The Devil You Know, page 14
I laugh as I climb from the car. “You have friends who live here?”
“They used to live here. Tali hated it. It’s on the market now, and they moved into a much nicer place off Mulholland Drive.”
“It’s the turrets,” I say. “Were they worried the Romans would invade?”
“Hayes went through a very long, very strange phase before he met his wife. It seems to be over now.”
He enters a code into the front door and crosses the hall to disable the alarm.
“You’re sure we’re not going to get arrested for trespassing?”
“I’m sure I won’t be,” he says with a grin, scooping the mail off the floor.
He leads me through the mostly empty house and we walk out to a large covered terrace and down a flight of stairs, where a long, rectangular pool glimmers in the moonlight. At its edge, he kicks off his shoes and rolls up his pants before taking a seat, letting his legs slide into the water. Warily, I kick off my shoes and sit beside him.
I look around. “So where are your friends, anyway? Why can’t they get their own mail?”
“They’re in Italy working on a second kid this week,” he says.
“Only married people would refer to having sex repeatedly as work.”
He laughs. “They’d change your thoughts on marriage. They’re happy together.”
I want to say, “sure, until one of them gets bored”, but a part of me is tired of being that person. A part of me wants to be a bit more like Ben, someone who still has faith in the concept of forever.
“You’ve done some family law,” I say quietly. “How can you still be such an optimist?”
“There’s a reason I no longer do it. Once you see bad marriages, you start looking for more of them. You start believing that fifty percent of couples split up, and the other fifty percent are fooling themselves. And I know that’s not the truth. It isn’t that way for my friends. It wasn’t like that for my parents.”
His eyes darken for a quick second. I’ve known other people who lost a parent young, and most of them seem to have accepted it, moved past it. I get the sense, somehow, that Ben hasn’t.
“That must have been so hard on your mom,” I venture. “She’s lucky she had you and your brother.”
“Actually, there are four of us. It’s me, then Graham, then Simon, and then Colin.”
I blink. His mother was widowed with four young sons, one of them a newborn. My heart gives a small twist. “God,” I whisper, “she must have been so overwhelmed.”
“She was,” he says quietly. “It took a long time for her to come back from it.”
I want to ask what he means, how long is a “long time”, but it’s clearly a topic he’s not comfortable with. Seeing that repressed sadness in Ben makes something soften inside me. I have an almost overwhelming desire to touch him, to twine my fingers with his. I slide my hands beneath my thighs instead.
“What about you?” he asks. “No siblings?”
I shake my head. “No, thank God. My mom always wanted more but it didn’t happen.”
His brow furrows. “You wouldn’t have wanted siblings?”
“Sure, if they were my mother’s kids. My dad always implied it was her fault she didn’t get pregnant again, but then nothing happened with his next wife either, and I’m glad it didn’t.” It would have crushed my mother to see him create an entirely new family when she’d wanted it for them so much. “Go ahead: tell me how wrong it is to gloat over a couple’s infertility.”
He laughs, leaning toward me. “I’d have expected nothing less.” He kisses me then, his lips soft and certain on mine, as if to say, “it’s okay that you’re like this, it’s okay that you’re petty, that you’re vicious in court, that you push people away. I like you anyhow.”
He pulls back slowly, reluctantly, and helps me to my feet. I kind of wish we were staying. I wish he’d kissed me a little longer.
“If it weren’t for the turrets,” I suggest, “this would be a pretty nice place.”
“It’s okay.” He grins. “Not as amazing as your mom’s though, obviously, with that shelf of doom hanging over her cats.”
I don’t even think…I push him. He isn’t expecting it, and I wasn’t entirely expecting him to lose his balance—hoping, yes, but not expecting—and he goes right into the deep end. My laughter echoes over the pool deck, and I have not a moment’s guilt until his head emerges…and he’s flailing.
“Gemma,” he gasps, “I can’t swim.”
“Oh my God, are you serious?” I demand, suddenly panicked. Who the fuck doesn’t know how to swim in this day and age? His head goes under again, his hands above the water. It takes me one full second to unfreeze and jump wildly into the pool, where—the very moment my head breaks the surface—he starts laughing. He’s treading water with a big fucking grin on his face.
Of course, he knew how to swim.
“You asshole!” I shout. “I thought you were drowning! Now I’m soaking wet.”
He gives me a lopsided grin. “Is this a bad time to point out that you pushed me in the pool first?”
“You scared the shit out of me, though!” I cry, making my way to the edge. “It’s entirely different.”
“I completed an open water one-mile swim last year. I thought you knew.”
“I did,” I fume. Everyone in the office couldn’t stop talking about Ben’s triathlon, Ben’s triathlon, like he’d won the Nobel Peace Prize. “I just panicked and forgot.”
He pulls me against him, wrapping his arms around me. “It’s cute you were panicked on my behalf.”
“I was only panicking about my potential culpability if you died.” My arms go around his shoulders, letting him keep us both afloat.
He pushes my skirt up and pulls me so my legs are wrapped around his waist.
“I’m not going to let you turn this bullshit into an excuse to have sex in your friend’s pool,” I inform him.
“Obviously not,” he says, slipping his hand between my legs. “But I bet you let me get awfully close.”
His thumb brushes back and forth outside my panties, the lightest, most delicate touch, strumming every nerve. I reach between us and palm him through his pants. He’s so thick, so hard…My eyes fall closed. I will absolutely have sex in this pool.
He lifts me onto the edge before pushing me backward.
His mouth finds mine as he lowers himself on top of me. The adrenaline from only moments ago has shifted into something else, something desperate and reckless. His mouth descends to one tight nipple, and he sucks on it hard through the sheer fabric of my blouse. I wrap my legs around him until his erection is positioned exactly where I want it. If we could just get rid of all these fucking clothes it would take him two seconds to push inside me.
I reach for his belt, but he stays my hand. “Invite me over,” he groans against my mouth.
“It’s late,” I reply. “We could be undressed in five seconds right here.”
His lids close tight for a moment, and when they open, I see resignation there. “You know what I want,” he says, lifting himself off me. “And I’m still going to fucking wait.”
But…but…goddammit.
He reaches out a hand to help me up and I accept it reluctantly. Water pours from our clothes, from my hair. My mascara is undoubtedly proving to be less waterproof than promised. I want to blame him for how irritated I am right now, but I’m not sure I can.
We gather our things and walk through the side gate to his car, soaking wet. He drives me back to the parking garage and leans over to kiss me once we arrive.
“I’ll see you Monday,” he says as I climb out.
I assumed he’d be in this weekend. The fact that he won’t makes me wish I’d given him a different answer in the pool. Maybe inviting him over once wouldn’t have been the end of the world.
26
I wake thinking about Ben.
I think about him as I dress, as I drive, as I sit at my desk attempting to work.
Everything reminds me of sex: the seat beneath me, the breeze that gusts as I walk down the street, a male voice in the hallway.
I send emails without attachments, forget my own phone number at the grocery store. I call my mom Sunday and call her again an hour later, having completely forgotten we spoke. I’m halfway to my car Monday morning before I realize I’m wearing two different shoes. If Ben’s trying to secure the partnership for Craig by making me stupid with lust, he’s doing an excellent job.
We don’t come face-to-face until Monday afternoon. I’m on my way back from a client lunch, running because it’s starting to rain when he’s suddenly in front of me, walking from the other direction.
His gaze falls to my wet button-down, now clinging to my curves. “Jesus,” he says, holding the door.
“This can’t be one of the outfits,” I argue quietly.
He leans close as we wait to go through the metal detector. “They’re all one of the outfits, Gemma.”
I release a shaky breath, and my nipples tighten beneath my damp bra. His gaze flickers there, as if he knows.
We climb on to the elevator and move toward the back. I stand in front of him, the same way I did in Miami. Out of view, without making a sound, he pulls me against his semi-erect cock. I glance to our right but no one has noticed. I look over my shoulder at him and he simply holds my gaze, daring me to move.
I swallow loudly. The elevator stops and one person climbs out, two people climb in. In the resulting shuffle, he pulses once against me, very intentionally, and all my air leaves me in a rush. I try to keep my breathing even and my expression calm. If anyone from the office sees this, I’m screwed, but there is something incredibly erotic about the risk of it all.
He does it again on the next floor. I reach back and dig my hand into his thigh for balance.
The door opens again. “Let’s go to your apartment,” he says quietly.
My eyes fall closed. “The office is closer.” We pass our floor but neither of us move, and when the last people climb off, he reaches past me, and hits the button for the parking garage.
“What are you doing?”
He laughs. “You live above Whole Foods. That’s five minutes from here.”
“But your office would be faster,” I continue to argue, also wondering how he knows where I live. He pulls me tight against him.
“Nothing about tonight will go fast,” he says against my ear.
I’m at my door and have just slid my key in the lock when I hear him approaching. My heart beats harder and faster. This is all I’ve thought about for a week straight, but I’m suddenly searching for a way to back out.
I turn, biting my lip as I glance up at him. His mouth curves to the left just a hint, and he presses me to the door, his body warm and solid against mine. He’s so much taller I have to crane my neck to meet his gaze.
“No, Gemma, you don’t get to cancel on me,” he says.
My laughter is startled, but also relieved. I guess I’m more transparent than I thought.
“Okay,” I whisper, sliding my hands up his neck as he leans down to kiss me.
Has it only been since Friday that we last kissed? It seems like so much longer. My palms slide into his hair, then to his jaw—rough, in need of a shave. He presses me harder to the door, his hand on my hip, pinning me there, and his mouth opens, demanding more. His erection is wedged right in the center of my rib cage. I reach between us and run my palm over him.
“Open the fucking door,” he growls, and I can’t even recall why I was resistant before. I turn the key in the lock, then he backs me inside the apartment. We don’t stop until we’re at the kitchen counter, where I grab his tie and pull his mouth back to mine. His hands, tight on my hips, slide back to grab my ass, to pull me tighter against him.
"Do you even live here,” he murmurs against my mouth, glancing quickly at my bare apartment while I unknot his tie, “or is this just some rental you use for sex?"
The tie loosened, I begin to unbutton his shirt. His chest is firm and hot beneath my hands. There’s so much of him to explore I can barely decide where to begin. “I've been too busy being a better lawyer than you to decorate.”
“It’s funny then,” he says, pulling my blouse overhead, unzipping my skirt, “that you haven’t made partner yet.”
I laugh against my will.
He pushes my skirt to the floor and moves back just enough to let me step out of it, his eyes traveling over me—now in nothing but lingerie and Louboutins. I start to kick the shoes off and he stops me.
“Not yet,” he says. “Those goddamn heels of yours have tortured me for two years straight.”
I think maybe I knew this.
His hands are on his belt, tugging it free. His cock strains against his zipper. “Where first?” he asks.
“You're awfully certain there's going to be a second time.”
“Gemma,” he says, “I plan to fuck you on every surface of this apartment eventually.”
He is smug and overconfident, and I should hate that…but I just don’t. I really don’t.
“Here.” His surprised exhale is audible as I slide to my knees.
I pull his pants and boxers down at the same time. His cock springs free, heavy and stiff, a single bead of moisture at the tip.
“God, yes,” he hisses as I take him in my mouth. His hand goes to my hair and he’s watching, watching, his eyes dark and drugged, struggling to stay open.
His jaw locks tight as I find my rhythm. He moves my head with his hand, his encouragement guttural, barely intelligible. So fucking good...the sight of your mouth around me...wanted this for so long.
I take him farther, all the way to the back of my throat.
“Oh, God,” he groans, his eyes squeezing tight. “Don’t. You’ll make me come.”
The power I have over him right now is thrilling. I do it again, desperate to see him lose that last bit of control, and find myself lifted off the floor entirely. He grabs his wallet and carries me to my room, laying me under him on the bed. I arch, seeking friction, but he slides down instead, spreading my thighs wide. His tongue runs along the fine lace of my thong, which he then snaps hard enough to sting. Before I can complain, his tongue is there again, and he’s pulling the thong aside, licking me, as if he’s starved for this.
I could finish in seconds, but after nearly a full week of torment, I want more.
“Come up here,” I beg, and his tongue swipes over me once more before he pushes my panties down my thighs and crawls above me.
He grabs a condom from the wallet he placed on the nightstand. I have an IUD and would probably let him go without, but say nothing as he rolls it on.
He grasps himself with one hand and slides inside me, watching my face as he does it.
I’d like to keep my eyes open but I can’t. It’s too much, too good. He already had me on the cusp of coming with his tongue, but now I can feel a different sort of orgasm building, one that has me clawing at him to get there. He moves my legs farther apart to watch as he pushes inside me. I’m spread wide for him, and in this new position, he’s so deep that I feel him everywhere. The only thing better than the spot he is hitting is the way he watches it happen, entranced and heavy-lidded.
My nails dig into his back. “Faster,” I demand, and he groans as he gives in, thrusting hard, his finger pressing to my clit, sweat dripping from his torso. The very second I shatter, he groans and lets go along with me.
“Jesus,” he whispers against my neck. “I’m so impressed with myself right now.”
I laugh, still trying to catch my breath. “Only you would claim to be impressed with yourself immediately after sex.”
He ties off the condom, then pulls me against him. “I barely survived that thing you did with the back of your throat. Let’s give credit where it’s due.”
I settle on his shoulder. It should be awkward, cuddling with Ben Tate, my enemy. Weirdly, it isn’t.
He runs his palm over my bare hip. “So tell me something. How long have you been in this apartment?”
I narrow my eyes. I can already tell where this is going. “Three years.”
“And in three years you haven’t had a single spare weekend to—I don’t know—hang a picture on the wall?”
“Oh, and because I’m female I’m supposed to care about things like that?”
“No, but you seem like the kind of person who’d have…I don’t know, a Pinterest page devoted to decor?”
“You clearly don’t know me very well.”
His mouth curves into a half smile, as if he knows me better than I think.
I wake before my alarm in the morning. Ben is sound asleep beside me, dead to the world. I let my gaze drift over his lovely profile—the strong nose, the long lashes, the full mouth, serene in sleep. I consider waking him up the way he woke me in the middle of the night—pushing my thighs apart, his stubble against my softest skin, his tongue hot and warm and unhurried, saying, “I couldn’t wait anymore”—but it’s easier, less awkward, if I don’t. I’ll shower, leave him a note, ask him to lock up.
I’m being considerate, but Ben doesn’t appear to think so when he walks into the bathroom a few minutes later.
“You weren’t planning to shower and sneak off to work, were you?” he asks as he slides the glass door open. His eyes travel over me. I hold the loofah in the center of my chest, as if it’s a shield. I have no idea how to play this now that he’s shot my plan to shit.
“I was just trying to let you rest,” I reply, which is a fucking lie and we both know it. I was avoiding him, plain and simple.
He decides not to argue with me as he steps into the shower. “You said my name in your sleep. I was going down on you, and you weren’t even awake yet and you said, ‘Ben’, all breathy.”
“I probably would have said ‘oh, Chris Hemsworth’ but it’s such a mouthful,” I reply, pouring body gel on the loofah.
“Is it so hard to admit you sort of like me?” He runs a hand over my hip, asking me to pay attention.
