Claimed Harder by Em Brown
Chapter 10
BRIDGET
Past
My body is so drawn to Darren, I’m actually considering his proposal. Which is crazy because I haven’t known him for that long.
Stalling, I take another spoonful of the creamy rice dessert infused with tropical fruit. This food is crazy amazing.
I dare to meet his penetrating gaze, which feels like it sees everything.
“That’s if I were to go,” I demur.
His countenance darkens a little, but he doesn’t look too hurt that I’m declining his invitation.
“What’s stopping you?” he inquires.
“What I listed before—school, work.”
He leans back in his chair and props an ankle on the opposite knee. “People call in sick to work on short notice.”
“But I’m not sick.”
“Don’t tell me you’ve never lied before.”
I balk. “Not on something like this.”
He studies me like I’m some strange insect he’s never seen before. “Who’s going to get hurt if you lie? It’s a victimless crime, and it’s not even a crime.”
“It doesn’t matter. Actually, my conscience would be the victim. I wouldn’t be able to enjoy myself in Phuket knowing I had lied to go.”
He shakes his head. “Fine. But if you were sick, you wouldn’t have a problem calling in sick without any notice, right?”
“Sure.”
“And your job would make do without your presence, right?”
“Yeah.”
“They aren’t going to fall to pieces because you were absent a week.”
“’Course not.”
“So tell them you’ll be gone a week. You just agreed your job would survive without you.”
“It’s not that easy,” I argue. “Getting sick isn’t the same thing as flying off to Thailand. If I’m sick, I’m physically incapacitated and possibly contagious. And it’s not my choice to get sick. Taking a vacation is selfish and might be viewed as irresponsible.”
“Might. How do you know it’ll be seen as irresponsible? Maybe your boss will tell you you should jump at the chance to go on your first international trip.”
I hadn’t considered that possibility.
“What’s your job anyway?” he asks.
“I work at one of the campus libraries processing returns and re-shelving books.”
“So no one’s going to die if you miss a week of work.”
“A mountain of unprocessed books could fall on top of someone.”
He grins. “And that would be the worst thing to happen.”
“I guess. Sure.”
“You’re not the only one who works at the library.”
“I’m not.”
“What if you got someone else to cover your shift?”
“Okay, that could work. But I have an internship.”
“What’s the worst that could happen there?”
“Personally, I could get fired.”
“So how much income would you lose from that?”
“None. It’s unpaid. But I like my internship. And we’re in the midst of a major fundraising effort. Plus, we’re short-staffed because one of the program coordinators is out on maternity leave.”
“Can you do any of that work remotely?”
It’s my turn to study him. Does he really want me to go to Phuket that badly, or is he just giving me a hard time? I think it’s the latter.
“So tell me more about this wedding in Phuket,” I stall, because even though Darren makes it sound simple, I’m not convinced. “Is it a younger or older sister of JD’s who’s getting married?”
“Younger,” he replies as he finishes off his wine.
“Do you have any siblings?”
“No. JD is the closest thing to a brother for me.”
“Coretta’s kids were like older sisters to me. Even though I didn’t have a dad and my mom wasn’t around much, I still felt like I was part of a family.”
“When was the last time you saw your mother?”
“My high school graduation. My grandmother offered to pay for her flight from Florida at the time. I don’t think she would have come otherwise.”
“That’s harsh.”
I shrug. “I think my mom was genuinely hard up.”
Though it wasn’t like my grandmother had a lot of extra income to spare, but I had overheard her talking to my mother on the phone, insisting that she had to be there for my graduation. My mother would have jumped at the chance to go to Phuket. Who knows, she might be there now with her latest millionaire boyfriend.
But I’m not my mother.
“You said your mom’s not likely to attend the wedding?” I ask.
“She’s looking after a sick relative in Singapore.”
“That’s nice of her. Do you get to see her much?”
He stares at me. “You always ask a guy so many questions?”
“You prefer that we just sit and eat in silence? Although, you’re not even eating,” I point out.
“I’m not hungry.”
But the look he gives me suggests otherwise, only I’m the main course. I take another sip of the water. Part of me wishes I was drinking the wine instead. “I should check to see when Amy plans on heading back.”
“You think she’s not spending the night with JD?”
“I shouldn’t assume. I’m just going to give her a quick call.” But I realize I don’t have my cellphone with me because I had to leave it with security. I was told by a bouncer my first time here that photos aren’t allowed. I had thought it a strange policy for a nightclub, but now that I’ve seen the other side of the club, I understand.
Darren dials his cousin on his cell. “Bridge wants to speak to Amy.”
He hands me the phone and I hear Amy say in between giggling, “Sorry, Bridge, I meant to call you but forgot. I’m on my way to JD’s place. Hope that’s okay.”
What was I supposed to say? That it’s not okay? Besides, this has happened before. She leaves with JD, and I’m left with Darren.
“So I’ll see you tomorrow then?” I confirm.
“Yeah…tomorrow.”
“Have fun.”
“You, too.”
With a final giggle, she hangs up.
“Amy’s going to JD’s place for the night,” Darren says.
I hand his cell back to him. “Yep.”
He grabs my wrist instead, making me drop the cell on the table, and yanks me to him. Pulling me onto his lap, he clasps the back of my head and crushes my mouth to his. Desire warms my body immediately. His mouth engulfs mine, and I’m fine with drowning in his kiss. In fact, I can’t get enough. I thread my fingers through his hair and try to keep up.
He thrusts his free hand under the pajama top to cup a breast. I sigh into his lips as I feel his strong fingers press into my flesh. He takes his time, thoroughly going to town on my mouth, groping my breast, teasing the nipple till I whimper. Unlike some of my past experiences, where the guy needs to start some kind of humping action soon. Instead, it’s me that starts grinding my pelvis into him, seeking to relieve the yearning between my legs.
Grabbing the back of my legs and without unlocking his lips from mine, he stands up and sets me on the table. We continue to kiss as he rubs my crotch. His pajama bottoms are damp there, and I feel slightly bad that I’ve soiled them, but one could argue that he started it. His hand both satiates and incites my need. I moan as desire coils in my belly.
He presses me down to the glass surface of the table, then pulls the shirt up above my head. Thinking he’s going to take it off, I lift my arms, but he leaves it halfway, covering my face.
“Don’t move,” he says as he holds my wrists down with one hand.
His other hand wanders over my body—breast, nipple, rib, abdomen. I can’t see anything through the pajama top, and the visual deprivation makes the sense of touch more poignant. He kneads a breast, then toys with the nipple until I’m squirming. Each time he tugs the hardened bud, the craving between my thighs throbs.
After pulling loose the drawstring, he slips his hand into the pants and combs his fingers through the hair at my mound before reaching for the wetness below. I gasp when he grazes my clit and softly moan as he strokes it. He rubs circles around the nub with his middle and forefinger. I groan when he hits the most sensitive spot, which he works until I’m a mess of desperation.
“Lift your hips,” he directs.
I don’t want him to stop for a second, but I do as he says. Still holding my wrists to the table with one hand, he pulls the pants off with his other. I’m cognizant that the food is still on the table, not far from me, which means I don’t have a lot of room to maneuver. I lie still as he binds my wrists with one of the pant legs. I feel the fabric tug and hear him wrapping what’s probably the other pant leg around something. A table leg or maybe the other captain’s chair at the end of the table.
For a few minutes, I lie immobile, wondering what he’s going to do next, hoping he’ll go back to fondling my clit. What’s he doing? Why is he waiting? Hello?
When I finally feel him, I gasp loudly. It’s his mouth on my nipple. For some reason, my nipple feels more sensitive than before. Fireworks of need go off in my lower body as he nibbles and sucks. I want to bring my feet onto the table so that I can bend my knees, but there’s probably not enough room as my butt is near the edge. Plus, I don’t want to knock over a dish.
He kneads my breast as he tongues the nub. I’m not sure how much more attention my nipple can take. It’s never had such prolonged action.
Finally, he stops and backhands the side of my breast.
The slap surprises me, but I’m quickly fixed on the hand that is now back between my legs, caressing my wet flesh. He teases my clit again. I make a sound that’s part whimper, part purr.
“That feels good, doesn’t it?” he asks.
“Yes,” I groan, feeling the heat of my breath bounce off the fabric and back into my face.
“You mean, ‘yes, sir.’”
“Yes, sir.”
I did it again. The words just fell from my mouth. Because I’m not really thinking. All I want is for him to release all the pent-up tension he’s built inside me.
He bears down on my nipple again with his mouth while he fondles my clit more intently. I feel my orgasm bubbling toward the surface. But he stops before it has the chance to erupt. He slaps the side of my breast again. I have to collect myself. I had been so ready to come. Maybe I should have vocalized more. I don’t want him to stop. I want him to keep going.
“I was so close to coming there,” I say.
“Were you?” he asks in a way that has me wondering if he already knew that and deliberately left me hanging.
“Yes! Really close.”
Maybe if he goes back to masturbating me right now, we won’t lose too much momentum.
His cellphone buzzes. I hear him pick it up and start texting.
“I want your headshot,” he says. “In case you’re able to make Thailand work. That way we can get your passport application started.”
“Um, okay. What about my coming?”
“What about it?”
“Can I? Please?”
