CUL-DE-SAC (On The Edge Book 1) (33 page)

He ran his hands slowly up her calves, her
thighs and the pink scrape of lace covering her sex. She let her fingers stroke
down his length and saw his head dropping back, the tendons in his neck arching
to create a beautiful line she wanted to taste with her lips and teeth.
“My beautiful Kitten.” Xan’s fingers brushed the edge of her panties.

Once, twice and his body pulsed stronger,
letting him know his control was slowly dissipating, giving way to his hunger
sinking its talons in him the way he wanted to sink in her body.
“Xan…” Cat shivered, unable to withhold the tease any longer when his fingers
moved up for a change to pluck at one taut nipple.
“Are you wet for me, Catalina?” He demanded, and she wanted to deny just to
punish him for the power he had over her body, but she caught his gaze and the
woman in the mirror nodded her head.
“You would have never doubted how much I want you if you had known how often I
catch myself thinking about the slick tightness awaiting me here.” His thumb
slid under the lace drawing random patterns on her over sensitized skin.

She gasped when his whole hand followed and
he pressed the heel of it against her, tormenting her without touching her
where she needed him the most. Her abdomen quivered when he kept tempting her
without delivering on all those promises she could hear locked in his rough
voice and see in his dark hooded gaze.
“Take them off,” he ordered harshly.

He didn’t want even the smallest barrier
between them any longer. He wanted her naked, slick and ready.

Catalina’s gaze caught his in the mirror again
and she hooked her thumbs in the sides of the scrap of lace. He took a step
back and watched her pushing them down and off. He slid one hand between her
thighs, stroking over her clitoris, just to reach the center of her.

Her breath turned into jagged gasps and he
didn’t need to tell her to spread her thighs further apart because she did it
instinctively, craving the intimate contact on her own. The eyes looking back
at him from the cool surface of the mirror were wild and there was nothing cool
about the woman in his arms.

He kept his touch easy but relentless, until
her neck arched and she came undone in the sweetest abandonment he had ever
witnessed, washing his fingers in the scalding heat. Her head dropped onto his
arm and her knees threatened to buckle and give up, but his strong hands were
there to steady her.

He spun her in his arms when the tremor of
her body started to subside, lifting her until she could wrap her legs around
his waist. Her gaze was unfocused and her kiss languid when he bent his head to
taste her. He took a step toward the bed, laying her down and covering her with
his own body.

She gasped softly into his mouth when the
head of his cock rubbed against her swollen flesh and then he was pushing into
her welcoming tightness. Cat moaned, weaving her fingers through his hair,
undulating her hips with a sexual generosity that threatened to steal the bare
threads of his control. He thrust into her with a slow, intensely erotic focus.

Yet he managed to stop himself from taking
her hard this time, gritting his teeth because Chloé’s words kept reverberating
in his head and he was hell-bent on proving he could offer Catalina more than a
rough ride.

He cupped the back of one silky thigh and
rocked against her, allowing himself to love her with his body while
withholding from her any kind of verbal declaration.

CHAPTER 40

Catalina caught herself reaching for her
cell, nearly dialing Chloé’s number more than a dozen times, wanting to share
with her this or that. It was a reflexive reaction after years of doing the
same without pausing for a second to think it through.

Thinking was not only overrated, she
decided, it was also a never-ending hell, because no matter from which angle
she kept looking at it, what she had considered friendship had irrevocably come
to an end.

However, culling out habits that had been
such a big part of her life demanded time and Cat suspected it was yet another
wound in her heart that was not going to scab over. Not anytime soon at least,
because while Chloé kept faking her true feelings toward her, Catalina was
fully and truly invested in what she thought they had shared.

What kind of a lesson lay in that? She
wondered.

The kind that said she should beware
trusting people in general because apparently she was not such an expert when
it came to knowing human nature and judging other people’s character?

Harsh, she thought, especially now when she
was in love and attempting to be happy no matter the twists and turns of this
relationship.

Another thing she needed her friend for.
Cat sighed, trying to battle the sudden tears filling her eyes, but she was on
her own yet again.

She should have been used to people
disappearing from her life one way or another. They were all travelers, passers-by,
not permanent residents. How stupid of her to let herself get so attached and let
it bother and hurt her anew.

She couldn’t allow herself to wonder about
Xan’s presence in her life, as if afraid to tempt fate. He hadn’t been a part
of her path for long but his straightforwardness tumbled down all the walls
Catalina had built up around herself, letting him close while she was known for
keeping her distance with everyone at all times.

She had no idea how she stopped herself
from telling him she loved him, especially after the beautiful way in which he
made love to her. Now she was puzzled over what exactly was stopping her from
it.

Cat believed he wasn’t indifferent toward
her, but Xan was not the kind of man who was used to expressing his feelings
left and right. Neither was she, for that matter, and it was one of those
things bringing them closer to each other in her opinion, even if they didn’t
feel like admitting having anything in common in the first place.

No matter how different their backgrounds
were, the broken foundation of their childhoods cast a long shadow on their
lives to this day. As a result of the tragedy that split hers in half, Catalina
was starved for all the things she had been deprived of early in life, chasing
the unknown in order to understand it.

She suspected in Xan’s case, it was the
other way around; he didn’t believe in commitments based on emotions, running
away from anything he perceived as a weakness.

But she refused to acknowledge they had no
future, she thought, rubbing at her throbbing temples when the doorbell’s sound
reverberated around her, pulling her away from her thoughts.

She stifled the need to groan out loud when
she opened the door to stand face to face with nobody else but Florence
Bennett.

Her grandmother looked unblemished as usual,
and Cat couldn’t recall even one instance–anything really–regarding Florence that
had ever been out of order. Even when they were living together, Catalina had
never seen her leaving her bedroom without a perfect outfit and subdued
make-up.
“Grandmother,” she said, obediently pressing a kiss to Florence’s cheek.
“Catalina.” The older woman gave her a once-over and her lips became the thin
displeased line Cat was used to seeing.

She had no idea what was wrong with her
leggings and a tunic this time, especially since she was spending the whole day
indoors. She decided that asking about it would only provoke an unnecessary
discussion she preferred to avoid.
“Can I offer you a chamomile tea?” Cat asked, knowing it was her guest’s drink
of choice no matter the circumstances.
“No, thank you, I’m on my way to meet with the committee, but I stopped by to
see your dress for Saturday,” Florence announced.
“I’m picking it up today,” Cat answered.
“You must be jesting, Catalina; the ball is just around the corner and you are
trying to tell me that you are not ready?” She raised one eyebrow as if
questioning Catalina’s common sense, intelligence and everything in between
with one expression alone.
“That is not what I said. I simply stated I have chosen one already but it
demanded small changes and I will have it later today.” She smiled coolly.

It was a lie, pure and simple, but she was
determined to stick to her version at any cost. She would have never heard the
end of it otherwise, Cat thought. She could live without adding another
disappointment to the long list of her offences against etiquette, propriety
and Florence herself that her grandmother was undoubtedly in possession of.

When she was a child, she often wondered whether
she was a Bennett at all, trying to find a reason for her grandmother’s
constant displeasure with her. She liked to imagine she was adopted or similar
other scenarios that could explain the constant cold shoulder Florence gave
her. But the family likeness didn’t allow her to maintain this illusion for
long.

She was no longer a child but it still
bothered her, and some part of her kept awaiting some kind of a change in their
relationship, knowing at the same time it would never come to pass.

There were, however, types of
disappointment a person learned to live with, no matter how much weight they
were putting on the heart and pulling it down. She imagined it to be something
akin to adding stones to an ever-growing rampart, except it wasn’t meant to
protect but slowly tear a person down.
“You have no partner either, I presume? Luckily I can avert this catastrophe.”
Florence looked at her.
“As a matter of fact, I’ve already made plans on my own; thank you though,” Cat
smiled politely.

It was hardly the first time her
grandmother had tried to fix her up with someone and after a few tries,
Catalina started to avoid it like one might a plague. She had no doubt Florence
had the best intentions, but the problem was she imagined Cat with the type of
man her granddaughter had zero interest in.
“Oh? Why is this the first time I’ve heard about it? What is his name?” For the
first time, there was a note of interest in the tone of her voice.
“Alexander Thorpe and I’ve been seeing him for a while now.”
“Alexander… good name, but do I know any Thorpes? Have I met his parents on
some occasion?” Florence tilted her head, trying to remember something that had
never happened.

“No, I don’t think so.” Catalina saw no
need to remind her grandmother she met Xan that night at the exhibition.

“It doesn’t matter, I suppose; you will
introduce him to me on Saturday.” She waved her hand, dismissing the subject as
if all was said and done.

In her mind it was, Cat thought, and felt a
wave of trepidation crashing into her at the thought of upcoming ball. Not only
because she didn’t like those kinds of events and it was something she could
never agree with Florence on.

It was also going to be the first time she
would have to face Chloé after the infamous night at the club. She wished she
could say her former friend would behave with class and tact, but could she be
sure of anything at this point?

The fact Xan was going with her could work
as adding fuel to an already existing fire.
“I realize we never saw eye to eye, Catalina, but I hope you know I wish for
you to be happy and settle down. That’s what your father would expect of you
and of me to see it through.” Florence said, and as much as the first part
could soften Cat a little, the second caused her spine to go ramrod straight.

She
hated
when her grandmother acted
as if she had the smallest idea what her deceased father would do or think. If
she had known his heart so well, she would have never forced him to let go of
his dream to become a photographer and pursue a career he had zero interest in
instead, she thought bitterly.

But there was no point in bringing it up;
she made the mistake one time when she was on the cusp of her maturity and it
was the final drop that finally divided the ever growing precipice between her and
her sole living family member.
“Of course.” She smiled politely because that was expected of her.
“Excellent; see you on Saturday, Catalina,” Florence said and a moment later
was gone, believing her duty fulfilled.

It was all about duty and that was another
thing she had never allowed Cat to forget.

She knew that the very same thing along
with guilt were not going to take their hooks out of her until she went
shopping and made her words true by getting the dress today.

She really was a Bennett after all, she
thought with a deep sigh.

Work was the last thing on her mind again,
but Jonah had called her just that morning and she shared with him an idea
about another exhibition. It was the kind forcing him to look outside of the
box, which was precisely why it spiked his interest.

Catalina smiled to herself because it was
basically as good as a done deal. Jonah wasn’t the type of person to waste time
once he set his mind on something. His determination usually spurred hers as
well, and whenever they worked together, the results were satisfying for both
of them.

Yet she felt too restless to start working
on the project and it was not an unusual state after one of her grandmother’s
visits. They were definitely
not
working well in tandem and it was a sad
summary of their relationship.

She walked into the kitchen, thinking about
throwing herself into cooking or baking in order to offer her mind a moment of
respite. Yet her eyes landed on an empty cup sitting on one of the shelves of
her cupboard and a vision took root in her head.

She took it and walked toward her studio
before she could talk herself out of it. She placed it on her work table and
reached for the Nikon she got from Xan.

What was photography about if not an
elusive moment? Cat asked herself. What was life about if not the same for that
matter?

It was the instant before and right after,
the smallest hesitation of a finger hovering above a shutter button. Hope and
failure both suspended in the air like a never-fading echo.

For Catalina this was what magic was all
about as well.

She had done it countless times in the past
and hoped for many more in the future. An attempt to capture the perfection in
the lens of her camera was simply her obsession. She considered it not such a
bad thing, as far as obsessions went.

Perhaps it had become so important to her
for the very reason that she was full of flaws herself. Florence didn’t believe
in hiding shortcomings from the world; the only solution was to destroy what
was staining the perfect image. She did her best trying to rid Catalina of her
imperfections, but the outcome was hardly satisfying for both of them, she
thought now.

They were still there, like tiny scars
hidden deep within her where eyes couldn’t see. If she had learned anything
under her grandmother’s care, it was that she was the problem herself because
she was
flawed
at her very core.

So Florence made sure Cat was nothing but a
perfect doll on the surface instead.

Always with the surface, because
appearances were the only thing that ever mattered. It was not important what
she was thinking or feeling. None of it had any right to bleed out to the
outside for the world to see.

Every step and every breath Catalina had
ever taken was ruled by the seemingly fragile and time-weathered hand of her
grandmother. But it was one more illusion because truth be told, it was more of
an iron hand in a velvet glove.

Yet Cat loved her only remaining family
member regardless, even if the tender emotion was not what Florence cared
about. The only thing she ever wanted was absolute control over the child she
had been given. To own her, to shape her in a mirror-like reflection of
herself, to curb all the possible mistakes before Cat even got a chance to make
them.

Catalina wanted to rebel like every other
child would, convinced about her right to cry in the very least. A stinging
slap to her cheek proved her wrong and taught her otherwise pretty fast. Tears
were yet another weakness, a beginning of the end, a tool of destruction and
the final downfall.

Catalina blinked repeatedly, trying to
wrench herself from the memory that her grandmother’s visit brought forth, and
focus on the present instead.

An irrefutable fact was that for Xan she
seemed to be enough. He had never pointed out her mistakes or flaws, perhaps
because he had no intentions of pretending to be perfect himself. Was that why
she found him so attractive from the get-go–for being far from impeccable and
pristine?

Perfection was relative after all, wasn’t
it?

What one person condemned as broken,
another found attractive and wanted to admire the cracks.