by Liz Crowe
“Well,” she said, crawling up his body and dropping down to touch her tongue to the well-defined muscles of his abs, to his nipples, to his neck then to his lips. “I’m two for two then.” She licked his lower lip, then his upper one. He let her, staying propped on his elbows as they kissed. It was slower, easier, a more familiar thing this morning. His lips were something she knew now and understood. They explored each other, their mouths the only thing touching. His breathing was ragged when she pulled away and ran her hand down his chest, his stomach, stopping when she wiped the pre-cum from his dick and put her finger in her mouth.
He grinned, his tousled hair and somewhat sleepy expression making her do that weird heart-flip thing again. Cut it out, she admonished herself. This is nothing but a distraction, something I need, something he wants. Enjoy it and don’t read anything into it. Never mind the fact I spent the third anniversary of my husband’s and son’s deaths screwing around with this…this…amazing specimen.
“All right, Gayle, it’s time.” He rose fast and flipped her onto her back. She giggled, then sighed with satisfaction when he put what was no doubt another line of hickeys down the other side of her neck. The sun streamed into her new loft bedroom, which only added to the surreal sensation of Noah—her Noah—and his painfully pleasurable attention to every inch of her skin here, in the nest of expensive sheets in a bed she’d not seen before last night.
After making her writhe and moan and demand he touch her pussy while he’d been licking, sucking and tugging at her nipples, he stopped. She sighed, anticipating he’d move the mouth party southward, and bent one knee, letting the other fall to the side. But he sat, crouched back on his heels, a pensive expression on his face.
She was practically humming with need by now. Her ears were all white noise. Her skin flushed. Her body trembling and requiring more. But he didn’t move. Only sat, studying her with that borderline unhappy look on his face.
She went up on her elbows. “What’s wrong? I don’t do it for you anymore?”
He frowned and flopped onto his butt, crossing his legs as if ready for a chat, which made the fact of his rigid erection somehow ironic. He seemed miserable, which was beyond her, since they’d had a ton of fun the night before and were about to do more of the same. She sat, mirroring him, and lifted his chin so he had to look at her. “What is it?”
“I don’t think I can do this,” he said. She blinked and looked straight at his cock, which was more than capable, then back up at him. “That’s not what I mean.”
“Noah, you’re overthinking.” She reached for him, still eager and thrumming with urgency.
“No, I’m not. And besides, I need a rubber.”
She flinched, recalling how she’d begged him the night before, of how nicely he’d obliged her begging, coming so hard she’d felt the warmth of him spilling inside her. A small touch of anger lit the edges of her consciousness. Unwilling to ruin this, she shoved it down under a pile of lust. “I want you,” she said, simply. “You want me, I think. We’re consenting, single adults. What’s the problem?”
He ran a hand down his face. “I don’t know. I’m…you’re…it’s…I don’t want to be this boy toy thing for you, Gayle.” His eyes were so full of emotion she was able to suppress the giggle at the very term she’d been using in her head about him. “I want more from you. And I don’t know if you can give it to me.”
Unable to contradict this and unwilling to bullshit him, she reached out and stroked his stubbly cheek. He closed his eyes, grabbed her hand and kissed her palm. “Tell you what,” she said, moving closer, pleased when he didn’t seem to object. “Why don’t we take this one day at a time?” She took his hand and pulled him forward where she lay back, loving the heavy warmth of his body against hers. “It’s just our first time, you know? And you can rest assured I’m going to want to see you again.”
She was going to want a lot more, now that he’d woken her inner horn-dog. She smiled at him, moving her hips and wrapping her legs around his waist, loving how he groaned when his hard dick pressed against her pussy. She moved, finding the friction she wanted against her clit as he stared down at her, his eyes still clouded with doubt.
“I don’t know…” he said.
“I do. And I think this will be nice, for both of us. If you’ll let it be, I mean.”
“You don’t know me, Gayle.” She moved faster, thrusting against the head of his cock. His eyes shone. “I need more. I’m going to ask more from you.”
“Noah,” she yelped. “Oh God, baby, please.”
He made a small movement with his hips, going so deep it made her gasp, while keeping his pubic bone pressed to her eager clit. “Come on me, Gayle,” he said, his voice low, growly and so sexy, she did, just like that, crying his name while her body clenched and released, her nerve endings dancing through another glorious climax.
“Jesus,” she sighed, looking up at him. He was still balls-deep inside her. His jaw was clenched, his face red. “You’re amazing,” she said, reaching back to grip the top of the headboard so she could lift her hips higher. “So fucking amazing.” To her surprise, tears burned her eyes and slipped down her cheeks. He leaned down and licked them away, stopping at her lips so she could taste the salt.
His hips began to move, slowly, rolling, like the dance moves he’d treated her to the night before. The primal sensation of his cock pulling out and thrusting back into her body brought her straight back to the edge. He looked down at where their bodies were joined, then back into her eyes. “You’re amazing,” he said, his voice clear now, but still in the lower, lusty octave. “I thought that the minute I saw you the first time. I’ve been wanting to do this,” he said, giving his first hard thrust, shift her up on the pillows. “And this,” he growled, doing it again, making her groan with pleasure. “And this.” He sat up on his knees and grabbed on to her hips, digging his fingertips in deep. If it were possible to feel him even deeper, she did, and while it had a painful edge to it, the raw joy of the moment negated it. “Oh God, Gayle…” He groaned and thrust again, again, going faster and still faster.
She bent one leg, noting how his thrusts took on a serious rhythm at the slight change of angle. He let go of her hips and fell forward, his body pounding into hers fast, hard, and needy. She wrapped her arms around his neck and put her lips to his ear. “Come, Noah. Fill me up, baby. I want it. I want it now.”
He groaned so loud she felt it in her chest as he did what she said, filling her, her body reacting by treating her to another small release. They clung to each other for several minutes after their hips had stopped moving. “Kiss me,” he said. She leaned away from his neck and slanted her lips over his, realizing and accepting at that moment she was a goner. That she’d give this amazing man anything he wanted…as long as he didn’t demand her heart. Not because she didn’t want to, but because it was simply no longer hers to give. It had turned to dust. Dust she’d tossed over the balcony of her empty house overlooking the Pacific Ocean.
Chapter Seventeen
Six weeks later
“You won’t regret it, Stan,” Noah said, grinning at Kevin, the TriCities sales guy. He grinned back.
“I owe you one,” Kevin mouthed when the regional buyer for a huge grocery chain turned away to address an employee’s interruption.
Noah nodded, mentally high-fiving himself over today’s victory when Kevin entered the sale into his hand-held computer. It truly was a major coup, since the store had been monkeying around with their craft shelves and some of the bigger players, including Fitzgerald Brewing, had been shoved to the hinterlands. In the cases of some stores, Fitzgerald had been usurped altogether. Which was one of the reasons he’d been added to the sales roster—to be another set of eyes on the rapidly changing beer horizon on behalf of one of the most successful Michigan-based breweries.
When his phone buzzed in his pocket, he realized the very sensation of it—of the distinct vibration against his thigh—was making his dick ha
rd. “Hang on a sec, Kev. I need to check this.” Face hot, he pulled the device out and stared down at the message du jour.
I’m in the mood for dancing tonight.
“Hey, Noah,” Stan the grocery guy said, breaking into the insta-fantasy invoked by Gayle’s message. “Can I ask you about something?”
“Sure, sure thing. Give me a quick second. Gotta handle something on the home front real quick.” He rolled his eyes, indicating their mutual camaraderie as men with regards to the ladies in their lives.
As if, he thought, typing out a quick reply.
Sounds like a plan to me. Meet you there, 10:30?
He stared at the screen, watching the little ‘I’m answering’ bubbles flashing. His face got even hotter once her words populated the screen.
Actually, I have a surprise for you.
The last surprise she’d treated him to had involved a private jet, caviar and champagne, and him joining the mile-high club before they spent a sex-soaked weekend on some beach. It had been their first weekend together, which had been followed by more decadent, amazing experiences than he’d ever had—which had been a damn high bar to breach. The common thread was money. Trips, private jets, hotel suites, shopping trips to ‘fill out his wardrobe’—all of it wrapped around some of the most erotic sex he could possibly imagine.
Any man in his position would be thrilled. A gorgeous, virile, rich-as-hell woman at his fingertips, all the sex he could ever want, plus gifts? Pretty sweet set-up, he figured.
So, what was his problem?
As he typed out his answer, he tried to suppress the low-lying anger he’d been nursing for the past ten days.
If it involves another weekend away, I’ll have to get a raincheck. I have two events to cover for Fitzgerald.
He waited a beat, then softened it with—
Sorry. But I’m down for the nightclub. You know I’m always up for a night of dancing with you, sexy.
Her response made his ears burn. He turned further away from the two men behind him, who were chatting and waiting for him to handle his home front business.
Take the weekend off. I know your boss. I’ll write you a note.
Jaw clenched, he let the anger spill over into his next message.
Gayle, I have to work. I want to work. Can’t it wait? I’m free next weekend.
When the little answer-bubbles didn’t appear, he figured he’d pissed her off. It wouldn’t be the first time. The first week after the night—and the whole next day—spent in her condo he’d toyed with her a little, figuring she’d like it. But after he’d ignored her for a forty-eight-hour period, she’d showed up at his tiny cubicle at Fitzgerald dressed in her short skirt, silky blouse and sky-high patent leather shoes after having ‘a quick meeting’ with his bosses.
He’d swiveled his seat around and leaned back, hands behind his head, his body revving into the highest possible gear at the sight of her. He’d been dreaming about that night for so long, it still felt unreal to him, despite how sore his dick, or how scratched his back was. “Hi there,” he’d said, more than aware of all the eyeballs on him and the sex-on-a-stick woman most of them knew as the slightly ball-busting new sales director at TriCities glaring down at him.
“Come with me,” she’d said, before tuning on those fuck-me pumps and heading for the front door.
“Mama’s calling, junior,” some snide asshole had quipped.
“I’d follow her anywhere.”
“Dude, are your fuckin’ legs broken or what?”
Without a glance at any of them, he’d gotten up and followed her to the door, and to the parking lot where she already stood next to her giant German-made car, arms crossed, one toe tapping impatiently. He’d stopped several feet away from her, his innate sense of irritation fighting a losing battle with his inner seriously horny man. She’d looked devastating, so god damned fuckable it had taken all he had not to flip her around and bend her over the hood of the Mercedes.
“You drive,” she’d said, opening the passenger door and climbing him, giving him a breathtaking view of her thigh. He’d hesitated. When the horny man won the arm wrestling match, he’d climbed in behind the wheel, blind and deaf to anything but her—including the fact he’d just waltzed out of his office forty-five minutes early without shutting down computers or anything else.
“Where’re we going?”
“Your place,” she’d said, resting her hand on his thigh when he pulled onto the interstate.
He’d laughed. “Bullshit. My place is a pit. One step up from a roach motel.” It wasn’t quite that bad, but he wasn’t about to take her there.
“I don’t care,” she’d said, letting her hand slide up toward his crotch. He shifted to make room for his hardening cock. “Take me there. I want you to fuck me in your bed.”
“Okay,” he’d said. And he’d done it—several times. They’d ended the night on his ratty couch watching Netflix and eating popcorn. When he’d woken with her in his arms, both of them tangled in his clean but threadbare sheets, he’d experienced such a rush of happiness he’d let her call all the shots for the next few weeks.
But he’d been coping with a burgeoning sense of frustration over her unwillingness to do anything more than fuck. Not that he was complaining. But in a way, he was. Which only caused his frustration to make a full circle. He was obviously the woman’s boy toy, her plaything, her walking dildo. She called, he ran. She said jump, he asked if he could eat her out before he leapt.
It was fun, of course. Their libidos matched in a way that was a bit eerie. They’d had sex in her office—one memorable late night he’d surprised her by showing up with a pair of handcuffs, a crop and a bottle of cheap champagne. They’d had sex in her car, in the large beer cooler at TriCities—twice. They’d fucked on a plane, on the beach, in the pool, in various showers and her tub. It was amazing, incredible, any man’s fantasy.
But he was done. At least the way she was playing it. He loved her and he suspected she felt the same way about him. When they weren’t fucking they were eating, drinking, talking, laughing. She’d told him more about both Ethan and Liam. He’d told her about his months spent as a high-priced male prostitute, fulfilling fantasies for lots of wealthy women. They’d shared everything. But yet, she was holding back in a way that made him want to put both his fists through the wall.
“Noah?”
“Yeah, sorry.” He tucked his phone away and refocused on his day job.
“Women, huh?” Stan slapped him on the back so hard he coughed.
“Yeah.” His ears were still ringing with fury. He should stand her up. Let her cool her damn heels for a while so she’d be forced to come to him and ask what was wrong. But he knew he wouldn’t. Even now the tip of his cock was tingling in anticipation and his skin prickled with the memory of her touch.
Chapter Eighteen
When he showed up at the nightclub, dressed in tight black jeans and one of the shirts she’d bought him when they’d gone on a ‘quick junket’ to Italy, the place was in full-throated party roar. He fended off plenty of admiring glances and a few overt passes while he waited at the private table he’d been directed to by the head bouncer. As he sipped his beer and people-watched, it became clear to him she wasn’t going to show, despite her having reserved this table and instructed he be seated at it.
When a woman who could have stepped right out of a high fashion photo shoot approached him, her full, reddened lips parted in a smile, he had an inkling what she had planned for him. The woman slid into a seat and poured herself a shot of the chilled vodka—Gayle’s hard liquor of choice. Sipping, she kept her gaze on him. When she crossed her long, tan, legs he allowed himself a full look at her. She had huge tits—something Gayle couldn’t lay claim to—a slim waist and legs that went on forever. She was hot as fuck, truth be told. And the fact of her—that he knew damn well what she was there for—made him shiver.
Gayle had done this once before and he’d happily played along. But he was n
ot in the mood for her games tonight. He was sick and tired of being played like goddamned violin. “I’m sorry you wasted your time tonight. I hope she paid you well.” He drained his beer and got up, furious, and yet so eager to lay eyes on her he believed he could claim the honor of being most pussy-whipped idiot on the planet. “I’m leaving.”
“Wait,” the woman said, putting her hand on his thigh to stop him. “Settle down. Have another beer.”
“I don’t want another beer,” he said through clenched teeth.
“Okay. Let’s dance then.” She rose, letting her breasts brush against his arm. Her breath was warm in his ear. “I hear you’re a damn good dancer.” Her hand rested on his ass. He glared down at her, then took her arm and yanked her none-too-gently down the steps to the dance floor. She wanted a fucking show—he would, by God, give her one she’d never forget.
He turned to the girl and smiled at her. “What’s your name, hot stuff?”
“Kat,” she said, licking her lips and gyrating to the chest-thumping music.
“Nice,” he said, matching her movements. “Suits you,” he whispered in her ear before biting her earlobe once. “Show me what ya got, Kitty-Kat.”
She blushed, which made him horny. Which was a good thing, he figured, since he’d be performing with the lovely Kitty-Kat tonight, for an audience. After about an hour spent simulating sex masquerading as dancing, he was so revved he could’ve fucked Kat right on the dance floor.
“Come on,” he said, tugging her away from the sweaty scrum and heading for the private party area for part two of the night’s festivities. Fury at Gayle’s machinations mingled with the smoky cloud of lust he was floating through as he pushed people aside and ducked into the back room with its separate bar, its dark corners, its waiting audience.
