Amy Bensen 01 Escaping Reality (7 page)

I gasp. “You can’t ask me that.”

“I just did. How many?”

I don’t like where this has gone. I don’t like how I suddenly don’t

know if he thinks I’m a virgin for my limited experience or a hussy for my

fast actions. Either way, this is not an escape anymore. I try to shove away

from him, but his grip in my hair doesn’t loosen. “Let go,” I hiss.

“This was a mistake. I don’t know you. I don’t do this kind of thing.”

Great. Now he thinks I’m a virgin. I can’t get this right. “I mean, I do. No. I

don’t. I don’t do this kind of thing.”

“It’s quite clear you do not do this kind of thing,” he says, releasing

me, and I hate how much I wish he had not, after what he has made me

feel. Or how relieved I am when he plants his hands by my head, caging me

as if he doesn’t want me to escape. “But I do, Amy. I do this kind of thing. I

have short, quick, well-protected affairs with women who get that I’m not

going to be around tomorrow. Women who do not care enough about who

I am to find out my name or how much money I have.”

My defenses flare, verging on anger. What is he accusing me of?

Being a virgin, a slut, or a money-grubber? “I didn’t try to find out about

you. You made me read the Wiki page.
You
made me.”

“I know. I wanted you to know me and to trust me. I still do.”

I soften, confused. I stay confused with this man. “I don’t understand.

You just said…and I know and…why are you, and I and…” My God, I’m an

educated woman and I’ve lost the ability to form coherent sentences.

“The same reason I showed you my design on the plane.”

“Which is why?”

“Because against every rule I have ever set, I wanted to.”

“I don’t know what that means.”

“Then let me be more clear.” His cheek slides over mine, his whiskers

scraping erotically over my delicate skin, his lips pressing to my ear. “You’re

a beautiful woman who deserves to be properly fucked, which I conclude

from both your actions and answers to my questions, that you have not

been. I want to be the man to remedy that. I want it very much.” His arm

wraps my waist, shackling me to him as if he fears I will get away, his free

hand stroking down my hair, as he huskily adds, “Probably too much.” He

moves then, his intense blue eyes staring down at me, searching my eyes. “I

don’t know what you’re running from, but I know you’re running.”

My heart jackhammers. “No, I’m not. I’m not.”

He brushes his lips over mine. “And I’m not asking you to tell me

why,” he says, rejecting my denial. “But just know that I have every

intention of making you forget everything but what it feels like to have my

tongue and my cock buried inside you.”

My lashes lower and heat pools low in my belly, then settles hard

between my thighs.

I’ve never even had a man use the word “fuck” with me before, let

alone promise to fuck me properly, but I fear he will make me forget why

my silence is golden. “I don’t—”

“Look at me, Amy.” There is a command in his voice and for reasons I

cannot explain, I am compelled to comply. My gaze lifts to his. “I do,” he

promises. “And I like the idea that I am the man who’ll make sure you do,

too.”

He’ll make sure I know
. This is exactly everything I need to hear. He’s

promised to be demanding and to take me to unknown territory, but that I

won’t be there in the dark. I am so very tired of being in the dark. I wrap my

arms around his neck and make sure he knows how important this is to me.

“I want to know. I need to know.”

Approval seeps into his eyes, heat simmering in their depths, and one

of his strong hands cradles my face, and then his mouth is lowering to

mine. His tongue licks into mine, tasting me, and he is different now, we are

different now. The kiss is hotter, wilder, passion unleashed, and I have a

sense of being claimed. Like I am his to take and I want to be taken by this

man. I want it very much.

Still kissing me, as if he too cannot get enough of me as I cannot of

him, he lifts me off the ground, his hands cradling my backside. My legs

wrap around his waist, and one of my shoes falls to the ground, so I kick the

other one free. “Where’s the bedroom?” he asks, a gravelly urgency to his

voice that mirrors what I feel.

“I don’t know. The right, I think.” I sound urgent. I am urgent.

He starts walking and I bury my head in his neck, inhaling his scent,

and tiny splinters of memory begin to pierce the fog of desire. I shove them

away, refusing to be consumed by the past when I have this man to do it

for me.

I resolve to lose myself in kissing every inch of Liam’s neck, but as

soon as I make a move, he curses under his breath. I struggled to see

behind me. “What? What is it?”

“No sheets, pillows, or blankets,” he informs me, and he’s already

retraced his steps until we’ve re-entered the hallway. “Your boss should

have made sure this was handled.”

“I’m sure he didn’t think—”

“Exactly,” he concludes. “I’m taking you to my hotel, where I can lick

you from head to toe on proper bedding.”

“What? Liam. No.” He shifts my weight and reaches for the door.

“Stop!”

He straightens and he does not look pleased. “Stop why?”

My mind races for an answer, for one of the many lies I live to tell.

“My apartment is directly across from the hotel. I’ll see the staff around the

neighborhood. I don’t want them thinking of me as the floozy some rich guy

brought to his bed for a night every time I walk by.”

He arches a brow. “Rich guy? Floozy?”

“That’s what it will seem like, Liam.”

He scowls and lowers me to the ground, pressing me against the

door, his hands settling possessively on my waist. “You aren’t a floozy. You

know that, right?”

I hate the excuse I’ve made, the lie that is my life, and the idea that it

might push him out the door, that he might not ever touch me again, is

unbearable enough to give me courage. “If you want to fuck me, it’s here

and now. Otherwise, goodnight, Liam. Thanks for the ride.”

He leans back and rests his hands on his hips, no longer touching me,

and I am shaken by how much the loss of the connection with him affects

me. I am used to being alone. I am used to not being touched. “This is crazy,

Amy. Your apartment isn’t ready to be lived in.”

My apartment. This place is not and never will be my apartment. It

isn’t mine. It will never be mine but he can never know that. “I need to stay

here tonight,” I say, and I am not pleased with the way my voice cracks.

Liam notices, too. I see it in the slight flicker of his eyes. “You
need
to

be here?”

“Yes.” And my voice is no stronger now than moments before, damn

it. “I need to be here.”

He leans in, one hand on the wall by my face his big body close but

still not touching me.

Why do I need him to touch me this badly? “Then I need to be here

tonight,” he declares. “
We
will be here tonight.”

We.
I know the word really means nothing. This is a night. That’s

what I want. He’s made it clear that is what he wants. But I like the idea of

being “we” right now. And I desperately want to get back to forgetting

everything but him. I push to my toes and press my lips to his.

His arm wraps my waist again and he pulls me close, his body a

warm, welcome shelter from the nightmare I’ve left outside this door. “I’m

not going anywhere you aren’t tonight,” he promises.

Tonight.
It’s enough. It has to be enough. It
will be
enough. “Good. I

don’t want you to.”

I’ve barely said the words, when he turns me to face the door. “What

are you doing?” I demand, catching my weight on the door with my palms.

He steps closer, his hips framing mine, the thick ridge of his erection

pressed to my backside. “Preparing you.”

“Preparing me?” I gasp. “What does that mean?”

He tugs my jacket down my shoulders and I expect him to pull it free,

but instead he tangles it around my arms and turns me around to face him.

“You can free your hands, but don’t.”

“No. No.” I knew he’d ask for too much. I knew. “I can’t do this. I

can’t—”

He cups my cheeks. “Deep breath, baby. I know you’re on unfamiliar

ground and I know you barely know me, but I’m just going to make you

come. Pure pleasure, nothing more. I know when things feel out of control

you think you need control. But sometimes, having a safe place to give it

away is the best way to block everything else out. I’m asking you to let me

show you I’m that safe place.”

But he’ll be gone tomorrow and where will I be? What place will my

mind have traveled, and will I get back to where I was before? “Do
you
ever

give away control?”

“No. That’s not what works for me.”

“But you think it will work for me.” It’s not a question. It’s clear what

he thinks. I just want…more. More understanding. More…him.

“It will work for you. Let me teach you, Amy.”

Teach me.
This is what he’d been talking about on the plane and this

is so far into new territory, I don’t know which direction to go. I crave what

he will show me but I fear what I will show him.

“Do you have things you need to block out, Liam?” I ask, and I am on

tenterhooks, waiting on an answer that feels important to me, when I do

not even know what I expect—or want—it to be.

“Yeah, baby,” he surprises me by saying, “I do. Knowing you need the

escape and admitting it, if only to yourself,
is
control.” I am shocked by his

admission, by his willingness to share something so personal with me. I am

beyond aroused by this man and when his finger traces the skin at the top

of my blouse, I feel the touch in every part of my body. “I did.” He starts

unbuttoning my blouse. “And now I’m going to show you how we escape

together.”

Together. I like how that sounds, but…

“Right here in the hallway?” I ask, and my blouse begins to gape,

exposing the thin lace covering my breasts.

“Right here in the hallway,” he agrees, his hot gaze raking the swell

of my breasts, his deft fingers finishing the buttons and quickly popping

open the front clasp of my bra. He covers my breasts with his hands, and

nuzzles my neck at the same time, and the mix of erotic and tender ignites

my senses and soothes my nerves. “You smell like sunflowers.”

“My perfume,” I whisper, and unbidden, my mind my goes to New

York, to my apartment where it, and everything else I own, and no longer

have, are located.

“It’s perfect,” he approves, tugging my nipples, and the unexpected,

bittersweet ache leaves room for none of the burn for what is behind me.

There is only the burn for now, for him, for the escape he has promised me.

My lashes flutter and just that quickly he is on his knees, inching my skirt

upward, and there is only the emptiness that is my ache to feel him inside

me. I am in a haze of desire, and my skirt is somehow at my waist, his

tongue tracing the top of one of my thigh-highs, then traveling up and

down my leg. The urge to tug my hands free, to tunnel my finger into his

thick, dark hair, and force his mouth where I want it, is almost too much to

bear.

“I want to touch you,” I pant. “I need to touch you.”

His eyes meet mine, and they are hot with desire and dark with

command. “Not yet,” he orders, and with no warning, he wraps his fingers

around the thin strips at my hips and tugs my panties down to my feet. I

step out of them. Or I think I do. I don’t know. Everything is a haze of

nerves, and desire, and need. But they are gone and Liam’s fingers are

exploring the slick, wet center of my body, and his mouth is on my upper

thigh, teasing me with where it might go, where it hasn’t gone and I soon

hope it will be.

He slips two fingers deep inside me and there are panting, moaning

sounds filling the air that I barely recognize as coming from me, and I try to

control myself, but I cannot. I’m not sure I’m really trying. I am so wet and

so aroused, I am certain I will come ridiculously quickly. The idea is

embarrassing and I try to will my body to calm. I try to resist the pleasure

building low in my belly and spiraling into my sex, but it is growing,

consuming me like a black hole where nothing but pleasure exists. It

reaches out to me and drags me deep into the center of spiraling, delicious

sensations. They overcome me,
he
overcomes me, and my sex clenches so

intensely that I jerk and my knees go weak.

Liam’s arms wrap around my lower body, holding me up and his

tongue laps at me, fast and hard and then slowing as I soften, as my

muscles ease, and I relax. He tears my jacket from my wrists and I wrap my

arms around him for stability and bury my face in his neck. He drags me

with him, until he is sitting against the door and I am straddling him and all I

can think is how embarrassed I am. How long did I last? One minute? Two?

Please let it have been at least five.

“Amy,” he murmurs. “Look at me.”

“No. I can’t.”