Loveless (2 page)

three

Paige

Sobriety is not my friend right now. Oh, no, no,
no
. Because the more sobriety that returns, the more common sense comes back with it. And the more common sense I’m dosed with, the clearer my understanding of how my night went down becomes.

I stare off into space, unblinking, probably freaking out everyone in the Starbucks with me.

The pieces continue coming back into focus, merging together, becoming a complete aberration of a movie. A true, B-rated horror flick. Like watching a sixteen car plus three truck pile up happening in slow mo.

What have I done?

Oh. My. God. What the
fuck
have I done?

A man sitting in the table across from me pushes his chair back roughly.

Startled, I blink. All around me, people move this way and that. Others sit at the many small tables, busily typing away on their laptops and tablets. Even more people stand on line, waiting to order.

One of those people is Elijah Parker. He’s far enough away that all I can see is his wavy black hair since he towers over most of the people on the line. The thick strands of his hair started out the night nice and neat, combed back in his usual style. As impeccable as the rest of him.

Now, they’re a downright mess, and
I’m
the one responsible for said mess.

The sad truth of my pitiful situation: I got drunk enough to do something as utterly stupid as kissing him—grinding on him like a dog in heat,
confessing
to him—but I didn’t get drunk enough to obliterate the details from my mind.

I remember
everything.

I take a deep, shuddering breath. Why am I here with him? In truth, I started to regain sobriety about five minutes into the cab ride. Two blocks away from my house, Elijah told the driver to pull over, and he dragged me into Starbucks, insisting that we had to “talk”.

Uh . . . no, we don’t. As a matter of fact, I might just quit my job tomorrow morning and move out of town, far enough away that I won’t have to see him or his lips ever again.

Oh, God. His lips.

I nibble on my own swollen lip for the millionth time tonight, and damn the current of heat that explodes to life inside me.

No doubt that’s what he does to all the poor women that fall into his trap. He gets them nice and hooked on that low, throaty voice of his, the mischievous twinkle in his dark eyes.

Then he feeds them a taste of those perfect lips he’s gifted with, and
bam
! Addiction. Gone for. Mental processes locked on him and only him.

It’s seriously time to go.

I move to rise out of my seat.

“No, you don’t. Stay right there.”

A large, white cup is placed on the table in front of me. I stare at the green and white Starbucks logo printed on the front. Another cup joins the first, and then Elijah settles into the seat across from me.

I don’t dare move my stare away from the logo.

He reaches across and taps the underside of my chin with his index finger.

Out of reflex, my head shoots up, and I find myself staring at his amused smile. The same amused, mischievous smile that has been messing with my hormones for months. My heart speeds up, sending that primal demand coursing through my veins.

His smile widens and he braces his arms on the table, leaning closer. He’s so big in his striped white dress shirt, his shoulders so wide. His lips remain slightly bruised, a darker pink than they usually are.

Tempting.

More than tempting. They’re starting to feel necessary to me.

I remember the lazy way I sucked on that bottom lip, and the way he groaned for me when I did.

Elijah’s eyes darken, going full-on black as his pupils expand. Did my facial expression give away what I was thinking? “Yeah.” The hard rasp of that word shoots straight between my legs. “We definitely need to talk.” He slides one of the coffees in my direction.

“A-about what?” I reach for the coffee he offered me, hating the fact that I’m shaking as I do so.

And that he notices.

Those black eyes take in my shaking hand, then burn a path straight to my chest. I’m wearing a padded bra, but I can almost swear he sees how hard my nipples are.

“Don’t play dumb with me babe.” Reaching across the table, he runs the tips of his fingers down my arm, across the back of my hand.

I gasp, every hair standing on end.

He presses his lips together and hums low, black eyes locking on me. “Damn girl. You really do feel it, too.”

God help me, I do. I’ve been feeling it for so long now that I no longer know how to deal with it. Or how to control it, obviously. “I don’t date,” I say, hoping that my go-to response when it comes to men deters him.

It doesn’t.

“Good. I don’t either.”

I know that. Very well. It’s one of the very reasons that I developed such an intense dislike for him. He’s the typical, too-sexy-for-his-own-good manwhore.

“Drink.” Elijah motions toward my coffee and drinks his own. “I want to make sure you’re completely sober before we continue this conversation.”

“I am sober,” I mumble, but take a sip of my coffee anyway.

He first offered to get me coffee a little over three weeks ago, after we started talking—AKA: I finally realized that being rude to him is definitely not in my best interests, professionally speaking—and he’s brought me coffee every morning since.

So, no surprise, the coffee in my hand is just how I like it.

“You sure you’re sober?” he asks me.

I nod. It’s not like I can blame him for his dubious expression. I was wasted barely half an hour ago. The problem is that I no longer know how much of that was due to the alcohol . . .

And how much of that was due to him.

Fifty-fifty maybe?

More like twenty-five seventy-five. With him being the big seven-five.

I swallow a large gulp of my coffee. “Yeah . . . I’m sober.”

He stares into my eyes, studying me, then nods, as if finally believing me. His lips part as if he’s about to say something.

I shake my head to stop him. “Why do you even want to have this conversation?”

There he goes, leaning toward me again, eyeing me like he plans on slamming the table out of the way just so he can get at me. “Because, Paige . . .” he enunciates slowly.
Very
slowly. “I want to fuck you.”

four

Paige

My throat convulses and I almost can’t swallow. Dear Lord, the way he said he wants to
fuck
me . . . “I know that already.” Of course I do. It’s been obvious from the first day I started working at JouerTech.

Jesus Christ, it’s why he’s been buying me coffee for
three weeks straight.

So why does hearing it out loud affect me so much?

Because the words came out of his mouth this time, that’s why.

“No babe.” Elijah sits back in his seat, the bloody picture of insolence. “I don’t think you know just how badly I want to fuck you.”

I cross my legs tightly under the table.

This isn’t about simply wanting him. Not for me. Not anymore.

I haven’t remained a virgin because I hate the idea of sex. On the contrary. My body is starved for it. I just got my heart broken so badly back in college, at a very emotionally fragile point of my life, and my life became all about making up for my lack of judgement.

As a result, I threw myself into my studies, focusing on nothing but my career. No man ever interested me enough to derail me from that.

Until Elijah, that is.

He fires off every craving in me—every dark urge. It’s getting harder and harder to deny myself.

Especially when he offers it to me so blatantly.

“Say something.” He eyes me over the rim of his cup.

My heart kicks into overdrive, overwhelming me. The pounding between my legs is so powerful, I can only bring myself to utter one sentence. “We work together.”

One black eyebrow cocks. “It’s not like a company as small as ours has a non-fraternization policy. And no one needs to know. We’ll be careful . . . you said you wanted me to teach you.”

That wasn’t the only thing I said, damn me.

Placing the coffee on the table, I take a few seconds to turn over what he said in my head. Jesus, I’m actually contemplating taking him up on his offer.

Not his offer.
Mine
, as he said.

How could I not want to? Those voodoo-lips sparked pure hellfire in my veins. The most dangerous, forbidden, addicting type of fire.

It’s taken me years to break free of my parents’ puritanical and insidious mental hold. To let go of all the unnecessary guilt they instilled in me. I promised myself I would live my life, enjoy the very
human
things that my parents would condemn me for.

That includes sex. This isn’t the early 1900s. I’m too young to marry; my career is on the perfect track. And there’s no way I’m going to remain a virgin until I get married.

“You’re too quiet, woman.” Elijah sounds amused.

“That’s because I’m thinking really hard.”

His low chuckle makes my body throw out an instantaneous, very-inappropriate-considering-we-are-in-Starbucks response. “At least I’ve finally got you thinking about it.”

I very wisely refrain from admitting that I’ve been thinking about it for a long time.

After several more seconds—in which my thoughts bounce all over the place, one half of my brain screaming at me not to do it, and the other half insisting that I
have
to—I finally meet his stare once more. “So let me get this straight.” Scooting my chair closer to the table, I lower my voice so only he can hear me. “You’re offering to have sex with me, once, to show me what it’s like—”

The slow shake of his head stops me. “Full-blown sex? Yeah, once. It’ll keep things simple that way. But,” his eyes move all over my upper body, just as slow as that head shake had been, “You’re a virgin. You asked me to
teach
you. We’ll have to build up to it.” His eyes lock on my lips, flashing with something dangerous. “Take it slow.”

My entire body trembles at those words. Build up to it? Take it slow? “You . . . you mean we’ll . . . more than once?”

Elijah smiles at me, a sexy curling of his lips. “There’s a lot more to sex than me just putting my dick in you.”

I heard everything he said, but my mind fixates on the last five words of his sentence, tormenting me with an image of him
putting his dick in me.

Pressing my thighs together tighter, I try to breath through the mad rush.

“Do you get what I’m saying Paige?”

God. Forget voodoo-lips. That damn voice of his alone could make me come. “Yes I do,” I whisper. He’s talking about fingering me . . . licking me . . . I barely hold back a whimper.

He tugs on the corner of his lip with an incisor, seeming to sense my hunger. “And you understand that it’ll only be about the sex, right?”

I shift, feeling how wet I am. “I wouldn’t want a relationship with someone like you,” I say honestly.

I don’t expect Elijah to take offense to my comment, not after he’s made it so abundantly clear where he stands in regards to relationships, but the silence that descends makes me wonder. He’s gone tense, staring at me with a contemplative gleam in his eyes.

I can’t quite make out his expression, but there’s no missing the way his jaw suddenly twitches.

“Alright,” he finally says, finishing his coffee. “So, I’m assuming we have an agreement. Right?”

Do we?

God, what the hell am I doing?

My clit throbs at the sight of him, reminding me. Nervous, I brace my arms on the table and intertwine my fingers. “How . . . how long are we going to do this for?” It sounds so much better than straight-up asking him:
When are you planning to fuck me?

He shrugs like it’s no big deal, and I’m reminded that to him, it isn’t.

Whileas, here I am, pretty much negotiating away my virginity.

But I want to lose it, right? And at least Elijah turns me on. There simply isn’t any other candidates in sight, and if tonight has proved anything, it’s that the time for waiting is over.

“How long?” I repeat.

“Does it really matter?”

“I don’t want to drag this on longer than necessary.”

Again with the silence, as if my answer bothers him. He runs the back of his hand across his mouth before answering. “A few weeks maybe? You know we’re going to start the design of the JouerPad Two this week. So we’ll both be busy. However . . .” he trails off, knowing I’ll catch on to where he’s going with that.

I do. We’re assigned to work on the same thing we worked on together eight months ago—the outer design of the kids tablet. Last time, there’d been four people on our team. This time, it’s only us two. Which means a lot of time alone together.

Great. Not only am I negotiating away my virginity, I’m planning on using company time to take my “sex lessons”.

If only the idea didn’t make my heart race. My nipples harden. My pussy get even wetter.

“Well, do we have an understanding or not Paige? Because I’m pretty sure this place is closing soon.”

He’s right. One look at my phone shows me it’s almost ten o’clock.

It takes me a bit to bring myself to nod at him, but when I do, I feel surprisingly steady about my decision.

Elijah holds his hand out. That playful glint is back, even though his eyes still appear more black than brown, and when I hesitate to take his hand, he smirks as if daring me. “Come on, girl. Don’t be shy now. Not after the way you sucked on my tongue earlier.”

I hiss in a breath at the memory.

“I can’t stop thinking about it. Has me all twisted up and shit,” he confesses in a smooth yet rueful tone.

I laugh despite myself, and despite the fact that I feel my cheeks heating, and reach over to shake his hand. “Deal.”

“Deal,” Elijah mouths with those kissable lips, his excitement palpable.

Infectious.

Five minutes later, he offers me a mint after popping one in his mouth, and as we walk down Pinckney Street toward my house, all I can think about is exactly what he mentioned: sucking on his tongue again.

Elijah insisted on walking me home even though my house is only two blocks away from the Starbucks. Once we reach the front of the brownstone I live in, I turn to wish him goodnight.

His large hands clamp over my hips, holding me steady as he urges me backwards.

I let him, transfixed by the almost vicious intent in his eyes. My back meets the wall next to the brownstone’s door, the filmy material of my dress scraping along the brick.

He gets close, crowding me, one arm braced against the brick by my head. He leans in until the tips of our noses brush. Until our breaths mingle. He lifts his other hand off my hip, wrapping it over my nape. “Give me those lips again,” he murmurs, mouth grazing mine.

Desire slams straight through, pulsating low in my belly and ripping a soft moan out of me.

He answers me with a deep groan, pulling me until our lips meet.

I snap at the first light flick of his tongue, my arms shooting around his neck to bring him in closer.

Our chests bump, our tongues twining. His heart races even harder than mine is.

With another groan, he wraps his arms around me, engulfing my much smaller frame. He brings me in so tight that my feet leave the floor and he ends up practically holding me. I’m barely able to breathe.

And I fucking love it.

We lick at each other’s tongues over and over, our kiss growing wilder with every groan he gives and every whimper I give in return.

When he slaps his hands around my ass, I rock into him.

He’s so hard, throbbing against me.

I want it. Dear God, I want it more than I’ve ever wanted anything.

The pressure inside me is too much, the emptiness even worse . . .  I break our kiss to throw my head back, gasping.

“No.” He growls under his breath, nipping my jaw. “Give me more.”

I’m helpless to deny him, every part of my body focused on the feel of him. Our lips meet again, his tongue sliding straight inside. In a daze, I wrap my lips around it, playing with it, sucking, hearing my own small moans . . .

“
Fuck
. Stop.” Elijah sets me away from him abruptly, his body vibrating with barely leashed energy.

Not again! This time, I at least have the decency not to pout at him, and to keep the whine out of my voice when I ask, “Why?”

“Because if we don’t, I’m going to have you invite me inside, and then we’re going to finish this right here, tonight.” His eyes glaze over at the thought.

I’m about to tell him that isn’t such a bad idea—hell, I’m
all
for it—but he leans back in, lips pressed to my ear.

“Besides.” His whisper tickles the sensitive shell, sending a shiver down my spine. “Consider this your first lesson.”

“A lesson?”

“In arousal.”

Excuse me, but after tonight, I already have that one down pat.

“I want you to think about our kisses all weekend.” He drags his teeth lightly along my ear.

“W-why?”

“Because then you’ll understand.”

My eyes roll back in my head at the feel of his warm tongue lapping on my lobe. “Understand what?”

“Just how crazy you’ve been driving me these last eight months.” He pulls away, leaving me stunned at his confession. “Goodnight Paige. See you Monday.”

And he’s gone, walking briskly down the block, clearly in a hurry to put some distance between us.

Leaving me standing here, everything inside me shaken to bits, my reality trapped in a major state of flux.