Rush (Men of Rapture #1) Page 13

  I add my mouth to the mix, tugging her clit between my teeth and biting down. She tenses, and I soothe it by stiffening my tongue and flicking it back and forth at a rapid pace.

  “Oh, God.” Her hands grip my hair.

  She’s panting and breathless, lifting her hips, desperate for the sweet oblivion to wash over her. My fingers coax and taunt and tease and torture while my tongue makes love to her clit, savoring her exquisite taste.

  My cock is throbbing, and her moans are so motherfucking erotic I almost blow my load. When she approaches the edge, I abruptly stand, eager to feel her pulsate around me. One foot ends up on my shoulder, and the other hooks around my ass, pulling me to her.

  “More,” she pants. “Hurry.”

  I run the head of my cock through her juices, my eyes falling closed at the contact. “Fuck,” I grunt, feeling like I might die if I’m not inside her soon. “So fucking good.”

  I anchor my arm around her thigh, my fingers spreading her lips and stretching her slit upward. Pushing just the head inside, I clench my jaw and retreat, only to dip right back in. She begins to quiver on the first full thrust, and I don’t hold back, plunging my cock in and out of her tight pussy.

  “Come on my cock, Alyssa,” I growl, slamming into her. “Now!”

  Her body tenses, and her back arches off the desk. Her hands flail as she desperately searches for something to cling to. “Oh, God,” she pants, her head tilting back as she fists her hair.

  She’s breathy and flushed and abso-fucking-lutely gorgeous in her pleasure. Seeing her like this stirs things inside me I thought were long dead and buried. I want to live right here, in this very moment, and never fucking leave. My stamina is being tested like never before as I strain to hold back, to make this last for-fucking-ever.

  As the spasms lessen, she goes limp, everything about her soft and pliant. But I don’t let up, not completely. I bury my cock deep and rotate my hips, nudging that swollen gem, coaxing new ripples of pleasure to wash over her.

  “Rush.”

  Her whispered plea nearly does me in, but I don’t stop the assault. I only change tactics. Propping a knee on the desk, I practically mount her, desperately seeking her lips. Tongues and hands twine and explore as I slowly thrust in and out of her warmth.

  The passion between us stokes the flames, and they burn low and long. We end where we began—me rocked back in her desk chair and her writhing over me like a fucking goddess. It isn’t perfect or even comfortable, but she’s the goddamn sexiest thing I’ve ever seen. There isn’t a part of her that my hands and lips haven’t explored, and I still haven’t had enough.

  My orgasm builds suddenly, catching me by surprise. A thrill tingles down my spine and the knot in my groin swells. I clench my jaw and try to push it down, but it’s rushing, raging through me like the hottest fire that’s ever burned.

  “Alyssa,” I groan, desperate for one more. I lean forward, my lips at her ear. “Come on, baby. Let me feel that pretty pussy clench on my cock.” I grip her hips and grind against her like it’s the last time I’ll ever touch her. “Please,” I whisper. “One more time.”

  Her hands brace on the chair and she tosses her head back, eyes closed and lips parted. “Rush,” she moans, her pussy clenching.

  I hold back as long as I can, reveling in the beauty of her final orgasm, before I explode with a groan. A kaleidoscope of colors streaks behind my lids. Bright shades of red, yellow, and blue swirl together before bursting into an iridescent rainbow. Bliss shimmers through me and radiates along my nerve endings.

  Soft lips explore my neck, and I sigh, closing my arms around her and peeking open one eye. “That was fucking hot.”

  She smiles and tucks her head under my chin. “I’ll never think of this desk the same again.”

  I throw my head back and laugh. “I’ll get you a new one, but I hope you’ll give me a few weeks.”

  She lifts her head, her brows furrowed. “Weeks?”

  I sigh, prodding her to stand. Once she’s out of the way, I start collecting our clothes. “There are some things I need to take care of.”

  “I see,” she says, pulling her scrub pants up her toned legs. “It’s not like I expected anything different.”

  Her words cut deep, but until I’ve proven to myself that I can be what she needs, this will have to do. I’m not letting her go, whether I get my shit together or not, but it’s better she think I’m still a dog—versus counting on me and I fail her.

  “And you shouldn’t,” I finally say, the words so fucking hard to produce. “Friends is all I’m capable of right now.”

  She pulls her scrub top over her head and steps forward, kissing me on the cheek. “I know that, Rush. Thanks for the fuck.” She plucks her purse from the pile of stuff on the floor. “Come on, I’ll show you out.”

  Her words sting, but it’s the price I pay. I sit in her chair and pull on my Docs, snagging the magazine I had earlier and shoving it back into my pocket. “Lead the way.”

  We don’t say anything else as she shows me to the back door, even though I know the way. Pain echoes off the walls, and it’s not only hers. I hurt too, but I’d rather not give false hope. Until I’m worthy, I won’t try to claim her. It wouldn’t be fair to either of us.

  At the door, I brush my thumb against her cheek before disappearing outside. That final step is the hardest, but once I take it, I don’t look back. Forward is the only path that gives me a chance with her, and I’m going to charge in that direction.

  On my way through Rapture, I stop and have a shot with Niko, informing him that I’ll probably be scarce for the next few weeks. Of course, he laughs it off because I haven’t been serious a day since I met him, but I flip him the fucking bird and kill my shot.

  “You’ll see, motherfucker.”

  Change is daunting, but when the stakes are this fucking high, failure isn’t an option. I’m not stupid enough to think I can do it alone, so it’s crucial I find some sort of therapist or counselor. I need someone who can be a guide as I take this journey, a person with the tenacity to keep me on the right track.

  I’m up before the sun the next morning, taking a steamy shower and dressing in a suit for the first time since Kat’s funeral. Too antsy to scramble eggs and uninterested in coffee breath, I snag a granola bar and eat it on the walk to the main house. Lanterns light the way, and I appreciate the fuck out of them because otherwise, I could get lost it’s been so long.

  My parents’ cook grabs her chest when I step into the kitchen. “Rush,” she squeals. “You scared me half to death.”

  “I’m so sorry, Carlotta.” I kiss her cheek, happy to see her. “Are both my parents still here?”

  She nods. “Will you be joining them?” she asks, turning to tend to a pan of potato hash. “Breakfast is at seven.”

  It smells fucking delicious. “I wasn’t going to, but I think you’ve convinced me.”

  She smiles brightly, ushering me from the kitchen. “Go. Sit. It will be ready soon.”

  I chuckle as she shoves me toward the empty dining room. The long twelve-person table stretches before me, and great-grandfather Kaplan’s icy blue eyes stare back at me from the wall. This place is as cold as it’s always been, but I push down my annoyance and pull out a seat.

  My father is the first to enter, and he doesn’t miss a step as he notices me sitting at the table. “Rush,” he says, taking a seat and placing a napkin in his lap. “This is unexpected.”

  “You’re telling me,” I respond in my usual smartass manner, but then I remember why I’m here and revise. “Things have changed. I’ve changed, and I thought this might be the best place to start.”

  “Have you come to your senses, then?” He lifts a bushy brow.

  Carlotta enters with two plates, setting one before him and the other before me. I inhale the aroma. “This smells wonderful. Thank you.” Lifting my fork, I meet my father’s hard gaze. “I have, and I spent most of the night wondering what that might look
like.”

  He lifts his coffee cup and takes a sip of the dark liquid. “You mean finishing your masters and taking your rightful place at Kaplan Investments.”

  “Something like that,” I say carefully, shoving a bite of the hash into my mouth and humming at the taste.

  “Well, get on with it,” he snaps, his voice taking on a hard edge. “Some of us have a company to run.”

  “Fine.” I drop my fork, and it clinks against the plate. “I’m unsure if I ever even want to be CEO at Kaplan Investments, so my masters isn’t a priority for me right now.” He opens his mouth, but I hold up a finger. “I have a lot of work to do, personally, before I can make a decision like that.”

  “Rush.” My mother’s voice comes from the doorway, questioning. “What is all this?” She approaches the table warily, her gaze flicking between us.

  “Sit, Alexandria,” my father says, pulling out her chair. “Our son is just about to tell us his plans for the future.”

  My jaw tightens as I take in the pair of them, as prim and proper as ever, pretending they don’t have a fucking care in the world. For my mother’s part, this has always been her—far above everyone else. My father, on the other hand, is exactly what I would’ve been in thirty years if my life hadn’t taken this awful turn. He’s stern and focused, his life dedicated to Kaplan Investments.

  “I’ve spent the last few years drowning without a life vest anywhere in sight,” I state, my hand balling into a fist on the table. I shove my plate aside, anger surging through me. “To be fair, I didn’t want your help. I’ve been angry.” I pause, breathing deeply. “I’m still angry, very fucking angry, but I’ve somehow made it to shore, and I intend to make sure I’m never again dragged back under.”

  “Get to the point, son,” my father says, ignoring my anger. He stopped entertaining my tirades years ago and probably assumes this is just a new angle. “I have a meeting first thing this morning.”

  “Do I look like I’m being anything other than serious, Rich?” I ask, shoving my chair back and motioning over my suit. “While I am still angry with both of you, I can’t allow it to control me anymore. I have more important things to focus on.”

  “Very well,” he says, tossing his napkin on the table and nodding. “You have the floor.”

  I draw in a deep breath and dive right in. “I’ll be taking several steps in the coming weeks: buying an apartment and going to therapy, for starters. At one point or another, I’d like to expand those sessions to include the pair of you. As far as I’m concerned, we have issues to work through.” I stand, clawing a hand through my hair as I start pacing. “I’m also ready to become a productive member of society. I could live the rest of my life and never lift a finger, but that isn’t how I was raised.”

  My father nods, his pride showing, and I smirk. “Even if CEO isn’t on my radar, I do have a project I’d like to see happen. It falls in line with the Kaplan model, and I think it’s something that can be accomplished with the right team.”

  “Go on,” my father says, glancing at his watch. “You have ten minutes.”

  Turns out, ten minutes lasts an hour as my father listens intently and offers his own suggestions. He agrees to put a Kaplan Investments team together and have them ready to meet with me next week and start the planning stages. All in all, I feel pretty fucking accomplished on the first morning of my fresh start.

  Two days later, after a tedious bout with apartment hunting earlier in the day, I’m at my first therapy session. Dealing with the realtors has me wound tight, and my therapist notices. I end up leaving with a fucking headache and a three-times-a-week mandate. Talking about all the fucked up shit I’ve done isn’t as easy as I thought it would be.

  Four days after that marks a week since I’ve seen Alyssa—held her, kissed her, was inside her. Some days, I’m too busy to think about her until late at night, and others, I can’t get her out of my mind. She hasn’t tried to contact me, and I don’t know whether to be glad or to let it drive me fucking insane.

  Instead of doing either, I put my head down and go full steam ahead. I have a course of action. I’ve implemented it and am following it to the letter. Change takes time, but in the end, I will be worthy of her—if she’ll have me.

  Sitting alone in the nearly empty apartment I just purchased, I pull out my phone and scroll to The Cure. Tapping out a simple message, I hit send and turn off my phone. Ignoring her replies is going to kill me, but it’s crucial to my progress.

  Week 1. I’m still alive.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Separate

  ALYSSA

  Without so much as a goodbye, Rush disappears right after giving me the best orgasms of my life. Not seeing him for a week or two is normal, but it’s been six, and all I have are short, uninformative messages that are somehow supposed to comfort me in his absence.

  Trying to decipher the meaning behind them has been near impossible, but the increasingly improving content dares me to hope. The first text frightens me, forcing a frantic reply, begging him to tell me what’s wrong. But as the weeks pass, it becomes obvious he’s on a journey of self-improvement.

  Week 2. Progress.

  My replies go unanswered for the second time.

  Week 3. This was a tough one.

  I don’t bother to respond.

  Week 4. I want to be worthy.

  Week 5. I miss you.

  That one causes a deep pang in my chest. He can have me—all he has to do is show up. In fact, I’m tired of waiting for him. Whatever he’s trying to accomplish, he needs a support system by his side. He needs a friend, his best friend, to give him a boost when he feels like giving up. This week’s addition only reinforces my need to be there for him, and it pushes me into action.

  Week 6. Soon.

  Glancing at the clock, I jump up and hurry to my bedroom, stripping for the shower as I go. After a good scrub, I get out, brush my teeth, blow-dry my hair, and get dressed in a frilly pink shirt with a pair of dark, tight jeans. Mascara, eye liner, and lip gloss are the final touches as I take a deep breath and give myself a once-over. I look like I’m playing dress-up, but it pays to be prepared where I’m going.

  The trip is relatively quick, similar to one I take almost every day, only a block closer. Nerves form a knot in my stomach, but I power through, ignoring the worst of it. I’m not sure what I expect to find, if anything at all, but maybe there’s some answer inside this building.

  “Evening, ma’am,” the bouncer says, swinging the door wide.

  “Good evening, Skunk,” I reply, sounding as friendly as I can pull off right now. “It’s nice to see you again.”

  His eyes snap to mine, and he looks me up and down. “Oh, my girl Elle’s friend,” he says, pointing. “I remember.”

  I giggle. “Your girl, Elle?”

  “Absolutely.” He’s serious. “We hung out just last week.”

  “Interesting,” I say, stepping inside and taking in the expansive room in one quick sweep. “I’ll tell her you said hi.”

  “Thanks.” His dimpled smile gives me just enough courage to strut across the room, my target in sight.

  I slip onto an empty barstool at the far end and wait. It doesn’t take long—it’s his job after all. “What can I get ya, beautiful?” Niko asks, wiping his hands and tossing a towel across his shoulder.

  “How about a beer to start,” I say, smiling. “Whatever you suggest.”

  He tilts his head, studying me for a moment before shaking it and walking away. I use this time to look around me. This is Rush’s stomping grounds, a place he practically lives, and I’m curious to understand the dynamic. Is it more than just his hunting grounds?

  “Here ya go …” Niko pauses, waiting for me to supply my name.

  “Alyssa,” I say as he sets the bottle before me. “I’m your across-the-back-alley neighbor. Alyssa Cole.”

  He snaps his fingers and then wags his pointer at me. “Now I remember. You and the blonde were here with Ru
sh.” His tone becomes forceful, a complete shift in demeanor. “Where is he?”

  “I was hoping you’d seen him.” I take a deep pull from the bottle, letting the disappointment wash over me. “It’s why I’m here.”

  Someone whistles, and Niko holds up a finger. “Look, I haven’t seen him in weeks, but he did stop in and say not to expect him. I thought he was just talking shit, but I’m starting to worry.”

  “He’s alive.” I shrug, scratching the label on my beer. “He sends me a weekly text.”

  “More than the rest of us,” he says, and I wonder who the rest of us are. “I’ll be back to check on you shortly.” He taps the bar and wanders off.

  Just as I’m finishing my beer and chalking this visit up as a lost cause, another man sidles up next to me. “I hear you know Rush.” He looks at me curiously.

  I bark a laugh, allowing my eyes to scan around us. “I bet eighty percent of the women in this room do.”

  “Shit.” He chuckles, his blue eyes twinkling. “I bet you’re right, but if you know that and you’re still here looking for him, then I’d say you mean a hell of a lot more than they do.”

  “Do I know you?” I ask, narrowing my eyes.

  He shoves a flannel-covered arm forward. “The name’s Ace Carmichael. I consider myself Rush’s best bud.”

  “Alyssa Cole.” I take his hand. “Seems you’re out of the loop, Ace. I’m his best friend.” I mimic Rush, but I’m unable to keep the scorn out of my tone.

  “You don’t sound too happy about that,” he says cautiously. “How long has it been since you’ve seen him?”

  I prop my forehead on my palm. “Six weeks.”

  He whistles lowly. “It’s not like Rush to go missing for that long.”

  “He’s not missing, technically.” I lift my eyes, searching for Niko, and I notice him purposely ignoring us from the other end of the bar. “Didn’t you guys communicate before he sent you over? I’ve already told him what I know.”

  “Okay, chill.” Ace holds up his palms. “I just wanted to come over and meet the woman who’s tamed Rush Kaplan. That isn’t an everyday occurrence.”