God, I've waited too long for this.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
JULIET
I'm overwhelmed and weak, my body trembling as Blake's mouth devours mine in the dim foyer. His kiss is like a storm of hunger that crashes through me, leaving me breathless and reeling.
The car ride home was torture. I almost died in that car. Every glance from him, every accidental brush of his thigh against mine in the dark, had me on the edge, my skin burning, my core aching with a need I'd never felt so fiercely. I had to clench my thighs together to stifle the pulse between them. I’ve never wanted to jump someone so much in my life. I thought I'd escape safely once we got home, slip upstairs and lock myself away from this madness, but no…
Here he is now, unscrewing all the screws in my brain. His hands roam my sides with possessive urgency, pressing me harder against the wall's cool paneling as I arch into him despite myself.
He breaks the kiss just long enough to grab my hand and lead me into the dining room with a determination that makes my pulse thunder. The space is dark and cavernous, moonlightspilling through the tall windows onto the long mahogany table polished to a dark gleam. The room smells of lemon wax and faint echoes of the past, but now it's charged with something primal. He locks the door, sealing us in privacy.
I try to resist, I swear I do, my free hand pressing weakly against his chest. But then I feel the hard planes of muscle under his tuxedo shirt, and my voice lowers to a helpless, weak whisper.
"Blake, wait... we shouldn't..." That’s not a no. Everyone knows that’s a coward’s way of saying yes, but I don’t want to take the responsibility of saying yes. My body betrays me, heat pooling low as he backs me toward the table. His impatience mirrors my own building desperation.
“Why shouldn’t we?” he growls.
I feel quite dizzy as I stare into his eyes. They are dark and intense, and locked on mine like I'm the only thing in his world.
Before I can even think, he's unzipped my gown in one smooth movement and is bending me over the dining table. My palms splay flat on the cool wood, the edge digging into my hips as he hikes up my gown. The silk charmeuse slides up my thighs with a soft rustle, exposing my skin to the chilled air. I gasp, my breath hitching, overwhelmed by the rush. His hands skim down every inch of me now, starting at my shoulders, tracing the straps of the dress, down my back where the fabric clings. His touch leaves trails of fire that make me shiver.
He tugs the bodice lower with a deliberate slowness that sends shivers racing across my skin, the fabric sighing against my heated flesh as it slides down, exposing my breasts to the cool air of the room. My nipples ache with anticipation. His gaze—dark, hungry, devouring—warms me from the inside out. He leans in, his breath hot and ragged against my collarbone, then his mouth descends like a predator claiming its prize.
His lips seal around one sensitive peak, tongue swirling in lazy, teasing circles that build a fire deep in my core. Then he sucks greedily, making me gasp. The wet heat of his mouth gives way a nip with his teeth. It sends a jolt of pure pleasure straight between my legs. He switches to the other nipple, lavishing it with the same attention, while his free hand cups and kneads the other, and his thumb flicks over the slick, hardened bud.
Moans spill from my lips, unbidden, raw and throaty, echoing off the walls like forbidden confessions. My fingers tangle in his slicked-back hair, the strands silky in my grip as I pull him closer, arching into him despite the screaming voice in my head.
This is wrong, so wrong.
But the wrongness only fuels the heat, making every suck, every swirl, pulse with forbidden intensity.
His lips break away with a soft pop, leaving my skin glistening and tingling. He trails lower, mapping my torso with kisses that sear like brands. Each press against the curve of my ribs ignites sparks, his stubble scraping rough and delicious, a gritty friction that heightens every sensation. It makes my breath hitch in sharp, uneven bursts. Down to my stomach. Oh God! His tongue dips into my navel, circling with a teasing flick. It draws a whimper from me, the sound vibrating in my chest. The ache between my thighs is unbearable and insistent. I’m so wet I can feel myself dripping. Every kiss stokes the need higher until it's an intolerable inferno. My hips shift restlessly against the hard edge of the table.
He rips my wet thong away and flings it behind his shoulder. His eyes stare at my pussy. “You gave up the heart shaped bush?” he asks with a frown.
“Yes,” I whisper. “I wanted to be freshly shaven for you.”
With a groan, he drops to his knees before me. A position that should feel submissive but radiates raw power. His stronghands grip my thighs with bruising firmness and part them wide. The cool air hits my exposed core, a stark contrast to the molten heat building there. I feel exposed and vulnerable, yet thrillingly alive. He doesn't hesitate—his mouth dives in, tongue delving deep into my folds with a groan that rumbles through me like thunder. He laps at me ravenously, as if I'm the sweetest nectar he's ever craved, his tongue stroking long and slow at first, savoring every inch, then faster, probing deeper.
The sounds are filthy, intoxicating. The wet slurps of his greedy mouth, my slick arousal coating his lips and tongue, his own muffled grunts of satisfaction vibrating against my sensitive flesh. He sucks on my clit with a merciless rhythm, drawing it between his lips and flicking his tongue in tight circles that make stars explode behind my eyelids. Pleasure coils tighter and tighter in my belly like a spring wound to breaking. His hands dig into my flesh to hold me steady as I buck against him. The table's edge bites into my ass, but that only sharpens the ecstasy and blends into a symphony of sensation. All of it is good. The rough rasp of his stubble on my inner thighs, the heat of his breath fanning over me, the pounding of my heart echoing in my ears.
I shatter without warning.
The orgasm crashes over me like a stormy sea, brutal and shattering. My body convulses in violent waves, every muscle clenching and releasing in rhythmic pulses that rip through me from head to toe. Animal-like cries tear from my throat. High and desperate, they echo in the empty room. My legs buckle and tremble uncontrollably, but he doesn't stop.
His tongue presses on, coaxing every last tremor, flooding my nerves with liquid fire until tears prick at my eyes from the overwhelming intensity. And then, impossibly, it builds again—faster this time, and fiercer.
His fingers join the assault, sliding inside me with a curl that hits just right, pumping in time with his sucking, the dual assault pushing me over the edge once more. This climax is deeper, and it blinds me. My vision blurs as ecstasy surges through every vein, every cell. The sounds that leave my throat are guttural and primal. My hands clutch the table's edge like a lifeline, nails scraping wood as the world narrows to nothing but this pulsing, all-consuming bliss.
It takes a while for me to recover, for me to recall where I am… even who I am. The aftershocks do fade, but I'm so shaken and disorientated that guilt and fear slam into the vacuum. God, what am I doing? I'm not supposed to have sex with Carolyn’s husband; this was not supposed to happen. Carolyn’s confident words ring in my head like alarms—don’t worry. No intimacy, separate bedrooms, just impersonate and survive.
Oh God, what have I done?
I'm suddenly scared I won't survive the heartbreak if I allow myself to carry on. The way he's unraveling me, making me want things I can't have has never happened to me before. I push weakly at his shoulders, my voice trembling.
"Blake, stop... I'm not feeling well."
