by Natalie Wrye
The motion gives me peek at her cotton white panties, and I grab onto those knees of hers, spreading them even wider.
An audible gasp makes its way out of her mouth, and I press a kiss to the top of one knee, reveling in the smooth skin that lays there, loving the way Sophia whimpers as my mouth slants, the slight kiss deepening as I inhale her scent.
I can smell her arousal already.
“I see.” She utters, her eyes closing. “You want to torture me before you finish me off.”
I remove my lips from her skin. “Finishing you off is exactly the point here, Sophia. As for the torture? I can’t think of a better way.” I open her legs farther. “Now, be a good Little Bear. And take your punishment the way a good little prisoner should.”
I lower my lips back to her knee. Kissing my way upward, I bite along her thighs. Each inch of skin I cover with my mouth is blazing hot and by the time I make it to Sophia’s panties, she’s already soaking wet.
I place my mouth over the damp area and suck her skin through the fabric. She moans out loud and it is music to my ears.
I lap the folds of Sophia’s sex through the cotton, taking my time, torturing her with every lash, every suckle, every motion of my lips and tongue until she is panting on the bed, a practical mess spread out on the white sheets.
She pleads with me. “Please, Noah… Don’t.”
“Don’t what?” I growl, sliding the tip of my tongue along her covered slit.
“Please don’t torture me anymore. Just make me come. Please.”
I glance up at her. “Don’t you think you deserve a little torture, Little Bear? After what you did? I’m just your friendly neighborhood wolf. I grin. “Trying to make sure you repent properly.”
“I repent,” she gasps, as my mouth returns to her now-throbbing pussy. “I repent.”
“Sweetheart, you haven’t been punished nearly enough. Now hold still.” I reach for her cotton panties, pulling them down her tight legs. I throw them across the room. “I’m going to teach you the meaning of sorry.”
And then I punish her, showing her no mercy. No end to my relentlessness.
Her nails dig deep in my scalp as she reaches for me. Licking a hot path across her hot slit, I make love to Sophia with my mouth, picking up the pace with each stroke.
Her hips rotate on the bed as I circle her clit and soon the tugs on my hairline are almost unbearable. She moans my name as I flick that engorged clit, her thighs clenching around me. But I don’t stop.
The word “Noah” becomes its own chant, and just as Sophia nears the edge, just as her body tickles with the precipice of ecstasy, I push her over, taking my tongue and plunging it inside her soft pussy until her taste bursts all over my tongue—tangy and sweet.
I lap up every inch I can find, breathing in all of her.
Her body clenches and releases around the length of my tongue, and still I keep penetrating her, giving new meaning to the word retribution.
Sophia comes again, and I suck up every sweet sample, loving her hungry flavor, never getting enough.
With regret, I inch away from her body, lowering her skirt. I run a hand across the stubble at my chin as I watch Sophia lie there, seemingly boneless.
I imagine for a second she might be when suddenly she moves her head, her long-lashed eyes still closed as her mouth begins to move.
“Am I dead? Or did I just imagine I died?”
I grin. “You’re far from it.”
“In that case, I’d like to die some more please.” She finally opens her eyes, glancing up at me, a small smile framing her lips. She sighs openly. “But give me a second, okay? I think my body’s still returning from the after-life.”
I can’t help but chuckle.
My life had in many ways played out like a horror film, full of secrets and mental institution visits and death.
Stephen King would frown at me if he saw me now.
For a rainy afternoon turning to evening, I was abandoning my servitude as a faithful student of all that was horror…and was slowly giving in to the sweetness of Sophia and fantasy.
Chapter 22
SOPHIA
I spent all of Saturday night in Noah’s bed. Without one regret.
The man I’ve been resisting for what feels like way too long takes full control. And I let him.
Noah Quinn shows me in one night that he’s a man who knows what to do with a woman.
The Australian businessman is as strong as he is gentle, as patient as he was rushed, and when he picks me up and places me in his expensive estate bed, when he spreads me out on those sheets and hovers over me, his kiss as intoxicating as his cologne, I swear, every part of me that ever existed, surrenders to him, giving myself over completely.
If there’s ever a place I hadn’t wanted to be a “princess,” it was under the sheets; I was no one’s no lifeless doll.
But in Noah’s bed? None of that matters.
Because he controls my body like he commands everything else. As if his meticulousness wasn’t enough of a clue. Or the cut of his suits.
The luxuriousness of his apartment, of his estate and everything else was already evidence that Noah Quinn was thorough in every aspect of his life.
Including making love.
In the morning, he turns to me as he stares out of the ginormous bedroom after our one night together, and it is all I could do not to grab him right then, not to kiss and press my lips to his and beg him to take me over.
To taste me in the same unspeakable ways that made my tongue twist last night.
My eyes are still half-closed, when awake, my mind re-runs that first night I spent with Noah Quinn. A night I wish I would regret.
Hair tousled, shirt off, abs showing, he’s the picture of messy perfection, a lighthouse in a darkened rainy morning that only gets darker as thunderstorms loom in the distance.
In the sanctity of our post-love making he’s an entirely different animal.
The tailored cotton and silk only shielded the beast that lay beneath, and when he dropped his guard—and clothes—I was able to experience every bit of it.
Everything that made Noah Quinn a different man from every other one…if he was a man at all.
He certainly seemed to belong to a different species.
In the best way ever.
It was the set of his full lips. The cut of his shirt. The smell of his cologne.
They all combined in a heady mix that made my head swirl and skin heat.
Without speaking, Noah shows that some other being existed underneath that Tom Ford tailoring.
Head still swimming, I wrap a sheet around my body, standing. Strolling over—or rather, stalking over—to stand behind him, I defy every damn temptation in my body to press him against the glass.
He lets me wrap my arms around, his powerful presence expressing everything his mouth can’t say.
Until he speaks, his eyes continuing to gaze through the glass in to the distance. His body stills.
“Did you sleep well?”
“I did.” I grin. “Not that you allowed me to do much of that last night.” I groan, pressing my forehead to his back. “I still don’t know how you’re awake.”
“It’s my brother’s wedding day, and my other brother and I are the best men. I think I’m supposed to be.”
“Wouldn’t the best man be better suited well-rested?” I glance at the time. “The wedding’s not until four. Why don’t you go back to bed? And I’ll wander down to get us breakfast.”
I hear Noah laugh. “If I head back to bed, it’ll only be for one reason.” His voice lowers. “And I think you know exactly what that reason is…”
“Not when you’ve already exhausted me and given me the best orgasm of my life.” Noah glances back at me, arching a brow. “Okay…more like the best three orgasms of my life.” I snort. “I told you you couldn’t trust me… I’m barely capable of even counting right now.”
“Would you like me to show you how?”
Noah twists in my arms, his heavy voice ruffling the strands of my hair as I remain wrapped around him, not wanting to let go.
His eyes are stern as he turns in my arms, his brows set in a straight line. His stubbled jaw is steel as he gazes at me, and with one thumb, he runs his skin along my chin, making me shiver.
I turn into liquid desire under his touch as he begins to plant a set of kisses on my lips that set me on fire.
“One,” he counts, starting with the first. “Two.” He pulls back. “Do I need to get to three?”
I get the hint, kissing him back.
There was an artistry in our joining, a melding in our mouths moving against each other, in the slick sweetness of each kiss.
My senses come awake as Noah wraps his arms around me and lifts, and I’m barely on the edge of the bed before his kisses lower, leaving my lips to plant along my neck…with Noah counting out loud all the way.
My body shudders as his mouth moves to my breasts. He kisses each tender one.
“I’m at forty-five at this point.” He murmurs for a second. “Ready to stop me?”
“No, I need more lessons, Mr. Quinn. Thank you.” I smile.
Unwrapping the sheet around me, Noah takes full advantage of my body, exposing my nakedness. Every kiss is a hot caress, every brush of his thumbs heaven.
I’ve lost count of his mind-warping kisses when his mouth sinks lower, flicking my belly button. My eyes close, a hungry moan leaving my mouth, just as Noah’s digit descends, one large finger looping around my soaking slit before slipping inside me.
I cry out immediately, the count in my head completely obliterated. I grab onto the sheets.
“Jesus, Noah…”
“You feel so good, Little Bear. I couldn’t resist.”
His Australian accent is stronger when he’s like this. Full of lust.
His words are thick with desire as he swirls his finger inside of me, pulsing slowly, and I come apart, my backside grinding into the sheets as Noah makes a complete fumbling, bumbling mess out of me, my words as shaky as my limbs.
I call out, squeezing my eyes shut as another of Noah’s fingers joins the fun. Pumping my wet pussy with two now, he curls the ends of each so delicately, so skillfully that it leaves me squirming on the bed, panting with need.
I reach for a pillow, pressing it to my face before Noah grabs onto the edge, ripping it right from my grasp, his navy stare steady on my face.
“Don’t hide your voice from me, Sophia. I want every fucking word. And I want you to give it to me.”
I whimper. “I don’t know if I can speak words right now. Not when you’re—You’re…” He pumps me, and I whine. “Fucking hell, Noah. I can’t…”
“You can, Bear. And you will. I want to hear you…” He adds a third finger, swirling until I hear myself scream. “Come for me, Sophia.”
And I do just that.
I come right onto Noah’s hand. The orgasm floods through my body, ripping my senses apart and through it all, Noah doesn’t stop, triggering another one.
Sparks shooting from every limb, I let the lightning that is Noah Quinn rock me from my core outwards as my body loses control. When the shudders stop, I lie there on the bed, boneless, my sighs finally slowing as Noah nears.
He places a tender kiss on my lips.
“You’re so fucking beautiful, Little Bear. I’d dreamed of doing that to you for too long.”
I let go of a shaky breath. “Noah, that was so much better than any dream.”
He brushes his lips against my forehead, smelling of masculine pine and cedar, coffee and cream, and every fantasy in-between.
“I have to get dressed. I have Best Man duties. But you stay in bed.” He touches the tip of my nose. “I’ll send up breakfast.”
He heads for the bathroom, and I hear the shower shortly. Satiated and with delicious tingles running down my spine, I stay between the sheets, inhaling the scent that is Noah.
The man was a Sinatra song now—under my skin.
The second we slipped into that cab together on that first crazy night, we found something in each other that just…clicked. Something that fit.
In the span of one night, I found myself more uninhibited with this stranger than I had with any other man. And within the span of less than two weeks, I’ve already given vital parts of myself to him fully—and scarily freely.
Laying here in his family estate’s bed, I feel myself starting to believe in fairytales for the first time in a long time, knowing I’ve met my match.
The man whose passion and possession complemented my own.
There was no “faking” the fast and furious several hours that we’d spent in this expansive bed together.
And when he emerges from the bathroom, fully dressed in his usual dark slacks, he cements my new reality with a kiss to my swollen lips. He pulls back, fastening the first button below his collar before heading to the bedroom door.
Leaving the smell of his cologne and his heavy essence in his wake, he closes it behind him with a small smirk, sending my hormones raging again.
Sixty seconds after he’s gone, I head for the shower, the sound of Sinatra in my heart. Humming the tune to “I’ve Got You under My Skin,” I’m almost done soaping my body when I hear the bedroom door slam, catching my attention.
I can’t rinse off fast enough at the thought of Noah returning for round two, and with my hair still soaking wet, dripping over my shoulders, with ears still half-filled with suds, I wrap a nearby towel around breasts heading back to the bedroom.
But the person standing inside threshold isn’t Noah.
Not even close.
A beautiful blonde with a full bob stares at me from behind the collar of a damp trench coat, and I blink back the bubbles falling slowly from my still-wet forehead.
I swipe my hands over my face, clearing them away.
I stare. “Can I help you?”
The blonde gapes blankly, her shiny heels shifting. She drops a tiny bag I hadn’t noticed until now onto the floor.
Crossing her arms in front of her coat, she taps her elbows with a set of manicured hands, her gaze sweeping me from head to toe. She clears her throat.
“I’m sorry. I’m looking for Noah Quinn. I thought this was his room…”
“It is.” I nod, gripping my towel tighter. “But Noah’s not here. May I ask who’s looking for him?”
Her pink lips pull tight. “You can tell him his fiancée’s looking for him.” She cocks a blonde brow, walking forward.
“Nice to meet you.” Extending a hand, the polish of her perfect fingernails gleams under the low light, and suddenly I can’t breathe. I gape at her smooth fingers, and she smiles.
“My name is Ainsley. What’s yours?”
Chapter 23
NOAH
There’s nothing like the smell of a woman on your skin to make the minutes go by slowly.
The taste of Sophia’s kiss is still on my mind and on my tongue. Sitting in the en suite cottage’s grandiose dining hall beside Lachlan and the rest of the groomsmen, I listen intently to the wedding’s officiating reverend, wishing I had stayed in the bedroom with Sophia when I had a chance.
Lachlan in a collared shirt nudges me from his seat at the grand oak table. “I need a drink.”
I can’t lie. The thought of scotch has been in the recesses of my mind, swimming in the back.
But I sip a dark coffee instead, my ears struggling to pick up the soft sayings of the graying man who smells a little like moth balls. The reverend coughs out loud, straightening to his full height.
He folds his wrinkled hands in front of his shirt, his dark eyes deep. “Now, gentlemen, Jase asked that I, as the official wedding officiant and counselor to the lovely couple, come here today to lead the wedding party into this wedding with the best possible Godly energy.”
Lachlan mutters near my ear, his voice a grated whisper. “Godly energy? Hell, I don’t think there’s anything ‘Godly’ abo
ut the energy Jase plans to give to Mindy tonight.”
I mumble. “Give it a rest, Lach. Or the rev might keep us here all day and night.”
Lach bites back. “I don’t think this geezer will live through the rest of today and tonight. He’s got one foot in the grave as we speak. I saw buzzers circling the house earlier and I think they were for him.”
“Be quiet,” I hiss. “Do you want a first class ticket to Hell for talking over a reverend?
“First-class ticket to Hell?” My younger brother leans in. “Noah, I’m experienced enough to be the pilot on a flight to Hell. Might even be able to get a discount, if you’re looking for one…” He smirks.
I glance up at the reverend, who’s just started on a spiel about which Bible verses to include in our groomsmen speeches. I stifle a groan.
“Well, since we’re on our way there anyway.” I glance over my shoulder towards the doorway leading to the bar. “How’s about we get that drink?”
Lach grins. “Thought you’d never ask.”
We excuse ourselves for a little “brother time” from the rest of the groomsmen and the reverend keeps rambling. We head for the door.
Bypassing the expansive eggshell-colored walls of the newly renovated kitchen, we find our footsteps in the dark-bordered wooden walls of Grandfather Quinn’s infamous play room and bar, the air inside chilled.
Grandfather Quinn’s favorite place in the manor was preserved, scarily the same—as if frozen in time. The glass-front cabinets showcase the finest scotch, aged many years. Gray countertops and stone-tiled backsplashes give the space a feel of rustic secrecy and for the first time in years, I take a seat behind the granite tabletops, settling in. Lachlan, on the other hand, ambles behind the bar, his hands opening and closing cabinets with practiced quickness.
He peers over his shoulder at me. “Can I get you anything?”
I raise my coffee and he turns, grabbing a glass and the Macallan Ten liter of dark scotch. Shaking his head, he pours himself a shot, his sandy hair falling over his eyes, and he sighs, his collared shirt slumping over his shoulders.
