No Contest

by Harper St. George

  She took a deep breath, her heart threatening to pound out of her chest. With slow, deliberate movements, she leaned back and pulled her dress up. His gaze followed, his breath harsh and unsteady. Grabbing both sides of her thong, she pulled it down, giving him a glimpse of her pussy as she tossed it away with her foot.

  He groaned and whispered, “Meu Deus,” before dropping to his knees in front of the bed. “I need to taste you.”

  Her stomach lurched in anticipation as he grabbed her ankles, pulling her legs apart. She rose up on her elbows to watch him, and it might as well have been one of the many dreams she’d had about him. She floated in some alternate reality where all that existed was sensation and pleasure. He hooked one leg over his shoulder and leaned in, breathing in her scent.

  “Oh,” she gasped.

  He grinned up at her. “You smell good.” Looking down again, he traced the tip of his finger along her slit. She arched toward his touch and he leaned down, licking from her opening to her clit. She whimpered and he circled the swollen bud before pressing against it with the flat of his tongue. He repeated the movement several times until she cried out, “Leandro! Jesus.”

  She buried her fingers in his hair and tugged, but he only shook his head indicating he wasn’t done yet. He attacked her clit again, circling it with his tongue as he pressed a finger inside her. It slid in smoothly, and then another joined it. He thrust them in and out in a steady rhythm that caused her to move her hips with him. She closed her eyes and felt herself rising, and her thighs trembled as he pushed her toward orgasm, but just when the pleasure started to come together into something almost tangible, he let her go.

  An unsatisfied whimper escaped her, and she opened her eyes to see him toeing off his shoes and socks. He then walked to the closet and rifled in his suitcase for a second. He came back with a couple of condoms in foil wrappers. Tossing one on the nightstand—her stomach tumbled at the possibility of a round two—he tore the other one open. Torn between wanting to be naked and being afraid of missing anything, she hurried out of her dress, pulling it over her head and tossing it across the room. He paused and his eyes widened in appreciation as he stared at her.

  “Hurry up,” she urged.

  He grinned and pushed his pants past his hips. His cock sprang free, rising up to his navel. She stared in awe. Seeing it on the grainy video was one thing; seeing it in person was entirely different. He was longer than any man she’d ever seen and definitely thicker. Wanting to explore, she sat up and he stepped out of his pants as he waited for her. Her palms moved up his solid thighs, which were covered in a thin dusting of hair. As she stared at his impressive cock, he fisted it, drawing the foreskin back to reveal a fat, glistening head. A drop of liquid gathered at the tip and her tongue darted out, licking it away. The salty taste of him made her want more, and she leaned forward, taking the very tip of him into her mouth.

  He groaned, tightening his hand in her hair and gently pushing her back. “Later, minha linda. I want you too badly to wait.”

  She smiled at him and moved back to her original position on the bed. As much as she wanted him in her mouth, she wanted him inside her even more. Leaning back on her elbows, she let her knees fall open. “Then take me.”

  He mumbled something under his breath and pulled the condom out of the foil. She could’ve sworn his fingers trembled as he rolled it down over his length. He was so large that it took him a minute to do it.

  “That looks tight,” she said.

  “Not as tight as you’re going to be.” His voice was hoarse as he climbed over her, his muscular thighs pushing hers farther apart. Her eyes widened, but she couldn’t think as his mouth closed over her nipple, drawing it deep into his mouth and sending a wave of need straight to her core.

  She ached for him to fill her, her body clenching for something and coming up empty. Wrapping her legs around his hips, she arched toward him and rubbed herself against his cock. “Please, Leandro. Don’t make me wait anymore. Give us what we both want.”

  He immediately let her go and got to his knees. With one hand on her hip, he guided himself to her opening. “Jesus, you’re so wet,” he said, stroking his tip over her slit. Slowly and with a gentleness she hadn’t been sure he was capable of, he pushed the head inside her.

  She sucked in a breath and held it as her body stretched to accommodate him. He slowly pulled back and then pressed in again, going a tiny bit deeper. It hurt a little, but the pain somehow only brought into focus how much she ached deep inside for him. She craved the pain because she knew it would only bring her pleasure.

  “Breathe, minha linda.” His eyes held hers in the semidarkness, and she released the breath she’d been holding. He pulled back again and pressed farther, this time going deep, not all the way in but far enough to stroke the ache in her. She cried out and he fell over her, holding himself above her with one arm. His eyes were closed, and he twisted his head to the side, a grimace on his face as if he was trying to hold back but it was costing him dearly. “Can you take more?” he whispered. His hips worked in an echo of a thrust as he tried to hold himself still.

  “Yes . . . a little.” She’d never felt so full, but she knew she wanted, needed, more of him.

  “Good girl,” he said and pulled almost all the way out.

  She held on to his hips and he slid back in, and she sighed in relief as he finally sank deep, filling her up and easing the ache a little. She pressed her feet flat against the bed and pushed against him, hoping to establish a rhythm. She knew she’d come soon given the right amount of friction.

  “That’s not all,” he said, opening his eyes to stare down at her.

  “What do you mean? There’s more?”

  He grinned and nodded. Then he flexed his hips and she groaned as she felt him slide deeper, only to retreat again. When he slid in again, she knew by the way he shuddered and tightened his grip in her hair that he was in all the way. “Fuck. I knew you could take me,” he whispered and moved a hand to squeeze her hip. His lips brushed across her brow.

  She felt absurdly pleased by the crude compliment. The stretching pain subsided as her body adjusted to him and she shifted restlessly under him, unable to do much more than take what he gave her with his weight pinning her down. “Fuck me, Leandro,” she pleaded.

  He obeyed and withdrew only to push back in, sending bright light pulsing through her body. Her hands clenched at his hips and he repeated the movement, building up a steady rhythm that had her craving more of him. He whispered words in Portuguese into her hair, making her crazier for him. She arched beneath him, reaching but unable to get what she needed.

  Finally, he rose to his knees and held her hips. She took over the rhythm, riding him without an ounce of self-consciousness as he watched her. His gaze moved from where they were joined to her face. His finger trailed reverently over her clit. “You’re so goddamn beautiful like this, minha linda. The most beautiful sight I’ve ever seen. So pretty all swollen and stretched around me.” She bucked, wild for him. She felt like the most beautiful woman in the world. Like they both existed solely for the other’s pleasure.

  He let her go to move his palms up her hips to her breasts. His thumbs circled her nipples before flicking over them. Then he pinched and tugged in a rhythm that matched his hips. She cried out as darts of pleasure shot straight down through her belly. Leaving one hand on her breast, he slid his other down her body, his fingers rasping over her heated skin, until he circled them around her clit, sending her crashing over the edge, and she finally—finally!—contracted around his cock. Waves of pleasure crashed through her, splintering her into tiny shards of need and want. She pulled him deeper into her body, feeling as though maybe she were pulling a piece of him deep inside her. The air around her seemed to shimmer as the most intense orgasm of her life ripped through her, stealing her air, her ability to think, her ability to want anything besides Leandro’s body inside hers. He growled and fell over her, his hips rocking into hers as he too
k her so hard she was sure she’d feel it tomorrow, stoking the flames of her orgasm, pushing her higher and higher until she was nearly senseless, his name falling from her lips over and over again.

  He cried out, his hips surging against her in two brutal thrusts that shook her whole body. He stiffened then trembled against her, his cock pulsing inside her. His weight crushed her into the mattress, but the solid strength of his body above hers felt so good that she didn’t mind. After a minute, when their heartbeats had begun to calm down, he shifted a little bit to the side and buried his face in her neck, their bodies still joined. It seemed like he was as reluctant to let go of her as she was of him, because he held her close. “Meu Deus,” he whispered.

  “Oh my God,” she echoed his words into his dampened hair. She was too shaken, floating in the aftershocks of pleasure, to come up with anything better.

  12

  LEANDRO ROLLED TO his side, his eyes still closed as he luxuriated in the satisfaction that came from a night of hot sex followed by a deep, dreamless sleep. The memories of the night before replayed as he dozed, too tired and sated to do anything but relive the sexiest night of his life. And it hadn’t been hot and sexy because they’d done anything kinky or edgy, but because of how damn much Ashlynn had wanted him, of how crazy she’d driven him with her taste, her scent, the sounds she’d made for him. He’d been chasing her for weeks, and finally getting her in his bed and underneath him had made him feel like a goddamn king. Satisfaction wasn’t a big enough word to describe the sheer relief he’d felt when he’d finally sunk into her.

  It had been . . . Fuck, it had been special. Intimate. He hadn’t expected to feel so . . . connected to her. As though she was really seeing him, and not some version of him that she wanted for her own selfish reasons. He didn’t even fully understand why it had felt different; he just knew that it had. Both the first time, when she’d been so unbelievably hot and wet around him, saying his name over and over again like some kind of sex-crazed prayer as she’d come, her creamy skin flushing the most gorgeous shade of pink. And then there was the second time. Eyes still closed, he smiled as he remembered the way she’d woken him up after they’d fallen asleep, her fingers curled around his cock, stroking it languidly until she couldn’t close her hand around it anymore.

  He’d pulled her in for a deep kiss, pushing her hair away from her face. “Again?” he’d asked, hoping she’d want more but not wanting to hurt her.

  She’d nodded, her bottom lip caught between her teeth. “I need you.” Three tiny words that had settled deep in his chest, sprouting roots somewhere near his heart. They were simple and honest, no games. Raw and real in a way that had both caught him off guard and had him craving more. She’d rolled the condom on and ridden him, taking him slow and deep until they’d both cried out, sweaty and panting.

  He’d never forget the sight of her above him, illuminated by the moon, her blond hair tangled around her face like a halo, her makeup smudged, her lips swollen. A debauched angel.

  His debauched angel.

  His already hard cock twitched against the sheet, and he slowly opened his eyes, reaching for her. But his hand found only empty air, and his eyes quickly opened the rest of the way. Sunlight streamed in through the windows, the curtains fluttering in the morning breeze.

  She was gone. Her side of the bed was empty, the sheets rumpled but cool. The two empty condom wrappers still sat on the bedside table.

  Leandro was completely unprepared for the disappointment that slammed into him. He sat up, listening for sounds elsewhere in the penthouse suite, but all he could hear was the crashing waves on the beach below and his own breathing.

  He was completely alone. The disappointment radiated through him like an ache. Sitting up, he pulled his knees to his chest and rested his forearms on them, shaking his head and laughing at himself. He was disappointed because he wanted her again. There wasn’t anything more to it than that. He pushed a hand through his hair, trying to breathe around the sudden tightness in his lungs, which felt a hell of a lot like panic.

  “Não seja estúpido,” he muttered, throwing the sheets back and getting out of bed. He started for the bathroom, but stopped in his tracks when he saw Ashlynn’s little black thong still lying in the middle of the floor, where she’d tossed it last night. With slow, almost apprehensive steps, he moved toward it, then bent and picked it up, the fabric silky and cool against his fingers.

  Wrapping the scrap of fabric around his fingers, he sank down onto the edge of the bed, trying to figure out what the hell he was feeling. Shit, trying to figure out why he was feeling so . . . fucked up. In the past, it had never bothered him when a woman had bailed. In fact, he’d often preferred it. A night of sex without any of the awkwardness of the following morning, when really all he wanted was to drink his coffee in peace and get a workout in.

  He blew out a long breath as the truth hit him even harder than the disappointment. He’d wanted the morning after with Ashlynn. He’d wanted to see her all sleep-rumpled and sweet, wanted to feed her strawberries in bed and then make love to her again, hot and slow, savoring it all. Wanted to shower with her and relearn all her curves with soapy hands. Wanted to drink mimosas on the terrace and ask her about her life.

  It suddenly struck him that he didn’t know much at all about her life. What was her family like? Where had she grown up? He’d been inside her, but he didn’t even know what her favorite kind of music was, or who her friends were, or what she did for fun in her free time. They were trivial details, and yet . . . they didn’t feel trivial with her. He wanted more of her, more than just her body, and that craving, not for sex but for knowledge and connection, left him feeling unsettled.

  He closed his eyes and rubbed a hand over his face as he tried to digest the fact that what was supposed to have been a night of hot, fun sex—a long-overdue scratch for the itch between them—had maybe been something more.

  But if it was more, why had she left? And why the hell did it bother him so much?

  He let out a little laugh and rubbed his hand across the back of his neck, and then tossed the thong onto the bed, the black stark against the white of the duvet.

  The emotions slamming into him felt like hitting a brick wall, over and over again, and he didn’t like it. Worse, he didn’t know what to do about it. It’s not as though he was looking for a relationship—his parents and their train wreck of a marriage had done a fantastic job of putting a lifelong fear of commitment into him—and clearly he wasn’t boyfriend material as far as Ashlynn was concerned.

  Shit. There was another item to add to the list of things bothering him—things that he normally wouldn’t have given a damn about—on what should’ve been a very good morning.

  He felt jumbled and twisted up, as though his insides were all tangled. His heart in his stomach, his lungs in his throat.

  He had no idea what was going on with him, but he didn’t like it. With an exhale that sounded almost like a growl, he pushed up off the bed and opened his suitcase, pulling on the first gym clothes he found.

  Nothing a couple of hours of punching things couldn’t fix.

  He hoped.

  WHAT THE HELL had she done?

  Ashlynn had been staring at the ceiling of her hotel room and asking herself that question for the past ten minutes. She still hadn’t come up with an answer she could wrap her mind around. The obvious answer was that she’d slept with Leandro because the sexual tension had been building since they’d met. The chemistry between them was so freaking hot that it had been inevitable. Or at least that’s what she’d told herself as she’d crept from his penthouse suite in the early hours of the morning. It had been sex—hot, mind-blowing sex—but that’s all. It wasn’t anything more than that. It couldn’t be anything more than that.

  But that rationalization didn’t explain why it had been so hard to leave him as he’d slept, or why she felt so empty this morning. She felt off, as if the universe had shifted slightly while she slept and
now things were a little bit left of center. As she lay there, trying to come to terms with the aftermath of her decision, she had to admit that she felt so disoriented because she missed him. How it was possible to miss someone who wasn’t hers in the first place, she had no idea. But she missed him.

  It felt wrong that she’d left without a word. But she’d assumed he wouldn’t want her around in the morning, and she wouldn’t let herself get even more attached to him by waking up beside him. It felt wrong that she hadn’t woken up with his arms around her, wrong that he wasn’t here to kiss her neck and tell her how beautiful she was. They’d never spent the morning together sipping coffee and talking about mundane things, but Ashlynn had very much wanted that. She wanted the Leandro who wasn’t polished and put together. She wanted the man who snored softly in his sleep.

  There were two problems with wanting him that way. The first was that he was Leandro. He could have his pick of women. For the time being, that was her, but she knew part of that was the thrill of the chase. He’d probably woken up this morning completely over her. The second problem was that she was 99 percent sure he didn’t want a girlfriend. In her research for the Cosmo article, she’d noticed that he’d never been photographed with the same woman twice. That meant he’d either never had a serious relationship, or he’d managed to hide it very well. Given everything she knew about him, she was betting on the former.

  Nope, there was no use hoping she’d be the exception to the rule. No matter how long she spent fantasizing about being the woman who brought him to his knees, it wasn’t going to happen. Leandro was a player, and she had to make sure she didn’t get caught up in his game, because she wouldn’t win. She’d get hurt. Even now her heart twisted when she thought of a future without seeing him smile at her, or the way his eyes deepened when he looked at her. She was already falling for him.