Resisting the Bad Boy (9 page)

“Stop!” she screeched, dissolving into a breathless puddle of mirth. “Okay, I admit it! These were all dirty, dirty fouls on my part; you should definitely take a free throw shot.”

He paused, wondering where she was going with this.

She pointed to the trash can. “There’s the basket. My new panties can be the ball…since yours are clearly in a twist.”

Incredulous, he dialed up the tickle torture to merciless.

Her squealing ‘I-take-it-backs’ hit an ultrasonic range as she wriggled and squirmed and bucked until soon, he was fairly certain his suffering was eclipsing hers.

Letting go of her wrists, he rolled onto his back beside her, out of sorts and grumbling, “You’re planning to drive me completely crazy these next few weeks, aren’t you?”

Limbs all akimbo, body dangling half off the bed, and clothing askew, she lifted her head weakly to heave between breaths, “Like you wouldn’t believe.”

With a groaning chuckle, he dragged her up to steal a long, hard kiss while she was too tickle-drunk to object. And the smile he couldn’t seem to contain around her snuck up on him once again. Mostly because she’d sobered up enough to call out, “Foul…and a really mean one at that.”

For the first time in his life, two weeks of imposed abstinence didn’t seem all that bad.

C
HAPTER
F
IVE

I
T WAS WORSE THAN BAD
. It was impossible. Six days of pure, unmitigated, using-up-all-the-cold-water agony. And there were still eight days ahead to face.

Survival was looking highly unlikely.

He had to admit though that the last six days had been pretty great in their own right. Fun. Given the constraints of her busy writing schedule, Connor made sure to limit himself to only one short, concentrated flirt session with Abby a day, either by phone or a flurry of text message bantering. And every night, she’d greet him at home with a smile…and depending on how steamy their flirting had been that day, a damn cute blush, too.

After seeing her warming his home the first night, he’d found it impossible to stay away each following night as well. Sure, he still had his occasional evening meetings and late office work but he always made sure to be ‘home by dinner.’

What a concept.

Growing up, his father had never felt a need to do it more than once, maybe twice a week. Even though he’d had a wife and two sons to come home to. As a kid, Connor had missed him, from middle school on, not so much. Now as an adult with someone to actually come home to for once—regardless how temporary it was—he felt renewed disappointment in his father. Again. Or rather, still.

“I cooked us up some Greek food tonight,” called out a cheerful voice from the kitchen, breaking into his thoughts. Brightening at the sound of her voice, he headed on over to where all the sumptuous smells were originating.

The sight of Abby bent over pulling out something from the oven was probably the best thing he’d set his eyes on all day. But then she plopped the baking tin on the stove and gifted him with one of those resplendent, room-lighting smiles of hers and he immediately amended his previous thought—
that
was the greatest thing he’d seen all day.

Yeah, it took a real bastard not to want to come home to this every night.

“Hi honey, I’m home.” He just wanted to try it on for size. Strangely, it felt good. Like a vintage suit tailored just for him. Tomorrow, maybe he’d even go pre-technicolor and trip over an ottoman. Milk the novelty of this all while it lasted.

“Everything looks great.” He kissed her cheek—the only body part she was letting him kiss. For now. “But you should’ve told me you were making such specific dishes; I didn’t have half these ingredients. I would’ve ordered the groceries you needed online and had them delivered.”

“Don’t be silly. You’ve been paying for groceries more than I have as it is, which makes zero sense,” she retorted. “Plus, this whole traveling around the world by food adventure is my thing. You shouldn’t have to pay for it.”

“I’m eating it,” he argued back.

“Just like I’ve eaten on the nights you’ve cooked.” She gave him a look that said, ‘so there.’

See now if the lawyers he faced in court looked half that cute during their rebuttals, he was sure he’d lose a whole lot more. Grinning, he conceded, “Okay then. Since tomorrow’s my turn to cook, what say I jump on this tour of yours and whip up something really exotic. Like mac & cheese with weenies.”

Abby giggled. “What is it with you and all this comfort Americana dishes? Looking at you, I’d never picture it. Were you one of those that cooked with your mom growing up?”

He snorted. “Hardly. We had a cook, which freed up mother to drink her dinners more often than not.”

“Oh.” A regretful frown dimmed her face. “I’m sorry I brought it up.”

“Hey.” He tipped her chin up. “No feeling bad over the poor little rich kid with the present-but-still-absent parents. Did I mention I had my own pony growing up? Well, it was on lease at the polo club but still, how many kids can say that?”

The stubborn glaze of tears in her eyes unnerved him.

No one ever cried for him.
Because
of him, yes—more than he cared to admit—but never for him.

He bent down and fit his mouth to hers, telling himself it was just a comfort kiss. To take away some of her sadness. Inside, he knew he was really just capturing the memory for himself so he could open it like a Christmas gift one day when she was long gone. God, when was the last time he’d actually gotten a gift? Wrapped personally just for him?

Years, maybe.

Suddenly, the parched thirst for every desire he’d been denied this past week, every variety of warmth and affection he hadn’t really ever noticed not having until now had him pouring his soul into their kiss like a lost man aching to be found.

Soon, comfort was the last thing on his mind.

“You’re killing me here,” he drew back, but not far. Brushing his lips against her soft lips back and forth, he was amazed at how alive the simple contact felt, how every last little experience was more vibrant with Abby. “I don’t think I can last another week of this. Wanting you this bad without having you.”

Her breathless, “Me neither,” did nothing to cool him down. He lifted her onto the granite and slid between her legs, feeling her heat even through the cotton barrier of her shorts.

“Good lord, you’re huge,” she gasped.

He’d have smiled if he weren’t gritting his teeth. “And you’re wet. For me.” He traced his tongue over the racing pulse at her throat, the beat a near match to the pounding he felt all through his veins. “If you want to stop, tell me now.”

It’d kill him, but he’d back off if she said the word.

Before she could say anything at all, however, he thrust his hips against hers again in reminder—and promise—of what a ‘yes’ would entail. A rush of male satisfaction assailed him when she moaned and locked her legs around his waist. He wasn’t playing fair, but right now, it was hard to police himself. Not with her teeth raking across his neck every time he rocked against her. Not when every gorgeous sound coming out of her just made him even harder. Want her even more.

His name fell from her lips then and he almost lost it. Raw and needy, the sound was pure sex-on-tape. And the look on her face as she said it cast a thick, lust-filled spell on him, had him growling in hunger by the time she finally pulled him in for a kiss—the first one he didn’t have to instigate.

Christ, it was sweet.

He loved sinking his fingers into her lush curves, sealing her tight against him as he drove deeper and harder against her core. Every quick, broken cry she couldn’t hold in was like a homing beacon, steering him as he nudged his erection higher, over the one spot that effectively scattered her breathing and compelled her to all but ride him as he did his best to simply hold on and take stock of what little control he had left.

“Touch me,” she whispered.

His restraint snapped.

He slid a hand under the hem of her t-shirt, undid her bra and pushed the offensive thing out of his way. Plump and ripe, she filled his hand and then some. His lips broke away from hers on a groan as he skimmed her shirt up.

And just stared.

She was perfection. Softly rounded and feminine, just like the rest of her. Delicate. Sexy. He had to taste her.

“Stop.”

For one horrifying moment, he truly thought he wouldn’t be able to. Jaw clenched, eyes shut tight, somehow, he managed to inch back at the very last second with a ragged curse that blew hot and harsh across her skin.

She cried out. The sensation making her arch and send her taut nipple grazing against lips.

He wasn’t strong enough. A better man could’ve fought the temptation but not him. He lashed his tongue out, dragged it over the sensitive peak awaiting him. Once. Twice.

She asked you to stop.
He yanked himself back, panting, appalled at his lack of restraint. Even amidst his self-flogging, his mind still tornadoed with images of taking her right there on the counter, over and over until stopping was the last thing either of them would be capable of, until they burned through whatever this was building between them. And then started all over again.

Holy shit. He curled his hands into fists and kept his eyes off her naked breasts, away from everything he couldn’t have, so goddamn close he could taste it.

Did
taste it…for three mind-bending seconds.

“I…” she began, crossing an arm over her chest.

“No need to explain,” he cut in, voice strained. “I told you to tell me if you wanted to stop.” He shoved his hands into his pockets, trying like hell to punch out some space for his raging hard-on. “I better go up and get changed for dinner.”

A tiny, trembling hand on his arm prevented his escape. “I’m so sorry, Connor. I’m not trying to be a tease or anything, I swear. I just need to stick to something when I say I will. Especially
this
something.”

“Forget about it,” his voice gentled. “Don’t apologize for saying no, Abby. You can always, always say no.”

Her hand fell away. And something in her silence made him study her face closely. “Honey? Are you okay?”

“That’s just it. Just because I
can
doesn’t mean I always did. Which is why I need to stick to these two weeks.” She shook her head sadly. “You wouldn’t understand.”

No, he was starting to get that he didn’t understand anything fully when it came to Abby, when it came to what was clearly more than just the game of wits and stamina he’d thought it to be. “Then why don’t you explain it to me, sweetheart.”

“
I
T’S ALL YOUR FAULT
, you know,” she teased with a rueful shrug, trying to make light of the situation, knowing that she now had Connor’s undivided attention. “I’ve never had a problem sticking to my guns until now. That’s why I made that stupid wager with you. Because I got cocky with an undefeated record that’s spanned nearly twelve years.”

Abby gazed at him, at the concern she saw etched in his beautiful features. For so many years now, she’d watched him from afar, always knowing whenever he was really concerned about something, because his eyes would go from its normally intense pale blue to the softest gray. Until now, she’d ever only seen him look like that around Beth and Brian.

She’d never wanted those gray eyes aimed her way.

Too late now.

“You joke about my being such a nice girl. But I wasn’t always. In high school, I was the furthest thing from it.”

At his disbelieving expression, she scoffed. “Believe me, it’s true. Till my sophomore year, I was just me. Just Abby. But then I met a guy…” She exhaled softly. “An older, popular, incredibly hot guy who looked at me in ways no one ever had before. And he was exciting. Not because he was some cliché rebel without a clue, either; he was actually top of the senior class, an all-star athlete. Your basic high school stud, really…who had it bad for corrupting good little girls.”

Feeling Connor tense, she looked away, afraid of what she’d see in his expression. “Seemed everyone but me knew how much he got off on finding the most pristine girls and turning them into playthings that would do anything he asked.”

“That was me my junior year. At first, it was only a little dominant play here and there. Nothing major. Kind of fun, in fact. But then a month or so in, he started pushing me past my comfort zone a little at a time.” She fiddled with her pan of
spanakopita
. “The first was when he asked me to flash his friends, to ‘show them how hot his girl was.’ He’d seemed so matter-of-fact about it, and I’d felt so young and silly for not wanting to. When I looked over and saw him looking so disappointed by my hesitation, I shut out that voice in my head yelling no and yanked my top and bra without thinking. He spent the rest of the night treating me like a princess.”

“From then, his requests started to get more…intense. In the beginning, I did say no. A lot. But he’d always be so sweet and cajoling that somehow, I found myself saying no less and less each time.”

Blinking slowly, she met Connor’s gaze head-on, “I’m not saying this was all his fault, because it wasn’t. Yes, I felt pressured by the thought of losing him but part of me felt okay going with it as long as it was under the pretense of ‘him making me do it.’ That became the easy button for me to push to do every depraved thing he wanted me to do.”