Forget Me Not (23 page)

“I know. I saw you on the security camera. I thought I’d imagined you. When I saw you were really here I was the happiest I’ve been in days.”

“You didn’t look happy when I saw you.” My eyes are closed, unable to focus on anything other than Jesse’s lips on my neck.

“I haven’t been that angry in a very long time. I could have killed him. If we weren’t here, in public, I think I would have.”

“I wouldn’t have let you. I’ve just got you back. You think I’m going to let you be taken away from me and dumped in jail?”

I think I can sense him smiling against my skin and then he pulls away to look at me and I’m proven correct. His smile is magic and his dimples hypnotic. I stand no chance when faced with such beautifully destructive weapons.

“Can I take you back to mine before any more of your admirers try their luck?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

Jesse speaks with several members of staff before we leave through the back exit. It’s odd seeing him with such authority as he addresses them. He’s a domineering figure, with his height and build lending him added power, but I’ve never before been witness to the influence he has over others.  It’s hot.

Taking my hand, Jesse guides me down a wide alleyway. We stop when we get to a large, steel door. Jesse unlocks it by hand and hoists it up, revealing his beloved Mustang tucked away in a tight garage.

“You’ll have to climb over. I wasn’t expecting company,” he explains, gesturing to the passenger side door that almost hugs the garage wall. He’s smirking. He could easily reverse it out, but I know his game and he knows it.

“Okay…” I toss my bag into the passengers foot-well and turn back to face Jesse. There’s no way I will make it across while my legs are pinned together in this skirt. Maintaining eye contact I reach down and slowly lift the hem. His keen eyes follow my hands until they reach the very top of my thigh. Tearing my eyes away, I crawl in through the driver-side door and across to my seat, knowing damn well that Jesse’s view is obscene. Sitting down, I readjust myself, and when Jesse slides in next to me and sees my sudden modesty, he chuckles.

“Oh, you’re good at teasing.”

“It’s not teasing, it’s foreplay,” I correct, smiling as sweetly as I can.

He shakes his head while continuing to grin before turning and expertly reversing us out of the garage. “Fuck, baby. There better not be any traffic.”

  Thankfully, there’s not. Sailing down the streets towards the Upper East Side, he touches my thigh any chance he gets and brings my fingers to his lips, licking and sucking, unable to deny the smile that shines on his beautiful face.

By the time we make it to his personal space in an underground parking lot, we are ravenous. I have mentally been undressing Jesse throughout our car journey and knowing that I am so close to unwrapping him leaves me tingling with anticipation.

Grabbing my hand he pulls me with added speed towards the elevator. The tension between us reaches new levels as we wait impatiently for the lift to reach us. Glancing at Jesse just in time to see him lick his deliciously full lips, I realize that, he too, is reliving the memory from The Worcester Hotel.

What is it about elevators?

When the doors open, we rush in. Jesse types in a code and then turns to face me. We remain inches apart, not touching as we travel what feels like a hundred floors, gearing ourselves up as the sexual tension hits an all time high. The hiss of the doors closing acts like a starter gun commencing our race, a race to each other, to the privacy of his apartment, and to gratification.

As our mouths find each other again and again Jesse’s eager hands grip my behind as he lifts me and tries unsuccessfully to wrap my legs around his waist.

“No, my skirt,” I pant.

My pencil skirt is tight to my knees, leaving no room for sexual acrobatics. Setting me back down on the floor Jesse lowers himself to a crouching position. Slowly and teasingly, he lifts the hem of my skirt, raising it so that it ruches against the top of my thighs. Standing up and focusing his needy blues on my lust-filled eyes, he moves one hand up and over my breasts and eventually my face. He caresses my cheek while the other hand takes hold of an all together different and more southern cheek.

“I’m going to show you how much I’ve missed you,” he breathes, his voice barely audible over our insatiable panting.

“And I’m going to thank you for the beautiful flowers. Again, and again, and…” His ravenous tongue is in my mouth before I can tease him any further. He lifts me effortlessly, and with my legs new found freedom I’m able to grip his waist. The doors open and I’m carried through an entrance hall to a set of white double doors. Jesse finds his key and opens it, all the while maintaining a supportive arm under my behind. His eyes are intent on mine. He means business.

Chapter 22

Closing the door behind us, he tosses my bag to the floor, leans me against it and kisses me keenly. The anticipation that has accompanied us since his office is at an all time peak. I’ve never felt so alive. I want him so badly that I’m almost hyperventilating.

“Under any other circumstances I’d be a good host and give you a tour but…”

“Please don’t make me wait any longer.” I whisper breathlessly against his cheek, and like a good host, he obliges.

Placing me on the floor, he removes his jacket and kicks off his shoes. In turn, I shuffle out of my heels. Unleashing my silk vest from my skirt, he pulls it over my head, revealing my lacy, champagne-colored bra.

“God, Mickey,” he moans as his teeth tug at the material. His nibbling is like a hotline to my arousal. I’m falling apart in his arms and he won’t relent. My blood pumps noisily in my ears as his mouth and hands continue to manipulate my breasts, only adding to my dreamlike state.

Reluctantly releasing his bite, he takes both of my hands and pulls me through the darkness. I can’t tear my eyes away from his. I see nothing but his powerful blues, charming me and leaving me completely captivated.

“I love seeing you in my place, baby.” He releases one hand to undo his pants, dropping them to the floor and stepping out of them.

“I love being here.” I unzip my skirt and he helps me pull it down and off.

“I love you,” he whispers, his eyes skating over my body before falling back to my face.

“I love you,” I mouth as I unbutton the length of his black shirt.

“Fuck, I love you so much.”

He’s walking backwards and yet he’s still able to navigate us to his bedroom. He opens the door and guides me to the bed without permitting me the time to look around. I don’t care. I’m not here to see his home. I’m here to see mine.

He lies down on his huge bed, trying to pull me on top of him, but I pull away. He’s still holding my gaze, allowing me to see a flicker of confusion across his features. I remain at the bottom of his bed while he elevates onto his elbows, watching me intently as I reach around and unclasp my bra. I’m bubbling with a deep need for this man and it’s manifesting in a serious case of the shakes. Working hard to combat the blatancy of my desire, I slowly pull down the straps and remove it with a teasing flourish, channeling the inner burlesque dancer in me. I hope.

His chest is rising and falling quicker and quicker as I shimmy out of my panties. When they hit the floor I hear a low rumble in his throat, a growl. He sits up swiftly, making a grab for me, but I hold out my index finger and shake my head lightly. Sulkily lying back down, he bites his lip in frustration. I know he wants this fast, I do too, but I also want to savor this. I want to enjoy this reunion and exploit our passion for as much as I can.

I crawl up onto the bed on my hands and knees, remove his socks, and continue up until I’m hovering above his waist.

“Come here, please,” he begs.

“Actually, I thought I’d stay down here for a while,” I say, my voice low and promising.

He doesn’t say anything, he doesn’t need to. The look on his face as I slide his boxers down over his rock hard thighs, his bent knees, his athletic calves and his long feet, says it all. He’s in heaven.

I make my way back to his mouth, but I don’t kiss him. I linger over his parted mouth and whisper in one heated breath, “Do you want me to say my thanks, or show you?”

Lifting his hips, he grinds against me. “Show me, sweets,” he commands, before closing the gap between our lips. His tongue is aggressive, as are his hands as they lock in my hair. It takes everything I have to pull away.

I smirk teasingly at him as I make my way back down his body, finally stopping when my head meets his centre, his rock-hard length. Immediately, he is back up onto his elbows, wanting to see me, and me wanting to put on a show. With my mouth around him I work tirelessly, I milk him for all I can, finding it just as much of a turn on as being the one receiving. Feeling the effect I have on him is a huge aphrodisiac and the pleasure that sounds from his lips spurs me on to bleed him of the last of his excitement. I give him my everything, all the while relishing in his continued voyeurism. When he can’t take any more he tosses his head back onto the bed and pleads with me to stop. He says the words, but there is no strength in them and his hands make no move to pry me off. His fingers remain fisted in the bedcovers and his body trembles with his release as his juices hit the back of my throat.

             
Falling back onto my heels, I take in the sight of him laying there with his eyes closed and his broad chest rising and falling. His peace is temporary. Sitting up to face me, he pulls me to him, nuzzling my neck and continuing down over my shoulder and breast.

             
“Will you ever stop amazing me?” he asks, maybe rhetorically.

             
“I hope not,” I pant.

             
Smiling against my nipple, he replies, “Me neither.”

             
I feel him growing against my stomach.
So soon?
I try to position myself over him but he stops me.

“It’s my turn,” he insists.

“You don’t need to. I’m more than ready.”

Lifting his head he locks eyes with me, looking almost hurt, but definitely intense. “I don’t want you ready. I want you crawling out of your skin. I want you convulsing with need. I want you to want me so badly that you can’t form a single syllable. Do you want that too?”

“Yes…”

“Then lie down and accept this.” Before I can protest further he maneuvers us to the head of the bed and lies on top of me. The eagerness that enveloped us when we first entered his home has vanished. What’s left is the desire to love. He’s slow and meticulous as he makes his way down my body, leaving no skin untouched, no curve un-kissed. When he finds a way of making me moan he smiles and watches me. He loves to watch me and I no longer fear it. I crave it.

  Positioning himself between my legs, he dips his tongue into my navel, generating a throb of pleasure to course through my body and a gasp to escape my mouth. When his kisses descend further, he begins to hum. It takes me a moment to realize he is humming our song,
‘Wherever you will go’
. I lift my head and laugh, hard. I can’t help it. My body shakes with each expressive howl. When I look at Jesse he’s laughing too.

“Well, you being in my home is another first for us. I thought it would be fitting to have our song here somewhere,” he says, chuckling. I look at him like he’s gone mad and he agrees, continuing south
without
the humming.

When his tongue finds the very centre of my excitement, it’s no longer funny. It’s the exact opposite of funny. I am completely at his mercy and yet I’m the one who feels worshipped. He works his tongue like he’s savoring me, lapping at me like I’m a delicacy and he moans in appreciation.

I’m suddenly overwhelmed with conflicting needs. I want him to continue, I want him to stop. No, I need him to stop. It’s too much, the sensation is too strong. My body desperately tries to rear away from the cause of my pleasure and yet my hands pull him closer, needing the release. He gives it to me, holding me still as I convulse for forever in his arms.

Eventually, he moves up my body and cradles me, whispering how much he loves me, how much he wants me and when he reaches my mouth, he unites us both, burying himself slow enough into my sex that I can appreciate every glorious inch.

Our moans are silenced by each other’s tongues as the rhythm replicates the grinding of our hips. Unhurriedly, we move against each other, gliding easily over our moist skin. His lips scarcely leave mine, his hands, holding me as if he’s frightened that I’m going to run from him. As if I could. I cling to him with so much intensity I worry he will bruise.

Pulling me with him as he sits up, he guides my legs over each of his and we rock together, building slowly, kneading the oncoming orgasm until he falls heavily onto the bed and I ride out the waves of our release. We come together, we always come together. We are as one in every way.

Soft streams of sleepiness flow through me and so I close my eyes compliantly. I haven’t slept well for days, but in these arms sleep comes easy.

“Please don’t sleep, sweets.”

“Hmm.”

“Mickey?” Jesse’s whisper tickles my ear and in response my eyes stretch open.

“I’m awake.” I turn to face him and find him leaning up on his elbow, his painfully beautiful face hovering above me. Not so long ago it was tension that resided across his features, but now all I see is peace. Even as his brow furrows slightly, there is no doubt that he is a happier person because of my being here. I stroke the back of his head in appreciation and stretch my neck to plant a kiss against his soft lips.

“Are you going home tomorrow?” he asks, weakly.

“I have to.”

He sighs sadly, and I feel as though I have scissor-kicked us both in the gut.

“Then stay awake with me. I don’t want to waste our time sleeping,” he pleads.

“Okay.” I suppress a yawn and sit myself up, knowing that lying down is only going to push me closer to unconsciousness.

“Come, let me give you that tour.”

Jesse’s home is beautiful. Not my kind of beautiful but I can’t deny its magnificence. Expanding over two floors is an open plan space that looks barely lived in. All of the necessities are here, but there’s no personality living in the furnishings. No photos adorn the walls or surfaces, just ambiguous art. There are no home comforts such as throws or cushions, and I begin to wonder how much time Jesse actually spends here.

Black and white features strongly throughout, but there are accents of red in the central living area. The only room to experiment with color is the bedroom that I’m already well acquainted with, which is warm with browns and my favorite kinds of purple.

As stunning as the apartment is, it can’t compare to what lies beyond it. Through the panoramic windows sits a view of the entire city. Anyone who has been to New York has witnessed the amazing skyline that the city has to offer, but it doesn’t matter how many times you see that landscape, it will always take your breath away. To think that Jesse gets to experience it as part of his everyday life astounds me. To live with such a view is the biggest gift that money could buy, but to be inspired and humbled by it is priceless. I am in awe.

“I knew that I could count on you to appreciate it.” Jesse says, standing behind me with his arms wrapped gently around my waist underneath his black shirt, the only thing I’m wearing. He, too, is staring out at the night time spectacle. How could he not?

“Who wouldn’t appreciate it? Jesse, it’s beautiful, beyond beautiful.”

He shrugs dismissively. “It’d be better if we were even higher.” We’re over half way up the building but Jesse has his sights set on the penthouse. I have no doubt that he will eventually get there.

“Were the other women not impressed?” I ask, regrettably.

“What other women?”

“The other women that have been here.”

“I’ve never had any woman here, Mickey, other than my cleaner. She isn’t fussed but I don’t think her eyesight is particularly good.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know, maybe she didn’t eat her carrots growing up.” He smirks. I roll my eyes at his poor joke.

“No, I mean why have you never had any women here?”

He shrugs. “Because this is my personal space. I don’t want just anyone here, Mickey.”

“But you invited me here?” I ask, fishing.

“Oh please. You’re far from just anyone, sweets, you’re
the
one.”

I tear myself away from the twinkling lights of the sleeping city and turn to face Jesse. He’s watching me shyly, as I pull myself into his chest. I’m overcome with love for this man. Tonight has been perfect.

“Thank you.” I sigh contentedly, squeezing him impossibly tight.

“What for?”

“For everything. For inviting me into your home, your life. Thank you for showing me this view, it’s perfect, and for the flowers and the thought behind them.” I look up into his ocean deep eyes and feel like crying with relief. Relief after years of thinking I’d never again be truly complete. “Thank you for making me happy again.”

He sighs. “You’re welcome.” He smiles sweetly but tucks his imaginary hair behind his ear. His tell tale sign that something is not right.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, baby.”

“Jesse?”

Sucking in a steadying breath he shrugs a little in defeat. “You’re thanking me for making you happy again, but it’s because of me that you were ever sad.” He lowers his gaze ashamedly as if he’s admitting a crime.

In theory he’s right, and a few weeks ago I wouldn’t have been able to argue with him. However, I’ve finally accepted that the heartbreak he dealt me has shaped who I am today. Without it I’d never have been blessed with Benjamin, or worked so hard to pursue a career in photography. I’d never have known how low I could get, how much misery I could cope with and so I’d never have been able to appreciate this moment. To feel this cherished and wanted is the light at the end of the storm and it burns brighter than it ever could have without the dark.