Mangled Memory, page 17
“Princess, you—like this, needing me, wanting me. This is my second favorite thing.”
“What’s your favorite then?”
“The look on your face when I slide into you. Your eyes heat but you have to fight to keep them open. Your mouth opens in the slightest O. This little groan I never hear otherwise escapes you. All of that, and the feel of your wet, velvet heat squeezing my dick in perfect bliss? Indescribable. It’s a drug that I can never get enough of. One I think about constantly. One I crave.”
From my view over my stomach and between my legs, his proud cock is erect. He growls when he sees me staring. “Love that.”
“What?” My confusion must show on my face, mixed with the torturous pleasure he’s causing at my entrance.
“You licked your lips while staring at my cock. My gorgeous woman—my wife—laid out before me naked and writhing, wanting my cock. Like I said, something most men could rarely hope for. And you’re mine.” With these words he inserts two fingers into me and rubs against the wall near that place deep inside that coils me tighter and tighter. I buck at the intrusion, fighting to find some relief from it and the desire so strong in my belly that I’d chase anything that might alleviate the need throbbing there.
All too soon, he withdraws, sliding his fingers between his lips to clean them.
I groan. It’s as much about the look on his face as he licks me off his fingers as the fact that I’m desperate, maybe more so now.
I flip my leg from behind the sofa and stand. I take one step to move away from him before he tags me around the waist.
“Let go.” My voice is hard and lethally quiet. I’ve gone from desperate to pissed in two seconds flat.
“Never.”
“I said, let go.”
“Never, Princess.” His lips come below my ear and kiss me there. “What happened?”
I scoff. What happened? “Oh, I don’t know. You getting off from edging me. Giving just enough then withholding. Creating a need that you won’t fulfill. That makes me your toy, not a person.”
His arms band tight around me. “I may toy with you, but you’re never a plaything.” One arm goes low, cupping me between my legs. “You asked me to fuck you like we used to.” His middle finger strokes between my lips, finding my clit and thrumming it. “You were a freak, baby. Can’t say I didn’t love that too. Maybe we’ll get back there. Maybe we won’t.” He plants another kiss below my ear as a finger slides inside me. “What do you want?”
God, I wish I knew. My mind is on the tip of my tongue. “If I can’t remember, make me forget.”
He returns to the sofa, pulling me astride him. “I can do that, Ayla.”
Instead, I do it for myself. I lift, enough to straddle him, hovering just above his thick cock. Ever so slowly, I sink down, holding his eyes, allowing the stretch of my body around his girth, finally—finally—getting some relief from the hungry ache he built while toying with me.
His groan echoes my own when he hits the end of me and is fully seated inside me. He looks as if he wants to say something, and I wait, fighting the need to move and the desire to keep this fullness.
My palms find his shoulders and I rise on my knees to lift when his hands hit my hips, holding me in place. “Wait. Give me a minute.” His eyes close in a slow dip. When they reopen, they’re blazing.
“What is it?”
He shakes his head, but answers, “I want to remember this moment… The feel of you surrounding my cock, everything down to the tickle of your hair against my skin. The smell of you, the sight of you above me, flushed cheeks, eyes fighting to stay open. These tits—” He thumbs a nipple before sliding his hand to my spine and pulling me toward him. His mouth hits my breast, and he sucks. Hard.
I gasp and do everything I can to keep his mouth while grinding down on his cock. I give up the need to do anything but rock against his dick inside me. No glides. No lifting. No domination or taking.
Christian releases my breast as his hand slides up my back to my neck, tugging me to his face, and kisses me so deeply, almost reverently.
He lets me go just enough to study me.
Face to face, eye to eye, our breaths panting across each other’s lips, my hair falls like an auburn curtain framing us in a world with nothing but the two of us.
The intimacy in his eyes, our carnal connection, the primal play at hand. When his thumb finds my clit, it sets off a wave inside me that’s been building, and I crash. “Oh—” I never finish the thought. Because the tide pulls me under, and I ride the orgasm that rockets through me.
I vaguely feel Christian’s hand leave my clit and return to my hip as he thrusts twice more and he grunts and comes, holding me fully impaled on his cock. He lifts my left hand and kisses the knuckle right above my wedding ring. “Love you, Ayla.”
When I come back to myself, I lift a hand to his face and stroke my thumb over his cheekbone. “I’m getting there, Christian. Don’t give up on me.”
“Never, Princess. Never.”
It’s a vow.
23
antithesis
Ayla
“Can I take you on a date tomorrow night?” Lying in bed behind me, Christian moves my hair with his stubbled jaw.
Why do I get the feeling this is odd?
“Do you often ask?”
His warm breath hits my bare shoulder when he replies, “Not like this.”
“How then?”
“I usually have my assistant, Sandra, put work events on your calendar. Or I do it. But that’s business. This is us.”
“What do you want to do?”
“Trust me?” It’s a throw-away question said with a sultry, flirty tone, but it’s more. It’s imploring.
Now that I think about it, I think so. “I do,” I offer quietly. And I mean it.
His warmth at my back goes stock still, and his hand at my belly goes tight in a spasm, before pulling me tighter into his hard body. His lips hit my shoulder, his tongue snaking out to taste me there.
I hold my breath, waiting.
“Top five best day of my life today.”
I exhale the breath that was trapped in my lungs, and in a whisper ask him, “What?”
“Meeting you. The first time I slid inside you. You agreeing to marry me. And the day you became my wife. And today—knowing we’re coming back to us.”
“All of your top five days are about me?”
“Princess, my top one hundred days and moments are about you. The business stuff pales in comparison to my life with you. It just affords us the time and money to experience it all.”
The warmth in my eyes and burning in the back of my nose reminds me how badly I needed to know that. I allow my body to melt deeply into his, no longer holding back.
“What are six through ten?”
“Off the top of my head? The day you opened the gallery. The day you officially changed your name to Barone. That took too long, by the way. The morning after our first date. When you learned about the feature in Mile High.” He pauses, his voice dropping low. “The moment the surgeon said you would live.”
“Even though I didn’t know you?”
“I didn’t know you didn’t remember me then. But, Ayla, you’ve got to know, I can overcome anything so long as you’re alive. The only thing I can’t face—won’t face—is losing you.”
“I’m glad you didn’t have to face that.” My quiet confession is all I can offer after he’s given me what every woman dreams of hearing from the person they love.
“I won’t face it. It’s me and you.” He thumbs my wedding ring. “Until death do us part. And, if you’re first, I won’t be far behind. Life isn’t worth living if you’re not in it.”
“Don’t say that, Christian. You can’t say that.”
His body slides away, and the hand at my belly pulls me to my back. His nearly black eyes bore into mine. “I can and I did. Now about this date?” Mischief is obvious in his tone.
“Are you going to tell me about it?”
“Do you need that? Or can it be a surprise?”
“Everything in my life is a surprise, more or less. Even if you told me, this would be too. Anything I need to know?”
“Not really. But a nice dress would be good.” His lips hit mine and he gives me a firm but meaningful kiss. “I have a meeting today. Want to go with me?”
I’m sure my face registers confusion and doubt.
One of his thumbs comes to my forehead to rub an eyebrow. “You scrunched your face as if I asked if you were up for torture.”
“Work meeting equals torture for sure.”
“It’s in Aspen. You could grab a camera or two, not that you don’t typically take one anyway. You could shoot while we’re there.”
“And you won’t complain about me going out on my own?”
His jaw clenches, and his eyes go hard. “I think we can compromise on it.”
“Does compromise mean you get your way, and I’m pissed way the hell off?”
A grin forms on his sultry lips. “You have to know the sass isn’t a turn-off. And I don’t have any problem stoking it because it’s always worked for me, but, no, I’m not trying to piss you off. I just have the innate ability to do it regularly.”
The bed and my body begin shaking. I slice my eyes to a squint. “Are you laughing at me?”
His laughter becomes audible, and he drops his face into my neck, kissing me behind my ear. His warm breath and his hot mouth cause a shiver to run through me. “I’m happy, baby. Want to go to Aspen with me today?”
“This is torture. And coercion.” I lose all coherent thought when his tongue snakes out and tastes me. Instead, I moan.
“Aspen: where the beer—”
Coherent thought returns. “Don’t you dare quote that movie to me.”
He stills.
No movement. No sound. Only his chest scraping ragged air in and out of his lungs.
His stillness triggers the same in me, and I lie stock still wondering what just happened.
“You remember?” His voice is steel when he speaks.
My eyes fly to his. I shake my head a fraction side to side. “No. But I know. Does that make sense?”
“Like you know Liam or Cian?”
I simply nod.
He simply stares. I can tell he wants to ask more but refrains. He hovers in that push-up above me until I reach a hand around his biceps and stroke. Ever so slowly he leans in, his mouth hovering above mine, his eyes glued to mine. “Princess, please come with me to Aspen today. If not to shoot, because it would mean something to me.”
How can I argue with that? “Okay,” I whisper against his lips. “Let’s go to Aspen.”
His lips crush down on mine. When he’s done, he smiles against my lips. “Can you be ready in an hour?”
“I can be ready an hour from coffee hitting my lips.”
He drops another kiss to my lips and pushes up and off me. “Coffee coming right up.” He struts his perfect body to the door, grabbing a robe from the hook on his way. He quotes more from Dumb and Dumber as he drifts away.
I remember. Or something. There’s a faint echo in my head of previous... I don’t know what. It’s like straining to hear a conversation or failing to place a scent. It’s close but not there.
But I’ve heard that quote too damn many times, and somehow, I know my response wasn’t for the first time.
I kick my feet and squeal a happy sound, stretching long before jumping out of bed.
I’m standing at the bathroom vanity, nothing but a towel wrapped around me fresh from the world’s fastest shower, when Christian slides a steaming hot mug of coffee in front of me.
I hum and take a sip. Caramel chocolate. “Coffee is my love language.”
He freezes in place, but, with obvious effort, moves past whatever just happened. “Yeah, Princess. You can say that again.” He flips on the shower and strips before stepping under the spray.
I finish getting ready, opting for fleece leggings, a hoodie, and boots. We have a long drive ahead of us and comfort is key.
When Christian is ready, I burst out laughing. My mountain girl chic is in stark relief to his GQ businessman apparel. He’s in a stunning charcoal suit with a deep burgundy tie.
I stand next to him in the mirror. “We’re a pair, aren’t we?”
He slides an arm around me and kisses below my ear. “Absolutely,” he whispers as his lips hover there.
“You look stupid handsome, Christian, but why didn’t you bring that with us and change when we arrive?” I ask following him out of the bathroom and to the hall. “It can’t be comfortable to sit in that all the way to Aspen.”
He throws a smirk over his shoulder. “It won’t be that bad.”
I find out why it won’t be that bad. That’s because we don’t drive much further than the Centennial airport where we jump on a small private plane and fly—that’s right, fly—to Aspen. Less than an hour after we park at the hangar, we’re sitting on the tarmac in Pitkin County.
Had I had any inkling we were the other half, as they call it, I would’ve taken Christian up on that trip to Maroon Bells in the fall. Autumn in the mountains is perfect.
But I won’t argue with the beauty and stillness winter brings. The crisp, clean white snow blanketing the mountains and the rocks in the creeks as the clear water shows the dark green and browns of the bed below it.
By the time we’re seated in the back of the town car, I might as well be a kid at Christmas for how I feel. Christian’s hand lands on my knee, his pinky finger stretching toward my center, but not with any intent. It’s moving as if compelled to weave intricate circles, never quite reaching their intended destination.
“Are you excited?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” My wiggling and bouncing haven’t gone unnoticed.
His words come through a smile, “It’s good to see you this jazzed. My meeting will only take an hour or two. Are you willing to wait for me to go out?”
“And miss this gorgeous morning? That’s a no.”
“I didn’t think so. Will you check in with me please? Just drop a pin where you land and text occasionally.” His face is so earnest, so openly concerned that it’s easy to acquiesce.
Placing my hand over his, I give him what he needs. It’s easy. “Okay, Christian.”
“I’ll find you when I’m done, and we’ll grab some lunch. Anything else you want to do while we’re here?”
I shake my head, not truly saying no to anything, but because I have no clue. “I don’t know. Let’s play it by ear.”
He leans down and kisses that spot under my ear that turns me into a puddle of goo. It’s weird to think he knows my body better than I do, though he’s proven it time and time again. One day, I’ll be able to argue that, though I have a feeling I won’t want to when that happens. I can’t help but hope I’ll always have a husband who plays my body in ways that are more titillating than I can.
The car rolls to a stop in front of a two-story red brick building in the center of town. Christian alights, but leans back into the open door, his palm to my neck as he holds my eyes. “Be safe, baby. I’m trusting you to take care of yourself. This worrying all the time is killing me.”
He takes my lips in a brutal, almost bruising, kiss. When he pulls back, I resist the urge to touch my mouth. Instead, I focus on his tie, adjusting the already-perfect knot and smoothing it at his throat. “Go be formidable. I’ll be safe—I promise.”
He looks to the driver and back to me. “Okay, Princess. I’ll find you when I’m done.” He withdraws from the car and taps the roof just as he closes the door. I’m left in the luxury sedan as we slide away from the curb.
“Miss?” The driver calls. “Where to?”
Pausing to consider my options, I realize I’m woefully unprepared to hike what’s required for Cathedral Lake or American Lake. I want to avoid the gondola. Hmm. “Can we drive around town for a while? I’ll let you know if we need to stop.”
“Sure thing, miss.”
Wandering the town from the cushy, warm back seat has its perks. We’ve cruised the main touristy areas and the shops where people meander. We’re at the corner of town when something catches my eye. And that something is my husband walking with a polished blond woman into a house. Quickly grabbing my phone, I snap a picture before the evidence is gone.
“Give me a minute. I’ll be right back.”
I have no clue why I say a thing to the driver. Courtesy must be ingrained or something because who sees what I just did and has that on the forefront of their minds? I double-time it down the street, standing in front of the home. It’s quaint and charming with a gorgeous, wide front porch with a double swing and two other wide wooden chairs. Mature landscaping makes it look homey and cozy. It’s everything our home is not.
I give it one last glance, memorizing the address, and stride back to the town car. I need my camera, some fresh air, and to avoid the urge to beat the door down, call the woman a name that should truly be directed at my husband, and throw things in a tantrum.
How could he? Everything he’s said. No. Everything I’ve been through, and he flies here for a woman. And has the audacity to bring me along?
“Let’s head to Maroon Bells,” I mention once I’m nestled in the back seat. I know it’s the wrong time, and I’m in the wrong gear, but my brain has reverted to the only thing it can. The need to be outside, the comfort of not being confined, finding a scene, and getting out of my head.
My fucked-up, not-safe-to-live-in head.
Two hours later, I’ve lost the edge of my anger, but settled more firmly into it. There is no resigned or defeated. The trees and snow caps have calmed me enough that I’m thinking clearly, but that clearly isn’t something anyone should cross.
I’ve shot macro and a couple of long landscapes that I’m sure will be crap. Thank God I don’t have to develop film for them.
When twigs crack on the path behind me, fear rises up. There’s a moment when I’m back on the ridge and I whirl, only to remember I’m on solid footing and not at risk of falling.
