The Pact (Chicago Nights Book 2), page 11
All that ice melts against my palms as I wrap her in closer, my hands running along her back and blouse, eager to explore the skin beneath.
If this were any other night, I might have a little more willpower against the, frankly, too-proper assistant, making mewling noises against my mouth. Might have the strength to fight her off.
But right now, I can’t think about anything but how to get her out of these clothes. How to pull her in closer.
I back up an inch, murmuring against her mouth, feeling unable to let her go for a second. Scared that if I do, the strange trance I’m in that has me kissing her will all of a sudden break.
I bite her bottom lip, and she moans, deepening the trance.
“This is insane,” I say, lowering my hands. “Isn’t it?”
She licks my bottom lip. “On a scale of one to boiling rabbits, it’s up there.”
“Are we both nuts here?”
“We could do for a straight-jacket fitting any day now.”
“Damn…” I mutter, growing unimaginably hard as Naomi’s fingers travel upwards into my hair, pulling, her tiny nails digging into my tingling scalp.
The penthouse buzzer to my apartment buzzes somewhere in the living room, but I hardly hear it.
Pressing Naomi’s soft body backwards, I prepare to lay her on the bed, when she stops me, splaying a hand against my chest.
And there she is. The Naomi I know.
I wait, watching her all the while, the trance inside me holding on for dear life. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” she breathes, the word coming out in a rush. She looks towards my open bedroom door where the sound of the buzzer continues to beat into the air. “It’s just…your buzzer… Somebody’s at the door.”
I glance over my shoulder at the open door, the sounds of the buzzer whining right outside of it. I shrug. “I wouldn’t worry about that. Right now, I’ve got more important matters on my mind…”
I lean in to kiss her again when her espresso-like eyes widen. “Wait, no… I mean, I think it might not be such a bad idea…”
I stop. “What? The buzzer? You think I should get it?”
She nods, suddenly looking as meek as I remember her. Her long-lashed chocolate eyes gaze up at me, scanning all over my face.
Her stare is intense, full of unmitigated heat. Teeming with desire.
It’s a desire that, so far, I’ve only gotten a glimpse of, but already I’m ready for more.
I’m ready to make sure she looks at me like that every day of her life. I drop my hand instead, tapping her chin, my voice rougher than moments before. “Are you sure about that? If it’s an emergency, we can wait for 9-1-1. I’m sure everything will be cleared by then. And we’ll be finished doing all the things I’ve been thinking of doing since you got here.”
That part earns me a smile. And it’s well-worth it.
The light is low in my bedroom, but there’s no mistaking the heat vibrating off Naomi’s body. I imagine the heat coming off my body is just as strong.
Every part of me is enflamed, much more so than I ever remember being.
And I realize what the issue is…
I’m not sure I’ve ever wanted anyone like I want her, if I ever desired the women I’d bedded in any real way.
For these past nine years, they’d all been passing temptations, a release from the stressful life of sports.
But here, in my bedroom with Naomi, talking and laughing about choking on bananas, I feel completely different.
My thoughts are all over the place, my breathing hot and heavy.
I’m insanely aroused. Conflicted. Full of desire and doubt.
And… I’m nervous.
For fuck’s sake, I’m almost shaking as Naomi timidly peers up at me.
I take a step back, needing the space. Inhaling deeply, I reach towards her, running a finger along her soft jaw. I measure out each word, tasting each as they leave my mouth.
“Join you back here in sixty seconds?”
She nods, and I kiss her, suppressing the slight shake in my limbs. She says nothing, eyes saucer-like as I stalk backwards.
I don’t stop until I reach the bedroom door.
“Fuck it. Make it thirty seconds. And if it’s a fire, I’m sure we’ll feel the heat from the apartment below if we’re in any real danger.”
I turn just as her bottom lips falls.
I’ve crossed a lot of lines in my life. This is a new one.
I push one finger along the button at the buzzer, ready for anything. I should have known it would be Stephan and Emily.
Shit. I forgot about meeting them. Kissing Naomi was a bit of a distraction.
A welcome one.
I buzz back, letting them know I’m busy, cutting the call.
Practically skipping back to my bedroom, I’m not surprised when I find it empty. But a few minutes later, when there’s still no sign of Naomi, my eager libido spilling all over, I panic, jumping up from the bed.
The jump turns into a march as I head out of the bedroom.
And within a minute or two, I find Naomi gone. No trace of the tantalizing brunette. As if she were never here.
I realize she must have snuck out my the back door of my penthouse. Slipped into the private elevator.
The trance I’d had earlier is finally broken, pushed out by the sinking feeling in my stomach. My mind is nowhere near being back on tomorrow’s training session. And I still haven’t figured out what I’m going to do about keeping a story straight to Stephan and Emily.
So much for not violating the hell out of my pact.
Chapter 14
NAOMI
Saturday morning
The next morning’s no better than the night before.
My rest was sleepless, fraught with memories I’d rather forget.
After calling a driver to take me home from Sawyer’s penthouse at an hour so early it should be illegal, I spent forever lying in bed, staring at the stack of romance movies in the corner, trying to come up with a plan to get out of this no-sex pact.
Wishing my life were more like a Julia Roberts movie instead of the horror one I’m currently in, I make awkward attempts to scrub the image of Sawyer standing there, eyes filled with fury and sadness as we faced off in his empty bedroom out of mind, and even though I’m blind as a bat in bed without my glasses on, I somehow manage to picture him perfectly the second I wake up in my slightly sweaty sheets, squinting at a new morning’s light outside my rainy window.
The sun’s barely out, hidden behind a ring of dark clouds. But even the gloomy weather and my half-closed eyelids can’t keep the thoughts of the bad boy baseball player at bay.
My phone buzzes for the twentieth time on the nightstand, warning me of another message to come. Eager to focus on anything besides Sawyer and this damned pact of ours, I grab for my glasses, shoving them on, only to stare at a phone screen covered in angry gray squares.
To my surprise, my little brother Diego’s are the first. I start reading.
Diego:
Sis u gotta stop txtg me so much
I’m gucci. I’m 13. THIR-TEEN. Remember?
Simon’s mom is gonna take us to the park to play some ⚾-ball. Won’t be home till later
And yea I kno u won’t believe me but u can call her if u want. Jst don’t do it 15 times…
I kno u
ILY anyways
Btw…U need a bf. U have way 2 much time on your hands 😜
I want to tell him “don’t I know it.” But instead I roll my eyes, reminding myself to call his friend Simon’s mom when I have a chance…within the next twenty minutes.
Unfortunately, Rosalyn’s text messages are next. As if I needed another reminder that I’m the worst friend in the world.
I start reading, hating myself with every word. I inhale deeply.
Ros:
WHERE. ARE. YOU?
I heard about what happened at the Alchemist. The fight. Everything.
LEARN TO PICK UP YOUR PHONE, PLEASE.
I was scared I’d wind up hearing about you on some True Crime podcast, so I called Sevin + he told me you were fine. Taking a day or two off, but fine.
Sooo, I’m going to make sure you’re MORE than fine.
We’re going out tonight.
Somewhere monumentally better than the Alchemist.
Start picking out your outfit.
I get off at 8 tonight. Call you at 8:01.
P.S. Meet me in the lobby at The Drake hotel at 9. NO EXCUSES. Can’t wait!
I groan into my pillow, thumbing through text message thread number three in my phone. It’s only more of the same.
This time, from Sevin.
Sevin:
Thanks for sending over the signed pic of the Bruiser’s new pitcher, Nome. Charlie loved it, so of course, I’ll have to kill that guy when I have a chance.
New York isn’t the same without you.
Feel better.
P.S. I mean it.
Rest. Recover. Recuperate.
Take time for yourself b/c seriously…
When’s the last time you did that?
Guilt eats away at my insides, but I bury that too. Along with all my other feelings.
I’ve been in bed too long as it is, still reeling from being so close to Sawyer last night.
And it doesn’t help when I notice the third text thread. A set of messages from an unknown number makes me sit straight up in bed. In the midst of my mussed sheets and messy hair, I stare blankly at my phone screen, reading slowly, my heart hammering an unfamiliar rhythm.
I bite on my already-chipped nail.
NO NAME:
I hope you got the sleep you needed last night.
Because you and I have a long night ahead of us.
We’ve got “dating” practice today, don’t forget.
Your place. Or mine?
No sneaking out this time.
By the way…found those cucumbers I was looking for at the farmer’s market this morning.
I was right. They are exceptionally juicy.
See you at nine tonight.
There’s no mistaking who these text messages are from.
None other than the person I’ve made, what might be, a foolish pact with.
The devil himself.
Sawyer.
And the last person on earth I need to see right now.
God, even his name is sinful. I won’t lie that a part of me dreamed last night what it would be like to moan it.
But the smug bastard is the last person I need on my mind when I’m trying to keep my emotions in check. And since last night’s surprise kiss has sent my plans even further up shit’s creek, I might need to start looking for a new dating coach.
Or job…if Sevin ever finds out.
Pushing that sobering thought to the back of my mind, I swipe No Name’s message off my phone screen, tumbling out of bed.
Stripping my nighttime shirt off and slinging my shorts to the side, I stroll naked to the bathroom, phone in hand. With a few fingers, I switch on the shower, letting the warm water run.
I dial Rosalyn’s number, waiting as the line rings. The bathroom mirror in front of me barely has time to fog before she picks up.
“Because I love you,” she grates out. “I’m only going to ask this once: Where. Have. You. Been?” Her raspy voice is a huff. “I’ve been calling and texting you for two days straight. Thought some handsy asshole like the drunk that accosted you at the Alchemist might have kidnapped you.”
I snort. “You mean twice?”
“Wait, what? You saying you’ve been kidnapped once before?”
“Depends on your definition of the word.” I decide to leave the rest of the details for later. “I’ll tell you all about it over drinks tonight.”
“Drinks?” She perks up, her voice quirking. “Are you seriously saying that you’re going to come out with me and meet some questionable men?”
“Wait, meet men? Oh no. No. Absolutely not.” I try to soften my response, struggling not to sigh. I blow out a breath. “The only festivities I’m in the mood for tonight are sipping some great wine at The Drake and having a girls’ night. I need one.”
Even I can hear the defeat in my voice, and Ros, beacon of all things bubbly and loud, won’t let me live in peace. She presses.
“A girls’ night? Please. Naomi…” she stresses my name, putting extra emphasis on the ‘m,’ “if we’re going to The Drake, we are going to meet the best that Chicago has to offer of the dating scene. You are missing out.”
“Am I?”
“Of course you are.” She sucks her teeth, voice rising. “I have decided that we are too young and too cute to be limited to a life of watching other beautiful women get extra drinks at the bar. I want to be that woman. I want you to be that woman. A clit-whipper…making the men drool.”
“Clit-whipper. Hell of a title to put on a resume.”
“I’ve considered it.”
I glance up and into the mirror finding a version of myself I sometimes forget is there.
The smiling me. The carefree me. The confident me.
The me before Mom and Dad left me and Diego, leaving the world on my shoulders.
I take a deep breath, reminiscing. “Okay, okay. I’ll…accept one drink from one guy. If he offers. I’m not chasing any guy, hoping that he’ll buy me a Blue Moon.”
“Me neither,” she chirps in. “That wouldn’t be clit-whipping, now, would it?”
I shake my head, grinning. “No, it wouldn’t be.” I turn to the shower, remembering it. I lean against the door. “Actually, I’ve gotta shower to take, Ros, so I’ll call you later.” I bite off, but she doesn’t suspect the shift in my mood.
“Yeah, no problem. I’ll text you before I get off. Don’t forget to put on your Saturday best.”
I don’t tell Ros that my ’Saturday best’ is a collared shirt three times too big and a ratty pair of Levi’s.
I smile instead, the gesture shaky. “Can’t wait. I’ll talk to you later.”
Ros is gone in an instant. But so is the smile on my face.
I open the bathroom door, tossing my phone back onto my bed, before shutting it, wondering just how the hell I landed in this mess. How I’ve strayed so far from the Naomi I used to be as a teen.
It feels like lifetimes ago.
Things were quiet then. Peaceful. Great.
My parents, Diego and I had built a little life for ourselves in Miami’s close community-knit Little Havana. And though the days were long, cooking, baking and buttering over the stove in my mom’s bakery, and though our quarters were small, our little house off 7th street no bigger than, say, Sawyer’s bedroom, we were, at last, safe, happy…
Loved.
Until the accident. When everything, including the Naomi I was, shattered.
I was still working on re-gluing those pieces back together to this day.
At last stepping into the warm shower stream in my shower, I start to crumble, the tears coming full-force now. Naked, I cry into the water, letting it wash away the pain, the memories, the dreams of what could have been.
And somewhere in the memory wash, I find Sawyer, recollecting the forlorn look in his dark blue eyes when I brought up marriage.
A man as lost as I feel, he is the only remembrance that stops my tears, plugs up the pain.
And against all reason, against every functioning synapse in my brain, I reach for the soap, sudsing my skin, reliving what it felt like to have Sawyer touch, kiss and stroke every sensitive inch. To have him kiss me into oblivion, obliterating every painful thought in my over-wrought mind.
God, it felt so good to forget in his arms. So strangely right.
I’d been ashamed when I’d watched him in the middle of mock-passion in that locker room, taking what he needed. But I understood what the other women felt now.
Because I’d gotten a taste.
Sawyer Kennedy had a way of making you forget the world around you, a knack for erasing everything else.
In his arms, I’d felt wanted, worshipped.
Every kiss was tinged with longing, every touch a soul caress. A sexual god in every sense of the word, he was a Grecian-built myth of a man with Zeus-given powers. Capable of looking at you like no one else existed, in that bathroom, in his bedroom, his hands on my waist, his tongue against mine, I could believe for a few blissful minutes that no one else really did exist.
I could believe that I’d been that carefree teenager back in Miami. The one who knew how to have fun.
I was her all over again. Exploring life. Living it.
That bright-eyed girl in the back of the bakery stuffing and folding pastelitos. The proud big sister holding Diego. The Hello Kitty-collecting nerd, watching Rachel McAdams movies alongside my family on our small sofa, laughing long and hard into the long, hot, summer nights.
I keep on stroking my skin.
The soap feels great against my hips. But not as good as Sawyer’s lips.
I imagine them lowering between my thighs, licking hotly there. I imagine him throwing that heated blue glare in my direction, searing enough to scorch.
Dropping to his knees, he wouldn’t dare break that hypnotic stare, never stray from gazing at me for a second, never wanting to miss a detail.
Throwing one thigh over his shoulder, I’d spread my legs wide, baring my most intimate parts to his tongue. Talented in ways that would make my teeth clench, Sawyer would stroke me there with his tongue’s pink tip, watching me all the while.
I’d fall to pieces under his skilled hands, his practiced movements. Every sensuous kiss between my hips would be heaven, every slow brush of his mouth God-sent.
I shudder, rubbing the soap along all the places I imagine Sawyer Kennedy lavishing his attention. And just as he brings me to the brink of my climax, he drops the soap.
Or rather I do. Hearing it plunk against the tiled floor with a deadened thunk, ripping me out of my daydream.
I sigh, struggling to breathe for a second before picking it up, my body still shaking.
Dammit, what the hell is going on with me?
I can’t get Sawyer Kennedy out of my mind. Or my fantasies.
How the hell was I ever going to get myself out of this pact?
