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His hands flex, stroking feverishly from my waist to my hips and thighs. “Rachel.” He closes his eyes, his chest heaving.
I brace my hands on the seat behind him and slowly rock my hips upwards until just the tip of his cock is inside me. Then, shuddering with pleasure, I push back down till he’s buried to the hilt again.
He lets out a harsh growl, then his hands are back at my waist, gripping tightly as he starts to pump upwards, the thrusts fast, deep, and hard. My whole body turns to liquid as I collapse against him, crying out as each delicious thrust fills me with delirious pleasure.
He finds my lips and kisses me deeply, stroking my tongue in time with his movements. The pleasure builds to an explosive peak and the world disappears, everything disappears apart from Landon, and the wonderful sensation of his cock stroking in and out of me.
My body tightens, my insides gripping him, then pulsing uncontrollably as I explode. I hear my voice, crying out helplessly, saying his name as the sensations paralyze me. Landon groans, then he’s moving, still inside me. He lays me on my back and continues to thrust inside me, his movements almost feral, his face clouded with a raw arousal that makes me want him even more.
Heat builds between my legs again, stoked by his quickened thrusts, and his voice, saying my name over and over. This time, my scream is incoherent. My whole body shatters, and my hips buck wildly, my heated core tightening sweetly around his pulsing cock. He rears into me with a harsh groan and I feel the warmth of his orgasm spurting inside me.
He’s still breathing deeply when he pulls out of me. His arms snake around me and he nudges me upright, smoothing my dress over my thighs before adjusting his pants. My body feels light, languid and sensual. I want to hold on to the way I’m feeling for as long as I can.
I’m surprised when he leans towards me and kisses me on the lips. This time the kiss is slow and gentle. “You’re okay?” he asks, pulling back to look at me. There’s a small smile on his face.
My face heats a little. I feel better than okay, actually. I feel heavenly. I return his smile, watching as he pushes my wrecked panties into his pants pocket. “Yes, I’m fine.”
He reaches for my hair, smoothing it with his fingers and pushing the tousled strands back from my face. His touch is so gentle that I close my eyes and lean into it. I’ve missed his gentleness. In fact, I’ve missed him, period.
When he’s satisfied, he lowers the partition and in a few clipped words instructs the driver to take us to the Swanson Court Hotel.
“My parents will be wondering where I am,” I muse, wondering how much time has passed since we left the Remington House.
“You’re in no condition to go back there,” Landon says. He doesn’t look at all regretful about that fact. “Call them. Tell them you decided to leave.”
“Hmmm,” I frown. “What about Aidan?”
“I was already leaving when you saw me.” He chuckles. “Aidan has plans to indulge in the free champagne. He told me he doesn’t mind walking home.” He shrugs, then spends a few seconds just looking at my face. “I’m not letting you go tonight,” he tells me.
My eyes flutter closed, my body shivering in anticipation. I don’t argue. I don’t want to leave him either. I’ve been punishing myself all week, and I’ve been walking around with a numbing emptiness that I don’t feel anymore. For the first time in days, I feel alive. This is what I want, to be with him, and there’s no point trying to fight it.
His hand closes over mine. I feel the possessiveness there, and in his eyes I see relief. What happens now? I wonder. Have I given my assent, with my actions, to his offer of a relationship? And what did that mean for me? That I had accepted to stick my head in the sand and take whatever he offered until the day I dreaded finally arrived?
As the limo enters the underground parking lot of the Swanson Court Hotel, Landon squeezes my hand, gently. At that moment, I decide to stop thinking, to stop waiting for the end, to stop trying to protect myself from heartache, and instead, allow myself to enjoy the moment.
LANDON’S Swanson Court apartment is the same as I remember from that first night. Still incredibly spacious, and still beautiful. It has only being a few weeks, but it feels like a lifetime. I can’t resist the smile as I remember choking on my drink when I realized that he thought I was a hooker. With everything that’s happened since then, it seems so long ago.
On the walls, the few paintings and pictures are hanging where I remember. The photo of the ballerina is still center stage. Landon’s mother, who died in a car crash when he was nine. I study the ethereally beautiful face for a moment, then turn to watch as Landon tosses his jacket on a chair. “Drink?” he asks.
I shake my head. “I’m great.” I’ve already sent a text to tell my mom that I wasn’t feeling well and decided to go home. I sent another one to Laurie, telling her the truth.
Landon nods, then comes toward me and takes both my hands in his. “I’m glad you’re here,” he says, his voice somber.
I melt inside. “Me too.”
“Come on then,” he says, leading me towards the stairs. I follow him upstairs, past the bedroom where we spent that first night, to a larger, cozier one. There are personal touches in this room. A picture frame of his family in happier times. His tablet, some books. This is where he lives.
Landon takes my purse from me and sets it on the nightstand, then he faces me, his eyes seem to be drinking me in. “I’ve imagined you here so many times, it’s hard to believe that you actually are.” His words send a flush of pleasure through me, and I tremble as he strokes my cheek. “I’ve missed you.”
I lean my head on his chest, feeling as if a huge weight has been lifted from me. “I’ve missed you too,” I whisper, finally free of the torture of having to pretend, to having to force myself to accept a life without him.
“I can’t stop looking at you.” He chuckles self-mockingly, making me smile with happiness, and an aching gratitude to be so close to him again. “You have no idea how it’s been for me, with you across town, so close, and yet… So unwilling to have anything to do with me.”
I shake my head. “I wasn’t unwilling.” I look up and meet his eyes. “I just... I didn’t want things to get irreversibly complicated.”
He laughs. “It’s too late for that.”
Closing my eyes, I breathe in the scent of his skin. He’s right, of course. It’s too late. We’re already irreversibly complicated. I warp my arms around his waist, feeling his firm muscles under my fingers, and I start to think that maybe I should tell him now how I really feel. How afraid I’ve been that one day he’ll hurt me. But I stay silent, because I want to enjoy this moment for as long as possible, and ignore my fears for as long as I can.
