The Kiss Plot by Nicole French

Seventeen

The door closed behind Brandon, swallowing his footsteps and leaving Eric and me blanketed with tension. The room was silent, and Brandon’s last words about the “security” of the building echoed.

Nothing could get through.

No signals.

Nothing.

Eric turned to me with a gaze so fierce that I stumbled backward into a pod of rolling office chairs, sending them into a traffic jam behind me.

“Jane.” Eric’s tone was almost dangerous as he stalked toward me.

“Eric.”

I pulled one of the chairs in front me, oddly wanting to put something between us. Not because I didn’t want him to touch me. Because the intensity with which I wanted it was…terrifying.

Eric picked up the chair and hurled it behind him.

“Whoa,” I whispered. “That was…violent.”

“It was in the way.”

I glanced at the chair. “I think you just broke the wheel.”

“I’ll buy Brandon another.”

“I don’t think he’ll be impressed.”

“Jane.” Eric’s big hands wrapped around my waist and yanked me to him. “Shut up.”

He kissed me, and for a moment, I couldn’t think. His lips, soft, pliant, but also demanding, quieted my mind in that way they always could.

Well, almost.

Shut up.

“No.” I pushed at his arms, shoving him off me. “Fuck you, no.”

“Jane—”

“Don’t tell me to be quiet! Don’t silence me, you asshole.”

“I’m not—”

But it was too late, everything was bubbling up, like I really was that volcano ready to explode.

“You and that vampire dick who calls himself my father are manipulating me like a fucking puppet, and I’ve had it! Even if it’s just down here, I DON’T WANT TO BE QUIET!”

Eric pushed a hand through his normally combed blond hair. The action made a few strands stick up, charmingly boyish over his intense expression.

“Okay,” he said finally. “Okay, I get it. That asshole has been pulling my strings for months too. Between him and my dead grandmother, I feel like a damn marionette.” He exhaled a long, low sigh. “But it’s been torture. Don’t you get that? Fucking torture. Worse than the actual torture that fucker put me through.”

“Yeah, it’s not exactly fun being a fucking chess piece, is it?” I snarked.

Eric glowered. “I don’t mean that. I mean having to coexist with a woman who drives me crazy but makes me want to live. Having to share our fucking home with you and not be able to touch you. Kiss you. Not be able to love you, Jane! FUCK!”

He rubbed a hand roughly over his face, which he hadn’t shaved before coming here. The leftover stubble, combined with his aristocratic brow and the locks of hair flopped over his forehead, made Eric look like he had walked right out of a Jane Austen novel—the chilly, dark-eyed Darcy of any woman’s fantasy.

He caught me looking, and his hand dropped. A smirk spread across his face. “You misunderstand.” His voice was soft, but foreboding. “I don’t want you to be quiet, pretty girl. I want you to stop talking so you can start screaming.”

We stared at each other, chests heaving, for more than a minute.

Then we lunged at each other again, and this time, I didn’t fight him off.

His kiss was loud, hungry, full of grunts as he devoured my mouth and sucked hard on my neck and chest. Good God, I was going to have more bites than a malaria patient by the end of this—but I didn’t care. I wanted him to mark me everywhere he could.

We made quick work of each other’s shirts, resisting the desire to send buttons flying. After all, we did each have to walk out of here in one piece. As I ran my hands up and down his rigid muscles, he had the cups of my bra yanked under my breasts, palming them both almost violently.

“Ah!” I cried out as he pinched both nipples.

“You have a safe word, gorgeous.” His deep voice rumbled against my throat just before his teeth found it. “If it gets too rough, use it. But I want to hear you sing like that for the next twenty minutes.”

We toppled onto the conference table together, clawing like animals in heat.

“We don’t have much time,” Eric heaved as his hands went exploring, pulling up my skirt so quickly I worried it might rip.

“We—don’t—ah!” I couldn’t even get a full sentence out before I was turned over facing the table, underwear pulled down and thighs forced apart.

My protests didn’t matter. I was ready for him anyway. I’d been ready for the man for weeks, damn him.

“FUCK!” Eric roared as he shoved into me, both of us on our knees atop the lacquered wood, rutting like a damn National Geographic special. His voice, louder than I’d heard it in over a month, bounced off the soundproofed walls and back through my body.

He was big. Bigger, somehow, than I remembered him, as if time had either shrunken my parts or grown his. One hand kneaded ferociously at my backside, the other reaching around for a harsh handful of breast. He pounded away, moaning like an animal against my back while I flattened across the table, unable to do anything but take it. I was trapped beneath him. But it was the only place I wanted to be.

“Touch yourself,” he ordered, his breath hoarse against my neck.

“I—oh!” I cried out as he thrust again, much deeper than before. Lord, the man was really taking no prisoners.

Then Eric stopped, wound my hair around his fist, and yanked me up so my back was flush to his chest. My scalp screamed, but the rest of me throbbed right along with his cock inside me.

“Don’t make me repeat myself, pretty girl,” he said through gritted teeth, his voice harsh and unforgiving in my ear.

He seized the lobe between his teeth and bit. I squealed.

“Are you going to make me wait?” he asked before biting again.

“Noooooo,” I moaned, unable to speak clearly through my desire.

I set my fingers on the spot he wanted. Over my shoulder, Eric watched, the growl against my clavicle indicating he was pleased.

“Your nipple,” he said. “Pinch it.”

“But—”

There was another yank of my hair. “I’ve got my hands full, gorgeous. And we’ve got about ten minutes left. Pinch your nipple and your clit, because I’m not going to last much longer, and I need to feel you squeeze my dick while I come.”

I obeyed, because there was no way I couldn’t. My other hand found my nipple and twisted it just as he had before, creating that deliciously sharp pain to match the growing ache between my legs.

“Eric!” I shouted as once again, he pummeled forward. All the sensations in my body were starting to run together. His cock. My fingers. Every erogenous zone I had was porous as pleasure and pain seeped together into a nameless sensation that would be my undoing.

“Are you close?” Eric demanded. “Fucking tell me you’re close, pretty girl.”

I wasn’t close. I was done.

“ERIC!” I screamed as I fell forward. My hands dropped as I shook, overcome completely by the feel of him inside me, taking over everything.

Eric’s strong arms caught me, holding me tight as he chased my orgasm with his own. Behind me, his body clenched. Everything about him seemed to expand.

“Fucking hell, Jane,” he gritted out before taking my earlobe in his teeth and biting not-so-softly as he emptied himself completely. One, two, three more thrusts before we both sagged against each other, then fell to the table.

“Holy shit,” I mumbled into the lacquered wood.

“No kidding.” A sweet kiss landed on my shoulder, and for a second, Eric pressed his cheek on the spot.

We lay like that for a few more minutes, but before anyone could say another word, the sound of footsteps descending the stairs had us rolling off the table like secret agents, landing in a pile of limbs and laugher on the carpet.

“Ow!” I giggled. “Where did my glasses fall?”

“Forget your glasses, Lefferts. Where the fuck are my pants?”

The door opened.

“Sorry, I just left my cell phone—”

Brandon walked in and immediately stopped two feet inside. His sharp eyes scanned over the room, landing on the toppled furniture, the scattered clothes, and eventually finding us peeking over the other side of the table, hidden only by the chairs lined up in front of us.

“Jesus Christ, you gotta be kidding me.” He shielded his eyes like he was blocking the sun. “Don’t waste time, do you?”

“Nope!” I crowed, earning a pinch at the waist from Eric, though he didn’t look particularly mad at me.

Still blocking his vision, Brandon grabbed his cell phone off one of the work tables and felt around for the door. “There’s disinfectant under the other table,” he barked. “Use it.” Then he marched up the stairs, muttering “fuckin’ animals” under his breath.

The door closed behind him. Eric and I looked at each other and immediately burst into laughter.

“He’s just jealous,” Eric said with a grin. “Two kids under five? I bet he’s getting laid about once a month these days.”

I snorted. “I don’t know. The two of them still can’t keep their hands off each other.”

“Don’t remind me,” Eric replied. “Until May, I worked with Skylar every day for years.”

I tittered again, earning another kiss that quickly turned into something more intense. I sighed into Eric, relishing the taste of him. The feel of his body pressed to mine. I missed this. I missed him.

Eric’s features softened slightly as he traced my cheek with the back of his hand. The gold coin dangled between his perfectly sculpted pectoral muscles. I fingered it gently, wishing I could rip it off. It was heavy—probably because it was made with solid gold. Antique metals had a different kind of heft.

“I hate this,” I said, pulling lightly on the chain. “I hate them.”

Eric looked down at my hand, then slowly pushed it away, forcing me to release the coin.

“I’m working on it,” he murmured and got up to search for his clothes.

“Working on it how?” I stood too and started putting my bra and skirt back into place. “You promised that fucker that you wouldn’t touch me. We’re going to walk out of this room, and you’re going to treat me like a stranger again because you’re scared of the boogie man. I don’t know why you don’t just tell him to go to hell.”

Eric pulled his belt through the buckle with a little more vehemence than was strictly necessary. “People don’t say no to Carson.”

“People, sure. But you’re not people. You’re Eric fucking de Vries.” My cherry print shirt taunted me from under the tossed chair. I grabbed it and shoved an arm violently through one sleeve. “You know, sometimes I think I’m more aware of that than you are.”

Eric gave me an irritated look as he put on his own button-down. “Trust me, you’re not.”

“Then why put up with it? What’s the difference between the two of you anyway? You both basically own half the planet, right?”

“The difference is that he almost killed me, Jane.”

I stopped fussing with my clothes as all blood drained from my head. “What?”

Eric looked up. “Just…pretend I didn’t say that.”

“Are you kidding?” I yanked out my ponytail holder and starter finger-combing my waves. “You don’t just admit someone tried to commit murder and then pretend nothing was said. This was when you were gone, wasn’t it?”

The sudden lack of color in Eric’s face told me everything I needed to know. “Jane,” he said through his teeth. “Just drop it, all right?”

He started putting way too much attention into rolling up his shirtsleeves.

I strode up and smacked his hand away. “Hey, J. Crew!”

The scowl was back. “You don’t know what you’re asking. And even if you did, I can’t tell you about it. For your own safety.”

He made for the door without waiting for an answer.

“Uggh!” I cried. “You are so frustrating sometimes, you know that?”

Eric let the door close again and turned. “You’re mad? I’m just trying to keep you safe!”

“Yes, I’m mad at you!” I shouted. “I’m mad because you don’t have the guts to stand up to him with me. I’m mad because I feel like I’m the only one fighting for us!”

“I am fighting for us, Jane!” he roared back. “I’m fighting for you! I’m fighting to protect you!”

“I DON’T NEED YOUR PROTECTION!” I shrieked. “I need your love. I need your trust, Eric. Was I the only one who felt like this was some kind of homecoming? Right here on Brandon’s ugly conference table?”

Eric swallowed. “You know you’re not. I needed that just as badly as you did.”

“Well, then what is the fucking point of this life if I can’t spend it with the one person who has ever made me feel…well…anything at all worth keeping?”

He stilled, like an animal caught in headlights. “Do you…do you really feel that way?”

I swallowed. Had I never said it? Had I never completely told him how I felt? He had shouted it to me over the waves of the Atlantic Ocean, and I had definitely said “I love you.” But maybe it was true—maybe I’d never really told him. Not like this.

Well. No time like the present.

“I’m not a poet like you,” I said, hovering a hand over his face. “I’ve always been better at speaking with actions.” I gestured to my clothes and thought of the apartment I’d so carefully curated for our life. I tried hard my own ways to let him know how I felt. “All my life, the world felt like a cage for someone like me. People and places telling me what I could be, how I should act. They wanted me to settle down. Speak softer. Dress better. Be nicer. Easier. Calmer. But you…when I’m with you, I just feel free.” I pulled at his collar. “You free me.”

Eric’s thick gaze didn’t waver. “That’s pretty fucking poetic, Jane,” he whispered.

I closed my eyes as emotion vibrated through me. When I opened them, the world seemed off-kilter. He was the only part of it that felt straight and solid.

“Please,” I begged. “Please don’t put me back in that cage.”

He shook his head. I understood the conundrum. Common sense said that relationships, monogamy, marriage—every metaphor in the world spoke to how suffocating they were supposed to be. For years, I had assumed it was the case. And yet, here I was, admitting the oxymoronic truth—that it was only when I was tied to a person—this person, to be exact—that I was truly free to soar.

“You don’t think this entire life is a cage?” he wondered. “Sometimes I regret inviting you into it at all. It was selfish.”

I shook my head. “No. No, I don’t.”

“But, Jane—”

“Don’t you understand?” I asked. “My only cage is the one without you.”

Eric watched me for a long time, his eyes traveling up and down my person, almost like he was trying to memorize every fold of clothing, every strand of hair. I pushed my hair aside angrily, but didn’t otherwise move.

“If you only knew,” he said at last, so low his voice was almost swallowed there, between the thick, impenetrable walls.

But instead of reaching out to me, instead of assuring me that things would change—instead of telling me as I so needed to hear that we would face Carson and figure out how to be together—he just turned back to the door and opened it, standing aside like the gentleman he had been groomed to be.

“Ladies first,” he said, unwilling to meet my eye. “Come on, Jane. We’ll be late for dinner.”