Take You Away: A Novella (4 page)

Not that I don’t have a few very good guesses about the matter.

Yesterday, he found out his sister was working at their family’s former estate. This morning, when we drove out to the grounds to bring her back, Louisa took one look at him and ran. We spent the better part of the day searching for her, but she’s long gone. We have no idea where she is. And we’re not the only ones who want to find out—Edward Carolson, the estate’s new owner, plans to hold her accountable for all the destruction she caused. I'm not sure whether he intends to have her arrested or sued for damages or—God forbid—both, but I know better than to ask Calder about the likeliest scenario. I can tell he’s spent the entire evening playing through every single possibility in his head.

Oh, I could rip Lou a new one right about now.

I couldn’t care less about whatever charade she pulled out at the Cunningham estate. But I care about Calder and how her actions affect him. I haven’t seen him like this since the last time we went out to his former home. There are shadows in his eyes tonight. Shadows I thought he'd left behind him. But it’s different this time. On our last visit to the estate, he had a complete breakdown—smashing a mirror, tearing up parts of the house. But tonight he's just silent, and somehow that’s so much worse.

I want to help. Make those shadows disappear. I want him to lose himself in me the way he did the last time Lou ran out of our lives. Family issues can be complicated. I get that. But I’m going to be his family now, too. He can’t just close me out.

Right now he’s sitting on the balcony outside of our bedroom, staring up at the stars. His brow is slightly furrowed, and his mouth is a hard line. I would erase every bit of tension from his body if he let me. If he allowed me in.

I’ve brought him his favorite wine again, just in case he changes his mind. He glances over at me when the bottle clinks against the glass top of the patio table.

For a second, his dark eyes are as distant as they’ve been all day, but then they seem to snap into focus. Some of the muscles soften in his face, and he reaches his hand out to me.

"I’m sorry," he says. "I don't mean to keep shutting you out."

I give a small smile as I grasp his fingers. His hand is warm and his grip is reassuringly firm.

"Don’t worry about me," I say, letting him pull me down next to him onto the floor of the balcony. "What are you thinking?" I don’t need to ask how he’s feeling. I can read that in every line of his body. Hear it in his every breath.

He tugs me closer to him. "I’m thinking that I handled this all wrong."

"We haven’t exhausted all of our options yet. Maybe one of her old friends—"

"I don’t mean looking for her. I mean everything before." He rubs his face. "I know Louisa. I shouldn’t have yelled at her. I shouldn’t have stormed down to the estate and expected all of us to just walk out of there like one big happy family."

I touch his cheek, turning his face toward mine. "You can’t blame yourself for her actions."

"No. But I can blame myself for not knowing how to reach my sister. I’ve spent the better part of my adult life ignoring her. Worrying about my own problems. And
that
’s on me."

I hate seeing him like this. He’s been through so much darkness since the death of his father. Will it never let him go?

"You’re too hard on yourself," I whisper to him. "It's clear you love Lou very much. You’re a wonderful brother."

"I’m a shitty brother," he says, turning away from me. But the words must have come out much harsher than he meant, because after the briefest of moments he sighs and tilts his face toward mine again. His arm tightens around my waist, his fingers grazing the bare skin of my belly.

"And you have far too much patience with me," he says. "You’re sitting here half-naked, and I’m complaining about a bunch of things I can’t change." His hand skims upward across my skin, and his thumb slips beneath one of the lacy straps of my bra.

"And here I’d thought I’d lost a bit of my charm," I say lightly. "I was hoping I had a few more years before the sight of me in lingerie didn’t make you forget about everything else."

Amusement dances in his eyes, breaking through the darkness, and that flicker of life makes my heart soar.

"A few years?" he says, his voice lower than it was a moment ago. "I will
never
get tired of seeing you in lingerie. Or, better yet, naked." He slides the strap off of my shoulder. "And I’ll never get tired of touching you." His thumb traces a path downward across the upper curve of my breast. "Or kissing you." He leans forward, and his mouth brushes against my temple.

I move closer to him, melting against his hands and lips. It’s cool for a summer night, but my skin is heating quickly beneath his touch.

"I dare you to do something about it," I whisper.

He doesn’t need to hear that challenge twice. He yanks me roughly against him, and his lips come down on mine.

I will never tire of his mouth. And my body will never fail to react to the dance of his tongue against mine. Or the whisper of his fingers against my bare skin. He has both of my bra straps down now, and there’s just enough slack to allow him to pull aside the bits of lace that admittedly did a very poor job of covering my breasts. I tilt my head back as he works his way down my throat and across my chest.

That first touch of his mouth against my nipple sends a wave of pleasure through me, and I gasp as he teases the sensitive point with his tongue. He kisses it and sucks it, licks it and nibbles on it lightly with his teeth. I tangle my hands in his hair and moan with every new sensation.

"Be careful," he murmurs against the delicate skin. "If you’re too loud, you’ll bring the neighbors out here."

Unfortunately, that’s one of the disadvantages of living in an apartment building. Or at least one of the disadvantages of finding ourselves in a position like this on the balcony. We might be hidden from anyone passing below, but if our neighbors decide to come outside for a little stargazing, they’re in for a surprise.

Fortunately, Calder and I aren’t exactly new to the whole ‘quiet sex’ game.

"I like how you blame me for making noise," I whisper. "When you’re the one—
ahh
!"

He’s bitten down on my nipple again. I wriggle, but he has me in his grasp and he’s not about to let me go.

But two can play at that.

I scrabble for the buttons of his shirt. They come apart easily beneath my fingers, but though I could spend hours exploring his chest—and have, more than once, these past few months—that’s not my ultimate goal tonight. I go for his pants next. He’s already hard, and I squeeze him through the fabric.

Now it’s his turn to groan, and the sound is a rumble against my skin.

"We’re supposed to be quiet, remember?" I tease before rubbing my hand against him again.

His fingers tighten on my sides. I begin to undo his fly, but he yanks me toward him, crushing my hands between us. His mouth moves up to my ear.

"Who said you get to be in charge?" he growls. "You’re mine tonight."

Before I can argue—and believe me, I mean to—he flips me over so that I’m on my knees, facing away from him. I try to sit up, but he keeps one hand pressed firmly against the middle of my back, keeping me exactly where he wants me.

I can only imagine the view this lacy, skimpy lingerie is giving him. I wiggle my ass a little, teasing him, and I’m rewarded when his free hand squeezes the bare skin of my cheek.

"You’d think you’d have learned a little patience by now," he says thickly. Behind me, I hear the sound of his zipper and then the rustle of his pants sliding down.

The floor of the balcony isn’t exactly comfortable against my palms or knees, but I don’t mind. Not when Calder’s hand starts moving lazily but deliberately across my ass. His fingers make slow circles along my skin, and it sends shivers up my back and down my legs. My core clenches every time those fingers pass close to their goal—and every time they tug against the thin strap of the thong that passes between my legs.

But he carefully ignores all of my most sensitive spots. He’s teasing me. Purposefully trying to drive me wild. I know he wants me to ask for it. To grow so crazy with desire that I beg him for release.

But this silent battle of wills is one of our favorite games. It makes all of this that much more intense for both of us. I won’t ask him for anything. Let him taunt me all he wants—I’m going to do everything I can to make sure
he
loses control first.

I lean back slightly—slowly enough that the movement seems deliberate, not impatient—until the back of my thigh brushes against the front of his, and the soft curve of my bottom brushes against his hard length. I hear him suck in a breath.

"Lily…" he warns, and there’s a wicked promise in his tone that makes my blood rush.

"What?" I ask innocently.

His fingers continue to move across my skin, but there’s more of an urgency to his touch now. I shift my weight, brushing myself ever-so-lightly against him again, and his nails dig into my flesh. I fight back the sound that rises in my throat. I don’t want him to think he's gained an advantage over me.

I tilt my head back, letting my hair fall down into the gentle crescent formed by my back. He takes the bait, reaching out and grabbing the strands in his fist. He leans over me, and though the position presses us even closer together, he doesn’t enter me. Instead, he lowers his head and kisses me between the shoulder blades.

At first his mouth is gentle, teasing. But as he continues to explore, his lips become more eager. He still has my hair in his hand, and he yanks the strands aside, pulling my head back so he can reach more of my body. Soon he’s nipping at me with his teeth, and I can’t keep from making soft sounds of pleasure at the exquisite pain.

I shift my hips again, sliding myself against him, and he groans against my back.

"Naughty little Lily," he says before catching a bit of my skin between his teeth again. His hand snakes around my body, sliding across my belly to slip between my legs.

I’m still wearing the thong, and he touches me through the fabric.

"You don’t want this, do you?" he asks devilishly, his finger finding my clit through the soaked lace. "You don’t want me to touch you here?"

I refuse to say anything, but I’m sure my wetness is answer enough.

"No," he continues. "You definitely don’t want me to continue this." He gently massages me. "You don’t want me to put my hand beneath these skimpy little panties of yours and slide my fingers inside of you."

It’s all I can do not to whimper in response. Instead, I shift my hips again, inviting him with my body.

He chuckles softly. "That won’t do. I want to hear you say it."

And then he pulls his hand away from me. I make a sound of protest, but that only gets me another chuckle.

"Say it, Lily," he says in a tone that almost undoes me. "Tell me what you want." He gives a little tug on my hair before releasing it, but I bite down on my lip to keep from making another sound.

Instead, I turn my head and look over my shoulder at him. He’s staring down at me with dark, eager eyes. His whole expression is alive with desire. But it’s something deeper—the openness, the love I see in his face—that makes me truly ache for him. That makes my longing almost unbearable.

He must catch something similar in my own expression, because his entire face warms. But that playful gleam isn’t gone from his eyes, and I’m not going to let him win this round without a fight.

Slowly, I turn over so that I’m staring up at him. One of his eyebrows drifts up, and I suspect that he’s humoring me—we both know that if he were so inclined, he could have me back on my knees in under a second—but I don’t miss the curiosity in his gaze. He’s wondering what I’m going to try next.

And I’m not about to disappoint him.

I move toward him and take his hard length in my hand. My touch is tentative—I half expect him to try and stop me—but when he doesn’t protest, I tighten my fingers around him. He doesn’t say a word, but I hear his breath hitch as I slide my hand all the way down his cock, then back up again.

I bend forward, lowering my head toward his arousal. But I don’t let my mouth touch him. Instead, I pause a couple of inches away, just close enough for him to feel my breath against his skin. I thought he was ready before, but he hardens even further in my fingers.

I start slow. Just a single brush of the lips, and then another—one, two, and then three kisses against the tip of his cock. Just enough to tease. Just enough to bring his hands down onto my shoulders. I let my tongue flick against him—again, only enough to taunt him—and he groans and tightens his grip on me.

"What do you want?" I ask him, holding the tip of him an inch away from my lips. "Do you want me to keep kissing you? Or do you want something more?" I don’t wait for his response. I take the end of him in my mouth again, and his fingers dig into my shoulders. The moment I hear the groan building in his chest, I pull back again.

"Do you want me to lick you?" I ask.

His only response is another squeeze of his fingers, and I decide that’s enough. I slide my tongue along the length of him, then draw away once more.