Chapter 29

[Vee]

Once we arrive back at my apartment, I don't really want Ross to leave but I also don't trust myself to let him stay. He smells so good, and he looks so good, and he was rather stern about our date. But most of all he seemed so vulnerable talking about Harley and Patty. We didn't need to share all our sad stories, yet we seemed to understand one another on some deeper level.

Life is hard. Death is harder. Regret and guilt go hand in hand. Living with grief is the worst.

But we still have a life, and we owe it to those gone to live it as best we can.

Which circles me back to inviting Ross inside my place because I'm not ready to let him go.

And because I'm awkward, I jump ahead. "I won't have sex with you."

"Okay." Ross falters as he's lowering himself to my couch, pausing mid-bend with his ass back and hands reaching for the cushion.

"The Anchors are winning with or without that happening between us."

He finishes taking a seat, drapes an outstretched arm along the back of the couch and chuckles. "Okay." His eyes never leave me, where I stand in my living room which suddenly feels too small with him present.

I love my apartment. It's just the right size for one. A little cramped when Hannah is home, but I had to sell the house once Cameron was gone. The memories there were too much. Not to mention, a civil servant's compensation wasn't enough to pay that mortgage.

"And we don't even need to sleep in the same bed for them to win either." Wringing my hands together and swaying side to side a bit, displays my anxiety. If I get anywhere near a bed with Ross, I don't know that I can lie there pretending I don't want more with him. Because I want so much more than just a superstition proposition.

Us , he said in his truck. I want to stick around and see where we go, too. However, we should go slow.

"Okay," Ross states again, dragging out the word. "But how do you feel about sitting on my lap? Letting me kiss you? Consider it book research. Which by the way, you haven't mentioned. How is the writing going?"

Sit on his lap? My resolve is faltering, but I concentrate on the other part of what he said.

"You don't want to talk about my book right now." I instantly hate how I've diminished myself. Dismissed his interest in my work. I've been reading and re-working what I've already written, polishing up holes in hopes to solidify where the story should go next. Where the characters want to lead.

"I do want to discuss it, but I'd rather you sit on my lap while talking, and then let me help you find more inspiration."

My gaze falls to his muscular thighs covered in expensive suit pants. Is there anything this man doesn't wear well? Baseball pants. Athletic pants. Suit pants. No pants.

Nope. Don't think about Ross naked. Not yet.

We already discussed our one-night phone sex. How much he liked it. How it had helped motivate me. Motivate my characters , that is. Not me. I wasn't writing about myself. Or him. I was writing about fictional people.

Is it suddenly too hot in here? Because I can't take my eyes off Ross's lap.

Quickly, Ross stands, wraps his arm around my waist and tugs me to him. We tumble together to the couch, me landing on the lap I'm trying to ignore, narrowly missing our heads knocking. I release a strangled laugh, and my legs fall open when Ross cups the backs of my knees, forcing me to straddle him and settle on his lap.

"Better," he sighs playfully. "Now. Your book."

How the heck am I supposed to concentrate when I'm spread over his thick legs, conscious of my dress riding up and his soft suit pants against my thighs? What's my name again ?

"I'm just at a standstill again, but it will work itself out." At some point, an ah-ha moment will strike, and I'll be back at the keyboard.

I toy with the collar of Ross's dress shirt, avoiding contact with his eyes which I feel watching me. He removed his suit jacket earlier, leaving it in his truck. Unable to help myself, I smooth my palms over his shoulders and then down his chest.

"Then let's talk about question two again." His sandpaper on wood sound rumbles up my middle.

My gaze snaps to his eyes. "We already discussed it." We had our moment on the phone together. A rather spicy moment that I had not anticipated happening. Ross's voice had dropped, and he was so descriptive. Like a damn good audiobook narrator, Ross made me feel the moment. My body reacted in a way I hadn't expected and the next thing I knew I was following his lead, touching myself, bringing myself pleasure with just the sound of his voice.

I shiver a little at the reminder, and the movement rubs my thighs over those soft pants of his. Ross notices my reaction. His hands cup my cheeks, and he gently pulls my face closer to his.

"This time, I want visual aids." Then his mouth captures mine in a kiss that's both seductive and sweet, drawn out by the slow lap of his tongue, sweeping against mine, before he pulls at my lower lip with his.

Suddenly, I'm hoisted into the air. Ross's uncanny strength on display. I squeal, wrapping my arms around his neck and latching my legs around his waist. He shifts only a foot or two, before settling me in one of the high back chairs. The lamp between the two seats is the only illumination in the room and suddenly too bright.

Ross lowers to one knee before me.

"What are you—"

"I've missed your skin." His palms smooth over my knees, forcing my dress to my lap and exposing most of my thighs. "You're so soft, sweetheart."

As the late April night is still cool, I wear knee-high boots. My legs quiver as he starts at the back of my kneecaps and massages up my inner thighs forcing them apart .

"Ross," I moan. Whether warning or wanting is yet to be determined.

"Let me see what I've been missing, Vee." He concentrates on my legs, his attention focused on massaging them, while keeping them spread.

"We don't have to have sex." His voice dips, like he'd very much like to have sex, but he'll respect my wishes. "And we don't have to sleep together." His voice drops, almost as if he's more disappointed in that loss. "But I want to touch you."

Permission is hardly out of my mouth before my thighs are pressed open as far as the chair will allow, and Ross tugs me closer to the edge of the seat. My dress is bunched at my hips. Then his head is between my legs, his nose nuzzling my center. He hums and inhales deeply before kissing me there.

I jolt. As if I hadn't been expecting the touch, anticipating it, wanting it. Because I do want Ross Davis. I want his hands on me and his mouth as well.

Quickly, he removes my underwear, leaving my boots on. I clamp my legs together, but Ross gently prods them apart again.

"Let's see what's mine."

My head falls back at the declaration. I'm in so much trouble with this man .

He hitches one of my legs over the armrest, then wedges his midsection against the other one, fully exposing me to him.

"So pretty." He stares unabashedly at me and my newly waxed area. His eyes are heated. His voice just as warm. "And so ready." With his finger, he swipes where I'm slick and anxious for more from him.

"Tell me you missed me, too, Vee." His finger teases me, taunting an area that has missed him. No one has every touched me like Ross is. Reverent. Curious. Eager.

"I've missed you, too." My voice isn't more than a whisper.

Suddenly, he's cupping my backside, like a precious chalice, and lifting me just the slightest bit to better angle me to be licked and sipped, gloriously swiping his tongue across tender skin and teasing that precious nub. I clutch at the armrest with one hand while my other lands on Ross's head, holding him against me as my hips rock in short, sharp thrusts, begging his mouth for everything.

"Missed you," Ross mutters. Then swipes over my wet center. "Missed this." Then he's diving in again. Tongue on a mission. Mouth humming loud and proud as he devours me. His hearty noises make it known he's enjoying his feast and I feel myself dripping.

"Ross," I groan at the mess I'm certain to be making, and the stain he'll imprint on my heart. Because there is no doubt Ross Davis has marked me. A permanent scar. A lasting bruise.

Yet I don't want him to stop. I massage his scalp and Ross tightens his hold on my backside. With his fast-paced flicking tongue, I too quickly fall apart.

His name is again a strangled cry as he draws out the release, relentlessly licking me while I melt into the chair, dripping like candle wax, lazy and warm. Only he has made me feel this way. Bright, and hot, and seeking more.

When I've had enough, I give his head a gentle press and Ross pulls back, running his mouth against my inner thigh, his beard tickling me, while I slouch back into the chair.

"Oh my God," I mutter, blinking a few times. "I think I almost passed out."

Ross chuckles while his eyes flame. "So your question was how do I feel about that?" He trails a finger up my thigh and circles my sensitive area, taunting the skin that still tingles with aftershocks.

"As I told you on the phone, it's a powerful position to be in. Knowing I'm giving you pleasure. Knowing you want it from me." He pauses a second. "Because you want me, sweetheart."

While stating the obvious, there's a vulnerability beneath the confident voice. More a question of if he's correct in his assessment.

"I want you, Ross," I admit.

He smiles, wide and large, illuminating his face in a new way. "All the power." He teases over my center, tickling tender flesh. "And you make me so hard."

My gaze drops where the thick outline of him cannot be missed in the thin material of those suit pants.

"I like the taste of you, Vee. And the sounds you make when I taste you."

My face heats, a touch embarrassed that I make noise. "Am I too loud?"

Ross's expression sobers a little, disgruntled almost. Like he knows without asking that someone once complained. That finger of his, toying with me, thrusts inward and I gasp.

"Fuck loud," Ross counters. He works his finger in and out, producing a new sound between us. "I like how your body reacts to my touch. How you chase my finger like you don't want me to leave your body."

Oh God , this should be incredibly embarrassing, and yet I'm mesmerized by how open he is. How direct as he concentrates on where he's touching me, watching his finger disappear inside me.

"Tell me you don't want me to leave." Again, his voice is strong, but something deeper underlies his question.

"I don't want you to leave," I whisper, and I'm rewarded with a second finger, both rushing into me, filling me. My breath hitches again.

"You fit me, sweetheart." His gaze lifts to meet my eyes. "And I fit you."

There's something even deeper in that declaration, but my thoughts are scrambling as his fingers work within me. My back arches, thighs attempting to clench when one remains over the armrest and the other is trapped by Ross's broad body. He's building me up again. Winding me like a music box before released to sing.

"Ross," I whimper, shocked at the sudden rush up my center. My legs quiver once more.

"That's it, sweetheart. One more time."

I glance between us, catching briefly what he's doing to me before tipping back my head, closing my eyes, and falling into the moment.

Ross on his knees. His fingers inside me .

I hear him shift, feel his warm breath breezing over my slick skin. His thumb presses against that trigger spot and I unravel again. A piece of string, pulled and pulled and pulled, until the original material is nothing but a pile of loose thread.

I sag back on the chair, one leg dangling over the armrest, the other outstretched, while I stare at Ross who stares back at me. A smattering of heartbeats passes.

"I showed you mine, now show me yours," I flirt.

Ross chuckles, breaking our little bubble of breathy silence. Then, he's loosening his belt buckle and lowering his zipper, wrestling his pants and boxer briefs down enough to release what's long and hard, and mine . I don't want to share this man with anyone.

With his palm fisted around himself, he leans forward and swipes the tip through my essence.

I said no sex, yet Ross is so close, so tempting and hard. I did that to him. "We're a little old for just the tip," I tease, using humor to fight what I'm feeling. How I want to renege on my own injunction. I want to beg him to fill me up. To fit me.

Instead, I lower my leg and sit upright as best I can, forcing Ross back.

"Stand up." I demand, my tone is unfamiliar, commanding and powerful.

Ross and I meet eyes before he slowly rises to his full height. As he stands, I grip his pants and underwear and lower them to his thighs, then take over clutching his thick shaft.

"An amendment to question two." I stroke my fist down his length then upward to slide my thumb over the seeping slit. "How does this feel?"

"Like fucking heaven." His hips rock forward as I tug on him. His gaze aimed at where I'm stroking him.

I lean forward and swipe my tongue over the crown. Ross hisses.

"A queen, sweetheart." His voice strains. "You literally hold me in the palm of your hand. You own me. "

I like the sound of that a little too much, and straightening the invisible crown on my head, I use the power he mentions to make him weak. I open my mouth and suck him inward, lapping at his length like I'm on a mission. He made me lose control when we were on the phone the other night. I want him to lose control as he stands before me.

"Feels so good," he hums. "Missed you so much."

Within seconds, one of his large hands is holding the back of my head and his hips gently surge forward. I slurp and lick like I can't get enough of him, allowing the sounds of my mouth around him to fill the room.

"Gonna come, sweetheart." It isn't so much a warning as a simple statement. He's nearing the end of his resolve. And with a final jolt that brings tears to my eyes, he spills down my throat.

When I pull back, releasing him with a lazy pop, Ross tips up my chin so I look at him. His thumb swipes across my lip, capturing a small droplet, and my tongue instinctively darts out for a final lick, not wanting a single drop of him wasted. Capturing his thumb, I suck it and he looks pleased, proud even. His eyes heat, his nostrils flare and his jaw tenses from our erotic position.

"Such a good girl." Ross winks.

For half a second, I understand the dominant-submissive lifestyle. Ross looks so content and sated. And I gobble up the praise kink.

Releasing his thumb, I smile up at him. "Hey, Ross Davis. Want to sleep with me?"

Asking is a risk, my playful tone a disguise for the overwhelming feelings I have for this man. How I want to please him. How I want to keep him. How I want him to truly be mine.

Ross chuckles, breaking through the intensity of the moment. "Verona Huxley, I thought you'd never ask." He bends, placing his hands on the armrests to cage me in and leans in, kissing me like we didn't just have our mouths on other body parts.

Like my invitation to spend the night was greater than the sum of everything else we just did.