38. Candlelight

38

Candlelight

NICOLE LAMB

In the elevator, Kingston spun Nicole around again, pressing her back against the wall in an echo of a moment months before, but this time, his kiss was gentle, savoring, and she was wet-plaster flat against the wall as she gave herself up to him kissing her.

When they’d been sitting at the table, Nicole had drawn a breath to say it back to him, but Kingston had already stood up and holding out his hand. “Come.”

“Kingston, I— wait. I’m trying to say?—”

“Upstairs,” he said, still smiling. “Now.”

Her resistance was washed away by his words, the champagne, and her whirling thoughts.

Through the lobby, “Kingston, wait. Stop.”

“Keep walking.”

And she did.

Because he told her to, and he’d conditioned her to, she thought later.

In the elevator, her heart was full to bursting, but he kissed her so thoroughly but gently, that her soul hungered for him and her body was ravenous?—

Her mind lived only for the touch of his lips, his hand pinning her wrist to the wall above her head, his other hand on her waist, steadying her.

Yeah, this was what it was like to swoon.

A wave of his phone at the door, and they were inside the suite, candles burning everywhere.

The flickering candlelight caught and rebounded and sparkled in the crystal and in the air, exquisite and glorious to even Nicole, who was stumbling as Kingston lifted her in his arms like he was a knight and she was a lady and carried her to the bedroom.

“Are you too drunk on the champagne?” he asked, his mouth against her neck as he lay her down on the wide bed.

“Only in a good way,” she said, sighing at the shimmering chandelier above the bed with only the tiniest filaments glowing in the bulbs. “Not too drunk at all. Are you?”

“Not too much,” he whispered, his words shivering against her skin. “And only for you.”

The candlelight and his words enchanted the last bit of rationality from her mind. “Oh, Kingston. Please, I love?—”

“Not now,” he said, covering her mouth and sealing her words inside. “Later.”

She tugged his hand away. “You’re not letting me speak.”

“I know, but not now,” he told her. “Not yet. Think before you say anything. You need to think about everything before you do it. Think about this. Think about me.”

She was.

And she did.

Her mind was filled with him, this moment, the sensation of his body as he shed his clothes and hers, and their skin slipping together.

In the flickering ambient glow of the candles, his body was strong and beautiful, wrapped with muscle and sinew, languid in movement like she was, his mouth slow like trickling water over her breasts, down her stomach, between her thighs.

Kingston licked her slowly, first over her folds, then deeper, parting her. The roughness of his tongue drove her to heights, to arch and wind her fingers into his hair, to gasp as he rubbed through her.

When she writhed, almost crying out, he crawled up her body, his dark hair messy over his forehead and his eyes glazed with desire, and he lifted one of her legs over his broad shoulder and filled her, so hard, so thick inside, that her body was pushed farther toward the brink.

He lay down on her, covering her body with his, and wrapped his arms under her shoulders, holding her as they moved together.

Each surge of Kingston’s body into hers crested her higher, decimated her mind and her will further until she was crying out, begging him, dying for him. He drove harder into her, and she was shattered into shards and candlelight, holding him while he trembled, his breath harsh on her throat.

He gathered her against his chest, holding her, the world still spinning.

Nicole cuddled into his warmth, trying to sleep because unconsciousness would be the perfect end to this night, but midnight in New York was only eight o’clock in California.

She whispered, “Kingston?”

His arm curled, rolling her more tightly against him. “Yes.”

Candlelight still washed over them like the glow from faerie lights. “This was beautiful. Amazing.”

“I’m glad.”

“Kingston, I lo?—”

“Don’t say it now.” His voice lowered, but she could hear his smile in it. “Don’t make me spank you.”

“This emotional edging is kind of hot.”

He chuckled. “Okay.”

“Fine.” She slithered sideways and ended up lying on his chest, her arms folded under her chin and staring into his amused eyes. “Then tell me something.”

“Like what?”

“Anything. Something real.”

“Real. That’s a tall order.”

“Real,” she said. “Tell me about your family.”

He shifted her off of him and started to roll toward the side of the bed. “I’ve got a better idea. We have a bottle of champagne in the next room, and the ice is surely melting.”

“Kingston!”

His head dropped before he turned and looked at her over his strong shoulder, a mild smile softening his face. “Yes?”

“This is—” She tried to come up with the right word. “This is scaring me. We’ve been—whatever this is—this off-and-on thing—for a while. For four months. We seem to be moving forward—traveling together, spending weekends together—but there are vast tracts of unknown territory in you. When I ask you about some things, it’s like I come to a barrier, a wall, and it’s absolute.”

He nodded. “Boundaries.”

“Okay. I— okay.” Nicole was from California. Everyone she knew had been in therapy at some point. “I understand boundaries, but this doesn’t feel like boundaries. This feels like you’re hiding things from me, a lot of things. It feels like bad things.”

He turned around on the bed, sitting with his long legs crossed and the covers pulled up to his waist. “Please stop asking.”

Worry for him warred with fear for herself.

Nicole had terrible taste in men.

She knew this. Arvind and some of her high school friends had joked that they should vet any possible boyfriends before Nicole started seriously dating them because she always fell for the wrong guy.

The wrong guy had bad secrets, like a wife, kids, a house, and an actual dog, a Pomeranian.

The wrong guy devastated her heart and her soul. Craig had broken her soul because he’d lied to her, and he’d cheated on his wife with her. He’d made her into a homewrecker, a cheater, too.

A smarter woman would have seen the red flags waving from the ramparts, but Nicole had had her eyes on the fairy tale castle.

Until Craig’s wife had called Nicole’s cell phone and called her a cheating scum.

And after Arvind had done a little internet stalking for her, Nicole had texted Craig that it was over and never seen him again, not when he’d said he could explain, not when he’d called her a dumb bitch and she’d known what she was doing.

Because she’d been in love.

Falling for another guy who wasn’t who he said he was would be stupid.

“I need to know what’s going on with you,” she said.

Kingston blinked and looked up at the ceiling, breaking eye contact with her. “I don’t want to end the night like this.”

“Like what?” she demanded.