Hanging On (20 page)

“Start slow. Work your way up to faster and harder.” She reached for the tube of lubricant and coated the dildo. Then, she squirted some into her hand to slowly massage into his puckered hole. He moaned, and she slid a finger inside, testing his tightness and his give.

“Jesus, Sophie. You are the perfect woman.” With a soft chuckle, she withdrew her finger to position the tube just inside him. He inhaled sharply as the cool gel entered his rectum. She wanted him nice and slippery.

Dropping the now-empty tube to the floor, she worked the head into him. It entered him easily, and she slid it all the way inside, slowly stretching him to take the full length of the long, thick dildo he had chosen.

Because he was a couple of inches taller than her, she tapped the back of his knees and instructed him to lower himself. She wouldn’t have as much leverage if she rose to her toes, which she could have done.

He moaned, and her swollen clit throbbed in response. The thought that she wanted him again, that she would consider allowing him to touch her in this hypersensitive and still-swollen condition, was daunting. She’d already given him too much control.

Determined, she shook away the thought and concentrated on him. She was in control now. This was what she wanted—utter and complete domination of Drew. This was the image that sent her spiraling out of control the other day in her own kitchen, prompting Drew to throw her to the table and have his way with her.

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She withdrew almost completely, and then rammed him. His head fell forward, and he moaned. “Yes, Sophie, yes. Like that, honey. Don’t stop.” She didn’t. Again and again, she rammed him. When she established a good rhythm, she reached around to palm his rock-hard dick. Lubricant coated her hand. She had purposely not wiped it away.

He jerked, his cock twitching in her fist. She didn’t waste time petting or teasing. With her hand wrapped around his thickness, she pumped him to the same rhythm she fucked him. Her hand moved harder and faster as she fucked him harder and faster. She was in complete control. She was mistress of the man who mastered her over and over, despite the objections in her head and heart. She marveled that he could give over so much to her without thought, trepidation, or regret.

She was floored by his complete trust.

He came, shouting her name before collapsing against the counter.

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After a leisurely soak in his very large bathtub, where he initiated her into the pleasures of partially submerged love, he challenged her to a game of pool.

“Now that I’ve gotten laid, I don’t have to throw the game,” he teased.

“I’ll clean the floor with your ass.”

She grabbed sweats from her bag, tugged one of his Sensual Secrets

shirts over her head, and snorted at his comment. “Sounds like someone doesn’t want to get laid again.”

He pulled her to him and dropped a loud, smacking kiss on her lips. “I sound like someone who is secure in the knowledge that you’re addicted to me. I’ve hooked you, babe. You couldn’t stop lusting for me if you wanted to.”

He had no idea how right he was. She wanted to stop the tingling between her legs whenever he pierced her with those pale blue eyes. She wanted his magnetism to vanish. That wasn’t unique to her. During the tour, she spied the mountain of unopened fan mail in his office. Some of the bulkier ones, she was sure, contained panties. She was one of thousands who felt his pull.

Drew finished dressing and turned that grin on her. He lifted her soggy mass of hair. “Did you want to use my hair dryer?” She couldn’t stop her eyes from lifting to regard the short spikes in his hair. After their bath, he toweled it dry and massaged in some product that left it sticking straight up. “Why do you have a hair dryer?” That question probably should have remained unasked. If he bought a robe for her, he might have bought a hair dryer to keep there for an ex-girlfriend or for the parade of women volunteering to warm his bed.

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“I used to have longer hair. I cut it after Ginny and some of the other producers told me it looked unprofessional. They thought it would adversely affect the ratings.”

With a concentrated stare, she tried to envision him with long hair. It might look unprofessional, but she thought it was probably damn sexy. It would be something she could hold on to during sex. She shrugged, indicating she would withhold judgment on that until she saw proof.

“Plus, my mother insisted I have things like that for the guest bathrooms. I have tampons, too, if you ever need them.”

“Thanks,” she said, expressing it as more of a question. “I’ll just take the hair dryer for now.”

He did kick her ass at pool. His skill left her no doubt he purposely missed shots at the bar. The conversation during play didn’t help her to concentrate, either. It vacillated between serious topics like politics and organized religion, where she revealed a lack of faith in either system, to stories about their childhoods, both funny and serious. She learned more about Ginny and Sabrina than either woman would ever tell her voluntarily.

After he shut her out of yet another game, her inner imp went into survival mode, which was never a pretty thing. She pushed all the balls she was supposed to have shot, but wasn’t given an opportunity to do so, out of the way. Draping herself on the felt, she struck a deceptively inviting pose.

Something strange happened inside her head. She was out of her body, looking down at the scene below. Though she was filled with dread, she was unable to stop herself from making a huge mistake.

“I can kick your ass, too. Take your best shot, tiger. See where it gets you.”

A knowing gleam lit his eyes as a slow, sensual smile curled his full lips. “Maybe I should have used this strategy the other night. Who knew you responded so well to humiliation?”

One step put him in easy reach. He extended an arm, and she put him on the floor before he knew what hit him. She smiled at his confusion. “That was your best shot? I know ten-year-olds who have better moves than that.” He rose to his feet slowly, watching her cautiously. “I didn’t know I was supposed to use those kinds of moves.”

Then, she was back in her body, ashamed and embarrassed. A shadow crossed behind her eyes, a bit of her dark past come back to haunt her. She
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blinked to hide it, but Drew must have seen it. She stepped back to evade his attempted embrace. “Sorry. That was unfair.” She had training he didn’t even know about. More than that, she knew better. He hadn’t attacked her with anything but good intentions.

She wanted to flee.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said quietly. “Sophie, are you angry with me?”

Yes.
Yes, she was angry with him, but she was angrier with herself. He was too handsome, too charming, and she liked him too much. He stirred feelings she thought were dead and buried, feelings that scared the hell out of her and kicked her into an unnecessary survival mode. There was no way he would ever understand.

Pressure built behind her eyes. She shook her head and turned toward the door, envisioning the hallway and the stairs, trying to remember the exact location of her bag and her purse. She had to stop when he slid his arms around her from behind and rested his forehead on her shoulder. She wanted to melt into him, inhale his clean, masculine scent. She wanted the memories of something similar, but far darker, to go away.

“Can we talk about this?”

Again, she shook her head. Any minute now, the pressure would either turn into a panic attack or a migraine. She needed to get away from him. It was bad enough she threw him to the floor. She didn’t want him to see her lose it completely.

The ache spread behind her jaw and to the back of her head. Nausea made her stomach roll. Blood drained from her extremities, leaving them tingling from the loss. Her face was probably green. “Please let go,” she whispered.

The moment his arms reluctantly released her, Sophia ran for the nearest bathroom and lost her dinner.

Drew was there to pull her hair away from her face. He carried her to a nearby chair—his tenth spare bathroom was large enough to contain furniture—and set her down gently. Her throat burned, and a headache pounded in her ears. She hated the way she behaved toward him, and she hated that he was seeing her in such a vulnerable state.

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A cold cloth wiped away the beads of sweat from her mouth and brow.

He folded a second cool cloth and placed it on the back of her neck. The nausea disappeared.

She opened her eyes to see Drew watching her. It was the first time she’d ever seen him look scared. Snatching the cloth away from her neck, she stood. “I need to leave.” Did he notice her legs trembling, or did she successfully cover it?

Drew stood with her. “I’ll take you to the emergency room if you want, but other than that, you’re not leaving until you feel better.” His tone was gentle, but there was no mistaking the steel behind his words. Sophia lacked the physical and emotional strength to fight him.

These headaches took everything from her. She wasn’t going anywhere.

Weakly, she nodded and let him lead her to the elevator. It was that or let him carry her the two flights of stairs to his bedroom. Her legs weren’t going to last much longer.

He gave her two Tylenol and tucked her into bed. “I don’t suppose you’re hungry? I can make some chicken noodle soup.”

“I’m not sick,” she mumbled. The sound sent shock waves of pain through her body. She winced. “Sorry.”

“Shhhh,” he said, settling next to her. One hand trailed through her hair, soothing her until she curled into his side. “Every man secretly hopes for a woman who can kick ass. Tell me you have a black belt, and I’ll worship you for life.”

She tried to laugh, but what came out was a pathetic substitute. Real martial artists didn’t use a belt system. She couldn’t tell him that because she slipped into blessed unconsciousness.

Her migraines were a direct result of stress. Taking down Drew wasn’t the first stupid thing she had ever done, but it seemed like it at the time. A million admonitions rocketed through her head, most of them variations on the idea that he wouldn’t want to see her again. She should have been happy that she might have succeeded in sabotaging what was morphing into the first serious relationship she entered into since the man she had planned to spend the rest of her life with raped her.

She had been young, but she really loved him. Charlie had been friends with Daniel for years. She should have been safe with him. They had everything in common and a plan for the future.

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She didn’t know what she was doing with Drew.

She woke to a completely dark room. A sliver of light spilled through the door to the bathroom, where she found a nightlight masquerading as a light switch. Gathering her courage, Sophia turned it on. It would be a true test of whether this was a light migraine or one that was going to set up camp and stay for a week. It had been years since she had one of those kinds.

To her utter relief, the light made her wince, but it didn’t send her reeling in pain. She raided Drew’s medicine cabinet, muttering questions to herself about what would possess him to give her Tylenol when he clearly had stronger medications available. Halfway to the Aleve, she stopped, debating the relative merits of the different medicines. She opted for two more Tylenol.

She freshened up, only because if she didn’t, the sight of her looking like death warmed over was going to be his last memory of her. Also, she needed to brush her teeth and gargle in the worst way.

Gathering her things didn’t take long. Slinging her canvas bag over one shoulder, she took the back stairs, reasoning that she would most likely find Drew in the kitchen.

She was wrong.

A woman was bent over the sink nearest the stove, filling the teakettle and humming something that sounded suspiciously like a disco tune. She was on the short side. Sophia would tower over her by four or five inches.

Her blonde hair was perfectly coiffed in a short style. Her figure was neither fat nor thin, but something in between that proclaimed a healthy woman who had borne her share of children.

When she turned, she caught Sophia from the corner of her eye. A warm smile broke the lines of worry in her face. “Sophie, you’re awake, and you look so much better. Drew will be so relieved.” It didn’t take a rocket scientist to recognize Drew’s ice-blue eyes and million-dollar smile in this woman’s face. The last person she expected to see tonight was Drew’s mother. Hadn’t he said they were on vacation somewhere?

She placed the kettle on the stove and turned the knob for the gas. “I’m Miranda Snow. You can call me Miranda. I’ll make us some tea.

Chamomile will settle your stomach.”

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Caffeine guaranteed her headache would go away, and the substance had never kept Sophia from sleeping. Moreover, it would fortify her for the drive home. “I’d like some coffee, if it’s all the same.” She smiled regretfully. “Sorry, dear. Drew would shoot me if I let you have something with caffeine in it.”

The dots finally connected. He served water with dinner. He gave her decaffeinated mint tea afterward. He took her to a nonsmoking bar and never offered a beer. Sophia sighed. “I’m not pregnant.” She sat at an oak oval table taking up space on the far side of the kitchen. Patting the seat next to her, she ignored Sophia’s statement. “Come sit with me, dear. I’ve never seen my son lose his mind over a woman before.”

Sophia’s eyes darted toward the doors leading out of the room, as if some last-minute reprieve would burst through at precisely the right moment to save her from having to spend time with Drew’s mother. Now was the right moment, but nobody came.

As if sensing her thoughts, Miranda smiled and patted the chair next to her again. “I sent Drew to the store. It’s best to give a man something to do when there’s nothing he can do.”

“I really should go,” Sophia said. “It’s late, and I didn’t plan to stay the night.” She wasn’t saying that because she was speaking to Drew’s mom, either. Spending an entire night with a lover was never on her list of acceptable outcomes for an evening. Though, before she lost her mind, she could have been easily persuaded.

She laughed. “Andrew warned me you were a slippery one. I assured him I wouldn’t let you leave while he was gone.” The kettle whistled. With a broad gesture, she indicated two cups with tea bags already in them. “Why don’t you be a dear and pour the tea?”

She was trapped. Curiously, the walls didn’t move in on her, and she didn’t feel the telltale twinges of a panic attack coming on. Sophia did as Miranda asked and brought the teacups to the table.

Miranda inhaled the fragrant steam rising from the surface before pushing it away. “Let it steep for a while, my dear Sophie. We have so much to talk about.”

Oh, no, they didn’t.

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“To begin with, can you explain those items on the counter over there?

They look so interesting.”

Sophia stared at Miranda without looking in the direction Drew’s mother indicated. She knew exactly what was on the counter. After they had played in the kitchen, Sophia had washed the toys they used and put those away, but the rest of them were still on the counter. She took a deep breath.

“I don’t suppose you want to pretend like you never saw those?” She laughed, her smile and mirth every bit as infectious as Drew’s.

“Sophie, at my age, things like that are items one wants to see more and more of. I know what they are, dear. I just don’t know what some of them do.”

With the tilt of her head, Sophia invited Miranda to follow. Some of her clients were Miranda’s age, and some were older. Because the discussion was with Drew’s mother, it was a little uncomfortable, but Sophia quickly moved past that. There was no way Drew would want to see her after tonight.