This is the kind of home I've dreamed of since I was a kid without one.
Chapter Forty-Nine
BLAKE
The party is in full-swing. The garden has been transformed into something out of a dream under the twilight sky. String lights strung through the oaks twinkle like stars, casting a soft golden glow. Over on the lawn, more than two hundred guests mingle in clusters. Their voices bubble up over the gentle strum of the string quartet playing Vivaldi's "Spring" near the fountain.
Tables covered in ivory linens dot the grass with centerpieces of peonies and hydrangeas. Altogether it's going well, certainly better than Carolyn expected. For some weird reason she worried day and night about this one, but she needn’t have. It’s the kind of seamless event that makes the Bessant name shine. But my mind is only half on the goings-on, as I scan the crowd, that low hum of anticipation building in my chest.
Then she appears…
Carolyn steps out from the house onto the terrace, and I fucking can't take my eyes off her. Everything and everyone else literally fades to a blur. My breath catches sharp in my throat as she descends the steps, the black floor-length gown hugging hercurves like liquid night. The fabric shimmers all the way down to her ankles, where strappy heels peek out. It's a deceptively simple number with a deep V-neck, but it makes her look like a goddess.
She's breathtaking, hair loose in waves. She begins to greet some guests, and I feel that pull, hard and insistent. My cock goes tight and hard as I watch her move. She is graceful and confident. She's always belonged in this world, but now she seems to fit right in even more with a new softness that draws me to fall deeper and deeper in love with her.
Look at me. Just a few weeks ago, I was planning to divorce her, and now I’m seriously head over heels in love with her. It’s incredible. Just incredible.
She spots me across the lawn, and her eyes lock on mine. Someone says something to her, and she nods and smiles, then she makes her way over, weaving through the crowd with that easy smile, the gown swishing softly. When she reaches me, her hand brushes my arm, light but electric, sending a jolt straight to my groin.
"How's everything going?" she asks, head tilted up to me, voice low and warm.
Her perfume fills my nostrils, and lights seem to twinkle brighter in that moment. I stare into her beautiful blue eyes, searching mine, and it makes my heart thud heavier.
I don't think, just act—my hand cupping her neck, pulling her in close. I kiss her right there in front of everyone, my lips pressing firm against hers, tasting the sweetness of her mouth. Her gasp is soft against my mouth. My other hand goes to her waist, feeling her body yield. The quartet's music fades, and the world narrows to just us.
She pulls back a little, and I can see she is shocked, her eyes wide and cheeks flushing. A breathless laugh escapes as she glances around, but applause breaks out all around. Guestsclapping, some whistling, the sound rippling through the garden like a wave. I catch Jason grinning and Sarah shaking her head beside him.
She steps closer, puts her hand on my chest, against the thump of my heart. Her body brushes mine so she can feel how hard I am through my slacks. Her mouth smiles, but her eyes darken with the same hunger I feel.
"If you want, I can quickly take care of your problem for you," she whispers huskily, leaning in so her breath tickles my ear.
But truthfully, I sense she needs it more—her body's trembling, and I recognize it, the dependence on my comfort, my presence. Over the last few weeks, she's come to crave me as much as I do her. I’m the drug she can't quit. We tolerate more felicitations and greetings for a little while before we can’t take it anymore. Hand in hand, we make our escape, slipping away from the crowd. Once we are free of them, we start running like children. We head inside through the side door. The house is abuzz with staff and waiters.
We hurry up the stairs, her hip brushing mine with each step. Anticipation builds thick in my throat, my pulse hammering like a drum in my ears. Into my bedroom we go. I kick the door shut behind us.
“We have to be really quiet,” she whispers.
I grab her, hands on her waist, yanking her to me. Our bodies slam together. Her breath catches, warm against my neck, and I kiss her, relishing the soft give of hers, the faint taste of champagne lingering. But her kiss is desperate, searching for my tongue. She hooks it and sucks it hard. A low groan rumbles from somewhere deep inside me.
"Shh," she whispers against my mouth, her voice breathy and urgent, fingers clutching my shirt like she'll rip it off. "They'll hear us downstairs."
Her own moan slips out anyway, muffled as I swallow it, kissing her fiercely, my teeth nipping her lower lip until she whimpers, the sound vibrating straight to my cock, making it twitch hard against her thigh.
My hands slide up her back, finding the zipper of the gown. I tug it down slowly, the metal teeth parting with a soft rasp that echoes in the quiet room. The fabric slides down her body like water, cool silk whispering over her skin, pooling at her feet in a dark heap. She's left in black stockings and nothing else—her breasts full and bare, nipples hardening in the air, begging for touch.
Shaking my head, almost in disbelief, I reach for her.
Her skin is warm and smooth under my palms as I trace her curves, thumbs brushing the undersides of her breasts, feeling her shiver.
"Fuck, how can you be so perfect?" I murmur, voice rough, dipping my head to suck one nipple into my mouth, tongue swirling wet and hot around the peak. She arches into me, her hand fisting in my hair.
"Blake..." The word spills out too loud, her other hand clapping over her own mouth to stifle it.
Her hands dip down to fumble with my belt. The buckle clinks as she yanks the leather free. She palms me through my pants, feeling the hard length strain against the fabric.
"God, you’re so hard," she whispers, voice dirty and low, squeezing just right to make me groan deep.
My pants get shoved down. I position her so she’s bent over a chair, her elbows are resting on the seat, and her legs are wide apart, exposing her fully, wet and glistening to me. She's soaked, slick heat coating my fingers as I slide them between her folds and dip my fingers in. Three fingers draw out a choked whimper that she fights to bite back and fails. I watch her hand go under her body and over her mouth again.
