The Price of Love Page 3

  “Don’t worry, I’ve got more for you.” he murmured, and he squeezed the other nipple and twisted, just enough to elicit the lightest sting that quickly became pleasure as he bent down and replaced his hand with his mouth. His tongue lapped across her nipple and suckled it into his mouth before scraping his teeth against its base and then sucking it again hard. “You are so fucking delicious,” he murmured against her breast. Meanwhile, his hand was trailing up her thigh, reaching ever closer to her core. But not nearly close enough. He stood back a second time.

  “Spread your legs,” he told her. Abby did.

  “More.” Abby opened her legs as wide as she could. She was now completely exposed to him, her breasts naked and her pussy open, with just a puddle of fabric from her shirt and skirt bunched around her waist, her arms trapped against her sides by the straps of her top. The suit eyed her up and down, and even his look made her arousal skyrocket. She felt ready to come and he had barely even touched her. Her clit was pulsing. She was sure he’d be able to see it, and she was desperate for him to come closer and touch her again. She could feel the pleading in her eyes as she silently begged him towards her. Finally, he stepped closer again, and with one sure movement, slid a finger deep inside of her. She actually cried out, something she’d never done during any kind of sex before, and a whimpered “More” escaped from her mouth. She was practically sobbing with need.

  “Is this what you want?” he asked. “Is this what you imagined me doing to you? Tell me you want it.”

  “Yes, please…please.”

  With that, he slid a second finger into her, and pressed his thumb against her clit, and the explosion that had been building inside her since she’d first laid eyes on him rocked through her. He stuck his free thumb into her mouth, and she sucked greedily, letting her climax roll over her in waves that matched the lapping of her tongue over his thumb and the in and out motion of his fingers inside her. She felt her muscles clamping around his fingers as her body tried to draw them further inside of her. She couldn’t quite grasp that the mewling sounds she heard were actually coming from her. Her hips rocked into his fingers as she rode them, and he pushed them deep into her in a rhythm that echoed her orgasm. She’d never come so quickly or so easily before in her life. She never thought that just a touch would be enough to send her over the edge, and she cried out with the exquisite sensations that rolled over her again and again.

  It wasn’t until waves of her orgasm finally began to subside that her first coherent thoughts began creeping back in. Horror at her behavior started bubbling up, warring with the insane pleasure that was still pulsing inside her. Abby struggled to come to grips with what she had just done, or more accurately, what she had let him do to her. As her mind cleared, she frantically tried to think of how she might retain even a shred of her dignity in this situation. Her thoughts were interrupted suddenly by the shrill ring of a cell phone. The Suit pulled his fingers out from her. She missed his touch as soon as it was gone. He wrapped one arm around her and easily lifted her lightly off the sink, pulling the jacket out from beneath her. When he bent down briefly, even though she was crazy to think it, the image of his mouth on her flashed through her mind. Just as quickly, though, he stood back up and barked a terse “Yes” into his cell phone. He listened for a moment, his eyes on Abby’s, then said “One minute,” into the phone.

  Abby was frozen in her spot, unable to move any part of her, still trying to understand what had just happened. The Suit’s hand holding the phone dropped to his side. He reached out with his other hand to rub his thumb lightly across her mouth, outlining the shape of her lips.

  “Beautiful,” he whispered. “So beautiful.”

  Then he draped his jacket over his arm, lifted the phone back to his ear, and disappeared through the bathroom door as if he had never been there as all. Only the thrum Abby still felt on her clit told her he had, in fact, been there. And Oh.My.God had he been there.

  Abby leaned against the sink on shaking legs. She smoothed her skirt, and lifted the straps of her tank top back onto n her shoulders. She refused to look at herself in the mirror, afraid to see her flushed face, her eyelids heavy with pleasure. Most of all, though, she was afraid to see the desperate look she knew would be in her eyes. Because despite his rudeness, and unanticipated power over her, she knew she would see herself wanting still more, capable of doing just about anything to get it. So she avoided her reflection while she quickly peed and washed her hands, and without looking at anyone made her way out of the club. Only when she reached the sidewalk and pulled out her cell phone to call for a cab did she realize that she still wasn’t wearing any underwear.

  Chapter 4

  A shaft of bright morning sunshine slipped through a crack in Abby’s curtains and fell directly onto her still sleeping face. Groaning against the harsh light breaking in, she rolled over and tried to go back to sleep, but then the memory of the previous night flashed into her mind. She shot up in bed, all hope of any more slumber dashed as disbelief at her behavior from the night before rushed over her. Had she really let a stranger finger her to her most intense orgasm ever? And in a public bathroom, of all places! She shuddered with embarrassment at the memory, even as her body betrayed her by tingling in response to the image of the man’s dark eyes, his arrogant smile, and the confidence in his every movement. And the way he touched her. Good God, he didn’t even kiss her. He barely laid a hand on her, really. She had practically exploded with just the barest of touches.

  Determined to put it out of her mind, Abby started coffee brewing before heading back to the bathroom, where she turned on the shower and waited for the water to heat up. Noticing that the tingling between her legs was persisting despite her efforts to distract herself, she thought wryly to herself she should probably just jump into the shower cold. Maybe that would help. But the water was already warm when she stepped in. Abby had to make do by taking extra care that morning to avoid slicking soap down any parts of her body that might lead her to think about The Suit again.

  After finishing in the shower, Abby got dressed, and leaving her hair to air dry began what was arguably her favorite part of the week: Sunday morning with her coffee and the weekend paper. The coffee was the good stuff. She had it shipped in from Costa Rica, and drank it only on these mornings. The rest of the week was the cheap grind from the grocery store. Abby knew her friends would make fun of her for still reading an actual printed newspaper, would call her an old fogey, which was why she’d kept this particular routine of hers to herself. Most of her friends barely followed the news anymore. If they bothered to read anything, it was online only, and usually limited to entertainment news and celebrity gossip. Abby also read the news online. Of course she did; she wasn’t really behind the times. But there was something comforting about sitting and relaxing with the paper; feeling the softness of the paper between her fingers, smelling the rich scent of the coffee, and hearing the crinkle of the newsprint as she turned the pages.

  If she were going to self-analyze, she might admit that this ritual really brought to mind the few memories she had of her family together when she was younger, before her parents started spending more and more time away. She remembered being about five, playing on the floor or watching cartoons on TV while her father sat at the kitchen table, reading excerpts from the paper to her mom. They would discuss the downfall of humanity and the failings of global governments. At five, those discussions were over Abby’s head, but she remembered those days as family time that she cherished deep in her heart.

  But Sunday mornings weren’t about self-analysis, they were just about coffee, and the paper, and peace.

  Abby’s favorite was always the front page. Each week she would scour over every word of the headline story before reading the rest of the front page news. As she read, she silently critiqued the writing in her mind, noticed the errors; where a sentence could have been written more clearly, and where an extra source should have been consulted. She also secretly imagined
that it was her byline she was reading. She knew, realistically, that her chance to write for a major newspaper like that was, at best, a dim hope. It had always been a longshot that she would achieve such coveted position. Even if she somehow did manage to become a staff writer, she would likely never have her name on a front page story. Her decision to give up on pursuing a fast-paced job in newsprint journalism had been made a long time ago, and she was at peace with that choice. Mostly. Because when she’d agreed to work for Max after graduation, it hadn’t seemed that she was trading in one future for another.

  When Max had asked her to join his monthly news magazine, with the promise of a partnership in it for her, no one had had any doubt that she’d say yes. Her first thoughts had been the memories of all the times he’d been there for her when her parents had been traveling to other countries with their missionary work. He had given up so much to take her in and make her feel as though she always had a home with him and his wife, Sheila.

  Her own parents had always loved her in their own way. They made sure that she was provided for and had all the tangible things she needed. But Max and Sheila were the ones who had seen her day to day during her tumultuous teenage years. Sheila and Max had hugged her through her first high school break-up. Sheila was the one who had taken Abby to the drug store when she got her period for the first time, then tucked her into bed and brought her homemade chicken soup. And Max was the one she had run to when first she got the news she’d been accepted to Berkeley’s School of Journalism, and then later when she was admitted into Columbia University’s graduate program.

  When her father, during one of their static-riddled calls, mentioned in passing the difficulties Max was facing in this business, Abby knew she would do whatever she could to give something back to him. And so, the day after her she graduated with her Master’s degree she moved back to her small hometown of Staunton. Within just a few months, she was firmly established as Max’s right-hand woman, and had increasingly taken on more and more of the day-to-day operations of the business.

  The problem, though, was that Abby was a journalist at heart, not a businesswoman, and the managing of a news magazine was far different than writing for one. That she felt this way was a closely guarded secret that she kept from everyone, even Leah. Part of her was afraid that if she ever admitted out loud that she felt like she’d given up her true dream, that she’d settled into a life she wasn’t sure she wanted, she’d be unable to tuck the feelings back in.

  So it was only in her head that Abby admitted that she really missed the thrill of researching a story and finding that one obscure detail that no one else found…the one that made her story stand out above all the rest. It was harder to do that now, with so much information available with just a few taps on the keyboard. But Abby had an instinct for picking just the right search terms that revealed the something new, the unique angle, the extra twist to a story. Her professors had consistently noted that about her, and one of them had even recommended her for the New York job. The one she’d turned down. Something else she’d never told anyone.

  Now, three years later, she knew that despite all her efforts to establish their online presence and increase their readership, the magazine that she’d given up her dreams for was in even greater financial straits than it had been when she started. The magazine itself had changed somewhat under Abby’s direction, trying to attract the younger demographic that was increasing rejecting print of all kind in favor of 24/7 internet access to news. But a monthly news magazine with a mid-size subscription base was fighting an uphill battle to stay relevant. Lately, all of Abby’s time was consumed with running the business and she hadn’t had a chance to write much of anything in the three years she’d been there. She hadn’t minded, not really, especially when she reminded herself of all that Max had done for her.

  Sometimes she caught Max watching her at work, a shrewd look on his face as if he could tell she was dissatisfied. During those moments, she made sure to put on a bright smile and inject a little more enthusiasm into her voice. She would push out any feelings of regret from her head.

  And now, something was up with Max, though he shrugged off her concerns and questions every time Abby tried to ask him about it. But even a third-rate journalist would realize that his denials fell flat. Abby was torn between respecting Max’s privacy and giving in to her journalistic compulsion to follow the story and see where it led. So far, she’d been able to fight the instinct to pry and research, but she couldn’t help but notice the uncharacteristic travel in the past few months, and the increasing numbers of times he’d closed his office door to take a phone call. She worried that he was sick, dying maybe, and she was both hurt and frustrated that he was keeping this, whatever it was, from her. Selfishly, she wished she knew what was going on so she could figure out her own future. Because lately Abby had been thinking more and more about ways to get back into the writing she loved, wondering if it was too late for her to follow up on any of those leads she ignored years previously.

  For one of the first Sunday mornings in awhile, Abby wasn’t thinking about work. She couldn’t quite find her focus to criticize the newspaper stories with as much vigor and judge-y self-satisfaction as usual. When her phone rang with the familiar ringtone that signaled a call from Leah, Abby was grateful for the distraction.

  “Hey Leah,” she answered. “So you and Jackson were getting pretty close last night. Finally! Tell me all about it, what happened after I left?”

  Leah’s giddy voice bubbled back at Abby. “God Abby, it was amazing! We were just dancing and dancing, getting closer and closer, and finally just totally rubbing up against each other…and I could feel that he wanted me, if you know what I mean. I kept giving him hints that he should kiss me, but he wasn’t picking up on them or something, and I finally decided that I was going to have to make the first move. So I licked him a little on the neck, and bit his earlobe.”

  “Oh my god, you didn’t!” Abby exclaimed. “You must have shocked the crap out of him! What did he do?”

  “Well, at first he did look kind of shocked, and he was staring at me like he didn’t know what to do. But then his face changed and he really looked at me. And for, like, forever he just stared at me…and it was the moment. You know...the moment.”

  Abby knew exactly what Leah was talking about. In fact, the two had discussed it before, how much they both savored the moment that occurred in the seconds before kissing someone for the first time. Knowing the kiss is going to happen, flirting around the issue for hours, or days, or even months…however long…the tension building. The potential of what that kiss will be still unfilled. Wondering what his lips will feel like, how his tongue will taste, how he’ll feel while he’s exploring your mouth. Whoever it is, a sexy stranger in a bar or a long-time crush, feeling like you will absolutely die if he doesn’t kiss you right.that.second. Feeling the possibility in every cell of your body as his mouth moves ever closer to yours…Abby felt her eyes drift closed as she imagined how that moment would feel with The Suit, his lips hovering above hers, edging deliberately, so, so slowly toward hers…

  “Abby? Are you still there?” Leah’s voice broke into Abby’s daydream.

  “Yep, still here.” Abby snapped back to attention. “ Sorry, you cut out for a sec. I love that you two had the moment. Was it amazing? How was the kiss?”

  Leah sighed. She actually sighed! “Oh Abs, it was so freaking good. It was perfect. No slurpy tongue, no spinning in circles or anything gross…Jackson’s got some moves. He is so totally hot. We fooled around at the club for a bit and then he took me home. And we messed around a little there, too, but mostly we just talked, like, forever. And finally he called a cab and went home. But not before he asked me out. Our first date! We are finally having a date!”

  “Wow, I’m impressed,” Abby replied. “You didn’t sleep with him? After all that? It sounds like it must have been hard to resist.”

  “I know, right? We both wanted to. Like really
wanted to. But he’s better than that, you know? I kind of want to do things the right way, this time. I like Jackson. A lot. He’s smart, and sexy, and nice…but not in that awful ‘nice guy’ pussy way. He calls me on my shit, and I call him on his. But mostly I just want to be around him all the time. This time it might actually get serious. And the sex will happen. Soon, probably. But I kind of like drawing it out, waiting for it a bit. And it was kind of fun to see him squirm.”

  “Aww,” Abby crooned to her friend, “you sound like such a grown-up.”

  Abby was happy for Leah, and she hoped it would work out for her and Jackson. But a tiny little voice in the way back of her mind whispered that this might actually be her last single friend dropping out of the market.

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah. So anyway, don’t think I’ve forgotten that guy who was all Starey McStare-Pants at you last night. What was that all about? Did he talk to you?”

  Leah’s abrupt change of subject startled Abby. Crap! She’d hoped Leah would be distracted by her lovey thoughts of Jackson enough to have forgotten about The Suit. Apparently Abby wasn’t going to be that lucky.

  “Um…not really,” Abby stammered. Even though it was the truth, he had barely said more than ten words to her, it felt like a lie. “He just sent me that drink, really. We said, like, a couple things to each other, I guess. But I don’t even know his name, or who he is. And he doesn’t know mine, or me either.”