Wild Temptation (4 page)

“You’re so responsive, Liv. Tell me”—he nibbles up my neck—“are you wet yet?”

“Why don’t you find out?” I breathe. His mouth finds mine again, and I reach down to his pants to undo them. “Wait. Condom?”

“Pocket,” he says against my mouth.

I reach inside his pocket and put out a foil packet. I tug them down his legs with his boxers using my toes, and Tyler takes the opening of my legs as his invitation.

He leans forward, pressing his bare erection against the soft material of my panties. I whimper, pushing into him. This isn’t enough… I need to feel him inside. I need him to dull the ache I feel in my clit.

He opens the condom packet and rolls it onto himself before he hooks his finger in my underwear and moves it to the side. The simple movement exposes my pussy to him, and he runs his fingers along my folds before resting his cock there.

“You’re so wet,” he murmurs. “And if I were a patient man, I’d take more advantage of that. As it is…” He pushes into me in one thrust. “I’m not a patient man.”

My mouth falls open at the swift way he enters me. I grab his back, and he slides one hand into my hair.

“I’m far too desperate to make you come and feel your tight pussy around my cock as you do.” With those words, he moves out of me and back in.

I close my eyes as he finds a rhythm, one that’s fast but not brutal. His long, quick strokes fill me easily, rubbing against the right spot, and I tilt my hips into him. I tighten my legs around his waist, and he reaches around, grabbing my ass and tilting my hips up even more.

His next thrust is deep and powerful, and I cry out. His grip on my hair tightens, making my scalp sting in a way that only heightens the slow build of pressure in my lower stomach.

I’m so focused on him inside me, how he feels, how he plays my body with the ease of a man who’s touched me a million times, that I don’t see it before it happens. I don’t feel it tip from tight ache to body-shattering pleasure.

The orgasm hits me intensely, trembling my limbs, washing over me in a delicious wave of heat. My heart pounds double time in my chest and I only breathe when Tyler groans into my shoulder, signaling his own release.

My muscles are clenching, working him, drawing it from him. He thrusts slowly a few times, emptying himself fully inside me. I drop my head back to the bed with my eyes closed as I try to calm my breathing.

Tyler tilts my face toward his and kisses me once. “Mm,” is all he says, looking into my eyes.

I meet his gaze as he releases me and pulls out of me. Instantly, I feel empty, cold, and I push that from my mind as he rolls off the condom and discards it in the adjoining bathroom.

My eyes trawl over him as he dresses, and he turns to me. “I’ll go downstairs and get your clothes for you.”

“Thank you,” I say softly when he leaves.

With the space between us now, I feel exposed. I get up and grab the robe from the back of the door. Tyler comes back just as I wrap it around my stomach. I take my clothes from him and all but run into the bathroom to change.

My hands shake as I pull off the stockings.
What have I done?
Sex twice with the same person—that’s a major rule breaker. One night only. It has to be that way or those pesky little strings pop up. They entwine you with the other person and…

I take a deep breath. Realistically, I know the chances of seeing Tyler again are very slim. I can tell Sheila that I was uncomfortable with his way of shooting alone and she won’t book me with him again. And if I happen to see him on the street, I can just pretend I don’t recognize him.

“Liv? Are you okay?”

“Yep. Two seconds.” I pull a hairband from the pocket of my jeans and gather my hair into a ponytail before I open the door. “What should I do with the underwear?”

“Give it to me. I’ll see it gets back to the right place tomorrow.”

“Okay.” I hand it to him.

What do I do now? It’s not like I can just say, “Well, thanks for the fuck. Bye!”

I stand by the door awkwardly as he packs away his camera. “Well, bye,” I say lamely.

Tyler looks up. “Do you need me to call you a cab?”

“No, I drove. Thanks though.” I smile and turn away.

“Hang on.” He crosses the room and spins me into him, pressing his lips against mine. “One for the road,” he whispers with a smile.

I blink at him and turn away without another word. Somehow, I make it down the stairs without running or falling, and I don’t breathe again until I’m in my car.

I turn the radio up to drown out the mass of thoughts in my head as I drive away from the cottage, but it doesn’t work.

All I can think of is the way my lips are still tingling after his last kiss.

Easy breathing, easy stretching, calming thoughts. I haven’t done any yoga in a while, but the urge overcame me this morning to get out my mat and do it.

It’s a preventative action. A coping method I pull out when things get a little murky. When that addiction nudges at the back of my mind.

We all have something we’re addicted to. For some people, it’s alcohol or drugs. For some people, it’s real things that are tangible. Things you can physically touch and taste and see.

For other people, they’re addicted to less visible things. They’re addicted to feelings and sensations and things that can slip away as easily as water can run through their fingers.

That’s me. That’s my downfall. The things many people take for granted, the things they don’t always recognize are there—they’re the things I’m addicted to.

Intimacy. Connection. Love.

I’m in love with love, and that only strengthens my desire for the other things. I crave the intimacy of knowing someone so deeply that there’s no part of their soul you haven’t seen. I need the connection of someone knowing me that deeply.

They’re dangerous things to hold together. They are strings, they are connecting factors, and they are a bittersweet addiction. If you add the three together, they’ll eventually form the addiction to the person.

This is why I have rules. Does it really matter if I sleep with a different guy every couple of weeks? Does that make me a horrid person? I decided long ago that it doesn’t. I’m as human as everyone else. I have the same base desires, but I have to protect myself as I fulfill them.

Ross was great. Despite what Dayton and everyone else thought, there was no intimacy. He was my fuck buddy and I was his. It all worked perfectly fine until I found him buddy-fucking another person.

He was my safety net. Because we rarely spent any time together outside of each other’s pants, there was no cause for a conversation or anything that would bring us together intimately. Ross was safe and he was stable—for a few months, at least.

Since we “broke up,” I knew in my heart that ‘one person, one time’ was the rule I had to go by. Then there was really no chance for anything to get intimate.

Until fate stepped in and threw Tyler in my path for a second time. Fate’s Big Fuck-Up is the only appropriate way to describe this whole situation.

Fate’s a bitch. Truly, she is. I bet she’s sitting with a glass of wine, watching me keep to the confines of the relationships I’ve set myself. She’s seen how well I’ve been doing and has decided to shake it up a little… Or a lot.

I can only be thankful for the short introductions Tyler and I had. If I knew his last name, it would be far too tempting. I could ask Sheila, sure, but I can’t. That has to be my challenge, how I stay in the box. Don’t ask Sheila. Don’t find out his name.

Do not be tempted.

I snatch up my ringing phone. “Hello?”

“Liv!” Dayton cries down the phone. “This is a disaster! Everything is going wrong!”

Good morning, Bridezilla.

“What’s happened? Wait, no. Hang on. I’ll come over.”

“Oh, God,” she moans. I imagine her tugging at her hair in frustration.

“Give me five minutes.” I hang up and sigh.

I don’t know who’s more stressed over this wedding—her or me. If there’s not something going wrong, like the bridal store ordering in the wrong size shoes, then she’s asking me a bunch of questions about the bridal shower and bachelorette party.

Are they done yet? Have I organized anything? Do I have any idea what I’m doing?

Someone needs to remind her that shit is a surprise.

I brush my hair from my face and dump some biscuits in Angus’s bowl in response to his incessant mewing. “Oh, don’t look at me that way,” I say at his affected look. “You can’t always have the canned food. There’s nothing wrong with cat biscuits, you little snob.”

Besides, I need to visit the store. Later.

I get behind the wheel of my car and head in the direction of Dayton’s apartment. Given the distress in her voice, the fuck-up is a good one, so I brace myself for a meltdown. I even check my glove box at some lights for a bottle of Tylenol.

I park in the underground parking lot next to her BMW and key in the unlock code for Aaron’s penthouse elevator. And yes, I roll my eyes. A keypad for an elevator.

“Tell Aaron he needs to get rid of that keypad. It’s so stupid,” I say, walking into the apartment without knocking.

Dayton waves her hand. “Whatever. Liv, disaster. It’s a disaster.”

“What, did the venue burn down or something?”

She shoots an evil look my way at my sarcasm. “Knowing my luck, it probably will. If she weren’t forbidden from any contact with us, I’d put my money on Naomi fucking around with my plans.”

“So what’s the problem?” I sit opposite her at the bar.

“The caterer is going out of business.”

Well, shit. That’s a kick in the balls right there.

“Aaron Stone is paying him to cater for his wedding and he’s going out of business?” I raise my eyebrows.

“I just… Where am I going to find anyone able to cater for us at short notice?”

“Um, it’s not like it’s tomorrow.”

She groans and clicks at her laptop. “No, no, no!” She drops her head to the bar. “Why is this so hard for them to get right? Champagne and ivory are not the same color. The seat sashes are supposed to be champagne, not fucking ivory!”

She is really not having a good day. I pat her shoulder. “There, there, Bridezilla. You have three months still to chew their asses out until they get it right.”

“Liv, with the amount Aaron is paying them to get it right, I shouldn’t have to be chewing asses.” She sits up, sighing heavily. “This is crazy. Why can’t we just elope in some exotic country and get married without all this fancy crap?”

I laugh at the thought. Yes, Dayton would forgo her dream wedding for a small party on a beach somewhere. Sure.

I close her laptop down and stand up. “Okay, babe. Let’s get you a drink. You and I both know you wouldn’t want to have this any other way.”

“I know. I just… It’s three months away and already I’m being bogged down by shit. Why can’t these people just get things right?”

I fill two glasses of wine and put them on the table between us. “Listen to me, Dayton. You will get this fixed. Has Aaron chosen his best man yet?”

Distraction is the best policy. In this case, it’s by wine and a rare instance of Aaron’s incompetence. Here’s hoping she says he has…

“Yes. He had him picked three months ago. He just got his ass in gear and asked him.”

“Who is it? Anyone hot and rich from his company?”

Hey, distraction
is
the best policy. I could use a good distraction.

I grab her laptop and open her email.

Day snorts. “His cousin. Although, Tyler is hot and rich. And kind of from the company. I mean, he’s a photographer. He’s the guy training me. I don’t know how you two haven’t met yet. Hmm.”

Wait. Did she just say?

Fuck no. This is an awful, awful, coincidence that my best friend’s fiancé happens to have a cousin named Tyler who’s a photographer, right? Seattle is a big place. It’s totally plausible.

Still, I feel my cheeks flush, and Dayton frowns.

“Uh, Liv?”

“Um.” Cue nervous giggle. “Did you say Tyler? A photographer?”

“Yeah. Why?”