Denial (30 page)

“I will. Are you sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah, all healed up. And so fucking horny I’m going to die.”

“So what are you waiting for?” I tease, freeing his desire and wrapping my fingers around it.

His eyes roll back into his head as I stroke him. Rising to his feet, he waits for a moment until I place my hands in my lap and take a deep breath. He grabs my hair and presses against my lips, waiting until I open my mouth before he slides in slowly with a groan. The rough patch where he hurt himself drags across my tongue. Excitement straightens my spine as his fingers skim across my jawline. The urge to run my fingers over that belt of muscle has never been stronger. I’m going to have to change my panties after this.

Our eyes lock together as he pushes in deeper, one of his hands grasping my hair, the other tickling that spot beneath my ear. My stomach flips and tears prick my eyes as I remember how it felt that night when we didn’t have to resist each other. I don’t want him to see any trace of hesitation so I close my eyes and widen my jaw, forcing the air from my mouth to suck him harder.

He’s moving faster, getting deeper with each thrust. Despite my incredible arousal, it’s relaxing. Every breath of my own is even and peaceful, a stark contrast to his ragged grunts and moans. He slides in until I feel him pressing against my throat, then out again until his head is between my lips and I get a chance to tease him with my flicking tongue. His knees buckle slightly.

It’s almost like I’m slipping into a trance. This relaxed, free feeling is familiar and comforting, the reason I do this, the reason I’m here. I really miss it. It’s been so long and never this good. I so glad Isaac is in my mouth instead of
Luke. Shit. Too much thinking. I stiffen up and he pounds against my throat with a thrust that would have been perfect a heartbeat before, making me gag. Before I can touch his shin, he is out of my mouth and on his knees before me, his hands stroking my face, his eyes searching mine.

“Are you okay?” he pants, sweat on brow, his heaving chest.

“It wasn’t your fault.” I lean forward and kiss him. “I moved.”

“Maya…” he moans mournfully.

“Shhhh.” I pull him into my arms. He buries his face into my neck, stroking my hair. His entire body is heaving and shuddering. “Isaac,” I whisper into his ear, making his hug me tighter. “I want you to stand up and let me finish you.” He shakes his head no against mine. “Yes, I want to. This way you can relax, baby.” The groan he makes when I call him that reverberates through me, filled with frustration and desire.

He pulls his head up and his mouth claims mine, his tongue thrusting in so deeply it makes me want the rest of him. I press my lips into his and stroke his face with my thumbs, smiling at him as I gesture for him to rise.

Supporting his weight on his hands pressed on the counter above me, he cries out as I latch onto him. The animal that lives in me, this beast that’s only ever come out for him, takes over and I suck him wildly. My hands wrap around his base and I sink onto him until my lips touch my fingers, then pull back and work the head with my ravenous tongue.

“Maya!” he screams, music to my ears, urging me to go faster, deeper.

He calls my name again and again until he growls and grips my hair, plunging himself in deeply as he explodes. He thrusts through his climax and I create as much suction as I can, drinking him in greedy gulps. I want him so much I like the taste, the proof that he’s blissful for a fleeting moment.

He’s out of my mouth
and back on his knees, kissing me before I’ve swallowed the last of him. His tongue is all over mine as his hands explore my body in that snuggly way that brings back a surge of memories so painful and wonderful I don’t even want to push them back.

Falling onto his back, he takes me down with him, keeping me pressed against his heaving chest. I’m on fire, but it’s completely different from when he toys with my arousal, burning deep in my chest, melting everything inside of me.

“I still want you. It didn’t go away,” he groans, his arms constricting me until I can barely breathe. “But I can’t have you.”

“Isaac.” My voice cracks.

“Don’t say anything. Just stay with me for a minute.”

So I do, lying on top of him, tracing my fingers in his hair and kissing his neck as he finds his composure. I try not to think of anything except for how solid his body is beneath my mine, his hair soft and thick on my fingertips. I can’t bear to hear him say what he’s said in my head, but I keep hearing it over and over. I want to give in so badly, but there’s nothing to give in to.

I’m not sure how long we’ve been lying here. It feels like forever, but still not long enough at the same time. My stomach grumbles, making him jerk and chuckle.

“You’re starving, aren’t you?”

“Yes.” For so much more than food.

His hands urge me to stand. Once I’m upright, he stays on his knees, lifting my shirt up and kissing my belly. “Let’s feed you. For real.”

I wish we could
. But if he means a real, adult sized portion of actual food instead of a glorified pile of leaves, I’m very excited. He’s getting a bag of rice, so maybe he does. Starch.
Carbs
. I’ve been miserably hungry for so long. The craving is always present, second only to my unrequited lust.

“So what triggered that?” I ask boldly.

“Don’t…” he rebukes me, but his body softens as I wrap my arms around his waist and press my head into his back. It’s an unspoken rule that we don’t talk about the elephant in the room when we cook.

“Was it my accent?” We’ve broken more important rules so far this lesson.

He sighs, his head falling forward as his hands cover mine. It’s warm between his strong fingers and the carved musculature of his stomach. “That was probably the last straw, yes.”

My insides tremble and I squeeze him tighter. It’s something I learned to hide when I was a kid. A source of embarrassment that still slips through when I’m sleepy or angry. Or drunk, much to Piper’s joy. I don’t think she realizes that it hurts my feelings when she teases me about it. And
Luke absolutely despises it, which hurts even more.

“That reminds me,” he mutters, prying my hands away to go fill a pot with water. “Maya. It’s not a very Southern name. Were your parents hippies or something?”

I snort out a bitter laugh that makes him look at me. “No.”

“Are you al
right?”

“Yes.” But my lips are trembling. Am I seriously going to cry right now?

“Maya?”

“My father was from Boston. He picked it.”

His lips part, the concern on his face deepening. “Oh.”

I’m not telling you anything else. You wouldn’t tell me.

He doesn’t ask the question that’s dancing on the tip of his tongue, but wraps his arms around me instead. It’s a soothing place, pulled close against his chest, his lips kissing the top of my head. Unlike the times he holds me after he’s done teasing, he doesn’t put a time limit on it. We stay here silently, clutching each other until the boiling water beside us and the promise of an actual meal breaks our embrace.

23

She has totally failed at this. Doesn’t have a chance. I should send her away but I can’t. I want her here so bad. It’s not because I haven’t fucked her again yet, as much as I tell myself it is.

Maya told me she had too much energy after the playroom tonight and wanted to clean. I wasn’t sure how to turn that into a command coming from me, so I didn’t try. She didn’t tell me she was a compulsive neat freak. That certainly complicates things for her, because she might be mistaking the zen
like state she’s falling into while she polishes the window for a chance in hell that she can live this way.

I made her do this naked once. At night. Turned her into a thing, a naked body in the night sky for any pervert with a telescope to see. Embarrassed her. Dehumanized her. She didn’t like it. I didn’t either. But I made her do it anyway. She was so quiet afterwards, but she wasn’t mad at me. I still heard her crying that night and I couldn’t sleep. This is so fucked up. If I was strong enough to let her go, she wouldn’t have gone through that. But then we wouldn’t have fucked up and kissed earlier in the day during one of our ridiculously long cooking lessons. She forgot her necklace again.
Now she can’t wear it all.

She’s so fucking beautiful right now. I’m watching her reflection, wide, calm eyes, relaxed forehead, lips slightly parted. I want to kiss them. It is a constant struggle. She was relaxed like this when I fucked her and I want to see her wearing this face when I’m inside of her again.

It is nearly impossible not to rip this robe off of her. But right now she’d let anybody because she wants it so bad, which is the only reason I won’t do it. I have a thousand technically better reasons, many of which involve death and great bodily harm, along with losing basically fucking everything. But all of that shit was coming to a head anyway. I can’t live like this anymore. So I could give a shit about the other reasons that are supposedly more important.

I don’t want her when she’s desperately horny like this. Actually, she could be the ride of a lifetime, not that we’ll get to enjoy it. We’re doing something much more twisted.

Today has been fucking hell, if hell were the best place on earth but wasn’t because you’re not really there. That’s what it’s like, being here with her. An illusion. Really, it’s a delusion because I started it, and I should stop it. It is beyond critical that need to end this. But I just won’t.

I’ve tried to bring it up so many times. It never seems right. I guess it doesn’t matter that much because it’s all going to be over soon enough. There’s just no way it’s going to happen. I don’t have it in me, not with her. I’ll crumble and she’ll have to go home. We’ll never see each other again. That doesn’t seem possible though, like the world would have to cease to exist for that to happen.

I wish she was mine. It makes me sick that I could ever think that I would really want this, that this really is who I am, but I don’t want her like that. Head bowed. Well now, that I picture it, backdropped by that room, I do find it arousing, but her head pops up, and she smiles at me, winking. Playful. Curious. Just her. Not scared. Not so timid, restricted. Free. Happy. Giggling. But still lets me do what I need to do to her. What the fuck is that called? If there’s a name for it, I need to know it. I don’t care if it’s never going to happen for me, I need to know if it exists at all.

I don’t even care if she actually listens to me, that’s the real kicker. If anything, her random tantrums of defiance turn me on. The faces she makes when she doesn’t do as she’s told just kill me. I never understood why people tell their girlfriend that she’s cute when she’s mad, but now I do. I’m not stupid enough to say it, but she is just so goddamned adorable it’s hard not to laugh. She doesn’t know how much nerve she has when she sticks her tongue out at me. There’s no fucking way she’s ever pulled that with
Luke. And the retorts. So sarcastic, such a dry sense of humor. I don’t think I’ve ever laughed so frequently. If she had her way, strikes wouldn’t count if she made me crack up, but I wouldn’t give her that one. I let enough of her shit slide as it is.

All she has to do is give me that look and I’m fucking helpless. Her chin drops, she bites her lip and fidgets, and I know if I say yes, I’ll see that smile and hear that squeaky happy noise. Watch her nose crinkle and if her feet are bare see her toes curl and twitch. Every single cooking lesson takes twice as long as it should because she asks a question that she doesn’t need to know with that fucking look on her face. I get light headed, probably because half the blood in my body rushes into my dick and my heart starts flopping instead of beating.

She keeps reaching up to get the top edge of that window that she still can’t reach even though she’s standing on top of a stepladder. Her robe lifts, teasing me, promising me that I’ll see a little more than just the tops of her thighs, but I don’t. I know what’s there anyway. And I want it.
Her
. Now. I can’t do this anymore.

“Come over here, Maya.”

She stills, her hand falling in a squeal down the glass. I can tell by her breathing that she’s right where I left her. I fucking hate this. Shakily, she climbs down and turns, keeping her eyes on the floor.
Look at me. Please. No consequences. I won’t tell
. Her steps get slower and shorter the closer she comes. Do I scare her? It would be better if I did, but it would kill me.

“What’s up, Coach?”

I laugh, the mood lifting. It would have been so horrible if she’d been calling me sir this whole time. I don’t answer her. She gasps as I reach down and untie her robe, resisting the urge to rip if off, instead pulling it down her shoulders slowly. My arousal surges. God she looks good. Her back and shoulders are straight, her head is high for someone avoiding my gaze. Waiting to see what I’ll do to her. I can’t scare her that much.

With an unintentional growl, I grab her by the small of her back, pulling her into my erection.
I’m having you. You cannot keep doing this to me.
“Look at me.” I order.

“Is this a timeout?”