T. Grey: Tempting Whispers

“You can’t do this on your own,” he was saying. She heard parts of words at his rant, but she tuned it out, her eyes focusing on the white paint of the walls. Her body felt strung so tight that if someone just poked her, she’d explode from the skin. Her head pounded with a heavy weight. Her neck muscles bunched hard, reverberating that pain down to her shoulders and lower back until everything hurt, everything throbbed. “You need to go to your father.” His words registered through the fog in her mind slowly.

Her eyes wavered to his pacing body and she frowned. “Dad doesn’t care; he never did, or he wouldn’t have given me to Joseph.”

Brayden acted as if he didn’t hear her. He spoke in quick, agitated tones. “If I recall, according to law, you can get a divorce if the originator of the agreement now finds it void, which would be your father. It’s either that or Joseph agrees to the divorce, or you live out your days running and hoping he gives up on you.”

“None of those things are going to happen,” she said over him. Still, he ignored her and paced back and forth, muttering to himself as he idly rubbed his chin now and then. Vanessa’s eye twitched. “Brayden?” He didn’t stop walking, didn’t even acknowledge she’d spoken. Like a tea kettle coming to a boil, her whistle blew. “Stop it!” she yelled. “I don't even want your help.” He was going to ruin everything. She could do this herself.

She stormed from the room, taking the stairs two at a time to the bedroom. A thundering sound roared in her ears. Angry tears spilled from her eyes, but she roughly brushed them away, digging her hand into her eye just to feel the flare of pain. It helped to calm her down. She slammed the bedroom door shut and grabbed her satchel. She wanted to punch the wall or his face until her knuckles busted and bled. God, she was just so angry . At him, at Joseph, at her father, at herself, at everything. She stole a bar of soap and other little belongings and shoved them into her satchel.

“Time to get the fuck out of here.”

“No, it’s not.” His voice stopped her from in mid-motion of ramming the shampoo bottle into her bag.

A lick of guilt ate at her and she put it back in the shower before slowly sauntering into the bedroom, her bag hiked over her shoulder. “Oh, really? And now you have a say in how I live my life?”

Maybe it was the apology she saw in his bright eyes that reminded her of the moon, or maybe that he’d come after her in his own way, but something else inside her snapped and she did something she’d thought about doing from the first day she met him. Her bag slid off her shoulder and banged against the ground. She went toward him with hard, sure steps, then jumped into his arms. His hands caught her at the waist while his head cocked to the side in the perfect look of confusion.

“Before I go, I’m going to do something I want.” Then she pushed her hands into his hair, slightly coarse and curling locks tickling her fingers, wet her top lip with a flick of her tongue and pressed her lips against his. So many sensations registered in her brain. The incredible heat from his chest where it pressed along hers. She’d thought he’d be cold, but, whoa, she wanted to rip both their shirts off so she could feel his heat against her bare breasts. She kissed him again and again, pressing their lips together, feeling the pliancy of his lips, and the give, the heat, until wicked warmth made her go slower, made her lick across his top lip and push inside.

She grew wet between her legs at the first slide against his tongue. Her breath hitched when, in a powerful thrust, he took over the kiss, capturing her lips in a hungry possessive kiss that made breathing difficult. So this was what it felt like to kiss someone and feel passion, to enjoy it. She wanted so much more though, wanted to explore every possibility between. She needed his hands to circle her waist and crush her to him, or his hips to pivot between her legs and thrust to ease the blazingly hot ache growing steadily wetter. She pulled her tongue back and crushed her lips against his. He had a wonderful mouth, soft but firm and a little hard, all at the same time. She made herself pull back, no matter how much her body wanted to cling closer.

His eyes were slow to open, but when they did, she sucked in a breath and squirmed. His eyes were molten with blatant, raw sexual heat. His dark pupils were wide making his eyes look dark and stormy. His lips were parted, a little wet from their kiss and she tugged her bottom lip into her mouth to keep from going back for more. For the first time since meeting him, she felt way out of his league.

“Get off me, Vanessa.”

She dropped down and slung her bag over her shoulder to keep from looking at him. She felt small inside, about the size of an ant next to him. What did she know about sex or seducing a man? Especially a man like him—nothing. Not a damn thing. Her neck to cheeks burned with heat, but she leveled her gaze on him, lifting her chin a notch.

“Sorry,” she mumbled.

He closed his eyes and scrubbed a hand over his face. “Fuck. Listen, I---”

God, she so couldn’t bear to hear some kind of shitty apology on all the reasons why he didn’t want to be with her. “Fine, I’ll stay. Just get out, now.”

His eyes hardened on her, then he let out a long sigh. “Vanessa, maybe we should talk about---”

“No, and I mean no .” As in not now or fucking ever. He didn’t like her kiss, didn’t want her. God, just the cold way he’d told her to get off him, like she was something bugging him. She hated to admit it, but it fucking hurt. “Just get out, okay? I’m tired.” That part was true. She suddenly felt exhausted and the need to cry into a pillow for a few minutes.

He craned his neck around in a circle as if it pained him. “Fine...fine. I have a spare car. I’ll leave the keys on the kitchen table. Use it from now on until we get something else worked out.”

“Fine,” she said. She’d say anything to get him out, before her humiliation dug her even further into the shitty ground.

He started to say something else, then shook his head and left, the door closing softly behind him.

“I’m such an idiot,” she muttered. Come on, she couldn’t really have expected her fantasy—that she’d rush into his arms and he’d unleash such tantamount passion that she’d be swept away into a world of pleasure—to be true. That shit was for fantasies only; not for real life.

She got naked and climbed under the cool sheets. She stared at the ceiling, daring tears to come, but they didn’t. At least she won that round. The bed proved too soft and comfy under her and she fell asleep in a flash.

It took a minute after waking up to figure out where she was. Then it all came back in a flood of humiliating memories. She’d kissed him. It’d really been more of a half-kiss since he hadn’t kissed her back, but it’d been the best kiss of her life. How fucking lame was that?

She threw back the covers, made quick work of the facilities and her teeth, then climbed back into her jeans and tee before heading downstairs. She heard his deep rumbling voice and paused halfway down the stairs.

“Yeah, good. I’ll be there shortly.”

Taking a deep breath, she squared her shoulders ready to face the day, or, rather, Brayden. She found him in a room off the back of the living room. It was a study with warm wood colors, bookcases, and a desk. It looked a lot homelier in here than any other room in the house. Almost as if, an entirely different person designed it. His head lifted from the desk as she entered. He stood, then pointed to a chair in front of his desk.