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“Oh,” I whisper, giving myself to the sensation of this intimacy, letting my head fall back against the wall.
And then he is licking me in what I can only call a merciless exploration, creating an overload of sensations. The flicking of his thumb on my clit, his tongue sliding left and right, and all over me. His big fingers pressing inside me, stretching me. I can hear the rasp of my heavy breathing, but I have no will to calm any of my reactions to what I feel, what he is making me feel.
My own fingers uncurl from my palm and one hand finds his shoulder, the other his head, but doesn’t stay there long. He lifts my leg, pulling it over his shoulder, and the act presses me onto the door again. The position steals all control from me, locked into position, at the mercy of his tongue and fingers, as they stroke me, driving me wild. Blood roars in my ears and I amlost to all of the wicked things he is doing to me. No, I’m done in by it all. My sex clenches with an intense spasm and from there I tumble into the sweet bliss of release. Remotely, I can hear my own moans and my panting, but I’m beyond holding back anything from Tyler. I quake and quake some more until I collapse into a sated pile of nothing but bones and skin.
I barely register the moment Tyler sets my leg on the ground, nor the moment he stands up. He cups my face and reality zips right back into place. His mouth slants over my mouth, the sweet and yet salty taste of me flavoring my tongue. When I am certain there is more to come, he pulls back and asks, “Can you taste me on your lips, baby?”
I draw a breath because something has shifted in him—his energy and his tone reading darker.
He pulls my bra up and zips my dress before he slides my skirt down. “That’s proof you don’t know how to say no.” He steps away from me and walks behind his desk while I stand there shell-shocked. Was this a game to him? A lesson like I’m a schoolgirl that needs tutoring? “Eight AM for the chat about Dash’s Hollywood deal,” he instructs. “I only have thirty minutes. I have an off-site meeting.” With that, I am dismissed. “Go home.”
Heat burns my cheeks, and I draw a calming breath that is barely calming at all. I decide right then that I could easily tuck my tail and run out of the door. I do the opposite. I march to his desk, stand in front of him and press my hands to the wooden surface. “I chose yes, not no. It wasa choice.If I’d wanted to say no, you’d have stayed in your lane. There is a difference between A and B.” I turn on my heel and march toward the door.
“Like there’s a difference between being a bastard and acting like one?” he challenges.
I halt, fingers curling into my palm again. I spin around and face him. “Exactly. And for the record, youarea bastard, Tyler Hawk.”
“Then we achieved something tonight. You finally understand me.”
Indeed, I think, only even in this moment, as angry, hurt, and humiliated as I am, that thought feels flawed. For now, though, I open the door and exit to the hallway. But I do not go home. I will not run. I’m going back to the party just as soon as I make sure I’m not wearing my makeup on my forehead.
Chapter Thirteen
Bella
I enter the bathroom with my thoughts racing. He’s a bastard, but Tyler’s still my boss. I step in front of the mirror and take one look at my swollen lips and catch the edge of the counter.Unless that changes tomorrow, I think.
I shove aside that brutal thought with the same fierceness I all but begged Tyler not to walk away from me. Irritated at my line of thought, I shut down any negativity in my mind. I simply can’t allow myself to go down the wrong rabbit hole, at least not when I’m here at the office. I know me, and if I do that, I will fall apart, even if only momentarily. With a need to be cool and composed, even if it’s a façade of cool and composed, I quickly wipe away the lipstick on my chin, reapply a fresh pink shade, and fix the mess that is my finger fucked blonde hair. I try not to think how close I came to being wholly fucked by Tyler Hawk because I might as well have been. I had my leg on the man’s shoulder and his mouth all over me. Okay, I’m going to freak myself out. It’s time to leave.
I head for the door only to realize my nipple is not in my bra. Of course, it’s not. I right the wrong, at least this one. There’s no saving me from most of what I’ve allowed to happen, or as Tyler put it himself, the consequences, whatever they may be, of what I allowed to happen. Drawing a deep, calming breath, I pray Tyler is still in his office, and exit the bathroom. The coast appears clear, but I hurry to the elevator and punch the button over and over, glancing at the corporate office door several times as I do. As if either of those things will assure Tyler doesn’t exit from the lobby before the elevator opens.
Finally, the car dings, the doors open, and I enter the elevator. I punch the rooftop button and hold my breath as I’m slowly sealed inside as if I’m in a horror movie and the monster might catch me. I’m fairly certain though I’m my own monster in this case because as Tyler said, I didn’t say a proper no. I didn’t say no at all. Once I’m secure and alone, I lean on the wall and let out a breath of relief, only to inhale the distinctly masculine scent of Tyler’s cologne. He was just in the elevator, which means he either left the building or he’s upstairs, where I’m headed. Lord, help me, but I’m not going to hide from this. I will see him again. I will face him again. I will hate him again. I will work with him again.
In the midst of this parade of sentences starting with “I will,” Tyler’s words play in my head. “This is about control,” he’d declared, and did so before I ended up mostly naked.
I’ll analyze the real meaning of his claim to control later when I’m alone and can fully realize the tiny bubble of anger reforming inside me.
For now, there is another ding, and the doors to the elevator slide open. I straighten, exit, and leave behind the scent of Tyler, or so I think I do. Instead, the scent clings to me. It was never the elevator that smelled of Tyler. It wasme. I quickly reach inside my purse, grab my perfume and douse myself with Chanel No. 5, hoping I don’t choke anyone to death with the freshly sprayed perfume meant to hide the fact that I’ve had my boss all over me.
Having done all I can do to disconnect myself from Tyler, I hurry to the entrance of the rooftop entertainment area and pause a moment as I will my heart to calm. Only then do I rejoin the party. Once I’m in the midst of the festivities, as expected, there are still plenty of guests to be entertained and I had no business going home. I suppose Tyler simply believed I needed an escape, which he offered me in more than one way this night. My poor judgment actually earned me both an escape via anorgasm, and a prison in the aftermath I can never wash away, even when I no longer smell of the utterly sexy scent of Tyler Hawk. Nor do I think I will forget how good he was with his tongue.
Lord, help me, once again, with this line of thinking.
A waiter passes by, and I grab a glass of champagne and manage one sip when I end up chatting with the manager of a highly successful music producer. Patty is an attractive dirty blonde, in her mid-thirties, and quite likable. I have nothing to do professionally with Patty or her client, but we’ve chatted and enjoyed a few laughs together on occasion as we do now.
I’ve barely regained my composure after she’s told me a story about a radio show she visited, and the DJ who pulled his pants down to show her his cock tattoo when I ask, “Was it at least an impressive tattoo?”
She snorts champagne. “No one but you would ask that. It was quite impressive, but he was married. I suggested he show it to his wife.”
“Good decision,” I conclude, when the sense of being watched has my gaze jerking right, only to find Dash and Allie watching me. My heart sinks. They were not supposed to be here tonight, and now I’m caged in more ways than one. I touch Patty’s arm, instantly hyperaware of my touchy-feely self being a big fail with Tyler. “My brother is here,” I say. “I need to go talk Hollywood with him.”
Patty’s eyes go wide and whip around the room until they land on Dash. “Oh my God,” she murmurs, refixing her attention on me. “I’m a huge fan. Can I meet him?”
Pride never fails me when people, especially famous people, react this way to Dash. “Of course,” I assure her, motioning for her to follow me.
We head in that direction, and I’m actually fairly relieved with the potential distraction Patty offers from any conversationI might have with my brother. If I spend too much time with Dash, I’m going to blurt out details on the contractual dispute I’m having with the studio over his unsigned Hollywood contract. He will, in turn, react negatively and pull out of the whole deal and in Hollywood, that kind of action could end the project with everyone, even a project this magnificent. And that’s not good for Dash. I don’t care about me. I care about being his sister and failing him. Representing him has been a good and bad thing. I was able to hide his addiction to underground fighting and help aid his recovery, but I also feel tremendous pressure to never fail him.
I worry I’m about to do just that.
