Every Part of You: Takes Me (#5) (3 page)

She was in control. She had the power, and she was intoxicated with it. Drunk and turned on and desperate to see him come at her command.

She hit him again. “Finish.”

Again, as Nick stroked and fucked into his fist, struggling to let himself explode into pleasure even as everything she did to him brought him to pain. Again, as he shook. And then once more, hard enough at last to break the skin and force him to bark out, “Melancholy!” even as his cock jerked and jetted, covering his hand and his belly. He came hard, shuddering and gasping.

Simone let the crop fall. It hit the soft rug with a thump. Simone herself gave a strangled cry and took a stumbling step backward. Vera was there to catch her, hold her up, and the other woman murmured wordless praise into Simone’s ear until she could stand straight. It was only a half a minute or so of vulnerability, but it was enough. Shaking, Simone let out a small sob.

“Shh,” Vera purred into her ear, leading Simone to the couch and helping her sit. Vera covered her with a soft knit throw. “Shhh, you were lovely, sweetheart. My god, you were gorgeous.”

Simone closed her eyes, letting the aftershocks fade. She heard Vera murmuring to Nick, then the shuffle of bare feet on the floor and the creak of the door. The click of it behind them. They’d left her alone.

Simone drifted, coming off the high. When the door opened again, she didn’t have to look to see who it was. She knew who’d come for her. She waited for his touch and wasn’t disappointed.

“Here.” Aidan pressed a glass of something cool into her hand, curling his fingers over hers to be sure she had a good grip before he let go.

Simone opened her eyes, barely able to move. “Hi.”

Aidan smiled and brushed the hair from her forehead. “How you doing, babe?”

She sat up, sipping. The blanket fell away and her skin stuck to the leather sofa. She looked for her clothes, bending to grab her shirt and panties, at least. “I’m tired.”

“Simone,” Aidan said and waited until she’d looked at him.

She handed him the glass and tugged her shirt on over her head. Stood to put on her panties. The insides of her thighs had already gone purple with bruises, and though she usually took a lot of pleasure in looking at the marks her lovers left on her, this time Simone only stared at them dispassionately. She grabbed up her jeans and found her shoes.

“Simone,” Aidan repeated, harder this time. He grabbed her wrist and pulled her onto his lap, where she sat stiffly, not looking at him.

“I hurt him,” she said flatly. “And I liked it. Not as much as being on the other side of it. But I liked it.”

“That’s all right.” Aidan cuddled her closer, even though she resisted. “I wanted you to have that.”

She looked at him, then. “Why?”

Aidan shrugged. “I thought you might need it. Or like it.”

It seemed as though there should be something for her to say to that. Gratitude, perhaps. But all she could manage was to fumble with her jeans and shoes while she tried not to let herself get lost in tears.

Aidan knew how she was feeling, like he always had. He held her close when she didn’t want him to, and stroked her hair until she stopped resisting. When at last Simone let herself relax against him, her face buried in the curve of his neck, Aidan kissed the top of her head.

“I’m sorry you hurt,” he said simply. “I wanted to help take that away.”

Simone drew in a long, shuddering breath. “I know. It was … good. I forgot, for a little while, anyway.”

He laughed lightly and squeezed her closer. “It gets better, babe. I promise you, it does.”

“I want to believe you.”

Aidan was quiet for a few seconds. “I wouldn’t lie to you.”

Simone looked at him, wondering when he’d ever felt pain this way. For everything she knew about him, maybe there would still always be secrets they hadn’t shared. “I know you wouldn’t, Aidan. But…”

“It will get better,” he told her firmly. “Eventually, every pain fades. Even the worst, even the ones that leave scars. And they fade, too.”

“But they never go away,” Simone said, touching one on the inside of her elbow where once, long ago, Aidan had miscalculated and left her with more than a bruise.

“No,” he admitted. “They never go away.”

And that was okay, she thought as she let him hold her close for a few more minutes. Because although she might not want to feel the pain of losing Elliott any longer, she never wanted to forget him. She never wanted to forget.

*   *   *

Elliott had overslept. He’d been unable to fall into dreams last night, tossing and turning until finally he’d punched his pillow in disgust and got up to stand in a hot shower. He’d let the steam and heat work on his tense muscles until the water turned cold, and still had been unable to relax. In bed, he’d fought the urge to fuck his fist, thinking of Simone. That release might have let him sleep, but though the memories of her scent, her taste, the sound of her voice moaning his name had refused to leave him, he hadn’t made himself come. He’d suffered his rock-hard cock until just before dawn when at last his body gave up and forced him to sleep, and then he’d dreamt of her and woken to the hot pulse of an orgasm that had done nothing to satisfy him. He’d spent himself in his sleep, something he hadn’t done since adolescence, and though now it didn’t shame him, it did send a twist of furious emotion all through his gut.

Traffic had been terrible. The radio had played every song he hated. And someone had parked in his spot. By the time he got on the elevator, he was in a horrible, terrible and very, very bad mood.

Some pustulant anal sphincter had pushed the button for every floor, something Elliott hadn’t realized until the other five people got off and left him alone with all the buttons lit. He had several floors to go before he reached his, and even when he pushed the “close door” button, each stop took way too long. He was fuming by the time the doors opened on the eighth floor.

Simone got on, carrying a paper bag from the cafeteria on eight.

Elliott had been pushing the button to close the door, and when she entered he looked up. Right into her face. Their eyes held, locked, and then she let her gaze slide away as easily as butter melting in a pan. Ignoring him. She was making him a stranger again, and he fucking hated it worse than he had any other time she’d done it. It made him want to take her by the shoulders and pin her to the wall and kiss her until she couldn’t breathe. He wanted to make her squirm under his touch.

Instead, he backed against the opposite wall, as far away from her as he could.

His fists clenched, though. And she saw it, he knew she did, because her gaze went to his hands and briefly to his face, though he could tell she was trying not to let him see it. She went to the other corner of the elevator and leaned against the railing, again looking away from him.

The elevator stopped. The doors opened. Nobody got on, but the doors didn’t close. Neither of them moved, though Elliott itched to slam the close-door button again. He wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction.

Simone shifted as the elevator doors closed. She wore a completely work-appropriate dress of some dark blue material with a scoop neck and three-quarter sleeves. The fit was vintage and hit her just above the knees. She curled her fingers in the material, inching it higher without looking at him, her gaze focused on the floor indicator above the elevator door.

All at once, Elliott couldn’t breathe.

Higher, slowly, revealing the first teasing hint of the edge of her stockings. He hadn’t noticed her shoes before but saw them now. Pointed toes. Low heel. She pointed one toe, cocking a hip as she eased the fabric of her dress just high enough now to show him the flash of a garter and the pale flesh of her inner thigh. She kept her body angled so that anyone getting on the elevator wouldn’t see that she was showing him anything at all.

She shifted once again as the elevator stopped. The door opened to reveal nobody waiting to get on. Simone tugged her dress up enough to show him the dark bruises on the insides of her thighs, just before she let the hem fall back to just above her knees. The doors closed.

His throat dried. His cock throbbed, thickening. His fists clenched again, but he kept them at his sides. Someone else had left those marks on her, and he wanted to find whoever it was and make them wish they’d never touched her. He wanted to pound his fists into the wall and break it.

Mostly, Elliott wanted to get on his knees in front of her and beg her to look at him the way she used to.

The elevator opened on his floor. He got off, meaning to keep going without even looking at her, to make her a stranger the way she’d done to him, but at the last second, he couldn’t stop himself from turning. His hand slammed the door open, startling her. Her eyes went wide and she moved a few steps until she bumped into the back of the elevator, though she wasn’t scared. He knew her better than that. Her breath might’ve caught in her throat, but the pounding of her heart was from arousal, not fear.

“Simone,” Elliott said in a low, grinding voice. He hated himself for the desperation in it.

He hated her more for the way she lifted her chin, giving him her attention but making it very clear she wasn’t going to soften by so much as a blink. She said nothing. She simply waited for him to speak.

And Elliott, tongue-tied, unable to find the words and cursing himself for it, simply shook his head. The elevator doors bumped against his hand again. Soon the alarm would start to buzz , but he couldn’t move.

Simone licked her bottom lip. Slowly. Deliberately. Then she took her gaze from his and made herself very busy with her paper bag.

Elliott stepped out of the elevator and let the doors shut.

In his office, he threw himself into the work. E-mails, phone calls, meetings. He drank a pot of coffee all by himself and ate a doughnut instead of a real lunch. None of it helped him to forget about her, but it gave him something to focus on besides going to her office and …

And what? He wasn’t even sure, exactly, what office she worked in. He’d never asked her, and this, more than any of the rest of it, settled into his gut like he’d swallowed a handful of rocks. He’d fucked her. He’d slept with her. But he’d never bothered to ask her exactly where she worked.

He’d been called an asshole a lot of times before, and there’d been plenty of times he’d earned it. Some times he hadn’t. But this time, Elliott knew for certain he’d been a Class-A prick. From his drawer he took the leather binder and the pen. Sometimes he hated these lists, but now … now he needed to make one in a way that made him finally understand why Molly had always insisted they were necessary.

He thought of Simone, waking from sleep with that smile on her face the moment she looked at him, as though no matter how good her dreams had been, they were never as great as seeing him next to her. He thought of the way she sang in the shower, always off-key but knowing all the words. How she’d stolen his clothes from the closet, all of his shirts too big on her, and how she’d padded around his kitchen in her bare feet, making him breakfast without ever once needing to ask him how he liked his coffee.

Fuck
.

He loved her.

Oh, fuck, he loved her, and knowing it was like a great, crashing wave of grief and relief and shame all at the same time. He loved her, and he hadn’t been able to tell her, even though she’d given him everything he’d ever wanted in another person, and things he’d never known to ask for but knew he could never again live without.

“Fuck,” he muttered and pulled his phone from his pocket.

He hadn’t erased her number. He pulled it up as easily as anything, just a few taps on the keyboard. A couple swipes of his fingertip. He could’ve sent the call through with as little effort. Even less. One second, two, and he could have it pressed to his ear, listening to the sound of the ring and waiting for her voice. He didn’t know what he could say, but Elliott knew he had to say something. Anything.

But before he could, his phone rang.

*   *   *

Simone didn’t want to be working late, but the truth was that she’d been so distracted with her own mopishness that she’d fallen behind. Mountains of paperwork, dozens of e-mails, phone calls to follow up on. Reports to file. Meetings to schedule.

She ought to quit, she thought as she rocked back in her chair and looked out the windows to where the sun was going down. She didn’t need this job. She could do the same thing for half a dozen other companies in Philadelphia. More than that if she wanted to take the plunge and move to New York. It would make her mother and Tree happy if she lived closer and could visit more often. Aidan would have a fit, but maybe it was time she broke away from him even more than she already had. Put some distance between them to give him and Corrina a real chance to make things work without any complications from her.

Get away from everything that reminded her of Elliott.

“Fuck,” she muttered.

“Every chance I get,” Jimmy said from her doorway.

Simone spun in her chair to face him. “Ugh. What are you still doing here?”

“Same thing you are.” Jimmy held up a pile of folders. “Making copies. Putting out fires.”

She grinned. “How’s the new position working for you?”

“Let’s just say that every day’s an adventure.” Jimmy grinned, too, leaning in her doorway. He jerked his chin toward the windows. “How’s your favorite office exhibitionist?”

“He’s not an exhibitionist,” she said, trying to keep her voice light. “He’s just too dumb to pull the blinds.”

Jimmy came into her office and set his pile of folders on the edge of her desk to look out the window. He glanced at her over his shoulder. “You moved your desk.”

“Yes.” Simone made a show of clicking her mouse and doing something that looked busy at her computer, but Jimmy wasn’t fooled.

He laughed softly, then whistled, low, under his breath. “You and him?”

“It wasn’t a secret.”

“It wasn’t like you put out a memo about it, either.” Jimmy crossed his arms, looking down into Elliott’s office.

“I didn’t know I had to!” Annoyed, Simone rattled her keyboard and slammed a drawer, pinching her finger. With a shout, she stuck it in her mouth and gave Jimmy a scowl.