Things I Wanted To Say (Lancaster Prep Book 1)

I WAKE UP IN A DAZE, confusion swarming my brain at first as I try to bring the room into focus. I push my hair out of my face, squinting into the darkness, barely able to see anything, even with my vision adjusting. I can hear the traffic coming from somewhere down below, heavy and insistent, with the occasional frantic siren. The impatient honking of a horn.

A shift in the bed, the mattress dipping. A warm body rolling toward me, strong arms clamping around me from behind. His large body nestled close, muscled arms holding me tightly, his hot mouth on my neck, his seeking fingers testing me between my legs.

I moan when he touches me there, but it’s not the kind of moan he wants to hear. “No more,” I whisper in agony, and he laughs, the sadistic bastard.

“I wore you out.” It’s a statement, not a question.

“I don’t think I could take another orgasm,” I tell him truthfully. I lost count of how many times I came last night. Too many to mention. Until I was pushing him away, my clit on fire, my body and my mind completely exhausted.

“I told you I’d fuck that pretty little pussy raw.” He kisses the side of my neck hungrily, thrusting his hips. His erection slips between my ass cheeks, heavy and insistent, and I close my eyes, bracing myself.

If he fucks me back there again, I don’t know if I can take it.

“Go back to sleep my sweet little whore,” he croons in my ear, his fingers drifting across my cheek. “Get some rest. You’ll need it.”

I fall back into a deep sleep within minutes, and don’t wake up for a long time.

I don’t dream either.

It’s blissful.

The next time I wake up, the curtains are pulled back, letting in plenty of warm light. I see an elegantly set table at the foot of the bed, two dishes covered in silver domes. Cutlery and glassware, a basket overflowing with a variety of breads, a dish full of creamy pats of butter. There’s a bottle on ice in a stand next to the table, and I can only assume it’s champagne.

A celebratory meal? My hopes are too high. There’s nothing to celebrate between us, unless he views us slipping back into our old roles a cause for celebration.

“You’re awake.”

I turn toward the sound of his voice to see him standing in the doorway of the bathroom, leaning against the frame. He’s got his hands in his pockets, his pale blue button down completely open, revealing his smooth, muscular chest. His hair is damp, as if he just got out of the shower and oh my God, I don’t think I’ve ever seen him look so delicious. So relaxed.

So heartbreakingly handsome.

“Good morning,” I say, my voice scratchy.

“Closer to afternoon.” He pushes away from the door and strides toward the bed, stopping on my side to bend down and drop a kiss on my surprised mouth. “Good morning, beautiful.”

I blink up at him, clutching the snowy white duvet to my chest, speechless.

“Hungry?” He glances toward the table. “Room service came just a few minutes ago.”

Oh God, did they see me sprawled out naked in bed? I woke with the covers mostly over me, one leg falling out. How embarrassing.

Whit must sense my embarrassment because the look on his face softens. “I pushed the table and stand closer to the bed. They left it right inside the room. Come on.” He holds his hand out for me. “Let’s eat.”

“Um, I’m naked.” I tuck the duvet closer to me, oddly uncomfortable. I’m not used to kind Whit. It’s…disconcerting.

“I’ll bring your food to you then.” He goes to the table and whisks the silver domes off each plate, revealing a sumptuous meal of fluffy scrambled eggs and crisp strips of bacon, accompanied by small bowls of a colorful variety of fruit.

My stomach growls and I lift my gaze to his. “Bacon?”

“They serve American breakfast at this hotel,” he explains. “Want a croissant?”

“Please.”

Watching him complete domestic tasks, taking care of me, is mind blowing.

“Coffee?” he asks, his gaze locked with mine.

“With cream, yes, please.”

“Champagne?”

Tempting, but I don’t need any alcohol right now. “In a little bit.”

He brings me the plate, laden with so much food I know I can’t eat it all, and hands it to me, along with the cloth napkin and silverware. He sets a very full cup of coffee on the nightstand and then does the same thing for himself, settling on the bed beside me, his back propped up by pillows.

We eat in companionable silence, the tension between us growing thicker and thicker as we get closer to finishing. I can’t stop nibbling on the croissant, tearing it into tiny shreds, and I’ve already ate all of my fruit, most of my eggs and of course, the bacon is long gone.

“You’re nervous,” he says after far too many minutes of silence. “I can sense it.”

I set the plate on the table next to me, wipe my hands and mouth on the cloth napkin and then turn to look at him. “Of course, I’m nervous. I still don’t understand what’s going on. Or why you’re here. Why exactly you were in cahoots with Monty and put together last night’s dinner. I don’t get it, Whit.”

“I knew you’d never agree to see me if I just—asked. I had to use some element of surprise to get you into the same room as me again,” he explains.

“And now here I am, like an idiot, naked in your bed. Your perfect little whore.” I mutter that last sentence under my breath, shame washing over me, making me regret I just ate so much.

“Don’t call yourself that.” His voice is firm.

“Why not? It’s true. It’s what you’ve always called me, ever since we first met. That’s what you wanted from me from the start. You wanted my body. You wanted to destroy my self-esteem and completely control me. You wanted me at your every whim, to play with and fuck and torture. Haven’t you had enough?”

He drops his plate on the nightstand with a loud clatter, reaching for me, but I scoot away from him, needing the distance. “It’s not like that. You make what we’ve shared sound so…sordid.”

“That’s because it is sordid.” The duvet falls and I cross my arms, covering my breasts, not wanting him to look at them.

But of course, he’s looking at them. Staring at them. Staring at me, as if he can’t get enough of me.

“You want the truth? I’m obsessed with you,” he whispers, his voice hoarse, his gaze…pleading. “At first, I hated you, and what you represented. Then I was drawn to you, despite it all. Eventually, I had to have you, and once I did, I couldn’t get enough.”

I stare at him, my entire body trembling with some unknown emotion. God, when he’s so close, I become completely confused. He’s too much.

“Do you know how strong you are? How fucking beautiful you are? You walked around campus like you owned the fucking place, despite me trying to destroy your reputation every chance I could get. I admired your strength. I respected it too,” he admits.

“Respected me? Please. You got the biggest thrill out of degrading me every chance you got,” I retort, dropping my arms. Fuck it. Let him see. He had his hands and mouth and cock all over my body last night. What does it matter anymore?

He continues on as if I didn’t say anything. “And then you show up at my birthday dinner, sitting with my family as if you belonged there, while I show up with that joke of a girl who I was supposed to marry. I fucked you in the bathroom only because I was so fucking desperate to get inside you. I couldn’t control myself.”

“You were trying to humiliate me,” I interrupt.

“Absolutely not.”

“You touched Leticia with my—juices on your hand,” I remind him, closing my eyes at the humiliating memory of that moment.

He comes closer to me, and I can feel his body heat. Smell his delicious, expensive cologne. “You marked me. Reminding me that I was yours. Didn’t you see that? You fucking imprinted on me the entire week at my family’s house. I couldn’t get enough of you. I went to my father and begged him to let me out of the arrangement with Leticia.”

I crack open my eyes to find his face directly in mine. “Why? So you could be with me?”

He doesn’t say a word. Doesn’t look away either. He won’t say it, but I see the answer in his eyes.

Yes.

“We would never work,” I whisper.

He touches my face. Grasps my chin lightly with his fingers, tilting my head back. “We will always work, Summer. Look at me.” I meet his gaze, noting the intensity in his light blue eyes. “We were made for each other.”

His mouth settles on mine before I can say anything, and I open for him. Of course, I do. It’s like a bad habit I can’t kick no matter how hard I try. The moment his tongue curls around mine I whimper, reaching for him, my hands finding the bare skin of his chest. I stroke him, grasp at him, overcome. Needy.

A groan sounds low in his throat and his hands are everywhere, but it’s not enough. It’s never enough when it comes to him. And me. I fall back onto the bed and he undoes the front of his trousers, shucking them and his boxer briefs down, exposing his erect cock. I climb on top of him, straddling him, reaching for the base so I can guide him inside of me.

The moment I slide down the length of him, we’re both moaning in agony. His pants are still around his ankles, his shirt still on and I start to fuck him in earnest, chasing after the bliss I know will wash over me in mere minutes.

He wraps his hands around my waist, controlling the pace. He’s so thick, filling me completely every time I slide down. I ride him, my pussy clenching with need, tightening around him and he nuzzles my chest. Draws a nipple into his mouth and sucks. Bites. Sucks some more.

I hold him to me, my knees at his hips, bouncing on top of him, my face buried in his soft, fragrant hair. The orgasm lingers just on the peripheral, so close I can taste it and I take him deep. As deep as he can get.

A strangled groan leaves him, muffled by my breasts, and then he’s coming. Filling me with his semen, triggering my own orgasm. We writhe against each other, clinging, moaning and gasping until finally, finally, it’s over.

I hold him to my chest, not wanting to hear any more of his words or look him in the face. Not yet. I want to savor this moment. The closeness. We’re as close as any two people can get. I don’t know if anyone could ever make me feel like Whit does.

I don’t know if I want anyone else but Whit.

And that’s a terrifying realization.

“Come home with me,” he murmurs against my skin, his lips tickling.

“What do you mean?” I stroke his hair. Kiss his temple. If I could, I’d stroke and kiss him all day. I’d never want to stop.

“Come back to the States with me. Live with me. Be with me.” He licks at my other nipple, the one he ignored the entire time we were having sex just now, and I close my eyes, my womb clenching with every pull of his mouth.

“As your mistress?” That’s all I could ever be, remember? Whit’s pretty little whore.

“As my equal. As my partner. Perhaps…eventually….as my wife.”

His words send a bolt of terror running through me. This is the same man who said he’d never get married.

Ever.

I scramble off of him, rolling right off the bed so I can stand beside it. His cum coats the inside of my thighs and my hair is an absolute disaster that I have to push it away from my face. I’m sure I look a sight.

He stares at me as if I’m the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

“You don’t mean it.”

“I do.”

I start to laugh. “We’re too young.”

“We’ve been connected for the last six years at least,” he says, his voice calm. Logical. “That’s long enough, Summer.”

“You don’t know what you’re saying. Your mother won’t allow it. Neither will your father.”

“Fuck my parents. I’m independently wealthy. They can’t tell me what to do. They don’t control my life.” He swings his legs over the side of the bed, tugging his boxers and trousers up before he stands and pulls them completely on, doing the zipper and closing the snap. “You should take a shower.”

How can he be so normal, doing such mundane tasks when we’re having such a life-changing discussion? “Whit…”

His gaze meets mine, his lips curled up with faint amusement. “What?”

“What are you doing?” I wave a hand at him.

“Getting dressed. I suggest you do the same. Though you definitely need to shower first.” He approaches me, stopping directly in front of me and reaching for the inside of my thighs. He draws his fingers through his own cum and brings them to my lips. “You’re messy.”

I suck the semen from his lips, just as I always do. “And then what?”

“I want to explore Paris with you.”

“Explore it how?” My eyes grow wide and I take a step back. “I’m missing class.”

“Fuck class. You’re with me.” He snags my hand and pulls me close once more. “Let’s find secret spots in the city where I can fuck you. We’ll leave our mark everywhere.”

“That’s…we shouldn’t do that.” I tamper down the wave of arousal that takes over me at the thought of doing exactly that.

“Don’t lie, Summer. It’s unbecoming.” He kisses me. Drinks from my lips. Dips his fingers between my legs to gather more of his cum so he can slip those cum coated fingers into my mouth yet again. I lick and suck, his eyes flaring with heat until he pulls away, leaving me feeling empty.

“Get in the shower.” He reaches behind me and smacks my ass. Hard. I yelp, jumping away from him. “Or there’s more where that came from.”

“Promise?” I tease, batting my eyelashes at him.

He smacks me again, even harder this time, and it’s like a jolt straight to my core. “Yes. We’ll do more of that later, if that’s what you like. Now go wash yourself. So I can dirty you up again.”