AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Then he leans in even closer, dragging his thumb from my lip to my chin. “Admit… that I made you—”
“I need to leave.” It’s like the sane part of me takes control just to gasp out those words, but my body malfunctions. My nerves are frazzled by his heat. His words play a dangerous game along my spine. I know he’s not serious. But that knowledge doesn’t seem to resonate when my eyes meet his.Lightning. It’s the only word that comes to mind to name the alarming jolt ricocheting through my body.
“Come,” he growls against my earlobe.Thatgrowl. “Admit that I made you come. Climax. Orgasm. Whatever pretty term suits your fancy. Just say it out loud, Ms. King. I made you do it.”
CHAPTER17
evie
My head won’t stop spinning. I’m having a stroke, obviously. Graeme Bellamy didn’t really say those things. He really doesn’t mean…
“I’m leaving,” I choke out the words to the sliver of ceiling beyond his head. I mean them at that moment. Ido. But whenever I try to take a step, he’s right there. His lips graze my earlobe, and I can feel the moist heat of his tongue when he speaks.
“Youdoneed a refresher,” he grits out, irritation lacing his already gruff tone. “Fine. Let me paint the picture for you, Evelyn—” His hand leaves my chin and moves to my waist. I feel his palm graze my hip through my jeans, before bracing flat against the glass of the window near my head. “My fingers. Inside you. You were wet,” he adds with a dangerous undertone, but his expression makes it worse. Shocked, as if he can’t believe the words coming out of his mouth. “Tight. I only had totouchyou for—”
“E-Enough.” My hand flies out to collide with his arm—but I don’t do the smart thing—push him back. My nails seek out the contours of the muscle underneath, plying the rigid coils. I remember… Even though I’d been riding fast and loose on the dizzying wine merry-go-round, I can still recall his touch. His body pooled between my legs. That orgasm—stronger and more violent than any before it. But I had been drunk—as had he.
So, it didn’t count.
“I bet you’re wet now,” he tells me, his breath hitching in his throat. Even as the words spill from his mouth, he knows it’s wrong. This is wrong. “I bet that little toy of yours you reference so much couldn’t get you off the way I did. Did you have to use your fingers when I left you?” God… His voice gets raspier, each word broken and gritty. I’ve never heard him sound like this. His lips keep moving, and he just can’t seem to stop. “Tell me.”
I squeeze my eyes shut to hold in the truth—maybe I had… Maybe alone in his room and still too dizzy to climb to my feet and leave, I had needed some extra little help getting him out of my head. Off my tongue. Just enough to pass out. So, I’d imagined him. Just once. Twice. Again. Over and over until the bastard’s face chased me into my dreams. And there, he didn’t just end it with his mouth and fingers. No, Graeme Bellamy had ruined even my typically platonic nightmares.
I’d woken up shaken, swollen, and sore…
Because of him.
“You did,” he suspects, smug with triumph. The warmth from his breath drifts from my ear and down my neck. “Look at me and admit it.”
I was quite content to stare at the inside of my eyelids. If I ignored him long enough, maybe he’d go. As if to spite my own hope, my fingers clench the ridge of his shoulder just alittleharder. My nails curl alittledeeper. Graeme Bellamy shudders.
“Say it,” he commands. “And we’ll return downstairs. I’ll have James drive you home. I’ll let you keep that damn pride of yours—”
Or?My mind skips ahead before he even lays out the terms of his threat.
“Or…”
He’s closer. I feel his chest brush mine when I breathe in… out. My nipples can’t bear the contact. They stiffen against the padding of my bra.Everythingstiffens. I feel like a rubber band being ruthlessly stretched taut. One wrong move, and I’ll snap.
“I’ll have to refresh your memory for you,” he says, all but breathing the words into my skin. Into every damn pore. “With enough detail so that you can jot it down in that bloody planner of yours and never forget. So, take it back.”
His words remind me of those playground taunts children play. Say a mean thing. Pull the bully’s hair until they cry uncle, and apologize. I was the master of that sort of revenge—usually on behalf of Danny. Now, it’s only my own pride at stake, but I can’t seem to say anything in my defense.
Graeme’s breath fans across my lips. He’s rippling beneath my touch. I can feel the pulse of every single nerve and bit of muscle as he fights to keep control. From doing what? I don’t know. A part of me wants to find out. Damn, that part.
“Where did we begin last time?” he wonders, each word ripped from his throat. I stiffen even before his hand palms my waist again, inching toward the erogenous zone beneath my zipper. “I think it was when you mentioned something about me being a ‘one-and-done’ kind of man…”
He finds the circular clasp of my jeans, his thumb resting against the copper. My stomach roils with each lazy flick of his nail. He’s not trying—not really—and my body knows it. Hates him for it. Needs it…
“Stop!” Trying to pull away from him is like attempting to surface from gallons of water—while a sea monster down below grabs my ankle and tries to drag me right back down. He finally flicks the clasp with purpose, and it springs open. The pad of his thumb finds the head of my zipper and pins it flat against my pelvis. The only way I can retaliate is to dig my nails into his shoulder—but the action backfires. He coils beneath my touch. Like a piston, readying to spring. A sound rips from his chest. Ragged. Grating.
He lowers his thumb, and I feel another finger join it, gripping the top of the zipper, pulling down…
“And there was something else,” he adds near my ear. His breath reverberates off the window glass and leeches into my skin. He’s breathing harshly. Fast. Panting. “Something about me being the last man—” He tugs on the zipper, and my heart drops along with my loosened jeans. I could stop them from falling if I tried—spread my legs out, anything. I can’t seem to move either way, and then he’s sliding more fingers underneath the waistband of my panties. A thumb. Forefinger. Everything. The whole damn hand.
My eyes fly open as I brace myself against the window with one hand. He either doesn’t see my lips move, struggling to form words, or he doesn’t care. Before I can gasp out anything intelligible, he cups me fully, groaning at the way I feel. My cheeks catch fire, knowing how he’ll find me—embarrassingly,painfullywet.
“The very last man you would ever want to fuck,” he says gruffly, even as he curves his hand, forcing my hips to arch, my body on tiptoe. “Something tells me that you were lying, Evelyn.”
