He leaned back on his heels, a tiny glint in his eye as he said, “Let’s see. I came back to Pennsylvania to see my brother for the holiday, except he had plans to go skiing up here. So, I came up with him and his lady friend. We had dinner last night, but today was their day on the slopes, which left me all alone.”
Licking his lips, he ran his hand through his dark hair and leaned close once more. “As for why I’m back here with you, I can’t really say. I only know I haven’t been able to get you out of my head since our unbelievably boring dinner in the tavern, or the coffee we shared in the back room the morning after.”
His expression softened. “There’s just something about you, Bess. You’re sweeter than the aroma of the blueberry muffin I devoured with you, prettier than the sun setting over the ocean back home, and tangier than the lemons you squeeze into your water. Something I can’t put my finger on pulls me in and makes me want to be close to you, probably the same thing that makes you want to run. Hell, it makes me want to flee so fucking fast, but I’m not. So, just don’t.”
He stopped talking and looked intently in my eyes. I stared back, studying the blue of his irises. They were so blue, but more a cornflower shade than ocean. There was something untouched and innocent about them, which was probably misguided to think on my part, considering that standing in front of me was an extremely successful, well-traveled, worldly, and probably well-fucked man.
My throat dry, I choked out, “I’m not sure what to say. Actually, I don’t think any of this is appropriate, and we should probably just part ways.” Completely unnerved, I pinned my lower lip between my teeth, and could almost taste a tinge of coppery blood as I bit down on it.
And then I got lost in his eyes, like blue skies floating above me. My mind drifted, barely registering the arms that reached out and framed me against the door. The sky came closer. It was so, so blue, not a cloud in it. And then he kissed me. Lane’s lips touched mine softly, and I braced myself against the wall. I was falling or floating, I didn’t know which.
His mouth was warm, his tongue probing my troublesome bottom lip, looking for entrance. I gave it, and my own tongue found its way over to his side. He tasted like scotch and some other smoky flavor mixed with gingerbread.
What did he have for dessert? Maybe gingerbread cheesecake?
I sought the sweet and ignored the bitter, not one bit tempted by the essence of alcohol, only the man. In my mind, I was an innocent girl without a past, and definitely not a past that included cocaine and ecstasy and months of inpatient drug and alcohol rehab. Just a young woman entranced with a gorgeous, brilliant, smart man, one I assumed was very rich and worldly.
Lane broke away first, but didn’t step back. Instead he reached one hand behind my neck and released my ponytail. My hair fell all around my shoulders, giving me a false sense of protection. And then he invaded my space once again while muttering, “Need another taste.” His lips feathered along mine cautiously before his tongue swept along my bottom lip, forcing itself inside. No longer gentle, Lane was now fucking my mouth, and with every stroke of his tongue, I visualized other body parts delving long and luxuriously inside me.
I wanted his dick in my mouth, deep and choking. I was like a fiend, tapping a vein, tying a handmade tourniquet, seeking the fastest, quickest way to feel my high.
My body was hot and sweaty, desperate to intertwine with his. My hips were drawn forward, reaching for something they didn’t know but wanted to—intimately. I’d fallen down the rabbit hole, lost in everything Lane, searching for the way in or out from this brand new sensation. Behind closed eyes, I could almost feel him pulsing inside my vagina, holding my hips steady while he rammed inside me, pulling out all the way and then doing it again.
I was so wired I was practically hallucinating. I didn’t know who or what I was.
And then he broke away. My eyes wide, I watched him catching his breath, the rapid pulse fluttering in the hollow of his throat matching mine beat for beat.
Stepping close again, he leaned in, his lips lingering on my temple before grazing my ear. “Now it’s a very happy holiday, Bess,” he said as his breath fanned along my cheek.
I needed space, air, room to breathe. Sliding to the side, I hitched my bag higher on my shoulder, just now realizing I was still holding it despite my descent to the dark side. Rational thought finally returning to me, I found my words.
“Happy holidays, Mr. Wrigley. I’m not sure what just happened, but I don’t think it was meant to, especially between you and me. I trust you can find your way out of here since you figured your way back. Good night,” I said, and walked straight down the hall to the rear exit.
It took every single fiber in each and every muscle of my body to keep from turning around and rushing back to the party known as Lane Wrigley.
