“Because,” I take his hand in mine, “I won’t be the last woman making you feel that way.”
His gaze is unwavering. Intensifying, but he’s not going to look away anytime soon. “Why do you think so little of yourself?”
“Excuse me?”
The mood has changed. We’ve gone from Ian groveling for my attention to him looking as if he’d rather spit on my floor. I’ve never seen such disgust on his face. Disgust for me? No, Kathryn, don’t let him see how uncomfortable you are. It was one thing when he walked in here unannounced, it’s another for him throw you off guard in this way.
“You put up this façade that tells the world you’re a hard bitch who doesn’t take shit from anyone, personally or professionally. I get it. You need that façade because so many people have told you that you’re still nothing, even born into your father’s family. When that façade comes away, though? You’re so insecure that I almost pity you. Almost. I know you have the strength to overcome whatever is holding you back.”
“What am I trying to achieve, huh?” I snatch my hand away from his.
“You need to let go. You can’t live the rest of your life trying to live up to some standard day-in and day-out. You’re going to burn in flames before you hit forty. Maybe sooner. I don’t want to see that happen. I want to give you at least one escape in your life where you can let go of all control in a safe environment with someone who fucking loves you.”
Tears threaten to burst from my eyes, but I hold them in…. because this arrogant bastard is not going to see me cry over this. He’s not going to see me remember every time I wished I could run to my father and have him fix all my problems in my stead. He’s not going to witness me come undone because a man tried to make me get his coffee even though I’m a project leader or even in charge of a whole company one day. I refuse to let Ian Mathers, the bane of my existence and quite possibly the love of my life, see me at my weakest like that.
He’s seen me vulnerable.
He doesn’t need to see me weak.
Yet only those last words stay in my head. “You love me?”
“I told you earlier, darling, I’m probably heading that way. Fast.”
My hand searches for his again. When our fingers meet, it’s like being welcomed back to a place you left but have already forgotten. “What if it doesn’t work out? What if all this time has been wasted?” I bite my lip, fighting that solitary tear. “What if you break my heart?”
Somehow I’m lured into the grip of one arm. Ian’s arm. The one that’s so soft and strong that I can’t help but melt in it. My nose nuzzles against the place he rubbed his cologne as he strokes my tangled, greasy hair and whispers into my ear.
“If it doesn’t work out in the long run, then it doesn’t work out. But it wouldn’t have been a waste of time, and I would never break your heart. Not like that. The idea of you being heartbroken breaks my heart.”
My other hand strokes his red shirt and plays with the edge of his tie. “I can’t imagine a man like you being heartbroken. You’re the type to shake one woman off and go find yourself a new one. Or many ones. You were like that back in high school, too. Don’t you think I know I was one of those girls, even though I came on to you?”
“Katie.” Every time he says my name like that, I die. My heart literally stops beating, if only for an instance. It’s like those sound waves dive right into my ear and stop the blood flowing toward my chest. I don’t trust a man who has so much power over me. What kind of power? Fuck, I don’t even know. “It was easy for me to go between those women because I didn’t feel anything more than lust and a passing fondness for them. You’re different. You’re completely different.” His lips tickle my ear, and here I go, falling deep into that well I’ve plummeted into so many times now. “You’re the closest thing to a soul mate I’ve ever found, and I still don’t believe in such a thing.”
“Neither do I.” My arms encircle him. God, I don’t want to let him go ever again. That’s how much he’s destroying me. “I do, however, believe you’re changing something within me. Or maybe you’re not changing it. Maybe it’s always been there, and I was too stupid to acknowledge it.”
“You’re not stupid, my love.” A kiss tugs at my throat. “You’re scared. I’ll help you.”
I think of the collar he bought me. Until now, I thought those days were already behind me. No more wearing a collar for a man like Ian Mathers, the only man I would let do that to me. “I am scared. I’m scared you’re going to leave my bedroom without making love to me, even though I’m a mess.”
“What?”
“Look at me, dumbass. I look like I’ve had the flu for a week.”
Ian laughs, the mirthful kind that fills me with a flash of adoration. “I didn’t even notice. I mean, I noticed, but I wasn’t put off. You look like you’re not wearing any makeup.”
I don’t want to say something like, “That doesn’t bother you?” because I know a decent man wouldn’t be mortified by how I look. Like Ian said, though, I’m still insecure at the end of the day, and as a woman that can translate to insecurity over my looks. I can’t help but smile into his shoulder as he tells me one more time that I’m beautiful.
No chance to tell him that I think he’s handsome. He’s kissing me before I have that opportunity.
Have you ever thought you weren’t going to kiss someone wonderful again? Then had the chance to relieve your heart and start all over, with new understanding and hope? That’s me. If you’ve never had that chance before, let me tell you… there’s no fucking thing like a make-up kiss.
Or make-up sex.
All the urban legends regarding relationships are right. See, I’ve never had make-up sex before. So I don’t understand this flood of passion flowing through me as Ian gently lays me down against my pillow and gently kisses me over and over again.
I don’t care if he doesn’t love me yet. I don’t care if this ends in a sweeping blaze months, years from now. I don’t care. All I care about is how good it feels to make love to him and call him mine.
And now I’m his.
He shows no apprehension holding my body to his, even though he’s decked out in top-tier designers and I’m here in a T-shirt I got from the library I helped. He’s in cologne. I’m in body odor and sweat. He’s teasing my throat with his tongue, and I’m awkwardly reaching between us trying to find his zipper.
“Someone’s grabby,” he mutters against my lips.
I get the damn zipper down and stroke his cock through his boxers. “Can’t help it. I want to feel you.”
“Then feel me, darling. As long as you let me feel you too.”
As if he has to ask.
We undulate together, my hand wrapping around his cock, coaxing it to get hard. In turn, he cups my breasts through my shirt, tongue flicking against cotton and making my nipples peak beneath. My whimpers of desire are enough to convince him to reach into my cotton shorts and rub the folds surrounding my clit.
It’s so gentle. While not the first time we’ve gently made love, it is the first time it wasn’t preempted by the rough, passionate sex we’re more accustomed to. This is genuine. Not fueled by exhaustion and remaining desire. This is…
This is otherworldly.
Every time my name falls from his lips, I feel like I’m ascending a ladder toward a glimpse of Heaven. His hand caresses me between the legs, urging me to get wet for him, while I help him get hard enough to take me. Neither effort takes very long.
It also doesn’t take us long to jump right to that event.
Funny, isn’t it? Just a few minutes ago I was hoping he would leave me alone. Now I can’t get enough of him. I can’t stop kissing his cheek and neck as he sits up and begins to undress. The tie lands on the bed. The jacket falls over the side. His shirt unbuttons until I can touch the skin of his chest.
My T-shirt comes up. Not over my head, but high enough for him to touch and lick my breasts. Teeth graze both nipples as he shakes off his pants and boxers. The man is half naked on top of me, and yet neither of us can bother to finish the chore by removing this shirt. It’s fine. I only want to be able to touch him.