by Tara Wyatt
He leaned in closer, his face only inches from hers. “Only because you won’t let yourself. Why?”
“Because it’s a fairy tale. Because everyone leaves or cheats or lies or lets you down in some way. I’m not strong enough for any of that.”
“That’s bullshit. Not everyone is an asshole, for starters, and you’re stronger than you think. And you won’t know until you let yourself take a chance on someone.”
“I can’t.” She bit her lip, her eyes dark and luminous, imploring him to believe her.
“What if I promised you, right here, right now, that I’ll never leave? I’ll never cheat. I’ll never lie. I’d never hurt you, Marlowe.”
She pulled away, shaking her head. “That’s a very nice sentiment, Rick Astley, but you can’t promise that. No one can. I’ve seen it firsthand.”
She returned her attention to her food, but Hunter couldn’t take his eyes off of her. What if he could prove to her that she was wrong about love? That she was wrong about him, about them, about everything?
He took a sip of his drink and grinned. He’d just found his pinch hitter.
Four
Marlowe charged their dinner to her room and then led Hunter back toward the bank of elevators in the lobby, not saying a word, and loving that she didn’t need to. He made not talking and just being so easy. So simple. Like breathing.
They waited in silence and then stepped inside the elevator in unison when the doors opened. With an almost agonizing slowness, they slid closed, sealing them alone together with a soft, muffled thunk.
He made a low growling sound and pulled her against him, her breath catching in her throat at the feeling of all that hard, athletically-honed muscle pressed against her. He backed her against the wall and then his mouth was on hers. There was nothing gentle in his kiss, nothing exploratory. They were far past sweet, tentative kisses. They were well versed in the hunger, the need that always radiated between them, and they both gave into it immediately. Feeding the flames spreading between them. His tongue slid against hers, the softness of his lips startling against the bristling stubble of his beard. She wanted him to rub her skin raw with that mouth, to taste her everywhere until she couldn’t feel anything but him. Until everything else—the past, the present, the gnawing anxiety in the pit of her stomach—faded into darkness. Until he brought her to the kind of blissful oblivion only he was capable of.
“God, I missed you,” she panted out as he cupped her ass and lifted her, his faced buried in her neck. Her legs wound around his waist and she ground herself against the mouthwatering bulge in his jeans.
“I’m here now, sweetheart,” he mumbled, nipping at the juncture where neck and shoulder met, sending heat swirling over her skin. “Fuck, I missed you too.” His mouth crashed back into hers, and she could taste his hunger, his need in the urgency of his kiss, the slide of his tongue against hers, teasing her into a frenzy. It was always like this between them, like a match to kerosene. A simple touch and she was melting for him, softening, her body straining for what it knew was coming.
The elevator doors opened with a soft chime and they reluctantly broke apart, their fingers entwined as they headed down the hallway to her suite, which suddenly felt way too far. Her panties slipped against her as she walked, slick with arousal. She stared at Hunter as he moved and it felt as though her entire body were lurching forward. As though she hadn’t eaten in days and he was a banquet just for her. He had this way of unleashing a raw sexuality in her that she hadn’t even known she possessed, but it felt so good. So natural and life-affirming that she just wanted to bask in it, like a lizard in the sun.
Somehow, she managed to unlock the door and it closed behind them with a quiet snick. Still standing in the entryway, she teased her fingers along the hem of his T-shirt, slowly working it up and revealing inch after inch of gorgeous muscle and tanned, inked skin. Taking a breath, as though she could inhale this moment, she slowly pulled his T-shirt up over his head, letting it fall to the floor, the tips of her fingers tingling with the need to touch him. She traced the swirling waves on his arm, the corner of her mouth pulling up as she saw goosebumps rising up on his skin in the wake of her touch. She stepped closer and kissed a path over his collarbone as she followed the black lines of the thorny rosebush crawling up his ribs with her hand. She wanted to know what they meant, why he’d chosen them, but she always stopped herself from asking anything too personal, terrified to cross that line with him. Terrified that if she did, she’d have to let him in in return.
He let out a gruff moan and backed her against the door, the lock rattling slightly as the weight of her body bumped against it. Holding her eyes, he sunk to his knees in front of her, pushing her skirt up as he did. She gathered the fabric in her hands, squeezing tightly, trying to anchor herself somehow. Already, she was achy for him, her clit throbbing, her muscles clenching at the empty space she needed him to fill up.
He leaned forward and nuzzled his nose against her pussy, breathing her in through the fabric of her panties. He let out a low growl of approval. “So fucking sweet,” he said, licking her through the fabric, making it even wetter. She whimpered, her hips moving, swiveling with need. He grazed his teeth over her heated flesh, teasing her. “Sweetest goddamn pussy.” With a groan, he hooked his fingers into her panties and slid them down her legs and then teased her lips apart with his thick fingers. “So pretty and swollen for me.” He slid a finger into her, working it in and out with ease, and then added a second. She moaned, her body pulling at him. Hungry for him. Starving.
He blew a stream of air over her pulsing clit as he fucked her with his fingers, and she clamped down on him. “Hunter, please.” Her skirt was balled in her trembling hands, her pulse throbbing through her body as she watched him. He quirked one eyebrow up.
“Please what?”
They’d done this so many times that she knew exactly what he wanted to hear. She didn’t hesitate to give him what he wanted. “Please eat my pussy and make me come. Please. Please.” She couldn’t stop saying it, moving her hips against his hand in time with her begging. He smiled, the wickedly sexy smile that promised so much pleasure.
“Since you asked so nicely.” And then he slipped his fingers free and licked her, a long, slow sweep of his talented tongue.
“Yes.” The word hissed free of her, the breath she’d been holding finally escaping. He circled his tongue over her clit and then closed his mouth over her, kissing her deeply and thoroughly, sweeping through her folds until the only thing in the entire world that mattered was his mouth.
As he worked her, his lips and tongue sliding over her swollen, sensitive, needy flesh, he unzipped his jeans and pulled his gorgeously thick, hard cock free, stroking himself lazily with one hand. She moaned, the sight of his hand wrapped around himself ramping up her arousal even more.
She loved watching him touch himself. It was so erotic she could barely handle it. Once, he’d let her watch him in the shower as he stroked himself, getting himself off in front of her. When she needed to get herself off, that was almost always the memory she went to. All she had to do was close her eyes and conjure up the image of Hunter, naked and with water streaming down his muscled torso, his big hand wrapped around his thick cock, stroking himself roughly, his eyes on her as he did. His muscles had tightened everywhere—his face, his arm, his chest, his back, his legs—and he’d picked up his pace. She’d been riveted, her own hand between her legs, furiously circling her clit. He’d let out a long, deep groan and his cock had pulsed in his hand, come spurting out and dripping down onto the tiled shower floor.
So. Freaking. Hot.
“So perfect,” he murmured against her clit, his hand stroking himself bit faster as he brought her back to the present. “Tastes like heaven.”
Everything inside her tightened to the point of aching, coiled tight and ready to burst. She saw a drop of precum bead on the head of his cock, disappearing as his thumb slicked over it.
“So hot
when you touch yourself,” she panted out, her hips working her pussy against his mouth. “Oh, God, Hunter.” He swirled his tongue over and around her clit, again and again, and a spark deep inside her ignited the fuse of her orgasm. She practically screamed his name as hot, pulsing throbs burst through her, centered on where his lips were wrapped around her swollen clit.
“Yes! Yes! Yes!” she moaned, her head thrashing back and forth, the pleasure searing through her fierce and relentless. Hunter pulled away and she started to slide down the door, boneless from her intense orgasm, but he caught her and spun her to face the mirror in the entryway. He wrapped his arms around her and she tipped her head back onto his shoulder. Her cheeks were pink, her lips slightly parted. She still held her skirt bunched in one hand, her panties around her ankles. So perfectly debauched.
“Look how fucking beautiful you are,” he whispered hoarsely. “I can hardly breathe looking at you.”
Her heart beat wildly in her chest, her throat tightening with emotion. There was a tiny part of her that hated how good it was with him because he made it that much harder to keep her walls up, and yet she couldn’t stay away from him.
The way he was looking at her, holding her so tightly against him after he’d just made her come, made her feel safe. Cherished and adored and protected. And yet she knew she couldn’t put any stock in it because it was nothing but a hormone-fueled illusion. At least, that’s what she told herself as she spun in his arms and kissed him. She tasted herself on his lips and fresh arousal pinged through her, pushing away the wispy clouds of emotion from a moment ago. She skated her hands down his back as they kissed, then around his waist and finally to his cock, circling her fingers around him and stroking. The kiss grew in intensity, his mouth becoming more demanding on hers as she touched him.
He broke the kiss only long enough to pull her dress up over her head, his fingers making quick work of her bra and proceeding to torment her nipples with the twisting pinches he knew drove her wild. She shoved at his jeans and boxers, pushing them impatiently down his legs. He kicked free of his pants and shoes and then picked her up, moving them to the bed. Her back hit the mattress and he came down on top of her, the muscled weight of him delicious and soothing at the same time.
“I need to be inside you, babe,” he said, his voice hoarse as he trailed kisses down her throat and across the tops of her breasts, his beard teasing her nipples into hardened, needy peaks.
She nodded unevenly, wrapping her arms around him and threading her fingers into his hair. “I need it too. Hunter, I need you.”
He kissed her, hard and deep, and then pushed off of her, retreating just long enough to grab a condom from the pocket of his discarded jeans. He sheathed himself as he walked back to the bed, coming back down on top of her. He held her eyes as he pushed into her with one sure thrust, and she moaned at the gorgeous stretching sensation as her body pulled him inside. He was long and thick and always made her feel so perfectly full. Like with his cock inside her, she’d never need anything else, ever. Just this, with him.
“God, Marlowe,” he breathed, kissing her and flexing his hips in a slow thrust, working himself in even deeper. She wrapped her legs around his hips, urging him to give her more. To give her everything. He established a slow, deep rhythm and with each thrust of his body into hers, she tried to pull him closer, deeper, a primal need to disappear into him making her ache and want. He filled her over and over again, and she moaned his name, raking her nails down his back, clutching at him with every part of herself, losing herself to him, to how amazing he felt. When he was inside her, nothing else mattered, and it was glorious.
He slipped a hand between them and with gentle pressure, tilted her hips up, causing her clit to rub against his cock with every thrust. She was already sensitive from her earlier orgasm and it didn’t take much before she felt that warm, pulsing swelling deep in her belly. The friction was intense and she cried out, not even sure what she was saying as another orgasm rocked through her. She was soaring, floating, falling, all at once. Glowing from the inside out with the hot pleasure pulsing through her.
“So fucking hot when you come,” he said roughly, picking up the speed of his thrusts. “Fuck, I’m gonna come too.” He slammed into her, so hard, so deep, that she knew she’d be feeling him for hours and a thrill charged through her. She loved him like this, wild and taking what he wanted from her body.
You just love him, period whispered a tiny voice from somewhere in the depths of her orgasm-addled brain, but she pushed it away.
Hunter thrust into her once more and then pulled out, snapping the condom off and coming on her stomach, streaking her skin with creamy ropes. He eased back, kneeling in front of her, his chest heaving, rivulets of sweat running down his temples. She still throbbed for him. Because of him, and without thinking, she reached down and swiped her finger through the come on her stomach, then brought it to her lips, the need to taste him, to take a part of him back inside herself nearly overwhelming. He was salty and a little bitter on her tongue as she swallowed.
“Holy fuck,” he whispered. He bent forward and claimed her mouth, kissing her slow and deep. “I should marry you just for that.”
Something inside her froze up, and she broke the kiss. “I should go grab a towel.”
If he noticed her reaction to what he’d said, he didn’t show it. “I’ll get it.” He kissed her once more and then practically bounded off of the bed. He came back a moment later with a towel in one hand and a bottle of champagne in the other.
“Where did you find that?” she asked, accepting the towel from him and cleaning herself up.
“The mini-bar.”
“So it’s probably like five hundred bucks.”
Hunter shrugged and started unwrapping the foil top. “I have five hundred bucks.” Before she could say anything else, he popped the cork, sending it careening against the wall above the bed. He took a healthy swig and then handed it to her with a smile so sexy she wondered how he could be real. She laughed, taking the bottle.
“Easy there, Rockefeller.”
He winked and something inside her melted.
God, she didn’t want tonight to end.
“No, no, but you know what would be hilarious?” asked Marlowe, leaning heavily into Hunter as they wove their way down the Strip. Dark had fallen while they were up in her room, and the Strip now glowed with neon light. The air was fresh and cool, the sun taking the day’s heat with it now that it had disappeared behind the horizon.
“What?” he asked, doing his level best to keep them on a straight path, but it was no use because his vision was swimming just enough that walking in a straight line was virtually impossible.
“If you came to one of my concerts and I brought you up on stage and made you sing.”
“I think we have different definitions of hilarious.”
She slapped him on the shoulder. “You’re no fun.”
He brought them to a stop and pulled her to him, her breasts flattening against his chest. “I think we both know I’m lots of fun.”
She looked up at him, a naughty glint in her eyes, amplified by the flashing lights around them. She walked her fingers up his arm. “You’re a solid eight inches of fun, Mr. Blake.”
Something tugged in his chest and he lowered his head, nuzzling his nose against her cheek. “I want to be more than that, Marlowe. I wanna be more than the guy whose dick you ride when you’re horny.”
She pulled back from him and to his surprise, raised her hand to cup his face, her fingers gentle against his bearded cheek. “But you are more than that. You know that, right? I wouldn’t have texted you if you weren’t more than just…Sorry. It was a bad joke.”
“Wrong, too. It’s more like eight and a half.”
She laughed. “I don’t know what we are, Hunter, and I don’t think we need to define it. Why can’t we just have fun without putting labels on everything?”
He knew why; because there was a very specific la
bel he wanted to put on her. Mine. A sudden, unexpected jealousy gripped him. He knew that he didn’t have any claim on her, but a part of him wondered if she saw other men, if she had other friends with benefits. But he didn’t ask because he didn’t want to know.
She spun around with her eyes closed and then pointed in a random direction. “Let’s pick a casino and go gamble.”
“Why, you feeling lucky?”
She laughed, a loud, gleeful drunk laugh. “Nah. I just wanna have more fun. Ooh, maybe they’ll give us more champagne!” she cried hopefully, tugging on his hand and pulling him in the direction of Paris. In the back of his mind, he knew they should maybe call it a night, but she was having so much fun that he couldn’t bring himself to say no. As usual. As always.
And so, he let her lead him down the Strip towards the glowing Eiffel Tower, deciding that whatever happened would be future Hunter’s problem.
Five
Marlowe groaned and peeled her eyes open, instantly regretting it as soon as she did. Shards of light shone through the edges of the sloppily closed curtains, making her brain feel like it was being stabbed with hot needles. She swallowed thickly, trying to get the taste of roasted sawdust out of her mouth. Her pulse throbbed sluggishly in her temples and her stomach simmered with a nausea that made her not want to move.
She could feel Hunter’s solid frame in the bed beside her, could hear his deep breathing. She shifted in the bed and knocked against something hard and cold. With a frown, she reached down into the sheets and pulled out an empty champagne bottle. She stared at it for a second, trying to remember where it had come from, and that’s when she saw it: the delicate little ring on her finger that she didn’t recognize. It was a slender silver band that held a solitary moonstone. It was pretty, actually, but she didn’t really remember…where…
