Just Be Her Page 14

  “Ren.” His name came out on a groan, half exclamation of pleasure, half plea for more.

  He grunted and bit down on my nipple, making me gasp and roll my hips, desperately seeking friction that wasn’t there.

  He removed his mouth from my breast and stood, holding me to him with a firm grip on my ass. My heart flew into my throat; I scrambled to clutch his shoulders so I wouldn’t fall, but he moved quickly, turning on the spot and dropping me unceremoniously onto the table.

  I molded my lips to his once more, and he shoved the straps of my bra down so he could have better access as he kissed me. With one hand gripping the back of his neck, I reached between us with the other, rubbing him over his jeans. He jerked his hips into my touch, then pulled back.

  As I worked on his zipper, he undid my shorts, our hands clumsy, our arms knocking in our rush. He got there first, his dexterous fingers working efficiently, and I lifted my hips so he could slide my shorts and panties off in one go. My bare ass met the rough surface of the table.

  Ren took a tiny step back, just enough to look at me properly. One hand still gripped my knee; the other finished what I’d started and undid his pants as his eyes raked up and down my body.

  I felt dirty and exposed, my shorts hanging off my leg, the shirt shoved below my boobs restricting how much I could move my arms. He was breathing hard and looking at me as if he wanted to lick every filthy inch of my body. It made another rush of arousal pool at my core.

  I bit my lip and widened my legs just a fraction—a wordless invitation. If he took another step back, changed his mind and walked out, I wasn’t sure I could handle it.

  He leaned back in. His forehead dropped to my bare shoulder as his hand trailed up my thigh, straight to the spot between my legs. He groaned as he spread my wetness with his fingers, brushing over my clit and making me buck every time.

  “Fuck. You’re soaked.” His hot breath fanned over my flushed skin.

  I gripped the back of his neck tighter and licked beneath his ear. He tasted salty, but the smell of his cologne was mixing with his musky male scent.

  “I want you inside me,” I growled against his skin and bit his neck, sucking on it as I reached into his open pants and wrapped my hand around his hardness.

  I remembered how he’d stroked himself in the bathroom, the erotic image mixing with everything else assaulting my senses. He was rock hard and so smooth. I pumped my hand with confident strokes, spreading the precum, feeling the warm metal of the piercing under my thumb. He moaned and pushed two fingers inside me, making me cry out.

  We touched each other, mirroring the way we’d watched each other masturbate.

  He removed his hand and pulled back a fraction, extracting a condom from his pocket and tearing it open while I pushed his jeans and underwear down past his hips.

  He put the condom on and stepped closer. I widened my legs and leaned back on the table, keeping one hand on his hip.

  He pushed all the way into me in one smooth, confident stroke, filling me up completely. My eyes rolled back in my head as I arched my neck.

  Ren leaned over me, planting his palms on either side of my waist. He ground against me and I rolled my hips, pressing my breasts against his slick chest.

  He licked the column of my neck and bit me just below the jaw, then started to pump his hips. He fucked me mercilessly, the table banging against the wall with our movements.

  We kissed, licked, bit, grabbed, and pulled as he pumped in and out of me, hitting against my clit with every stroke.

  I was consumed. His musky smell, the corded muscles of his toned body against mine, the way his messy hair fell over his face, the piercing pulling at his bottom lip as he bared his teeth in a grunt, his hands all over me, his moans in my ear.

  I saw, heard, smelled and felt only Ren. It was his name on my lips as I came.

  I moaned into his mouth, drawing his name out as I shattered. Pleasure pulsated from my core and spread like a volcanic eruption, burning me up from the inside.

  I shuddered through the release, but he wasn’t slowing down. He kept one hand on the table for balance, but the other banded around my back, holding me against him as he pumped his hips faster.

  His moan was deep and guttural against my neck as he found his own release. He swelled inside me, his body leaning farther over mine, the force of his hips making us slide farther back on the little table.

  My back connected with the concrete wall, and he lowered his cheek against my breasts, breathing hard, his hand gripping and then releasing my hip. He stayed buried inside me as his mouth nuzzled the top of my breast, as we took a few moments to catch our breath.

  Eventually he leaned up and pressed his lips to mine once more. He straightened and lifted me with him as his lips devoured mine. The frenzied intensity was gone, but he still kissed me with long, sensuous strokes of his tongue.

  And I was ready to go again. By the time he’d sat me upright, my hips were grinding against his of their own volition.

  He broke the kiss to look at me, flashing a surprised grin. His lips were swollen, his cheeks flushed, and there was a hickey on his neck. I ran my thumb over it, getting a kind of sick satisfaction from the fact that I’d marked him.

  “You gonna come again?” he whispered and palmed my breast.

  “Shit. Maybe,” I hissed, my hips moving a little faster, chasing the high.

  “Yes.” He licked my parted lips, pressing his forehead to mine, jerking his hips to meet mine. “Use me. Come on my cock again, you dirty whore. I want you dripping all over me. Yes, you’re so fucking wet. I want to watch you come. Come for me.”

  He kept whispering dirty, depraved things against my lips, goading me with his words and his body, and like a tidal wave, another orgasm washed over me. I bucked against him as I moaned and watched him watch me. His eyes greedily drank in every detail.

  When it was over, I sighed, and he slowly pulled out.

  We fixed our clothing without speaking, and he walked to the door. He paused with his hand on the handle and turned to face me. “That was fucking hot, Toni. I’m up for more anytime.”

  Then he winked, flashed me a grin, and disappeared.

  I stood in the dark for a moment. I was up for more of that too, but I wasn’t Toni.

  Thirteen

  Toni

  George wasn’t kidding when he said he’d be no more help in the outfit department. He really was a one-trick, red-dress pony. Once again, the bed was covered in clothing as I stood in front of the mirror, scowling at the black pencil skirt and pink silk shirt I had on.

  “I don’t know about this,” I whined.

  “You’ve said that about the last seven outfits.” George sat in the chair by the window, on his phone and hardly paying attention. I’d dragged him into my room once I started to get ready for my day with the Winthrops and realized I was in deep shit. I had no idea what one was supposed to wear to tour the new shop of a multibillion-dollar business, followed by lunch, darling.

  Mr. Winthrop clearly didn’t like me, not that he’d even tried. Mrs. Winthrop was either the nicest rich person on the planet or was overcompensating for her husband’s disdain by being very interested in me and asking dangerous questions. And Oren . . . Oren was another mess I was trying to avoid thinking about. I couldn’t get the feel of his soft lips out of my mind, or the way they’d curled in a scowl when he chastised me. Most of all, I was trying to avoid admitting to myself that I cared. I didn’t like that I’d upset him.

  “I think it’s too . . . what’s that word? Corporate!” I snapped my fingers and turned to George. He just grunted.

  “Hey, asshole!” I waved my arms like a drowning person until he looked up and sighed. “You’re supposed to be helping me.”

  “I am helping you. I’ve gotten you out of more than one sticky situation. But clothes are not my department. You’re a chick. Shouldn’t this be in your handbook or whatever?”

  “A vagina does not automatically give you
fashion sense.”

  George groaned, slowly pulled himself to his feet, and approached the pile on the bed. He rummaged around and then threw two items at me. I caught them midair and frowned.

  “Alexandria says this will be appropriate. You have ten minutes to get your delinquent ass downstairs.” He wagged a finger in my face and walked out without another word.

  I should’ve thought of that! Who better to advise me on what Alex would wear than Alex?

  I quickly changed into the simple knee-length navy-blue skirt and floral-patterned shirt and slipped my feet into flats. I looked relaxed but presentable. I looked like Alex.

  For the entire ride to the shop, Oren ignored me by burying his head in his phone. His parents were being driven in a separate car, because heaven forbid we had to sit so close that our knees touched.

  We pulled up on a trendy stretch of road in the Garden District. I knew New Orleans pretty damn well, but I didn’t spend much time in this particular part of it. The streets were tree-lined, the eclectic mix of up-market boutiques and quirky shops interspersed with cafés and restaurants.

  “You just beat us here.” Caroline rushed up to join us as Oren senior lagged behind. “Shall we head in?”

  She looped her arm through mine and led the way toward the front door. A large sign in distinctive cursive text read “Winthrop” above the door, but the windows were covered up with black paper.

  Oren rushed ahead to hold the door open for us.

  “Thank you.” I gave him a smile.

  He nodded once, curtly, as his lips thinned. He was really pissed at me. He also smelled really fucking good.

  I took a deep breath and forced myself to focus on something else.

  After our fight in Oren’s office, I felt bad for jeopardizing Alex’s plans and, if I was being honest, for upsetting Oren too. He didn’t know I wasn’t Alex, and he was just trying to do the right thing by his family, like she was. I had a family once upon a time. I could understand that. I’d give anything, marry anyone, to have them back.

  Unable to get my mind off my guilt, I’d spent the previous evening researching.

  I wanted to know more about Alexandria, so I looked up Zamorano Wines. I’d seen the wine bottles on the shelves plenty of times—before picking up something I could afford off the lower shelf. The company was over two hundred years old and had been owned by the same family, run from the same winery in California, the whole time. They were one of the best producers of Merlot and Verdejo in the country and constantly won fancy-pants wine awards.

  Nothing on the Internet even hinted about how deeply in financial shit they were—Alex was doing a stellar job of keeping a lid on that—but there were several articles about the accident that killed her father. The yacht capsized off the coast of the Bahamas when they were on a family holiday. Alexandria and her mother were the only survivors. I found YouTube clips of a cousin Preston—a tall, lanky man—making statements to the effect of “we are all deeply saddened and shocked,” “the family appreciates their privacy during this difficult time,” and so on.

  As we entered the store, a worker carrying a ladder nudged me, apologized profusely, and went on his way toward the back. The place was very nearly ready, the display cabinets installed and shiny white and navy-blue surfaces everywhere. The only thing missing was the jewelry.

  Oren and his father walked off, deep in conversation with another man in a shirt and tie, while Caroline struck up a conversation with a woman about my age. She had dark hair and was supermodel thin, a good foot taller than Oren’s plump mother. I stood around awkwardly and tried not to get in the way, completely out of my depth and ready to stab a bitch for one puff of a cigarette.

  “Alexandria!” Caroline waved me over. I smiled politely and went to her side. “This is Vanessa, head of marketing. Vanessa, this is Oren’s fiancée, Alexandria.” Caroline wrapped an arm around my waist and smiled. It didn’t even feel fake, and I got another pang of guilt for lying to her.

  I extended my hand to the supermodel, doing my best to copy how Alex introduced herself. “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

  Vanessa placed her bony hand in mine and gave it one quick shake, but her eyes zeroed in on the ring on my other hand. “Lovely to meet you.”

  I scrambled for something to say. “The store is looking great.”

  “Yes, the contractors have done a fantastic job. Other than the painters.” She rolled her eyes and didn’t even try to drop her voice as a man in overalls came past with a can of paint. “This is the third time we’ve had to repaint because they can’t seem to get the color right.”

  I looked around. The paint was white. How could you get white wrong?

  “Oh. That’s . . . uh . . . how frustrating.”

  But her focus was no longer on me. “Oren.” She beamed as he joined us. I felt him come up behind me before I saw him, but he didn’t touch me. He stepped around me and went straight to her.

  “Hello, Vanessa.” They kissed on the cheek as she dug her French-manicured nails into his biceps. I dug my teeth into the inside of my cheek.

  “Everything going to plan?” he asked as he backed away.

  Her hand stayed on his arm for just a little too long before she finally dropped it. “Other than the painting, yes. The stock arrived yesterday. We have a photographer taking some promo shots out back as we speak.”

  “Oh, it’s here?” Oren’s mom sounded excited.

  “Yes, it’s here, Mother.” Oren gave her a warm smile. Then his eyes landed on mine, and his smile fell just a little. My heart clenched, but I kept a neutral expression on my face.

  “Oh, Oren, your tie is wonky.” Without waiting for permission, Vanessa leaned forward and straightened his already perfect tie, her hands lingering on his chest.

  “Alexandria, we had a special piece flown in to put on display for the opening. I was hoping to show it to you.” Caroline gestured in the direction of the back room as Vanessa gestured to the front.

  “Oren, I need your opinion on something,” she said.

  I took a step to the side and wrapped my arm around his. He stiffened a little but paused.

  “Oren.” I ignored the bitch with thinly veiled sights on an engaged man (while artfully ignoring it wasn’t me he was engaged to) and looked up at him. His sharp jaw ticked, and then he looked down at me. I injected as much sincerity into my gaze as I could. “Would you show me the piece your mom is talking about? I’d love to learn more about what you do.”

  There was a pause. Some of the tension around his eyes eased. He looked from me to Vanessa and back again, then bent his arm so my hand was in the crook of his elbow.

  “I’ll be with you in a moment, Vanessa,” he dismissed her before leading me to the back of the store, his mom following. I leaned into him just a little, letting his warmth comfort me in a situation that was making me feel all kinds of awkward.

  In a back room that was more like a vault, a photographer was taking photos of shiny expensive things against a backdrop. A man and woman in matching navy suits and white gloves assisted and handled the jewelry.

  Caroline greeted them warmly and spoke with them for a few moments as Oren shook hands with the photographer and inspected some of the pictures on her camera.

  The two assistants brought out a large leather box and set it on the table. From inside, they pulled out one of those neck display things you see necklaces hanging off of in stores.

  Sitting on it was probably the most expensive thing I’d been in the same room with.

  “Come, have a closer look.” Caroline grabbed me by the wrist and pulled me to her side with a wide, excited grin. Oren stepped up on my other side.

  “This is the Adelia. It was made by Charles Fitzwilliam Winthrop in 1803, two years after he opened his first store, as a wedding gift for his wife and was named after her. It’s stayed in the family all these years.”

  “It’s very beautiful.” I didn’t know fashion or fancy rich people shit,
but even I could appreciate this. Dozens of the most brilliant clear stones made up the sides, disappearing around the back of the stand, and a massive deep green gem took pride of place in the middle, with three smaller green gems on either side. I kept my hands firmly at my sides; my fingers itched to touch it, to feel the cool stones, but knowing my luck, I’d somehow manage to break it.

  “Eighty-six three-carat, VVS1-clarity diamonds; six four-carat emeralds; and the nineteen-carat Adelia emerald,” Oren piped in. “It’s been worn by Grace Kelly, Sharon Stone, and Angelina Jolie, just to name a few, and has been loaned out to museums on several occasions.”

  “It has its own guard.” Caroline giggled, as if the thought of protecting something literally priceless was just too funny. “When it’s on display, it has one of those serious, frowning men with sunglasses next to it at all times.”

  Her amusement was infectious, and I found myself laughing, partly because her description reminded me of my own serious, frowning friend.

  “I bet George knows him.” I nudged her with my elbow, and she laughed out loud, startling the photographer.

  “Yes, he has that frowning thing down pat, but he’s a good man. Good at his job.”

  “Yes, he’s the best,” I readily agreed.

  “Anyway, I also had it brought down because I wanted your opinion on it.”

  “Mine?” My eyebrows shot up while Oren’s head whipped around to frown at his mother.

  “Yes. I was hoping you’d consider wearing it. For the wedding.”

  I shook my head and opened and closed my mouth like a fish, no idea what to say, but she waved me down and kept speaking.

  “I know you’ll want to pick out your gown, and this may not match, or maybe you have a family heirloom you’d rather wear, or maybe you just think it’s gaudy. So if you don’t want to, that’s completely fine. But every Winthrop bride since old Charles Fitzwilliam’s wedding has worn a Winthrop piece on her wedding day, and I’d love it if you’d consider continuing the tradition. If you don’t like this one, we can have something else brought out of the vaults.”