Things I Wanted To Say: Chapter 47

MY ENTIRE BODY breaks out in goose bumps when I see our reflection. Whit between my spread legs, tilting his head back to watch me in the reflection. I’m cut off at the shoulders; I can’t see my face, but there’s something sexy about it. Almost as if I can detach from the moment and watch myself. As if it’s not even happening to me.

But it so is. I can feel his hands on me. Big and warm and possessive. Claiming me as if I’ve always belonged to him.

I suppose I have.

He gets rid of my panties, tossing them on the floor after he disentangles them from my shoes. “Bend your knees and brace your feet on the table,” he commands.

I do what he says automatically, as if I can’t help myself. Breathless, I watch as he descends closer, his hands going to the inside of my thighs, spreading me open. Pink, glistening flesh on complete display.

I think of the employees at the restaurant. What if they walk in? What if they catch us? I’ll be so embarrassed.

But then I remember Whit paid for the entire restaurant for the night. He probably told them we needed some alone time, and not to walk in on us.

He puts his mouth on me and I moan for so long, it’s almost embarrassing. I force my eyes open, watching his head move between my thighs, his hands holding me. I run my fingers through his soft hair, unable to look away as I experience his busy tongue and sucking lips driving me out of my mind.

All the while, I watch. My own personal porn movie, come to life.

I lift my hips, smashing my pussy against the lower half of his face and he slips his hands beneath me, holding me to him as he licks and eats at my quivering flesh. He doesn’t let up. Not once, and I close my eyes only for a brief moment, trying to gather myself. Compose myself. What he’s doing to me is torture. Exquisite, almost painful torture, but I know it’s going to be worth it in the end.

Watching him go down on me makes it that much easier for me to orgasm. I’m already going to come. I can feel it building inside of me. Big. Bigger. Little cries fall from my lips as he continues lapping at me, the tip of his tongue flickering against my clit. His mouth completely covers my pussy and I want to die when he starts tongue fucking me. In and out. In and out. I can’t stop whimpering. Moaning. Moving. He holds me to him, his fingers teasing along the crack of my ass, probing deeper, finding my asshole. He presses one finger against the tight rosebud, stroking me there, and that’s all it takes.

I come with a shout, drenching his face with my juices as I rub against him unashamedly, my body heaving, my clit on fire as he keeps sucking on it, his probing fingers driving me wild. He moves over me, his fingers still on my ass, his mouth finding mine and I kiss him with complete abandon, sucking on his tongue, tasting myself. I reach for him as well, my fingers finding his cock, stroking him over the fabric, wishing he were inside me already.

“I can’t fuck you here,” he tells me, panting against my mouth.

I find the snap on his trousers and undo it. “Why not?”

“This wasn’t part of my plan,” he admits, pressing his forehead to mine.

I slide down the zipper, delving my hand inside, my fingers shifting beneath his boxers and finding velvety smooth, hard flesh. He drips onto my palm as I begin to stroke him. “I want you inside of me.”

He groans, thrusting his hard cock into my palm. “Not like this.”

“Fuck me, Whit,” I demand, letting go of him so I can awkwardly shove at his trousers, too eager to have him inside me to worry about anything else.

He bats my hand away, grabbing hold of my hips and pulling me down the table so I’m hovering right on the edge. He shoves at his clothes, freeing his cock and then he thrusts inside me, to the very hilt, filling me completely.

We remain still, the only thing moving is his cock as it throbs inside of my body. We study each other, our breaths harsh, and I squeeze my inner walls around him as tightly as I can.

He moans. “Fuck.”

Tilting his head back, he stares at the mirror. At our connected bodies. I watch too, biting my lower lip as he slowly withdraws, his cock pulling almost all the way out, coated with my juices, before he shoves his way back in.

It’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.

His pace is lazy as he fucks me, easing in and out of me as if he has all the time in the world. I enjoy the slowness, savoring the way he completely fills me, possesses me with his every thrust. Reminding me that I belong to him.

Because I do. I belong to him so completely, but I don’t want to say it out loud. To admit it means I have to admit other things, and I’m not ready to go there yet.

I concentrate instead on the way he fucks me. Almost reverently, as if he wants to savor the moment too. He has so much self-control, it’s admirable. Is all that self-control just for me?

Sometimes I wonder if the stars aligned that night at his parents’ apartment in Manhattan. As if we were meant to meet. To kiss. To touch.

We kissed. We touched—each other’s souls. We marked each other. Connected.

Forever.

“Look at how beautiful you are,” he whispers harshly, his gaze locked on the mirror.

I glance up, my entire body in the reflection. We stare at each other as he continues to push inside me. My skin is flushed pink, my nipples hard, my pussy so wet I can hear his every thrust.

“I’ve missed you,” he admits. “I’ve missed everything about you.”

My heart cracks at his words, the emotion in his voice. “I’ve missed you too,” I whisper.

He tears his gaze from the mirror and kisses me, our mouths locked, our tongues in battle. He increases his pace, fucking me hard, the promise of another orgasm building inside of me. Growing. I’m at an awkward angle, my back hurts as he shoves me against the table with the force of his body, but I don’t mind. Not when another epic orgasm is just within reach.

Without warning, Whit slips his hand between us, his fingers finding my clit. He rubs it in maddening circles, making me breathless, my entire body going still for a few mindless seconds before the orgasm washes over me, making me shudder over and over again.

My pussy milks his cock, squeezing and releasing, and he groans, jabbing inside of me before he calls out my name. I clutch him to me as he trembles and quakes, his semen filling me completely.

He hangs over me for a few moments once the shaking subsides, and I stroke his back, wishing he was naked. Without a word, he withdraws, pulling his softening cock from my body, his cum leaking out of me, coating the inside of my thighs, my ass. Most likely dripping onto the tablecloth.

“Messy girl,” he says, reminding me of seventeen-year-old Whit. The boy I fell for so hard. “Look at you.”

I reach between my legs, coating my fingers in his cum before I bring them to my lips and suck, my gaze never straying from his.

His eyes light up as he shoves his cock beneath his boxers, zipping himself up and putting everything back together. “Dirty little whore.”

“You like it,” I say, not taking offense to his name-calling.

He says and means it with affection. I’m no one’s dirty little whore.

Just Whit’s.

After he helps me get dressed, he retrieves my coat from whoever took it and slips it over my body, tucking me close to his side as we exit the building, my stupid journal clutched in his hand. The cold wind slams into us and I’m grateful his car approaches within seconds of us going outside. He opens the back door for me and I climb inside, giddy as he climbs in after me, his fingers diving beneath my skirt to stroke my ass.

The moment the car pulls away from the curb, he lunges toward me, pulling me into his arms, kissing me as if this is the last time we’ll ever be together. I return the kiss with equal, enthusiastic fervor, drinking from his perfect lips, my hands reaching for whatever part of him I can touch. He’s just as eager, just as greedy as he tugs the front of my dress down, his mouth finding my nipple yet again.

“You’re coming back to my hotel with me,” he growls against my skin, just before he bites it.

I squeal, immediately wishing he’d do it again. “Okay,” I say breathlessly.

“I’m going to fuck you all night.” He reaches between my legs, fingers delving beneath my panties and finding nothing but wet flesh. “Fuck you raw. Fuck you until you beg me to stop.”

Warmth pools low in my belly at the thought and I bring his mouth to mine once more, kissing him with all the pent-up emotion I’ve saved for him the last year and a half.

“I’d fuck you in the back of this car, but we’re not too far from the hotel and traffic’s light,” he says, sounding amused once he shifts away from my seeking mouth. “So greedy, Savage.”

“You’re just as greedy, Lancaster,” I remind him, stroking my hand over the unmistakable ridge of his erection.

He grins, and it is a sight to see. The boy he once was only grinned for me like this near the end, when we spent the week at his family’s estate. Before everything was ruined.

Frowning, I drop my hand away from his trousers, the memories coming back, one after another. Dousing me in sadness.

Wariness.

His grin is gone, replaced by a questioning look. “What’s wrong?”

I look away from him, staring out the car window as the city lights rush by us. “Nothing.”

He slides across the seat, his hands settling on my shoulders, featherlight. Almost as if he’s afraid to touch me. “You’re lying.”

I dip my head, sucking in a breath when I feel his mouth brush against my nape. So gentle. So sweet. And Whit is never gentle or sweet. “This feels like a lie.”

He goes still. “What does?”

“This. Everything between us. The moment earlier, in the restaurant. How you and Monty set me up. Yet I don’t know what you want from me.”

His hands remain on my shoulders, keeping me in place. Not like I can escape him, considering we’re in a moving car. “I just want—you.”

“For the night?” I glance over my shoulder, startled by how close his face is to mine. “One last fuck before you move on to your future bride?”

He scowls. “I don’t have a future bride. I told you, it’s over between Leticia and me. There’s no one else.”

“I’m sure your mother found someone for you.” I look away, resuming my study of the city at night. Looking into his ice blue eyes is disconcerting. I should be mad at him. And Monty. They both deceived me, and I don’t like it. I trusted Monty with my entire life, and he still put this together, despite his knowing how I felt about Whit and our relationship. How fucked up it was.

How fucked up it still is. I see him after more than a year, after his complete betrayal, and here I am, a willing participant in our sexual games.

I’m addicted to him, and I suppose I can find solace in the fact that he’s addicted to me as well, but I don’t. All it does is confirm to me that we’re both a complete mess. Together, we don’t make any sense.

I’m tempted to say it out loud, but I keep my mouth shut.

“My mother stays completely out of my personal life,” Whit says, interrupting my thoughts.

“Really.” I sound full of doubt, because I am.

“Yes.” He leans in, his mouth brushing against the shell of my ear. “I can be with whoever I want. Neither of them can tell me what to do.”

My heart hammers in my chest, threatening to burst from my skin. I want to ask if he wants to be with me, but I’m too scared. It’s been so long since I’ve seen him last, and I’m not about to look like a needy little thing, begging him to take me back. As if I ever had him in the first place.

“You’re not going to ask me what I want, are you.” He drifts his lips along my ear, tickling me. “Afraid?”

“I’m mad at you.”

“You’re mad at me, hmmm.” He doesn’t sound like he believes me. I suck in a breath when he slips his hand inside the front of my dress, palming my breast. “Your body doesn’t feel like it’s mad at me.”

“My body is a liar, just like you.” I close my eyes when he circles his finger around my nipple again and again. Back and forth.

“Look at me, Summer.”

I keep my head bent, concentrating on keeping my breathing even, but it’s no use.

“Look at me,” he demands.

I turn to face him, fully expecting him to be angry. Full of hatred, all of those furious emotions aimed straight at me.

But he’s watching me with—tenderness in his gaze. As if I’m the best thing he’s ever seen. “Come back to my hotel room with me. Let me explain.”

“Explain what? What else do you need to explain? Haven’t we talked enough?” I cry, frustration rippling through me, making me curl my hands into fists where they rest on top of my knees.

Whit reaches for me, gently prying my fingers apart so he can interlock his fingers with mine. His touch is a comfort when it absolutely shouldn’t be. “You’re going to make me say this in the car, aren’t you?”

“Please don’t say anything,” I whisper as I study him, all the blood roaring in my ears, making me feel dizzy. My gaze drops to his mouth, staring, entranced with how red his lips are. They’re swollen too. From our kisses. From everything he does to me. Unable to stop myself, I reach for him, settling my hand over the front of his trousers. His cock is huge. Hard and thick. I stroke him and he hisses in a breath. Thrusts his hips up as I continue to rub him.

“You want to make me come in my trousers?” He lifts a brow.

“Yes,” I murmur without hesitation.

“This suit is worth over fifteen thousand dollars,” he informs me.

I smile. I can’t help myself. This is better, us communicating sexually. I don’t want to hear a bunch of nonsense. A bunch of meaningless words that he won’t stand by. He lies. He changes his mind quickly, leaving me helpless. Defenseless. I shouldn’t do this. I shouldn’t have let him have me at the restaurant, and I shouldn’t be toying with him now in the back of this car, but it’s like I can’t help myself.

That’s no excuse, but it’s the truth.

“More reason to make you come in them.” I say with a light laugh.

“God, you’re beautiful,” he says, reverence filling his tone as he studies me.

My laughter dies, pure joy coursing through my veins. My gaze never leaves his, my fingers still curved around his dick. We’re lost in each other, the air growing heavier between us with every second that ticks by.

The car stops and the driver speaks in French, letting us know we’ve arrived at the hotel. Whit pulls away from me gently, my hand falling away and the next thing I know, we’re leaving the car, Whit escorting me into the hotel lobby, my fur draped over my shoulders once more, covering me completely.

The building is gorgeous, numerous glittering chandeliers hanging above us, large flower arrangements filling the space with their sweet fragrance. It’s not as elegant as The Ritz, but it’s spectacular, though I expect nothing less for a Lancaster.

We enter the elevator alone, Whit hitting the button for the very top floor.

“Penthouse suite?” I ask.

“Close enough,” he drawls, his gaze trailing the length of my body, where my coat gapes open. “That dress is indecent.”

“I told Monty that. He insisted I get it,” I say.

“He did that for me.” His gaze sears into me. “I told him to find the dress that would show off your body the best.”

I glare at him. “Prostituting me still?”

“Never. I wanted to see you. All of you. Just for me. I wanted you to tease me without saying a word or sending me a look. That dress is a work of art, but it is nothing compared to you. Your body is perfection.”

I gape at him, shocked by the lavish compliments. This is not like the Whit I knew back at Lancaster Prep.

Not even close.

The elevator comes to a stop, the doors sliding open with a quiet swoosh and Whit settles his hand on the small of my back as he steers me out into the short hallway, stopping in front of a pair of imposing double doors. He pulls a key card out, opening the door with a wave of his hand and I hear the distinct sound of a lock turning.

We’re inside the room in seconds, the hushed quietness of it deceptively calm. I’m not even close to calm. I’m a riotous mess, inside and out. My heart rattles. My breaths are coming rapid fire, catching in my throat and my hands visibly shake.

The door slams shut, shrouding us in darkness and he grabs one of my shaking hands, leading me deeper into the room.

“Come see the view,” he says, his deep voice washing over me, reminding me that yes, I’m really here, and yes, we’re actually together. In this hotel room in the middle of Paris on a cold early spring night.

This isn’t a dream. Or a nightmare.

He brings me to the window and shoves it open with a simple push of his hand, a rush of cold air hitting me, making my already hard nipples ache. I follow him, sticking my head out the window, noting the stellar view. The city spread out before us like a blanket, the Eiffel Tower looming in the distance, still putting on its glittery light show. I watch in fascination, letting myself get caught up in the romanticism of the moment. Whit behind me, his hands drifting. Drifting. Pushing the coat away from my neck, down my arms, until it falls in a soft heap at my feet. He presses his firm, warm body behind me, holding me up, and I can’t stop shaking. Because of the cold.

Because of him.

“This doesn’t feel real,” I murmur.

“It is real,” he says against my neck, winding his arms around my center, resting his hands on my stomach. “I’ve finally found you, Savage. And I’m not going to let you go.”

His words, the way he says them, haven’t changed. They sound like a promise.

A threat.

I’m happy with both.

With him.

Despite everything that’s happened and what he’s doing to me, I’m happy.

So happy.