Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven

Esme

I don’t know how to explain this to the staff. Hey everyone! I happen to know this man who pretended to be a chimney repairman to get to my room.

But the staff will have to deal with it because I’m Esme Fucking Bryant, and I’m not going to let them overwhelm me anymore with all of these decisions.

I don’t have to do anything but be in this moment, right here, with Sagan.

True, I have no business making out with an ex-con and a stalker in my room. Except, oh yes I do.

I’m a grown adult, now moaning like a girl who’s never been kissed before. It’s been so long since someone touched me. Sagan’s kisses make me forget everyone who came before him. My body zings and hums from some deep, long-neglected place.

Sagan is the perfect gentleman, not going for the boobs immediately like some men do. He kisses me like he wants me to remember. He kisses me in such a way that ruins me for anyone else. His hands are in my hair, at my neck, on my shoulders, my back, my hips. Everywhere safe. Nothing shocking. And yet, everywhere he touches becomes an erogenous zone.

At one point, he takes my hand and lifts my wrist to his mouth. He kisses the inside of it, right on the little red bird he tattooed there last year.

“Do you kiss all your clients’ tattoos?”

And for the first time today, I see the playful smile. And I wonder what it means. Does he have situationships with his clients? I’m sure he’s had sex with several over the years. How could he not? Look at him. Tall, beefy, dark, strong. Muscled but not gym-membership-muscled. Intense eyes that take no prisoners. So protective and serious, but sweet and gentle. I’m sure women throw themselves at him.

As we kiss, I wonder if he can tell how inexperienced I am. I’m no babe in the woods, but it’s been so long since I dated. In college, I was a serial monogamist with a lot of unimaginative young men who didn’t understand or tolerate or make do with my special condition—no getting the heart pounding too fast, so no overheated makeout sessions or orgasms for this girl.

Yet the thought of this man kissing someone else—that alone makes my heart pound with anxiety and jealousy.

“What’s wrong?” Sagan asks.

“Nothing,” I say, smiling bravely.

His beautiful dark brows come together. “You look tired. Let’s lie down.”

“What? Together?”

“I told you I’m not leaving.”

“But…”

“Lie down before I put you down.”

I study his eyes, and there’s nothing but concern there.

Slowly, I lower myself onto the bed. Sagan follows, hovering over me. He boxes me in with his legs on either side of my hips and his arms bracketed around my head on the pillows.

I lift my chin, and his mouth meets mine in a heated kiss.

My arms snake around his torso, my body aching for him to press down on me. I’d love nothing more than for Sagan to make me disappear into the mattress, never to be seen again.

Instead, all I feel is liquid heat between my legs as he resists crushing me.

I arch my lower body upward as we kiss, wanting more. I grasp his hands, planted firmly on either side of my face. I slither my legs, trying to get a grip and pull him down. Finally, I fist the front of his loosened flannel shirt and find the warm bare skin of his chest. Letters I can’t quite read. Something-g-a-r-e. The fine chest hairs brush against my fingertips, reminding me he’s real and he’s here. A man. In my bed. What a concept. I should have invited him home the night we met. Sure, and watch Briar and Frye both have a cow.

As our tongues tangle and breath mingles, I move my hand inside his shirt, exploring the hard planes of his chest, grazing over the little nubs of his nipples, then work my hands lower to touch his stomach.

Sagan growls into my mouth, then pulls away, watching me.

I push the flannel away, tugging it. “Off,” I whisper on a ragged breath.

Sagan rolls to his side briefly, losing the shirt. I watch in awe as the small muscles below his pecs bunch and ripple with the movement. And then I gasp in surprise as he gives the knot on my bathrobe one sharp tug. The robe opens and I am on fire as Sagan works the robe off my shoulders, his mouth dragging over my collarbone so sensuously that my pussy flutters in anticipation.

My eyes close as Sagan moves over me, savoring my skin, while his arms cage me against him.

“You’re so damn beautiful, Esme.”

He already saw so much of my body in the shower, even with my back turned toward him. He touched me in places no one has ever touched me before. He was giving me all tenderness and no judgment.

I was initially indifferent, almost disassociating when we were in the shower. It was the only way to get through the moment—the feeling of humiliation of being found in that state.

I purposely hide from people and push them away. Now I want nothing but Sagan’s hands, his eyes, his mouth on me. Every inch of me wants every inch of him in this moment.

“I need you, Sagan.”

“You have me,” he says, swiftly hoisting me into his lap. I let out a cry of surprise as he seats me on his cock, which presses through his jeans, against my bare thighs. The bathrobe is gone, the blanket is gone, and I’m here, fully naked and in this man’s face.

I tremble as I watch Sagan fill his hand with my left breast, sucking me into his mouth. His lips on my nipple pull a whimper out of me. I barely recognize myself as I weave my fingers into his close-cropped hair, spurring him on as he switches to the other nipple, doing things with his tongue and lips that light me up from the inside out. I react to him in ways I’ve only read about in erotica.

But then there’s my heart. My heart will break when this moment is over.

Don’t think about that now, dummy.

I’m drawn back from my thoughts when Sagan’s rough, breathless voice rumbles against my collarbone. “Arms around my neck, baby.”

I do exactly as he says, and then he sends me to heaven with one tattooed hand between my legs.

Electricity crackles through me as I feel the touch of his palm cupping my pussy.

“Sagan,” I cry, barely audible.

“Keep going? Yes or no?”

“Yes!”

Sagan makes me feel so incredibly good right there. One rough finger slides in between my wet folds, finding my center. The core of me has made a damp spot on his jeans, I just know it.

He kisses my mouth tenderly as I forget how to breathe normally. His fingers massage my most secret spot while his free hand holds me close like his favorite toy, moving and adjusting me to his liking.

I give in to the urge to ride his hand.

“Yes, Sagan…oh god…right there…”

“That’s it, baby girl. You let me take care of everything, understood?”

I don’t know what he means by “everything,” but I’m going with it. “Yes…everything.”

He pulls me away, his eyes raking over my form like a man starving. Sagan takes my left nipple into his mouth once again, teasing it in tandem with his strokes inside my pussy. My mouth gapes as he lets that taut nub pop out of his mouth, and I watch in shock as he blows on it. He repeats the same thing with the other nipple, and my god if I’m not entirely soaked by now. I don’t know how we’re both not drowning, I’m so wet.

He sinks a second finger into my cunt and I almost come apart. “I’ve got you. No one is bothering you again after today. No one gets to you except through me after this.”

And why is that the exact thing I need to hear?

“Yes!” I cry out as this thumb makes contact with my clit.

“That’s right, baby girl,” he growls, painting tender kisses over my skin as he teases my aching spot.

“Oh god,” I whimper, and then I let loose a loud moan as my orgasm wrecks me like a cyclone.

My heart races, and I wait for darkness.

It never comes.

The rush of chemicals through my veins makes the ghosts go quiet.

For this moment, I remember who I am.