All of Me (All of Me #1) (4 page)

“You shouldn’t have done that,” I say. “Why are you here?”

I skip the obvious
how did you get in
and decide to ask him about it later. I haven’t forgotten that he told me he owns the building. I shouldn’t really be surprised though. In fact, I should’ve expected it.

Jason steps closer and presses me against the glass window. “You said I don’t know you anymore,” his mouth comes closer to mine, “but you’re wrong, Lace. I know you. I always have, and I always will.”

“You don’t” I reply, wishing my voice sounded strong instead of breathy.

He grins, and I feel it against my mouth. I feel it between my legs too.

“Yes,” he whispers, “I do, and I’m going to show you just how well.”

At some point between the time that he burst through my door, and now, he lost his suit jacket. His powder blue button up shirt clings to his body and gives only a hint of what lies beneath the soft fabric. He rolls his hips and I feel his hard length behind the zipper his black slacks.

I swallow, my heart racing, my pulse in my ears. I should stop him. Every part of me, except my pussy, is screaming at me to stop.

To push him away and tell him to fuck off all the way to Siberia. But his touch is intoxicating and I’ve gone without it for so long. I reason that we’ll kiss, and then he’ll leave.

That a kiss will be enough.

So not happening.

His hand slides down my chest and pulls at the ribbon around my waist. The silk parts easily, exposing my naked body beneath. He sucks in a breath, and I squeeze my eyes shut, willing myself to put a stop to this before he can –

“Jesus,” he mutters, “even better than I remember.”

Coherent thought becomes impossible when he places a kiss on my pulse. I feel him smile against my skin because my heart stutters and I know he felt it.

I open my mouth, ready to beg him to stop, but he swallows anything I might’ve said when he pulls my mouth back to his. As his tongue reacquaints itself with mine, his hands push my robe to the floor, leaving me completely stripped of clothing.

My nipples pebble, and I rub my thighs together.

I’m too turned on to be pissed, and I vow to be angry later. Right now all can think about is –

I mutter an “oh God,” when he takes both my breasts in his hands and squeezes, rubbing my nipples between his thumb and forefinger. I rest my hands on his biceps, needing the leverage, and grip his shirt beneath my hands. I need something to hold onto.

Jason pulls his mouth from mine, and I brave opening my eyes. His gaze is hot, fierce and hungry. It scares me. I can feel myself taking those few extra steps backward, leaving me back at square one. My body wants this, but my heart is ready to run and hide.

“Stop overthinking it,” Jason says, brushing his finger across my bottom lip, “and just feel.”

I inhale, accepting the fact that I’ll regret this tomorrow. When Jason trails his hand down my waist and between my legs, I don’t stop him. Instead, I part my legs, giving him permission to touch me.

I arch into him when his fingers slip between my slick folds and into my waiting pussy.

“Jason.” His name slips from my mouth, a mixture of a sigh and a moan.

“I’m right here, Lace.”

He kisses me again, and his tongue soon probes the contours of my mouth the way his fingers press my sweet spot. His thumb rubs lazy circles on my clit, and he pushes a third finger in, stretching me.

My nails dig into his arms, and he hisses.

“That’s it,” he coos, “I know what my girl likes.”

I’m too caught up in my haze to protest and tell him I’m no longer his girl, or that I never was. But right here, right now, it feels like it would be a lie. My heart may no longer be his, but he’s taking ownership of my body, whether I like it or not.

He hooks my leg over his forearm and pushes his fingers as deep as they can go before massaging in slow, hard strokes. I’m so close to that cliff, I feel it coiling low in my stomach.

“Ahhhh,” I moan. I push my hips into his hand seeking more. I want him to push me over the edge.

I’m about to explode and he knows it. When his hand stops moving my eyes shoot open and I find him smirking at me. He pulls his fingers free from my body and sucks them.

“Hmmmm,” he groans. “So delicious.”

I stare at him in disbelief, ignoring the ache that has now settled between my legs.

“The next time you say I don’t know you,” he says, his gaze hard, “think about this moment. Think about how I made you feel, and how easily your body responds to me. I know you Lacy, don’t forget it.”

Realization hits me like freight train, and sucks all the air from my lungs. I scramble to grab my robe, and shove Jason away from me. He played me. To prove a fucking point.

I bring my hand up and slap him hard across the face. My hand stings, but not nearly as bad as my heart does. I’m such a fool.

He turns his head back to me and grips my chin. “I like it rough, baby, you know it turns me on.”

Anger boils in my blood and I jerk my chin away.

“Get out!” I yell, pointing at the door. “Get the fuck out and don’t come back!”

Jason’s features harden. “I’ll be back, Lace, but only because you’ll beg me.”

With that he turns around and walks out without a backwards glance. The only sound is that of the door clicking shut. I slide down the glass at my back, tucking my legs under me as I hit the floor.

Why was I so stupid?

I must be a sucker for self-torture.

I hang my head, and allow the tears to fall.

I hate him. I fucking hate him. I will tell myself that until I believe it.

But I won’t believe it. Because I don’t hate him. I can’t.

He played me like a fucking instrument, but I can’t deny that I gave in. Like the idiot that I am, I surrendered, allowing myself to feel what he does to me.

I can’t allow that again.

That was
my
last moment of weakness.

CHAPTER 6

L
ACY

I flip through the printed pages in my hands and sit down to start reading. To anyone else it would look like a stack of paper, but to me it’s so much more. It’s my story.

Who would have thought I’d fit a little over two years onto three hundred pages?

Now that I’m looking at it, the possibility of having other people read it makes me nervous.

I make a fresh cup of coffee, and watch the time on the microwave while the kettle boils. Three a.m.

My apartment is quiet, as are the city streets below me, but my mind makes up for it. I haven’t been able to sleep. Not since Jason walked out of here hours ago.

I spent some time being angry with myself, and then with Jason, and then myself again. When the tossing and turning in bed became too much, I decided to distract myself. Ironically, it was with reading the book I’d written about how I met Jason, and how he flipped my world on its axis.

I take my coffee, sit down and continue reading…

C
HAPTER
T
HREE

My parents’ house was decorated for their annual charity fundraiser. As always, my mother chose golds and creams for the décor. In my opinion it was boring, but what did I know? I was nineteen and the last thing I cared about was attending yet another function. Not that I had much choice in the matter. I was expected to be here. At least I had a say in my dress and this year I chose something that made my mother cringe.

I looked down, smiling, as I remembered my mother’s reaction. I was wearing a strapless teal gown with a sweetheart neckline and empire waist trimmed in colorful beaded accents
.
The kicker? My cleavage was on full display and the gown had a slit that came up mid-thigh. I was showing too much, as my mother put it, but that made it all the more enticing to wear.

“Lacey,” my mother called. I looked up and found her walking towards me.

“Come greet the guests,” she instructed, trying to hide her irritation. She really needs to take the stick out of her ass, I think. Or maybe my father should have sex with her again.

I snickered behind my hand at the thought. If I played along with her charade for a little while then I could leave, and meet my friends at the new club they were all going to.

“You’ve been standing in the corner all night, not bothering to interact with anyone. That’s rude,” she berated. Her face was schooled with a smile, but I could hear the anger simmering behind her words. “You should really try being more like your sister.”

I rolled my eyes. That was her favorite line. She wanted me to be just like my older sister, Rebecca, and the idea made me gag. Rebecca was perfect – perfect grades, perfect etiquette, and perfect, well, everything. Like I said, gag.

“There you are,” my father said, reaching for my arm. “I want you to meet someone.”

I smiled at him, and it was genuine. I had a soft spot for my father. He never complained about what I did or didn’t do, and he was the only one in my family who seemed to accept me the way I was.

“Lacy, this is Jason Tate,” he said. “Jason, this is my youngest daughter, Lacey.”

I looked up and locked eyes with the man my father had introduced me to. His eyes were blue, like the ocean, and I found myself slightly speechless. My heart stuttered.

He was beautiful, and that was probably being too vague. He was tall, at least six feet and three inches, and he had dark hair, like a night sky devoid of any light. His features were shaped, with high cheekbones, slightly squared jaw, and a dimple in his right cheek.

That’s when I realized I was staring. And he was smiling at me. Or smirking. Whichever of the two was more smug.

“Mr. Tate,” I greeted, sticking my hand out politely. I might have been slightly rebellious but I still had manners.

His large hand engulfed mine, and I expected him to shake it. But he didn’t. He bent his head and pressed his lips to my knuckles.  I sucked in a breath, hoping that no one heard it.

“It’s a pleasure,” he said, righting his stance. “Your father has been speaking fondly of you.”

“All bad things, I hope.”

My father cleared his throat, and I felt a blush creep up. I wasn’t supposed to say that. Thankfully it was my father who heard it. My mother would have had a coronary.

Jason chuckled, and my blush deepened.

I tucked a piece of hair behind my ear and briefly looked away.

My sister decided that was the perfect moment to join the conversation.

“Mr. Tate, how nice to see you again.”

“Miss. Forbes,” he replied, not looking away from me. “Lovely to see you again. I was just meeting your sister here.”

Rebecca looked at me, her smile stiff, and then looked at Jason. “Quite the little firecracker, isn’t she?”

I tried not to respond with a sarcastic comment. My sister and I were always fighting. We were opposites in every way. She was white, whereas I was red. She was a “yes” girl, and I was more of a “if I feel like it” girl. She spent her entire life sucking up to my parents, while I spent my life defying them. The only person who ever seemed to understand me was my father, and that was because he was once the rebellious child in his own family.

“Rebecca,” I said, “you look lovely tonight. Is that grandma’s dress?”

She gasped. “No it isn’t. Did you buy yours at Sluts-R-Us?”

My eyes widened in shock. As I opened my mouth to reply, my mother intercepted.

“Rebecca!”

Booya, I thought. Only my sister was dumb enough to get caught saying something like that in front of my mother. I looked at my father, and he had a small smile playing on his lips. That was why I loved him. He got it.

While my mother showed her disapproval, I excused myself and wandered over to the buffet table. I was starving, and totally bored. With a glance at my watch, I noted that I had another hour of this shindig before I could leave. I could waste the time eating, and sneaking champagne when I was sure my mother wasn’t looking.

“Got somewhere to be?”

I spun around, nearly knocking a server over with my arm, and came face-to-face with Jason. He grinned, clearly enjoying my clumsiness.

“Yes, actually I do,” I replied. “This is an old people’s event, and as you can see, I’m not old.”

“No,” he chuckled, “you certainly are not, but I’m slightly offended that you think I am.”

“Well, how old are you?” I knew it was rude to ask so bluntly, but it seemed like my mouth-to-brain filter had once again broken.

Jason’s brow arched, and it made him look so sexy.

“I’m thirty one.”

“Hmm, I never would have guessed.” I was totally flirting with him. He might have been eleven years my senior, but damn he was hot.

“Am I too old to ask you for a dance?”

I regarded him for a second, making it obvious that I was checking him out.

“No,” I replied, “but will you be able to keep up with someone my age?”

“Are you questioning my stamina, Miss. Forbes?”

I laughed, fighting the need to throw myself at this alluring stranger. I didn’t know anything about him except his name and his age but something was pulling me to him. I wanted to know him.

“Quite the opposite, Mr. Tate. I’d like to see what you can do.”

I was walking a fine line between what was considered appropriate and what wasn’t. I didn’t care. I was sure I wasn’t going to see him again so I wanted to enjoy his company while I could. So I did.

We danced until my feet hurt, and I laughed until my belly ached. It was the perfect night, and the most fun I’d ever had at those stuffy events. When I walked him outside, long after many of the other guests had left, he kissed my cheek and slipped a piece of paper in my hand. It was so unlike anything someone his age would do, but that’s what I liked about him - he wasn’t at all what I expected, and he made me forget about the gaping age difference between us.