by Tessa Bailey
It was ridiculous, but he actually hesitated on the threshold of the master bedroom. At this point in time, it wasn’t a bedroom just yet. He’d managed to put up Sheetrock on all four walls, but beyond that it was mainly sawdust, tools, and another worktable. Not the place he was possibly planning to sleep for the rest of his life. But once he saw Abby within those walls, would he be able to take it back? Or would she be there every time he fell asleep, even fifty years from now? Peeking out the window in her yellow sundress, outlined by the rain?
Russell took a steadying breath and entered the bedroom. Abby had set the cupcakes down on the worktable so she could pick up his hammer drill. Ah Jesus, Abby holding a power tool. His two favorite things in one. Code fucking red.
“Why aren’t you at work?” he asked, kicking at some sawdust on the ground.
“I took an extended lunch break.” She set the drill down on the windowsill, as if it had grown too heavy. “I have to go back later, though. I just—”
“What? You just what?” God, why couldn’t he stop being such a jerk to her? Maybe because every second he spent breathing white-grape sunlight caused a buildup in his chest, crowding his insides and threatening to spill free. It wasn’t so much being a jerk as trying to hide his panic.
Abby smoothed a hand down the skirt of her dress, big hazel eyes trained on him. “I just don’t like that I’ve deleted about a hundred text messages to you since Monday, okay? Or not knowing if you’ll want to hang out with me again.” She rolled her right shoulder back. “I know I took advantage of you. But I apologized, Russell. And to be perfectly honest, I think you’re taking this silent treatment a little too far. And now I find out you have this whole other life—”
“Back up.” She’d written and deleted messages to him. Messages that would never reach his phone. That knowledge was a shotgun bullet right in the gut. “What was that first part, again?”
“I took advantage of—”
“Yeah. That part.” His booted footsteps created an echo as he approached her. “Don’t ever say or think that bullshit again. Are we clear?”
Her back pressed against the wall when he got close enough to touch, her brow wrinkling. “But it’s true, I—”
Russell laid his palms flat above her head, pulses pounding wildly all over his body. His temples, his chest, below his belt. “I’m warning you, Abby.”
That was the exact moment he showed his hand. And he didn’t know if he held aces or a deuce-seven off-suit. He only knew based on Abby’s curious expression that he’d just alerted her to the fact that a decision hung in the balance. It was hers to make, and the result was his backing off or going forward.
Or maybe there was no decision at all. Had it all been decided Monday night in her bedroom? The first time she’d walked out onto her building’s stoop and he’d sunk like a stone beneath a crashing wave? He didn’t know. But hearing her blame herself for their becoming physical simply wouldn’t fly. Not when he’d wrung his dick out nightly for the last six months, pretending like she was watching it happen, gasping in approval, and kissing his neck. Christ. His Abby had been defiled by him so many times, a number didn’t exist. She would take the blame for what happened between them over his dead body.
Long seconds of Abby’s studying his face had passed, as if she could discern what was taking place in his head when even he didn’t have a fucking clue. Those eyes were obscured a moment by her eyelashes, and Russell could feel that gaze move over his erect cock where it tented his jeans, then shoot back up. He expected surprise, maybe more confusion. Instead, he got relief and excitement. No. Not that. He couldn’t handle that.
Her sweet, ripe tits rose and fell on a shudder. “I’m sorry I used the situation to my advantage, Russell. It was wrong of m—”
He kissed Abby. Abby. He . . . kissed Abby. Sensation exploded in his head like an atom bomb, incinerating everything in its path. No, not everything. Only the negative, replacing it with optimism, relief, elevating him above anything that could touch him beside her. That’s how good—how right—she tasted. Like a beast that had been chained for centuries, and the second those imaginary chains fell away, he attacked without hesitation. Stopping now was a hysterical notion because her arms were around his neck, her body flattened against the wall . . . by him. Yeah, that was him grinding every inch of himself to her, branding her, imprinting the pattern of his muscles and flesh on Abby. He was kissing Abby.
The resonance of her name cut a path through the ringing in his skull. If he continued kissing her like this, her virginity would be as good as gone. Even now, her inexperience showed, her tongue testing itself against his. A tentative lick that almost sent him ejaculating against the fly of his jeans. He moaned into her mouth, telling himself one more minute, just one more.
Better make it count. Russell gripped a fistful of her hair and rotated it, wrapping the long strands tight and forcing her head back. With his other hand, he urged her chin lower so he could invade her mouth deeper, get another one of those self-conscious touches of her tongue because fuck they were perfection and misery all rolled into one. She gave one to him—yes, God—and he felt the stroke in his dick, as if that pulsing part of him were inside her mouth, rather than his tongue. A vision of Abby on her knees gave him no choice but to press her harder against the wall, lest he urge her to the floor. Goner . . . he was a goner.
He felt her hand flatten against his chest and push, then pat pat pat. Breathe. Shit, she needed to breathe. Alarm managed to break through Russell’s lust, and he broke away on a harsh groan, scanning her face to make sure he hadn’t killed her. Just one look and she killed him instead. Damp, swollen lips, face flushed pink . . . achingly beautiful. Like some untouched maiden sent into the woods to pick apples who had found herself ravaged by a wolf instead. That settled it. He’d have to sleep in the other bedroom. Abby, this moment, would never fade.
She shifted, and her belly dragged over his hard cock, ripping a growl from his throat. Her mouth fell open as if stunned by his reaction, making him frantic to kiss her again, so he banged his forehead against the wall and kept it there.
“You are attracted to me,” she murmured, voice husky in a way he’d never heard it . . . and tinged with that same relief he’d glimpsed in her expression before. Why the hell was she surprised by his wanting her? Didn’t she realize he’d walked out of her bedroom because it was for the best? Slapping her ass hadn’t been enough of a hint that he didn’t know a damn thing about being with a virgin? Or . . . making love? He wasn’t the kind of man she deserved. His tastes in bed were only one part of why he couldn’t make her happy. So maybe she needed a reminder. One that would leave no question unanswered.
“Abby, attraction is a weak-ass term for what’s going on here. It doesn’t begin to describe what I’d like to do to you.”
“Wh-which is?”
He placed his mouth against her ear, the truth coming out on a rush of breath. “I’d like to bang your little virgin brains out.”
Chapter 8
OH. OH, BOY.
Longing moved like smoke in Abby’s middle, wafting lower and growing dense. She should have slapped him across his face for saying those words, but some female intuition that had been sorely lacking in her life until this point stayed her hand, telling her a slap was exactly what Russell wanted. He expected her to be horrified and run from the house like a scandalized church girl. Too bad she wasn’t budging. Because the same way she’d always appreciated Russell’s rough-around-the-edges attitude toward her—the way he treated her like no one had ever dared—she liked the way he’d just spoken to her. A lot.
The evidence that Russell wanted her dug into her belly, no less big and swollen than when they’d been kissing. Seriously, could what they’d just done even be termed a kiss? Mouths participated in a kiss, whereas Russell had made it into a full-contact sport, rubbing their bodies together like he meant to start a fire with the friction, exploring her mouth as if he’d been starved for it.
So, encourage she would. And if Russell thought he was the only one who could shock someone, he had another think coming.
“Russell.” Abby ran a hand down his back, let it mold to the tight swell of his ass, the bold act ratcheting up her excitement another ten degrees. “Do you want to bang my little, virgin brains out on the floor or against the wall?”
His breathing cut off—he didn’t move—for what felt like hours. His erection remained ridged between them, though, so she didn’t give in to the urge to start rambling. No taking it back now, was there? Good. She didn’t want to.
Finally, he pulled back and drilled her with a look. “You sure as hell better not let me off the hook for saying that to you, Abby. You better get pissed, or else—”
“Or else what?” His gaze darkened in a way she’d never seen. It didn’t alarm her, though. No, they were on the edge of breaking past something, and she wanted to race straight into the eye of the storm. “What are you going to do? Frown me to death?” She deliberately let her attention fall to his mouth. “Or something more interesting?”
His fists thumped the wall above her head. “You’re getting yourself into trouble here, angel.”
The nickname sent another shot of bubbles twirling inside her, but she squashed each one to nothingness. It wasn’t special. She was an adult with realistic expectations, and this encounter didn’t have to be a fairy tale. Right now, her only wish was for Russell to stop holding back. “What does trouble mean? Show me—” Her words ended in a gasp when Russell dropped a hand from the wall and reached under her dress. The feel of his big, work-roughened touch squeezing her bottom—tight, so tight—burned away any remaining doubts that she wanted to take it further, but Russell’s dark expression told Abby she had work to do.
“You deserve a man who will ask permission before he does this.” He pulled the material of her thong tight against her center, teeth sinking into his bottom lip as he performed the breath-stealing move. “This, too.”
“I gave it to you.” Her voice shook, thighs clenching as moisture rushed between them. “Stop treating me like I don’t know my own mind.”
Something resembling panic glimmered in his expression before it was gone. “Look. What we did the other night, what you’re asking me for now . . . you’ll do that with your husband. Or . . . or a boyfriend someday. Not me. Not now.”
She reached up and ran her nails over his shaved head, feeling encouraged by the shiver that passed through him, his eyes closing. “Russell—”
“No.” He snagged her wrists and pinned them to the wall but seemed to realize immediately the new position had been a mistake because it only brought their bodies more flush. Determined to use every advantage, she pushed her breasts higher, tilted her hips, and absorbed the groan that rumbled in his chest. “Abby, please. I like things you’re not used to.” His gaze strayed to her breasts, and they swelled beneath his attention. “You’ll end up with someone who knows what a girl like you needs. Someone who treats you right.”
“No one treats me better than you,” she whispered against his mouth. “You only pretend otherwise. I trust you.”
A broken sound left him, but still he shook his head. “Think about it. You want to introduce me to you father? Huh?”
The one thing she hadn’t been prepared for him to say impacted her like a snowball in the face. Not because she would feel an ounce of shame introducing Russell to her family—how dare he even suggest it—but because for the last half hour, she’d forgotten about the difficult situation with her family, the responsibility on her shoulders. God, she couldn’t introduce anyone to her father even if she wanted to. An image of her desk, her overflowing in-box popped in to say hello and polarized her. Stress stomped through her stomach like a college marching band.
“That’s what I thought,” Russell said, pulling away, his face grave. “It’s a good thing, all right? Believe me, the last thing I’m in the market for is a girlfriend.”
Abby sagged against the wall in the absence of his weight, her mind performing a frantic dance to catch up. Did Russell actually think her reaction had been over the thought of his meeting her father? A knot twisted in her stomach at the realization. He was walking away without giving her a chance to explain—and suddenly she didn’t want to. This friend who knew her better than anyone thought her nothing more than a materialistic rich girl who cared about appearances. Just like everyone at the office.
For the second time that afternoon, she probably should have run from the house without so much as a backward glance. But that would have been too easy. She wanted—needed—to regain this sense of loss that multiplied every step Russell took away from her. More than that, though, she was tired of being controlled by the expectations of others. You’ll end up with someone who knows what a girl like you needs. How could he spout such nonsense when she didn’t even know?
Well. She knew one thing. Her body felt . . . hot and neglected. Even after he’d reduced her to a petty rich girl, she still wanted him to touch her. Enough to make her flesh heat over the way his body moved. Shoulder muscles bunched, backside outlined by his faded jeans. Swaggering. Always swaggering. She wanted to rid him of that self-assurance—that assurance of everything—and turn him as needy as she felt.
When Russell reached the door, he laid a big hand on the jamb and turned, features tight as he looked everywhere but at her.
“Come on, I’ll walk you to the train.”
Sti cazza. In another, more appropriate term, screw this. With a silent prayer for courage, Abby found the hem of her sundress and peeled the garment over her head, letting it fall to the floor. “I’m not ready to leave yet.”
There was a split second where she almost scooped her dress off the floor and covered herself back up. Russell might have seen her bare butt Monday night, but she’d never been seen in less than a bathing suit. Not by a man. Thanks to the pale color of her strapless dress, she’d worn a white, strapless bra and matching thong and—crap—was that even sexy? She had no earthly idea.
Doubts fell from her consciousness like a cup of overturned paper clips when Russell stalked forward, prowling across the room and shifting the air around her. This impulsive disrobing had started as an act of rebellion, but now a furnace blast hit her head to toe. The raindrops pelted the window in time with her jumping pulse. The fierceness in his eyes told her to expect being pinned against the wall again, but it never happened. Instead, he fell to his knees in front of her, gripped her bottom . . .
And buried his face between her thighs.
A multitude of new sensations overwhelmed Abby, sending her falling back against the wall. His stubble rasped over her smooth skin, his rough hands yanking her hips closer so he could rub his mouth back and forth over her most sensitive spot. Cursing over and over under his breath, he pressed his forehead tight against her core, nudged and dragged, all through her cotton panties. There wasn’t a part of his face that didn’t touch her, burn her through the material.
Very slowly, he stood, trailing his tongue up her belly until he reached her breasts. As he stared, his gaze voracious, her nipples went so tight, it hurt to keep them contained. Before she could remove her bra, Russell’s voice grated along her firing nerve endings. “All that, everything I said, and you still want it, angel?” The hint of pain in his tone had her reaching for him, but he grabbed her wrists. “You’ll be sorry
.”
“Stop acting like you’ll hurt me. You couldn’t.”
Russell released a shaky exhale. “You’ve misplaced your faith in me.” He freed her hands, only to flick open the front snap of her bra. “I should be zipping you back into your girl-next-door dress and sending you home with those cupcakes.” Both sides of her bra were shoved aside, exposing her peaked breasts. Russell muttered something that sounded like little peaches, before his hands closed around them and lifted, squeezed, massaged. “Instead of sending you home, I’m going to find out what a virgin tastes like.”
Her feet left the floor as Russell swung her into his arms, turned, and placed her on the worktable. Despite the abrasive surface, Abby could only replay his words. Could only experience the massive anticipation as Russell peeled off his T-shirt to reveal the tattooed, hair-covered chest she’d been fantasizing about since Monday night.
“You like the way I look?” Hands braced on either side of her hips, he leaned down and sucked her left nipple into his mouth. “That’s good, angel. You’re looking at the first man to tongue-fuck your uptown pussy.”
Blood roared in her ears, keeping time with the storm outside. A burst of irritation tried to wend its way through her need, but she fought it off. So close. She was so close to feeling something she’d always wondered about. “I love the way you look,” she said. “I wish I could see all of you.”
His jaw flexed. “If I showed you all of me right now, I’d have to give you all of me.” He licked across to her right breast and flicked her nipple with his tongue. “And if you want to know the truth, I haven’t stroked myself off since last night. It would be too hard and too fast. You’d walk funny for a week.”
“Oh. That wouldn’t be good,” she murmured, her words ending in a sob as he pushed her knees wider. As if he was mad at her for not taking him to task over his blunt speech. Even now, was he hoping she would call it off? She didn’t understand the sudden pang of tenderness for him, only knew she’d missed something along the way. Something he was experiencing alone. Before she could check the impulse, Abby reached out and cupped his stubbled face. “I haven’t stroked myself off since last night, either, if it makes you feel better.”