Page 31 of From West, With Regret (NYC Billionaires #2)

I open my mouth to let air fill my lungs. The familiar feeling I’ve had when I’m around West hits me up again, like I’ve known him longer than a few months. Like I’ve heard this story before. Or that it’s similar to mine .

I don’t remember my past, but I do know I was adopted from a foster home. Maybe that’s why his story is familiar.

“The first foster home was rough. I was only four, so I don’t really remember it that well,” he continues. “After a while, the people who fostered me no longer wanted to take care of kids, then I moved to another.” He pauses. “Then another.”

I tilt my head and swallow back the tears stinging the corner of my eyes. I picture a small version of West. An innocent boy dealt a shitty hand in life, all at the fault of the adults who were supposed to care and protect him. “How many did you live in?”

“In total, six before my last one.” He lifts his eyes to mine.

“Were they here in the city?” I ask him, raising my eyebrows.

I gnaw on the inside of my cheek. I’m getting the sense I’m pushing West too far, asking him to share too much. He’s right, we’re driving right off the edge of this cliff, and there’s nothing below to catch us.

My stomach swarms with nerves… until he clears his throat and answers my question.

“I grew up in Upstate New York, near Albany.”

I stare at West through the reflection. He lifts his hand out from the water and brushes his hair back, away from his forehead. The water holds it in place, and drops slip down the side of his face.

“Have you ever been?” West asks me.

I consider my answer. Twisting my tongue, I slip the silver ball between my teeth before inhaling a deep breath. “I haven’t. I don’t think.” I shrug. “Maybe I could have. In my life before…”

I look down at the surface of the water, and I wiggle each toe.

For some reason a wooden sign, set out front of an old Victorian-style home flashes in my mind.

I recognize it as a puzzle piece I’ve locked away.

I’ve seen it before. Darkness edges my vision, and what was once happy fluttering in my stomach is now tainted with sickness.

Forcing the feeling down, I bury it, refusing to let it take hold.

I think back to the few times I did therapy directly after the accident.

I flex my fingers, hold them, then release.

I bend my foot, stretching my calf, hold it, then release.

“Hey,” West says softly, placing his hands on my back. He turns me around to face him.

I spin in the tub, keeping my knees close to my chest, and my head down, wondering why this keeps happening. Why I feel the puzzle pieces starting to come to the forefront of my mind the longer I’m with West.

Slipping his large palm over my cheek, he lifts my head to look up. “Are you okay? I didn’t mean to?—”

“No, it’s okay.” I swallow the lump in my throat, not wanting to ruin tonight. It’s already been a rollercoaster, and now that I’m looking through West’s kind blue eyes, sitting in his clawfoot tub, feeling the hot water kissing my skin, reality hits.

West and I have crossed the line we’ve both been afraid to cross.

I don’t want to let this feeling go just yet, either. I don’t want the dark tunnels of my past to drag me out of the daylight.

“I’m good. I was just thinking about how coincidental it is that you’re from the same area as the artist I was telling you about, Emily Rapture.”

It’s a lie, but one West accepts.

“Is she from Albany?” he asks. “You never said where in Upstate New York.”

“Somewhere outside of there,” I say, my mind still wandering.

“Quantum entanglement.” He works his fingers at the edge of my hairline.

“What’s quantum entanglement?” I ask, curiosity tugging at me.

“I’m totally going to sound like a nerd.

” He chuckles, falling against the back of the tub.

I miss his hand the second it falls away from my face.

“When I was in college, I took a physics class. It was only one day of class, but the professor gave a lecture on quantum entanglement. When two particles become entangled, they remain connected even when they are separated by vast distances. It’s the idea that particles are somehow tethered across space and time. ”

I hold my breath and swallow thickly.

“Basically,” West chuckles. “It’s a fancy way of explaining coincidences.”

“Right.” My mouth twitches into a small smile. “Quantum entanglement sounds like something I can get behind.”

“Oh, yeah?”

I nod, tucking my bottom lip under my teeth. “Do you think it was quantum entanglement the day I walked into your bar and drew on your napkin?”

Without a word, his eyes darken, hungry for me.

His jaw twitches, and his corded muscles swell when he pulls me forward and I slip my legs on either side of him.

His cock rubs against my crease, and the delightful fluttering returns.

I find myself smiling. The soreness has already evaporated, and I’m wanting West inside me again.

“It was definitely quantum entanglement,” he says, confidently.

I hold West’s injured hand in mine and run my fingers over each knuckle.

The lines look familiar, and my mind wanders to my drawing hidden in my portfolio.

West’s is different than the one trapped in my head, though similar.

I turn it over, running my finger over his palm.

West’s cock jerks under me, and I smile as a growl rumbles from his chest .

With his large arms wrapped tightly around my waist, he pulls me up, then lowers me down over his length.

“I want you to fuck me.” Honesty and lust spill from me as fast as the wetness between my legs, now coating his cock. “I want you to fuck me in your bed, where you can take all of me.”

“In time.” His voice lowers, slipping over my skin. “I like feeling you like this first. Besides, I don’t want to wait until then.”

Cupping the side of his face, the stubble along his jaw grates against my skin like fine sandpaper, but the shape of his prominent jawline fits perfectly into my palm as I lean down and capture his mouth with mine. Soft and full, his lips mold to mine before I slip my tongue between them.

My insides stretch as he fills me, and I sigh with his mouth still on mine, relishing in the way it feels.

His warm hands slip down my back. We move slowly to not make the water splash over the edge, but with every rock and roll of my hips, it does so anyway.

Our slow pace allows me to focus on the small details: our heated breaths, the way the veins in West’s neck bulge as he moves me over him, the way his eyes soften and look at me as if he still can’t believe I’m here, in his arms.

It’s different than it was in the car. Here, in the warm lighting of West’s bathroom, a thin veil in the dark of night isn’t over us. Here, we’re stripped down, raw and bare. Every angle and imperfection is visible. We’re seeing each other in a new light.

I drape my arms over his shoulders and lift myself up his length before driving back down, and soon, it becomes difficult to hold back.

His large hands move from my waist to my chest. He palms each breast, flicking and pinching each of my hardened nipples.

Electricity crackles along my skin, sending heat to my core.

I move faster, rolling my hips harder and deeper as more water splashes over the edge.

By the time we’re finished, and West has spilled himself inside me, nearly half the water is puddled outside of the tub.

“I’m sorry,” I pant, biting back a laugh. “Looks like I made a mess.”

“A beautiful mess.” West tucks my hair behind my ear before he kisses me gently, then winks. “I don’t mind a little mess every now and then.”