Without A Trace: Inside The Lines Part 10

I'm saved from answering when Stephen is called away by the caterers. "Have fun, my sweets! Do everything I would do." With an air kiss, he heads for the kitchen.

"So...what do we do, exactly? This doesn't seem the kind of place where you amingle.'" Fin slips an arm around my waist.

I kiss him. "Well, we could watch. Or we could have some fun ourselves." I gauge his expression, not wanting to push him too far.

He scratches the back of his neck, giving himself away. "How about, I'll trust ye and let ye decide what we do?"

"G.o.d, you are such a man. But I love you anyway." The minute the words are out of my mouth, I'd do anything to take them back. I'm not even sure I mean them. I said them, so therefore, on some level, I must mean them, right? s.h.i.t. I'm not supposed to say it first. Or at least, not without some very solid intuition that it'll be returned. But I said the big "L" word. There's no going back on it now.

If he sees the fear in my eyes, I don't know. He definitely heard what I said, as when I dare to meet his gaze again, there's a softness there to which I'm not sure how to respond.

With the loud music and commotion around us, it's unlikely that I'll hear him when he leans down. But he enunciates very carefully so I don't miss a syllable.

"I love ye as well."

I know my way around, but Stephen is wise enough to lock all of the off-limits s.p.a.ces. Given how full the game room is, we return to the hookah/living room. It's already been taken over by a few couples and threesomes who are getting their s.e.xy on. I spy an overstuffed chair with an ottoman in the far corner, and we make our way to it.

"We can watch, or we can play. Or do both." I turn, laying my hands against his chest. Our exchange in the kitchen has my stomach thrumming with warmth as though I just downed a brandy, and when he reaches for my arms, he encounters gooseb.u.mps.

"You're freezing," he whispers, drawing me closer, but the wings impede the movement. With a few deft pulls, I untie them and let them slide to the floor. Then I step into the warm arms waiting for me, and for a moment, lay my head against his heart, listening to his solid rhythm.

When I look up, his eyes are molten with need, but there's a deeper emotion there that I can't deny, but I don't know how to respond to, either. So instead, I get lost in his mouth, the feel of his skin, the way his hands find every sensitive bit of exposed flesh...

"I opt for both, then." His deep voice tickles my ear, and when I look at him, there's a challenge in his gaze. I've never backed down from anything, so I simply nod. He sits in the chair, and with gentle hands, positions me between his legs, then evaluates my costume. "How does this come off?"

And this is where I didn't plan very well. Because if I take my costume off, it's going to be tricky to get back into it. Given that I have a kilted Scotsman looking at me as though I'm his next meal, I bite my lip and turn so he can access the hooks and eyes of the corset.

It takes some time, but he finally releases the last hook, and the corset sags around me, held up only by my arms. While I've never been particularly shy about my body and this isn't the first time I've been in this situation, there's a bit of hesitation before I stand naked in front of an audience. A relatively oblivious audience, but given that four more people just took up the far corner...

I slide the corset down my body, relinquishing it to the floor. I wear only the boy-shorts and skirt now; his strong fingers untie the skirt, and then he slides both down my legs. I step out of them, left in my knee-boots.

He pulls me down to his lap as he relaxes into the seat.

"Spread your legs, love."

The heat of his breath on my neck leaves me shaking. I've never responded to orders before, never been with anyone who would even consider it, but suddenly I want nothing more than to do exactly what he says, and the conflict rages inside me, even as I drape my legs over his. His one hand covers my breast as he tips my head back so he has access to my mouth. Scorching kisses leave me wet, and I dissolve in a haze of desire.

He spreads his legs, opening me up even further and putting me on display to the room. While he lightly pinches my nipple, his palm skims my stomach, stopping just north of where I want his fingers.

"Tell me something, Lux." He presses his lips to my jaw, his teeth grazing my skin. "Tell me what you want."

I swallow, unable to form the words.

"Ask me."

The sensual slapping of skin on skin, groans of pleasure, and the dim light should lower my inhibitions, but at this moment, I feel wildly exposed as erotic images I've never given voice to play across my mind, and my senses take in the s.e.xuality of the background.

"What do you want?"

With another hard swallow, I whisper against his mouth, "Touch me."

He stills beneath me, waiting.

"Please."

His lips descend on mine with ferocity as his fingers slide over me, teasing the edge of my s.e.x. I buck against him, desperate for friction. His mouth silences any words, quelling my rebellion.

"I will have ye, love. In my time, d.a.m.n ye." He lifts one of his legs, propping his foot on the ottoman before us. Now I'm not only spread wider, but I don't have two feet on the ground, ensuring he has even more control over me.

His fingertips slip into me, but just a fraction. I nip his lip in response, earning me a soft chuckle.

"Ye're a stubborn thing, eh?" He gives me no relief, circling my tender c.l.i.t.

I have no choice but to relax against him and enjoy the sensation of my captured breast and his hard c.o.c.k pressed against my a.s.s.

"I'm going to f.u.c.k you, Lux, but first, you're going to beg me to let you come." There's play in his words, but the demand is still there.

"I will never beg," I return, a slight smile on my lips as he twists my nipple with a little more pressure. I gasp, loving the intensity that borders discomfort.

He dips his fingertips inside me again. "Aye, love, ye will." He continues his sensual exploration, pressing me open, barely touching the underside of my c.l.i.t before removing his fingers altogether and focusing his attention on my b.r.e.a.s.t.s and mouth.

I drop my head back against him when I can barely take any more, and I catch the eye of another woman directly across from us. Her lover is taking her from behind as her wrists are bound before her, and she watches Fin and I with evident enjoyment.

There's something incredibly arousing about being watched, and the tension inside me heightens. Fin finally drives his fingers into me, allowing me to grind against his palm. Even as my o.r.g.a.s.m builds, I know he's testing me, and sure enough, as soon as I'm about to tip over the edge, he withdraws his hand.

The woman opposite me smiles knowingly when our gazes meet. Her emboldened stare invites mine, so I maintain the eye contact as Fin continues to tease me mercilessly. In retaliation, I pull at his kilt, tugging it from beneath me, so his bare c.o.c.k rests between my a.s.s cheeks.

"Now who will beg?" I say, tightening my thighs so I weigh heavily against his length, trapping him between us.

His strained chuckle a.s.sures me that I've won. "Ye're a feisty woman, Lux Trace." But he reneges, finally, pressing me forward and up so when I return to his lap, he slides deep inside me. The pressure of him, particularly at this angle, steals my breath. I close my eyes, reveling in the feel of him, deep and thick, then open them to the curious gaze across from me. As I channel my energy into movement, I focus on her, and the erotic tension drives me down on Fin's c.o.c.k again... and again.

When exquisite waves crash over me, Fin begins to shudder with his own release. And I watch with appreciation as the woman does as well, her lover pushing her over the edge. I collapse against Fin, and he wraps his arms around me, his warmth easing the chill creeping over my bare skin.

I must have dozed off, because when I'm aware of my surroundings again, Fin is gazing down at me with a smile. "h.e.l.lo, beautiful."

With a small grin, I curl against him. "I have a problem."

"What's that?"

"If we're ever to go home, I'll have to figure out how to get back into my costume."

He glances around at the now packed room with every possible s.e.xual position on display. "I doubt anyone would notice if I take ye out to the car just as ye are, love." His brows draw together in puzzlement as he stares across the room. "How did he get her into that position..." He c.o.c.ks his head to the side, then a little further. "Aye, I daresay we could both walk out of here ruttin' like deer, and no one would bat an eyelash."

"Tempting, but..." I glance about for my costume, but it's been trampled under a clutch of bodies.

He's already shrugging out of his shirt.

If any of the neighbors were peeking about, they might have wondered what was going on as a bare-chested, kilted Scotsman carried a laughing, barely dressed woman down the sidewalk.

Chapter 18.

The Truth about Love Love. It sweeps in and steals all logic. In its wake, it leaves desolation and grief. At least, that's how it's always seemed to me. After our wild night at the s.e.x party, Fin took me home, and while I wanted him to stay, I didn't ask him to. Even though I think he wanted me to. I can't even say why I didn't. Perhaps it was the extreme intimacies we'd shared that night, or the conflicting emotions that seem to define my inner thoughts as of late. Whatever it was, something stopped me from inviting him in, and so I spent yet another lonely night in my bed.

It's been three days. We've exchanged some texts, but when he's tried to turn up the heat, I've withdrawn. I can't explain it. Or maybe I don't want to. My gut aches with longing, and all I want to do is run to him. What I do instead is focus on business. I have two new clients to initiate, regular clients to keep happy, and plenty of things to think about when it comes to Kinked. I promised myself that I wouldn't sleep with anyone but Fin since our first date, but the familiar longing for something, anything, to break through the intense ball of emotion inside builds.

All of which is stupid because if I'd just get over my issues and call him, this wouldn't be a problem. Instead, I wallow in my fear, knowing that I should get past it, but refusing to budge.

Fin doesn't suffer from the same reticence, however.

Noah glances over at me where I'm lying across the couch reading a romantic thriller. "You wanna go out? Maybe grab some food and drinks?"

I lower my book and consider his offer. "I don't think so. Maybe another night. But I'm kind of adone' for today. I spent three hours on a Skype call with Divine's marketing witch. I'm really, really over her."

He laughs. "She does seem to have it in for you."

"That's putting it mildly. The b.i.t.c.h essentially treats me like the hired help, as though this isn't my idea and life's blood," I growl, which sounds comical even to me. "She annoys the s.h.i.t out of me."

He eyes me suspiciously. "Still...you haven't seen Fin in several days because you've been home early almost every night... and you don't want to go out and blow off some steam after a long day?" He presses steepled fingers to his lips. "What's going on?"

I roll my eyes in what I hope is a convincing way. "Nothing. Just taking a break."

"Did you guys break up?"

I don't answer for a few seconds. "I don't think so."

"You don't think so? What's going on, Lulu?"

I dog-ear the page of my book, then stare at the ceiling, trying to figure out what to say. Then I give up. "I told him I love him."

Noah nods. "And?"

"He told me he loves me too."

"And this is a problem... why?"

I shrug a shoulder. "Because I'm a commitment phobe? Because I ruin relationships? Because I'm incapable of doing things like this right? Take your pick."

He watches me for several minutes, as though waiting for me to say something else. But I don't. I continue to examine the ceiling for cracks, not really seeing anything in front of me, but rather, viewing the chaos inside my mind that surrounds my emotions. And I know it's an excuse. These are all pathetic excuses that I use to avoid dealing with the gooey parts of relationships.

"Look, I'm the worst person to ever give relationship advice-"

"So don't." I sit up. "Seriously, Noah, I know I'm being stupid. Fin's amazing-he's what every girl wants. More than that, even. But I f.u.c.k up relationships. It's what I do."

His brows draw together in annoyance. "So stop doing that."

The simplicity of his statement is like a blow to the gut. I want to respond, but the truth of it is the wakeup call I needed. A slow grin spreads across my face. "I guess I should, huh?"

Unsure, he nods. "Yeah, you should."

I drop my head in my hand, laughing. "G.o.d, I'm so f.u.c.ked up."

"Can't argue with you there." But he says it with a small smile.

The doorbell rings, and he heads for it. Then he calls my name.

Fin is standing there, jeans and t-shirt covered in grime from a day of work.

"I'll let you guys to it," Noah mumbles before disappearing into the house.

I indulge in the sight of Fin, his skin burnished from the sun and his eyes fiery with frustration.

"Is there a reason ye're avoiding me? Did I do something wrong?" Hands on hips, his accent twists the words so I can barely make them out.

"No, you didn't. I did."

That takes the wind out of his very puffed up sails. "So. Were ye planning on telling me that? Or talking to me again at all?"

"I was. I am. I meant to. I just..." I sound like an idiot. "I love you."

"Aye. I love ye too. I told ye that." And the light bulb goes on. "That's why I havena heard from ye, isn't it?"

I raise my eyebrows with a tense smile. "That's me. Romance killer of the year. I have a wall full of trophies."

His shoulders drop as he looks at me for a moment, as though trying to understand what makes me tick. "Ye're not broken, Lux. Hurt, maybe. A little bruised. But ye aren't falling to pieces, love."

His kindness nearly undoes me, so rather than let emotions take their course, I pull his head down to mine and kiss him with all the insecurity and fear that's welled inside of me, as though I can excise them by drinking him in.

He grabs my arms, pushing me back. "Love, I'm a mess. Ye dinna want to get that close to me."

And there is definitely a distinct horse-y odor. "You need a shower."

He grins. "Aye, I do."

I take his hand and pull him into the house. Noah returns to the living room, so we escape upstairs.

He insists on rinsing himself off before letting me into the shower with him. I admire his naked form through the fogged gla.s.s until he opens the door for me to join him. I lather him with soap, paying close attention to his most intriguing bits, until he's straining with need. He pulls me to him, sheathing himself in one stroke. We move together, mouths exploring, hands seeking, finding each other without words. He presses me into the wall, my legs clasped around his waist, and holds me tight as I shake against him, unsure if I'm remade or broken.

He traces small hearts and circles over my b.r.e.a.s.t.s and stomach as he lies beside me in bed. "I had to see ye. When ye dinna respond to my last message, I feared ye might have been angry at me."

I shake my head in disbelief. "For what? Being too perfect?"

He raises an eyebrow, then snorts. "I dinna think that, no."