Not Until You: Part IV (4 page)

Sweat dripped down my neck, sliding down between my breasts. I was acutely aware of every sensation. The smack of the flogger, the sound of my ragged breathing, the scent of arousal, and Foster’s presence behind me. Even without seeing him, I could feel him there—his intensity a palpable thing. He was in some other zone, and I was quickly tumbling into with him. Another hit, and my thoughts went hazy. I pressed my damp forehead against the door. “Please, please, please . . .”

I didn’t know if I spoke the words aloud or not, but no other hit came. The flogger clattered against the wood floor. Vaguely, I was aware of the sound of a zipper, rushed movements. Then my ankles were slipping free of the restraints.

Foster adjusted something above me, and then he was turning me, my hands still cuffed but the chains going with me. When I’d made the one-eighty, I managed to open my eyes. Foster’s blue-eyed gaze collided with mine—the ferocity making my stomach flip.

I opened my mouth to say something, though I wasn’t sure what, but he cut me off instantly with a kiss—his tongue and lips clashing with mine as he wrapped a hand behind each knee and lifted me off my feet. My back hit the door, and he pushed deep inside me, opening me wide and wrapping my legs around his hips. I gasped into the kiss, the feel of him inside me mixing in with the snap of pain from my sensitive back hitting the wood. My head spun, and my sex clenched around him. Everything inside me hummed like live wire, waiting for one more spark of pleasure to burn me to ashes.

Foster’s fingers dug into the backs of my thighs, and he thrust into me harder than he’d ever done before. The door rattled behind me, and my fingers clawed for him, but my hands were still captured above me. The rock of his hips pushed him along my clit with every forward motion, driving me higher and higher until I was writhing against the door like some inhuman thing. I broke from the kiss for air. “Foster.”

His jaw was clenched, his pale eyes wild, and his dark hair clung to his temples, but he didn’t stop fucking me. “Come for me, Cela.”

He wrapped an arm around my waist, holding me in place, then moved his other hand between us. He rubbed my clit, the rough pads of his fingers firm over slippery flesh, and everything went white behind my eyes. I tilted my head back against the door and cried out as my orgasm rocketed through me. My back was banging against the door, the power of Foster’s thrust almost knocking me right through it, and I rode the tide of pleasure as he groaned long and loud and spilled inside me.

When we were both back on Earth, I sagged in the bindings and let my head lower to his shoulder. He whispered soft, soothing words in my ear as he held on to me and uncuffed my wrists with his free hand. My arms circled around his neck, half-numb and near useless. He carried me to the bed and lowered me to it, sliding out of me in the process. My eyes cracked open for a moment as he pulled off the condom and disposed of it. Then he was back at my side again. He brushed my damp hair off my cheek, a reverent expression on his face. “Lie down, angel. I’ll get you some water.”

He didn’t have to tell me twice. I curled around one of his pillows on top of his comforter, no longer giving a shit who he’d slept with in this bed. It was a bed, and I was exhausted. I wasn’t awake long enough for him to return with the water.

Chapter 19

I rolled over in bed—groggy, achy, and filled with the desperate need to pee. My body bumped into warmth, and it took me a second to remember that I was in Foster’s bed—naked. He mumbled something in his sleep but didn’t wake up. Trying not to jostle the bed too much, I shifted to the other side and slipped from beneath the covers. The air chilled my bare skin, but it was still pitch-dark in the room, so I had no shot at finding my discarded clothes. It was going to be challenging enough finding my way to the bathroom.

I put a tentative foot in front of the other, trying to make sure not to trip over anything or run into any furniture. His room was the mirror opposite of mine, so I knew where the door to the bathroom should be at least. With a little bit of hands-out-in-front-of-me groping, I eventually found my way there and shut the door behind me. I took care of the necessities, then went to the sink to wash my hands, rinse my face, and swish some mouthwash. No need to have Foster be greeted with the full heinous version of my morning self.

After double-checking to make sure the door was still shut, I turned around and peeked over my shoulder to get a view of my backside in the mirror. Despite the tenderness that still lingered, I didn’t see any obvious marks left from Foster’s flogger—though, if I was going to bruise, that’d probably take a little longer to show up. I frowned at the reflection, unsure whether I was happy or disappointed to see no evidence. I sighed. My brain was like a steaming pile of scrambled eggs over this whole thing.

After flipping off the light and letting my eyes adjust for a moment, I opened the door and headed back toward the general direction of the bed. But apparently I misjudged the distance, because before I knew it, my shin smacked the edge of the wood-framed bed. A harsh curse passed my lips as I grabbed for my throbbing leg. Foster rolled over.

“Cela?”

“Yeah. Sorry,” I said as I braced a hand on the bed and rubbed my shin with the other.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice all slow and sleep-heavy. And sexy. Of course. The man could probably sneeze and I’d find something hot about it. What was wrong with me?

“I’m fine, just clumsy. I was trying not to wake you.”

“Mmm,” he said, pushing up on his elbow and reaching a hand out to me. “Get back in bed, angel. It’s safer in here.”

I took the offered hand and let him pull me back under the covers. “I’m not so sure about that.”

He pulled me against him, my back to his front, and chuckled softly against my neck. “I promise to be good.”

His body curled around mine, chasing off the chill I’d caught on the way back from the bathroom. I closed my eyes, absorbing just how good it felt to simply lie with him. “Sorry about waking you up.”

“No worries. I don’t sleep that soundly anyway. Doesn’t take much to wake me up.” He pulled the blanket a little higher over us. “Go back to sleep, angel. We still have some time before morning.”

I nestled my head deeper into the pillow and closed my eyes, but after a few minutes, I realized that the knock to my shin had woken me up fully, and I wasn’t going to drift off easily. I shifted a bit in his hold and could tell that he hadn’t fallen back asleep yet either.

“Is this position irritating your back?” he asked.

“No, it’s fine. Just awake.”

“I would offer to sing you asleep like you did for me, but I’m not that sadistic. No one should be subjected to my singing voice.”

I smiled. “That bad?”

“It’s only suitable for the shower and when I’m riding in the car alone.”

We both went quiet for a while, and I thought he was going back to sleep, but then his low voice broke then silence.

“I’m sorry that I got angry with you tonight, when I saw you with Pike. That really was uncalled-for.”

I rubbed the corner of the pillowcase between my thumb and forefinger, staring into the darkness. “You said you’d had a bad day. What happened?”

He sighed and his hold on me loosened a bit. “I thought I was going to get some answers about a situation I’ve had questions about for a long time, and I hit another dead end.”

I chewed my lip, debating whether or not to push for more details. It really was none of my business. Just because we were curled up naked together didn’t mean I had some right to know about all his personal business, but I couldn’t help myself. “I’m sorry. What kind of situation?”

“A family one.” He was silent for a long time after that, and I figured he’d decided that was enough of an answer—even though it was no answer at all. But then he laced his fingers with mine and let out a breath. “I’m searching for my sister, Neve.”

I turned in his hold to face him, confused. “What do you mean—‘searching’? Did she run off?”

I couldn’t see him well in the dark, but I felt the tension in his muscles. “No, angel, she was taken—a very long time ago. Has been missing since I was ten.”

“Oh my God.” The weight of the words landed solidly on my chest, pressing down. “I’m so sorry.”

He brushed his knuckles over my cheek. “It’s okay. I’ve lived with that knowledge for a very long time. I just got my hopes up tonight that we’d have a breakthrough in the case, and the informant backed out. I should’ve known it’d be a dead end. They always are.”

“Oh, Foster,” I said, my heart breaking at the hopelessness underlining his tone.

“Shh,” he said, pressing a kiss to my forehead. “I’m just sorry that I took my frustration out on you. You didn’t deserve that.”

“It’s okay, I—”

He put his fingertips over my lips. “No, it’s not. But let’s not get into it now. It’s late, and you need to get some rest.”

I let my head sink back into the pillow, and he turned me to spoon again.

His embrace was comforting, the bed warm. But it was a long time before I was able to fall asleep.

I could handle mysterious, sexy neighbor Foster.

And funny, texting Foster.

Even intimidating, kinky Foster.

Those are guys I could write off as fun fling candidates.

But I had no idea how to handle this man. This man with vulnerabilities and wounds and history. A man who hadn’t given up on finding a sister who’d been gone for more than twenty years. I didn’t need to know these things about him. The more I learned, the more this mattered. The more
he
mattered. And the harder it was going to be when I left.

Maybe Foster had been right all along.

We had to end this.

Because as I lay there, listening to him breathing, I found myself wanting it to be real, wanting to be his.

***

“What the hell are you doing, man?”

Foster glanced over his shoulder at Pike, who’d plunked down at the breakfast bar, the new dog sniffing at his feet. Foster couldn’t even tackle
that
turn of events yet. Pike taking on the responsibility of a dog. The mind boggled. “I’m making pancakes. What does it look like I’m doing?”

“And what the fuck was that last night?”

Foster sighed, keeping his back to Pike as he waited for bubbles to appear in the batter he’d ladled onto the griddle pan. Bette, the housekeeper who’d taken care of him for much of his life, had told him never to flip a pancake until there were bubbles. “Sorry I jumped your shit. Yesterday . . . sucked, and well, I was already in a bad place when I came home.”

“Dude, I’m over that. You’re a possessive asshole. Not breaking news. But I’m talking about what you did with her. What happened to leaving the vanilla girl who’s moving away alone? Now you’re making her pancakes? You don’t cook breakfast for anybody.”

Foster flipped the pancake with a little more vigor than necessary. “Last night wasn’t planned. I gave her the chance to leave. She didn’t.”

“Ah hell, don’t do this to yourself.”

Foster turned to give Pike a narrow look. “Do what? Sleep with her? It’s not like it hadn’t happened before.”

Pike took a sip of his coffee. “Don’t give me that shit. You didn’t just fuck her, and you know it. You’re getting attached. It’s written all over you. You’re making fucking pancakes, for God’s sake.”

“It’s just a pancake,” he said a little too loudly, holding the spatula out to the side. Batter dripped to the floor, and the dog scrambled to take care of it. “I’m well aware she’s leaving. I’m
not
attached.”

The lie rolled off his tongue with ease.

Truth was, he was a fucking mess after last night. He hadn’t slept after their middle-of-the-night talk. He’d just lain there, watching her sleep, trying to come up with a scenario where she didn’t pack up and move away in a week. He turned back to ladle more batter onto the griddle, avoiding Pike’s pointed stare.

“She can’t stay, Foster.” Pike said quietly. “She won’t. Last night, she was telling me about what’s waiting for her back home. She’s spent her whole life preparing to take over half of her father’s practice. And she loves her family and the career she’s chosen. Her life is there.”

“I wasn’t going to ask her to stay,” he replied under his breath. Though, he was more than tempted to. But what could he possibly offer her in exchange for veering off the life plan she’d set up for herself? Sure, they were great together in bed. And yeah, he had enough money to give her anything she could want or need while she was here. But they hardly knew each other. Even if she liked last night—which he hadn’t even had a chance to confirm yet—there was no way she could be ready for the type of relationship he craved.

The smell of smoke snapped him out of his ruminating. He turned down the heat as the pancake started to burn around the edges. The sound of a door opening somewhere behind him had him turning around again, though. The dog scampered that way with a bark. Cela appeared in the kitchen a few moments later, wearing her wrinkled clothes and a haphazard ponytail. She had her arms wrapped around herself as if she were cold. And when she bent down to scratch the dog under the chin, she moved so gingerly, he cringed.

Shit.

“Hey there, Monty,” she said softly.

“Morning, doc,” Pike said, as casual as could be. Like Cela was here every morning. “Coffee?”

She rose and gave him a small smile, her eyes darting briefly toward Foster. “Actually, I really need to get back to my place. I’m due at work in an hour.”

Foster frowned and set down the spatula. “You should at least eat some breakfast before you go.”

“He made pancakes,” Pike said, a wry tilt to his mouth.

Foster shot him a shut-the-fuck-up glare.

She curled her lips inward and glanced toward the door, clearly ready for escape. But he could tell manners were so deeply ingrained in her that she couldn’t do it. She gave a quick little nod. “Yeah, okay, I can stay for a minute. You didn’t need to go through so much trouble.”

Foster breathed a brief sigh of relief that she wasn’t leaving yet and turned to pile a few pancakes on a plate. “No trouble.”

Pike sniffed.

Foster put the burnt pancake on Pike’s plate.

When he turned around with both plates in his hand, Cela was sliding into the chair next to Pike, the strained press of her lips the only indication that she was feeling the effects of last night. God, he was an asshole.

Yes, she’d pushed him last night, had asked to be with him, but he’d taken it too far. Not that he’d never left a girl with marks or bruises the next day—it was part of the deal. But up until now, he’d only done it to women he knew were totally into it, who thrived on submission and pain play. But with Cela, he had no idea what her pain tolerance was or if she had limits he’d crossed. It’d been completely irresponsible on his part to scene with her. The girl didn’t even know what a scene
was,
and he’d chained her to his fucking door. Then later, he’d laid his shit about his sister right on her. Like she needed to know about his family’s tragedies on top of everything else. No wonder she was ready to bolt.

He set the plates in front of them and grabbed the bottle of syrup off the counter. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” she said, though there wasn’t much conviction behind it, and took the syrup from him. “Thanks.”

Pike grabbed his plate and stood. “I think I’m going to eat this in the living room. Hit me with a little syrup, doc.”

“Pike, you don’t have to—” Cela started.

“Nah, doc, it’s okay. My morning show’s on. Gotta get my daily dose of Lara Spencer.”

Cela frowned but poured syrup over his pancakes and said nothing else.

“Come on, Monty, let’s see how you like Foster’s cooking.” Pike gave Foster a quick glance, then sauntered off toward the living room, Monty fast on his heels.

Cela put a bite of food in her mouth, looking down at her plate like it held all the answers. He had no doubt everything was setting in now. Last night when she’d woken up, it’d all still been comfortable in the darkness—safe. But now in the light of day, her body was probably aching, her skin sensitized, leaving no path for her mind to deny what she’d participated in last night. And knowing Cela, that probably meant a heaping dose of shame and guilt.

Foster blew out a breath and served up his own breakfast, then grabbed a bottle out of the cabinet. He tapped out two pills and set them next to Cela’s plate, then poured her a glass of water. “Take those. It’ll help.”

She eyed the pills. “What are they?”

“Ibuprofen.”

“Thanks.” She picked them up and swallowed them down, her gaze staying on him. “So will I have, like, bruises and stuff? I kind of feel like I got tackled by an NFL lineman.”

He leaned against the counter, arms crossed, leaving his food untouched next to him. “You shouldn’t. That particular flogger is pretty harmless in that regard. Though you may get tiny speckle bruises where the tips wrapped around your hip.”

“Oh.”

“Does that bother you?”

She pushed a syrup-soaked bite around her plate with her fork. Great, she couldn’t even look at him. “I don’t know.”

He carded a hand through his hair and sighed heavily. “I knew I shouldn’t have gone there with you.”

She looked up sharply.

“I’m sorry. Last night . . . it never should’ve happened.”

“Right.” She shook her head, smirking, and shoved her plate away. “Look, thanks for breakfast, but I’ve got to go.”