Lost in You (13 page)

‘I missed this,’ he said. ‘Less than forty-eight hours and I became addicted.’

I said nothing, just took the kiss he gave me, letting my body surrender to his rough touches and hard grip.

‘Tell me to go,’ he growled.

I shook my head and my immobility lifted. I grabbed his dark hair in my hands and held on as I ran my tongue against his tongue, brushed my lips over his.

He walked me backwards and I thought for sure I’d fall, but he kept a strong hand at the small of my back. He was walking me to the small alcove, the only one in the huge room. It had once served as a place for a security guard and his chair, with a stand for a telephone. Now it was empty.

He backed me to the wall and kissed me harder. It was as if Dorian were punishing me for my silence with kisses that stole my breath and made me so unbearably wet inside.

His hands slid up my thighs, rasping on my stockings, and he hiked my skirt up around my hips. ‘I’ve been dreaming about this,’ he said as he paused to trace the tops of my stockings with a fingertip. The heat of his skin sliding along mine had my body humming with need.

I had dreamed about it too but I said nothing. I couldn’t. I was caught in the spell that often came with being in the same room as him, alone.

He bit gently down the slope of my throat and over my collarbone. He nibbled lower and then nipped my breast through my blouse and my bra. My pussy clenched as I sobbed softly. He was fast with my buttons but left the shirt on. All the while, even as he pulled down my bra cup and took my nipple into his mouth, I listened intently for the sound of any of my workers. My head felt too big for my body with the adrenalin. He bit my nipple and I clenched my insides eagerly. I wondered if I’d come without him even touching me once.

Dorian made a gruff sound and moved on to the other nipple. He captured it tight between his teeth and then tugged away from my body. The pain was sharp and sudden. When his hand shoved between my thighs to cup my mound, the pain morphed lazily into pleasure. When he squeezed me, mashing my damp panties to my sex, and then sucked roughly on my nipple, I damn near came.

‘Say you want me,’ he said. I felt him grin against my throat. I could actually feel the expression, I’d become so familiar with it in our time together. And when I was alone I could picture it. And when I was asleep it invaded my dreams.

‘I do,’ I stammered. ‘I want you. I do.’

He gripped my pussy again, rubbing his thumb against the wet fabric above my clit. The sensation was maddening. I nearly cried from frustration.

‘Please, Dorian,’ I said without thinking. That was that. That was what he’d needed from me. That was the key that released the lock. My admission of want.

He yanked my panties down and I felt my thigh-high hose roll down a little with them. He dropped to his knees and quickly buried his face between my thighs. I was so far gone that as soon as his mouth clamped down on me, as soon as his tongue found me, parted me, touched me, I was on the verge of coming. My fingers clawed at the cool marble walls and I tried to care if anyone might be approaching. I should.

I didn’t.

I arched up to meet him as he drove his tongue against me over and over, tracing circles and whirls and nudging me with the rigid tip until I couldn’t stand it any more and I came. Biting my lip, swallowing my sound. I came and he stood up, pinned me to the wall with his forearm and kissed me again. Forcing me to taste myself on his lips.

‘I had to do that,’ he said, gruffly. ‘Before I did this.’

One more kiss and he turned me quickly. My hands smacked the marble as he knocked my thighs wider apart. My heels clacked on the smooth floor but the sound didn’t override the jangle of his belt buckle as he worked it. He angled me forward and slid the tip of his cock along my opening.

The way he was acting – the force and the urgency – had me drenched. He groaned when he touched me and then said softly, ‘Good. I’m glad you’re soaked. I can’t wait.’

He was in me then. One fluid thrust and he filled me. I grunted with his effort and then sobbed when he began to move.

I imagined one of my workers stumbling in on this. Coming in to find Dorian fucking me in a nook as I braced myself against the wall, thrust back to take him, mindless and desperate to feel what it was like for us to be together again. For us to be joined.

Anyone could come in here and see.

He touched me with a fingertip and that sensation mingled with that single thought:
Anyone could come in here and see …
and I came.

‘Good girl. I like the way that feels.’ He rocked into me, bit the back of my neck and said, ‘I missed you, Clover. And I hated missing you. Can you tell?’

I nodded mindlessly. He took my hand and licked my middle finger. Then he guided my hand to my clit and his thrusts grew faster, stronger. ‘Touch yourself,’ he ordered.

I obeyed.

When he said ‘Jesus’ like a man defeated and laid a single kiss on my shoulder I came and this time he came with me.

My phone went off twice. Mario the first time, Gram the next.

‘I’m sorry,’ I said, trying futilely to put myself back together.

He snagged my wrist, me still gripping my phone, and pulled me in for a kiss. ‘Don’t avoid me,’ he said. He smiled down at me and my whole chest ached with the urge to say I was sorry and confess how I really felt. ‘Please, don’t. Just … come away with me.’

‘What?’ My face grew hot and sharp needles of anxiety pricked me all over. ‘I can’t go away!’

‘Let me take you to dinner.’

‘There’s a pizza joint around the corner!’ I ran a hand through my hair. Just the feel of it told me it was a holy mess and there was no salvaging this particular hair day.

He laughed softly and shook his head. ‘And that is what I love about you, Clover.’

He touched my face, stroked a finger down my chin. My gut instinct was to lean my face into that caress like a cat would. But I stayed straight and strong. A quick fuck in the dome room didn’t really change the fact that he was Dorian Martin and I was a worker bee and outside a bizarre situation like a super-storm we were incompatible.

The word ‘love’ was not lost on me, though, and did not fail to make me start like a spooked horse. ‘I just –’

He kissed me quiet and I let him. Pressing my mouth to his mouth, parting my lips to accept his tongue. ‘Come away with me for the night. Just the night. And don’t –’ he put a finger on my lips so I couldn’t protest ‘– answer right now. Just don’t. Think about it and text me or call me or … Jesus, send a carrier pigeon. Just answer me, OK.’ He pulled back and looked at his watch. ‘I’m sorry. I have to go to some coffee-shop opening with my mother. You know, the world needs more coffee shops.’

I laughed despite myself.

One more kiss and then he was pulling away. His gaze serious and intense as he backed up slowly. ‘Think it over. And then decide. I suggest you decide yes.’ He grinned. ‘But that’s just me. When you’re ready, let me know.’ He waited for me to nod and then he was gone. Poof! Like a ghost.

I sat on the settee where we’d made love on the first night. The illusion was intense – that if I put my hand flat on that seat I could feel the heat of our bodies. The energy of our union.

‘Dinner,’ I said. I glanced up at the dome and realised he’d taken the information about the restoration with him. ‘Not at a pizza joint, either,’ I said. ‘Away,’ I whispered.

I took an elastic band from my pocket and pulled my hair back in a messy knot. A glance at my phone told me it was lunchtime. I texted Mario and then my Gram. It had taken me for ever to teach her the ways of texting but finally she had it down.

Both texts said the same thing:
Home for lunch …

* * *

‘My God, girl, what happened to you?’

I didn’t say anything, just shook my head and pushed past Brani. She wore her standard jogging suit. This one bright turquoise velour. Under the zipper jacket I saw her
I JUST NEED A RICH MAN
T-shirt.

Ugh. She was certainly not the person to talk to about this.

But Gram was the same. ‘What’s wrong, girl? You look like you took a ride on a fork of lightning.’

I thought of being pressed in that corner, skirt hiked up around my waist, panties pulled down, Dorian sliding in and out of me, taking me. I
had
pretty much taken a ride on a fork of lightning.

‘It’s humid,’ I said.

‘Mmm-hmm,’ Brani muttered, smiling.

I shot her a look and sat down on the sofa. I had to get myself together. ‘I need to know …’ I let my head fall back and I stared at the ceiling. My apartment living room was painted Pepto-Bismol pink. It was my grandmother’s choice and I loved her too much to argue, so I’d just gone along with it. The hideous, aggressive colour made my eyes ache so I shut them. ‘If a man asked you to go away just for the day, would you? If you … knew it was a bad idea to want to go but wanted to go anyway.’

‘Ooooh, is this about that Dorian Martin?’ Brani said. She dropped to the loveseat and leaned forward in a predatory posture.

I held my finger up. ‘Don’t! Do not! Brani, I love you, but I asked Gram. Yes, it’s him and yes, he’s rich.’ I threw my hands up. ‘But rich isn’t everything!’

Gram nodded. She looked concerned. Amused, but concerned too. ‘Good. You were raised right. Rich isn’t everything. But let’s talk about the roses in your cheeks and how you’re all wired up like we could plug you in.’

I bit my lip and tried to sit still. ‘OK,’ I said slowly. But it made me nervous. I felt as if they could look at me and know what I’d done. They probably could. And was it so wrong, anyway?

‘Why don’t you want to go?’

‘Because he’s …’ I tossed my hands around in the air like a madwoman. I wanted desperately to try and explain how I
felt
, not what I was thinking, but couldn’t seem to. ‘He’s him, Gram, and I’m just me.’

She sat up straighter and worked her crocheting a little faster. The woman barely had to look at it, and I don’t know how she did it. It was like sorcery as far as I was concerned.

‘You are just wonderful, Clover. You say that as if being you is a detriment.’

‘No,’ I said. But I was lying.

‘Then do a better job explaining to me, please.’

I sighed and ran my fingers through my bangs nervously. ‘I just think that out in the real world we’re not compatible. I think he’s rich and travelling and going to coffee-shop openings and tossing around money. Me, I’m a worker bee. I’m looking out for his best interest, committing to my workers, spending time with you and Brani and just being in my little life.’

She grinned. It threw me off guard. ‘There’s more to life than your workers and Brani and me. We can take care of ourselves.’

A little piece of me felt hurt at that.

She went on. ‘And if it’s one night, what’s the harm?’

‘But what’s the point?’ I said. The harm was me getting even more attached than I already felt, but I didn’t want to say that aloud.

‘But what’s the
harm
?’

I shrugged, picked at a threadbare spot on the arm of the sofa.

‘Stop that!’ Brani and Gram both said in unison and I grunted. Co-conspirators if I ever saw them.

‘I say you go. Not that I’m allowed to speak,’ Brani snorted.

‘I agree.’ Gram moved that crocheting even faster. ‘Take it from a woman who said no more than yes when she was young. And girl, as much as I adored my life and my marriage and all the things I had … I’ve looked back on a few things and wondered, what if I’d done it? What if I’d tried? “What ifs” are terrible things, Clover. Better to look back at a success or a failure than a big empty space with a question mark in it.’

I stared at her, open-mouthed. ‘Were you unhappy, Gram?’ I asked, flabbergasted.

She chuckled and shut her eyes. ‘Do you listen, Clover? No! I wasn’t unhappy. I just wish there weren’t so many question marks, is all. So try to have as few of those as you can. That’s my humble advice. As always –’ she sighed, eyes back on her crocheting ‘– you are free to take or leave it.’

‘Thank you,’ I said, and meant it. ‘I’m going to take a shower, before I go back to work.’

Brani winked at me. ‘Yeah, you should put yourself back together, girl. You look a bit … rustled.’

I couldn’t help myself. I laughed out loud. My cheeks were hot but I was too preoccupied with what Gram had said to worry about my blushing.

In the bathroom I took my clothes off slowly, feeling in a bit of a fog. My mind kept rolling over what my grandmother had said. As far as anyone could see, she’d seemed to have a perfect life. She’d fallen in love with my grandfather young, she’d gotten married, had my mother and built a wonderful family. She’d been a housewife, sure, but my grandmother was the woman who ruled the neighbourhood. She led the block parties, she organised the walk-a-thons, and she always had something going on and was the happiest person I’d ever met. One of the few people who seemed to be comfortable in her own skin.

To hear that she wished she’d taken some missed chances, some lost opportunities, was like a punch in the neck.

I stepped into the spray. The heat in the room brought out the scent of him on my skin. For just a heartbeat or two I could smell Dorian as if he were there. I could imagine the feel of his hands on me. I pressed my cheek to the wall and shut my eyes, letting the very near memory of him filling me flood my senses.

It wasn’t something I intended to do, but my body responded to my mind’s images the way it had responded to him. I felt hurried and rushed to get back to work but the urgency in my belly, and lower, was bigger. It was stronger.

I angled the shower head where I needed it. First it was just a quiver of pleasure, but the heat and the strength of the spray grew and the arousal built. I stood there, bracing myself against the slippery tile and got myself off with a rush of water and the flickering ghostly image of him taking me under the dome. Of him taking me because he wanted me.

When I finally climbed out and wrapped my hair in a towel, I found my phone in my skirt pocket and texted him with shaking fingers. I kept it short and sweet, knowing my habit of over-explaining everything I did to anyone who wanted to listen. The text simply said:
Yes. I’ll go.