by Penny Wylder
It’s my turn to glare. If there’s one thing I hate, it’s people making assumptions about me. Yelling at me for no reason is next on the list. (Causing me to injure myself in the leg with a sledgehammer, that’s a close third.) “Last I checked,” I say, putting as much acid into my tone as I can, “I paid a lot of money for this property. I signed the deed. It’s mine, and I can do whatever the hell I want with it. And if you’d taken a minute and maybe stopped to ask me what was going on instead of launching yourself in front of a swinging sledgehammer, I would have told you that I’m not tearing down the house. In fact, I’m planning to restore it completely.”
“Some restoration job you’re doing,” she says, twisting her face. “Is your idea of restoration turning it into some glossy mansion that’s going to be on the front of an architecture magazine?”
I roll my eyes. “No. The wood on this porch is completely rotted because the gutters are shit and have been dumping water directly on it for who knows how many years. I don’t particularly want that to spread further, so I’m replacing the wood and reinstalling the wrought iron railing. I took measurements and photos from every angle so I could do this as accurately as possible. I’ll gladly show you. Even if it is none of your business.”
She looks appropriately embarrassed. That’s something at least. Later I can deal with the fact that she seems to think that she has some kind of claim on this house, but first, I need to put some ice on my leg and have a fucking drink.
Now that she isn’t shouting at me, I take her in for the first time. And she is … beautiful. Long dark hair that sweeps over her shoulders and sharp green eyes. Under any kind of normal circumstances, I would be asking her out for a drink. But considering the fact that she just nearly crippled me, I think I’ll pass.
Still, I can’t ignore that she’s gorgeous.
I take a step and hiss at the pain. Fuck. This is going to lay me up for a while. Her embarrassment turns deeper, and she swallows. “Do you need some help into the house?”
Well, even if it is her fault that I’m in this mess, getting closer to the pretty brunette is appealing. “Sure.”
I hold out my arm and she ducks under it, helping to support my weight as we walk toward the house. In spite of myself, I like the feel of her under my hands. Keep it together, Caleb. This woman is the only reason you’re limping. Get control of your dick, okay?
But my dick very much disagrees with that logic. Once it’s interested in something, it likes to see it through as far as it can go.
Once we start walking, the pain is more intense than I thought it would be. I still don’t think that anything is broken, but this is probably a little more serious than just ice and whiskey. Maybe. We’ll see when I can actually take a look at it.
“Come around this way,” I say through gritted teeth. “Until I rebuild those steps, I’m using the side door.” She helps me hobble into the house and leads me to the living room. I have some furniture, though it’s sparse for now. I didn’t want to have a truck full of furniture delivered before I got a good portion of the renovation under my belt. Better to work in a house that’s bare bones. Better for the workflow and for the furniture. Anyway, I have enough in the house so that I’m comfortable.
But honestly, the interior is in really good shape. Better shape than I realized when I bought it. I think I’ll have the rest of the furniture delivered soon so I can actually settle in. The restoration in here will be minor repairs and having the furniture in here won’t be a hassle. Shining up older wood and touching up paint and wallpaper. Replacing a few floorboards here and there. Easy stuff.
The exterior work is more significant. There’s a section of roof that needs to be fixed, if not entirely replaced. And the porch will take a while. I have to demolish the entire thing, rebuild it, and then reinstall the railing precisely how it had been when I bought the place. I also want to shore up the foundation. There aren’t any cracks, but in this humid environment near the river, I really don’t want to take any chances with that.
She helps me sit on the couch before darting away toward the kitchen. I hope she’s getting ice. “What’s your name?” I call after her.
“Allison Hollis,” she calls back from the kitchen. “Ally. And I’m sorry for assuming that you were going to tear down the house, but in my defense, it really looked like that’s what you were doing.”
“You know what they say about assuming,” I mutter as I unbuckle my jeans. I need to get them off if I’m going to treat this properly and get a good look.
“Listen,” she shouts from the kitchen, “I came here with a purpose. I’m not some random stranger who loves porches and old houses. You see, I’ve been saving to buy this house for years and I missed it by a week because you swooped in and decided to buy it. I mean, it’s been on the market for years. I mean, this is just horrendous timing. It’s not entirely your fault, but this just sucks for me, so forgive me if I’m not exactly sane right now.
“And I don’t know if it would matter at all, but I can tell you how hard I worked and thought about the day I would have enough money for a down payment. And if it made a difference, I’d tell you about all the years that my grandfather put into this house. He’s the reason it’s restored at all. It was dilapidated when he bought it decades ago.”
I’m only half listening to her as I ease my jeans off, trying my best not to brush the belt or the denim across the growing welt. When I glance at the kitchen, I see Ally moving around with a confidence that tells me she definitely has been inside this house before. There’s a dishtowel in her hand, and she’s already filling it with ice from the freezer.
The welt on my leg is, frankly, huge. It looks like I suddenly decided to start growing a baseball out of my shin. Barely brushing my fingers across it makes me wince and grit my teeth. This really wasn’t a part of my plans. I don’t like to be stuck. I like the freedom to do what I like. Though I guess I’ll have a chance over the next few days to enjoy the new, very large TV that I had installed in here.
I’m restoring the house to its original plans, but that doesn’t mean that I have to live without any modern convenience. There are plans for other, seamless and invisible improvements as well. Ones that I’m not entirely sure that Ally would approve of.
“Basically, I’m telling you that I don’t care how much you paid. I want you to sell me this house because it means way more to me than it does to you.” She speaks to me across the house while she bustles around the kitchen. I kick my jeans to the side and groan, leaning back on the couch. Fuck, I need a drink.
“That’s the way the universe is supposed to work,” she insists. “You work fucking hard for something, and you get it. You’re not interrupted by men from New York who think they can take whatever the fuck they want at the drop of a hat.”
I take a deep breath and let it out. The words sting, and I push it away. It’s not the first time she’s said that, and it grates. “You have a dirty mouth. And you don’t know anything about me,” I say, trying and failing to keep the darkness out of my tone.
She turns and takes a step toward me and freezes, a few of the ice cubes in the dishtowel go clattering across the floor as she sees that I have taken off my pants. Her eyes travel down my body, from my face and down my shirt to my boxer briefs and bare legs. I resist the sudden urge to take off my shirt and show her exactly what I’m working with under it, but I think that might be pushing things too far. This situation is strange enough without getting even more naked.
Ally seems to shake off her surprise, and that confidence is back as she strides across the room to me, carrying the towel full of ice. “Your mouth is dirty too, and I know that out-of-state developers like you have been buying up land around Nashville for years. Taking plots of gorgeous forest and historical sites and turning them into condos. So no, I don’t know anything about you,” she says, “but I know enough about your type.”
She crouches down by my leg, glancing at me to warn that it might hurt. And i
t does. I lock my jaw to keep from making a sound as she presses the towel to my injured leg. The pressure is painful but the cold feels nice. Hopefully it will help the angry swelling go down just a little bit.
“You know my name,” she says softly, and a bit less angry than before. “Who are you?”
“Caleb Staunton,” I say.
She gasps, like she’s heard of me, but when I look down, her eyes are focused on her hands. Ally moves, shifting to her knees in order to keep the ice pressed firmly against my leg, and it’s the shift that makes all the difference.
Suddenly she looks up at me, and that shot of green from her eyes sends my blood pounding through my veins. Seeing her on her knees in front of me makes me wish that she was on her knees for an entirely different reason. I barely know this woman, and yet there are already images in my head of her lips wrapped around my cock and sucking like it’s what she was born to do.
My cock stirs and I have to focus very hard on something else, anything else except these filthy images that are flashing in front of my eyes. Wood rot. Yeah, that will do it. Rotting wood. The damp smell that comes with it. The task of figuring out how far it’s spread. The frustration of trying to pull out boards and having them turn to pulp under my prying tool.
It’s working, but barely. The way that she’s looking at me right now isn’t helping—like she’s seeing me for the first time and wants to consume me whole.
I would let her.
The distractions need to keep working, otherwise, I’m going to fuck Allison Hollis on this floor, and I have a looming sense that crossing that line wouldn’t leave me the same.
3
Ally
How did I end up here? When I woke up this morning, I imagined myself right here. In the living room, looking over the old woodwork I know so well, assessing the improvements I’d need to make, just reveling in finally being home. I didn’t imagine being in the living room, kneeling in front of a man this gorgeous, wearing only his underwear, wondering how the hell I’ll convince him to sell me my house back. I swear that being this close to him is doing strange things to my heart and blood pressure.
My heart shouldn’t be pounding like this. Maybe it’s still the pent-up anger from seeing him destroying the porch, or the shock when I heard the house had been sold. The injury on his leg is obvious, and I do feel bad about it. There’s another, smaller part of me that wonders if he didn’t deserve it for what he’s doing. What his family is doing.
Of course he’s a Staunton. Anybody remotely familiar with real estate knows who they are. The Stauntons are rich beyond belief. They may be from New York, but cities all across the country have buildings with the Staunton name emblazoned across them. And courthouse across the country have heard complaints from communities where they tear down historic structures to build tacky developments to make a quick dollar. And just as I feared before I even met him, his family is among the people grabbing up land around Nashville and razing old houses to build condos and malls. They are soulless and ruthless businessmen, without any thought to history or regional architecture. Now they have taken Grandpa’s house from me too.
There is no way someone from that family would ever be kind enough to just sell me this house back because I ask nicely.
But that isn’t what’s making my heart rate spike. It’s him. Him and his dark hair and his darker eyes, and the way they’re locked on mine with intensity and interest. It’s the fact that he’s so clearly growing hard in those boxer briefs, and he isn’t able to hide it. It’s that I want him with a deep, animal lust that I’m unable to explain.
It’s that being on my knees in front of him turns me on in a way I haven’t felt in a long time.
And it’s completely ridiculous.
I’m not going to do this. No. I won’t give in. I am here to accomplish a single goal, and that’s to get this man to sell me my house back. But my body is quickly hijacking my agenda and telling me that there is another goal that we could achieve, one that involves orgasms without batteries.
My body is a traitor, but she can be controlled. Will be controlled.
Yes, by him, the devil on my shoulder whispers in my ear.
I shove the thought away as Caleb smiles at me. A small, knowing smirk, like he can read the struggle of lust on my face and knows that I’m in a losing battle.
Slowly, he lays his arms on the back of the couch, stretching his legs out a little more so he’s lazily sprawling. The motion draws his t-shirt tighter and shows me that his legs aren’t the only well-defined part of him. And the pose draws attention to the growing bulge in his lap.
And it is not small.
Oh God.
Just looking at it, I watch it grow bigger, now straining against his cotton boxer briefs. He isn’t even trying to hide it now, and my body, the traitor that it is, reacts. My nipples grow hard and a whisper of heat shivers through my core. And I have a feeling that that’s just a prelude of what’s to come.
I force myself to look away. To look down at his injured leg. To look anywhere but at his cock that’s begging for attention. What is wrong with me?
“I see you’re feeling better,” I say softly.
“In some ways,” he says. “It still hurts like a bitch, though.”
I wince. “Sorry about that.”
“No you’re not.”
“I am,” I manage to smile, still not looking at him. “Mostly.”
He laughs. The sound is warm like butter and syrup. Sweet and delicious. It drips down my spine, leaving a trail of heat. Suddenly, he leans forward, so our faces are close together. “Why did you come here?”
“I told you why.”
“And you thought that’s how it works? That I’d just hand over the house to you without any other considerations or questions?”
I swallow. It sounds so stupid when he puts it like that. “No,” I say. “Not like that … I just …” I huff out a breath. “I hoped that you would listen to my case, and maybe think about it. This house means everything to me.”
He’s quiet for a moment. “I can see that. But you seem distracted to me, Ally. I think that you’ve got other things on your mind right now.”
He’s obviously referring to his cock. The giant elephant in the room. Probably comparable in size, if we’re being honest. It’s hard to ignore.
“I don’t,” I lie.
“You do.”
Sitting this close to him, I can see that his eyes are dark brown. Nearly black. And yet there’s depth to them. His lips are full, and I find myself imagining what it would be like to just press my mouth to his and feel that same sweet heat race down my spine again.
“What if we put the talk about the house aside for a few minutes,” he says. “Because I don’t think either of us care about a house right now.”
“Things like this don’t actually happen,” I manage to say, my mouth completely dry.
Slowly, he reaches a hand out. He trails his fingers over my shoulder, raising goosebumps in their path, and down my side. It’s a touch that’s asking for permission. One that I could easily push away But it’s also lighting me on fire, so I don’t.
Instead, I grab his wrist. In the beat that I’m just holding his hand, I see confusion cloud his face. But then I guide his hand up, holding eye contact with him, and watching his face transform until I plant his hand on my breast. Then he smirks. I release his hand and he squeezes, ever so slightly. Just that subtle movement has heat spinning through me so fast that I’m almost dizzy.
Caleb grabs my other wrist and pulls it—and me—closer to him. He puts my hand in his lap, and through the fabric of his boxer briefs, I feel his cock. Fuck it’s so hard. And so big.
This isn’t right. This is my grandfather’s house. I used to watch him make pancakes in the kitchen and pretend that I was a detective looking for clues in the moldings of the house.
But right now, that doesn’t seem to matter. Any sentimentality I have for this house has flown out of my head in th
is moment. I’m about to have filthy, angry, sex in this house. Every bit of rage I’ve experienced today has coalesced into a burning ball of need for this man. I’m angry and disappointed. I hate Caleb and everything he stands for. His greed. Dashing my dreams. I hate it all, but I also want him. And if I want to think clearly and stand a chance of convincing him to sell me this house, I need to move past my anger. I know that fucking him will get that out of my system so I can think clearly again. Because right now, all I can think about is his cock.
I put the ice down on the floor, and I shove Caleb back on the couch. My hand meets the steel of his chest and I can’t help it, I’m impressed. I savor the look on his face: anticipation mixed with surprise. I reach for his waistband. He watches me with interest as I inch down the elastic waist, letting the swollen head of his cock peek out. Inch by inch, I lower his boxers until the waist band is straining over his thighs, and his entire cock is free from the fabric.
In my entire life, I’ve never been left so completely speechless by a man’s cock before. I’ve never thought one was better than any other that I’d seen. Caleb Staunton’s might be the one to change my mind. Long, thick, and proud. But I won’t give him the satisfaction of knowing just how much I want to taste him. Not yet, anyway. Because the moment my lips touch his skin, I don’t think that I’ll be able to control myself, and I quite enjoy the look on his face right now.
“Clearly, I’m not the only one with other things on their mind,” I say.
He smirks. “I never pretended otherwise.”
“I’m pretty sure I hate you.”
The smirk deepens. “I’m not your biggest fan, considering you nearly crippled me.”
“I just don’t want you to think that I hate you any less because of what’s about to happen.” I raise an eyebrow, challenging him.
“Wouldn’t dream of it, sweetheart.”
I hate pet names. Sweetheart, princess, darling. They all make my skin crawl. And hearing him call me sweetheart, it makes me hate him even more. That inexplicable heat washes through me again. A heady combination of loathing and lust that triggers my base instincts to take over. I don’t bother moving slowly. I press my lips to the tip of his cock and sink into his lap completely. Not stopping until I feel the head against the back of my tongue.
