Six Naughty Nights: Love in Reverse, Book 2 (31 page)

He kissed up her neck to her mouth and delved his tongue inside. He began to move his hips, and she exclaimed as he thrust hard repeatedly.

His eyes held a dangerous glitter. She blinked at them, unsure what to say or do, knowing she’d somehow upset him. “Toby…”

“You’re mine,” he said fiercely. “No other guy’s going to get his hands on you.”

“Jeez—I—was—only—playing.” The words came out staccato as he continued to thrust.

“Well, don’t.” He pressed his hips down, pushing against her as he thrust, arousing her in spite of her growing annoyance.

Indignation spread through her. They were supposed to be role-playing, weren’t they? It was all a game. And even if they weren’t, he had no right to be so jealous. “I don’t belong to anyone,” she snapped.

“At this moment, you do.” He caught her face in his fingers and kissed her, hard.

She wriggled with irritation. “I don’t ‘belong’ to you. Why do you have to make me so mad every time we have sex?”

He laughed. “Yeah right. I’m the one at fault here. I’m supposed to be disciplining you, remember?” He thrust hard, then paused, pushing forward, stretching and expanding her and making her groan with pleasure.

So now he was pretending it was all a game? She couldn’t bring herself to smile—he’d gone too far with his possessiveness and exasperated her. She didn’t want to have to deal with his jealousy. This was a mutual sexual arrangement, nothing more. “I’m the one who should be putting you over my knee,” she complained.

He pretended to look shocked. Before she could say anything more, he captured both her hands and pinned them above her head with one of his, holding her easily even though she wriggled and swore at him. He pushed his other hand up her thigh, raising her skirt and baring her bottom. He gave it a sound whack. “Bad girl.”

She jumped. “Argh. Toby!”

He chuckled. “Serves you right.” He kissed her, plunging his tongue into her mouth.

She bit his lip, infuriated that she was turned on by his forcefulness again. “Get off me.”

“No.” He bent and sucked a nipple through the lace.

“Stop it. I mean it.” Her protest was half-hearted, her body arching into him even as the words came out of her mouth.
 

He smacked her again. “Stop talking and keep quiet while you get what you deserve.”

It stung deliciously, and she clenched around him, making them both groan. Unbidden, however, tears came into her eyes. She didn’t want to be turned on when she was so annoyed with him. She shouldn’t have gone to his place. She’d already been emotional before they’d started. This was all a huge mistake.

He raised his head and froze as a tear welled and slid down her cheek. Immediately he released her hands. She rested them on his chest, and he waited, presumably to see whether she’d push him away.

She hesitated, too confused and emotional to know what she wanted.

He pressed his nose to hers. The naughty glint had disappeared from his eyes. The tender look was back. “I know,” he murmured.

Another tear escaped and she bit her lip. He understood what she was feeling, because he felt the same. Rusty had been right.

He kissed the second tear away, touching his tongue to her skin, and then kissed the rest of her face, her cheeks, nose, closed eyelids then finally her mouth. He lingered there, brushing her lips with his, then teasing them open with his tongue and tasting her gently. Her resistance melted.
 

Yes, this was just sex, but even “just sex” involved emotions. Of course he’d feel possessive while he was lying on top of her, inside her. Why wouldn’t he? And the aggressive, demanding role he took on had always been part of their sex play. She enjoyed it—enjoyed fighting him and being dominated. It was the only place she’d let anyone dominate her, and having to give in to him, letting his sheer strength win her over, turned her on. He knew that—he was playing the game. Could she damn him for that?

She relaxed into the rug, raising her arms around his neck, and he sighed and began to move again. He continued to kiss her though, delving his tongue into her mouth, and she gave herself over to him, letting him take charge.
 

So he did. He aroused her gradually, and by the time her muscles started to tighten, she was panting with desire and desperate for release. Sweat covered both of them, skin gliding and sticking to skin, and his harsh, heavy breathing sounded like music to her ears.

“Oh…” She arched against him, closing her eyes as all her attention focused between her legs.

He smacked her butt lightly, though, saying, “Open.”

She opened her eyes with surprise to see him watching her, and now his eyes were hot again, demanding, wanting to feast on her arousal as she came apart in his arms. He liked to watch her come. She flushed, but was unable to stop the orgasm spreading through, and climaxed under his warm brown gaze. He stilled, his muscles going rigid beneath her fingertips, and she sighed as he spilled inside her, his hips jerking and his breathing ragged as he gave in to his release.

He rested his nose against hers again and kissed her, his pulse still beating rapidly in his throat. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” She frowned at the regret in his eyes. Sorry they’d had sex? Or sorry she’d cried? He didn’t answer her, so she closed her eyes, enjoying her heightened senses—the softness of the fur rug under her back, the bulge and dips of his arm muscles beneath her fingers, the smell of their arousal, the taste of their sweat on her tongue.

He withdrew and she mumbled a complaint, but he scooped her up into his arms and pulled her tight to him as he rolled into his back. She nestled against him, suddenly shy, and buried her face in his neck. This man would be her undoing. He seemed to know exactly the way to unspool her in his arms. No matter how much she tried to keep up a strong front, in bed—or on the floor, or wherever else they happened to be—he dismantled her defences brick by brick.

He kissed her hair. “Sorry,” he said again.

She raised herself onto her elbow and looked down at him. “For what?”

Still he didn’t reply. He looked up at the ceiling, although he didn’t loosen his grip around her.

“Sorry you had sex with me?” She couldn’t help the way her voice came out small.

He grinned. “Of course not. I’d never be sorry for that.”

She leaned on his chest and rested her chin on her arm. “So what are you apologising for?”

“For making you cry.”

“You didn’t make me cry. I made me cry.”

He stroked her hair. “I’m still sorry.” He was—she could see it in his eyes.

She lowered her gaze and trailed her fingers through the hair on his chest. “Why did you say ‘I know’?”

He stroked his fingers up and down her back. “I felt…” His words tapered off. He tipped his head. “I thought…maybe you felt the same way I did.” He didn’t elaborate.

She swallowed and rested her lips on his chest for a moment. She did, but she couldn’t confirm it. There was no point in them indulging in declarations of affection. This was going to hurt enough when the time came to part.

She raised her head. “There’s something you should know.”

“Oh?”

“I’ve applied for a job in Dunedin.”

Immediately his eyes cooled and his smile disappeared. “Dunedin?”

“I don’t have ties to Christchurch anymore, and who knows how long the university will be closed? And it’s perfect for me. Pretty much the same stuff I’m teaching now. And it’s a great university.”

“Sounds fantastic.” But his voice was as cool as his eyes.

“Are you angry?”

His brow furrowed at that. “Angry? No. Why would I be angry?”

She swallowed. “It’s farther for you to travel to see Charlie. If you want to see him…”

He sat up, forcing her up too. “Of course I want to see him. Did you think I wouldn’t?”

Her pulse sped up. “No. But nothing’s changed since Fiji. We’re still islands apart.” How ironic, she thought. That statement could apply physically and metaphorically.

“Something’s changed,” he said. “Now we have a son.” He glared at her. “You thought I’d turn my back on him the moment you flew south?”

“I didn’t know how you’d feel,” she said, turning defensive at his accusing gaze. “You’ve been great with Charlie. But soon you’ll be moving on. You’ll be going to university. I’ve been there—I know how all-consuming that life is. You’re young enough to be able to make the most of that life. You’ll get a girlfriend and a life of your own.” She ignored the stab of pain in her gut as she said those words. “I’m being practical, that’s all. I have to look after myself and Charlie. There’s no point me getting all romantic about us playing happy families when we’ll be living at opposite ends of the country.”

He moved so he sat back against the sofa. Legs stretched out, ankles crossed, he appeared remarkably unaffected by the fact that he was completely naked. In contrast, feeling vulnerable, she drew her knees up and wrapped her arms around them.

She waited for him to talk, but he didn’t say anything. He surveyed her calmly, arms along the sofa cushions.

Unable to stand the silence any longer, she said, “We shouldn’t have had sex, Toby. It’s just made things harder.”

His lips twitched. “That’s generally a good thing.”

She rolled her eyes. “You know what I mean.”

He smiled and looked out at the rain.
 

They sat quietly for a while. She rested her cheek on her knee and studied his profile. Gosh, he really was gorgeous. His hair had grown long and curled around his neck and ears, and his sideburns needed trimming, but she liked the ruffled, carefree look it gave him. His smile had faded, however, and he looked sad. In another world, another dimension, would the two of them have worked? Could they have been happy?

He looked back at her. His brown-eyed gaze roamed down her to her feet, then slowly back up. By the time it reached her face again, he looked different—his eyes had taken on a determined, steely glint. What was he thinking?

“You want to stop now?” he said. “Because I don’t want to be a mistake.”

“You’re not a mistake,” she murmured. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Didn’t you?”

Her cheeks grew warm. “It wasn’t like I was drunk or anything when I came up here. I knew what would happen. And I don’t regret it. I didn’t mean that when I said we shouldn’t have had sex. It’s been great fun.”

“So what did you mean?”

Suddenly she realised what was shimmering in his eyes—not anger, but hurt. She couldn’t help but soften. “As I said, it’s been great, but it means it’ll be more difficult to leave. I enjoy being with you. It’s a shame it has to come to an end.”

“Does it have to?”

Her throat tightened. Was he asking her to stay?

She couldn’t think about it. She couldn’t tell him about those messages she’d destroyed. Not now, not after what they’d just done.

To her surprise, he reached forward and pulled her into his arms. “Tomorrow’s the stag night,” he said as if he hadn’t just asked her not to leave. “And then of course Saturday’s the wedding. But I have a suggestion. Mum and Dad have said they’ll be happy to have Charlie in their room for the night so we can…get some sleep. Or not.” He winked at her. “You want to have one last Naughty Night before you go?”

Tears welled in her eyes and she bit her lip. He’d read her reluctance, and he wasn’t going to push it anymore. He’d taken her answer as yes, it did have to end. But in his usual warm-hearted way, he wasn’t going to get angry at her answer. Instead he was offering her one last night of passion before she left.

Did she want a last night? Well, honestly, yes. It was already going to be difficult to leave him. She might as well enjoy the short time they had together.

They both started to smile as the moment drew out.

“Okay…” she admitted eventually. “But we do need to talk about how it’s going to work when I leave.”

“I know.” His gentle voice soothed her worried nerves. “But not yet, eh? We have a few days left. I don’t want to talk about you going away until I have to.”

“We can’t ignore it,” she said softly.

“I know.”

He tightened his arms around her, and she rested her head on his chest.
 

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Esther wasn’t drunk. She was tipsy, she decided. Merry. Well, after several years of not drinking a single drop, three glasses of white wine and two glasses of single malt were going to go to a girl’s head.

Luckily she was in good company. Eve was decidedly giggly, even though she’d told everyone she wasn’t going to drink too much because she didn’t want a hangover on her wedding day. Most of the other seven girls in the group were comfortably hazy. Only Faith remained sober, but Esther suspected from the way she constantly rested a hand on her tiny bump that the baby more than made up for her inability to consume alcohol.

They’d had a meal at the Italian restaurant, and by the time they got to dessert, the owner himself came out to investigate the raucous goings-on at table nine. He ended up having his photo taken with a flushed and giggling Eve, and gave the girls a free bottle of champagne to end their meal on, for which he received a round of applause and cheers.