Gramercy Nights (The Argo Press Trilogy Book 1) (21 page)

“I’m not going to hurt you,” I hear him whisper and I nod, not sure I believe him. But I know he means what he’s saying. I just don’t think it’s the type of promise he can make and actually keep. “I could never hurt you. I’m not perfect, Danielle, but trust me when I say I would never mean to hurt you,” he says at last and we both know that’s the best he can do. “What did you mean last night when you said Connor’s the only family you have?”

I’m glad my face is buried in Sebastian’s chest because I don’t know if I could face his inquisitive gaze right now. “My mother died and my father might as well be dead. I don’t have any family, so my friends are my family. Connor and Margot.”

“And that’s it?” he probes gently.

“Yeah, that’s it.”

“You didn’t date?”

I can’t help but laugh. “No, we slept together a few times in college, but that was a mistake. We both know we make way better friends.”

Sebastian is silent for a minute and then he says something that makes my blood cold. “You’re crazy if you think that’s all he wants.” All the while, Sebastian strokes my back, his touch gentle and encouraging and I know he doesn’t mean to upset me with those words, but how could he know that he just voiced one of my biggest fears? That one day Connor will realize what we have isn’t enough and that he’ll leave.

Sebastian takes my shoulders in his hands and steps back so he can stare into my eyes. “I don’t have to worry about you with him?”

I shake my head. “He’s my best friend. That’s it.”

Sebastian nods and then his lips are on mine, kissing me with such passion I feel I’m being devoured. I know he wants to mark me as his, wants to dispel whatever shadow of a doubt Connor has cast over this, and I let him. Hell, I want it just as bad as he does.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Sebastian lights a fire in the fireplace, bathing the library in a warm glow and then turns to me. “I promise, you’ll have my full and undivided attention once I’m done working.”

I blush, knowing exactly what it’s like having Sebastian’s full attention on me. “Don’t worry,” I say, turning back to the overflowing bookshelves in front of me. “I think I’ll be able to find something to keep me occupied.” When was the last time I was able to just relax and read? College? Even then, most of the reading I did was for class.

Sebastian settles behind his desk, a Montblanc pen poised over the manuscript in front of him. He looks gorgeous. I watch him for a moment, still unable to fathom that I actually get to sleep with him. He’s perfect. Intelligent. Beautiful. Hands down the best sex of my life.

It feels too good to be true.

Sure, he’s not exactly easy. But then, who is? And while we’ve fought more in the short time we’ve known each other than I’ve ever fought with anyone in my life, I’d rather fight with Sebastian and be able to make up with him than not have him in my life at all. Maybe this makes me a total masochist but it’s the truth.

I force myself to turn away, letting my fingers trail over the worn spines of the books before me. Now that I know what Sebastian does, his impressive library makes sense. And it’s clear his work is more than just a job. It’s his life’s passion. It makes me like him that much more.

I want something to read. Something that will get my mind off Sebastian. Because as much as I’d like him to think I can find something to occupy myself, I keep thinking back to last night, feeling a tingle of excitement wash over me. Whenever I’m in the same room as him, I want his hands on me. Want his lips on mine, his kisses on my skin, his cock inside of me.

I laugh at myself. I’m ridiculous. When did I become this person? Before, sex was just something I did. I liked it, but I could do without it. Now, it’s something I need. Something I crave.

I’m in a constant state of arousal and it’s distracting as hell. When I notice a worn copy of
Story of O,
I glance over at him, but his head is down, his expression far off. I can feel the heat on my skin as I slip the book from the shelf, feeling its gentle weight in my hand. It’s been years since I last read it, but I can still feel the librarian’s knowing look as I checked it out of the town library. I must have been sixteen and I’d never read erotica, had no idea what was in store for me.

It was so explicit, so taboo, so arousing. I remember being shocked and turned on. Confused that such a brutal book could leave me in such a state of heightened arousal. And yet, it did. It left me hot and burning, dying for something I knew I’d never find in my small hometown. No, I wanted something else. Something bigger. Something that existed only in the pages of books.

I wanted more. Needed more. In the sanctuary of my bedroom, I devoured Anaïs Nin and Henry Miller, swept away in their sensual prose and wild imaginations. I wanted that. That world, of brothels and indiscrete fondling at restaurants. Threesomes. Lesbian affairs. I wanted everything that existed in that world so different from my own.

It wasn’t the stories with happy endings that turned me on. It wasn’t the marriage and the babies promised at the end of romance novels. I’d seen how that had worked out for my parents. What drew me in were the stories where all that existed were bodies, hot and sweaty, inescapable need, passion so strong it threatened to destroy everything in its wake.

From where I sat, alone in my bedroom, that seemed like heaven. Something that existed only in fairy tales. Fairy tales where the very passion that propelled the characters was the same one that destroyed them all.

I remember thinking, I’d rather burn than live safely.

And then I grew up. I went to college. Mom got sick. I didn’t have time for childish fantasies. I hold the slim paperback in my hand, remembering how excited I’d been then. How curious. Everything seemed possible. The world hadn’t yet become scary and danger was still a romantic notion I held.

I curl up on the green leather chair in front of the fire, tucking my legs beneath me, letting the heat of the flames lick my skin.

I glance over at Sebastian one last time, but his laser-like attention is focused completely on the work in front of him.

My lips curl into a smile. There’s something so deliciously naughty about reading erotica while he’s mere feet away, completely unaware.

And though it’s been years,  the opening is the same, familiar, comfortable, safe even. I settle back into my chair. O, in the backseat of a car with her lover, exposing herself, afraid that the driver will see her. Her lover’s cold and calculated commands. O, unsure of what is happening, yet willing and obedient.

I think back to our drive to the Met and what might have happened if I hadn’t asked Sebastian to close the privacy screen. Would I have cared if our driver had seen me strip and drop to my knees before Sebastian, taking his hard cock into my mouth, sucking him to finish?

What had Sebastian called me?
His little exhibitionist
.

I’d bristled at the expression and yet I know I was reacting to the truth of his words. In that moment, I would have done anything he asked. I would have let the driver watch as he fucked my mouth.

I would have done it and it would have turned me on, I realize in horror.

I shake my head, trying to dismiss the thought from my head, focusing instead on O, blindfolded at the chateau. O, forced to keep her legs spread, forced to witness her own nakedness. O, taken by strangers. The opaque language does nothing to diminish the raw sexuality and I find I’m imagining myself in her position, letting another man have me while Sebastian watches on.

Would it turn him on, knowing I was doing it for him?

Maybe Sebastian was right. Maybe I’m not the prim and proper girl everyone else seems to think. Maybe I’m not the prim and proper girl I’ve always considered myself to be. Because the idea of Sebastian sharing me doesn’t just terrify me. It excites me. When he tied me up, I felt free. For the first time, I was able to just be. Not think. Not overanalyze. I was able to let go and just exist.

Before Sebastian, I’d never known that was possible. I’d always been too stuck in my head, over-analyzing every movement, every action, every thought. It was exhausting, though I hadn’t realized just how exhausting until I’d experienced sex without it.

Sebastian clears his throat and my eyes snap up, finding him leaning against his impressive desk, watching me. Only now do I realize I’ve been idly stroking my breasts, my nipples hard beneath the blouse his assistant dropped off. I drop my hand to my lap in embarrassment.

Sebastian raises one eyebrow. “No need to stop,” he says with a hint of a smile. “I’m more than happy to sit back and watch you pleasure yourself.”

I feel my face turn red, the heat in my cheeks having nothing to do with the fire in front of me.

He crosses his arms over his chest and tilts his head to the side, considering me. “So, my little exhibitionist enjoys kinky books,” he says finally. I want to die of embarrassment, but the way Sebastian is looking at me, I find myself nodding in agreement.

I think he might even be enjoying my discomfort.

Dimly, I wonder if this was what I’d been hoping for all along. For Sebastian to catch me in the act.

His lips curl into a smile as though he can read my every thought. “There’s no reason to be coy,” he admonishes gently. “I’ve felt you come on my cock. I’ve tied you up and fucked you until you screamed. I’ve fucked you in public and in private and I have no intention of stopping any time soon. So don’t hide from me, Danielle.”

I swallow hard. “Okay.”

There’s a glint of amusement in his eyes. “Are you turned on? Is your pussy wet?”

“Yes,” I whisper breathily.

Sebastian laughs warmly. “Good.
Story of O
is a favorite of mine. Did you know she wrote it to prove her lover wrong? He said no woman could ever write like the Marquis de Sade. I’ve always liked that story. The overly confident man making proclamations only to be proved wrong.

“I’m glad to see you’re enjoying it. No need to be shy. I can’t give you what you want unless you tell me. So tell me. What do you want?”

For a moment, I’m speechless. I don’t know how he does it. How he manages to talk about the most personal things in such a casual way.

“I don’t know,” I answer truthfully, the familiar humiliation washing over me. I’m too old not to know what I want, too old not to have an answer to such a basic question.

“There must be something you want. Something you’ve never told anyone. Tell me. Let me be the one to give you what you want. There’s nothing to be afraid of. No wrong answers. No judgment. There’s just what you feel. Just what you want. Please, tell me. Because there’s nothing in this world that I want more than to please you.”

I squeeze my eyes shut, letting the book fall closed on my lap.

“Why does
Story of O
turn you on?” he asks gently when it’s clear I’m not going to answer.

I open my eyes, watching the flames devour the logs in the fireplace. I can’t look at Sebastian. Because whenever I do, I find myself lost in his gaze, unable to think clearly. “Because she gives up control. It’s like he knows just what she wants, even if she isn’t aware of it yet. He never asks. He just knows.”

“Danielle, look at me.” Sebastian’s tone has changed and I raise my chin to face him, expecting to see disgust or contempt in his eyes. Instead, all I see is lust and desire in his expression. “Did you like it when I tied you up last night?”

“Yes.”

“So tell me, do you want to give up control? Or do you only want to read about it?”

I shake my head in frustration. It isn’t Sebastian I’m frustrated with. It’s me. I wish I had an answer. I wish I knew. “I don’t know,” I answer, dropping my head in defeat. I know it isn’t the answer Sebastian is looking for but I can’t lie to him.

“Danielle, there are no right or wrong answers. I just want to know what you’re thinking. I want to know how to please you.” He crosses the room, cupping my chin in his hand, gentling forcing me to look up at him.

My face is burning with embarrassment as the word slips from my lips. “Yes.”

He nods as he strokes my cheek tenderly. “I won’t lie to you. I like control. I love the idea of tying you up and turning your ass red from my palm. But it’s not something I need.” He brings my hand to his lips, running kisses along my knuckles, his easy touch calming my nerves. “If giving up control turns you on, if it excites you, tell me. Because the biggest turn on to me is pleasing my partner. Pleasing you. That’s what I need. That’s what I want. I want to know I’m responsible for everything you feel. For every climax. For every fantasy come true.

“Nothing you say is going to shock me. Nothing you ask is going to make me think any differently about you. Ask me anything and as long as you don’t ask me to hurt you, and I’m not talking about the odd paddling, then I’ll do my best to comply. But I need you to be honest. I need you trust me.”

“I do trust you.”

“Then tell me. What do you want?”

I push Sebastian’s hand off me, coming to my feet. He steps back, a look of surprise registering on his face.

“Stop asking me what I want! Stop making me decide. I don’t want to be in control. I don’t want to be the one making all the fucking decisions. I want you to fuck me,” I shout, shoving him. Sebastian grabs my wrists, holding my hands flat against his chest and I can feel his steady heart beat. “I want you to fuck me,” I repeat, softer this time, looking away. I can’t face him. I’m embarrassed. I’m embarrassed and confused and my heart is pounding and I know that this is it, this is exactly what Sebastian doesn’t want. He wants someone in control of their sexuality, someone who knows exactly what they want. Instead, here I am, floundering, lost, confused. And embarrassed.