I’m having a hard time figuring out where to go with this, if that makes sense.”
“It makes total sense. I don’t know either. One minute I’m lying in my bed, imagining it’s your fingers going inside me—”
“Don’t . . .” he growls.
“And the next minute,” I grin, “I’m preparing myself to never talk to you again.”
The truth spins into the universe, knocking us both around a little. He shifts his weight foot-to-foot and I just stand as still as I can, waiting for him to respond. I know my answer to the unsaid question: I want to get to know him. I want to know what he likes for dinner, what kind of ice cream he likes, how he unwinds in the evening. But I’m not going to show my hand yet, not before he does.
“If everything were equal, if there were no extenuating circumstances, what would you want to see between us?” he asks, his tone gravelly.
“I’m not sure . . .”
“You aren’t sure?”
Guilt burns through me because that’s not true. And as his shoulders slump, just a hint of a drop, it makes me feel like an asshole.
“No, I am sure,” I breathe. “I’d want to spend time with you. As much as I can. I would want to get to know you, make you smile, make you laugh. Make you dinner and then undress you and help you relax.”
I’m pressed against him before I know it. His chin sits on top of my head, his heart thundering in his chest. He doesn’t let go, just speaks with me still in his arms.
“I don’t know what it is about you and I know we will have to take it slow. But I want to take it, Brynne.”
“Take it where?”
“To wherever it leads. I don’t want to feel like I can’t call you. I don’t want to go a day without seeing you or being afraid to piss you off if I show up. I want to feel justified in wanting to protect you and calling you mine. Not in some trophy way or in some barbaric way either. Just being proud that a man like me could manage to snag a girl like you.”
“Oh, Fenton,” I say, trying, and failing, to not swoon.
“The easiest thing I’ve ever done in my life is feel this way about you, rudo.”
I run my hand down the side of his cheek, the stubble coarse against my skin. “I’d love to see where this goes. I’ve never wanted anything more.”
His hand clasps over my wrist, holding mine to his face. He drags it to his mouth and plants a kiss in my palm. “You’ve put things in perspective for me.”
He slips off his jacket and tosses it onto a chair. My fingers find his tie and begin undoing the intricate knot.
I feel the heaviness of his gaze, the heat of his breath as I slip the silk from around his neck and add it to the jacket. Beginning to unfasten the buttons down his chest, I can feel his heartbeat rumbling.
“I still have things I want to say,” he breathes.
“Not now.”
The shirt slips off his broad shoulders, the stars making his skin nearly glow. My fingers dip beneath the waistband of his dress pants and his breath hitches in his throat.
“Brynne . . .”
“Nope. We talked. Now we fuck. That was the deal.”
Jerking his belt, I snap him out of his reverie. With quick, methodical movements, I undo the belt and yank it out of the loops.
“Brynne . . .”
“Later, Abbott.”
He laughs and takes a step out of my reach. “You think you’re calling the shots just because you have a filthy mouth?”
“Um, yeah.”
“Sorry.”
His features darken as he drags a chair behind him. He stands in front of it and undoes the button of his pants. He frees his cock, running his hand up and down the long, solid length.
I start to take a step forward and he gives me a look that stops me.
Fenton sits in the chair, grabbing his dick at the base. “Take your shirt off.”
“Is that how this is played?”
“Tonight it is. No talking.”
“I—”
I’m cut off by his narrowed eyes. The words disappear into the thick, warm night air. Lifting my cami to the base of my breasts, I watch his reaction, measure the effect I’m having on him. The slight widening of his eyes, the slack jaw let me know I have his rapt attention.
Good.
Turning away from him, I brush my hair to one shoulder and then lift with no hurried movement until my cami is over my head.
Glancing at him over my shoulder, I shrug. “Now what?”
“Face me.”
Tossing my hair back, I pivot back around. He strokes his cock, the head swelling with the pressure. I want to wrap my lips around it and suck, tasting him. But I know he won’t let me; he’s pinning me in place as it is.
Bending at the waist, making sure he gets an eyeful of cleavage, I remove my heels. They hit the deck with a thud.
Running my hands down my chest, abs, and to the top of my jeans, I watch as his gaze follows my movements. I undo the button and lower the zipper as torturously slowly as possible. His jaw ticks, wanting me to hurry, but he’s not about to ask me to.
I turn away from him again, letting my hips swivel. I hear him mutter under his breath, but I don’t look back. Instead, I stand on my tiptoes, grabbing the deck rail in front of me with one hand and letting the other slip into the front of my pants. I lean forward, letting my ass pop towards him, and widen my stance.
My bud is swollen, my slit slippery already with desire. I moan as my fingertip touches my clit and I hear the chair creak behind me.
Glancing over my shoulder, I see Fenton sitting back down. His pants are gone and he’s deliciously naked, just a look of pure lust painted on his handsome features.
“Ah,” I cry, keeping our eyes locked while I work my fingers over my sensitive spot. His fist works his cock in time with my hand, at a pace that’s demonstrative of how much we both crave this release.
“Don’t even think you’re going to make yourself come.”
His words pierce me, nearly throw me over the edge on their own. I soar to the top, ready to hit the climax, but right before I hit the line, I stop. My head sags forward as the blood rushes from my brain, my body reprimanding me for quitting too soon.
I slide my hands into the sides of my jeans and push them, one inch at a time, over my waist. I kick them off, standing in front of him in nothing but a white lace bra and panties.
His gaze is intense, scalding my skin as it takes in every curve and bend of my body. I walk towards him, one, two, three, four steps, and wrap my fingers in his hair.
Dragging his face to mine, our mouths meet in the middle. Our tongues dance together, whispering promises of what’s to come.
He bites down on my lip, his hands finding my ass, and nudging me forward. I straddle him, never letting our contact break, until my feet are planted on either side of him. He guides his cock under me, brushing my panties to the side, and I sit down swiftly on his length.
“Fuck,” I hiss against his lips, needing to move but needing to let my body adjust to his size. His hands dig into my waist, holding me down against him.
“Your body fits me like a glove,” he mutters, his tongue drawing across my bottom lip. I suck it into my mouth and he jerks. As he does, his cock moves and triggers me to move with it.
I slide up and down his length, his solidness making me quiver. His mouth finds my breasts, sucking on one, then the other, and the combination causes an internal explosion.
“You. Are. So. Wet,” he groans, tilting his hips. “Fuck, Brynne.”
“It feels so good.” I put my weight on my feet and control the movement of my body against him. My head tosses back as he slips inside me, his fingers finding my clit and rubbing it in slow, small circles.
My movements quicken, the build-up coming in a frenzied pace that I no longer have control over. He slips his mouth around one of my nipples again. He bites down, rolling it between his teeth.
“Fent!” I yell, with no thought given to the fact that someone below could hear. I just pump my body along his, feeling his shaft slide into me and hitting my G-Spot at the back of my pussy. It’s an incredible, sensational feeling. “That. That’s going to make me . . .” I say, but the last few words come out as a stutter.
“Open your eyes.” His hands find my hips again and he keeps me moving—up and down. The pressure, the intensity of his cock massaging the back wall of my pussy becomes more than I can take.
Our gazes link mid-air as my eyes flutter open. The way his grey eyes swirl, heat, peer into the crevices of my soul is almost like another form of penetration. It’s too much.
“I’m going to come, Fent.”
He growls, moving his hips so that he’s slamming into me harder and harder. The force mixed with the sexiness of the timbre of his voice pushes me over the edge.
I sit down hard on his cock, feeling the head of it pulse inside me. My body spasms around him, shivering as wave after wave of pleasure slams into me. Colors burst in my vision and I can feel my temperature spike, heat rising through me and pushing out of the top of my head.
I moan, squeezing my eyes shut even as he tells me to open them. I can’t. I can’t do anything voluntarily. My body has taken over, succumbing to the euphoria.
I can feel him still moving inside me. When he groans, and pushes the farthest he’s been, I grind my clit against his body.
It sends another wave of bliss, a bit softer this time, through me and I feel him emptying himself inside me. After what feels like forever, my body sags with exhaustion. I sink against him, my head to his shoulder. He wipes my wet hair off my shoulder and plants a kiss in its place.
“If that’s a part of getting to know you, I think we should get to know each other multiple times a day,” he chuckles.
I try to laugh but I’m just too tired. It’s a shaking of the shoulders instead, a failed attempt to pretend I’m just fine.
Thinking I should get up and find a bathroom, I make one half-assed attempt to push away. It, too, fails. Part of me knows it’s because it’s too cozy to be lying against him like this and part of me knows it’s because if I do, I’ll be calling Presley to pick me up, because when things are too good to be true they usually are and I don’t want this night to end.
Not yet.