Rise - Part One (Rise #1)(11)

I can't stop myself when my hands jump to his neck. I pull him closer wanting to deepen the kiss. He acquiesces and before I can register what's happening, his hand is on my back, inching lower. I curve myself into him, wanting my body to speak to his about the uncontainable want I feel.

"Tess," he whispers my name against my lips. "Tell me you want me to f*ck you."

Forming a coherent response isn't going to happen. I tighten my grip on the back of his head and push my lips deeper into his. I want my need to speak for itself. I curve my body into his, acutely aware of the firm outline of his rock hard chest and abs against me.

He spins me around with an effortless ease that literally causes my breath to catch in my throat. I'm now pushed against the back of a leather couch, my ass planted firmly against it while he presses his entire body into mine.

I reach back to try and find some balance. I feel so lightheaded that I fear I'll fall forward into him. He catches my hand in his, pulling it into his chest. I want to slide it lower. I want to wrap my hand around the erection I now feel through the denim of his jeans. I want to drop to my knees and take him between my lips so I can hear the sounds he makes when he's finding his release. I want to taste him. I want to give him pleasure because I know, based just on the way he's kissing me, that he'll take me to a place that I've never been before.

"Jesus, please." His voice falls into the heated flesh of my neck as he drops his face. "Tess."

I don't want him to stop. I don't want there to be a moment of hesitation because if there is, this uncontrollable desire that we're both feeling will fade and he may realize that he's making out with a woman who is almost an entire decade younger than him.

I've seen the hesitation in his eyes when he's spoken to me. I heard it in his voice when he excused himself for the evening after my father called me at the restaurant. I want to have the chance to show him that even if I was born years after he was, that I know how to bring a man to the edge and hold him there. I know how to move my body so his feels the same height of pleasure that mine does.

He pulls back and as his heavy lidded eyes lock on mine I sense something pass between us. His lips part not more than a touch before the words leave him in a breathless rush. "I have to stop."

"Why?" I ask in a blunt tone.

He rests his forehead against mine as he works to level his labored breathing. His lips curve into a small smile. "I'm trying to be responsible here. Let me do that for you."

I can't absorb the words. All I can do is think about how soft his lips are and how aroused we both were when he was kissing me with a fevered need that I hadn't felt from any man before.

"You don't have to be responsible," I say quietly. "I know what I'm doing."

He shakes his head so slightly that the movement itself is almost indistinguishable. The heavy sigh that accompanies it says much more to me. "I want to talk first. I want to understand."

He wants to understand?

I know he wants to understand about the man who wrote me that romantic proposal. He wants to understand how so much emotion can suddenly disappear. He wants to have insight into a relationship that was once beautiful and secure but has now broken into so many pieces that all the apologizes, and promised changes in the world can't put it back together again.

I pull back because I know that anything that may have happened between us has now passed. Kissing him again will only provide a temporary reprieve from his curiosity.

He's older than me and maybe as our hearts move through time and each year takes their toll we need to understand others more. I'm tempted to tell him that it's none of his business but judging by the way his body reacted to our kiss, he wants it be his business.

"You want to talk about him, don't you?" I purse my lips together before I spit out the question in a huff. "You want to know about the man who wrote that letter to me."

He nods before scrubbing his hand over the back of his neck. "I can't f*ck a woman who is in a relationship with someone else. I need to understand before we…"

"Before we have sex?" I interrupt, vaguely aware of how needy my tone is.

He doesn’t try and mask the movement of his eyes as they rake slowly over my body hidden beneath the navy blue wrap dress I chose to wear to my meeting with Gabriel. My nipples are hard and their shape is shamelessly visible through the fabric. I'm wet and although he can't see or feel it, I know he can sense it. I wasn't trying to quiet my desire for him at all when he had me pushed against the couch just mere moments ago.

"I know that relationships can be complicated," he begins as he rubs his hand over his jaw. "People sometimes cheat or lie to get what they want."

I don't know the pain that comes with the level of betrayal. My broken relationship didn't fall apart because one of us was unfaithful or hiding behind a life-changing secret. His other love was fame and as he became more and more infatuated with his own notoriety, I became nothing more than an accoutrement. I would fly to London, Milan, San Francisco or wherever he was and hide in the shadowed background away from the harsh glare of the public, while he'd tell me stories about the lengths people would go to in order to be near him.

My ex-boyfriend may be successful on paper and within the limits that many set for themselves, but he was a disappointment to me. When push came to shove and I needed him here in New York, he bailed in favor of a ski trip in Aspen with his friends.