K. Bromberg: Driven

Despite my submission, I know this is wrong. I can hear my conscious telling me to stop. That I don’t do these kinds of things. That I’m not that kind of girl. That I’m betraying Max with each continuing caress.

But God, it feels so incredibly good . I bury all rationality under the surmounting desire that rages through my every nerve. My every breath.

His fingers stroke the back of my neck while his other travels down to my hip, igniting sparks with every touch. He splays his hand on my lower back and presses me into him. Laying claim to me. I can feel his erection thickening against my midsection, sending an electric charge to my groin. Making me damp with need and desire. His leg slightly shifts and presses between mine, pressuring the apex of my thighs and creating an intense ache of pleasure. I push further into him, softly mewling as I crave for more.

I am drowning in the sensation of him, and yet I’m not willing to come up for the air I so desperately need.

He nips my lower lip as his hand moves down to knead my backside, pleasure spiraling through me. My nails scrape the back of his neck in reaction as I stake my claim.

“Christ, I want you right now,” his husky voice pants between kisses, intensifying the ache in the muscles coiling below my waist. He moves the hand from the back of my neck and traces it down my ribcage and over until it cups my breast. I cry out a soft moan at the sensation of his fingers rubbing over my hardened peak through the soft material of my dress.

My body is ready to consent to his request because I want this man too. I want to feel his weight on me, his bare skin sliding on mine, and his length moving rhythmically in me.

Our entangled bodies bump up against the small alcove in the hallway. He presses me against the wall, our bodies franticly grabbing, groping, and tasting. He skims his hand down to the hem of my cocktail dress, finding purchase when he touches the lace tops of my thigh-high stockings.

“Sweet Jesus,” he murmurs against my mouth as he runs his hand at a painstakingly slow pace up my outer thigh to the small triangle of lace that serves more as a decoration than as panties.

What? Those words . When they finally register, I recoil as if whiplashed and push on his chest trying to shove him away from me. Those are the same words that I’d heard earlier in the darkened alcove. They hit me like cold water to my libido. What the hell? And what in the hell am I doing anyway, making out with some random guy in the first place? And more importantly, why pick now to do this while I’m in the midst of one of my most important events of the year?

“No. No—I can’t do this.” Staggering back, I bring a trembling hand up to my mouth to cover my lips swollen from his. His eyes snap up to mine, the emerald color darkened by desire. Anger flashes through them fleetingly.

“It’s a little late, sweetheart. It looks as if you already have.”

Fury flashes through me at his sardonic comment. I’m intelligent enough to infer that I’ve just become another in the line of his evening’s conquests. I look back at him, and the smug look on his face makes me want to hurl insults at him.

“Who the hell do you think you are? Touching me like that? Taking advantage of me that way?” I spit at him, using anger to ward off the hurt I feel. I’m not sure if I’m more upset at myself for my willing submission to him or the fact that he took advantage of me in my frenetic state as a means of amusement while killing time. Or is it that I feel ashamed because I succumbed to his mind blowing kiss and skilled fingers without even knowing his name? Something that I would never do under normal circumstances.

The maddening fact is that I’m not sure who I’m more upset with, him or myself.

He continues to observe me, his anger simmering, eyes glowering. “Really?” he scoffs at me, cocking his head to the side and rubbing a hand over his condescending smirk. I can hear the rasp of his stubble as his hand chafes over it. “That’s how you’re going to play this? Were you not participating just now? Were you not just coming apart in my arms?” He laughs snidely. “Don’t fool your prim little self into thinking that you didn’t enjoy that. That you don’t want more.”

He takes a step closer to me, amusement and something darker blazing in the depths of his eyes. Raising a hand, he traces a finger down the line of my jaw. Despite flinching away, the heat from his touch reignites the smoldering craving deep in my belly. I silently castigate my body for its betrayal. “Let’s get one thing clear,” he growls at me. “I. Do. Not. Take. What’s. Not. Offered. And we both know, sweetheart , you offered,” he smirks. “ Willingly .”

I jerk my chin away from his fingertips, wishing that I were one of those people who can say all the right things at all the right times. But I’m not. Instead, I think of them hours later and only wish that I’d said them. I know that I’ll be doing that later, for I can’t think of a single way to rebuke this overconfident yet completely correct man. He has reduced me to a mass of over stimulated nerves craving for him to touch me again.

“That poor defenseless crap may work with your boyfriend who treats you like china on a shelf, fragile and nice to look at. Rarely used.” he shrugs, “but admit it, sweetheart, that’s boring.”

“My boy—” I stutter, “I’m not fragile!”

“Really?” he chides, reaching up to hold my chin in place as he looks in my eyes. “You sure act that way.”

“Screw you!” I jerk my chin from his grasp.

“Ooooh, you’re a feisty little thing.” His arrogant smirk is irritating. “ I like feisty, sweetheart. It only makes me want you that much more.”

Prick! I’m just about to make a retort about what a manwhore he obviously is. That I know about his “getting acquainted” with someone else down the hall not too long ago before moving onto me. I stare at him, the thought rattling around in the back of my head that he vaguely reminds me of someone, but I push it away. I’m just flustered, that’s all.

Just as I’m about to open my mouth, from behind me I hear Dane’s voice calling my name. Relief floods me as I turn to see him standing at the end of the hallway, looking at me oddly. Most likely perplexed at my disheveled state.

“Rylee? I really need those lists. Did you get them?”

“I got sidetracked,” I mumble. I glance back at Mr. Arrogant behind me. “I’m coming. I just … wait for me, okay?”

Dane nods at me as I turn to the open door of the storage closet and quickly grab scattered paddles off of the floor as gracefully as possible and shove them in the bag. I exit the closet and avoid meeting his eyes as I start to walk toward Dane. I exhale silently, glad to be heading toward more familiar ground when I hear his voice behind me. “This conversation isn’t over, Rylee .”

“Like hell it isn't, A.C.E.,” I toss over my shoulder, the thought fleeing through my mind how perfect the acronym fits him before continuing hastily down the hall, keeping my shoulders squared and head held high in an attempt to keep my pride intact.

I quickly reach Dane, my closest confidant and friend at work. Concern etches his boyish face as I loop my arm through his, tugging him back toward the party. Once we’re through the backstage door, I release the breath I didn’t know I was holding and lean back against the wall.

“What the hell happened to you, Rylee? You look like a hot mess!” He eyes me up and down, “And does it have anything to do with that Adonis back there?”

It has everything to do with the Adonis , I want to confide in Dane but for some reason hold back. “Don’t laugh,” I say, eying him warily. “The closet door jammed shut, and I was stuck on the inside.”