Chapter Twenty

I’m so turned on, so lit up inside that I might actually combust. My nipples are hard, my pussy absolutely aches with need, and my stomach is bouncing, playing with my emotions as I try to navigate the one and only Rath Westin.

After night one of my sex dream with him as the main character—don’t know where David Hasselhoff came from—I haven’t been able to control myself. There’s a line I didn’t want to cross, but after seeing him with his shirt off and spending the night with him, I couldn’t stop myself if I wanted to.

So, I started dressing extra slutty and going to bed naked in the hopes that he would finally crack and make a move.

He hasn’t. And it’s not like I don’t know he wants me. Trust me, I do. I’ve seen that man’s bulge more this week than I’ve seen any man’s bulge. I’ve seen it in his trousers, in his boxer briefs, in his towels. It’s there, all the time, looking ready to be taken care of and I haven’t had one opportunity. And holy shit, the man is so goddamn sexy, I’m a quivering mess. At work, I’ve managed to be an efficient, unaffected assistant, but that’s been a lie. Even when I’ve checked in with Grandma, worked through Rath’s daily lists, or gone through the preparation with the art team for the company planner, thoughts of him haven’t been doused. I get why he’s working late. I get why he’s pushed me each night to visit Grandma—and I’m thankful.

But, he’s lethal. Physically lethal. I’m willing to cross the line, even though it might be my heart that’s shattered down the track.

Frankly, I think I deserve to touch him, kiss him, fuck him, because I’m going to be his wife. I should get more out of this than just a happy grandma. What about a happy Charlee? At least that’s the reasoning I’ve given myself for my one-eighty on the decision to stay away.

I thought tonight was going to be the night. I made sure to get naked early, lotion, and then offered the whole massage thing, thinking maybe he would lay me down on the bed and want to massage other things.

That fantasy quickly vanished when he practically leapt to the other side of the bed after I said I was good. And then when I was deliberately missing his nipple by a few centimeters, I thought he’d growl and pin me against the mattress and start making out with me.

No such luck.

I’m so close to pleasuring myself right here, right now, that I give it some serious thought. What would he do? Lie there and watch? Ask me to stop? Lend a hand?

There’s only one way to find out.

But can I really do it?

I nibble on my bottom lip as I consider it.

The relief would be amazing.

God, but masturbate in front of Rath while we share the same bed? I can’t.

My thoughts are broken when he shifts on the bed and for the first time this week, I can feel him turn his body so he’s facing me rather than staring at the ceiling or facing the opposite direction.

My breath stills in my chest. Is he . . . is he going to touch me? Is he finally going to make a move? I count to twenty, the seconds ticking away to the beat of my heart, and when he doesn’t move or make a sound, my hope falters.

What’s he waiting for? What’s he scared of?

Getting tired of this game, I decide to give him a small push. With my backside facing him, I scoot backward so I’m closer to him in this large bed.

“Cold,” I mumble, and then wait on bated breath to see if he spoons me, wraps his arm around my waist, and pulls me into his chest.

But I come up short again.

Absolutely nothing on his end.

No words. No touching. I don’t even hear his breath. Is he dead over there?

God, he’s infuriating.

Just touch me. For the love of God, just touch me.

He shifts.

I still.

My cheeks heat up, my toes tingle, and the juncture between my legs throbs so unbelievably that I might start crying from how much I need his touch.

I’m going to count to twenty again, and if he doesn’t touch me in the next twenty seconds, I’m going to touch myself. No shame, no holding back anymore. I’m going to ease this deep ache.

One, two, three . . .

Come on, Rath, please touch me.

Five, six, seven . . .

I might hyperventilate from need, from the raging pulse in my body.

Ten, eleven, twelve . . .

Tears form in my eyes.

Fifteen, sixteen, seventeen . . .

I lower my hand just as the mattress shifts again.

I hold my breath, my heart pounding in my throat, my anticipation so heady that I can feel it deep in my bones.

And then . . . the lightest, featherlike touch runs along my side.

If I wasn’t so acutely aware of his every move, I may not have felt it, but it was there. Wasn’t it? Was I imagining that?

I start to doubt myself as I feel it again. This time it’s two fingers along the slope of my side.

Now three fingers.

Four . . .

His palm drags along my skin and my body screams in joy. He runs his hand up my side and down to my hip, then back up again.

Wanting to encourage him, I groan and shift backward again, landing my bare ass right against his hard erection.

“Fuck,” he mutters on an exasperated breath. “I’m . . . hell, I’m sorry, Charlee. I shouldn’t be touching you,” he whispers, his mouth close to my ear. “But I couldn’t hold back any longer. I need to know what your skin feels like.”

“Then feel it,” I say, turning on my back so his hand lands on my stomach.

My eyes have adjusted enough to the dark to see the burning in his eyes. His large hand spans across my stomach, his touch causing me to hollow out in anticipation.

“Charlee,” he breathes.

Not saying anything, I take his hand in mine and ever so slowly lower it to my waistline and then back up.

“Feel me, Rath. Explore me.”

“Fuck, I shouldn’t. I really shouldn’t.”

“But you want to.”

“So fucking bad. I want you,” he growls, his mouth pressed against my ear as his hand slips to my side and he grips it. “I’ve never wanted to fuck anyone as badly as I want to fuck you. I’ve never thought about anyone as much as I think about you. And I’ve never wanted to claim someone’s mouth more than I want to claim yours.”

“Then do it,” I say in desperation, as I try to move his hand again, but it’s motionless like a viselike grip on my hip.

“Can’t,” he says, making every nervous flutter inside me die instantaneously. “Swore I wouldn’t.”

Unsure of what to do, but amped up nonetheless, I hold back the tears of frustration and resort to the last tactic in my toolbox.

If he’s not going to give me relief, then I’ll give myself relief.

I push away from him as he says, “Charlee,” in a whisper, but I don’t pay attention. I spread my legs and reach between them, not surprised at my arousal, and how turned on I am. The minute my fingers connect with my pussy, I start rubbing my clit.

It doesn’t matter that he’s right next to me, hearing what I’m doing, feeling the movements of the covers. What matters is that I’m seeking the relief I deserve. Need.

I move my other hand to my breast, giving my nipple a pinch, which causes me to moan and my hips to undulate against my hand.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

“Ah, yes,” I moan, finally starting to feel right.

“Charlee, answer me.”

“What does it . . . seem like?” I answer, my voice becoming strained.

He moves to my side of the bed and grips my wrist, stopping me from continuing.

“Rath, let go. Just because you’re too much of a chickenshit to fuck me doesn’t mean I need to lie here without finding my own release.”

Getting closer, his forehead against my temple, he whispers, “Do not fucking touch yourself while you’re in the same bed as me.”

“Why not?”

“It’s disrespectful.”

That makes me laugh. Straight-up laugh.

“As if you haven’t been jacking off when I’m in the shower or tub. I’m not an idiot, Rath. If you can play with yourself, so can I.”

I go to move my hand but he stops me again. “Not with me in this goddamn bed. Do you hear me? Not when I’m here.” The roar of his voice is startling, and the way he strips my hand away from my body is shocking. But then, when he moves his hand back over my stomach, hope springs again and my legs fall even wider as the center of my body begs for more.

Breathing heavily, his chest rising and falling, his fingertips slowly drag up my stomach and then back down. Up . . . and torturously down. With every pass, my stomach hollows and my hips thrust, but he never goes past my waistline and doesn’t touch my breasts. I squirm under his touch, impatient for more.

“Stop moving, or I’ll remove my hand.”

“Rath, I’m so turned on, and you’re making it worse.”

“Exactly. I want you to feel how tortured I’ve felt this past week with you parading around naked in my home and practically naked in the office.” His hand stops right below my breasts where he makes small circles, his fingers barely skimming the underside. “I want you to know the strain you’ve put me through, sleeping naked next to me.” His thumb reaches up and brushes just under my nipple. “And don’t fucking tell me you haven’t been doing it on purpose.”

“You haven’t made it easy either,” I say, lifting my chest, but he just removes pressure when I try to seek release.

“I’ve respected our agreement. You haven’t,” he bites out, his voice so strained, so angry that my stomach flips with a bout of nerves. “Fuck, Charlee. I want you.” He drags his hand back down to my stomach but lower this time, right above my pubic bone. Shamelessly I squirm beneath him. “But this can’t happen between us. Because what happens after?”

“We keep fucking,” I say out of desperation.

“This isn’t a one-time thing for you?” he asks, moving his hand back up where his fingers dance around my nipple, circling, like a feather caressing my sensitive skin.

“From the way you’re touching me, I know this isn’t a one-time thing. I’m going to want you any chance I can have you.”

“And when we divorce, what happens then?” he asks, his fingers inching toward my core.

“Then I continue to work for you and set you up on dating websites.” It will kill me, but I’ll do it.

“You’re going to continue to work for me after we divorce?” he asks, his fingers now an inch away from giving me what I want.

“I’m not giving up my job because we divorce.” I tilt my pelvis up and he pulls away. “Come . . . on,” I cry out, tossing my arm over my eyes. “Rath, I’m going to come just from you touching me.”

“Then come.” His fingers play with my mound, dancing across it, moving to the side, but never gliding down the center, driving me insane, to the point that I can’t take it anymore. I push off the bed in hopes to lay him on his back, but his strength is too much for me and my attempt fails horribly as he pins me down by my arms and hovers above me.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

Breathing heavily, I stare up at him. I can faintly see the etch in his brow, the desire in his eyes.

“You don’t control what goes on in my bed. I do. Which means, you will be fucking patient.”

He lowers his hips enough so I can feel his erection pressing against his boxer briefs.

“Feel that, Charlee?” He dips his hips lower and slowly makes a wave-like motion with his pelvis.

God, yes.

My body lights up with every pass of his cock over my center. Arms out to the side, pinned down by him, I’m at his mercy, and I have no problem giving myself over to this domineering and electric man. Despite the anger flowing through him, this is the most alive I’ve ever seen him. I’ve seen bits and pieces occasionally, but the emotions passing through him are so palpable I can taste them.

“You’re going to make me come, Rath. Is that what you want?” I ask, my body building to the moment where it will fall over the edge. “Do you want me to come without you inside me?”

“Fuck,” he grunts. “Goddamn you.” He pushes off me and scoots to the side of his bed. He sits on the edge of the bed, his hand in his hair, pulling roughly on the short strands. He reaches over to his nightstand and presses the switch to the blinds, illuminating the room with dim city light.

That’s when I see the tension in his back, how stiff he is, how much he’s unraveling. A part of me feels bad that I’ve pushed him this far, but most of me wants him to unravel so he can finally let loose and be the passionate man I know he is.

Scooting to his side of the bed, I run my hands over his back. His body stiffens from my touch and then slowly starts to relax as I press small kisses along the back of his neck and down his spine and shoulders.

“Tell me you don’t want me, Rath, and I’ll stop. I’ll put clothes on right now, end this torture. Say it, tell me to stop.”

He stays silent so I run my hands up the front of him, taking in his strong pecs and rigid stomach.

“Last chance, Rath.” I move my hands to his waistline, just above where his cock is begging to be freed. “Tell me to stop.”

Nothing.

Silence.

Heavy breathing.

So, with a whole bunch of courage, I reach into his boxer briefs and grip his thick length, marveling at how beautifully hard he is, loving the pre-cum at the tip. I did that to him. I drag my thumb over the head, spreading his cum over the tip and then around the rim, taking my time, being deliberate with my touch.

He leans into me, his back to my chest.

“Shit, Charlee.” His voice is defeated as he takes my hand and then turns, facing me. Cupping my cheek softly, his demeanor changes. “I don’t know what to do. I’m afraid to let this happen, because I swore I’d never let my hands touch you. But I don’t think I can keep that promise to myself, not when I have you like this, in my bed, wanting me just as much as I want you.”

“Then let yourself take what you want.”

“I don’t want this to blow up in our faces.”

I lean my forehead against his. “Then we won’t let it.” Trying to talk over my loud, beating heart, I say, “I can’t think of anything else. All I know is if I don’t have you tonight, I might combust into a million pieces.” When he doesn’t say anything, I glide my hand up to his stubble and revel in the thick feel of it against my palm. “Please, Rath.”

He exhales in frustration and turns away, his hands going to his hair.

And that’s when I see it, how truly torn up he is about this. And I’m pushing him to step out of who he is and indulge in my fantasies. That’s not fair. Rath Westin is an exceptional man. He’s clinging to and respecting a promise he made to himself. I pause. My breathing is still labored, but I stop.

If we’re going to make this work, maybe it’s best if we don’t cross that final line. Just like he said.

Devastated and amped up simultaneously, I scoot off the bed and head toward the closet where I put my suitcase. Clothes, I need clothes, and I need to sleep on the couch tonight, no matter how stiff it is. I don’t trust myself to be good when we’re in the same bed. Not tonight.

Not bothering with a bra or underwear, I snag one of his T-shirts and throw it over my body. If I can’t have the real thing, might as well take his scent with me in bed.

When I head back out to the bedroom, I notice he hasn’t moved. This is exactly what he needs, more time to himself. Knowing there are throw blankets out on the couch, I grab my pillow and quietly exit his room.

To say I’m disheartened is an understatement, but as I gather a few blankets and lie on the stiff couch, I realize he’s right. I’m making it so much harder on him, and I hate that he may have lost respect for me because of it. Things are already incredibly complicated with my grandma being sick, the “engagement” and wedding plans, the boss-assistant relationship. The last thing we need is to throw sleeping together in the mix. It might be painful but—

“Charlee.” Rath’s voice shakes me to my core as I look up from where I’m lying. Standing in the hallway, hands propping him on both walls, he hangs his head low, but tilts it up just enough to make eye contact with me. The lights shining through the large windows focus on his ripped torso, highlighting every ridge and contour. With nothing on other than boxer briefs, he says, “Come here.”

My throat grows heavy as my heart plummets against my ribs, sending a wave of nausea and excitement at the same time. I sit up, then step away from the couch and walk toward him, my pulse drowning out any noise around me. When I reach him, he takes my hand in his and walks us to the bedroom where he places me in front of his bed. Keeping his eyes trained on me, he reaches down to the hem of my shirt and slowly skims it along my body until it’s up and over my head. Tossing it to the floor, he takes my cheeks with his hands, tilts my mouth and I swear, everything slows down around us. The room starts to swirl in my mind and as his mouth descends on mine, I lose all sense of where I am. I’m caught up in the energy of the man who’s holding me.

Right before his lips make contact, I suck in a breath of air and then in an instant, he steals it with his mouth pressing against mine. My hands move to his hair where they tangle in the short silky strands, while my body presses against his.

My nipples rub against his barrel of a chest, his trimmed chest hair adding much-desired friction.

His covered erection presses against my stomach, firm and high, sensually ready for me.

But what is inciting my obvious arousal is the strong hold he has on my face and the way his mouth doesn’t seem like it can get enough.

In a frantic move, our tongues clash together, our mouths moving back and forth, stealing breath from one another. He pulls away and looks me in the eyes, crazed and hungry. He looks ready to snap . . . and I’m ready for it.

“I can’t hold back,” he says. “I tried, but I can’t. I need you, Charlee. Tell me you still want me.”

“More than anything,” I say, getting emotional from the push and pull of this man.

“Good.” He lowers me to the bed, spreads my legs, and hovers above me.

He starts with my mouth, paying close attention while his hands float to my breasts, squeezing each one deliberately before moving to my nipples, where he plays with them until they’re so hard that they almost become painful.

Deliciously painful.

He rolls them between his fingers and then moves his mouth south, trailing his tongue along my skin until he reaches my breasts. Taking his time, he brings one into his mouth, causing me to squirm beneath him, looking for more, needing more.

But he takes his time and moves over to the next breast, paying it the same attention. Kneading, sucking, kneading, sucking . . . pinching.

“Aah,” I moan and thrust my hips for some relief, which they find. I rub my body against his hard one, making waves with my hips until he realizes what I’m doing and stills my hips with one press of his hand, his fingers curling to my backside where they imprint themselves.

Not saying a word, he moves south again, dragging his tongue over my stomach, swirling around my belly button, and then down to my center. Not even skipping a beat, he moves his tongue along my slit, spreading me wide with two of his fingers. I glance down and see his head move with each stroke, his handsome face buried between my legs. It’s so erotic that it spurs me on even more and before I can count to ten, my orgasm starts to build.

“God, yes, Rath.” My hand falls to his head where I play with his hair, encouraging him. I spread my legs even wider, wanting nothing to be in his way as he flicks my clit with the tip of his tongue, then swirls, then flicks, then swirls . . .

Oh God.

He flattens his tongue and I nearly fly off the mattress.

“I’m going to come. Rath, oh God, I’m going to come.” I grip the pillow on both sides and prepare myself as he lifts his tongue and then lightly glides it over my clit with the very tip barely applying any pressure, just enough to build and build me up until—

“Ohhh . . . fuuuck,” I scream as he applies more pressure. My orgasm tears through my body, scorching through my limbs, shooting up my stomach, and then back down, pooling and gathering, and taking over every last inch of feeling inside of me.

I call out his name.

I grip his hair.

I flail my arms over my face, covering my eyes as I can’t take it anymore.

“Please,” I call out on a sob. “Oh God, please stop. It’s too much.”

But he doesn’t stop as the pleasure continues to roar through me, jolting me until he finally lets up, giving me a second to breathe, but not much time because before I know it, I hear the wrapper tear open. I peek up to see his cock jutting out before he sheathes it with a condom.

Returning to me, he kneels in front of me, spreads his legs so he lowers himself, and then poises his tip at my entrance.

Catching my eyes, his brow pinched together, his muscles straining, he’s looking for permission. As if I could deny him at this point. I reach down, grab his cock, and put it inside me. He growls out in pleasure as he rocks himself inside, his girth stretching me in the most exquisite way.

He rocks and rocks until he bottoms out, both of us gasping at the same time. He shudders forward, and I grip the back of his neck, pulling him down until our mouths meet. Unlike other men I’ve been with, he doesn’t shy away from kissing me while deep inside of me. He takes his time. This isn’t a sprint to him . . . this is a marathon, and even though I can sense his urgency to come, he takes his time.

Hovering above me, his hands on either side of my head, his cock deep inside me, he makes out with me. It’s glorious. Starting slow, his mouth moves across mine, nipping and sucking, and then he presses his tongue inside, finding mine. And that’s where he stays, letting me feel every inch of him, every ounce of passion pouring out of him, every emotion.

In this moment, Rath tangled around me, I see a glimpse of the man I’ve wanted to see for so long. The vulnerability in the etch of his brow, the passion in his hungry eyes, the yearning in his tense and greedy hands. It’s what I’ve wanted—his fervor—and realizing I’m finally getting it only builds my elation. My joy. God, this man is magnificent.

I lower my hands down his back to his firm ass, where I squeeze and encourage him to move faster. He grunts out in response, releases my mouth, and props himself up. I have the perfect view of his rippling abs as his pelvis thrusts in and out, his skin slamming against mine. His grunts of pleasure spur me on, and then I feel my pussy tightening and my orgasm impending again.

“So tight,” he says, grunting as he pushes in again, this time harder. “You there?”

“Yes,” I say breathlessly as my orgasm spikes and I fall over the edge, this time the sensation more intense as Rath fills me with every piston of his hips. Faster and faster, creating so much friction that it’s almost unbearable, and before I can’t take anymore, Rath stills, grunts, and comes.

He comes hard. I feel it in the force releasing from his body, in the way he collapses, and the aftershocks that seem to wrack his body.

We lie there, on his bed, still connected, trying to catch up with our breaths as our chests heave together.

After a few moments, Rath lifts up, leans on his elbows, straddling my head. His hands come to my face where he gently glides his thumbs over my cheeks. Speaking softly, he says, “You’re so beautiful, Charlee. I don’t think I’ve ever told you that.”

The way he calls me beautiful, so sincere, brings tears to my eyes. I shake my head. “I don’t think you ever could.”

“I can now.” He lowers his head and gently presses his lips to mine. “You’re beautiful. Really fucking beautiful.”

Still inside me, he kisses me. He kisses me until I feel breathless, and right then I think he can’t get any more perfect. He quickly cleans us up, turns me over, and wraps his body closely around me so we’re both sharing his pillow.

And then we pass out.

The first thing to wake me up is the early morning sun filtering through the floor-to-ceiling windows. The second thing to wake me is the man wrapped around me and his morning erection pressed against my back.

The dramatics and emotions from last night hit me hard as I think back to how Rath looked, standing in the hallway, defeat lacing his features as he called me to come back to the bedroom. The dip in his briefs, the fine sinew weaved through his body, bouncing like fireworks from the tension rolling through him, and that capitulation in his eyes, finally surrendering to his feelings. It drew me in last night and just thinking about it now is stirring my wants and doubts.

He rolls to the side, one meaty arm drawing over his eyes.

Sitting up, I let the blanket slip off my naked body and take him in under the orange glow of the sun rising.

The most attractive man I’ve ever seen, there’s no question. With his dark hair, even darker scruff grazing his strong jaw, and then his beautifully sculpted body and how he uses it in a demanding yet gentle way at the same time. He’s unlike any man I’ve ever been with—so passionate and intense. The way he wrestled with integrity versus need was staggering. Eye-opening. He’s insanely estimable, and not just because of his high intelligence. He has integrity.

Biting on my lower lip, my eyes travel south to where his erection presses against the sheets. God, I want him, even after the exhaustive sex we had last night; it’s all I can think about this morning. All I can feel buzzing through my body.

Shifting the sheets, I expose his erection and look at it in the morning light. Thick, long, with just the slightest curve that I know would feel amazing if I was riding him, because it would hit me in just the right spot.

Dare I?

There’s nothing better than morning sex.

Hell, it’s not like he’s going to kick me off him. At least, I hope not.

Gaining courage, I lift and straddle his body so I’m facing backward—reverse cowgirl—then position his cock at my entrance. I can feel how turned on I am already, so I navigate his tip and then sink down slowly, enjoying every last, long inch until I’m fully seated on his pelvis while I reach down and grip his thighs.

I was right about the curve as I squeeze my eyes shut tight from how perfect he feels inside me. Nothing in my life has ever felt like this, like it belongs, like I was meant to be riding this man, and that’s startling. Because this is sex. This isn’t a relationship. But I couldn’t stop myself if I wanted at this point. I’m drawn, I’m addicted, I need this.

“Fucking hell, babe,” he groans, his voice groggy as his hands falls to my hips. “Christ, this is the best wake-up call.”

He helps me move up and down, guiding the pace, while I swivel my hips and move, hitting that exact spot I need, quickly starting to spasm around him.

“Shit,” he mutters, pumping faster. “No condom.”

“Pill,” I say through a tight voice.

That’s all he needs. He jolts upward, hitting my G-spot, and I nearly black out from the pleasure.

Catching my breath, I say, “Again, do that again.”

He does. Over and over until my body feels like it splits in half, euphoria blasting through me so fast and so hard that I scream out his name and dig my nails into his thighs. At the same time, he stills, and I can feel him shoot his cum inside me as he shudders beneath, his sexy moans mingling with mine.

Unable to discern what the hell just happened, I swivel around and collapse on his chest. Sweetly, he caresses my hair and presses light kisses along my temple.

“Morning, beautiful.”

I smile against his chest. “Good morning.”

His fingers graze along my spine, sending chills along my skin. Noticing the goosebumps, he pulls the covers over us. And then we lie there on a lazy Saturday morning, doing nothing but enjoying each other’s company.

Around mid-morning, I finally drag myself away from him, take a quick shower, pack, and head back to my apartment, but not before giving him a long, meaningful kiss goodbye.

Smiles on our faces, we part. Nothing about the future exchanged between us, just a general, unspoken understanding that what’s happening between us is special, and we’re going to keep it that way.

At least that’s what I hope.