Debauched (Undone Book 3) (16 page)

I want to lick him. Bad.

It’s such an odd, foreign thought. So unlike me. But it’s true.

I think of last night, the guy that touched me when I’d come offstage. Typical of guys like him, Slade—who’s real name is Harry—sensed my sudden disinterest in him thus making me immediately attractive. Because with guys like him it’s always about the game. The chase. He’d been someone I’d lusted after and thought was unattainable. But when he’d asked me to come back to his house to party, a previously coveted invitation, I had wanted nothing to do with it. I hadn’t expected to see Chad, the night had been free to do with what I wanted, but going with Slade, sounded like the least fun I could possibly have. I’d rather have slept.

I didn’t know what Chad was doing to me, but he was like a drug, flooding my system and I couldn’t get enough. And I’m not going to lie—although I’d never admit it to my feminist sisters—when he’d told me not to let Slade touch me again, even though it had been half a joke, it had made me so hot, so turned on, I wanted to attack him.

Chad insisted we get a good night’s sleep, so he took me home, and after we made out for forty-five minutes and I was panting and desperate and crazy, he left.

Of course, I had to call him five minutes after he’d gone to tell him I’d come. He’d laughed, teased me about it not taking long, and then said good night.

Yes, he’d teased, but it was true. The more time that passed the easier it became. It was like I was constantly on fire and orgasms were becoming ridiculously easy, and the results ridiculously explosive. The strange thing was, I found myself wishing it was him. I wanted to feel his hands, not mine. In my fantasies, he’d moved from witness to participant. And instead of him standing over me, distant and removed, I envisioned him moving inside me, desperate to feel the weight of his body over mine.

I’ve never desired sex before. I’ve desired touch. Kissing. Roaming. But desiring sex was something new to me. I beg him to touch me. Take me. Beg for things I don’t even understand. When I was with him, all I could think about was him pounding into me. What I want hovers just out of my reach, full of shadows. I’m not quite able to articulate this need, this driving hunger for…something, but I know Chad will give it to me.

He catches me watching him and winks.

I promptly blush and look down at my plate.

We’re at Gwen Johnson’s restaurant, a trendy hot spot with a six-month waiting list, but since Jillian and Gwen are best friends we get a table whenever we want it. Jillian, a former waitress here, has already arranged what we’re going to be eating, drinks have been ordered and now we’re waiting.

To my relief, nobody made any comment about Chad and I being together, and for that I was thankful. My guess is Chad said something, because Layla and Jillian look ready to burst with questions, but remain suspiciously silent.

This is one of the things I adore the most about Chad, he thinks of everything, even the little things most men are prone to forget. While not being grilled is a relief, I’m still on edge.

Brandon also has a date with him, the red-headed designer he mentioned spanking on Valentine’s Day. The woman is stunningly beautiful, which seems to be Brandon’s type, but she seems rather bored with us all.

Although in fairness, maybe she feels as awkward as I do, being the lone stranger in our group of well-acquainted friends.

I smooth my napkin over my lap. I dressed carefully, wanting to be casual, but still in line with what I knew Layla and Jillian would wear. I’d fretted for an hour and finally picked a super short black pleated skirt, black over-the-knee tights that left a strip of thigh bare, black boots and a tight black T-shirt that hugged every curve.

Chad had taken one look at me and said, “That outfit is going to be trouble.”

I’d chosen right. I felt good, less like an imposter and more like myself.

Chad was changing me—but instead of this being bad like I would have believed—it’s somehow empowering. I’d spent so much time pretending, playing a role; I’d underestimated the freedom in being true. Chad made me feel safe, he knew my secrets, and instead of it making me weak, my confidence grew by the day. He allowed me to be scared or worried or nervous, and the oddest thing happened. The more I let myself admit all these things that plagued me, the less I felt them. One by one, they were unraveling inside me, losing their power and I felt myself emerging from a shell I’d been in for so long I hadn’t realized I even wore it.

The waitress came back and gave us all drinks, some magical cocktail Layla swore was heaven in a glass.

Brandon raised his glass. “I think we should have a toast.”

Everyone picked up his or her glass.

He smiled. “To debauchery.”

I laughed, along with everyone else, because it was so Brandon.

We all clinked in a toast and drank.

Brandon caught my eye, gave me his wicked grin, and my stomach tightened. “Since we’re all such good friends here, and the lovely Ruby has finally found her way to Chad where she belongs, I think we should make dinner a little more interesting.”

I immediately stiffened. This was exactly what I’d been afraid of. I cannot participate in their games. I can’t.

Chad puts his hand on my bare thigh and squeezes. I know he means it to be reassuring, but it doesn’t help my stress level that is now off the charts.

Michael raises a brow, shaking his head. “Jillian is still my sister so you need to behave yourself.”

My galloping heart slows fractionally, as this might be my saving grace. I bite my lip and barely breathe as I wait.

Brandon nodded. “I’ve taken that into account.”

Michael sighed. “Why do I not want to hear this?”

“Where’s your sense of adventure?” Brandon’s voice is full of sly amusement.

Michael rolls his eyes. “Why do your adventures always include my sister?”

“Hey! I’m not that bad!” Jillian exclaims, her smile huge.

Leo grins. “She’s actually very fun.”

Brandon shrugs at Michael. “It’s not my fault your best friend is marrying your sister.” Brandon gestures around the table. “Do you expect the rest of us not to have any fun because you’re related?”

“Yeah,” Michael says, with a sharp nod, but his hazel eyes sparkle with mirth. “That’s exactly what I expect.”

Layla covers her smile with her hand.

Brandon puts his hand on his date’s neck and strokes his fingers over the supple lines. “Stephanie needs to be put in her place publicly on a regular basis or she gets out of line, don’t you, darling?”

For the first time the redhead looks human because her cheeks flush bright pink and she straightens out of her perceived boredom so fast it borders on comical. She shakes her head. “No!”

Brandon laughs. “Who knows better? Me? Or you?”

Distress flashes over her beautiful features and I soften to her. She clears her throat and looks down at her plate. “You.”

“Exactly.” Brandon leans over and kisses her neck. “And you went over budget again, didn’t you?”

She nods.

He trails a thumb over her jugular. “Since those spankings I keep giving you have turned into quite the incentive to spend my money, I think it’s time to come up with something a bit more creative to take care of this problem.”

“Please no.” She shakes her head and turns pleading eyes to him. “I’ll be good.”

Brandon gives her a smile so evil, I’m shaking for her. “After I’m done, of course you will be.”

I drain my glass in one gulp, it’s as delicious as Layla promised, but right now I need it to go to my head to lessen my anxiety.

Thankfully, Gwen, another gorgeous, supermodel redhead comes up to the table a smile on her face. Dressed in a black T-shirt emblazoned with her restaurant’s logo, she’s tall, thin and has those light blue eyes natural gingers often have. She’s like, stop-in-your-tracks stunning. “How’s everyone doing tonight?”

“Everything is awesome, Gwenie,” Jillian says, looking at her friend.

Gwen glances in my direction and beams at Chad. “This is fun and new.”

Chad shrugs as if it’s no big deal.

I feign a casualness I don’t feel.

Gwen points at my empty drink. “Can I get you another?”

“Yes, please, that’d be great.” I want to ask for her to bring me two instead of one, but I keep my mouth shut. I don’t want anyone realizing how distressed I am.

This is exactly why I didn’t want to come to dinner tonight, what I’d been dreading.

I don’t want to be involved in this.

Gwen starts talking about new menu items she’s preparing for us, but I can’t pay attention because my mind is spinning with all the possibilities.

Chad squeezes my leg again, harder and more insistent this time, and I jump, jerking my attention toward him. He narrows his eyes, studying me intently. His hand leaves my leg, grips my elbow, and says to the table, “Excuse us for a minute.”

I stand on shaky legs and follow him, not sure where we’re going, just thankful to be away from the table so I can breathe for a minute. Grateful he silently understood I needed to get away. He pulls me down some stairs to where the bathrooms are, and while it’s crowded here, the din of the restaurant isn’t blaring too loud in my ears.

He tucks me into a corner and shields me with his body, wrapping his fingers around my neck. “Take a deep breath, and relax.”

I suck air into my lungs.

He nods. “Good, slower.”

I blow out the breath.

He works his fingers into my hair. “Ruby, I’m not going to let anything happen to you. Trust me to do what’s right by you. Do you think you can do that?”

My heartbeat starts to slow to a normal speed. “But…”

He shakes his head and says in a soothing voice, “I’m not going to put you in a situation you’re not ready for.”

“I’m not ready for this, I don’t want to be around them.”

“You’re not ready to be around your friends who love and adore you?”

“Why do you have to put it like that?” I clutch at his shirt, and when I speak my voice is shaky. The truth stumbles across my lips but I force myself to speak it. “I don’t want to embarrass you.”

His expression softens. “You won’t. I know you don’t understand this, because you’ve put yourself under all this pressure, but they don’t expect anything from you.”

“They don’t?”

His thumb brushes the line of my jaw. “They don’t. Nothing has changed for you, like before, they aren’t going to hide it, but no one expects your participation unless I say so.” He meets my gaze and his expression is deadly serious. “And I don’t say so.”

There are implications to his words I don’t want to think about but right now all I want to do is latch on to the fact that they make me feel better. Calmer. I bite my trembling lip. “You don’t?”

He shakes his head. “I don’t.”

I calm, and all my crazy thoughts settle. I’m still anxious, but better. “Okay.”

He kisses me. “Trust me.”

“I do.” Because, it’s true. Chad is the most consistent man I’ve ever met. I put my head on his shoulder and soak in his warmth. “I feel bad.”

His arms come around me and his hot palms slide over my back. “Why?”

“I want to be fun.”

“You’re fun.”

I scoff. “I might as well be an eighteenth-century virgin.”

He laughs. “That’s a different kind of fun.”

I wrinkle my nose. “It’s annoying.”

He kisses the top of my head. “I’m exactly where I want to be.”

I do trust that. He’s proven nothing different to me. I don’t understand why, but I am thankful. I sigh, close my eyes, and admit, “Does it help I think about sex constantly?”

His hand slips down the curve of my hip to rest on my bare thigh. “Does it help that thigh-high tights give me depraved ideas?”

I lift my head. “They do?”

His fingers tighten on my thigh. “Fuck yes. Especially on you, all that black against your pale skin. Very hot.”

My nerves skitter away, leaving behind a lightness in its place. For the first time I try something daring, something different and forward. “I thought about how you’d look between my legs when I put them on.”

All the times I have told him about my orgasms have made me bolder, more at ease.

His grasp on me tightens, and his eyes darken with what I now recognize as desire. “And what else have you been thinking?”

I tell him the truth. “I can’t stop thinking about you and me…” I suck in a breath and blow it out. “I crave—something—but I can’t figure out what it is.”

A muscle in his jaw clenches and his cheekbones seem to appear starker, casting him in a dangerous light. His head dips as his fingers climb up my thigh. “You want to be taken. Possessed. Claimed.”

That’s exactly it. “Yes.”

His mouth hovers closer. “Fucked.”

My body instantly turns hotter. I nod. It’s what I want, even though the thought of being a failure terrifies me.

“Are you wet?”

“Yes.” The word is breathless. He hasn’t touched me below the waist since the night of the engagement party no matter how much I’ve pleaded, rubbed myself against him.