Risk & Reward (9 page)

She exhaled and pulled her dress up over her head as she strolled into Wyatt’s bedroom, dropping it to lie in a heap on the carpet, making a mental note to pick it up later. Wyatt was military neat, and he gave her The Look of Displeasure when he found her clothes strewn around. Which was unfair, since he didn’t have a problem doing the actual strewing.

A smile crossed her lips. Despite her annoyance with him, she wished he were here now. Especially since she was in a swimsuit, oiled up, and moderately tipsy. He’d attack her at first glance.

She pulled off the bikini top as she padded into the bathroom, her nipples beading at the chill in the air-conditioned room. Her breasts were lighter than the rest of her skin, thanks to the sun she’d received today. Had it not been her mother accompanying her, she might have been tempted to go sans top.

She’d definitely go without if Wyatt dragged her out to one of the grottos on his property, small pools shaded by foliage planted for privacy as much as for beauty.

Strip. Or I’ll rip those bottoms off of you.

That’s what he would say, all growly and intense. She shivered and hooked her thumbs in the bikini bottoms, shoving them down her legs, concentrating to retain her balance as she squirmed her way out of the still-damp spandex.

Balance. So. Hard.

Tatiana toppled to land on her butt on the cold marble tile, blinking at the tangled scrap of hot pink wrapped around one ankle. Scissoring her legs, she managed to yank it off.

Phew. Mission accomplished.

Getting up was so much work, but she managed to make it back on her feet. Maybe she would buy a more revealing bikini before she and Wyatt embarked on exploring the private pools. Or no, even better, a modest white one piece, cut low on the legs and high on the chest. They could play the reluctant tourist and the coercive, blackmailing casino owner.

What would he be blackmailing her over? Why, her plot to steal…something. Something cool and shiny. Eh, they could work all of that out.

She didn’t realize she was stroking her own body until her hand grazed her nipple. She instantly paused, unused to touching herself when Wyatt was within a ten-mile radius.

Don’t touch yourself.

Keep those pretty hands out of your panties.

This body is mine.

Her eyes narrowed. But he hadn’t given her any of those orders today. They’d been too busy tiptoeing around each other, the explosive sex during the night not enough to wipe out the lingering awkwardness of their aborted fight.

So she could play with herself. Take her pleasure into her own hands. Watch herself in the huge mirror that spanned the length of one wall. She turned slightly, displaying her good side, liking the way the recessed lighting flattered her skin. Tatiana coasted her hand over the slope of her breast.

There were some problem areas, spots she could never quite tone, an odd scar and blemish here and there. But hot damn. Wyatt was a lucky guy.

He should be here.
Her gaze went to the lip of the giant Jacuzzi tub. He would watch her, lounging there.

Bound.

The shiver that trickled through her told her that her body liked that idea, though having a helpless man had never been one of her favorite fantasies. He wouldn’t be helpless, though—Wyatt could be hogtied and his eyes would still blaze with dominance, the mantle of control resting easily on his shoulders.

Naked, tied-up, watching her. Unf. She tweaked her nipple, her breath accelerating as she slid her hand down her belly to the tuft of hair that Wyatt had professed to like. Her pussy was wet, ready for a cock. On legs made more unsteady by arousal, she made her way to the vanity and fumbled a drawer open. In his nightstand, Wyatt kept the essentials: lube, condoms, a couple of vibrators. Annoyed once when he had to interrupt their play in the Jacuzzi…and the kitchen…and the living room…to go fetch necessities, he had started keeping the same things in a drawer or cupboard in every room in his home.

Withdrawing a large, wickedly curved dildo about the size of Wyatt’s cock, she ran her fingers along the tip of it and glanced in the mirror behind her at where she imagined Wyatt would be sitting.

Use it. Fuck that cock.

She dragged the nubby silicone over the tips of her breasts. Her nipples were tight and aching, ready for his mouth and his big, calloused hands.

Stop teasing me. You’re hungry for it.

But she could tease him, because in her fantasy he was helpless. He had to watch her and be grateful for every scrap of mercy she showed him.

Your pussy’s hot for me.

It was. She dragged the dildo down her belly, loving the way it slicked over the sunscreen moisturizing her skin.

Only for me.

Yes, only for him. The bright pink plastic skated over her mons.

You’ve never been so hot for anyone. You never will be so hot for anyone.

She whimpered. Bracing her hand on the vanity, she inserted the cock inside of her and pushed.

Yes. Fuck it. Good girl.

Greedy and well aware of what she needed to get off, her hand sped up, fueled by the visual in the mirror, the flush building on her chest and neck, the sway of her breasts, the hardness of her nipples, the flex of the small muscles in her arm as she fucked herself. This was what Wyatt would see. This was what he did see.

Um.
Fucking
lucky, that guy.

You don’t even need me around. You could just make love to yourself.

She gasped out a small laugh at what she expected Wyatt’s dry reaction would be to her vanity. After sucking her fingers into her mouth, she brought them to her nipples, making them glisten, the way they would if Wyatt had sucked them.

So close. She used the dildo exactly as Wyatt might, with short, sharp thrusts. He’d wrap his other hand around her waist, draw her back against him, give her something to claw and strain against. Grab her breast tight and squeeze.
That’s right, baby. Give it to me.

Everything would be better if he were here. But she needed to get off, and this tool was literally at hand. A series of gasps left her lips as she withdrew the dildo and ground it against her clit.

Panting, she straightened and cleaned the sex toy off. She supposed she should feel mildly embarrassed at the way she had shamelessly come on a fake cock standing up in a bathroom, but, hell, she’d played coercion games and flirted with choking play in a hallway less than twenty-four hours ago. This was nothing.

Her body was ready for more, too. Sex without Wyatt was like sneezing, a brief relief of tension. Sex with Wyatt left her boneless, not merely unsteady.

Once she had returned the dildo to its home, she stepped inside the massive shower. As she always did, she ignored the finer shampoo Wyatt continuously kept in stock for her and went straight for his drugstore brand. She was surprised he hadn’t realized yet that she didn’t use his fancier offering. Her choice was a gesture originally born of nostalgia, and one that she continued when she visited him, out of some bizarre desire to…get closer to him? Create another tie to him?

The tension that had seeped out of her in the wake of her orgasm reinvaded her limbs. That was the problem with orgasms. Their effects were never permanent.

You’ll be okay, you and Wyatt.
Like she’d said to her mother, they were doing things differently this time around, mostly because they were adults. Because of their maturity, they could avoid the mistakes they’d made when they were young.

You don’t even know what errors you made when you were young. If you don’t know them, how can you avoid them?

She turned and let the spray of the shower wash the soap off her face, chewing over this thought. She chewed while she got out of the shower, dried herself off, padded into Wyatt’s bedroom, and dressed in a pair of panties and a bra.

Otherwise naked, she flopped on the bed. The shower had washed away her alcohol-induced bliss along with the sunscreen on her skin, leaving only alcohol-induced melancholy.

She stared up at the ceiling. It was boring and white. At home, she’d painted her bedroom walls and ceiling a bright blue, swirls of green and gold mixed in. Her life exploded with color. Red in her living room, blue in her bedroom, yellow in her kitchen. It looked like a toddler with ADD had been given a gift card for Sherwin Williams.

But it was hers. And if she were home right now, she’d be able to go into her closet and pull out the box that was more precious to her than the gold and silver and precious gems she kept in the safe in the floor beneath her bed.

Inside the box would be the faded and curling paper, creased and time-worn, that had traveled with her through a cross-country move and several small ones, which she’d snuck out to read during moments of depression and loneliness.

Wyatt’s letters.

Letters he had written to her when they were teenagers and young adults, letters she had kept over the course of the decade they’d been apart. Once or twice, she had contemplated tossing the things, but something had always stayed her hand. Thank goodness. Months ago, their presence had been the final push she had needed to get on a plane and come find him; ostensibly to save her brother’s hide, but really out of a deep curiosity to discover what had happened to the guy.

They were hers, a tangible monument to their previous relationship, so she got custody. But that meant they were far away, not here.

Tatiana sighed and curled up on her side, her hands stacked under her cheek. Not that she needed the physical copies to remember what was written—she only wanted to hold them in her hands. She’d read them so often, particularly since she and Wyatt had gotten together again, she could probably recite them from memory alone.

I want you waiting naked for me when I get home, all wet, like you always are.

She licked her lower lip. That was right after she’d started college. When he’d come home, she had been waiting naked for him in his apartment. With a set of furry handcuffs and a full bottle of lube.

I hope you take that part-time job at the library. I could pin you to a stack and fuck you, away from where anyone could see us.

Unf.

My apartment smells like you. Love you.

The faint smile around her lips was silly and not unexpected. Sweet, sexy, or funny, those letters never failed to make her feel as though she were being wrapped in a strong hug. What woman didn’t like knowing that she’d been loved like that?

He sounded so…happy in them. And though she didn’t have written proof of it, she knew that she’d been equally happy, pleased with her tough, secretly squishy, lustful boyfriend. As happy as they were right now. Well, before last night.

So what had gone wrong?

It’s strange that something you can’t remember would destroy your relationship.

Her smile faded. With a few words, her mother had slapped Tatiana in the face with her deepest worry.

Restless, she flopped onto her back again. Yeah, she wished she had her letters. Maybe they had a clue in them. After all, those had spanned almost the entirety of their relationship. Or at least the bulk of it, after she’d graduated high school.

The bulk of it, until that last year.

Tatiana squinted. He’d never given her anything in that last year. No goofy notes tucked into her backpack. No folded-up letters in her desk. No scribbled love notes on her pillow. Made sense, since that was the year everything had taken a turn for the worse. Not the sex. They had always had sex.

Everything other than sex. She could vividly recall their stress points, those problem areas that they’d both circled around again and again. Some of the issues had been important, some not at all. In her head, she’d always considered that last year as the year everything had imploded, when their anger and fights had escalated beyond a level they could control.

Because you fought. You never talked.

She stilled. Hmm. Well, well, well. How utterly profound. Where on earth did that come from?

Of course they’d talked. They talked a lot.

Not that last year.

Tatiana inhaled, replaying their history as an observer instead of a participant. Her screaming, yelling, and turning into a shrewish caricature while he sat in stony silence, made cutting remarks, or stormed out in disgust. The only times they hadn’t run away from each other was when they fell into bed.

Just like last night.

Tatiana rolled to sit up, her heart pounding.

We’re also not fighting.

If you figure out how to sustain that whole no-fighting thing, let me know.

They’d never fought, ever. At least, they’d never fought
right.
When things had gotten really dicey, when their frustration and disagreements became overwhelming, they’d resorted to cutting at each other with words before running off to lick their wounds. They never resolved or apologized or compromised on anything.

Tatiana opened her eyes and met her own gaze in the mirror over her vanity, bleakness turning them a stormy green.

How smug she’d been, thinking the best way to make things work was to bite her tongue and stay sweet.

We’re not fighting.
The fighting had never been the problem. The lack of talking anything through? Big problem.

They weren’t avoiding the mistakes of their past. They were repeating them.

Chapter Nine

Wyatt folded back the cover on the tablet and handed it back to his chief of security. They had an event scheduled in their ballroom for the upcoming weekend. Normally, Wyatt didn’t concern himself with the nitty-gritty of every wedding, bat mitzvah, and anniversary party that went down at Quest, but the birthday party was for a particularly good customer, a CEO whose parties often turned into a raucous celebration. A little consensual debauchery was all well and good, but Wyatt wasn’t in the business of burying bodies for anyone.