Page 10 of Dirty Sweet Valentine
So I throw the ball back into his court. “What else do you know, then? Save me the trouble of repeating information you already have on file.”
“I know everything on the outside, nothing on the in.” He rolls a coil of my dark corkscrew hair between two fingers.
I frown as I try to interpret exactly what he means. Does he simply run a background check from time to time? Or am I under some form of deeper surveillance?
My expression must alert him to my questions, because he clarifies. Slightly. “I know you’re a top level manager at Reach, Inc. I was astonished at first when you moved from creative to sales, but, when I thought about it, I realized sales suited you perfectly. I know you put a deposit on this flat with the commission from your first big client. I know the amount in your savings account, that you still haven’t taken on driving, and that you spend the little free time you allow your workaholic self at the gym and streaming BBC iPlayer.” He pauses momentarily. “I know that you haven’t been lonely.”
I’m flabbergasted by this. “Haven’t been lonely? Where on earth did you possibly get that idea?” I’ve been encased in loneliness. I’ve been sealed in it like a plum in a bottle of preserves. Loneliness has been the overarching theme of my life for fifteen years, and only worsened by the loss of my grandmother.
“I mean to say your bed hasn’t been lonely.” There’s no hint of jealousy or condemnation, and I should be glad because he has no right to either.
But his indifference also smarts, and I pull my hand away so I can wrap my arms around myself.
He picks up on the cue and drops my hair from his grasp, but doesn’t sit back. “I came by once. A couple of years ago. Another trip I had to make to London for...business...and I thought, if I could just see you... I didn’t mean it, of course, because I knew the minute I did see you, I’d need to talk to you. Then I’d need to touch you.”
My gut twists with recognition. I can vividly imagine myself in the same position. One look would never be enough for either of us. Our bodies had always been opposite magnetic poles.
“I couldn’t help myself, though. Despite telling myself I wasn’t headed here, I ended up in the alley across the street, clinging to the shadows, watching for you to come home.”
“What happened?” I ask and hold my breath, as though the story could possibly have a happy ending.
“You came home in a cab. The minute you got out of the car, I lost all ability to breathe. It had been so long since I’d really seen you—pictures and the like are not nearly the same—and I was completely swept away. I’d forgotten you had that effect on me. It kind of threw me off guard.”
“So much off guard that you were able to refrain from coming to my door?” I sound angry, and I am. I had no choice in these matters, and every choice he made that kept him away from me was the wrong choice, as far as I was concerned.
“No, I started toward you. Got as far as putting my foot in the street before I realized you weren’t alone.” He pauses to let me register that. “The mussed hair seemed your style, but I didn’t realize you were into men who wear suits.”
“Who said that I was? You automatically assumed it was a romantic situation?”
“You had your hand on his crotch while you put the key in the lock. I didn’t have to assume anything.”
His smirk increases my rage for reasons I can’t explain. I know who the man is instantly from his description. Though I have plenty of fuck-buddies, there’s only one who wears a suit that I ever invite back to my house—Dylan Locke. Technically my boss because he owns the company I work for, but he’s much more of a friend. A friend who would understand if I cut the night short, no matter the reason, and I would certainly have done that if I’d known Harrington was nearby. There isn’t anyone I wouldn’t turn away to be with him.
And fuck him for not understanding that.
Fuck him.
My anger is too effervescent inside me. It bubbles up and over, and I can no longer sit and pretend that Harrington hasn’t stirred up years’ worth of emotional repression. Layer upon layer of all the small hurts that his choices gave me.
I burst from the sofa and grab the dishes on the side table, unsure if I mean to throw them or simply clear them. I turn back toward him, seething. “How dare you? How dare you decide that I wouldn’t rather see you? How dare you believe that anyone—anyone!—could fill the hole of loneliness you made inside of me? That there would ever be someone I might love as much as I love you!”
He’s practiced at remaining stoic, and he does so now, not letting a single twitch of emotion show on his expression. The blue calm of his eyes, always the same.
Fuck him!
I spin on my heel and deliver the dishes to the kitchen, wanting a reason to put space between us, even though the room is open to the lounge.
“Amelia...” his voice chases after me, soft, gentle. An attempt to calm me.
I slam the plates on the island. “No. You don’t get to tell me how to feel about this.” When I turn toward him again, I see that he’s circled around the sofa, but that’s as much as he dares to approach. Good. I don’t want to be close enough to smell him, close enough for his presence to again overwhelm me and prevent me from working through this.
“I wasn’t trying to hurt you, or make decisions about your life,” he says evenly. “I was trying not to interfere.”
I practically laugh. “You’ve interfered more with my life than any other person I’ve ever known.” I don’t notice the tears until they’re already slipping down my cheeks.
“I shouldn’t have told you.”
“No, you shouldn’t have,” I snap, taking an aggressive step in his direction.
He takes a gentler step toward me, putting his hands up in front of him, either to halt me or show a sign of surrender. “Perhaps I shouldn’t have come.”
My fury flares. “You shouldn’t have left!”
And then his restraint breaks, and he’s pulling me into his arms. I go willingly, as though I had a choice—which, of course, I don’t. I will always be his. I will always go weak in the knees from his presence. I will always end up back in his embrace, suffocating with how much I love him. And I will never work out my feelings with words, because there aren’t any for the impossible love between us.
His kiss is frenzied this time, his hands tangled in my hair. I climb his body, wrapping my legs around his waist, clutching at his shirt while my mouth tears frantically at his. His hand lowers to grip my ass, pulling me tighter into him where I can feel his erection pressing against my belly. He spins around and walks us toward the sofa. Once there, he sits me on the back, and pushes up my skirt to reveal the lace pants underneath while I furiously work to undo his jeans. His cock is out and in my hands, even plumper than before, and I pull him closer. I don’t want to wait any longer for him, can’t possibly wait. I’m edging the gusset of my pants aside with his crown when he reaches toward his back pocket, for his wallet I presume.
“No condom! Please. Please!” I’m begging, desperate for him to comply. There have been too many barriers between us, and I can’t bear yet one more.
He hesitates for the slightest fraction of a second. Then he’s rocking forward, shoving deep inside me with one solid thrust. And I am complete once again.
“Yes!” I scream, crossing my ankles behind his waist to pull him in further, to keep him from moving away.
Not that he’s trying.
He pounds into me at a voracious tempo, as though he can’t get deep enough, as though he can’t reach as far inside me as he needs to, and isn’t that ridiculous because he’s already so far inside me, I’m not sure where he ends and I begin. Or if I even begin at all. He might be all that I am anymore. All that I’ve been since before he left, since he first consumed me over seventeen years ago.
Our mouths remain locked throughout. With his hands on either side of my face, he swallows my moans like they’re candy, barely inhaling one before he devours another. It’s not t
he way we typically fucked in the past—Harrington was always the dirtiest of talkers, and with all the men I’ve been with since, I’ve yet to meet someone who can top him in this department.
I’ve longed for those filthy words, dreamed them both asleep and awake, but I’m grateful for this prolonged kiss. Grateful for the connection. Grateful to be reminded just how thoroughly I belong to him. Our kisses say the things we never could.
I’m not usually one for vaginal orgasms, but they aren’t completely uncommon, and I feel one building inside me. I unhook my ankles and spread my thighs farther, propping my feet on the back of the sofa on either side of me. It opens me up, and at this angle, his pelvis rubs against my torso and just before he explodes inside me, I detonate with him. I grit my teeth and tremble through the eruption, letting out a low-pitched keening that comes from somewhere so hidden and forgotten, I barely recognize the sound as my own.
Harrington’s own release is prolonged, ripping through him at an agonizingly slow rate. It’s hypnotic to watch him come apart. It always has been. A man so measured and collected, losing all control in my arms. It makes me heady and drunk on power.
