Page 22 of From West, With Regret (NYC Billionaires #2)

He does as I wish. His palm presses against me, and I’m riding his hand hard. My legs quake, and I’m shivering.

But it feels so fucking good.

Reality taunts the back of my mind, reminding me that I haven’t felt this free in a long time, if ever. Somehow, having West touch me this way makes me feel powerful. In control. Free.

All the things Heath or any other man have never given me.

Heat spreads across and down my legs, and I know I’m close.

“West,” I breathe into his ear, driving my pussy over his hand. “I’m going to?—”

Knock. Knock. Knock.

“Mr. Knight?” Lewis’s muffled voice shouts from the other side.

West rips his hand from between my thighs, and I’m left gasping. Cold air meets my heated skin, and I whimper, feeling West’s absence immediately.

Clearing his throat, he runs his other hand through his hair and down his face, catching his breath. He takes two steps to his left and leans on the shelf, hanging his head, and keeping his back to the door.

I absentmindedly stare at the rows of liquor bottles on the opposite shelf, reality crashing down around me as I catch my breath.

Lewis jiggles the door handle, then tugs it open.

I keep my eyes fixated on the bottles, but from the corners of my eyes, I see West push off the shelf and face Lewis. He plants his hands on his hips.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Knight,” Lewis pants.

My cheeks flame with heat. I don’t think Lewis has a clue what we were just doing up here, but I refuse to face him in fear that he might be able to read every single thought in my mind.

Does he realize West was about to give me the most mind-blowing orgasm of my life, all from the touch of his hand?

“Sorry if I interrupted your meeting.”

Meeting. That’s what you want to call it?

West lets out a small chuckle, but I press my lips together and hold my breath, twisting my charcoal-dusted fingers. They’re noticeably less black now, and I know there are most likely gray streaks across West’s shirt—evidence of where my hands have been. A flashing red light for everyone to see.

I feel West’s eyes on me for two beats. “What is it, Lewis?”

“There’s a fight between two customers downstairs,” Lewis pants. “Alden and a few others have pulled them off one another, but apparently someone called the police. They’re on their way.”

West’s body turns rigid, and he brushes his hair away from his forehead. “Fuck.”

Finally, I lift my eyes to see Lewis standing in the doorway. His are widened in fear, hoping West will come to his rescue.

I pull the single ear bud from my ear, listening to the sounds coming from below. Screams and shouts echo up the stairs and through the floor. The faint sound of one of the songs on my playlist is still streaming from the ear bud pinched between my fingers.

“I’m sorry.” Lewis lifts his fist and gently knocks it against the doorframe, sucking his teeth. He looks over at me, then at West. “I’ll meet you downstairs.”

Lewis has barely made it down the first step when West starts to follow him. But before he leaves the storeroom, he stops, spins around, and plucks my other ear bud from his ear. He grabs my hand and drops it into my palm, closing my fingers around it.

I look into his eyes and swallow the lump in my throat.

His fiery gaze delivers electricity straight for my heart. It’s a jarring sensation I try to wrap my head around. Just like the near orgasm I had less than sixty seconds ago.

A conflicting ball of emotions weaves itself through my chest. The puzzle pieces are scattered already, and these moments with West are only adding to the mess.

I’ve never felt freer than when I’m with him. The feeling of his hands on me tells me this isn’t as simple as it appears, though. I can’t see through all the smoke and mirrors, distracting me from the truth.

It’s not that West is Heath’s brother on paper. I honestly couldn’t care what Heath or his family would think if they knew I was falling for West.

Fear sinks its teeth into that single fact.

I’m falling for West.

And I’ve never been more terrified in my life.

The feelings I have for him are cataclysmic.

Earth shifting and soul shattering. It isn’t the ear bud we’re cradling in the palm of my hand.

It’s my heart. My fragile, lost, broken heart.

The one that, up until it knew West, couldn’t function.

Now it’s been jolted awake, and I don’t know how to sort through it all.

We’re free falling over the edge of a cliff at a thousand miles an hour.

I look down at his hand over mine and study the lines of his knuckles, and I shove down the dull, aching sensation that I’ve seen them before.

It’s odd. When I’m with him, I’ve never felt safer, and his feelings for me are almost as bright as the sun on the first day of summer.

But then there are moments, like right now, where my mind registers every line of his hand over mine, then it switches to the drawing I’ve made.

Hands littered with dirt. The smell of freshly shed blood.

The scent of cold, wet dirt. The safety morphs into fear.

“I’m sorry. I don’t know how long this will take but I’ll get it sorted,” West softly says.

“It’s okay.” I swallow the heat in my throat. “I’ll see you later downstairs. I need to finish up here anyway.”

He lifts his other hand and traces the tip of his finger along my cheek.

The corner of my mouth lifts gently as his finger finds my dimple.

He studies me as if he’s waiting for an answer or permission. I can tell he wants to kiss me, but I’m afraid of what it’ll mean if I do.

Worry seeps into his expression as though he doesn’t want to leave my standing here, alone. But when I still don’t say anything, he swallows and looks down before reluctantly dropping his hands.

All I’m left with when he bounds down the stairs is the mess of puzzle pieces and my body engulfed in flames, clearly angry for the orgasm it’s been denied.

When West disappears, I bury my face into my hands and groan .

Half of me wants to say fuck it, open my arms, and welcome the imminent fall.

The other half?

That wants to cling to the edge of the cliff for dear life.

Dammit.