The Duality Principle (11 page)

Chapter Eleven

By the time Gabriella kicked off her blanket the next morning after a lousy night’s sleep, she was angry at the world. At her mother for demanding so much of her only daughter, and her father for barely being a part of her life. At Nana for telling her to be true to herself, when it was a feat that obviously was completely impossible. Her fury extended to her M.I.T. peers and their complacent acceptance of life without passion. To Kevin, and all the ex-boyfriends before him, who never gave her what she needed. She could kill Jamie for bringing Connor into her life. And as for Connor Starks? Well, damn him too for having been so close to what she thought she wanted. What she
knew
she wanted. He dangled it in front of her and then took it away without any explanation as to why. And, in that moment, she couldn’t stay quiet about what she wanted anymore.

Gabriella put on her glasses, stomped across the floor and grabbed her phone. It was warm from where it had sat charging on her desk, baking in the early morning sunlight. She didn’t bother to check the string of calls she’d missed—they were all probably from Jamie, harassing her for going off the map.

She began typing an email to Connor that fringed on the edges of madness, although she was sure it was just the caffeine deprivation and lack of sleep. She told him that another person lived and breathed inside the one she appeared to be—the one who got the perfect grades and wanted the career. That she hungered for someone to be as wild and reckless as she wanted to be. For a man to hold what she wanted at bay until she was desperate and shaking and begging, the way he did to her on the dock and in the park. Her words rambled on, streams of consciousness unbefitting of a PhD candidate, but she kept going nonetheless. Her hands shook as she wrote that if he felt what happened on the hike was wrong, then she didn’t want to waste any more of his time. That it wouldn’t work, that he shouldn’t call her again, and that she was sorry too.

She hit send and immediately felt dazed, as if she’d been released from a long imprisonment, but she was still trapped. Because what difference did it make if Connor knew what she wanted? He obviously didn’t want the same thing.

Gabriella splashed some water on her face, mechanically brushed her teeth and hair, and stumbled downstairs to the kitchen. Despite wearing nothing but her tank top and pajama shorts, sweat bloomed over her skin. The air was sticky and hot, with no land breeze to offset the humidity. She wrenched open the fridge door and stood in front of it in an attempt to cool off. It didn’t help.

Then a distant rumble caught her attention.

No
.
She couldn’t. She just couldn’t take seeing him now. Her masked rider, like Connor, was everything she couldn’t have and shouldn’t have wanted. Part of her longed to turn away and hide, but the rest was consumed by her insatiable curiosity, wanting to watch all that power and heat race by.

Unable to help herself, she turned from the fridge and crept to the front door, pushing it open as the sound of the bike’s roar grew louder. He turned the corner, slowed and came to a stop in between her house and Jamie’s.

Her heart slammed against her rib cage, her breathing tight and shallow. Her brain sputtered through questions about what he was doing out so early, when the sun had barely tipped past the edges of the shore, and why he was
here
. Her limbs locked in place, she stared as he cut the bike’s engine, the air between them seeming to bend in the simmering heat. But then she noticed something different about him. He wasn’t wearing his leather riding jacket or gloves—all he had on was a white tank top and jeans. Golden muscles gleamed with sweat beneath the shorn edges of his shirt. And surrounding his left arm was a tribal-looking tattoo.

Connor’s
tattoo.

Gabriella started to panic, feeling slightly sick as she watched him dismount and pull off his helmet. His dark hair was wet, sticking to his forehead and neck as if he were fresh from a shower. He dropped the helmet onto the seat and glared at her. His perfect face was filled with anger.

She clutched the screen door, clinging to it as if her legs had suddenly become useless and it was the only thing holding her up. He silently peeled open her grandmother’s gate and stalked toward her. His boots fell heavy on the porch steps, his eyes burning into hers as he loomed in front of her, all man and muscle and sweat. He was as lethal and fierce as she’d always imagined her rider would be, and Gabriella was too awestruck, too confused and embarrassed to know what to say.

“You were going to dump me in an email?”

“I…I thought you didn’t drive.”

“I said I didn’t have a car,” Connor spat out. His upper lip twitched, his eyes flashing. “Fixing bikes was my old job. I rebuilt this one myself. And don’t change the subject.”

He took another step closer. Gabriella couldn’t move. The tension between them was menacing. It was her fantasy come to life, but all wrong.

“You weren’t even going to talk to me?” he demanded. “I should just never call you again? Pretend like this week didn’t mean anything?”

She backed inside the house and he followed, letting the screen door bang shut behind him as she stumbled back into the kitchen. She had to turn away from him—she couldn’t bear to see him like that, with his stare so wild and angry and cutting into her. She dropped her head and braced her palms on the counter.

“I’m sorry. I thought you didn’t…” she stammered. “I just wanted—”

“You think I felt what happened between us was wrong? You couldn’t tell how crazy it was making me, wanting you like this?”

He moved in behind her, and his closeness stole her words. Connor pushed his body flush behind hers, and Gabriella’s mouth fell open. It was fear and relief and a fierce kind of wanting all mixed together. She could feel every line of his body, every hard drag of muscle. His mouth was at her ear, his face sweaty, and she reeled at the sensation of his hot breath, his damp skin and stubble rasping along her neck. He took her hands in his and forcefully anchored them to the countertop.

“You want to know what it feels like to lose control, Gabby? Well, now’s your opportunity. Here’s your last chance to say no.”

She couldn’t say no, couldn’t say anything at all. She simply writhed against his implacable form when he bit down on the junction between her shoulder and neck, sucking hard on the skin there. She whimpered, and Connor chuckled as he shoved her forward harder, trapping her between his body and the counter.

“That’s what I thought,” he growled. “Do. Not. Move.”

He released her wrists, and she had no time to process it all, to consider how she was about to be taken, before his fingers slipped into her top. He found her nipple and stroked his thumb over it as the palm of his other hand covered the space below her navel, fingers spanning to create the most delicious pressure. His thick length jutted out hard in his jeans, and she ground back against him, greedy for more. But even with his body holding hers prisoner, Gabriella was still pissed off. Why didn’t he tell her who he really was? Why had he held back all this time, instead of doing this?

“Is that all you’ve got?” she challenged. “Is that the best you can do?”

Connor moved quickly to her side and braced both of his legs on either side of her thigh. She’d only just registered the movement when his hand came down, fast and stinging on her rear. She grunted, a lewd noise that left her throat raspy and raw.

“You want more? You want it rough and dirty, just like I do?”

He punctuated his words with another smack, and she cried out from the sharp twist of pain and pleasure that ricocheted through her body, from the feeling of
finally
. Of
yes
.

“Is that what you want, Miss Ivy League? You want me to turn your ass red?”

“Fuck—” Another smack. “Yes. I want that.”

“Open your legs wider.”

She complied, and he bent her farther over the countertop, holding her in place as he landed a swift blow to the sweet spot between her thighs. She choked out a sound that was a gasp and a groan at the same time. She couldn’t believe how good it felt. Connor slid his hand under the elastic of her pajama bottoms, fingers riding down the curve of her ass until he found the stretch of fabric that had surpassed damp long ago. He pressed and stroked, making her curse when his middle finger rubbed against the sopping cotton.

“I knew it. I knew you’d be drenched for me.”

She turned to glower at him. “What have you been waiting for, then?”

Connor glared back. The look in his eyes was defiance, fury and sex all rolled up into one. He moved behind her again, shoved his free hand into her hair and wrenched her head back. It shouldn’t have felt so good to be overpowered that way, but fuck, it did.

“I
waited
because I thought it was the right thing to do. Because I was trying to be a gentleman.” He released her hair, and Gabriella almost lost her balance as he wrestled her shorts and panties down her legs. “I was waiting on the pier when I really wanted to taste you. Waiting at the park, when I wanted to push my fingers inside you and make you scream louder than the fireworks.”

She groaned with the thought of his restraint. He grabbed her by the hips and turned her around to face him. With one swift move, he hurled her up onto the countertop, her thighs sweaty as they skidded over the Formica. Connor tugged her clothes from her, throwing them to the floor, and she trembled as he stared her down, fingers at her waist hard enough to bruise.

“You have no idea what you do to me. How hard it’s been to behave myself around you. But I’m through with being good. I don’t want to wait anymore.”

He grasped her by the knees and shoved her legs apart, eyes blazing as he bent down, his mouth open in an erotic promise. Then he extended his tongue and slowly licked up her slit. Gabriella gasped and clenched her eyes shut.

“Oh, no you don’t,” he rasped. “Eyes open.”

She managed to obey, only to have her lids start to sink shut again at the image of Connor’s wicked smirk between her legs. He cupped the sticky skin behind her knees and pried her legs wider, opening her up even further to him.

“That’s right. Eyes on me.”

He licked again and started up a rhythm, alternating between soft, easy strokes, taut flicks, and grazing his teeth over her clit.

“Fuck fuck fuck,” she chanted, gripping the edges of the counter. He delved his tongue lower, thrusting it inside her, and Gabriella twisted sharply, ripples of pleasure shooting up her spine.

“Don’t stop,” she whimpered.

Connor chuckled, his breath warm against her skin. Those big hands of his found her ass and dragged her toward him, fingers wide as he spread her cheeks apart.

“Oh my God, are you going to…” She sank back onto her elbows, watching that evil gleam in his eyes flare even brighter before his face disappeared from view. “No one’s ever…oh
shit
.”

He lapped at the puckered hole that no one before him had ever touched, and it sent an electric current straight through her. Her legs jerked, head snapping back on a gasp. Needing something to anchor her, she reached for his hair with both hands, spearing her fingers into it as his tongue danced a wet path around her back entrance. It was so intense, so perfectly perverse that she almost tried to wriggle away, but he kept a tight hold on her, lifting his head and forcing her still.

“You’d better be sure you want this, baby girl, because I’m not going to stop now. I’m going to fuck you senseless. In every room in this house. So hard you’ll still be feeling my cock in you tomorrow. And you’re going to scream so loud the whole damn neighborhood is going to know how good you’re getting fucked.”

“I want it,” she moaned, loving the raw desire in his words. He closed his eyes and returned to her clit, no longer teasing, his lips and tongue forming a rhythmic suction that brought her orgasm front and center. He added two fingers to the mix, driving them in her pussy.

“
Fuck
, yes.” She sounded like an animal, and she loved it.

“You like that?” He added a third finger, plunging them deep, making her arch and groan. “Tell me. Do you like me fucking you with my fingers here in your grandmother’s kitchen, with all the windows open so anyone could hear?”

“God, yes.”

“I bet you’re riding my fingers the way you want to ride my cock.”

The image set off a powder keg inside her. “Fuck, please. I want your cock so bad.”

Connor’s breathing suddenly went harsh. His eyes flew open, fingers sliding free, strong hands pulling her off the counter and spinning her around. Her knees were too wobbly to keep her up. Her legs gave out and she sagged back against him, but Connor was right there behind her, pulling her limp body up along his. His mouth at her ear again, he glided his hand over her hip, leaving a trail of her moisture on her skin.

“You want that? You want my cock, baby girl?”

“Yes,” she whined.

She could feel his lips spreading into a grin. “That’s what I thought.”

Gabriella dropped her head and watched him palm her belly, his hand inching lower until he parted her folds with one finger and began rubbing her already sensitive clit. He circled and stroked, his touch skimming over that perfect spot
right there
until she was teetering on the edge, chasing the kind of shattering relief she’d been desperate to know.

“You’re gonna make me come.”

“Oh no. You’re not coming yet. Not until I get inside you.” He slowed his movements, edging her back down, and nipped at her earlobe. “Table, Gabby. Walk.
Now
.”

Somehow she found a way to put one foot in front of the other while he continued to torture her, never letting up the slow circles he drew over her wet flesh. Her orgasm was starting to crest again by the time they finally reached the table—she could barely hold it off—but then he pulled his hand away.

“Oh please.” She could hear how pitiful she sounded, but she didn’t care.

“Turn around. Get up on top.”

She did as she was told and shimmied up onto the polished wood. Connor clutched the bottom of her top and dragged it up over her head, then bent down to capture one pert nipple between his lips. He flicked his tongue over the beaded tip, pinching and rolling the other between two fingers. The sensation sent a shockwave down to where she was achingly empty.