Crushed (Crystal Brook Billionaires) (55 page)

I have to clutch the windowsill to keep from falling down. When I open my eyes, everything is blurring, going out of focus. I spin around to face him.

Our faces are inches apart.

“I want to do things differently,” he says, “but that’s all I know. I don’t know what that means, really, or where I’m supposed to go from here.”

“You can’t experiment on me.” My voice cracks over the last bit of the sentence and I feel so raw and exposed, standing in front of him, showing my fears.

His face softens. “I know.”

He takes a step back, meaning to leave. I reach out and grab his hand, pulling him back to me. Our lips lock together, the kiss days in the making. Instantly, his hands go to my waist, pulling me close, then everything is moving unbelievably fast.

His heart beats wildly against my chest, mirroring my own frantic pulse. My fingers act of their own accord, running up the back of his neck to work through his hair, then down again, across his shoulders and chest. Every bit of him is perfectly angled and smooth; the best thing my hands have ever touched.

He pushes me backward and we bump into the windowsill. His tongue slips between my teeth, and a moan escapes from me. In response, he growls, hooking his hands under my butt and lifting me up to sit on the wide windowsill. My legs open up and curl around his waist, the skirt I already thought too short now pushed all the way to my hips. The hard bulge in his pants presses against my thigh, hot and throbbing.

I gasp into his mouth and clutch him harder. The entire world is fading away, and along with it all the reasons for not doing precisely what I am.

All that exists are Simon’s mouth, hands, and body. His fingers work at my shirt, balling the hem up so he can pull the whole thing over my head. He pushes forward even more, his mouth laying kisses against the side of my neck as my bare back presses against the cold window.

He sucks against the tender side of my throat while pushing my bra straps down. The heat in me is building, building, threatening to explode. I grab the back of his belt, pulling him further against me. He rubs against my underwear and a tremor travels across my body.

He unhooks my bra and it falls to the floor. One warm hand slides up and across my breasts as his mouth kisses a trail to mine. The second his lips are on mine, I bite him slightly. He pushes against me again, gripping my breast in his hand.

The kisses come faster, each one more wild than the last. I grab his hair in my hands, pulling it slightly. One of his palms remains on my chest while the other one slides between my legs. The throbbing there intensifies at the close proximity of his touch. His thumb brushes across the fabric of my soaking panties and I moan. He repeats the motion, teasing me.

I grab at his shirt as I grind myself against his hand. The bottom of it has come untucked and I push my hands underneath it, enjoying the ridge of each muscle.

He’s twisting my panties in both hands, causing a little bolt of sweet pain. His tongue runs across mine, and as it does, he grasps the fabric harder, tearing it in half.

“Oh my God,” I gasp, pulling back from the kiss. “Did you just rip those?”

He grins against my mouth. “Is that all right?”

Hell yeah.
I thought that only happened in cheesy romance novellas.

For a response, I press my mouth back against his. His hands are busy again between us, undoing his belt. Somehow, my heartbeat increases even more.

His cock pops out, resting against my thigh, long, thick, and smooth. A hand comes up to ball my hair in his fist, and our kiss intensifies as his throbbing cock nudges against my entrance.

I gasp into his mouth, my shoulder blades hitting the glass. Hopefully, no one takes a stroll to the side of the house.

Screw it.

Everything I’ve been nearly dying for these last few weeks is finally happening, repercussions be damned.

A condom appears from somewhere, then Simon pushes into me slowly, the motion of his tongue mimicking the flow of his hips. I’m so wet, he easily glides in and out, stretching me, filling me until I might break in two.

Our hands move so fast across each other’s bodies, they’re hard to keep track of. There is no beginning of me and no end of him. Our inhales and exhales come together, our pulses beat as one as our hips pulse and sway in a perfect rhythm.

The pleasure deep in me grows and grows, propelling me upwards toward the sky. I clutch Simon’s back in an effort to keep myself tethered. Ecstasy explodes and ripples through me, knocking into his body. He clutches me even harder as he groans and slams into me for a last time. He growls into my ear, his teeth clamping onto the lobe as his fingers dig into my skin.

My limbs shake and sweat courses down my body. Simon presses his forehead against my neck. His scent fills me up and surrounds me, binding us together even though he’s no longer inside of me.

A tender kiss on my neck elicits a shiver.

“I’ll never regret that,” he whispers into my neck.

I close my eyes and watch the spots pulse in the darkness. Our arms are still looped around each other, and neither one of us makes a motion to disentangle.

I’m terrified of what will come once I draw my arms back and enter into my own space. We’ll both leave this room and walk away into our own separate parts of the universe.

Who’s to say this will ever happen again? Who’s to say anything and everything won’t change now? This moment is perfect, us pressed together, the air around us thick with our breath and sweat. I know it can’t get any better than this, and because of that, I’m shaken to the core with fear.

Gingerly, I reach up to his neck and brush away some of the sweat there, savoring the gesture that also makes my heart ache. Simon nips my neck and draws back.

His cheeks are flushed and his lips slightly swollen. He looks down at me as I gaze up at him. The question of
what now
hangs in the air, but neither one of us gives voice to it.

Maybe it doesn’t matter.

Voices drift down from somewhere in the hall and I tense up automatically.

Sydney Andrews. Caught fucking her boss at a family barbecue.

It’ll be a story to go down in the annals of Hollywood history.

Dropping my arms from him, I draw my legs back. They ache in protest, but I plant my feet on the floor regardless. The door isn’t even closed.

The door isn’t even closed!

“Oh my God,” I gasp, staring at it.

Simon jumps forward and pulls it shut, blocking out the growing voices. I snatch my bra up and pull it back on.

“Someone — someone could have seen us,” I stammer.

He grins, his hair a delicious hot mess. The smile makes me want to launch myself at him all over again.

As I’m pulling on my shirt, he removes the condom, ties the end and sticks it in his pocket. He grins as I wrinkle my nose. Then he bends down and picks up my tattered panties and slips them into his pocket too. I stare, and when he looks up, he winks at me.

“A souvenir?” I ask, only half joking.

“Maybe.”

I pull my skirt down, doing my best to smooth out my clothes and hair. The space between us is now both more familiar and yet more awkward than before. I don’t quite know what to make of it.

Simon steps forward and plants his hands on my waist. His head ducks down to meet mine. The kiss is tender and soft, the opposite of the dozens of ones we just experienced.

He breaks off and looks down at me. “You want to go back out there?”

“And talk to your dad after we just screwed in his library? Not really.”

He laughs. “Then let’s get out of here.”

My heart lifts in hope. He wants me.

Isn’t this what I dreamed of?

“I can’t just leave,” I whisper. “I should stay for a little longer.”

His face darkens. “Why?”

How does he not get this? “Because he invited me and I don’t want to be rude.”

“You want to impress him.”

I lift a shoulder. “Yeah. Of course.”

Simon’s hands loosen on me, but he doesn’t draw back. “For your career,” he states, his voice flat.

I bristle at the tone. “What’s wrong with that?”

“You have me to help in that department.”

I stare at him. Is he pulling the jealousy card again? It’s amazing how the man can just flip from disengaged to possessive in the blink of an eye.

I place my hand on his arm, trying to still the emotions before they escalate any more. “I think I should go out there for a little while, and then we can leave.”

His eyes flash. “You don’t need him, Sydney.”

“Are you jealous?”

“No,” he quickly says. Too quickly.

I stare at him, hard. “Are you sure?”

Anger flashes across his face and he doesn’t answer.

“Why do you do that?” I ask. “Why do you change so quickly?”

His face jerks. “What do you mean?”

“Depending on the day, you either act like you own me or you couldn’t care less whether or not I’m alive.”

His jaw clenches. “You’re exaggerating.”

“I don’t think I am,” I say with a sad shake of my head.

He steps back. Is it just me or are his eyes glistening? “I have to go,” he announces.

“What? Just like that?”

“See you Monday.”

He turns and leaves the library, slamming the door behind him. And there I am, freshly fucked and alone in a room, both my hair and my dignity a ruffled mess.

*

I find the bathroom.

My legs are still shaking — both from getting screwed and from getting left — but I manage to hobble my way down the hall and into the half bath featuring a crystal chandelier and a vase of roses behind the toilet.

Once I do make it, I clutch the sides of the sink and stare into the drain while I work my throat, trying not to cry.

He’s not going to make a mess of me.

Except he kind of already has. Not only that, he got away with my ripped panties in his pocket, the bastard.

Deep breath in. Deep breath out. When a semblance of calm finally starts to come back over me, I splash my face with cold water and run my hands through my hair, smoothing out the fresh tangles.

Simon’s not at the party anymore. A quick scan of the yard tells me as much. And it’s not like I expected him to stay. After all, hanging around when things get sticky is not Simon Mulroney’s style.

Perhaps I should have just left with him when he asked me to. I didn’t want to be rude or blow my chances of making a good impression.

He doesn’t understand that. Everything was given to him on a silver platter. He doesn’t have to continually pursue opportunities. They’re granted to him because of his last name.

And in those truths lies yet another difference between us.

I grab another drink just to make it seem like I’m participating in the festivities, but there’s not a trace of appetite in me. My head buzzes with everything Simon just said, as well as every touch he laid on me.

You knew this would happen if you screwed him. You knew it would blow up in your face.

Yet somehow I still thought it would be worth it.

No one tries to talk to me. They can probably sense the self-pity wafting off my being. My reason for staying at the party in the first place no longer matters. No way will I make a good impression on anyone when I’m in such a depressed state. Giving up on it all, I decide to say goodbye to David.

He’s standing near the pool talking to a tall woman who looks like she was a supermodel in another life. I wait while they finish their conversation, trying to focus on the chattering around me instead of the shrieking in my head.

“Sydney,” he smiles at me.

“Thank you so much for inviting me,” I start, forcing a smile. “I need to get going.”

“So soon?”

“Yeah,” I nod.

I’d stay, but I just fucked and argued with your son in the library. It’s a pretty complicated situation. I’m sure you understand.

“My roommate isn’t feeling well,” I lie. “I need to stop at the drugstore and get her some medicine.”

“All right.” He points a finger at me. “Thanks for coming. Maybe I’ll see you around.”

I do my best to turn the smile up a few watts. “Hopefully. Bye, Mr. Mulroney.”

Each step is shaky as I walk to the car, and once I’m safely inside, I finally let myself go. My forehead drops against the steering wheel and my hands clench into fists. After one good, hearty dry sob, I pull my phone out and compose a group text to my roommates.

S.O.S. I fucked my boss.

Dropping the phone in the passenger’s seat, I start the painful drive home. At every intersection, I think I see Simon’s car, and every few minutes, I have the desire to check my phone and see if he’s texted me. I know he hasn’t. He may have apologized for what happened early in our relationship, but this last spat is different.

Maybe it’s my fault. Perhaps he was trying to be sweet by telling me I “had him” and didn’t need his father. His upbringing was different from mine. As much as I like to talk shit about my parents, they were relatively normal. Never would they have thought of sending me off to boarding school. Never would they go to a party and make backhanded remarks about me while I was standing right there.

Maybe Simon doesn’t
know
how to say some things. God, maybe he doesn’t even know how to feel them.

I angrily pull at some of my hair. It doesn’t matter. I’m not a psychologist and these guesses aren’t much more than shots in the dark. I’m tired of trying to dissect his behavior. Why can’t he just act like a normal human being for once?

After I park the car, I check my phone. There are six text messages, but they’re all a stream of questions from Crystal and Eryk. Mostly, Crystal wants to know how I feel about what happened, and what Simon said and did once the act was done. Eryk wants to know how it was on a scale of one to ten and how big he is.

Men and women, ladies and gentlemen. There are big differences between them.

Home,
I text back.
Let’s talk there.

They both jump on me the second I open the front door.