The Insiders by Tijan
FORTY-EIGHT
I assumed we weren’t going with them.
Kash’s hand was on the back of my shoulders, guiding me into the elevator when it opened again, and as soon as the door shut he was crowding me against the wall. There was a camera in here, but damn. I was not caring. Watching me, almost close enough to kiss, he hovered over me as he pushed the button for us. I thought he’d close the distance, but he didn’t. He was just standing against me, looking into me, and feeling my heartbeat speeding up.
Not one word was spoken.
We were there, right there, with each other. Seeing each other. Feeling each other. Our chests were rising, matching, and as soon as that started, I saw him. He was torn. He was tired. He was twisted inside. And seeing that I was seeing him, his hand raised like it always did. He touched my chin, his thumb grazing over my lips. His eyes darkened and he began to bend down, his lips just a trace away from touching mine.
The door opened, and someone cleared their throat.
He swore under his breath, moving with his hand behind my back, and we pushed past a small group of onlookers. Eyes were wide as they put two and two together. I was assuming Kash wasn’t a regular fixture at the building. I was wondering if my father was, because we weren’t at the headquarters, just one of his buildings downtown.
He guided me outside, where a car was waiting for us. So were the press. Cameras started going off as we climbed inside. People were asking Kash questions. A few were sent my way, but the publicist was right. Everyone was enamored with Kash.
He leaned forward, telling the driver, “My place.” Then he was sitting back, capturing my hand and threading our fingers. He held on to me as if he needed my touch to just be. My heart was in my throat, feeling all of that and letting it roll over me. I was just embracing it, until our driver pulled into the basement parking garage and we were getting back out.
“Kash,” I started, as soon as we got to his place, but he wasn’t having it.
He caught me up, lifting me in the air, and I was carried to his bedroom.
I felt his urgency.
He stripped me bare, laying me down, and then he worshipped me.
He needed this. I felt it in every inch of my being.
He needed to love me, to make me come—over and over again, if I was basing this off past nights—and then, only then, would he allow himself release. And as he took the rest of his clothes off, every inch of him taut and hard and just a masterpiece for me to appreciate, he came back to me, and I was right.
He took his time, making me cry out and plead and scream. He waited until my voice was hoarse, until I was begging for him to enter me, and only then did he pull on a condom and sheath himself inside of me.
Long. Deep. He pushed in, held, and his eyes holding mine, he began to move.
Thrusting.
Slow.
So fucking controlled.
I was going with him. I was trying to make him lose control, but he was locked in some form of restraint that I couldn’t penetrate. I tried. I kissed him. I raked my nails down his back, his chest. As he pulled out, I reached for him, but he only caught my hand and pinned it back beside my head. He pushed back in, still so goddamn fucking slow, stretching me, making me feel every single inch of him, before he pulled back out, then in.
“Kash. Please.”
He bent his head down, his forehead resting on my shoulder, and a deep groan escaped him. He pushed harder, deeper, and then something snapped.
He moved faster. More forcefully.
It was building. Rising inside of me, mixing with a deeper emotion, twining together, and as he pushed, grinding to the hilt and his hand coming to my clit, I cried out.
Gripping my hip tight, he turned his head into my neck.
A growl ripped from him and I felt his body jerking, falling down onto me, as we both climaxed, our bodies trembling.
“Fuck,” he bit out, catching my body as he slipped out.
He tucked and rolled us both so I was half sprawled over him.
He didn’t talk, just nuzzled into my neck, until he lifted me so I was lying completely on top of him. His arms tightened around me, helping me turn so I was facing him. My breasts were on his chest. Hips to hips. I felt him starting to stir, but he didn’t do anything else. His eyes were closed, head bent into my shoulder and neck, and he skimmed his lips there.
“Fuck, Bailey.” A soft groan from him. His head rested against his headboard, just barely meeting there, and he opened his eyes to see me.
Anguish looked back at me.
My breath paused.
Alarm raced through me, and I raised myself up, a hand pushing off from his chest. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” He blinked, and when he looked at me again, the anguish was gone. He was focused solely and completely on me. He almost looked drugged, a contentment swimming deep in those cognac eyes.
“Hey.” I pressed my hand against the side of his face. “What’s wrong? You need to tell me.”
He didn’t speak for a moment, turning his head. Cupping the back of mine, he raised himself up until his mouth was on mine.
He didn’t tell me.
He didn’t say anything the rest of the night, instead rolling me back underneath him, and it wasn’t long before he was sliding inside once again.
We stayed in the rest of the day, that night, and for the next few days as well. Just him and me.
It felt perfect. But it wasn’t.
Kash wasn’t letting me in.
