The Wingman

by Natasha Anders

  “Breathe,” he urged, whispering into her mouth, supplying her with some of his own oxygen, which served as a catalyst for her to finally exhale on a sob. “That’s a good girl. Now come for me.”

  “I can’t,” she cried, her body strung as tightly as a bow, teetering on the very edge, needing something more, something to send her toppling over the precipice.

  “You can.” He changed the angle of his fingers, and she screamed when his talented digits brushed against an area so sensitive it nearly sent her off the bed. He held her ruthlessly in place. “There it is.”

  “Oh my God,” she keened as, with another stroke, combined with a flick of his thumb, she came. Hard. It was much more intense than any climax she had ever given herself, than even the one he had gifted her with earlier that day. It was so powerful she felt sure she blacked out for an instant. He was murmuring soothing nothings into her ear and easing his fingers out of her tightly clenched womanhood. She was painfully sensitive, but he was unbelievably gentle. She was slick with her own moisture and felt the dampness spreading beneath her into the duvet. It embarrassed her a little despite his huge, smug grin.

  “Flawless,” he purred before starting to kiss his way down her body. Still shell-shocked, she was absolutely electrified when she felt the first flick of his tongue on her still-spasming female flesh.

  “Do you know how perfect you are down here, Daisy?” His voice was hoarse. “Pretty and pouty and pink. Absolutely beautiful.”

  She sobbed when he lowered his head and went back to work, and before she knew it she was coming again.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  “Like that?” he asked, before kissing her, and she tasted herself on his lips. It was a shocking and unbelievably erotic experience.

  “It was too much,” she said between desperate gulps of air.

  “I have more of that for you,” he promised. Daisy was both excited and terrified at the prospect. He fumbled with his belt buckle, and she reached down with trembling hands to help him, but he gently brushed her hands aside.

  “This would last longer if you didn’t touch me,” he said. “Next time you can have your wicked way with me, but right now, I’m so primed that if you touch me it’ll be over in seconds.”

  He shoved his pants down past his hips and knelt in front of her, his thighs spread as he sheathed himself in a condom. She couldn’t get over his masculine perfection, everything tight and hard and beautifully muscled. And he was right to be smug; he was intimidatingly big down there. His penis was hard and thick and long and looked a little terrifying to her inexperienced gaze. At the same time, she could appreciate the elegance of the way it curved upward to kiss his belly. So perfect in every way, from the tight, lightly furred sac, up the veined length, to the deep-pink, plum-size glans. She was desperate to touch and taste, and she silently vowed that the next time she would be calling the shots.

  His eyes were feverish and his face strained, and he took one long look at her, seeming to recognize the admiration in her eyes for what it was. He gave her a naughty grin before palming his erection and giving it a long, leisurely stroke from balls to tip and back again. She groaned, and he chuckled, the sound strained before covering her, bracing his elbows on either side of her for support. He kissed her thoroughly and reached down with one hand to line himself up at her entrance and ease into her.

  “Christ.” His voice broke on the word. “You’re so tight, babe. Relax for me, okay?”

  She tried, she really did, but the unfamiliar thickness, so much more than his fingers, was making her tense up.

  “Daisy, please,” he muttered. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

  “I’m trying,” she sobbed, feeling immediately inadequate. He stopped moving, allowing her time to adjust to his size, and she could tell from the taut strain on his face that it was taking a great deal of self-control for him not to move. He started kissing her again, taking her mind off his intimate invasion as he played with her tongue and moved down to her breasts, laving them with attention. It worked, and she relaxed in tiny increments, starting to enjoy herself. He rocked against her, easing more of himself into her with every tiny movement of his hips, and Daisy moaned when his shaft brushed against her swollen clitoris.

  He was making soft, desperate little sounds in the back of his throat, and he was starting to drip with sweat. He looked like he was under a massive amount of stress, and Daisy tried to help him, lifting her pelvis to meet his thrusts.

  “I can take more,” she promised, and he took her at her word. She tensed up, but when he didn’t move again, giving her time, she relaxed and dug her fingers into his tight butt to urge him on even further. Finally, after what felt like years, he had his entire length buried inside her, and when the stretch and burn faded, she moved her hips experimentally. Mason breathed a heartfelt prayer and dragged himself nearly all the way out, undoing all his hard work, before thrusting home again.

  “Oh.” The exclamation was a sound of revelation, as Daisy finally understood what he’d been working so hard to achieve. Another thrust, and his tip brushed against that same internal spot that had driven her crazy earlier.

  “OH!” The exclamation was louder and a little more enthusiastic this time. Mason was utterly focused on her pleasure, and, recognizing what she liked, he kept hitting that spot with every subsequent thrust.

  “Oh! Oh! Oh! Oh my God!” Daisy’s orgasm was unexpected, massive, and once again a thousand percent better than the one that had come before.

  Mason shifted her knees until they were braced against his chest, changing his angle as he lost any pretense of gentleness and simply pounded away at her. She had another orgasm in seconds, and it was as she was clenching around him that he groaned—the sound loud and long—and shuddered, his head dropping to her chest, completely vulnerable in her arms for that brief moment.

  He moved her knees to the side and quickly discarded the condom, tossing it into a wastebasket next to the bed, before spooning behind her and holding her tightly against him while they both trembled through the shattered remnants of their orgasms.

  Their bodies cooled down slowly, and the chill air started raising goose bumps on Daisy’s skin. Mason reached for the duvet cover and tugged it over them, before snuggling behind her again.

  “Are you okay?” he asked after nearly a half an hour of comfortable silence.

  “Hmm.”

  “I didn’t want to hurt you. You were tighter than I expected.” There was a questioning lilt to his voice, and she turned around to face him.

  “I’m kind of new to this,” she admitted, and he forked his hands through her curls, pushing them out of her face so that he could see her expression better.

  “How new?” he asked softly.

  “I’ve never really done this before.” He looked unsurprised and ran a knuckle over her cheekbone.

  “Never?”

  “Not even once.”

  “So your ex-boyfriends were even dumber than I suspected.”

  “Mason . . . I’ve never had a real long-term relationship with anyone.” And wasn’t that just the saddest thing ever? How humiliating to reveal that to him. “I know that makes me a bit of a freak.”

  He snorted.

  “Yeah, I was just thinking that the guys in Riversend are the freaks. How could they not have seen what was right under their noses all these years? And what about college? I mean, isn’t that what students usually get up to? Parties, drinking, and lots of indiscriminate fucking, right? How did you get left out of all that?”

  “Is that what you got up to at college?”

  “I was a grown man. Getting laid wasn’t my number one priority.”

  “It wasn’t mine either. By the time I got to college, all my insecurities were pretty much set in stone; I didn’t think any of the boys would be interested in me. I got through my studies by keeping my head down and staying on the fringes of everything. Nobody saw me. It was partly my own fault; I was happy enough to remain invisible.
And when I got back home it was just more of the same. Until I walked into a bar two weeks ago and there you were.”

  “Daisy, I’m not . . .” He sounded uncomfortable, and knowing exactly where this was leading, Daisy nipped it in the bud.

  “Yes, I know, you’re not my Mr. Right or whatever. But today I decided that you’re Mr. Okay for Now. I’ve decided that my shell is getting boring, and I’m a little sick of it, so I’m branching out. Trying new things. And you’re a pretty good teacher. I mean, what was that thing you did earlier? I’ve given myself lots of DIY orgasms, but nothing of that caliber.”

  He was quiet for a second as he processed her words, obviously trying to figure out if she meant what she was saying.

  “Uh.” He cleared his throat, deciding to go along with it. “I guess you never found your G-spot when you were diddling yourself.”

  “Oh, so that’s what that was,” she whispered reverentially, and he chuckled. “I guarantee it’ll be a part of my self-pleasuring repertoire from now on.”

  She felt him hardening against her thigh as her words turned him all the way on in an instant.

  “Why don’t you show me how you mean to include it, and I’ll give you a few pointers on how to improve your technique?”

  “You’d do that for me?” she teased, and he laughed.

  “Damned straight I would.”

  “Okay, but only if you show me your technique. I’ve always been curious about male masturbation. Maybe I can help you out?”

  “Jesus. Yes and please.”

  It was the last thing either of them said for a very long while.

  An obnoxious buzzing sound interrupted Daisy’s sound sleep, and she groaned. She felt warm and comfortable and snuggled deeper under the covers, her foot automatically searching for Peaches’s comforting weight at the end of her bed. Instead she collided with a warm, masculine shin, and memories of the night before came flooding back. She went very still as she tried to orient herself. They were spooning, his crotch at her butt. One of her feet was trapped between his knees, and he had an arm curled beneath her head and the other slung across her waist, his hand cupped over her stomach. She automatically sucked it in, and he chuckled knowingly, his chest shaking against her back and his breath teasing the hair at the nape of her neck.

  “Too late, I’ve seen everything there is to see,” he said, his voice a sexy morning rumble that made her want to climb on top of him and have her wicked way with him again.

  She didn’t respond to his teasing words, simply let out her breath and relaxed.

  “In Iraq I had this company commander, a very distinguished older guy.” God, his morning voice was gorgeous, deep and with just a bit of gravel. She could listen to it all day. “He had a collection of classic movies. Whenever we got any downtime, tedium would set in pretty quickly, and we’d all get into one another’s stuff. E-mails were read and reread, books were swapped around, games, cards, everything you can think of to stave off boredom. We often had movie nights, and when we ran out of the newer stuff, our commander would break out his movies. The old guy had a thing for fifties bombshells. He had Marilyn Monroe flicks, Sophia Loren, Jayne Mansfield . . . I remember the first time I saw Marilyn Monroe—I was about twenty at the time—I thought she was the perfect woman. Killer body. I printed out a picture of her in this white one-piece swimsuit—she was just standing on the beach with the wind in her hair—and kept it in my wallet. I hit the jackpot with you, Daisy; you’re a dead ringer for Marilyn.”

  Daisy snorted at that, even while battling a pang in her heart at the thought of a young man, with no loved one back home, having to keep a picture of a long-dead movie icon for comfort . . . and probably other stuff.

  “I look nothing like her; I’m not even blonde.”

  “I meant your body. All these sweet curves. I mean, luckily these”—he cupped her breasts—“are a bit more substantial. And you have a plumper, rounder ass than hers.” Was he really comparing her body to Marilyn Monroe’s and finding hers more desirable? That was both sweet and a little unbelievable.

  “Wait, so all the stuff we did and when I had my mouth on your—there—last night, you were imagining I was your bow-chicka-wow-wow dream woman?” she asked without any heat, confident that he had been entirely focused on her—Daisy—last night.

  “Hell no. That was all you, angel. And for someone who’s never given a blow job before, let me tell you, that was a fuckin’ stellar performance.”

  The annoying buzzing sounded again, and he reached for his phone and swiped the screen.

  “Why is your alarm going off at this god-awful hour?” she asked, irritated.

  “Thought I’d go for a predawn run on the beach, watch the sun rise. Want to join me?” he asked, nuzzling the back of her neck, while his hands started to roam. She sighed and relaxed into his embrace, pushing her behind up against his hardening erection.

  “Do you really think I’m the jogging type?” she asked, and he made a noncommittal sound.

  “I figured you weren’t, but it would be rude not to ask, right?”

  “Trust me, I won’t think you’re rude if you never ask me again. But are you sure you want to go for that run? I can think of so many other more interesting forms of exercise.” Encouraged by the burgeoning hardness against her butt, she reached back and took hold of his solid shaft, and he sucked in a gasp of air. Happy with his reaction, she gave a long stroke and felt him go even harder.

  “I’d love to, but you’re new to this, and I could tell after our last time that you were feeling a little stiff.”

  “No. You’re feeling a little stiff,” she corrected, and he laughed.

  “Who’s twisting whose words now, Daisy?”

  “Apparently that’s what happens when you spend time with ‘testosterone-fueled guys,’” she countered, continuing with her languid stroking, and he groaned, the sound loaded with appreciation.

  “I’m trying to do the right thing, Daisy. I’d make love with you all day if I could, but you need some proper rest. Go back to sleep, and when I get back we’ll take a bath together.”

  Daisy knew he was right, now that some of her grogginess had worn off; she was starting to feel aches and pains all over her body. He’d given her a heck of a workout last night, had twisted and turned her body in so many unfamiliar ways, she was shocked she wasn’t a human pretzel this morning.

  She gave him one last stroke before releasing him, and he moaned—a soft, disappointed sound—before moving away from her and getting out of bed. She immediately felt cold without him and bundled the bedcovers even closer, snuggling down and watching sleepily when he switched on the bedside lamp and started rummaging through his bag. He was walking around the room unabashedly naked and still massively aroused, and she admired every taut muscle that worked as he tugged on his briefs—boo—over that still-straining erection, then his drawstring workout pants, socks . . .

  Her eyelids were unbearably heavy when he got around to covering up that beautiful upper body, and by the time he pulled on his beanie and fingerless gloves, she was fast asleep. She didn’t know he stood watching her for a long moment before he left, didn’t feel his hand brush through her hair and stroke her face, and never knew that he leaned down to kiss her lips before he grabbed his iPod and headed out the door.

  There were a few people on the beach despite the early hour, some dog walkers, a jogger, a young couple doing yoga, and—of course—in the distance a small group of people on horseback, some of Lia’s more enthusiastic wedding guests. Mason sucked in a few breaths of the crisp air, filling his lungs with the fresh coldness and holding it there before releasing it slowly.

  God, he felt amazing. Completely invigorated. His entire body was buzzing on a natural high after last night’s intense sex, and his chest gave a weird little leap every time he thought of the woman he had left sleeping back in his hotel room. He did a few long, satisfying stretches, easing the kinks out of his neck and back before adjusting his earbuds a
nd starting up his running playlist. He began at an easy lope, allowing his muscles to warm up before increasing his pace. He didn’t jog, he ran, faster and longer than most average joggers. For Mason running was about maintaining his high fitness level and increasing his endurance. He had an alarm set on his iPod to remind him when to slow his pace and settle into a cooldown run. Without the alarm he could run for hours, especially when he got lost in his own head.

  He was just starting to feel the burn when he crossed paths with the horse-riding party. A few hands raised in greeting, and he raised his own to acknowledge them—happy to let it go at that and continue on his run—but when someone angled their horse to intercept his path, he was forced to stop. He looked up to the rider and felt a surge of irritation when he saw it was the groom. He kept running in place to indicate his eagerness to get going again, but he tugged an earbud out to hear what the hell the asshole was saying.

  “. . . want to join us?”

  “Sorry, what?”

  “I said while the bridesmaids are at the spa and having their brunch, we’re heading to the golf course to play a few holes. Want to join us?”

  Mason hesitated, not at all in the mood to spend time with the man.

  “You do know how to play golf, right? I know it probably wasn’t part of your lifestyle growing up. Or when you were soldiering. But it’s just swinging a club at a ball; it takes a bit of finesse, but you’ll get the hang of it.”

  Right. Mason’s competitiveness sprang to the fore, but he kept his expression neutral.

  “Don’t mind if I do. I don’t have any clubs, though.”

  “You can borrow mine, Mason,” a familiar masculine voice offered, and he noticed, for the first time, that Dr. McGregor was also in the group. The man gave him an encouraging grin. “I’ve decided to spend the morning relaxing with a good book.”

  “Thank you, sir. I’ll take good care of them.”

  “Oh, I’m sure you will,” the older man said. “You can pick the clubs up at ten, room twenty-six.”