WORTHY

by Lexie Ray

  “You never have to beg with me,” Jonathan said. “Never.”

  He increased the pace of his thrusts, syncing them to the rhythm of his hand against my clit. In a matter of minutes, I found myself on that crazed edge of pleasure and then tumbling well over it, crying out in the field, not caring who or what heard it, hearing my ecstasy echoed in the woods, against the barn, forever.

  Jonathan rested his forehead on mine and grit his teeth as he came, making small sounds in his throat. I hugged him to me as he rode out the waves of pleasure, still riding my own.

  After a few moments, he rolled off of me, staring up at the sky before looking at me again.

  “We have the rest of our lives to do this, again and again, as often as we like,” he said, grinning. “Isn’t that great?”

  “It’s amazing,” I said, lifting the bouquet that I’d maintained a death grip on the entire time. “I’ve never looked forward to anything more than this.”

  Chapter Nine

  “I want to spend the entire day in bed with you,” Jonathan said, his words waking me up. “Think we can manage that?”

  “The chickens,” I said, my voice still thick with slumber. I realized that I was lying on Jonathan’s chest and that we were both naked. Had we really been so tired after our shower last night that we hadn’t put pajamas on?

  “I don’t think the chickens will starve,” he said, planting a kiss on my shoulder.

  “They’ll be ornery,” I said, my eyes closed. I smiled at the tickle of his lips against my sensitive skin.

  “They’ll survive.” Jonathan’s persuasions were getting more and more tempting, though it could have something to do with the circles he was drawing on my back with the very tips of his fingers.

  “Maybe I can feed them this afternoon instead,” I said, stretching and groaning as Jonathan’s fingers stilled against my skin. “Don’t stop.”

  “I never want to stop,” he said, his voice low in my ear, making me shiver. “Come here.”

  Jonathan pulled me on top of him, and I stretched my legs this time, brushing his feet with the tips of my toes. I settled astride him as I would a horse, sitting up and hoping I was doing the right thing with my body.

  “I’ve never been on top before,” I said a little uncertainly as he continued drawing those maddening circles over my breasts and stomach. “Oh, that feels so good.”

  “It’s going to feel even better once I’m inside of you,” Jonathan promised. “I want to give you this experience. Are you ready?”

  “I’m always ready,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper, my skin prickling in goose bumps as he continued feathering the lightest of touches across my breasts. My nipples hardened at the minute stimulation, and I had a hard time believing that such a simple motion could arouse me so thoroughly.

  Jonathan trailed his hands downward, to the juncture between my legs, rubbing the silky, sensitive skin on either side of my lips. The light touch was becoming maddening, a sweet torture of the most tender part of my body. I found myself rolling my hips as I straddled him, creating more and more friction, searching for a release.

  “I can feel how wet you are,” Jonathan said, grinning, and I realized with a small bit of embarrassment that my excitement had left a slickness against his pelvis.

  “Sorry,” I whispered.

  “Don’t be,” he said, shaking his head. “Don’t you dare be sorry for being turned on. There’s not a thing wrong with it, especially when you’re with the person you love.”

  “I want you inside of me,” I murmured, blushing at the thrill of saying it aloud. It was so hot, so kinky to tell my lover exactly what I wanted that I felt a shiver of desire flit up my spine.

  “That’s exactly where I want to be,” Jonathan said, shifting me a little until he slid right in. “God. You’re so wet. It feels wonderful. You’re so sexy, Michelle.”

  His little groans did things to me I couldn’t put into words. It melted my heart to be the object of this man’s desires, to give him such pleasure, to experience such ecstasy at his hands. Those hands—they were continuing their little circles over my skin, stimulating me so that I arched my back to give him greater access.

  But when he started moving, started thrusting up into me—oh, that was incredible. The fullness inside of my body, the slow strum of that sweet spot inside of me, the way he bit his lip as he looked up at me, his adoring gaze, the build …

  I threw my head back and thrust back against him, falling into a rhythm that had us both panting and moaning. I needed more than Jonathan’s light touches. I wanted him to grab me, to be rough with me, to give me some kind of counterpoint to this unbearable sweetness.

  “More,” I keened. “More.”

  It did the trick. He gasped at my plea and stopped his trailing fingers, seizing my hips and helping me thrust against him. I moaned loudly as he came in contact with my sweet spot again and again. I didn’t care if I sounded wanton or ridiculous. I was making love with the man I loved. There couldn’t be anything better than that.

  “I’m coming!” I cried, grabbing at his wrists and holding on for dear life. “God!”

  It was as if my hoarsely shouted prayer was heard and answered. I sobbed out my release, sagging against Jonathan, his arms encircling me, holding me in place as he continued to thrust into me, dragging my pleasure out longer and longer until I lost my voice.

  Jonathan picked up where I left off, groaning as he found completion in my body, completion as my husband to be. I didn’t know if it was my afterglow or my love for him that brought tears of joy to my eyes—perhaps both.

  When the wetness from my eyes dripped onto his chest, Jonathan gently turned us on our sides, facing each other.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked, tracing the shape of my jaw line. I flinched when I realized he was rubbing my scar, then immediately felt terrible at the hurt on his face.

  “Not a thing in the world,” I said, smiling, trying to reassure him.

  “What did I tell you about tears?” he scolded softly, kissing the errant trails of saltwater away.

  “I just can’t believe you’re real,” I said, shaking my head in awe. “I just love you so much.”

  “We have the rest of our lives together,” Jonathan said. “I think we’re getting off to a pretty good start.”

  A knock on the door jolted both of us out of our happy dozes probably thirty minutes later, I guessed. We looked at each other, blinking sleepily, before I got out of bed.

  “Who could that be?” I wondered, slipping on my nightgown. I plucked a robe I only used in the winter from the bottom of one of my drawers and threw it over my shoulders.

  “I don’t imagine that you get many visitors all the way out here,” Jonathan remarked, watching me from the bed.

  “Maybe it’s a new deliveryman,” I thought aloud, hurrying to the bedroom door. The ones who dropped my grocery orders and farm supplies off always knew to simply leave the packages by the front door and leave.

  “Come back to bed,” Jonathan pleaded, holding his arms out and pouting a little bit. “They can just leave the package and get out of here. I want you all to myself.”

  That promise made liquid desire pool in my belly, made me stop in my tracks on the way to the door.

  “What if it’s something important?” I said distractedly, my breathing quickening as Jonathan licked his lips at me. I was starting to realize that he could be so insatiable sometimes. I liked that.

  “What can be more important than you and me?” he asked, his lopsided grin making whatever last vestiges of objection evaporate.

  I ran to the bed and jumped in it, giggling as Jonathan slipped his hands up my nightgown and caressed my hips.

  We both stilled at a second set of knocking, the beats getting louder, more insistent.

  “Maybe it’s something you have to sign for,” Jonathan remarked, his wandering fingers making it hard for me to concentrate on anything.

  “But I haven’t ordered an
ything like that,” I said, confused.

  “Well, whoever it is will take the hint and go away,” Jonathan said, slipping the robe off my shoulders and drawing me down to him.

  I would never get used to the way my heart fluttered when my entire body was pressed up against his. We kissed long and deep, Jonathan’s leisurely perusal of my mouth telling me that we had all day to enjoy each other.

  We both jumped when the knocking resumed. It sounded like whoever was on the other side of the door was losing patience.

  “Probably a salesman,” Jonathan grumbled, holding me to him as I tried to get out of bed. “Nothing I’m interested in except you.”

  “I’ll just get rid of them really quick,” I said, pulling my robe back on. “Ten seconds. Promise.”

  “Ten,” Jonathan said loudly, making me laugh. “Nine. Eight. Seven.”

  I hurried to the door, exasperation winning out over curiosity—I’d never, not once, had a visitor to the cottage in all the years I’d lived there—and flung it open.

  My first thought was how big the two men were standing in front of the door. Their combined height and shoulder span nearly blocked out all of the light from outside. They both wore what looked like expensive black suits despite the heat of late morning, and both wore matching black sunglasses. If not for their different hair colors, they could’ve been twins.

  “Can I help you?” I asked, peering at them nervously. It would’ve helped, perhaps, if I could see their eyes. Instead, I could only see my own perplexed face reflected on the surface of the dark sunglasses. I wondered if they were studying my scar with revulsion. If they were, I’d never know. I tried to put the idea from my mind.

  “Five. Four. Three.”

  Jonathan’s voice carried to the front door from the bedroom, but something inside me kept me from giggling. Whoever these men were, they meant business.

  “Ma’am, we’re sorry to bother you,” the man on my right said, his face implacable as his mouth formed the words. I wondered how he kept the rest of his face so still while he was speaking.

  “It’s no bother,” I said automatically, the politeness instilled by my parents asserting itself. “What can I do for you?”

  “Two. Two and a half. One. Zero.”

  I bit my lip. I wished they’d hurry up with whatever business they had here.

  “We’re looking for someone who went missing recently,” the man on my left said, his face as still as his partner’s. “Would you mind taking a look at this photo to see if you might have seen him around?”

  “Michelle! It’s been ten seconds!” Jonathan wheedled from the bedroom. He knew I couldn’t resist his puppy dog eyes, and I gave a small smile, thinking about him making them at the ceiling of the bedroom. I wanted nothing more than to slam the door shut on these two strangers and leap back into his arms.

  “I can look,” I said quickly, my mind on what the day ahead would hold. Me and Jonathan. Exploring each other’s bodies. Kissing. Making love. A girl could get used to this life.

  “Take your time,” the man on the right said, digging into the pocket of his suit jacket. “We want you to be sure. He went missing somewhere in this region, we believe, and yours is one of the only residences around.”

  “It is pretty remote out here,” I agreed. “I’ll look long and hard, gentlemen, but you’re really the first visitors I’ve had since I moved out here. I mean, the most neighborly things I have are deer, and they’re bad neighbors. Always getting into —”

  I paused, my eyes widening at the photo. It couldn’t be right, could it? I narrowed my eyes, cocked my head, widened my eyes again. Could it possibly be?

  “Michelle, who is it?” I turned to see Jonathan standing in the hallway wearing just a pair of shorts. The sight of his muscular chest and torso would usually take my breath away, but my breath was already gone.

  “I think you should see this,” I said, watching him as he approached.

  Jonathan frowned at the two men standing in the doorway before casually slinging his arm around my shoulders. He started to ask a question before spotting the photograph that one of the men still held out.

  “But that’s—that’s impossible,” he said, staring at the photograph.

  “What’s impossible?” the man on the left asked.

  “That’s a photograph of me,” Jonathan said, my heart clenching as the words left his mouth.

  Chapter Ten

  “Are you Jonathan Nelson Wharton?” the man on the left asked, looking at Jonathan’s whiskery face dubiously. I caught myself frowning. We’d been celebrating our engagement, after all, and he hadn’t had time to shave in a couple of days. Also, Wharton? Why was that name familiar?

  “Gentlemen, I’m at a disadvantage,” Jonathan said. “You know me more than I know me. I’ve recently suffered an injury that has affected my memory. I only know my first name is Jonathan because of an engraving on a water-damaged cell phone. Beyond that, I have no memories.”

  As the suits glanced at each other, I looked at Jonathan. He’d summed up his situation in a couple of sentences, and it sounded bleak, indeed. If it were me, I’d be curled in a ball on my bed, day after day, searching and searching for some sort of clues in my brain as to who I was. Jonathan was incredibly strong—stronger than I’d realized. I loved him now more than ever.

  “And who are you?” Jonathan asked, looking back and forth between the strangers on our doorstep.

  “We’re private investigators hired by the Wharton family to find their missing son,” the man on the left said, all business. “Are you indeed Jonathan Nelson Wharton, the man in this photograph?”

  “The man in the photograph is me,” Jonathan said, staring at it. I examined it, too. The Jonathan in the photograph was the Jonathan who had never bashed his head in the woods behind my cottage. That Jonathan had never met me, had never made love to me, had never told me that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with me.

  The Jonathan in the photograph was a stranger, different from the man beside me, the one who liked cooking and helping me around the property and could look past the terrible scar on my right cheek—even if I couldn’t. He kissed it just as easily as he kissed the smooth, unmarred other side of my face.

  In the photograph, Jonathan was sitting at a desk, papers spread all across it. He had been caught in the act of looking up, his eyebrows raised quizzically and his mouth just beginning to curve up in a smile. This Jonathan’s hair was slicked back, dark and shiny with pomade or something, and he looked to be impeccably groomed. I could tell that the tie he wore was exorbitantly priced just by looking at it, and what appeared to be a tailored suit jacket was hung carelessly on the back of his desk chair.

  “Well, looks like I’m gainfully employed, at least,” Jonathan said, his light tone not quite covering the turmoil roiling just beneath the surface.

  “Gainfully employed?” the man on the right repeated a little sarcastically. “You’re the CEO at Wharton Group.”

  “Wharton Group?” I asked. That’s where I’d heard it, why it sounded familiar. “You mean the big health care and pharmaceutical group?”

  “So you’ve heard of it,” the man on the right said. “Even all the way out here.”

  I scowled. As identical as they looked, I was beginning to like the man on the left a lot better than his partner. The man on the right was a smartass. Chancing a glance at Jonathan, I didn’t like what I saw. His face was ashen, his brows drawn together, thinking hard. Concerned, I grabbed my fiancé’s hand.

  “Are you okay?” I asked, not sure what else to do but stand there and squeeze his hand as hard as I could. I couldn’t imagine how it must feel to see a picture of himself and not know what it meant, not know where it took place or how it affected him.

  “Fine,” Jonathan said, his voice tight.

  “So she’s heard of Wharton Group and you haven’t?” the man on the right asked, his lips curling upward. “Who’d have thought?”

  The man on the le
ft heaved a sigh. “You went missing about five months ago,” he said. “There were manhunts. You vanished after work. The police gave up, you became the fodder for conspiracy theorists, and about a month ago, your family hired us to see if we could turn up anything.”

  “And it looks like we did,” the man on the right said.

  “How?” Jonathan asked. “What information did you find? What trail did you follow? Michelle found me out in the woods and brought me here.”

  The man on the right gave a snort. “Is that the story you’re going with?” he asked. “Listen, Mr. Wharton. It’s no business of ours if you decided to sneak away for half a year to play house in a secluded love den. But your family has been paying us good money to try and track you down, so try to show a little respect.”

  “I would like you to show a little respect,” Jonathan snapped, glancing at me. “I’m telling you exactly what happened.”

  The coldness in his voice was different from what I’d heard these past months, and it was a little frightening. I realized that I was hearing the Jonathan in the photograph, not Jonathan, my fiancé. This was a Jonathan I didn’t know—brusque, angry, and…almost holier-than-thou. He sounded righteously indignant, like he was entitled, and I didn’t like it.

  “That was out of line,” the man on the left agreed. “We apologize.”

  The man on the right looked less than apologetic, and I narrowed my eyes at him.

  “We only know what we can piece together from the evidence,” the man on the left said. “Your family says that you enjoy motorcycles and dirt biking. We can only assume that perhaps, after work, you went riding and suffered an accident in the woods.”

  “That doesn’t make sense,” Jonathan said, frowning. “How would I have ended up all the way out here? There were no roads near to the site Michelle found me.”

  “It’s not that farfetched,” I cut in. I hated when all three of them turned to look at me, but had to endure it to make sure that Jonathan had all the information possible. He deserved that. “I can sometimes here ATVs or some other motors in the woods from the cottage. I don’t know how far away the trails are—I’ve never tried to find out—but it’s possible you were out there.”