Tell Me a Desire (The Story Series Book 2) Read online

  “Don’t you want to be my date?” I whispered, then lowered my head.

  He put his index finger under my chin and tilted my face upward. “I always want to be your date, Emma doll.”

  Still biting my lip, I motioned with my finger for him to come closer. He put his ear near my mouth—we’d practiced this vague age-play game before because it turned us both on—and I whispered.

  “I also wanted you to touch me.”

  “Really?” he murmured. “Where?” He brushed a thumb over my mouth, releasing my lip from the grip of my teeth.

  I opened and bit the pad of his thumb. With a grave expression on his face, he withdrew his hand and sank into his chair. “Don’t be naughty, Emma. Do as I say and I’ll consider being your date tonight.”

  “What do you want me to do?” I fluttered my eyelashes.

  He steepled his hand and tapped his index fingers together, looking to the ceiling. When he lowered his steel-blue gaze to me, I twitched and tensed. Between my legs.

  “First, take off your panties for me.”

  I stood, and without removing my eyes from his, I slipped my underwear off and let them fall to the floor unceremoniously.

  “Now sit back on the desk again,” he ordered. His low, silky voice, the physical quality I loved most about him, was at its finest when he was telling me what to do sexually. I sat back and tried not to smile in anticipation of his next command. My breathing quickened.

  “Now what?” I swallowed hard.

  “Open your legs.”

  I did, but only a little. As needy and feverish as I was for him, I knew the rules: tease and then tease some more. The late afternoon sun shifted from behind a cloud, and the entire office sparkled as Florida’s sunset hues poured through the floor-to-ceiling windows. There were times everything Caleb and I did seemed beautifully surreal and magical. Like this moment.

  “More. Wider. Like that.”

  I spread myself for him, but because of my skirt, he could see nothing. He leaned back in the chair casually and raked his eyes over me. The corner of his mouth lifted and his dimple emerged.

  “Lift your dress. Higher.” Our eyes met and he traced a line up my thigh with his finger, his voice softening and my skin prickling at his touch.

  Delighted with his wickedness, I lifted my skirt. He lifted an eyebrow and smiled slowly, lazily. I noticed a slight pink had crept onto his sculpted cheekbones, and the black of his pupils had nearly overtaken his blue eyes. My gaze skittered down, and I could see the outline of his erection in his suit pants. Lifting my skirt around my waist, I opened my legs even wider and was unable to hold back a little whimper of happiness. Everything about him was addictive, from his voice to the hunger he inspired within me.

  “Let me see more. All of you.”

  I slipped my hand between my legs and slowly circled the throbbing nerves as my arousal built. “Is that good enough?”

  He watched with glinting eyes as I toyed with the curves of my body, my breathing growing heavier by the second.

  “Stop, Emma.”

  I didn’t want to, but I did.

  He tilted his head and stared at me. “God, you’re so wet. I can see from here. And so swollen.” Rolling his chair closer to me, he extended his hand and lightly spread me apart with his index and middle fingers. He stared at me with big eyes, and as always, I was turned on even more.

  This wasn’t the first time he’d gazed at me like this, but every time he did, I felt exposed and bared to him. Not uncomfortable, though. Far from it. When he focused on me with such raw desire, I felt powerful.

  Worshipped.

  Perfect.

  “Beautiful and pink,” he whispered. “And so, so wet. Just as I want you.”

  Slow and soft, the tip of his finger slipped around my entrance, and my eyes drifted shut. He teased, not penetrating me fully with his finger, and I shuddered with pleasure each time he came close.

  “There,” I whispered. “That’s where I ache.”

  “Where’s that, doll?”

  “Where I want you to be. Inside of me.”

  “Patience, Emma. Patience.”

  His fingertip found my most sensitive spot, and he moved, back and forth, up and down, exactly as I liked it. The sensation between my legs built and rose, and all I wanted was release. After two years together, he knew exactly how to bring me to the edge of orgasm. This was what he did to me—rendered me incapable of wanting anything but the basest of pleasures. I grinned at him through half-lidded eyes.

  “Does this help?”

  I hummed in the affirmative and then protested with a groan when he took his hand away and stood up. He seized my mouth with his, and I knew I’d spend the rest of the night with tender, kiss-stung lips from the force of his need.

  He paused to whisper against my skin. “I have something else that will take away your ache.”

  His eyes bordered on the severe as he unzipped his pants, and I knew when he had that particular expression, he was about overcome with desire. I leaned back and braced myself with my palms behind me while offering myself to him.

  His erection in hand, he rubbed the tip of himself between my legs, making me gasp, open-mouthed. He lifted his gaze to my face. “Let go, Emma. I can tell you’re close.”

  I gripped the side of the wooden desk, tilting my hips so I could feel more of his hardness against my swollen, ripe flesh. Roughly he reached around and pulled me toward the edge, nearer to him. We locked eyes, and I was riveted by the intensity flaring within him. Sex with Caleb was always excellent and often mind-blowing. Near-spiritual. It was how we connected, how our souls danced. Fucking like this always, eventually, made me break whatever role I was playing and grin with happiness.

  “Give it to me. Please?” he whispered. He rubbed for a few moments more, and I felt myself perspire behind my knees, like I always did before climaxing.

  My orgasm rumbled through my body, and the moment I cried out with a glorious half-laugh, he plunged his cock inside of me and grabbed one of my ponytails, yanking my head to the side so he could groan in my ear. This was Caleb; tender and gentle one minute, then consumed with need and roughness the next.

  I loved it all, because when we were together, it felt like I belonged to him.

  “Emma. My little fuck doll,” he rasped as he thrust, strong and rock-hard, into me. “This is what you needed.”

  I cried out in soft, gasping breaths. My arms went instinctively around his neck so I could draw him close, but he pinned them in back of me, holding me tight by the wrists while making a tsk-tsk sound with his tongue.

  “No, Emma. No. Let me fuck you. You got what you needed, now let me take what I want.”

  I struggled halfheartedly, knowing it would drive him crazy. I also knew that if at any moment I wanted to stop, if I felt uncomfortable, he’d accommodate any of my wishes. I trusted him with my body.

  And my wish now was for him to be rough. I struggled half-heartedly. He clenched my wrists tighter, and I responded by squeezing my legs around him.

  “Such a good girl,” he growled.

  My head tipped back, my body shimmering with the happiness of being so close to him. Caleb’s nose grazed my neck, and he groaned, loud. He released my arms, and I instinctively hugged him hard, feeling perspiration seep through his shirt. He abruptly pulled out and spurted on the damp curls between my legs, a few inches from the frilly hem of my dress, which was gathered high on my waist. The visual was at once dirty and primal. I was out of breath, my heart a rapid beat.

  “God, that was close. I almost came inside of you.”

  His words snapped me back to reality and my eyes went wide. What if he had come inside of me? What then? I could have gotten pregnant. Were we ready to be parents?

  I felt a bit raw between my legs, between the exam and the roughness of his penetration. What was I thinking, having sex so soon after an exam? Actually, I felt raw all over, changed somehow. What the hell was wrong with me today?

&
nbsp; Caleb reached for a box of tissues in a steel holder at the end of his desk, then dabbed the wetness from my sensitive skin. I squeezed my lids shut in an attempt to stop the tears. I didn’t know what the intense emotion was all about or why I was feeling so odd.

  Was it because of the doctor’s question? I considered whether to tell Caleb about what she had said, but I hesitated. After all, he’d repeatedly mentioned he hadn’t been sure he wanted children with his dead wife.

  So why would he want them with me? And did I even want a baby?

  I quickly closed my legs as Caleb toe-heeled out of his shoes, then let his pants and underwear fall to his feet. He was being uncharacteristically messy with his clothing. While he never did dishes or straightened a pile of books, he was very particular about his clothing. Usually he carefully removed his clothes before, during, or after sex. He shot me a lazy, wicked smile as I jumped up and plucked my underwear off the floor, trying not to let him see my eyes pool with tears.

  But as usual, he was tuned into my emotions. Or maybe he couldn’t ignore my trembling hands or my loud sniffle.

  “What?” he murmured, sounding totally at ease as he undid buttons to reveal his muscular chest. He had a post-orgasm dreaminess to his voice, so unlike his normal commanding tone. “You okay? What’s wrong? Did I hurt your wrists? I’m sorry.”

  My mouth opened, and I was poised to tell him about the doctor. “No. My wrists are fine. Nothing’s wrong.” I shook my head so hard the tips of my ponytails were like little whips on my cheeks. What if this was some sort of temporary insanity—the question of whether to have a baby?

  Ridiculous. No, I needed to keep this from him, at least for now. Until I was sure.

  “Nothing?”

  I shook my head again and stepped into my underwear, snagging them on the heel of my blue shoes before pulling them up to my hips.

  Now naked, he wrapped his arms around me, and I inhaled his oak-vanilla scent mixed with his sweat. My fingers knew the path up and down his back, and I stroked his skin.

  “Mmm. That feels good. I love you,” he whispered. “And I’m sorry. I do wish I could come to your costume ball, but I’ve got way too much work on the Brazil project. I’m going to shower and change and get back to it. If I get done early, I’ll stop by, but I’ll definitely see you here later tonight. Could you bring my clothes into the laundry room?”

  “I don’t know about later tonight,” I mumbled into his shoulder, suddenly irritated he might not make it to my party that evening and annoyed that he wanted me to pick up his clothes. “I might go to my house to sleep.”

  He pulled away and rolled his eyes. “Emma, why? It’s your birthday tomorrow. We have the antique auction in the morning, and we also need to get ready for the dinner party tomorrow night. Unless you want me to pull some strings and get a reservation. I can cancel the chef and the florist and the entertainment.”

  Resting my forehead on his shoulder, I groaned because, between the party at my bookstore and the potentially life-altering conversation with my doctor, I’d forgotten about my birthday dinner. Caleb’s sister, who was dating my best friend Sarah, along with Caleb’s brother and his latest fling, were coming over to celebrate.

  “No, I don’t want to go out.” Jesus. Could I sound any more petulant? I hadn’t wanted to make a big deal about my thirty-fifth birthday and had agreed to the dinner only at Caleb and Sarah’s insistence. They’d found a celebrity cookbook author in Miami and arranged to fly him to Orlando, all because I was a vegetarian and he was known as the best gourmet, meat-free chef on the entire East Coast.

  I let out a long sigh. “I’ll come back here tonight so we can get an early start tomorrow. And can’t you bring your own clothes into the laundry room?”

  “Good. And yes, I guess I can.” He broke away and picked up his clothes, shaking them out and folding each piece, then draping everything precisely over one arm. “I wish you’d move in here. It would be a lot easier for both of us.” His voice was too dismissive and it annoyed me. My earlier sex-centered, sublime moment of connectedness had evaporated. Now, instead of feeling like we could solve riddles together, it was as if I was a crossword in a newspaper and he was a Sudoku app on a smartphone.

  Incompatible.

  “Easier for you. Maybe I would move in if you made a commitment.”

  His eyebrows shot up. Okay, so my voice had taken on an unusually edgy tone, surprising even me. “What commitment is that?” The way he asked, all clueless, almost made me feel awful. Almost. Then I wondered if he was playing dumb.

  Men.

  I snorted. “If you can’t figure it out, it’s not worth discussing right now. I’ll text you later.”

  Because I wasn’t a total monster, I leaned up to brush my lips over his. Then I grabbed my fake-fur capulet and hurried to the bathroom, not wanting to talk about the real reason for my confusion and anger.

  * * *

  Once at my store, I was in my element. The smell of books always had a soothing effect on me, and I inhaled the scent of paper and ink when I walked in.

  My shoulders lowered as I passed through the stacks, greeting friends and the other owners of the quirky, non-chain stores on the block. I’d invited a few dozen people to the costume ball, all to celebrate a huge comic con in Orlando. My best friend Sarah—she was still the bookstore’s manager for a few months until she finished her graduate degree—had commandeered the sound system with an endless loop of St. Vincent. She looked hot, dressed in a Mad Hatter steampunk costume with bell-bottomed brown pants and a tall hat. I stood before her and curtsied, trying to be my usual, bubbly self, although inside I was still a little anxious and scattered after my exchange with Caleb. Sarah would put me at ease, though. She always did.

  “That hair. Gorgeous,” she remarked, staring at me.

  “You decorated perfectly.” I hugged her. She’d set potted palms and bright red, spiky bromeliad plants around the store and wrangled high-top tables into corners and covered them with white cloths. On each table was a mini tropical flower garden, little framed photos of anime characters, and scattered glitter hearts and stars. I spied a few tiki torches, thankfully unlit, in beach buckets filled with sand.

  My eyes landed on little green cupcakes with red balls stuck on red sticks. It all was funky and kitschy, but I loved it.

  “Are those Plants Vs. Zombies cake pops on top of green cupcakes?”

  “Fucking brilliant, right? Our new bookseller, Gina, is also a cake-pop maker.”

  “Love them.” I plucked a red ball off a toothpick and popped it in my mouth. “Mmm.”

  I swallowed the delicious, red velvet cake bite and searched for another, wondering how I’d manage without Sarah at the store. Ever since Caleb had bought the building and renovated it—and helped me financially—I’d delegated more of the day-to-day business to Sarah. We’d hired two new employees and I spent more time marketing and getting involved with independent bookstore issues on a regional and national level.

  “Your taste, as usual, is impeccable. Thank you for all this. I see reporters from both local newspapers are here.” I peeled the paper off a green cupcake.

  “A TV station’s supposed to stop by, as well. Consider it my early birthday gift to you. Oh, hey, someone called today. I tried ringing you about it, but you didn’t pick up. It was a woman. She mentioned she met you at the book fair, and she wants to talk more about collaborating on the new bookstore.”

  I practically squeed out loud and set the cupcake on the table so I could hug Sarah. This was one of my latest projects—opening an all-romance bookstore somewhere in Florida. An indie bookstore owner near Daytona had loved the concept and wanted to join forces, hopefully somewhere near Orlando because I didn’t want to be away from Caleb too much. “Oh, God, if this really happens, it will be incredible.”

  “You’re unstoppable, Emma. I always knew you would be, ever since I laid eyes on you on the seventh floor of Fletcher Hall, berating those frat guys for playing thei
r shitty music too loud.”

  I grinned at the memory of when Sarah and I had met. Joined in our indignancy, we’d become inseparable. In so many ways, we were opposites. I loved men; she loved women. She was analytical to my fantastical. But we were both only children and both had been quirky, lonely kids. She’d been at my side during my dark moods—like when my mother died of a heart attack our senior year in school—and during my achievements, like when I’d gotten a community arts grant to start the bookstore.

  Now, I opened my mouth to tell her about the doctor, about Caleb, and about my looming deadline for having a baby, but sealed my lips. It was time for me to stop spilling my guts and my thoughts to her before thinking things through. Before telling Caleb.

  It was a bad habit I had, telling Sarah things before I told Caleb.

  But tonight was for revelry. It was my last night of being thirty-four, and I needed to loll in my misspent youth. If I still felt the same way about a baby when I woke up tomorrow, Sarah would be the first to know. Well, the second, after Caleb.

  “I love you. And the champagne is…where?” I asked.

  She grinned in response and pointed to our counter, near the cash register. It had been turned into a mini-bar. Julia, who ran the café, was the temporary bartender. She was dressed like a character out of Sailor Moon, and six people were lined up, ready for drinks. The place was packed, so I waited until there was a lull in the bar line.

  “What will you be drinking, Ms. Price?” Julia asked as I walked over. It made me laugh, knowing she was referencing my favorite Stephen King novel. “The usual?”

  She held up a bottle of champagne.

  “You know me too well.” She poured two plastic glasses of champagne, and we touched them together.

  Julia and I had known each other for years, since we’d each started our stores in the building the same year. She was a couple of years older than me, married, and had a three-year-old daughter.

  I casually began asking questions, barely aware I was steering the conversation into baby territory. “So how’s your family? Your daughter? You know, I admire you so much for juggling the café and a husband and a toddler.”