Losing Control (26 page)

“Shh,” he whispers as I moan and whimper. “I’m going to give you everything you need.”

I
AN
HAS
INTENSE
COMMAND
OVER
his body and moves with surety. He knows how to use his body in innumerable pleasurable ways, but I didn’t think he could be so tender or so gentle.

“You undo me,” he says. The steady pressure of his hips is relentless, so my interest in exploring what he means takes a backseat to discovering how good he can make me feel. When he lowers his body over mine, the rub of his chest hair against my nipples is electric. “I shouldn't be doing this with you. Not now, but I want you too much.”

“I want this, too,” I breathe.

I buck up against him, trying to get closer, but he’s in charge of my body. As his one hand rests above my shoulder to brace his frame, he slowly glides in and out of me. He puts his right hand to work caressing the apple of my shoulder and tracing over the slight muscles in my biceps. His mouth follows the same path, and I discover the inside of my elbow is a particularly sensitive place when he tongues that flesh and then moves lower to kiss the inside of my wrist, my palm, and every single finger.

It’s like he turns every inch of my body into an erogenous zone with his touch and my skin is barely any barrier between his lips and my nerve endings. The pleasure he’s delivering in this slow, measured fashion is indescribable. Even my eyelids feel prickles of sensation as the deep thrusts inside my body push tendrils of sweet delight to the surface.

And everywhere my hands touch I feel the power in his body—from the flex of his shoulders to the straining biceps that bulge next to my cheek. His ass clenches and releases with each downward drive of his hips. There's no urgency in his movements. It is as if he could fuck me forever. As if there is nothing more in this world he wants to do than enjoy the pleasure of dragging his cock along my engorged tissues.

All the while, his eyes bore into mine and everything in my vision is forest green. My whole world is his heavy, muscular body stretched and straining above mine. His green eyes are all I see. And his scent is the only thing in my head.

“Your body is so beautiful,” he whispers. “There will never be enough time in this life for me to do everything. I won't be done until I kiss every inch. Until I've touched every hollow and rise. All the public places and the secret spots. And then I want to do it all over again.”

His words are as erotic as all his touches.

He doesn’t allow me to touch him for long. Gathering my wrists in one hand, he pins them above my head.

“Let me give this to you,” he whispers and then covers my mouth with his. As his lips move languidly over mine and his tongue stokes inside my mouth, I shut my eyes and do as he orders. I let go.

I allow the stream of sensation to close over my head and sweep me away. And it
feels so good.

He grasps my hip to pull me closer and the rhythm of our joining quickens and the spasms of my climax overtake me. My toes curl and my mind is empty of everything but what Ian has placed there. The release that overtakes me floats me onto an ocean of sensation as wave after wave of delirious joy buffets my body. I don't even know if he's come, I'm so wrapped up in what he's given me.

But his eyes have lost that fierce, hungry look and the flush in his cheeks has drained away. The tension of his body has been traded for loose-limbed satisfaction.

“Was it good for you?” I half-joke because it was so good for me that I think I’ll cry if this is how it is for him with every woman.
Lie to me
, I think.
Let me believe
.

“Better than I'd ever imagined.”

If it’s a lie, I can’t tell. His eyes are warm and full of affection. With careful hands he covers me with the comforter and strides into the bathroom, but his absence is quick. He returns with a warm washcloth and the bottle of antiseptic lotion. Sliding under the covers, he places the warm cloth between my legs, soothing my sensitive flesh. After he tosses the cloth on the ground, he spreads another thin layer of lotion on my abraded shoulder.

“I feel really good,” I admit. It’s like I’ve been drugged because I don’t feel any pain, only the lingering happiness following a euphoric event.

“I’m telling myself that sex is good for you,” he smiles and traces a finger down the side of my face. “I think I read somewhere that the endorphins released during orgasm help while you’re sick.” He turns over to place the lotion on the nightstand and clean his fingers off with a tissue. “It’s how I’m justifying my incredibly selfish actions.”

“If that’s you being selfish, I’m afraid that I will literally die if you become altruistic in bed.” I stretch a little and slide my legs along his hairy, masculine ones; the feel of his coarse hair reminds me of how wonderful it felt when his chest rubbed against mine. My nipples respond to the memory by tightening up. The sheets and comforter slipped down below my chest as I stretched, exposing my reaction to Ian who growls in appreciation. His hand hovers over my breasts and then drops down to drag the blankets upright.

“I’ll have to put that to the test in a few days,” he says, tucking my head against his shoulder. I let myself sprawl across his body, my thigh thrown over his and my hand threading through the light sprinkling of chest hairs before moving lower.

“A few days?” I whine. That’s not what my body wants to hear. “I thought you said sex was going to heal me quicker.”

He chuckles and the sound vibrates inside my own body as if we are connected. “I said endorphins make you feel better, not that they make you heal faster. But I do know that you should be getting some rest so sleep now.”

“Alright.” My words are slurry because I am feeling drowsy. “But I’m not waiting a few days to feel like this again.”

“Noted.” And his hard body shakes with suppressed laughter next to mine. It’s the most comforting feeling, and when I fall asleep I know it’s with a big smile on my face.

W
HEN
I
WAKE
UP
LATER
THAT
day, it takes me a minute to orient myself. The surface I’m lying on isn’t my sofa bed nor is it the bed in the Central Towers apartment. As I sit up, the aches and pains in my shoulder and side overtake the pleasant memory of how Ian made sure I went to sleep. On the foot of the bed is a silky robe with a blue geometric pattern that’s lined with burgundy velvet. When I put it on, I realize it must be Ian’s robe—it’s far too big for me in the arms and the belt can be wrapped around my waist twice. This puts a puzzled smile on my face because I really can’t see Ian wearing something like this. If he’s not dressed in his suits or jeans, he seems to prefer almost nothing.

I take a moment to check out my injuries in the bathroom. I’d avoided looking before because that made it easier to pretend nothing happened, but the face in the mirror looks bad. My left eye is encircled by a ring of bruises and there is a swelling on my left temple. When I pull aside the robe collar, I can see my left shoulder is starting to scab over. Under my right breast, there’s a purple and yellow and black bruise that spreads from my side almost to my belly button. It’s hard to believe that Ian looked at my body and called it beautiful, because right now I look like I belong in a horror show.

As I step out into the hall, still dressed in only Ian’s robe, familiar voices drift up the stairs. My mother’s voice stops me in my tracks. I don’t want her to see me like this but she calls my name before I can run back into the bedroom and hide.

“Hey, Mom,” I say weakly. I wonder if I can magically heal by the time I hit the floor or she’ll get tired of me and leave. Both are fairy tales, but it doesn’t stop me from slowing my descent. She gets up and comes to stand at the bottom of the steps, ready to chase me upstairs should I turn tail and flee. There’s nothing like facing an angry momma—unless it’s trying to explain yourself to a disappointed one.

When I get close, she gasps and covers her mouth. My feeling of dread gets worse when she starts to cry. “This is my fault. You wouldn’t be doing stuff for Malcolm if I hadn’t gotten sick.”

“No, Mom.” I fly down the stairs and gather her in my arms. Her bony shoulders and frail body shake against me. My stricken eyes meet Ian’s sympathetic gaze and he comes over in response to my silent plea.

“Sophie, she’s fine. I had her all checked out.” Ian draws her away and sits her down on the sofa. Mom leans into him and instead of looking awkward and uncomfortable, he simply looks down at the top of her head with genuine affection. As I watch them, my heart turns over. Ian could make love to me a thousand times but nothing will ever mean more to me than his steady arm around my distraught mother.

Suddenly I want to cry, not in sadness but relief. So this is how it feels to share a burden with someone. My throat tight, I head for Ian’s fancy kitchen to find something to drink. I’m going to need something to sedate myself with so I don’t fly into his arms and confess my undying love for him.

There’s no doubt in my mind that I love him and, worse, I’m not ever going to get over him when he’s done with me. But as with my mom, there’s no sense in borrowing trouble. I resolve to take one day at a time and enjoy the sheer pleasure of letting him order my life around for a short while.

I can mourn when it’s over.

I find a pitcher of water in Ian’s refrigerator and white porcelain coffee mugs on an open shelf above a fancy-looking espresso machine mounted into the wall. Filling two mugs, I carry them over to the living room and set one down on the metal side table next to Ian. He gives me a nod and my mom a brisk rub on the back before setting her upright.

“I’ve a friend who’s setting up a security business. He needs someone to answer phones and keep track of his guys in the field. It’s a dispatch-slash-receptionist position. I talked to him about your reading and writing issues, and he says that it’s fine. Most of your contact will be over the phone. What you can’t write, you can dictate—your voice messages will be transcribed by their computer software. He’s got some ins with the defense department, so his software is a lot better than anything you’re going to find on the market.” Ian pins me with a sharp gaze. “It’s a real job, Tiny. Not something I made up for you.”

Talking about my learning deficiencies makes me uncomfortable. Most of the time it’s no big deal because not that many people know about it and the ones that do never really bring it up. Only Malcolm, and that’s when he’s trying to piss me off.

“I don’t know—” I begin before my mom cuts me off.

“This is perfect.” My mom breathes in a sigh of relief, and I figure that I’ll have any additional discussion about a potential job with Ian in private.

“Great.” Ian gets to his feet and heads over to the kitchen as if the conversation is over and my new job is a done deal. “We’ll go over to Jake Tanner’s office in the morning. For now, I’m going to order some dinner.”

My mom jumps up. “Oh no, let me make something. How about shrimp scampi?”

“I don’t really have the ingredients for that,” Ian replies ruefully. He opens his refrigerator door and even from my place on the sofa I can see it’s mostly empty shelves and bottles of energy drinks.

Mom is already up, as if she’s going to hit the streets and find a grocery store and drag all the ingredients back. I shoot a worried look at Ian, but he’s already on it.

“Let me call Steve to take you over to Chelsea Market.” Ian’s got the phone in his hand before my mother can say another word. She makes a small face, and inwardly I smile because she’s getting a tiny taste of his highness’s
my way is the only way
attitude. And it’s clear that Ian doesn’t even realize what he’s doing. This is who he is.

After pressing money into my mom’s hands for the groceries, Ian wanders over to sit next to me. I notice that his hands are bruised.

“Boxing without your gloves?” I tease, running a finger lightly over the abrasions.

The side of his mouth quirks up. “Something like that.”

“I didn’t hear you working out down here.” I look over to his gym area, but I don’t see a bag. Only free weights, a few mats, and a wall of mirrors.

“I worked off my frustrations elsewhere.” It’s said glibly, but he won’t look me in the eye.

“Your frustrations?” I ask slowly, and then it occurs to me that his knuckles might not be raw because of a gym workout. “Please don’t tell me you went back to Brooklyn Heights.”

Ian’s evasiveness evaporates as he turns to me with a fierce look. “No one will ever raise a hand to you without suffering the consequences. You’re mine now. You gave yourself to me, and in order to honor that gift, I protect it.” He raises our joined hands and kisses our fingers. “Don’t ask me not to because that’s one promise I won’t give.”

I open my mouth to object, but he drags me onto his lap and crushes my protestations under his mouth.

“I'
VE
GOT
AN
APPOINTMENT
THIS
morning, but I'll have Steve swing by after lunch and we can go see Tanner then.”

Ian’s voice is muffled by the blankets I have over my head. My body aches and there’s a tiny man behind my temples bashing a hammer against my skull. After Steve took Mom home last night, Ian and I’d gotten into a little tiff because he was stubbornly resistant to having sex again.

“You had no problems earlier,” I’d pointed out.

“And I already feel like a heel. Roger’d have my dick in a vise if he knew that I didn’t allow you to rest.” Ian had shoved a hand through his hair, looking incredibly irritated. It was self-directed, but I still felt like I was somehow at fault. He’d stomped into the bathroom to get ready for bed. It didn’t make me feel better that I’d rolled over on my side and was asleep so quickly I didn’t even feel Ian climb back under the covers.

He shakes my shoulder lightly, but even that small movement generates a moan of pain. “Take two of these.” When he pulls back the covers, I open only one eye. At least I’m not seeing double, only one impeccably-dressed male in a pale blue grid cotton shirt underneath a light grey suit coat. His navy-striped tie is unknotted around his neck and his collar is flipped up, signaling that he’s all but done with his morning routine.