Hitched: Volume Two

by Kendall Ryan

  “I take it I’ve earned your seal of approval,” Noah teases. “I hope I can hear that sound again later tonight.”

  I flush slightly, but I’m in too good a mood to tell him to shut up. Teasing him back, however, is something I can manage. “What was with all your false modesty earlier? ‘Oh, it might suck, just bear with me . . .’”

  He laughs. “I never said it like that. For your information, I do like to cook—I just don’t usually take the time. And I haven’t mastered many recipes. A real man accepts his limitations.”

  “Evidently a real man also talks in third person.” I grin at him. Then my tone sobers. “So, you’re still feeling okay? Not sick at all?”

  What I’m really asking is are you ready for sex? Just without actually having to say that big S-word. And maybe I’m also apologizing for acting like a bitch earlier today, without actually having to say the other big S-word.

  He pauses, then gives me a firm nod. “Never better. So I’m still on if you are.”

  Did his smile slip a tiny bit, or am I just imagining things? I knock back a mouthful of wine to stop myself from overthinking. Tonight is for my body, not my mind. If he says he’s ready to go . . . I chase the butterflies in my stomach with another bite of rich salmon.

  When our plates are empty, Noah suggests, “How about we have another glass of wine?”

  So I guess we’re not jumping straight into bed. I’m torn between relief and impatience. “S-sure, that sounds nice,” I reply.

  We refill our glasses and move to the living room. But when we sit down on the couch, Noah doesn’t touch his drink. He sets it on the coffee table—and rests his hand on mine. I look up to see his expression has turned predatory.

  And just like that, everything changes. The atmosphere, already flirtatious before, darkens and thickens like the air before a thunderstorm.

  “Did I ever tell you how hot you look in your office clothes?” he purrs. “Well, really, you look hot in everything . . . and I’m sure you’ll look even better in nothing at all.” He gives me a lustful smirk. “But we’ll get around to that soon enough. Anyway, as I was saying, those clothes are so prim and proper that seeing you at work always gives me . . . ideas.”

  Fuck, that voice should be illegal. I swallow hard and put down my wineglass before I spill it all over the carpet.

  “L-like what?”

  “Like kneeling under your desk, my face between your legs, doing my best to distract you while you’re on an important phone call.” His finger traces over the back of my hand, following the path his tongue would take in his fantasy. “And then, when you make it through the whole call without blowing our cover, you get your reward. I pick you up and fuck you on your desk. Skirt rucked up around your hips, panties pulled aside, blouse open so I can feel your luscious tits pressed against my chest . . .”

  I’m speechless. By how hot my face feels, I’m probably also red as a tomato.

  Noah continues. “People say only women are attracted to power. That’s bullshit. Men are too . . . most of them are just scared of powerful women. But not me.” He tightens his grip on my hand and pulls it down to cup his huge, hard bulge, showing me how true his words are. “Rest assured, Snowflake, I’m not going to stop tonight. Not until you’re satisfied.”

  My reply dissolves into a moan as he kisses me hard.

  His hand cradles my head, his fingers tangled in my hair, gripping firmly, guiding me where he wants. Where we both want. His other hand caresses me, stroking a long line from my jaw down my neck and then back again. A slow, firm petting that’s meant to relax me, open me up to his touches. And it works. Soon I’m melting into him.

  As if he can sense the exact moment I’m ready, his fingers drift down to undo my blouse. One button after the other slips free, the pace so leisurely I almost start to squirm. Not wanting him to break our kiss, even just a pause, even to undress me, I wriggle out of my blouse myself. I feel his mouth curve into a small, smug smile against my lips.

  His touches transform from soothing into stimulating—teasing the sensitive spot just under my ear, tracing the dip of my spine all the way from my nape to the small of my back. My breath hitches in anticipation every time his fingers bump over the clasp of my bra, wondering if now is when he’ll undo it. But only when I arch against him does he finally move.

  With a single deft movement of his fingers, my band goes slack. My cheeks flush hot and I suppress a tiny squeak of surprise. Jeez . . . I know he’s had a lot of practice with undressing women, but even I can’t take off my bra one-handed.

  Noah pulls back to draw the straps down my shoulders, drinking in the sight of my breasts as they’re slowly revealed. I shiver, feeling his eyes on me like a physical caress. I’m still wearing my skirt and pantyhose, but Noah’s hungry gaze makes me feel so exposed. In a strangely good way, though—not vulnerable or weak. Like he’s seeing the real me, undisguised, and I’m the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. The only woman in his world.

  Almost worshipfully, he bends his head to kiss my nipple. I suck in my breath; even that light touch zips through me like a static shock. Encouraged, he mouths it again, wetter this time, his lips sliding over the stiffening nub, shooting sparks straight to my clit. I let out a soft, husky moan when he starts sucking and licking—then another when he cups my other breast in one large hand and pinches the nipple.

  “W-wait, time out,” I gasp. “You’re still . . . shirt . . . not fair . . .” It’s damn near impossible to string together a sentence under this onslaught.

  Smirking, Noah backs off. I take the opportunity to catch my breath while he pulls his shirt over his head and drops it on the floor next to mine.

  “You want to take this to the bedroom?” he asks.

  I nod emphatically, glad that he saved me the effort of saying it out loud. I want him so badly, my whole body is thrumming.

  He takes my hand and leads me down the hall. He sits on the bed, with me standing between his knees, and leans forward to wrap his arms around my waist. As his hands work on unzipping my pencil skirt, his mouth resumes its assault on my breasts. I breathe hard, clutching at his shoulders to keep my balance.

  At last the black twill pools on the floor and I step out of it, further into his embrace. Noah’s erection brushes my lower thigh. Feeling bold, I push my knee forward to rub against it, and I’m rewarded with a stifled groan. Then it’s my turn to groan when Noah cups my crotch firmly.

  “Damn,” he growls, “you’ve soaked right through your panties, Snowflake. I could probably get you off right now, just like this.”

  Suddenly I’m flipped onto my back on the bed, Noah looming over me. “But I won’t,” he continues. “Because we both know what tonight is about. Some good old-fashioned fucking.” One finger trails from my collarbone between my breasts, all the way down my body, leaving goosebumps in its wake. I bite my lip as his fingertip ghosts over my pussy lips through the damp fabric of my panties.

  He grins like a wolf. “However, we do need to get you nice and wet first.”

  And with that, before I can say anything, Noah pulls off my panties and dives in. A wild keening cry bursts from my throat. His tongue writhes against my swollen clit and I can barely catch my breath, let alone keep quiet. Jesus, the boy eats pussy like he’s dying of thirst. His long, thick finger pushes inside me and curls up and holy shit, do that again! My fingers tighten in his hair, shoving his face against my pussy until he probably can’t breathe, but I don’t care, I can’t stop, it’s too much and my muscles have locked all on their own.

  His finger withdraws, only to return with reinforcements. Little desperate noises escape me as Noah licks my clit and scissors his index and middle fingers deep inside me. I’m actually trembling, and it’s not just from the overpowering sensation. I know why he’s putting so much effort into preparing me. I’ve seen his enormous cock before—and it’s been a long damn time since I’ve had anything at all inside me. So I’m going to need all the lubrication and st
retching I can get.

  A thrill runs down my spine, one part nervousness to ten parts excitement. My stomach clenches with anticipation. I’m so ready for this, for him, I feel like I’m on fire. Panting aloud, I quiver and clench around his fingers. Almost there, almost . . .

  Until the son of a bitch pulls back. “Not yet,” he teases.

  I almost give him a dirty look for stopping. But I know what’s next, and I want to come with him inside me. I nod at him in speechless eagerness as he quickly sheds his pants and boxers, then takes a condom from his nightstand drawer and rolls it on.

  Wait, this picture seems wrong. I try to gather my lust-fogged thoughts. He had condoms all along—last night too? Then why did he stop when I mentioned them? And why did I have to go to the drugstore this morning?

  But my thoughts dissolve as he starts easing his cock into me. My breath hitches; he’s so thick and it’s been such a long time, even the first inch stings a little.

  “Wait,” I gasp, and he immediately freezes.

  “You okay there?”

  “Y-yeah,” I reply. “Keep going. Just . . . go slow.” No way in hell do I want him to stop now. I don’t care where the condoms came from, so long as we can just fuck already.

  Bit by bit, he works his way inside me, pausing whenever I tense up. “Good girl. You’re doing so good,” he murmurs.

  His voice is strained; I’m sure from holding himself back. He looks incredibly sexy poised over me, with his lips parted and those veins standing out in his tensed forearms.

  Just when I feel like I can’t take any more, at last he bottoms out. I’m already damp with sweat. The feeling of fullness is breathtaking, a slightly burning stretch that balances on a knife edge between pleasure and pain.

  He starts withdrawing again, then pushes back in, just as slowly as before. But I’m ready for the real thing now. I dig my heels into his lower back to urge him on.

  His eyes light up. “Oh, that’s how it is?”

  I moan in response, because forming actual words when he’s so deep inside me just isn’t possible.

  “You’re ready to be fucked hard now?” He slowly pulls out, almost all the way—then snaps his hips forward.

  My mouth falls open in a silent cry. He rocks back and slams in again and again, finally fucking me in earnest. Bliss crashes through me with every sharp thrust, each wave coming right on the heels of the last, keeping me afloat, drowned, overwhelmed. I’m dizzy with pleasure. It’s so intense I can’t think or breathe or do anything but whimper.

  “Damn, baby, you feel amazing,” Noah groans. “I’ve wanted this for so long. I used to jerk off every night thinking about you . . . wanted to bury my cock in you, make you scream my name. You made me come so fucking hard.”

  His voice is ragged with need. I feel a thrill at the idea that I’ve driven him so wild, made him lose all his control. Noah Tate, the man who can have any woman he wants, has waited years just for me.

  He crushes our lips together, his tongue searching for me. The shift in position presses my legs up, and his pelvis grinds against my clit with every move. I moan desperately into his mouth. The waves of ecstasy surge higher and higher—

  Until they crest and crash, my release pounding through me. “Noah!” I cry out as I quake apart in his arms.

  “Fuck, I can feel you coming . . . so tight, so good, I’m—”

  His husky voice collapses into a shapeless growl, a dark, primal sound of pure pleasure. He gives a few more hard thrusts, shuddering into me until his hips slow and finally still.

  For a few minutes we just cling to each other, panting for breath, savoring the last aftershocks as we come down from our high. I’m not sure I could get up even if I wanted to. Now I understand what women mean when they talk about feeling the Earth move.

  I suck in my breath when Noah eases himself out. He leans over me to throw the condom in the trash, then lies down beside me, his head propped up on his elbow to gaze down at me.

  “So . . . what did you think?”

  Oh, come on. After all that, he shouldn’t expect me to speak coherently, let alone leave a damn Yelp review.

  “Good,” I mumble. That’s the best I can manage. But I guess that’s less embarrassing than eleven out of ten or I can’t feel my legs.

  I feel his chuckle more than hear it. He reaches for my hand and laces our fingers together. Lifting my hand to his lips, he presses a gentle kiss to the back of it, then pulls to draw my arm over his body.

  Held safe in his embrace, I lie limp, exhausted, bathed in a warm golden glow of satisfaction. I finally did it. I fucked Noah Tate, and it was one of the best ideas I’ve ever had. I knew sex was better than my past experiences—otherwise, people wouldn’t talk about it as much as they do—but I never imagined it could be this good. Even my teenage fantasies barely measure up.

  I decide that my boring, painful fumbling with Brad didn’t count at all. Tonight was my real first time. A whole new world of pleasure has opened itself before me, and I intend to explore it to the fullest.

  An enormous yawn overtakes me, interrupting my thoughts. Phew . . . right after I get some rest.

  I wriggle closer to Noah and pillow my head on his bicep. Together, we drift off to sleep.

  Chapter Eleven

  Noah

  Watching Olivia put this cocky asshole in his place is exhilarating.

  It’s our regular Friday morning executive planning meeting with the board chair, Olivia’s father, Fred; my late father’s advisor, Prescott; and the department heads from marketing, finance, and HR. Olivia just finished explaining her plan for the upcoming quarter. And the finance executive—a dinosaur named Peter who we should have fired last decade—made the fatal mistake of questioning her expertise a little too adamantly.

  “Peter, I appreciate your passion on the topic.” Olivia’s voice is sure and steady, much calmer than I would have been in her place. “But since Noah and I took over as co-CEOs, this company’s performance has steadily improved.”

  Peter shifts in his chair with a noise that sounds too much like a scoff for my liking.

  I frown at him. Hey, fuck you too, buddy.

  I don’t know why it’s just now occurring to me, but the prejudices Olivia has faced to take over her corner office and head of the conference table have surely been daunting. She’s young, she’s a woman, and she’s the former boss’s daughter—all things that small-minded men like Peter take to assume that she’s not qualified for her new role.

  I want to throw in my own two cents about his behavior, but I don’t. Olivia can handle herself, and I won’t imply otherwise by jumping to her rescue, especially not in front of all these company officers. She doesn’t need a man to save her, and it’s a quality I admire so much about her.

  Without missing a beat, Olivia finishes shutting down Peter as if she hadn’t heard his scoff. “If you’d like to discuss my plan further, you can join me in my office later and I’ll be happy to walk you through it . . . using small words, if it helps. However, I won’t let you derail this meeting any further. Now, does anyone have any more business, or are we adjourned?”

  Peter’s mouth drops open. But he soon closes it again, defeated, and I suppress a grin.

  When nobody else says a word, Olivia rises to her feet. “Thank you all for your time this morning, and please have your department summaries to me by the end of the day.”

  Everyone scatters until only Olivia and I are standing in the conference room. “Are you okay?” I ask.

  She inhales a deep sigh. “Of course.”

  Even if she wasn’t okay, it’s in her DNA to put on a brave face and carry on. It makes me proud to know her, to work with her, and to be the man who gets to go home with her.

  “Peter’s a cocksucker. Come on, let’s go get a tea.”

  She smiles for the first time since the meeting began. “Sounds great.”

  I lead Olivia to my office, where my secretary was thoughtful enough to get me an electric kett
le. A small glass-topped cart holds bottled water, a collection of different English bagged teas, and a couple of mugs.

  When the water heats up, I pour Olivia a cup and hand it to her. She looks at me hesitantly.

  “What?” I ask.

  “Do you mind if we close the door?”

  “Not at all.” I walk across the office and shut the door, wondering what the privacy is for.

  She sips her tea while I prepare my own cup, then sit down in the armchair next to hers. The late morning sunshine makes everything feel cheery, but I suspect there’s something on her mind. She twists the simple diamond and platinum wedding band on her finger.

  “Tell me what’s on your mind, Snowflake,” I prompt her. Something serious is clearly brewing in there, and I suspect it has to do with last night.

  We fucked like rabbits and slept naked in each other’s arms. Then this morning, we got ready for work and ate breakfast as usual, like none of it ever happened. I have no idea what’s going through her head, if she regrets it or what.

  My dick definitely wants a repeat performance. Already I’ve started fantasizing about spending all weekend fucking her brains out. Hey, a man can hope, right? But I don’t know how she feels about our first time. And to be honest . . . I’m not totally sure how I feel either.

  Part of me hoped the sex would be mediocre. That Olivia’s cool, collected demeanor would spill over into the bedroom, and she’d be a lifeless lay. Oh, how wrong I was. She was responsive and oh-so-eager for me, matching me thrust for thrust, whimpering sexy mewling cries each time I hit deep inside her.

  And when she came? She didn’t hold back, like some women do, afraid to be too loud, making sex into something shameful. No, Olivia celebrated it. Crying out with her orgasm, panting my name, clawing my back. I followed her over the edge . . . and now I’m afraid I’d follow her anywhere.

  Last night was almost too perfect. Better than any woman I’ve ever been with. And a deep, dark part of me already knows the reason why. She’s special; there’s something between us that I’ve never had before. Even though I’ve always wanted Olivia, always felt strongly about her, it’s jarring to admit just how much she means to me. How hard she makes my heart pound, how far I will go for her . . .