Because I Can (Montgomery Manor)

by Tamara Morgan

She’d have been ashamed of those tears later, if not for the vibrantly red and purple bruise that colored most of her thigh for the next few weeks. She’d worn shorts every day, practically daring people to look away from her pain.

  It was the Lennox way. Tears were only acceptable when your body looked like a house of horrors afterward. Tears were only allowed when physical pain was the motivating factor. Since the day of the infamous Bobby Strom incident, Georgia had never allowed anyone—male or female—to give her a reason to break down. Until now.

  “Fuck him,” she said, jumping to her feet and dashing an angry hand across her face. Technically, the water in her eyes hadn’t formed droplets yet. Until that point, they were just excess moisture. “Holly was right about him all along. He’s probably terrible in bed. Chances are he’d want to consult a map before he went in search of my clit.”

  She didn’t have a chance to work her tantrum up any further. With a crash that rattled the photobombed graduation picture on the wall, Monty pushed the door to her apartment back open. He was large enough to fill the entire doorway, nothing but shoulders and smoldering eyes as far as she could see.

  “What are you—?” she began, but he slammed the door and crossed her tiny apartment in three strides, the floor shaking with each movement.

  “I thought I told you I wanted to see you in only the boots.”

  There was no time to process his statement or the fact that the man who’d exited the building seconds ago wasn’t the same one who reentered it. Gone were the questions and concerns, eliminated was that look of pity in his eyes as he tried to better understand the wasteland that was Georgia’s sexual history. Instead, she found herself facing a man who exuded power—and who was exuding it in her direction.

  “You came back,” she said.

  His response was a kiss. It was the sort of kiss most women only dreamed about—one of those embraces that rendered the knees into a useless set of joints and made a girl feel as if she could be swept off her feet in the manner of romantic movies everywhere. Although she might have harbored doubts about his sincerity a few seconds ago, every bit of hesitation fled as his lips moved over hers again and again.

  Monty didn’t ask to embrace her, didn’t tentatively express his regard. He took, and his mouth said what words could not. Yes, she was wanted. Yes, she was desired. Yes, he would make this happen for her if he had to devour her from the inside out to do it.

  “Of course I came back,” he said. “I just needed to hit Reset.”

  She wanted to laugh at how seriously he spoke, as if passion could come at the click of a button and the determination of a man who’d only ever known hard work, but he distracted her by tugging her robe open and slipping a hand inside.

  She wasn’t ready for the shift from kissing to actual skin-on-skin contact, and she stiffened, her hands locked in place where she clung to his shirtfront. She wasn’t sure what she expected to happen, but he didn’t balk or slow down as he ran his touch over the less-than-perfect midsection that awaited him. She could have kissed him for that. She was kissing him for that.

  It wasn’t as though she was ashamed of her body—her arms and legs weren’t half bad, and her boobs were small enough that the term perky still applied—but unless she gave up on beer and nachos and a humane daily caloric intake, she wasn’t likely to get that daintily tapered waist everyone considered such a hallmark of female beauty.

  She was a woman built to work hard and work often, with a stockpile of calories stored around her abdomen for the lean times that never came. No man would ever sweep her into his arms and call her beautiful, but it was enough to be swept away and considered fuckable every now and then.

  And that was precisely what Monty was doing. Although she felt an overwhelming urge to cover herself back up again, Monty lifted both his hands, running them along her shoulders and down her arms, taking the robe with him. His movements were deft and sure—and it was a good thing too, because she might have stopped him otherwise. She wasn’t sure she’d ever been entirely nude with a man before. She’d been in states of partial undress, sure, but this standing stock-still, on display, all the glories—or lack thereof—of her body there for the taking was new.

  And a little bit exhilarating, if she was being honest.

  “Okay.” He reached up and undid the top button of his shirt, a gesture that shouldn’t have affected a woman standing stark naked so deeply, but there it was. That tiny measure of intent was the sexiest thing she’d ever seen in her life. “Tell me, Georgia. What do you like?”

  The question caught her off guard—all the more so because he continued loosening the various accessories that held him together. Laces untied but shoes not all the way off. Belt unbuckled but not pulled open. Shirt untucked but still covering his chest. He was a werewolf getting ready to transform into a beast.

  Her mouth puckered and grew dry. “I’m not so sure I understand the question.”

  “The goal here is your satisfaction, yes?”

  Yes. Oh, yes. She nodded.

  “As much as I’d like to read your mind and make it magically happen, that’s probably not a realistic goal for either of us. It’ll be better if you tell me what you prefer.” Monty spoke in a careful, even tone, though he felt anything but as he continued disrobing before Georgia’s feasting eyes.

  If she kept looking at him like that—as if he could leap mountains in a single bound—she was likely to get tossed to the bed and taken without remorse. Never, in his years of careful, considerate relationships with women, had he felt so much like a sexual object. Never, in his years of careful, considerate relationships with women, would he have wanted to. For all that he avoided communication in every other aspect of his life, he liked the parts that came before and after sex—the intimacy and the low-murmured conversations, physical affection in various states of urgency. He liked them almost as much as the act itself.

  But what Georgia was demanding of him was different. Not emotional satisfaction—that tricky, elusive thing he desired but could never quite attain—but physical satisfaction. Body parts and body fluids and the rough act of combining the two.

  “I don’t... I’m not...” She blinked. “I’m not sure I know what I prefer. No one has ever asked me before.”

  “Would it help if I gave you a few options?” Monty asked.

  “I don’t think I can handle options right now. I’m too overwhelmed.”

  He felt a smile lift his lips. No one had ever claimed being overwhelmed by him before, though he was rapidly coming to embrace the sensation himself.

  It was the sight of her standing naked in front of him that did it. Her upturned pink nipples—so lush on this rough-edged woman—had drawn tight against the air, and he saw now that the muscular legs he’d admired before echoed throughout the rest of her body, strong and solid everywhere his gaze landed.

  That strength was his undoing. Georgia’s curves were implied rather than flaunted, her body more of a testament to hard work than vanity, but the overall effect was staggering. The gentle flare of her hips, the attractively jutting breasts, the way her skin moved over the top of her musculature like delicately wrapped steel—it was as if she were two people. Coveralls Georgia of the mighty hammer, and Naked Georgia, who was doing a good job of making his own hammer feel mighty.

  “Can’t you just...” She waved a hand over the tops of her legs, where the thighs he loved came together in a neat vee. “Do your thing?”

  My thing? He had no thing. There was no signature Monty move. He didn’t have a magic formula for success. But the way her eyes looked trustingly up into his... Hell. He’d make it up as he went along.

  Dispensing with further preliminaries, he gripped the back of her neck and brought her in for another kiss. It didn’t take long for her tongue to begin sliding across his, her determination impossible to ignore. Whatever her la
ck of success in the sex department, she was more than proficient at this. A little greedy, perhaps, and kind of hurting him where she tugged so hard at his hair, but he didn’t dare get in her way. He’d let her bite him on the neck and wrap him up in chains if that was what it took to get her off.

  Since she seemed more than happy to continue climbing him like a tree—and as he had no objection to that sensation himself—he used his free hand to explore the body laid bare to him. He enjoyed the ripple of her skin, incongruously soft under his fingertips, but he was also committing the contours to memory, making a mental note of how she reacted to each touch.

  She shrank when he touched her waist or attempted to trace the outline of her form. She moaned into his mouth when he cupped the weight of her breast with his hand, practically screamed when he tweaked a nipple. And when he dipped a hand lower, grazing the tip of his forefinger against the wet divide of her thighs, she all but grabbed him around the neck and slammed him into the nearest wall.

  Right, then. She seemed ready. Best to get on with things.

  He backed them toward the bed, not stopping until Georgia’s legs hit the mattress and she fell to the unmade sheets below. Everything about her as she landed was parted—lips, legs, the glistening sheen of her womanhood. It hadn’t been his intention to dive headfirst between her legs like this, but seeing her so open had him falling to his knees. Literally.

  He tugged on her booted ankle, pulling her to the end of the bed until her ass rested on the edge. Licking his lips in anticipation of what was to come, he took a moment to confirm with Georgia that this was okay.

  It wasn’t. Not if the wary look in her eyes was anything to go by.

  “You don’t like it?” he asked, dropping her ankle with a start.

  “Let’s just say it doesn’t like me,” she replied. “And it probably won’t like you either. I’ve tried it a few times, and the outcome wasn’t pretty. For either me or my partner.”

  “What did you do to him?”

  “A fat lip and crushing disappointment.”

  He eyed her open legs again, taking in the delicate pink folds with renewed interest. Another challenge. He wasn’t sure he’d ever encountered a hostile vagina before.

  She clamped her legs shut, nearly snapping his head off in the process. “Don’t even think about it, Montgomery. It’s going to be hard enough for you to do this the old-fashioned way. Why don’t you just climb on and show me what you can do?”

  Her crude words jolted him back to a sense of his responsibility. Somewhere in the midst of all that kissing, he’d forgotten what he came here to do. The fantasy wasn’t a man who carefully questioned her about preferences or pressed his mouth against her body for the most intimate kind of lovemaking. The fantasy was him bending her over a table and proving his might with his not-so-spindly forearms.

  There was no table nearby, but he had a bed and a raging hard-on. Clearly, he could improvise.

  “You have to open up at least a little,” he said with a growl, and ran a hand up the outside of her leg. As he’d hoped, his touch worked in getting her to relax, and he even managed to slip his other hand between her thighs as he lowered himself on top of her.

  He dropped his mouth to hers for another deep kiss as his fingers hit her sweet spot, slippery with desire and warm to the touch. It seemed like the perfect time to say something about how good she felt, but phrases like “nice cunt” and “tight and hot” weren’t as easy to speak out in the moment as one might hope.

  “Condoms are in the bedside drawer,” Georgia said, just as he was clearing his throat and steeling his resolve.

  He tried not to let his relief show as he nodded. Since he didn’t want to give her an opportunity to lose the rapid breathing and undulations that indicated he was on the right track, he made quick work of ripping open the silver square and slipping a condom over his length.

  It had been too long since he’d been with a woman, longer still since he’d felt this kind of pressure and anticipation to perform well. Each sensation of his own hand on his erection pulled at a spring deep within him, and he prayed—actually cast up a few words to whatever voyeuristic deity might be listening in—that he wouldn’t disappoint her.

  Once again, he thought a few words might be incumbent, but he settled for a long, leisurely glance down at her instead. She wouldn’t believe him if he said so, but there was something beautiful about the way she lay there, eager yet wary, exposed yet not at all open. She wanted him, there was no question of that, but a man would have to prove himself to Georgia before he earned her true respect.

  He had a feeling that kind of thing would be more difficult to elicit than a mere orgasm.

  She opened her knees wider in a gesture of invitation, and he proved powerless against those incredible legs. He dropped to the bed once again and pressed his erection against her entrance, able to feel the heat of her body even through the latex.

  “I’m so glad it’s big,” she said with a moan, and that was the end of him. Bracing his hands on her hips, he tilted her pelvis up from the bed and sank in her.

  An explosion of sensation lifted him away from himself and more fully into her than he thought possible, considering the depth—or lack thereof—of their relationship. He didn’t care who he was or who she was or even that he’d never been this intimate with a woman he didn’t love before. All that seemed to matter was that her body was tight and eager around his, and her legs wound themselves around his hips as he plunged in again. And again. And again.

  The strength of her was apparent as he moved his hands around to cup her bottom, and she needed no help to hold herself firmly against him. Her thighs were like some kind of gift from heaven, crafted of steel and satin, and he basked in it.

  So did she.

  Her soft cries of ecstasy were enough to make any man feel like a master of the universe—but knowing he was the first man to take her this far only added to his feeling of omnipotence. He was John Montgomery the Third. Sex god. A solid ten who was finally taking steps to correct his five personality.

  He was also a mere man, and he felt his balls growing tighter as he neared release. He slowed down to better pace himself, and it was only then he realized she’d stopped moving against him. Or with him. Or at all, really.

  “Is something wrong?” He made a motion as if to withdraw, but her legs were still clamped around him, holding him tight. He groaned, since her legs clamping also meant her vagina was clamping, but managed to hold himself firm. “What is it?”

  “It’s not working.”

  “It’s not?” It was sure as hell working for him. “Here, maybe if we change the angle.”

  She obliged, but only in a way that gave meaning to the word—as if it were an obligation. On her side, her legs scissoring him, she should have noticed some kind of change, whether positive or negative, but all he got was the same lack of response.

  He slid a hand between them, hoping he could at least massage her clit while he moved against her, but the sizzle or the chemistry or whatever you wanted to call it was gone. She even let out a hiss as he touched the wet space where their bodies met.

  “Hmm. What else?” he mused. “We could try—”

  She shook her head and released her hold, almost kicking him away in the process. As she rolled away from the edge of the bed and sat up, everything about her posture signaled defeat. Her shoulders were slumped and her head was down, and Monty thought for one horrified minute that she was crying.

  He’d never claimed to be a fantastic lover, but he’d never made a woman cry before.

  But when she turned to face him, she wore a tight smile, and he could tell she had no intention of shedding a single tear. “I’m sorry. It was stupid of me to think it was going to be any different just because you—” She cut herself off and took a deep breath. “I’m okay if you still want
to finish.”

  He could hardly credit the words coming out of her mouth, but as he took a moment to process them, her expression didn’t change. In addition to the tight smile, she wore a look of fierce determination, as if daring him to comment on how quickly the mood had plummeted.

  He wasn’t that brave.

  “Is that what you think I’d like?” he asked carefully. “To have you lie there and take it while I get myself off?”

  She cast a look at his erection, which hadn’t subsided in the slightest. “Yes.”

  He felt suddenly exposed, his desire defiant and almost obscene given the recent turn of events. In haste, he turned away and stripped off the condom, giving himself time to cool and will his blood flow back to normal.

  He was still semi-erect as he extracted his boxer briefs from the pile of clothes on the floor and pulled them on. It wasn’t his most elegant moment, but at least he wasn’t pointing at her anymore, mocking in how able he was to close the deal regardless of her feelings on the subject.

  When he turned around, she was sitting up on the bed, her robe on and the boots off. The clothes—when matched with her look of utter dejection—made her appear younger and more vulnerable than before, and he felt a pang for having failed so spectacularly.

  You had one job, John. One freaking job.

  “I’m sorry,” she said as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I didn’t mean for that to come out so harshly. I wanted this to be good for you too.”

  “It was good for me.”

  She snorted, an inelegant, unapologetic, not-at-all-ladylike sound that captured everything he liked about her.

  “I mean it,” he insisted. “I don’t know what kind of a life it is you think I lead up there at the Manor, but it’s not often that I get to spend the day playing with nail guns, going out to bars and kissing naked women. I call today a win.”

  “Really?”

  “Really.” He sat on the bed, his weight causing the poorly sprung mattress to sink and propel Georgia closer to him. They weren’t quite touching, but he could feel the heat and tension rising from her body. “I’m sorry this was such a disaster—I guess I was overly confident I could make it work. I’ll come better prepared next time.”