Crave You (4 page)

Chapter Seven
(Rachel)

I woke up earlier than I do most Saturdays, anticipating an email from Finn. When I rolled over and grabbed my phone off the nightstand, there it was.

Coming from anyone else, that last line of his email might have sounded like a threat or more likely a guy who over-promises things. But with all that I’d learned about Finn over the last six months, I knew he meant it.

So at 6:50 on a Saturday morning when I would normally be sleeping, I instead found myself reading that line over and over. I had to get out of bed and do something instead of lying there wet, waiting, and eager, with almost twelve hours to go until we would meet.

I forced myself up, put on my running clothes and went for a jog. I came home, ate some fruit I had cut up and kept in the refrigerator, and read his email once more.

I spent most of the morning picking out what I was going to wear. Finn had said I should dress up, so I chose my best black dress and matching heels.

Just after 1 p.m., I got his second email.

To: Rachel

From: Finn

Subj: Re: Meet

6 p.m. Hotel Palomar, in the lounge. Wear the red dress that you told me about. I assume you still haven’t worn it. Tonight would be the perfect night, although it won’t be on for long.

Finn

I couldn’t believe he remembered that dress. I had bought it four months ago. It set me back quite a bit, but I loved it and had to have it. Why, I’m not sure. Just one of those things. I had told him about it in one of our email exchanges when we were talking about the merits of saving for the future versus spending and enjoying in the present.

I regretted buying that dress and had almost returned it. Now I was glad I’d kept it. He was right—it would be perfect for tonight.

As I got ready that afternoon, I considered just how big of a leap this was for me.

My past was riddled with episodes of harsh, cruel abandonment. I never knew my mother or my father. I didn’t even know if they were a married couple, or a young girlfriend and boyfriend unable to care for a child, or whether I was the product of a one-night stand.

It could have been any of those three, or some odd combination of them, or something entirely different, something so dark and horrible I couldn’t even conjure up.

Whatever the reason, I had been handed off from foster home to foster home throughout my childhood. I once overheard someone from the Department of Family Services use the word “unadoptable” to describe me. That was due to the fact that I had a chronic illness that no doctor was able to diagnose.

Granted, I didn’t get the best medical care, so maybe if I’d been born into a family that was well-off or even just had a decent insurance policy, someone would have been able to help me.

There were times when I didn’t have the energy to walk up a flight of stairs, and then there were times I didn’t have the energy to lift my own arm to feed myself.

I had migraines that would lay me out for days on end, making me feel like my head was enveloped in a fog cloud that might never lift.

Probably the most humiliating part of all of this was my inability to use the restroom by myself sometimes. This applied to taking baths, as well. Thankfully, I never had to deal with the prospect of a creepy foster dad or brother. There was always a female in the house if I needed help. Still, sometimes I just wanted it all to end.

I missed a lot of school, but didn’t care because I was the target of much verbal abuse. I lost myself in the world of books and stories. I lived in fantasies because the nightmare of reality was too much to bear.

By the time I was fifteen, the symptoms began to gradually subside, but every once in a while they’d come back with a vengeance.

Now, at age 26, I was grateful to be seven years removed from my last debilitating physical…attack. That’s what I called them because that’s what they were. It was like being attacked by my own body.

No family wanted to deal with this. Some foster kids get lucky. I didn’t. I’ve come to accept the simple fact that sometimes things go your way, but sometimes they don’t. What really matters is how you respond.

And my response was to live in a state of virtual seclusion. No one could hurt me that way. No one could get close enough so that I’d be crushed by their inevitable departure from my life—something I was convinced would happen over and over again.

Despite getting better physically, and being able to function like a “normal” human being, I still kept those emotional walls high.

I built them for a reason. I made sure they were sturdy, impenetrable, and that I would always be safe behind them.

I never let anyone over those walls. On rare occasions, I might let someone peek over, but that was it. I’m not ashamed to admit that I’d had a handful of very short-lived sexual flings. But the walls always kept them from being anything more.

Finn was a threat to those walls. He had been from the first couple of weeks we emailed. I knew it and I tried my best to keep him out. I’d succeeded for a while, but my curiosity had been winning out lately, and now it had led me to the lounge of the Hotel Palomar, wearing this classy red dress, sipping a glass of white wine.

Alone.

Waiting for Finn.

Finally.

Soft piano music provided the ambient background noise as I surveyed the lounge. A few dozen round tables filled the room. Each of them held a glass candle holder in the center. Not the kind with the fake electronic flames, but real candles.

There were only a few unoccupied tables. Most were taken by groups of men wearing suits and having serious conversations. Every few seconds a group of them would burst into laughter. Some were probably politicians, most were probably lobbyists, lawyers, and other K-Street fat cats. The big money people in a high-priced hotel lounge.

I remembered Finn telling me the kinds of hotels he took women to. He’d never mentioned anything this expensive or lavish.

Down the bar, a couple of other lone women were perched on stools like I was. They were stirring drinks with tiny white straws, their eyes scanning the room like mine were. But these two women wore too much makeup. High-priced prostitutes?

I knew they were all over D.C., swarming the place like gnats, especially when Congress was in session. I had read an article about them, and suddenly remembered that they hung out in places like this when they didn’t have any prearranged dates. They could always find a lobbyist who’d had too much to drink and was carrying a little too much cash in his pocket for his own good.

Jesus, I must have looked like I could be one of them. What was up with that? Was Finn toying with me? A mind-fuck before the actual fuck?

I wouldn’t have put it past him. Maybe this was his regular M.O. Maybe he liked to stroll into a room and role-play that he was able to pick the woman of his choice, take her to a room, fuck her and leave forever.

That very well could have been my destiny for the evening.

I don’t think I’d ever been on high alert like I was as I waited for him. Why hadn’t he told me what he would be wearing? The jerk. I guess I didn’t even think to ask because I was so focused on the fact that he remembered the red dress.

I tried to get my mind onto something else, but that was a foolish hope. All I could do was continue scanning the room, hoping I’d know when I saw him, as I thought about just what the hell I was doing here at all.

The Rachel of many years past would have never agreed to something like this. That Rachel wouldn’t have even shared her real first name with a guy on the Internet, much less engaged in the kind of discussions we had. She certainly wouldn’t have gone to a lounge to meet a guy off the Internet. Forget it.

I often think of “that Rachel” as “her” and “she” because I’m different now.

But being here wasn’t just a testament to my own growth. I had Finn, in part, to thank.

Or blame. Depending on how this all turned out.

Despite not knowing what he looked like, or what he was wearing, I spotted Finn the second he walked into the lounge.

He had to be an inch over six feet tall. His black hair was cut short around the sides and the top was what I like to call a planned messy. He was clean-shaven, and under the dim lights in the lounge his skin had a deep olive complexion.

He wore black slacks and a white button-down shirt, a black blazer, no tie.

But what I noticed more was his expression: eyes wide, lips tight, jaw clenched to the point that the muscles in his cheeks were in tight knots.

Serious. Determined. Owning the room.

Our gazes locked, and I could feel his stare as he made his way over to me.

I was about to say hello when he extended his hand. I reached for him, feeling his hand envelope mine.

He leaned toward me, his lips close to my ear, and said, “No words. I need you naked right now. Let’s go,” while at the same time placing a fifty-dollar bill in front of the bartender.

His voice was deep, smooth, confident, just as it had been in my fantasies.

Even if I wanted to back out, that voice alone would have made it impossible.

Chapter Eight
(Finn)

I deliberately didn’t tell her what I was wearing so she wouldn’t know what to look for, and I was glad she hadn’t asked. The red dress idea served the exact opposite purpose.

I wanted her to feel on-edge, nervous, vulnerable, wondering if I was already in the room when she got there. I wanted her eyes to roam, searching, guessing.

My original plan was to enter the lounge and observe her, keep her waiting, raising the anticipation level even more. But that idea was discarded the second I walked into the lounge and saw her.

I was singularly focused on the idea of being inside her, and I wasn’t going to make myself wait to get it started.

The red dress fit her perfectly, something she was worried about but wouldn’t say why at the time.

It was strapless, exposing her shoulders. Her skin was slightly tanned, providing a soft backdrop for her blonde hair, which hung in ringlets over her left shoulder.

When I approached her, she held eye contact and her face was expressionless. Perhaps that was an effort to match mine. Or maybe she didn’t think about it. When I leaned in to say those few words to her, she didn’t move at all, didn’t react at all, just let me guide her off the chair and toward the elevator.

As we began to leave, the bartender said, “Do you need change, sir?” I gave him a quick shake of the head, just twice, never taking my eyes off Rachel.

I had reserved a room on the second floor, and we made it to the elevator just in time to squeeze in. I would have led her up the flight of stairs but after checking out her heels, I wasn’t sure that would be a good idea.

Rachel kept quiet in the elevator and as we made our way down the hall, her hand in mine. She gripped my fingers tighter the longer we walked and I assumed it was nerves and anticipation. In a matter of seconds, we’d be inside the room and she wouldn’t have time to overthink it.

As soon as the door closed behind me, I flipped the security latch and turned toward Rachel, who was standing with her back to the wall of the entranceway.

I looked at her, starting with her chest, then up to her eyes. “Better than I imagined.”

One corner of her mouth rose as if she couldn’t decide whether she wanted to smile in response. “You, too. I didn’t—”

“What made you change your mind about meeting me?”

She hesitated for a second before saying, “I was curious.”

I grinned. “Perfect reason. You should always give in to your curiosities, especially the forbidden ones.”

I stepped closer to her, placing my hands on the wall just over her shoulders, caging her in, pressing her up against the wall. I dipped my head and barely touched my lips to hers, waiting to see what she would do. As I expected, her tongue parted her lips ever so slightly as though trying to wet them for a kiss.

I let my tongue graze along Rachel’s, then pressed my lips firmly to hers. My tongue dove into her mouth. She opened wider, willingly taking it. She tasted like wine and mint.

A short gasp escaped from her mouth as my hand pulled her dress up, my fingers pressing into the soft, smooth flesh of her thigh.

My cock twitched in my pants. I heard my heartbeat in my ears. Felt my face getting warmer by the second.

I moved down to her neck, tasting her skin and feeling her head drop to my shoulder.

I was finding myself lost in the sensory blur that was Rachel. Her scent, how her flesh felt when I applied pressure with my hands, how she tasted, how I could feel her pulse rapidly pounding against my lips when I kissed her neck.

I slipped one finger under the front of her strapless dress, slowly pulling it down to expose her. I looked down and watched as the fabric slid over the slope of the top of her breast.

With one finger, I traced the outer edge of her bra, teasing her flesh.

“When I said you were going to get the fucking of a lifetime, did you think those were just words?”

She looked up from what my finger was doing and blinked. “I want to believe you.”

She had some doubt. Excellent. “Are you challenging me, Rachel?”

She bit her lower lip. “Maybe.”

I tilted my head and grinned. “Not a good idea.”

She had no way of knowing it, but this was as aroused as I’d been in a long time. Maybe in my whole life, all because of the anticipation we’d built over the last six months. If she wanted to challenge me, I’d have all the more reason to fuck her like she’d never been fucked before.

I unfastened her bra and watched as the outer edges of her nipple revealed itself to me for the first time. I stared attentively, taking in every visual frame per millisecond as I tugged the dress down farther, uncovering her entire nipple, which had tightened into an excited little bud.

There.

Waiting.

For me.

Mine.

I looked Rachel in the face, and caught her looking down at my hand. She was anticipating my next move. Likely expecting me to give it a little squeeze, maybe start sucking on it.

She would have to wait a moment. I was going to take it, no doubt. Do all the things that I knew were running through her mind. But I would take it as I pleased, when I pleased. And for now, there was more to discover.

I let my hands drift down her back and to her ass, and lifted the hem of her dress higher. She wore a thong, tucked tightly between her ass cheeks. Firm. Round.

I let my finger explore my favorite part of a woman’s ass—that area right where it meets the top of the thigh. And what a curve Rachel had there.

“I’ll buy you a new pair of these if I happen to rip them, and I just might,” I said, my finger looped beneath the thin fabric that stretched around her hip.

When I looked at her face, her eyebrows had risen on her forehead. She spoke no words, but her expression told me she was giving in.

I turned my attention back to her breast.

More than a handful, just as I like. I cupped it, plumping it up, while using my thumb to tease her nipple to an even harder peak. I took it into my mouth, sucking, pulling, teasing it, as I felt her fingers slide into my hair.

I had to kiss her again. Had to feel that eager tongue of hers. After my tongue swept across hers, I moved my hand to the front of her leg, parting them, sliding my middle finger under the fabric of her thong.

I pulled on it, taunting her with the promise of me tearing it off her body. But instead, I slipped a fingertip underneath and found her clit.

“You’re so wet. Is this for me?”

She nodded. Her eyelids drooped and it was obvious I had lured her to a state of full arousal. She would do anything I wanted her to do, and I intended to push the boundaries.

“Tell me,” I said.

“It’s for you. You make me this wet.” A moment past before she said, “Never like this.” Her words came out in a breathy whisper, and I wasn’t quite sure I heard it correctly.

“What?” I made slow circles around her clit with my finger.

“It’s never been…like this.”

“You mean when you’ve touched your pussy, reading my emails and thinking about me?”

“Yeah.” Her response was breathy, almost imperceptible.

I kissed her again, pleased that she was already on the edge of realizing I was serious with my promise of giving her the fucking of a lifetime.

Her arms were draped over my shoulders. It was time to put her hands to good use, so I reached up, encircled her wrists and guided her hands down to the front of my pants.

“Unzip me and take it out. I want you to feel it. Explore it with your hands before it’s inside you.”

She found my zipper, lowered it, and fumbled around for a few seconds as she tried to free my cock. Once she got it out, she gripped me.

“Harder,” I said. “And with both hands.”

She didn’t hesitate to do as I said. She now had both hands on my shaft, alternating her squeezing between the two.

“Tell me how it feels.”

She adjusted her grip, trying to make her fingers go all the way around it, which they wouldn’t. “Thick,” she said. “Warm.”

“Do you want it?”

“Yeah.” That whispery voice of hers again.

“Tell me. Tell me you want my cock.”

She inhaled sharply. “I want it.”

“Say the words.”

“I want your cock.”

My hand was between her legs again, teasing her clit with my forefinger and middle finger. She was warm and slick, ready for me, but I wanted to extend this as long as I could. I kissed her again, then pulled back so I could watch her facial expression the first time I penetrated her.

My middle finger slipped in, and she closed her eyes, taking in a sharp, quick breath.

For a second, her hands fell away from my cock, but she brought them right back giving it a hard squeeze. Perfect.

She breathed the word “Oh” as I teased her with my finger.

“Over to the bed,” I said, putting my other hand on her hip and guiding her, the whole time keeping my finger inside her. She fell back on the mattress, losing her grip on my erection, but impatiently reaching for it again. I hovered over her, dipping my head down to take her nipple into my mouth.

“Is Finn your first name?”

I froze, then looked up from her chest to her eyes. She was staring up at the ceiling.

“I just want to know,” she said, her gaze moving down to meet mine.

“Afterwards,” I said, even though I was pretty sure I wouldn’t let that happen, either.

“It’s just…I want to know your real name,” she said, her tone at once sad yet hopeful, reaching out.

I raised my head from her breast to better see her face. It was blank. The look of near ecstasy was fading from her expression.

“Say something?” she said, in a pleading tone.

“We talked about this.”

“I know, I know. Your privacy code. You can trust me. Whatever the reason, I’m fine with it. I just…I need to know
you.
”

I let out an involuntary sigh as I moved off of her, putting my cock back in my pants and zipping up. “This was supposed to be fantasy.”

“It is.” She rolled over, lifting her hands to cover her breasts. “But don’t we have more than that already? I mean, I’m not one of your anonymous one-nighters. Can we at least text instead of email?”

I didn’t like the way this was going. The worst part of it was that there was no way I could explain to her why I needed to remain virtually anonymous. I couldn’t tell her one bit of it. Not the part about how getting close to someone could compromise me. Nor the part about how getting close to someone could compromise them.

Her
.

I stood. “I’m sorry.” I took a step toward the door.

She said, “Wait!
I’m
sorry. I shouldn’t have done that. Come back.”

I turned and saw her kneeling on the bed, pulling the front of her dress back up to cover herself.

“Trust me,” I said. “You’re better off staying away from me. This shouldn’t have happened.” I stepped toward the door, grabbed the handle, turned to her once more and couldn’t stand the sight of her so sad, pleading, practically begging.

But she was better off.

“I’m leaving. You should leave pretty soon,” I said.

Once out in the hallway, I closed the door behind me and stood still for a moment. I took a deep breath.

Cool it. You had no choice. She broke the deal. She fucked it up. Yeah, you missed out on what was going to be a great fuck, but you had no choice. Leaving is the right thing to do.

I had no desire to put anyone in danger, least of all Rachel, who, as she had correctly pointed out, was nothing like the anonymous women I’d been with.

And then, a little guilt set in. I mean, hell, she didn’t even know most of the stories about all those women were part of my false identity, too.

I’d had my share of virtually anonymous one-night stands, but most of what I had been writing to Rachel was fantasy. Fiction. Made up. All written just for her. That’s because, let’s face it, everything Rachel and I had was fantasy.

Now that we had brought it into the real world, my worst fears were being realized.

She violated the code, trying to push my boundaries, and ruining what I’m sure would have been one fucking amazing evening.

Shit.