by Nicola Marsh
‘Okay, Mum, I’ll help.’
She sagged in visible relief and he wished he could say all the things he’d been bottling up for years: why do you stick by him? Why can’t you grow a backbone? Why don’t you leave?
Instead, he said, ‘I’m swamped with my own work but I can stop by the car yard twice a week and do the accounts. How do Tuesdays and Fridays sound, around three?’
‘Perfect.’ She blinked rapidly, as if staving off tears. ‘You’re a lifesaver, Brock. We both thank you for this.’
Once again, he had to bite his tongue, this time against blurting ‘bullshit.’ His father rarely thanked him for anything, the one and only time after Brock had bought them a new house with the proceeds from his first mega deal with a software company. Even then George’s gratitude had been begrudging.
‘Will you be at the yard on Friday when I’m there?’
His mum shook her head. ‘No, I’ll be at the hospital.’ Her eyes narrowed slightly. ‘I haven’t seen you in a while.’
He ignored the jibe. He’d given up feeling guilty about lack of contact with his parents years ago. He might feel sorry for his mum but he couldn’t fake it, not even for her. As long as she remained in a gloomy marriage as his father’s figurative punching bag, he couldn’t pretend to approve.
He’d tried once to broach the subject of her leaving his father and she’d shut him down quickly and in no uncertain terms, heaping a barrage of abuse on him that had left him reeling. He’d learned his lesson then: nothing he said, no amount of logic presented in clear, concise terms, could help someone who didn’t want to be helped. So he’d backed the hell off and kept contact to a minimum.
Who knew, maybe after not seeing her for months he could orchestrate seeing his mum on her own and she might listen to reason with his father out of the picture for a while?
Yeah, and maybe he’d be trading his six-figure electric-powered car in for one of his dad’s lemons.
Never going to happen.
‘See you soon, Mum.’
She nodded, her wan smile making his heart ache as he disconnected. He flung the mobile onto the bed and leaped to his feet, pacing from one end of the bedroom to the other. He always felt the same after any contact with his parents: angry and resentful and bitter.
And he still had Jayda waiting for him in the lounge room.
Thank fuck she wanted this fling as much as he did. Considering how any interaction with his folks made him feel shitty, she was exactly the distraction he needed.
CHAPTER EIGHT
JAYDA KNEW ALL about playing hard to get. Her mother had drilled it into her since she’d hit her teens: how guys would do and say anything to get close to her—translated, to get into her panties—how she had to be smarter, how she should play games to keep them at arm’s length. The problem with her mother’s advice, it boiled down to one thing: her mum didn’t think Jayda could be pretty enough or smart enough to attract men on her own, they would only ever be interested in her for her money.
Not once had the elegant, stunning Peony York ever told her she looked beautiful. Not once. Even at her debutante ball, where Jayda had thought she looked the best she’d ever looked, her mother had swept an imperious glance over her from head to foot and said, ‘Pretty dress.’ Not ‘you look beautiful’ or ‘you’re so pretty tonight.’ Nope. Pretty dress was the best her mother could do. No prizes for guessing why she’d freaked out on grad night when Deon had basically reiterated how unattractive she was and told her he’d only touched her on a bet.
Tears of anger burned her eyes; the same way years of pent-up resentment burned her gut. She’d loved her sister, had adored her as much as her parents had, but whenever her mother or father failed to pay her a compliment she so desperately craved, she remembered them lavishing praise on Sasha.
‘Our gorgeous girl,’ had been a favourite, closely followed by, ‘You’re perfect just the way you are.’ Jayda would’ve given every cent in her trust fund to hear those words directed at her.
Sasha’s death had hit her hard but once the mind-numbing grief had passed a small part of her had wondered if her parents would bestow half the love they’d given Sasha on her. They hadn’t. Instead, she’d catch them staring at her in confusion, as if they couldn’t fathom how Sasha had been taken from them and she remained.
Jayda had excused them, knowing that if her sorrow was all encompassing she had no chance of comprehending the grief of a parent losing a much-loved child. But she’d excused a lot of their lousy treatment over the years. Not any more.
She’d stopped lying to herself about them and that was exactly why she wouldn’t lie to herself about Brock.
She wanted him.
She would have him.
For two decadent weeks, she could revel in his physical attention and have real fun for the first time since...well, that night six years earlier.
When he came out of the bedroom she’d show him exactly how this would play out over the next few days. Though something about that call had shocked him and she hoped it wasn’t bad news.
The bedroom door flung open and she jumped as Brock strode out, his frown formidable and his shoulders rigid. However, when their gazes locked she glimpsed exactly what she needed to see.
Hunger.
Heat.
Desire.
This man wanted her. He made her feel good. He told her exactly how attractive he found her and what he wanted from her.
For the next two weeks, she’d give it to him.
Stalking towards him, she laid a hand on his chest and pushed him up against the nearest wall. His back hit the wall with a thud but he didn’t say a word, realising she needed to assert control. Smart guy. He always had been, which was why she needed to show him what they had could only ever be physical. The last thing she needed was this genius to figure out exactly what made her fragile heart tick.
She knelt in front of him, heard his gasp. Starting at his ankles, she slid her palms up his legs, ending when she reached his groin, framing the bulge with her hands as if taking the perfect shot.
‘Jayda...’
She toyed with the tab on his zip, skimming around his hard dick straining against the denim, delighting in teasing him when she heard his breathing accelerate.
‘Jayda, please...’
‘Only because you asked so politely,’ she murmured, locking gazes with him as she slowly lowered the zip, the rasp of individual metal teeth mingling with his harsh breathing in the silence.
When the zip could go no further, she carefully slid his jeans down. His dick sprang free, jutting towards her, and she instinctively leaned forward and lapped at the head with her tongue.
He groaned, low and guttural, the sexiest sound she’d ever heard. Her fingers curled around the base of his dick as she wrapped her mouth around him. Squeezing as she withdrew her lips. Repeating the process again, taking him into her mouth a little deeper. Again. And again. Until she had all of him. Then she sucked.
‘Fuck...’
This time his hips thrust forward as he groaned and her tongue swirled around him, over and over, in sync with her hand and her mouth.
His hand rested on her head, his fingers threading through her hair and tightening. She didn’t mind the momentary sting of pain; it only heightened the pleasure.
He tasted musky, salty, delicious, and as she increased the tempo the throbbing between her legs intensified.
‘Oh, yeah, Jayda, baby, that’s so fucking good—’
He didn’t finish what he was saying when her free hand cupped his balls and squeezed gently as she simultaneously sucked him in so deep he hit the back of her throat. He came on a loud groan that made the hair on the back of her neck snap to attention. She’d never heard anything so raw, so real, and it thrilled her like nothing else.
She became aware of him stroking her head, smoot
hing her hair, soft and comforting, before he drew her to her feet. Oddly bashful after what she’d just done, she waited for him to speak first. Though his stunned expression pretty much said it all.
When he didn’t say anything, she aimed for levity. ‘In case you were wondering, that’s me proving how much I want this two-week fling.’
‘I got the message loud and clear.’ His lopsided smile made her heart twang. ‘Babe, you give great head.’
‘Why thank you.’ She dabbed at the corners of her mouth as if she’d devoured the tastiest morsel. ‘I could say the same about you so the least I could do was return the favour.’
Something inexplicable flickered in his eyes. ‘But there’s something I have to tell you.’
Unease settled in her gut. She remembered her dad saying the same thing to her, before he imparted the tragic news of Sasha’s death. Nothing good ever came after hearing those words.
‘What is it?’
He hesitated a moment, before clasping her face in his hands, his dark gaze steady and reassuring.
‘I’m not leaving in two weeks. I’ll be around for six.’
CHAPTER NINE
BROCK IGNORED EVERY inbuilt mechanism to end this now.
He never dated the same woman beyond a week let alone two and extending his stay in Melbourne meant he was at risk of wanting more than sex with Jayda.
Their foreplay had alerted him to exactly how easily he could fall for a woman like her. Intelligence, wit, along with a hot bod. The danger signs were clear.
Besides, this was Jayda. He knew too much personal stuff about her already. It skewed his usual delineated lines. A fling with her had complication written all over it. He should walk away as he normally would.
But for once in his well-ordered life he shunned the sensible option. So what if two weeks morphed into six? He could handle it. Maybe it was time to change his old habits and not flee every time a woman hinted at getting closer?
‘Six weeks, huh?’ She tapped her full bottom lip, pretending to think, but it didn’t hide the blossoming smile on her face. ‘Is that going to be a problem for you?’
‘Of course not.’ He responded too quickly and couldn’t meet her eyes. ‘I’m thirsty. Want some water?’
Her smile faded as she eyed him with speculation. Shit. No matter how much he wanted to turn his back and bolt before they’d really started, he had to get a grip before he fucked this up royally.
‘Sure.’ She nodded and he turned away before she glimpsed the sheer panic in his eyes.
She followed him into the kitchen where he paused at the sink, opened a cupboard above his head and reached for two glasses. He filled them from the chilled water nozzle on his fancy fridge door, frantically assembling his thoughts.
Her confidence in articulating a clear-cut short-term fling should comfort him. They were different people from the last time they’d hooked up, when he’d been on the outskirts of her life looking in, resenting her for being outgoing with everyone but him, secretly lusting after her because he couldn’t get her out of his head.
He’d jerked off so many times picturing what she’d look like naked. Big tits, curvy hips, full ass. When most guys at uni were glued to porn online in their spare time, all he had to do was lie back and fantasise about Jayda to get off.
Now he had her wanting to sex things up for a few weeks. No strings. No promises.
He’d be a fool to fuck this up.
‘Does staying around for longer pose a problem for you?’
He shook his head and handed her a glass, gulping half his in one go, clamping down on the cowardly response of ‘hell yeah.’
She snorted and drained her glass. ‘So you’re staying around for six weeks rather than two. Big whoop.’
He bit back a laugh as she shot him a glare filled with fire and damned if his cock didn’t rise to half-mast. ‘It’s only another month on top of the two weeks we’d already discussed.’
She threw her arms wide, pulling her dress taut across her magnificent breasts. ‘Everything in my life is topsy-turvy right now but after tonight, I want what sex with you provides.’
‘What’s that?’
‘Passion. Endorphins. Fireworks.’ Her eyes glittered with intent as her chest heaved, her conviction in what she wanted a massive turn-on.
Her boldness chased away the last of his residual fear. He could do this. Step out of his comfort zone, take a chance on more than a few nights with a woman and have the time of his life in the process.
Not every relationship, no matter how long or short, had to end in nastiness and retribution.
‘I want that too.’ He thumped his chest for emphasis. ‘But my staying in Melbourne for longer than anticipated doesn’t have to change anything if two weeks is all you can handle—’
‘What about you? What can you handle?’ she flung back at him, her eyes wide, her shoulders squared. ‘You’re the king of minimal complications and the way I see it that’s exactly what will happen if we don’t put a definitive time frame on this thing between us.’
Her bluntness surprised him. Usually, people couldn’t handle his harsh brand of honesty and here she was dishing it back at him. She was some woman. But she was right. He didn’t do complications and if this thing between them developed into something more...
Fuck, no. He couldn’t do it, couldn’t let down his guard even for someone as remarkable as her.
‘We have a definitive timeframe, as you so eloquently put it. We agreed on two weeks, why change that now?’ He laid his hands out, palm up, as if he had nothing to hide. ‘In two weeks the job I’m doing for you will be complete. In fact, it could take even less time. So let’s stick to the original plan?’
Emotions flitted across her face: hope, fear, anticipation, wariness. He recognised them all because he could empathise. Saying they’d walk away from this fling in two weeks was one thing, what if doing it proved to be more difficult than either of them anticipated?
Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, she nodded. ‘Okay.’
Relief filtered through him. ‘So how do you propose we seal this deal?’
Mischief made her mouth curve into a wicked grin. ‘Well, I’ve always wanted to do it in a kitchen...’ She patted the island bench and shot him a glance that sizzled.
He lunged for her and she squealed, darting around the other side of the bench. When he changed direction, she did too, her laughter lightening his mood.
‘Sweetheart, if you want me to feast on you in this kitchen, I need to catch you.’
‘You’re going to feast on me?’
‘Yeah, until you’re incoherent.’ He grinned and shot her a look that made her blush. ‘I’m going to hoist you up onto this bench, spread your legs wide, ruck that dress up, rip off your panties and tongue you until you scream.’
He took a step towards her and this time, she didn’t move. ‘Then I’m going to do it all over again.’
She whimpered and with a few more steps he was on her, pressing her against the island bench, his cock aching for release. He ground it against her clit a little, desperate to be buried deep inside her pussy. But first, he had to make good on what he’d promised.
‘You make me wet with words,’ she whispered, arching her pelvis into him. ‘I’ve never been so turned on in all my life.’
Her honesty slugged him again and before he blurted exactly how fucking great she made him feel just by being her, he rested his hands on her waist then picked her up.
He half expected her to make some crack about her weight again but this time she wisely remained mute as he placed her on the island bench, then slid his hands up her thighs, stopping short of where he wanted to be most. He could smell her, musky and sweet, and he couldn’t wait to get his mouth on her.
As if sensing his urgency, she shuffled her ass side to side, enabling him to
push her dress up to her waist. She pushed her panties down and he did the rest, tugging them down her legs before flinging them away. They landed on the toaster and she giggled, an innocent sound of such joy that he questioned whether a fling, even short term, was a good idea.
Then she spread her legs wide, baring her glistening pussy to him, and his momentary doubt vanished.
‘Lean back on your arms,’ he said, not caring if she obeyed his command or not. Either way, she’d be watching him as he went down on her, the fluorescent lighting highlighting every erotic thing he intended on doing.
But she did as he ordered, the simple action leaving her splayed wider to him.
‘You are so beautiful,’ he said, before lowering his head.
He braced his arms on the bench, spreading the insides of her thighs, her slick pink folds the sexiest thing he’d ever seen.
He knew what it meant for her to be this open to him. She’d told him that first night when he’d done his best to prove how desirable she was. So the fact she was in his kitchen now, under a bright light, totally exposed, told him more than any words ever could.
She trusted him with her body.
And he would worship it for as long as she let him.
‘Brock, do it,’ she murmured, tilting her pelvis in blatant encouragement.
‘Eager. I like that.’ His tongue darted out to barely graze her clit and she arched again, adding a wriggle for good measure.
‘You’re teasing me,’ she said, scooting forward a tad, bringing her pussy in tantalising reach of his tongue.
‘No, this would be teasing.’ He blew on her, the gentlest puff of air, that had her moaning and inching even closer.
‘Or maybe this would be teasing.’ He slid a finger into her, up to the first knuckle, before withdrawing it abruptly.
‘Maybe even this.’ This time he slid three fingers inside while pressing his thumb to her clit, the kind of pressure he knew she liked, before withdrawing them.
‘Brock, please, I’m on the edge—’
