The Devil You Know (The Devils #3)(38)

“It’s a waste of resources,” I reply. And yet…and yet…I have the stupidest, most pathetic desire to smile.

He’s already surrounded, of course. Ben is, for better or worse, the star of our firm. The partners all think he will put us in the headlines. The associates think he’s their ticket to bigger and better cases. And I know I should stop watching him but I can’t seem to make myself do it.

“He keeps looking over here,” Nicole says. “Is my lipstick okay? I’m going to say hi.”

Her lips are chapped and her lipstick is mostly smudged off aside from the bright red ring of her lipliner. It looks terrible. “Yes,” I reply, “it’s great.” Not exactly my finest moment of supporting a fellow sister, but no one’s a champion 24/7.

She saunters toward him, hips swaying, and a small fire starts in my chest. I consider following her except…what happens now, if I’m one of the pathetic associates who sidles up beside him? He might reference our kiss or—worse—not acknowledge it at all. Maybe he’ll forget about it, in the mad rush of adulation from our colleagues. Maybe he’d have forgotten either way.

And I just…can’t. I can’t live through that right now.

I cut through the crowd toward the exit, escaping into the empty hallway. Pinterest Gemma, the girl who wanted to see the world and decorate a home one day, would not approve, but Pinterest Gemma is someone who made tons of bad decisions and wound up with a broken heart.

When I reach my room, I strip off my dress and get in the shower, scrubbing the makeup from my face and telling myself I’ve done the right thing. The responsible thing.

I put on sleep shorts and a tank then grab my phone to plug it in…which is when I see the text, sent by Ben minutes ago, just as I was getting into the shower.

Ben: I flew across the country and drove over an hour, only to see you. I’m heading to my room. #312. The door is unlocked.

I sink onto the bed. Is it true? Did he really come all the way here for me? And am I actually considering this? I picture him somewhere down the hall, stretched out, a tangle of sheets and bare skin, waiting for me. I picture what might happen if I did go—his weight above me, the sounds he might make.

No.

The absolute last thing I’m doing at this retreat is sleeping with a partner. Maybe he’ll be disappointed, but it’s for the best because he’s not what I want, and I’m not what he wants, and this could never, ever end up being something I was glad I did.

I reach to turn off the light, and then it hits me: this chance might not come again. How many times, exactly, will he put himself out there before he just stops trying? And that thought is all it takes: I’m out of bed again, grabbing a robe before I slip into the hallway. I hesitate outside his door for only a moment before I turn the handle and walk inside, padding toward him in bare feet. Moonlight filters through the curtains, provides just enough light to see him there in bed, shirtless. I stop in my tracks.

This is a terrible idea.

“Gemma,” he growls. “Come here.”

It’s a demand, not a request. It should hasten my exit from his room, but instead my feet are moving toward him. When I reach his side, he pulls me down to the bed, on top of him, as if he can’t wait the extra few seconds it would have taken me to get there on my own.

I stare at him in shock, and his gaze locks with mine as he winds his fingers through my hair. I expect him to smirk, to look irritatingly victorious, but instead…he’s relieved.

As ridiculously overconfident as he appears, he flew across the country and drove to Ojai for this, for me, with no idea at all if it would work. And he wanted it to work—from the feel of him, hard as steel beneath me—he really wanted it to work.

I lean down and press my lips to his—the lightest brush. He groans, as if he’s been waiting a very long time for me to do it, and his hands press to my scalp, bringing my mouth back to his before I can pull away.

He’s still kissing me as he rolls me to my back, as his hands graze my rib cage, my breasts, before gripping the hem of my tank. “Take this off,” he demands, pulling it overhead. We are both naked from the waist up now. It’s decadent, how good it feels to be like this with him, skin to skin. I think of that night on his desk, and the memory has me clenching, as if he’s already inside me.

His hand slides up to cup my breast, to run the pad of his thumb over my nipple, making it ache before he takes it between his teeth. He pulls at it hard, suddenly, with a force that is pleasure and pain at once. I want more, but his lips press softly to the underside of my breast instead. My hips buck, impatient, and he laughs. “You liked that before, didn’t you?”

“Yes.” The word is carried on a gasp as his index finger slides inside my shorts. I’m so wet that I can hear it as his fingers glide between my legs.

Air hisses between his teeth. “God. I love that.”

His thumb goes to my clit as he leans down again, sucking my nipple into his mouth, using his teeth in a way that...pierces me. Something in that pleasure with just a hint of pain has me raw and swollen and desperate for more. My nails dig into his back.

“I want you inside me,” I tell him.

“Fuck,” he groans against my skin. “Yes. But this will be over in seconds if we do it your way.” He pushes my shorts off and slides farther down the bed before he spreads my thighs. The first hit of his tongue has me arching off the mattress.