Beautiful Bitch Part 4

"And?" he whispered, pressing his hips to my a.s.s before turning me to face him.

The cabinets were hard against my back. Bennett was harder against my front. He bent down, towering over me without the benefit of my shoes, and brushed his lips over my throat.

"And . . ." I mumbled. "Food is overrated."

He laughed softly, hands skimming my sides to rest at my hips. "Exactly. And G.o.d, it feels like I haven't touched you in weeks."

"This afternoon," I corrected, pulling back just enough to meet his eyes. "It was this afternoon, you know-when I sucked you off at your desk?"

"Oh, yes. I seem to remember something like that. It's a little hazy, though. Perhaps you could refresh my memory . . . tongue, c.o.c.k . . ."

"Nice mouth, Ryan. Does your mother know you're such a pig?"

He barked out a laugh. "If the way she looked at us after we f.u.c.ked in the coatroom at my cousin's wedding in February is any indication, then yes."

"I hadn't seen you in two weeks!" I said, feeling my cheeks warm. "Don't look so smug, you a.s.s."

"But I'm your a.s.s," he said, and pressed a lingering kiss to my lips. "Don't pretend like you don't love it." I couldn't argue. Bennett might have spent more time out of Chicago than in it lately, but he was all mine. He never left any doubt about that. "And speaking of a.s.ses"-he reached down and squeezed mine, hard-"the things I'm going to do to yours tonight . . ."

I started to reply-to argue or say something smart in return that would put me back in the verbal driver's seat-but I couldn't think of anything.

"Jesus. You've been stunned silent," he said, eyes wide in surprise. "If I'd known that's all it'd take to get a little peace and quiet, I'd have brought it up ages ago."

"I . . . um." I opened and closed my mouth a few times but nothing came out. This was new. When the oven timer cut through the air, I forced myself to pull away, still a little off balance.

I pulled the bread from the oven and drained the pasta, feeling Bennett move up behind me again. He hooked his chin over my shoulder, wrapped his arms around my waist.

"You smell so good," he said. His mouth went back to work on my neck, as his hands began a slow descent down to the hem of my skirt. I was more than a little tempted to let him finish.

Instead, I nodded to the cutting board. "Can you finish the salad for me, please?"

He groaned and loosened his tie, grunting something unintelligible as he began working at the opposite counter.

Ribbons of garlic-scented steam curled up from the bowl as I tossed the pasta and sauce together, trying to clear my head. As usual, it was impossible when he was nearby. There was just something about Bennett Ryan that seemed to suck all the air out of a room.

I'd been blindsided by how hard I'd fallen for him, and lately I missed him so much when he was gone. Sometimes I'd talk to my empty bedroom. "How was your day?" I'd ask. "My new a.s.sistant is hilarious," I'd say. Or: "Has my apartment always been this quiet?"

Other days, when I'd worn his shirt to sleep so many times it had lost his smell, I'd go over to his place. I'd sit in the huge chair that looked out over the lake, and wonder what he was doing. Wonder if it was possible for him to miss me even a fraction as much as I missed him. Jesus. I never used to understand women who acted like this when their boyfriends traveled. I used to just a.s.sume it was a good opportunity for a full night's sleep and some downtime.

Somehow, Bennett had managed to work his way into every part of my life. He was still the same stubborn, driven man he'd always been, and I loved that he hadn't changed who he was just because we were together. He treated me as an equal, and even though I knew he loved me more than anything, he never cut me any slack. For that I loved him even more.

I carried our plates to the table and glanced back over my shoulder. Bennett was still grumbling to himself as he sliced a tomato.

"Are you still complaining?" I asked.

"Of course." He brought the salad over, smacking my a.s.s before pulling out my chair.

He poured us each a gla.s.s of wine before dropping into the seat across from me. Bennett watched me take a sip, his eyes moving from mine, to my lips, and back up again. A sweet smile pulled at the corner of his mouth, but then he seemed to blink back into focus, remembering something. "I've been meaning to ask you, how's Sara?"

Sara Dillon had graduated from the same MBA program that I had, but had since left RMG to work for another firm. She was one of my best friends, and Bennett had offered her the Director of Finance position in the new branch but she'd turned him down, not wanting to leave her family and the life she had in Chicago. He didn't blame her, of course, but as the big day drew closer and we still hadn't found anyone, I knew he was beginning to worry.

I shrugged, remembering the conversation I'd had with her earlier that day. Sara's douchebag of a fiance had been photographed kissing another woman, and it seemed Sara might really be seeing what the rest of us had suspected for years: Andy was a cheating d.i.c.k.

"She's okay, I guess. Andy still claims he was set up. The other woman's name still pops up in the paper every week. You know Sara. She's not going to show the world how she feels, but I can tell she's completely shattered over this."

He hummed, considering. "Think she's finally done? No more taking him back?"

"Who knows? They've been together since she was twenty-one. If she hasn't left him by now then maybe she'll stay with him forever."

"Wish I'd gone with my gut and knocked him on his a.s.s at the Smith House event last month. What a miserable sleaze."

"I've tried to talk her into coming to New York but . . . she's so stubborn."

"Stubborn? I can't possibly see why the two of you are friends," he deadpanned.

I threw a cherry tomato at him.

The rest of the meal was all talk about work, about getting the new office off the ground and all the pieces that still needed to be put into place before that could happen. We'd begun discussing whether his family would be going back to New York again before the new offices opened when I asked, "When did your dad get back in town?"

I waited a moment, but when Bennett didn't answer, I looked up, surprised to see him pushing his food around his plate.

"Everything okay over there, Ryan?"

A few seconds of silence pa.s.sed before he said, "I miss you working for me."

I felt my eyes widen. "What?"

"I know. It doesn't make any sense to me, either. We were awful to each other, and it was an impossible situation." Holy c.r.a.p, what an understatement. The fact that we managed to survive working in the same office together for ten months without bloodshed or some sort of manslaughter stapler incident still surprised me. "But . . . ," he continued, looking up at me from across the table, "I saw you every day. It was predictable. Consistent. I pushed and you pushed back. It was the most fun I've ever had at a job. And I took it for granted."

I set my gla.s.s down and met his eyes, feeling an overwhelming surge of affection for this man. "That . . . makes sense," I said, searching for the right words. "I don't think I appreciated what it meant to see you every day, either. Even if I did want to poison you on no less than twenty-seven separate occasions."

"Ditto," he replied with a smirk. "And sometimes I feel guilty for how many times I threw you out the window in my fantasies. But I most certainly plan on making it up to you." He picked up his gla.s.s, took a long drink.

"Do you now?"

"Yep. I have a list."

I raised an eyebrow in silent question.

"Well, first I'm going to peel off that skirt." He bent to glance under the table. "I'd ha.s.sle you for wearing that lacy stuff underneath just to torture me, but we both know I'm into that kind of thing."

I watched as he straightened and leaned back in his chair, hands clasped behind his head. The weight of his attention brought goose b.u.mps to my skin. Anyone else would have been intimidated-I could still remember a time when I was-but right now all I felt was adrenaline, a thrill that shot through my chest and settled warm and heavy in my stomach.

"And that sweater," he began, eyes on my chest now. "I'd like to rip it open, hear the sound of those little b.u.t.tons as they pop off and scatter across the floor."

I crossed my legs, swallowed. He followed the movement, a smile slowly lifting at the corners of his mouth.

"Then maybe I'd spread you out on this table." He leaned over, made a show of testing its st.u.r.diness. "Put your legs over my shoulders, suck on you until you're just begging for my c.o.c.k."

I tried to seem unaffected, tried to break from his stare. I couldn't. I cleared my throat, my mouth suddenly dry. "You could have done that last night," I said, teasing him.

"No. Last night we were tired and I just wanted to feel you come. Tonight, I want to take my time, undress you, kiss every inch of that body-f.u.c.k you. Watch you f.u.c.k me."

Was it suddenly getting warm in here?

"Pretty sure of yourself, aren't you?" I asked.

"Most definitely."

"And what makes you think I don't have a list of my own?" I stood, dessert forgotten as I rounded the table to stop in front of him. His c.o.c.k was already stiff, straining against the fly of his pants. He followed my gaze and smirked up at me, pupils dark and so wide they drowned the hazel surrounding them.

I wanted to rip off my clothes and feel the heat of that stare on my skin, wake up in the morning exhausted and sore and with the memory of his fingertips still pressing into my body. How did he make me feel this way with just a look and a few dirty words?

Bennett shifted in his chair and I stepped between his legs, reaching out to push the hair-that eternally freshly f.u.c.ked hair-from his forehead. The soft strands slipped between my fingers and I tilted his head back, bringing his eyes to mine. I've missed you so much, I wanted to say. Stay. Don't go so far away. I love you.

The words stuck in my throat and nothing more than a "Hi" slipped out instead.

Bennett tilted his head, smile widening as he looked up at me. "Hi." Warm hands gripped my hips, pulled me closer. Laughter curled around the single word and I knew he could read me like a book, saw every thought as clearly as if it were written across my forehead in ink. It's not that I wasn't comfortable saying I loved him, it's just that it was so new. I'd never said it to anyone before him, and sometimes it felt scary, like opening up my chest and handing him my heart.

His hand moved up to rest on my breast, thumb brushing along the underside. "I can't help but wonder what's under this pretty little sweater," he said.

I sucked in a breath, felt my nipples harden beneath the thin cashmere. He slipped one b.u.t.ton through the hole, and then another, until the cardigan fell open and his eyes moved over my barely-there bra. He hummed in appreciation. "This is new."

"And expensive. Don't ruin it," I warned.

He couldn't contain his smug smile. "I would never."

"You bought me a four-hundred-dollar slip and then used it to tie me to your bed, Bennett."

He laughed, pushing the sweater from my shoulders, taking his time to unwrap me like a gift. Long fingers moved to the waist of my skirt and the soft sound of the zipper filled the room. He did as he'd promised, purposefully peeling the wool from my hips and down my legs to pool at my feet, leaving me in only my lace bra and rather skimpy panties.

The air conditioner switched on and a low whir carried through the apartment, a burst of cool air rushing along my exposed skin. Bennett pulled me down onto his lap, my legs on either side of his hips. The rough fabric of his pants brushed against the backs of my bare thighs, my practically naked a.s.s. I should have felt vulnerable like this-with me in so little and him fully dressed-but I relished it. It was so much like our first night together at his home, after my presentation, after we'd both admitted we didn't want to be without the other and he let me tie him up so I could have the nerve to hear how much I'd hurt him.

And then I realized this position was intentional. I suspected he was thinking about that exact night, too. His eyes shone with such hunger, such adoration, that I couldn't help but feel a sense of power, like there wasn't anything this man wouldn't do if I just asked.

I reached for the b.u.t.tons of his shirt, wanting him naked and over me, behind me-everywhere. I wanted to taste him, scratch marks into his skin, and connect them with my fingers, my lips and my teeth. I wanted to stretch him out on the table and f.u.c.k him until any thought of either of us ever leaving this room was a distant memory.

Somewhere in the apartment, a phone rang. We froze, neither of us saying anything, both waiting, hoping it had been a fluke and that nothing but silence would follow. But the shrill ringtone-one I'd become all too familiar with-filled the air again. Work. The emergency ringtone. And not the regular emergency one-the emergency-emergency one. Bennett swore, resting his forehead against my chest. My heart pounded beneath my ribs and my breaths felt too quick, too loud.

"f.u.c.k, I'm sorry," he said when it continued to ring. "I have to-"

"I know." I stood, using the back of the chair to support my shaky legs.

Bennett scrubbed his hands over his face before he stood and crossed the room, finding his phone where he'd slung his jacket over the back of the couch. "Yeah," he said, and then listened.

I bent for my sweater and slipped it over my shoulders, found my skirt and pulled it up my hips. I carried the dishes into the kitchen while he talked. I was trying to give him some sense of privacy but grew concerned as his voice continued to rise.

"What do you mean they can't find it?" he shouted. I leaned against the doorway and watched as he paced back and forth in front of the wide wall of windows. "This is happening tomorrow and someone's misplaced the f.u.c.king master file? Can't someone else handle this?" A pause ensued in which I swear I actually watched Bennett's blood pressure rise. "Are you kidding?" Another pause. Bennett closed his eyes tight and took a deep breath. "Fine. I'll be there in twenty."

When he ended the call, it took a moment for him to look at me.

"It's okay," I said.

"It's not."

He was right. It wasn't okay. It sucked. "Can't someone else handle it?"

"Who? I can't trust something this important to those incompetent a.s.sholes. The Timbk2 account launches tomorrow and the marketing team can't find the file with the financial specs-" He stopped and shook his head, reached for his jacket. "G.o.d, we need someone in New York who knows what the f.u.c.k they're doing. I'm so sorry, Chlo."

Bennett knew how much we needed tonight, but he also had a job to do. I knew this better than anyone.

"Go," I said, closing the distance between us. "I'll be right here when you're done." I handed him his keys and stood up on my toes to kiss him.

"In my bed?"

I nodded.

"Wear my shirt."

"Only your shirt."

"I love you."

I grinned. "I know. Now go save the world."

FOUR.

You have got to be f.u.c.king kidding me.

I turned the key in the ignition and revved the engine hard enough for the RPMs to hit red. I wanted to peel out and tear down the street, leaving the sign of my frustration as black tire marks on the road.

I was tired. f.u.c.k was I tired, and I hated to have to clean up other people's messes at work. I'd been working twelve-, fifteen-, h.e.l.l, even eighteen-hour days for months, and the one night I was able to put aside time with Chloe at home, I was called in.

I paused as the word seemed to bounce around inside of my skull: home.

Whether we were at my place or hers, out with friends, or in that tiny little s.h.i.thole Chinese restaurant she liked so much, it felt like home to me. The strangest part was that the house that had cost me a fortune had never felt like home until she spent time there. Was her home also with me?

We hadn't even had time to pick where we would live in New York. We had identified the new location for RMG, made a map of where each of our offices would be, drawn up blueprints of the renovations and hired a designer . . . but Chloe and I didn't have an apartment to go to.

Which was the greatest sign that old habits die hard, because in reality my relationship with her had completely altered my relationship to my job. Only a year ago I'd been committed to one thing: my career. Now, the thing that mattered most to me was Chloe, and every time my career got in the way of being with her it burned me up inside. I don't even know specifically when that had happened, but I suspect the change had been effected long before I would have ever admitted it. Maybe it was the night Joel came to my parents' house for dinner. Or maybe it was the next day, when I fell on my knees in front of her and apologized the only way I knew how. Most likely it was even earlier than all of that, on the first night I kissed her roughly in the conference room, in my darkest, weakest moment. Thank G.o.d I'd been such an idiot.