by Melissa Blue
He scratched his chin, his eyes narrowing. “I would have told you to leave if that's what I had wanted.”
Huh. This was the very definition of soft. Maybe not romance but if she spit she might hit it. “But we're cuddling.”
“Recovering,” he corrected without blinking.
His lack of reaction telegraphed the lie. “Marcus?”
He lifted his brow, daring her to question him further. “Aye?”
“Okay. I'll accept the lie.”
His reply was to ball his hand in her hair and bring her up to his mouth for a kiss. He was thorough, leaving no corner unmolested by his tongue.
When he broke the kiss to settle back on the bed, his eyes were already half-closed. “I need sleep, food and more sex. In that order. You have free rein of my place and everything in it. If you're going to be nosy and look through my stuff, just put it back the way you found it.”
“I wasn't—” He lifted his brow again and she finished with, “Okay,” and then laughed.
He smiled back before closing his eyes. Didn't take him long to drop off. What she really wanted was a hot soak in the tub, and maybe some of the stew she'd brought him.
Taking him at his word, she went for his dresser first and found neatly folded T-shirts. And because Ivy was nosy, she looked through the other drawers. No porn, no secrets, just an OCD need to fold his underwear.
And that just left the thoughts banging around her head as she weaved her way out of his room then through the hallway to the bathroom. Confused, elated were the top emotions. Her skin continued to tingle.
If Ivy closed her eyes she could feel the brush of his stubble on her skin and the rough pads of his fingers while he stroked her into oblivion. Her pussy clenched at the memory. It's not like she'd never had an orgasm. She'd once timed herself during a masturbation interlude—ten seconds after watching a really hot erotica. And she had boyfriends who got to third base a time or two during serious groping sessions.
After Marcus though, it kind of made sense why no man had ever seduced her into sliding in home. He'd made licking her belly button mind-bogglingly erotic.
The reality of sex, the full shebang—she'd only had a slice of it—had a small part of her angry that she'd let herself miss so much. A thousand kisses shared with a lover, touches that seemed to reach deep and stir her.
Yes, she ached but Ivy had never felt more feminine knowing her orgasm could damn near break a man like Marcus. He'd lost it at the end. His raw reaction was beautiful, scary and breathtaking. He seemed like an open book, but he only told her what he wanted her to know. Clearly that didn't bother her enough to stay out of his bed. And she didn't know how to process any of it.
After closing the bathroom door, she stepped into the shower and then pressed her head against the cold tile. Took her a few more minutes to turn on the water. Another few, she just stood under the hot spray until her fingers wrinkled. She tried to think through the ramifications of her actions but one thought stood out: I'm having an affair with a Scottish rogue.
Nope. Still not ready to process. She had to sit down in the tub and stay there. Her head was swimming. Putting her foot over the drain retained enough water to soak... “My lady parts.”
Her laugh was cut short by the knock on the door.
“Are you drowning yourself?” Marcus asked through the sturdy wood.
She squeaked and then coughed to try and hide the sound. “I thought you were asleep.”
“I was out for thirty minutes.” He was quiet for a moment. “Can I come in?”
Ivy wasn't sure if she could take him seeing her naked again. The first time had taken two glasses of wine and a twenty minute pep talk. And still she'd covered herself whenever his gaze became too intense. She had no post-coital bravery.
“Give me a second,” Ivy called out.
She washed up quick, turned off the water and then threw on his shirt. Ivy gave herself another second to breathe in and then out to calm the sudden nerves. When Ivy was sure she looked like a modern woman who wouldn't have an existential crisis in her lover's bathroom, she opened the door.
Sweet God. Logically she knew he was there on the other side of the door, but being confronted with a sexy, hair-tousled Scot was another thing. Yeah. Marcus was the kind of man who could make knee wrinkles seem sexy. And she kind of had proof with him standing there only in his boxers and socks. He was built like someone who worked with his hands and tanned like one too. But she got caught up in the way the fine hairs trailing down his ridged abs disappeared under the waist band.
“Like what you see?” he asked.
Ivy wanted to lick what she saw, but he was cocky enough without that praise. “So, you nap like a fussy newborn?”
His lids were still heavy from sleep, but his blue eyes were sharp, seeking. Whatever he found must have assured him, because he grunted before leaning against the doorjamb.
“I sleep like a man who knows a woman is waiting for him.” He didn't give her time to swoon at the honest answer. “Are you hungry? I'm willing to share my stew with you.”
“I had planned to take some for myself anyway.”
His mouth twitched. “Should have known.”
“But not all of it.” She clasped her hands behind her back, unsure what she should be doing.
“If you sit on my lap while you eat, I just might let you have all of it. Come on.” Again, he didn't wait for her reaction but left her standing there in the bathroom doorway, uncertain if she should kick him or tackle him to the floor.
He'd probably get off on both, so she followed him to the kitchen. His back was to her as he watched the microwave like a starving man. “I have some French rolls in the fridge and some leftover Riesling.”
That started the lip biting. He was acted like he was so comfortable with her already. She was naked under his shirt, still damp from a long, existential-crisis shower and didn't even know what to do with her hands other than to search for glasses and get bread—both things he'd just asked her to do. Either he really liked her or this was just normal for him. But he told her not to ask questions she really didn't want the answer to...
He grabbed two spoons, stuck them in the Tupperware and then grabbed the wine from the counter. “Living room.”
By the time she caught up with the glasses and bread, he had settled onto the couch to eat. She offered him a roll and he shook his head. “The wine and bread are for you.”
“Oh.”
Marcus shook his head. “We're going to have to do this the hard way, I guess.”
“What do you mean?”
He grasped her wrist with his free hand and then tugged her toward him until she sat across his lap, her feet dangling over his left side. A single shift to get comfortable and she noticed every part of him had woken up refreshed from his nap.
“I mean,” he said, his voice gruff, “sit and eat. And relax. I'm not expecting you to be a vixen. Though the sight of you in my shirt, looking wet and rumpled is making me hard.” He offered her the bowl. “Eat to save up your strength.”
“You've lost innuendo.” But she took a big helping of the stew.
He placed a hand on her waist then did a complicated reach around to pluck the forgotten roll from the napkin on the coffee table.
Ivy laughed. “I could have gotten it.”
He glanced down at his lap and where she was perched. “I didn't want you to move.”
She shook her head and handed him back the bowl. “Should have poured me wine while you were at it.”
His smile was slow. “Wine later if you're not too sore.”
What the hell did that mean? “Uh...”
Instead of struggling to find an end to that sentence, Ivy bit into the roll, fully realizing Marcus wasn't suited for beginners. Dealing with him was like being thrown into the deep end of the pool after a single swim lesson.
For the next few minutes they just passed the bowl back and forth. He chugged the juice and Ivy was sure he'd lick the
bowl too.
“I can go get some more if you're that hungry,” she offered after he put the bowl on the coffee table.
“Maybe later.” He nipped her ear. Her sex clenched and the moan spilled out before she could curtail it. “Do you need something, lass?”
She turned her head so they were face to face. He tipped her head up with his forefinger.
“You're bristling again,” he said, “Just say whatever you're thinking.”
Felt like the flood gates whooshed open and she was talking before her filter could slam down. “I don't know what we're doing. What should I expect? Should I even still be here, eating with you? Am I always going to be sore after sex? Why do you fold your underwear? Where do you hide your porn? What do you actually do for a living? And what do you plan to do with this wine? Stop looking at me like that. You told me to say what I was thinking.”
His brows were up and his eyes wide. “Aye, I see.”
Oh, God. She put her face in her hands. Clearly she was too honest. He tugged her hands down, a laugh in his voice. “Don't hide. I asked. I should have been prepared.”
His brows knitted, but there was no judgment in his gaze. “Aye, right. We're lovers. Not fuck buddies. I will never phone or text you to come fuck me. Unless you send me a dirty pic and in that case I can't be held accountable for my reply. Of course we can and will share meals. Mostly because I can't cook for shite and so far I like your company. If that changes we'll sit down and talk. I'm a dobber and a shite on the best of days, but everyone deserves a face to face when things end.”
He blew out a breath and then nodded as though he was going through a mental list of everything she'd said. “You might be sore. I like it rough sometimes. I have a maid who does my laundry and puts it up. Have you never heard of Redtube or Tumblr? No need to buy porn anymore. Right now I'm unemployed.”
Unemployed but he could afford maids who folded his underwear? She opened her mouth to push on that point but he shook his head. “As for the wine, I plan to pour it down the curve of your spine and try to catch it with my mouth. Things might get messy, but I'm willing. I think you'll pair well with Riesling. Anymore questions?”
She swallowed as heat flashed through her. Ivy could almost see the picture he'd painted—her kneeling on the couch, her back to him as he let the wine drip through to the crease of her ass. He'd start the clean up at her clit and lick his way up.
Oh, yeah. This was the deep end of the pool and she was willing to drown for that.
“Um.” She shook her head, still hot and getting really bothered as his cock hardened even more beneath her ass. “Nope. Think that covers it.”
He leaned back, a smile crinkling the skin around his eyes. She had to laugh. “You look so sweet and cute when you smile like that. False advertisement.”
“Eh. Genetics.” He proved her point by placing a hand on her thigh. “Now to the important question.”
“Which one?” she asked, wary.
“How sore are you?” His hand crept up.
“A little,” she said but dropped one leg off his lap to give him room to see for himself.
He slipped a finger between her pussy lips and grunted. “Wet, already.”
“I was thinking about wine.”
With a feather-like caress he swiped his finger down and then up. “Were you bleeding?” He checked his fingers and shook his head before she could answer. “Good, you're not.”
Real good, because putting together a sentence had become difficult. She was breathing too hard. Ivy leaned forward and pressed her mouth to his neck. The skin was tight, smooth and tasted of salt and sex. She licked him next to fully take in the taste of him in.
He groaned. “Do you know what I dreamed about, lass?” He rolled her clit beneath his thumb. “You. This. My mouth wet from your come. So, tell me now, if you're too sore.”
She reached down to guide his hand to quicken his strokes. He chuckled. “And the corruption has already begun.”
Maybe. She'd never imagined the prospect of sex could make her go soft, tight and wet at the same time. Couldn't have fathomed such bone deep pleasure from a simple caress. Her heartbeat seemed to pulse in her clit and she ached.
“Just touch me,” she begged.
“Let me make it better.” He grasped her waist and lifted her off his lap only to guide her to straddle him, her back to his front. “There,” he whispered.
Air kissed her inner pussy lips, sparking a tremble in her thighs. “Give me a moment,” he said. “I promise to make it better.”
Ivy didn't need promises. She just needed the ache to subside, but as she was learning, Marcus was a man of his word. He balled a hand around his shirt, pulling it tight above her waist and with the other he dipped a finger inside her. She arched her hips forward to take him deeper, urgent and needy for the release his touch could bring. Since his cock was a hard press of flesh against her ass, she had no doubt he felt the same ache.
His groan was just a deep rumble against her back, a hot escape of breath along her earlobe. If this was corruption she hoped to never taste salvation again. It was too potent and addictive.
“More,” she begged.
He used her cream to slick the sensitive skin around her clit. Ivy didn't recognize the rough throaty noise she made, but that was okay. He was giving her more. So much every time he teased her clit and then fucked her with two fingers. Giving her enough pleasure to not recognize the woman grinding her ass into his cock, but never enough to make her come. The only satisfaction was hearing his primitive growl whenever she squirmed.
“Ivy.” He groaned. “You're going to make me come just doing this. You're dripping.”
She clenched around his fingers at the hot, whispered confession.
“I'm going to suck the taste of you off my hand when we're done,” he said. “You taste so fucking sweet.”
She reached back and gripped his hair, needing something to hold onto as the orgasm whipped through her, hard and unforgiving.
“Aye. Come for me. I want to lap up your cream when we've finished.”
She cried out as her back bowed into the climax. He wrapped an arm around her waist, whispering words into her ear that were probably meant to soothe but she couldn't hear them over her own moans.
He kissed her neck as she slumped into him, drained from the orgasm. She had no doubt he planned to say something else obscene but somewhere in the house a cell phone rang. He stiffened and then cursed.
Hazy, she asked, “What?”
“Fuck me. I have to get that call.”
She blinked and tried to understand. “You have to answer your phone, right now?” It was late so maybe the call fell under an emergency. She didn't think so from the level of pissed off in his tone.
“I'm going to kill him,” he muttered, his gaze flashing dark. “I'll be back as soon as I can.”
He dumped her on the leather couch, but stalled his abrupt exit long enough to kiss her to confusion. If he’d rather have been naked with her, kissing her limp, why did any phone call warrant top priority? His curses became a lot more inventive when he pulled away. His dick tented his boxers. She may have been new at the whole sex thing, but she could assume not many men walked away from a willing woman when they were both half-dressed and well-past aroused.
“Fucking. Kill. Him,” he bit out as he stomped toward his room.
The ringing stopped and started again almost immediately. From the living room, Ivy could hear, “Bad fucking timing. Again. There better be at least twenty million riding on this or a dead body.”
That brought her up from the couch. Twenty million was a specific number to toss around for a throwaway comment. A number men who fixed cabinets didn't normally use in a conversation, not in a serious tone.
Of course she didn't still think he was just a handyman. She hadn't believed that since the moment she saw him in a suit and tie. His demeanor had changed while he stood on the other side of the fence negotiating for a kiss. Even his sho
ulders rested in a cocky pose in the tailored suit. That had been a great part of his appeal. The only thing sexier than a man in a suit was a man in a suit holding a baby or a cute puppy.
“And what did you tell them?” Marcus laughed at the answer. “I can almost hear the symphony of them shitting bricks. I'll use it as leverage in the next meeting.” Silence. “They gave me the PR and I let them just to see how much they'd lie about their situation.”
And in a few words there was the man in the suit, his hair slicked back and his blue eyes, sharp and unrelenting. She sat in his shirt on his butter soft leather couch. A cotton shirt he probably wore as he worked on repairs for his house. A house he'd likely intended to fix and then flip.
Out of all the truths he'd told her, no matter how sharp, why evade the truth of his real occupation? It made no sense. And sitting there in just his shirt Ivy never felt more naked.
Marcus said, “You know, technically, sending me these emails makes you a corporate spy. I always knew you were a criminal.” He laughed again. “Aye, that is why I like you, but if you call me again tonight I'm taking the first flight to Glasgow with the intent to beat you bloody.”
His voice grew dark. “I like her. That's all you need to know.” Silence. “Piss off, you manky bastard.”
Interesting. Twenty million dollars. Corporate spy. Meetings that involved schmoozing him. The late night updates. And Marcus...he was no one's underling. His instincts were too sharp, his gaze too ruthless for him to work in a corporation and not be at the top of the food chain.
Ivy tucked her feet under her and pulled his shirt over her legs. He strolled back into the living room, his jaw clenched. Marcus didn't have to say he hadn't wanted her to overhear the conversation.
There was the line in their affair. She could have him physically. She could laugh with him over meals, spend nights in his bed recovering from sex, but when he needed to talk about million dollar deals, hell probably billion dollar deals, she wasn't welcomed into that side of his life. She couldn't even begin to figure out the why of that. Ivy only knew, deep in her gut, Marcus was so much more than he seemed.
“Does sex with you require a gag order?” she asked. “A confidentiality clause so I don't talk about our relationship with the media?”
