Illicit

Chapter Twenty

The house in Whitestone was massive, tucked into a cul-de-sac and down at the end of a long driveway. As soon as we arrived I realized it fit him perfectly. Cabot Reed was a man who valued his privacy, and here, on the water and away from the city, was where he found it.

He opened the door and stepped out of the car– “Ow, fuck.” He sat back down quickly, rubbing the bottoms of his feet to knock the loose gravel off. He turned, reaching into the back of the car for his shoes, then paused when our eyes met.

“Thank you,” he whispered.

Taken aback, I said, “What?” Thank me? What did I do?

“The way you held your ground back there. With Mina.”

I shrugged. “Oh, well… I just told the truth.”

His lips twitched. “You do have a way of doing that.” After a moment, he turned back to the open car door and pulled on his sneakers with no socks. “Stay there.” He pushed out of the low sports car, then closed the door and strode to my side. It was dark, but even by just the silvery light of the moon, his body was a work of art.

Maybe I could convince him to decree casual Fridays at Reed Publishing…

And by casual, I mean shirtless.

Obviously.

When he reached my side, he opened the door, then bent quickly and picked me up, tossing me back over his shoulder again.

I squealed, slapping at his bare back. “Your neighbors!”

“Fuck the neighbors.” He turned his head to the side and bit into my ass.

“Oww,” I growled, digging my nails into his back.

As he walked up to the front door, my eyes landed on the perfect curved tops of his cheeks, sticking out above his jeans. Hello, to you too. Stretching my arms, I slipped my hands between the denim and his body, sliding my palms over his taut ass.

He squeezed my thigh in response. “Ms. Blake, what will the neighbors think?”

“Fuck the neighbors,” I repeated back to him. I let my fingers have their fill, massaging and squeezing his ass, then paused as the sound of the key in the door caught my attention. In a moment, we were inside. He set me down, still holding me close to him, then flipped on the lightswitch.

As my eyes adjusted, I scanned the foyer, frowning.

The walls had pink, ivory and gold floral wallpaper from the seventies, which I could recognize because the seventies were making a comeback right now. But this was definitely not retro-inspired. Justretro. The chandelier above my head was amber glass and bathed the entire foyer in a soft yellow glow. Peeking into the living room gave me an eyeful of crushed velvet couches in shades of avocado and pale pink. The furniture was a rich mahogany.

I looked up at Reed, trying not to look like I’d just sucked on  a lemon, but even that would be better than this. “Are we breaking and entering?”

He laughed, a real, genuine laugh, and I watched in awe as his smile took over his striking face. These moments were brief, few and far between, and I craved them like a drug addict craved the next hit.

“We could have picked a better house…”

“Jesus, Rylan, do you ever think before you speak?” He shook his head, then slipped his hand into mine. “This was my grandmother’s place.” He began leading me up the curved staircase, then paused, looking back at my feet. “I think I prefer you barefoot.” He lowered himself to sit on the stairs, then began unclasping the straps of the black, strappy stilettos I borrowed from Greer.

“I know I prefer you barefoot.”

His hands stilled on my ankle and he lifted his gaze to mine. After a long moment, he said, “Did you say you’re in love with me?”

I snorted, shaking my head.

His eyes tightened at the edges, but he continued on the straps until my shoe was off, then started on the other one, still looking up at me. “You know you can’t lie to me, right?”

I rolled my eyes. Tell me something I don’t know. “I’m a shit liar.”

“I know. Now, tell me the truth. Did you say that you’re in love with me?” He dragged his hands up the backs of my legs, pausing just beneath the hem of my shorts.

My breath caught as warmth rushed south. “No,” I lied, “Because that would be absolutely crazy.” I looked out at the foyer. “Like this ugly wallpaper.”

He smacked at the sensitive skin on the backs of my thighs and I gasped. “Watch it. That’s my Grams you’re talking about.”

I rolled my lips together to keep from laughing. Who was this man? This playful, sweet…

There was this entirely new, third side of him.

After a moment, his brow furrowed. “What?”

“Just trying to figure you out.” I paused, looking around at this strange, nineteen-seventies decorated house, this surprising glimpse into Cabot Reed’s family and past. “You’re different tonight.”

He rose quickly to his feet, looking down at me from a higher stair.

The heated look in his eyes stole my breath.

“I’m still very much me.” Positioning himself behind me, he slid his hand behind my head, cupping my neck. Then, with a gentle-but-firm grip, he pushed me up the stairs. He turned me left at the landing and guided me down a dark hallway, and I reached out to feel the walls–

“Trust me.”

I dropped my hands.

“Good girl.”

I could barely make out the shadows of the doorway as we reached a room at the end of the hallway. When we crossed the threshold, he flicked on the lights and I gasped. This room was so unlike the rest of the house–or, what I’d seen of it at least–that he could have told me we'd transported somewhere else entirely and I would have believed him.

This was the kind of place I’d been expecting.

I glanced at him over my shoulder and he gave me a one-shouldered shrug. “I may have redone this part of the house.”

With a giggle, I soaked up this intimate window into his life. This room, unlike the rest of the house, had Cabot Reed written all over it. Like the man who spent his time here, the room was at once sharp and soft.

Plush off-white carpeting covered the floor, so thick and lush that my feet practically sank into it. There was a massive four-poster bed in a sleek steel frame butted up against the main wall, with fluffy white bedding and giant white pillows. Two elegantly understated hardwood and steel nightstands bolstered the bed on either side, with modern, retro-inspired edison lighting above each one, emanating a soft glow. A muted, almost velvety black paint covered three of the walls. The fourth wall was floor to ceiling glass, but I couldn’t see out of it. Just the reflection of the bedroom and the two people inside of it, almost as crystal clear as if I was looking into a mirror.

I stepped further into the room and, as I took it all in, Reed clicked some buttons on the wall, then there was a muffled metallic clack, followed by the whirring of a motor as electric blinds began to rise.

My mouth fell open as, inch by inch, those blinds lifted to reveal lights reflected on the water of the East River.

Reed stood behind me, the warmth of his body teasing mine, the scent of him enveloping me as he reached around my front. I dropped my gaze to look at his fingers as they went to work on the hook and eye closures running down the front of my corset. Like he was, his hands were a contradiction. Strong and rough from years spent wielding a whip and anything else he could get his hands on in the Rabbit Hole, I guessed; they were the opposite of what most desk jockey’s hands looked like.

He may wear bespoke three-piece suits and spend his days behind a desk, but that was only one facet of Cabot Reed.

The corset fell away and he cupped my breasts, squeezing them gently and teasing each nipple between thumb and forefinger until they stiffened into hard peaks. I leaned my head back against his chest and he pressed his nose to my temple, breathing me in. He brought one hand up to my neck, settling his palm over my throat, then slid the other hand down over my belly. He trailed his fingers along the waist of my shorts, then gripped the O-ring zipper pull and slowly tugged it downward.

He’d seen me in various states of undress during our time together in the Rabbit Hole. From lace teddies to completely topless, I’d been on display for this man for weeks now. But we’d never been intimate anywhere else, never outside of the private rooms within the club.