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But I want more.
I twist, pulling away from him slightly. His glazed eyes follow me, and I grab the T-shirt dangling from his arm and pull him after me. When the back of my legs hit the bench, I gently lower myself down.
He braces himself on his good arm, slowly settling his weight on top of me. He dips his head, kissing me again, and I feel his arousal throb between my legs. I spread my thighs and hook my knees around his hips, pulling him down closer.
His breath is ragged, his mouth even more aggressive than before. I feel like he’s going to devour me whole—and there’s nothing in this moment that I want more. I cross my ankles above his thighs and raise my hips to meet him.
He groans, but what starts as a sound of hunger and pleasure turns quickly into a sound of frustration. He pushes himself up off of me.
I lie there on the bench, breathless and confused. Why did he stop? I cross my arms across my chest, feeling exposed.
The look on his face, just visible in the moonlight, is still full of desire.
“I don’t have a condom,” he says. He gives a small, bitter laugh. “I didn’t realize I’d need one.”
I close my eyes, relief warring with disappointment in my chest. On the one hand, I’m pleased to know that he wasn’t having second thoughts about this. On the other, I’m ashamed to admit that protection was the last thing on my mind, that if he hadn’t had the presence of mind to pause, I wouldn’t have stopped him from doing anything he wanted with me, with or without a condom.
I prop myself up on the bench, one arm still across my chest. “I guess we got a little carried away.”
He leans over and lifts my chin.
“There are still plenty of other things we can do,” he says, his voice husky. “Lie back down.”
I don’t question him and lower myself back onto the bench. He kneels, and my legs part at his touch.
I know what he’s going to do, and yet it’s still a shock when his tongue meets my bare flesh. I suck in a breath as a burst of flame shoots up through my belly, and he takes to his task as hungrily as he took to my lips. My hands fly down to his head, my fingers twining in his hair, and my head tilts back. Above me, the moon and stars shine brightly in the dark sky. I stare at them as the muscles tighten in my core, and the lights dance and twinkle in time with the sensations pulsing through my body. Only when the pleasure finally overtakes me do I shut my eyes. With the pleasure comes the peace, and I give it all up to the sky.
CHAPTER TEN
The next morning, I’m still in a daze.
I’m exhilarated and confused and… I don’t know what. Completely addled. Maybe last night was a mistake. Maybe I’m just doing it again—distracting myself with physical sensation when I should be sorting myself out.
But something about this thing with Ward feels different. Crazy, yes, but not crazy in my normal way. Crazy in a my-world’s-been-turned-upside-down kind of way. It feels like I’ve been flipped around and set on my feet in a strange new place.
Maybe it’s just some side effect of coming back to the estate. All of my emotions have been on overdrive these past couple of weeks. It’s no wonder I should have a strong reaction to my new delicious acquaintance. But the funny thing is, I’m not even sure what that reaction is. I’m not sure whether I want to yell at him some more or spill everything to him or just throw myself into his arms for another round.
And honestly, this morning I don’t really feel like questioning it too closely. I’d rather continue to float on this buzz. Every time I close my eyes, I can feel his hands on me, awakening my nerves one by one with his touch. I can feel the warm wetness of his mouth, his lips, his tongue. I feel drunk, and at the same time so alive that I might burst at the seams.
Watch out, Lou. Don’t lose your head. The last thing I need right now is to get caught up in some guy. Especially one as intense as Ward. I have other things I need to focus on.
Mr. Haymore’s doing a Q&A session for our visitors this morning, and instead of dragging me along as usual, he asks me to look over a few last-minute things. It’s a small boon from the universe. I have a feeling I’m not going to be very productive today, and I’d rather not have my boss breathing down my neck.
So that’s how I end up all by myself in the Welcome Center, with plenty of free time to cause trouble.
They’ve added some things to this room since the last time I was here. There are a number of new signs and displays, including a life-sized cardboard cutout of what appears to be a butler. They’ve also added a second rack next to the main desk for brochures, and I wander over, curious how they could have enough to fill them all. I’ve seen many of these brochures before—the large glossy fold-out map, the one describing all of the spa amenities, the “Self-Guided Garden Tour”—but my eyes fall on the one entitled “History of Huntington Manor.” No doubt this is the pocket version of that book they have on the other side of the shop. The one with all the paparazzi photos of my family. I know I shouldn’t look any closer, but I can’t help myself. I pull it down and flip it open.
As I guessed, it gives a brief overview of the history and construction of the house. There’s no way for them to avoid mentioning my family, but thankfully there aren’t any pictures of any of us. There is, however, a portrait-style image of the Carolson clan. I stare down at it for a minute, trying to fight down my disgust at their plastic smiles and resisting the urge to tear the whole lot of them off the wall.
But I can’t risk doing something so obvious. Instead, I find myself reaching into my pocket for my pen.
It only takes a minute to deface the picture in my hand. It’s a small task, even pettier than stealing the wine, but I don’t care. I give every member of the Carolson family a curly handlebar mustache, and I black out a couple of Edward Carolson’s teeth as well. It’s very satisfying work, so much so that when I’m done with the first brochure, I pull the rest down off the wall and start to go through them one by one.
In the second brochure, I make all of them pirates (complete with eye patches and parrots, of course). In the following photo, I give all of them racy tattoos. I make them into clowns and cowboys and mutants. I give them bulbous noses and giant ears and fish lips. By the time I’m halfway through the stack, I’ve gone through all my usual doodles, but I don’t stop. It’s childish, maybe, and more than a little bit dumb, but I can’t help myself. I’ll take any small victory against Carolson and Huntington Manor. It makes it even better to imagine some unsuspecting tourist stumbling across one of my fine pieces of art.
