“Can’t go to the Room no more,” he told her. “The plod on Synnie’s case found out about it and if the piggies know, the reporters will find out too.”
Jonny told her his friend was worried the reporters would get her name, hound her as they were doing him. The precautions he and Jonny and Jake were taking sounded almost spy-like in the intricacies.
Now, sitting in the same room of the Tucker Inn where they’d gone two nights earlier, a cardboard pizza box lay between them on the bed. The Kiwi had on the same pair of black boxer shorts she’d given him a few days past and she had on the dress he had asked her to wear. She sat with her legs stretched out in front of her. His were tucked under him tailor fashion.
He had hairy legs and big thighs to go along with a very nice ass she ached to sink her teeth into. The wiry swirls of hair on his legs fascinated her. She was staring at his handsome feet when he finally broke the silence between them.
“They gave me back my passport today,” he told her. He licked the side of his hand where a greasy glob of tomato sauce was clinging. “I didn’t know they’d taken it. They said they didn’t trust me not to leave the country,” he said. “Hell, they said I couldn’t even leave the fucking state!”
“So what changed?” she asked, plucking a mushroom from the now-empty pizza box.
“The piggies down home phoned in their report. Olivia did have two girls working out of the guest rooms of the condo. I don’t know why that surprised me. I guess she didn’t think to contact them to get their stories the same as hers.” He shrugged. “Or maybe she was just too pissed off at me to consider it. Either way, the girls said she’d told them often how furious I’d be if I knew what she was doing at the condo, how she was using it. Since there is no evidence against me, the cops here are letting it go, chalking it up to the insanity that is my mother.”
“Did they arrest the girls?”
“Nah. Prostitution isn’t illegal in New Zealand.”
“Huh. So what now?”
“Now she goes back to running a house of prostitution,” he said. “Or…” He took a bite of the pizza slice curled in his hand. “She can stay here and ply her trade. Either way, I’ve washed my hands of her. I told her so this morning. She either gets herself a visa on her own or jacks her ass back to New Zealand.”
She whistled. “How’d she take it?”
“As expected. She threw a wobbly and tried to eviscerate me with her temper but I walked out smiling while she was calling me every filthy name she knew. She’d have my guts for garters if she could get to me.”
“Where is she now?”
“I don’t know and I don’t care. I went by the Hilton and told them I would no longer be responsible for any charges she incurs past tomorrow. Let her fend for herself for a change. She made me do it when I was too young to know how.” He crammed the remaining pizza in his hand into his mouth and leaned back against the headboard.
“She’s still your mom,” she said. “Don’t burn bridges you can’t repair, Kiwi.”
“I’m finished with her, Melina,” he said in a voice that told her he was also finished talking about her. He wiped his mouth on a wad of the rolled-up toilet paper they were using for napkins, took the pizza box, closed the lid then sailed it across the room.
“Honestly, Kiwi,” she said with exasperation. “Couldn’t you just have tossed it on the other bed?”
“More fun watching it fly,” he said with a wink. He rubbed his hands together. “Now, down to business.”
“I hope you brought me a change of clothing,” she said as she watched his gaze dip to her breasts.
“Jeans and a pullover,” he said. “Fetched them from your closet myself.”
“That reminds me. I want the key you are using to let yourself in,” she told him.
“Ain’t giving it to you,” he said. He leaned over to tug the skirt of her dress up her leg. “Let’s see what color knickers you got on tonight.”
“Flesh colored,” she said.
His hand stilled. “As in the color of flesh or as in you aren’t wearing knickers at all?”
“I guess you’ll find out, now, won’t you?” she asked.
He slid the skirt up to her waist then smiled. “Well, well, well,” he said. “Now this is better than red knickers.”
She was bare to him and neatly trimmed. He wanted to bury his nose in the soft rectangle of wiry curls and tongue her clit until she came hard for him. Instead, he just stared at the juncture of her legs.
“Did you use wax?” he asked for he saw no stubble at the crease of her legs. When she didn’t answer, he looked up to see she was blushing.
“Rach did it for me Sunday,” she said. She shifted her eyes from his. “I was too embarrassed to go to a salon and don’t worry. She knows I’m seeing someone but she doesn’t know who or why.”
“You did this for me?”
She nodded.
“You don’t have to, baby,” he said. “I like a woman natural.”
“And hanging out of her bikini bottom?”
He winced. “Ah, no.”
“It wasn’t so bad,” she said and he knew she was lying.
“You don’t need to do it for me,” he repeated. “Do it because you want to. Not because you think I expect it of you. I don’t.”
“Good ‘cause it hurt like hell,” she told him.
“May I?” he asked, extending his hand toward her groin.
She blinked and he could tell his question surprised her. He hadn’t asked her permission the evening before.
“Of course,” she said.
She wanted him to touch her, he thought, and he gently laid his hand over the closely cropped patch. Her hair was so soft beneath his palm. He could not resist rubbing it.
“Are you wearing a bra?” he asked without looking up at her. His full attention was on her mons.
“No.”
He moved down in the bed—sliding his hand along her thigh, down her calf. Gently, he gripped her ankles with both hands and spread her legs apart. He glanced up to see her bottom lip tucked between her teeth but she was watching him, not looking away.
Positioning himself between her legs, he put his hands to either side of her upper arms and dropped his body to hers—supporting his weight on his hands to keep from crushing her. He stared down into her face.
“Touch me,” he said.
She didn’t hesitate. She was eager to put her hand on him and when she did, he sucked in a slow, calming breath.
“Rub him.” He could feel the instant thickening of his shaft as her hand pressed against him. “Hard,” he amended. “Rub him hard.”
She obliged his request. Her eyes were darkening as she worked the bulge in his shorts. Her tongue flicked along her upper lip and he dug his fingernails into the bedspread.
So rough and hoarse was it, he barely recognized his own voice as he ordered her to slide her hand inside the opening of the shorts.
“Wrap your fingers around him.”
Braced on his hands and knees, paused above her like a shadow, he watched her face intently as she slipped her hand into his shorts and circled him in her fist.
“Oh, baby,” he groaned.
Her hand was so warm. So soft but surprisingly strong as she began a slow glide from the base of him to the tip. He shivered.
“Where the hell did you learn that?” he asked, then violently shook his head. “Never mind. Rachel.”
“She had me practice on a cucumber.” She licked her lip again, her eyes mischievous. “You’ll especially like what she taught me to do with a banana.”
He groaned again and felt pure lust shift through him like a moray eel in silt.
Her hand circled over the tip of his cock and he could stand no more. He’d only wanted to feel her touch surrounding him, not come in her hand.
“Baby, stop,” he said. When she didn’t, he pushed away from her. “Melina, stop. Take you hand out of there.”
Her lush lips formed a prov
ocative pout but she did as he commanded. She ran her hands behind him to cup his ass. “I like your ass,” she said. “It’s big and mounded just right.” She squeezed him.
“Woman, you…” He shoved himself up, grabbed the front of her dress and ripped it from neckline to hem, laying her completely bare. He watched her eyes flare for he knew the look on his face had to be demonic.
Her hands had dropped away from him when he pushed to his knees. They were now lying on his thighs, her fingers curled over the sides.
“Be gentle, Kiwi,” she asked quietly.
He knew she thought he was about to end her girlhood but that wasn’t on his timetable yet. There were ten more days to go. There were things she needed to learn before he took that precious maidenhead from her.
“I want you to bend your legs for me,” he instructed.
She took a hitching breath and crooked her knees.
“Now spread your legs as wide as you comfortably can.”
His gaze lowered from her beautiful face to the soft petals of her vagina as she let her thighs shift apart.
“Do you trust me?” he asked.
“Yes, Kiwi.”
He leaned back on his haunches then thrust his hands slowly beneath her rump. He lifted her ass from the bed.
“Kiwi?” she questioned, her brow furrowed.
“Trust me,” he said.
Her body went rigid of its own accord as he bent forward. The stubble on his cheeks grazed her inner thighs as he lowered his mouth to her crotch. She could feel the heat of his breath on her most intimate part a second before the long, infinitely slow lick swept up to her clit. He stabbed at her clit with his tongue.
“Kiwi!” she yelped.
She lifted her head to stare down at him with shock. He was looking at her over the line of her nether hair and that look was hotter than the fires of hell.
And just as consuming.
For someone who had never done this with a woman before, he was damn good at it!
He was slowly, lingeringly flicking his tongue along her cleft, up and down the creases of her thigh, swirling it around her clit. His fingers were holding her ass firmly and she was writhing beneath him, unable—and more than unwilling—to allow his erotic feasting to end. She wanted to clamp her thighs to his head but his broad shoulders were effectively holding her legs apart. He shifted so her legs were pushed upward and instinct made her drape them over his shoulders.
“Yeah,” he whispered against her.
She dug her heels into his back and arched her hips up in offering to the sweet pleasure of his expert mouth. The flicks of his tongue were driving her mad and she wanted him to thrust it into her.
He took his hands from her ass, shot his legs out behind him until he was lying on his stomach between her legs. He put his fingers on the outer lips of her cunt and spread them, dragging the flat of his tongue along her folds as though she were an ice cream cone.
“You taste so good,” he told her.
Then he did something that threw her into a maelstrom of aching, throbbing need. He pulled back her clitoral hood lightly then caught her clit between his teeth.
“Oh my God!” she cried out and slapped her hands to his head.
He made that humming noise against her and she bucked. Had he not released her quickly, she might well have done some damage to herself or knocked out his front teeth.
“Lie still!” he ordered, his voice tight and commanding. He jerked his head from her hands, would not allow her to grab it again. “I said lie still!”
She stopped moving instantly, put her hands down. The tone of voice he’d used had gotten her full notice.
“Relax your thighs, woman,” he ordered. “Now!”
It took some doing but she let her body loosen up. She kept watching him until she saw the disciplinary scowl leave his handsome face. Dipping his head, he gave her one last warning look through his lashes then lowered his mouth to her body once again.
This time he wasted no time. His licks were no longer slow. They were stabbing, fluttering, long sweeps punctuated with a strong suction of his lips to her clit. He lapped at her. He swirled his tongue along her inner folds. He thrust his tongue against her opening—delved inside once or twice—then brushed it lightly across her anal opening.
And the upshot of that particular wicked scenario was an orgasm that shot over her so suddenly, so fiercely she opened her mouth to scream but no sound emerged. The pleasure seemed to go on forever and when it stopped, she was gasping for breath, whimpering.
He leaned over her—put his forehead to hers—and with that demonic grin in place once more said, “Tomorrow night, you can return the favor.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Night Twenty
She’d come home from work to find a plastic bag hanging from her door handle. Seeing what was inside made her throw her head back and laugh. There was a card paper clipped to the front of the bag. She took it off, unfolded it and smiled.
“For practice,” it read.
She fished inside the bag and drew out the bunch of bananas wrapped with a red ribbon.
* * * * *
“Did you enjoy the bananas?” he asked.
He was sitting on the bed with his legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles, his feet bare. The room was a bit chilly, which told her he hadn’t gotten there much earlier than she. He was wearing an unbuttoned white shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows and the same black boxers from the night before. He had his hands behind his head as he leaned against the back of the bed.
“They were very firm and slick and very tasty,” she said. “I stripped them slowly then gobbled them right down to the little nubbin.” She batted her eyelashes at him.
He grunted, his smile purely devilish.
“The vultures have discovered who I am,” she told him and watched the smile slowly leave his face.
“How do you know?” he asked, lowering his hands.
“There were two news vans coming up the street when Jonny and I were leaving the subdivision. I slunk down out of sight and he turned his head away so they wouldn’t recognize him. We were very careful that we weren’t followed.”
“Then you’ll stay here tonight,” he said. “Hand me my mobile.”
She plucked his cell phone from the pocket of his jacket and brought it over to him. “Are you calling Jonny?”
“Spike,” he said, thumbing in his assistant’s number. He put the phone to his ear, his face a mask of anger.
“Don’t bark at her,” she told him.
“What are you doing?” he asked. He listened for a moment, rolled his eyes, and then told the woman on the other end of the phone he had something for her to do.
She sat down on the foot of the bed and watched myriad emotions flit across his gorgeous face. His left eyebrow crooked up a second before his lips thinned.
“I don’t care about that. I need you to go to Maulden’s and pick up an outfit for her. The paparazzi have found out who she is and they’re camping out on her front lawn.” He listened then actually hissed.
She reached out to put her hand on his bare foot. “Be nice, Kiwi,” she said softly. “She’s not a slave. She’s a valued friend.”
“Yes, she is with me,” he said, ignoring her. “Where the fuck did you think she was, Brisbane?”
Again he listened then obviously interrupted the speaker. “You are not listening to me, Spike! Get your lazy ass over to Maulden’s and pick up something nice for her to wear to work tomor—” His eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”
He glanced at her and she watched his face bleach of color then turn dark with anger. “Fuck yes, I do!” he shouted. He listened and as she gently caressed his foot, he locked eyes with her. “Then what the hell do you suggest we do, Christine?”
She sighed. He was getting angrier if the glint in his eyes was any indication. She was expecting him to explode any moment.
“I own the fucking company, Spike!”
&nbs
p; “Kiwi?” she asked.
“No, I can—”
“Kiwi!” she said loud enough to grab his immediate attention.
“What?” he snarled, spearing her with that evil look that most likely quelled any opponent who dared go up against him.
“I have sick days coming. I’ll just take them,” she said. “If Christine can bring me some clothes—tomorrow—I will stay here until we can think of something else to do.”
He stared at her then sighed. “Did you get that, Spike?” He rolled his eyes again. “No, I don’t think you’re deaf but…” He flung out a hand. “I don’t know what sizes she wears! I’m not her fucking dressmaker!”
“Size 5 jeans,” she said. “Medium pullover. Some underwear would be nice. Also size 5. Bra is 36-C. Maybe a few T-shirts and a pair of jammies?”
“Ask her what?” he said then growled. She watched him clenching his jaw. He looked at her. “You want her to get you something to read? Magazines? Books? The back of a cereal box?”
She laughed at his annoyed expression. “The latest Sandford novel would be nice. Maybe People and Entertainment Weekly?”
“Did you get that?” he grumbled into the phone. He listened again then his shoulders slumped and he actually moaned. “Why don’t I just let you fucking talk to her?”
He literally threw the phone at her, crossed his arms over his chest and growled again.
“Christine?” she said. “Hi, this is Lina.” She glanced at him. “Yes, he can be challenging at times.”
“I am a perfectly reasonable man being driven insane by two controlling, conniving women,” he muttered, flexing one bare foot, curling his toes.
“A bag of salt-and-vinegar chips and one of corn chips. Some medium salsa, a jar of sweet mixed pickles, a box of…”
As she gave her grocery list of snacks to Spike she watched him shaking his head in incredulity.
“Jesus Fucking Christ! You’re going to weigh a ton by the end of the month, woman,” he protested.
“And if you could bring along a laptop, I would really appreciate it. I need to feed my babies on Zoo World.”
30DaystoSyn Page 23
