SweetlyBad

by Anya Breton

  “Not air.” He smiled. “Aer with an ‘e’—another name for Khaos, the Greek goddess of air. She’s our patron deity. But neither air nor Aer had anything to do with my fall. Only you are to blame for that.”

  “And you say you’re bad,” Erica said as she kissed his cheek. “Your breakfast is amazing, Drew. But I want you more.”

  “In that case…” He stood, setting the tray on the floor beside the bed. He leaned over her, framing her face in his palms for another delicate kiss.

  Too nice, far too sweet. She wanted desperate Drew, the devourer.

  Erica entwined her fingers behind his neck and tugged him forward. He fell against her left side, weighing her down with his trim frame. His cock nudged her thigh above the blanket. Maybe he really did think she was beautiful.

  Drew shoved at the blanket so he could get at the hem of her latest tank top. Up, he tugged the ribbed cotton and revealed her lack of a bra. His groan warmed parts deep inside her.

  “Aer, I need…” He didn’t explain what he needed before his mouth closed over her nipple. He laved, licked and flicked the sensitive peak while he massaged its partner to stiffened heights.

  Erica wiggled beneath him, arching her pelvis against his stiff organ as a hint to what she needed.

  He pulled the tank top the rest of the way over her head then fastened his mouth over her dry nipple. Its moist mate pulsed in time with the throbbing of her pussy. Erica rubbed herself over him in an effort to soothe the throb, gasping at the pressure on her clit. Drew groaned again and vibrated the flesh between his teeth.

  He released a breast, skimming his palm down her belly. She sucked in a breath as he dipped beneath the drawstring on her knit pants. Drew caressed the cropped hair at the junction of her thighs, teasing her with lower dips after each motion.

  Erica reached for his shirt while she still could. She fumbled with the buttons as he worked at her breast and tickled her mons. Drew pressed her thigh down, widening her for his invasion. His shirt came free before he brushed his hand over her folds. She spread her legs, opening fully for him.

  Up, he massaged, pulling a moan from her at the delicious heat licking her insides. Down, he stroked and exposed her damp sex to his touch. One finger tested her. Finding her drenched, he groaned again and sucked harder on her breast.

  Without warning he dropped his thigh beside hers so he could sit upright and then he shucked the blanket. Her knit pants and satin panties were soon on the floor. And then Drew hovered above her, staring deep into her eyes.

  Clad only in his slacks, he was as hot as any print model. He was too beautiful for words as he gazed at her. She glanced away, ashamed of her body compared to his.

  “Erica.”

  A demand for attention. She forced herself to give it to him.

  “I’ve always liked curvy women,” he said without a trace of shame. “I thought I wasn’t supposed to. But I was an idiot…in so many ways. However, I can’t complain. If I’d realized it then, I wouldn’t be here with you now. What I’m trying to say in my inept way is that you’re the sexiest fucking thing I’ve ever seen and I’m going to fuck you six ways to Sunday.”

  The cock straining his slacks hinted he hadn’t lied. His warm gaze skimming her breasts and hungrily landing on her pussy made her feel sensual.

  “It is Sunday,” Erica said.

  “Who said anything about this Sunday?” He grinned as he grabbed his waistband. “I’ll have to fuck you six ways every day until next Sunday. Or maybe the Sunday after. Better yet, how about a Sunday in December?”

  His gaze flew to hers. Vulnerability softened his eyes—the lost pup from last night. Oh god. Her bleeding heart. She was a goner.

  “Let’s just concentrate on this Sunday,” she said.

  He didn’t pout. He merely nodded and then continued unfastening his slacks. His erection popped free, perfect and eager.

  Drew kicked his pants off the bed and then lowered himself between her legs. He caressed her folds with a single finger. Heat licked her insides, shaking her outsides.

  “I don’t want to scare you off, but I usually don’t go down on women.”

  Somehow she wasn’t surprised.

  “Usually they don’t taste like sugar and heat,” he said.

  Erica laughed nervously.

  “I’m not joking.” He leaned forward, flicking his tongue into her pussy. A contented sound rumbled the chest resting on her thigh.

  Drew met her gaze. The dark expression caught her breath. He looked as though he was intent on some campaign.

  The campaign began with his hands curled beneath her thighs. He tugged her down. That’s when Drew the devourer returned, only this time it wasn’t her mouth he devoured. Erica writhed beneath the long strokes of his tongue, whimpering each time he flicked her clit and then soothed it with a delicate brush.

  Devouring wasn’t enough for him. He had to make her brainless as well. Two fingers slipped within her core, satisfying her need while simultaneously creating another.

  “This isn’t fair,” she gasped out.

  “Why,” he asked in between a luscious lick, “not?”

  “You made me breakfast in bed. Yet I’m the—oh—one getting the treat.”

  “Didn’t I say…” He licked longer. A groan slipped out of him. “That you tasted like sugar?”

  “That’s ridiculous. No one tastes like sugar.”

  “You do.”

  “At least let me see if you taste like sugar too.”

  Drew paused his licks, looking up the length of her as he stroked her inner walls. “Are you offering to go down on me?”

  “Yes.”

  He pulled her clit between his lips, sucking until she screamed. Drew’s fingers fucked her faster. Apparently she’d gotten an answer. There’d be no going down on him. At least until he finished.

  Erica smiled as she threw her head back, stretching her legs out straight from the delectable pressure forming.

  His fingers withdrew. Her eyelids flew open. A wail escaped her before she could stop it.

  Drew didn’t smile. He didn’t grin. Instead he leaned along the edge of the bed, reaching for something. When he knelt again it was with a condom in his hands. He tore the thing with his teeth, staring at her with grim focus.

  Erica sat up on trembling muscles. She reached for him, skimming along his abdomen. His body trembled at her touch. He released a quiet sigh.

  She gripped his cock before he could sheath it.

  “Erica,” he said warningly.

  “Just let me taste it.”

  “I can’t just let you do that. The second your lips close around me, I’ll be lost. And I’m not finished with you.”

  “But if you finish with me, I won’t be able to do this.” She extended her tongue to his tip.

  His groan sounded pained. “Trust me.”

  She’d asked him to trust her yesterday and he had. He deserved the same courtesy. Erica nodded and let go.

  Drew exhaled shakily. He rolled the condom over his erection, piercing her with his hot gaze.

  She let him push her back onto the bed. And managed to bite back a protest when he resumed his attention on her pussy. Why did he need a condom if he was going to finger-fuck her?

  Was she honestly complaining?

  Erica let her body relax…as much as it could under his steady attention. The pressure rapidly rebuilt, stronger than before he’d paused. He’d done that on purpose, hadn’t he? Bringing her nearly to climax and then pausing simply so he could take her higher.

  A third finger pressed her pussy tight, hitting her G-spot at precisely the same time Drew’s tongue circled her clit. Erica bent backward, digging her skull into the pillows as she howled her release.

  When the quivering slowed, Drew slid his cock into her entrance. He muttered an oath to Aer and surged forward.

  Erica forced herself up so she could cling to him. He tugged her closer and pressed a kiss to her forehead. It was such a sweet motion that
Erica could have cried.

  Who was this man? He wasn’t the asshole she’d towed into her garage. That man wouldn’t have made her breakfast. He wouldn’t have seen to her pleasure first.

  Whoever this man was, she wanted him. Now. Next Sunday. A Sunday in December.

  Drew repositioned her in his lap. She curled her legs behind him. Together they set a pace that worked for them both.

  Erica couldn’t resist it a moment longer. She had to kiss him. She captured his mouth. He didn’t taste like sugar and heat. He tasted smoky and masculine. It was her turn to devour him as though she’d inhale his essence.

  He groaned, clenching her tighter. His earlier effort had left her oversensitive. She wouldn’t last long. Hopefully he wouldn’t mind.

  “I’m close,” she whispered between greedy kisses.

  Drew reached between them and flicked her nipple. Erica gasped, grinding her pussy against his rough hair. The unintentional movement caught her clit and sailed her over the final barrier. She broke apart in the safety of Drew’s arms. Wave after relentless wave of pleasure swelled within her with nowhere to go except out. His shout echoed hers, hinting he’d finished as well.

  She sobbed from the tumultuous burst of emotion in her chest, a combination of fulfilled desire and aching need. Boneless and crying, she slumped against Drew. His breath puffed her hair. He gently stroked her slick back.

  Drew’s cock quickly deflated. Was that her fault? Erica grimaced, hating that she instantly went there.

  “I’m giving you the Ferrari.”

  She would have pulled back if she could have moved. Surely she hadn’t heard him correctly.

  “I saw you lusting after it,” he said. “You can either get it fixed and drive it or you can sell it and fix the roof on the garage.”

  The garage did need a new roof.

  “And buy a new computer.”

  That too. “That’s really sweet—”

  “There’s that word again.” Drew snorted—ruffling her hair. “I’m not sweet. I’m a twat.”

  “You were.” She laughed at the word. “But you’re not now. Now you’re sweet…ly bad.”

  He chuckled. “Okay. I guess I can accept that.”

  Erica squeezed him, enjoying his clean-sheet scent and sweaty warmth in her once lonely bed. “We’ll tow the Ferrari to Boston and get it fixed. I’ll drive it back here. And then we’ll sell it. That way I get to live out my fantasy of driving an Italian supercar and you still have money to live on.”

  “You didn’t happen to have a fantasy of fucking in an Italian supercar…did you?”

  She laughed again. “I do now.”

  “Excellent.” Drew released his grip. Erica reluctantly did the same. He pulled away until she could see his face. “So about that Sunday in December…”

  Her chest tightened. It was a beautiful thought—that this playboy might want to be here in six months. Those vulnerable lost-pup eyes did what they always did, they called to her bleeding heart. She only hoped he’d stitch up the wounds.

  Adopting a brave smile, she replied, “You can have it so long as I get to go down on you.”

  Drew’s boyish grin was adorable. “You drive a hard bargain for a nice mechanic.”

  “I’m only nice until you screw with me.”

  “Speaking of. We need to do something about your ex.”

  “Yup.” She nodded firmly. “Tomorrow. Today we’re going to eat breakfast in bed and then shop for security cameras and manly soaps for the shower.”

  “And cinnamon donuts for Mrs. Kimball. I’ll get more French toast.” Drew untangled himself from her but not without a lingering kiss that caught her on fire.

  She let him get to the door before she called him back. “And Drew?”

  He leaned in, smiling winsomely. “Yes?”

  Erica made her tone light even though her meaning was anything but. “Remember what I did to your assassins?”

  Drew’s eyebrows drifted up and his answer was hesitant. “Yes?”

  “I’ll do that to you if you ever think about breaking my heart.”

  His lips quivered as though he was holding back a smile. Drew lifted a palm and placed it over his heart. “Never. I’d be stupid to mess with the woman who took on the Haizea dragon and won.”

  “Yeah, that’s right. Don’t mess with Erica the dragon slayer.” She couldn’t stop her grin.

  “I’m going to grab more French toast and then I’m going to start fucking you the second way to Sunday. You’d better eat while you still can. I don’t want you working off too many calories and losing that glorious figure of yours.”

  Erica’s head heated from what was certainly a dark blush. She beamed brighter.

  Drew wasn’t perfect. He was sweetly bad, just the right fit to her badass mechanic with a bleeding heart.

  The End

  About Anya Breton

  Anya Breton is a web monkey, Apple fan girl and crazy cat lady who is mildly obsessed with rubber chickens and wholly believes that Peeps are evil (yes, the marshmallow candy). She was born in New England into a family of weirdoes. Being an only child, she quickly learned to amuse herself with quirky pastimes. It was inevitable that she'd turn to reading and writing. After writing fanciful (and sickeningly sweet) love stories, Anya branched out into erotica, paranormal romance, young adult and urban fantasy. She currently resides in the American Midwest with her cats and a good man!

  Anya welcomes comments from readers. You can find her website and email addresses on her author bio page at www.ellorascave.com.

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  Sweetly Bad

  ISBN 9781419946493

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  Sweetly Bad Copyright © 2013 Anya Breton

  Edited by Carrie Jackson

  Cover design by Syneca

  Cover photography by Olga Ekaterincheva/Shutterstock.com

  Electronic book publication September 2013

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