Crave: Addicted To You

by Ash Harlow

“It’s your turn, Luther.”

  “What’s this turn thing, anyway? We’re not children,” he muttered, splashing scotch into two glasses.

  “It was your idea, I believe. Mentor them through the process before they’re allowed to apply.”

  “Yeah, well, there was some pretty crazy shit coming through the door in the early days.”

  “And there still would be if we didn’t help them out in the start. You’ll be fine. Ginger’s been working with Darcy on her application—”

  “In that case, she doesn’t need a preliminary meeting,” he said, downing half his scotch in one hit. He shuddered after he swallowed. “That’s better.”

  I slapped him on the shoulder as I passed on my way to the door. “You’ve dealt with worse. See you tomorrow.”

  Luther would have a coronary if he knew I’d given Darcy keys to my house. But it made sense, especially on nights like tonight when I was working late and Darcy had offered to cook dinner. The front door was open when I arrived home, and the aroma of her cooking drifted down the hallway.

  I found her in the kitchen, stirring something on the stove. When I pressed my lips to the back of her neck she leaned into me making a little sound that never failed to make me hard, even though she continued running the wooden spoon over the pan she was deglazing.

  “How was your meeting with Luther?” she asked.

  “It was fine. He tells me he behaved like a dick today.”

  Darcy set the spoon aside and turned to me. “He acts like one of those guys who’s jealous that his best friend has taken up a hobby he’s not interested in. I don’t want to come between you two, Oliver. You’ve obviously been friends for a long time and—”

  “Hey.” I took her fidgeting hands in mine. “He doesn’t trust you, but—”

  “He doesn’t trust me?” Her eyes are widened. “Seriously?” She snatched her hands from mine, and put one on my chest, holding me at bay as she shifted away from the stove. “I’m not after your money, Oliver, if that’s what you and Luther think.”

  I pulled a bottle of wine from the fridge, and grabbed a couple of glasses. I should have worded the trust issue better because for some reason, trust was a trigger word for Darcy. The timer beeped, automatically switching off when I moved the pan from the element and shifted it to the side. “Dinner can wait. Come out to the patio and have a drink. Let me explain some things to you.”

  I wanted to commit myself to a relationship with Darcy but I couldn’t expect the same from her until I opened up about my past. We knew each other in a sense of the present, but our backstories were a mystery. Until I explained about Annabelle she’d never understand what drove Luther’s suspicions, and why I stuck with a guy who appeared to be such an asshole.

  She settled into one of the large patio chairs. I opened the wine, poured and handed her a glass, before dragging another chair across the patio so that I could sit beside her.

  Darcy watched me for a moment, then sipped her wine and fixed her gaze across the river. She let me take hold of her hand but there wasn’t a responding squeeze from her.

  “We’ve moved quickly, Darcy, and there are conversations we should probably have had by now.”

  She nodded.

  “Let me explain about Luther.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “He’s protective of me in the same way his father—who was also a lawyer—was protective of my father.”

  “That’s quite a history,” she said.

  “Exactly. In fact, it goes back to our grandparents. Luther’s father, Ebbe Angstrom, saved Tradewind Yachts by convincing Dad to protect the business in a trust, with me as the sole beneficiary. Ebbe saw my mother for the kind of person she proved herself to be, even though Dad was blinded by his love for her.”

  Darcy nodded slowly. “So Luther thinks history is repeating.”

  “Yes, he does, but not in the way you’re thinking. The only superyacht business in the South Pacific that competes globally with Tradewind is owned by Ant Alberini.”

  “Your stepfather?”

  “That’s right.”

  “That’s a weird coincidence. Wow.”

  “Yeah, wow. The guy hates me. If there’s a superyacht build coming to this part of the world, you can be sure we’re bidding against each other for the contract. Years ago, Ant’s intention had been to take over Tradewind, and if he couldn’t do that, plan B was to take us out of business. He expected my mother to get half of Tradewind in the divorce settlement. My mother expected the same because she had no idea about the Trust. Luther’s father saved Tradewind, even if my father’s heart was broken.”

  “Ow. Messy.”

  I’d probably provided enough cause for Luther’s wariness. I could have left it there and simply expanded on the idea of Luther wanting to protect my assets. “Alberini is bitter, and he wants his revenge.”

  “Well, if Luther thinks I’m after the boatyard, he’s crazy. You can tell him that. I don’t want anything from you, Oliver, and quite honestly his behavior toward me is a little extreme if he’s basing his judgment of me on your mother’s actions. I thought lawyers dealt with facts.”

  Darcy was right, and that’s what I liked about her so much. Everything she’d done so far for the fundraiser had been well thought out. She had great ideas, an ability to troubleshoot from unusual angles and get fantastic results.

  I drained my glass and refilled. “There’s more,” I said, topping up her glass, too. “It’s stuff about Annabelle. If you’d rather I didn’t talk about her, I won’t.”

  “No, it’s fine. I think you need to tell me.”

  Her focus had returned to the river, making me think for a moment about all the worries and wishes and dreams that had been cast into its flowing waters to be carried away to the sea. I’d certainly added my share over the years.

  “Two weeks before Annabelle and I were supposed to get married, a Saturday, we were both at home. I got a call to say a delivery that should have come here had been sent to the boatyard. It was a particular wine we’d enjoyed on a trip to France we’d taken earlier in the year, and it had taken me ten months to track down another bottle of that particular vintage. Annabelle had just gotten into the shower, so I told her I was going to the boatyard to pick something up. It was supposed to be a surprise for her.”

  I paused, waiting for the rush of anger I usually experienced when I thought about that day, but for some reason, I felt quite calm.

  “Annabelle’s car was blocking mine in the driveway so I grabbed her keys, drove to the boatyard, collected the wine and returned home. As I neared the house, the radio muted and I heard a phone conversation through the car speakers. Annabelle was in the driveway talking on her cell. I had driven into range and the Bluetooth picked up the connection enabling me to hear the conversation. It took me a moment to figure out who she was talking to before I realized it was my stepfather. They were discussing the terms of the prenup Annabelle and I had signed the day before.”

  “Oh, god, Oliver.” Darcy squeezed my hand.

  “Annabelle asked for a prenup. I was the stupid fool in love who didn’t want one. As far as I was concerned, we were going to marry forever. What did we need a prenup for? What was mine, was equally hers. But Luther was on Annabelle’s side in this situation, although the terms he wanted to apply were not nearly as generous as the ones I wanted in there. We finished up meeting halfway. Turned out, Annabelle was some distant niece of my stepfather’s and they had cooked up this idea for her to marry me, divorce soon after and take a large sum of my money.”

  “And Luther thinks I’m here to do the same.”

  Darcy looked me directly in the eye when she spoke. There was not even a flicker of discomfort to suggest she was also on Ant’s payroll.

  “You showed up out of the blue from Australia. Luther says he’s entitled to be suspicious.”

  Twenty-One

  Darcy

  Body language experts claim you can’t really hide your emo
tions. The tightening under the eyes, the shift of your gaze, the unintentional positioning of your feet when asked something difficult, are all tells that give you away. But I’d endured hours of police interrogation and the mask I wore that hid my feelings slid into place these days with ease. My one overriding fear remained, and that was if Luther was concerned enough about my motives, he’d go digging through my past.

  At least his threats from this morning now made sense.

  “I’m sorry, Oliver. It’s a terrible story, and quite honestly Annabelle and your stepfather sound appalling. I know what it’s like to have your trust broken, and if you aren’t able to trust me, if you’d rather listen to Luther, I’ll understand. But, please believe me when I say that I’m not here to take anything from you. I’ll complete this contract then leave Waitapu.”

  A mess of emotions tangled in my head that I needed time to deal with. Laid bare was every reason I couldn’t get attached to Oliver. I’d slipped. Fallen for a good man who seemed genuine with every word he said. Mentally, I’d hit my massive wall of guilt and secrets and things I didn’t want to deal with. I’d arrived in Waitapu focused on that one thing I needed right now, to salvage my career and reputation. My heart and emotions were not supposed to become involved in this rebuild I was attempting.

  Oliver shouldn’t have shared. I couldn’t reciprocate without coming out of this in a worse situation than I was at my point of entry. I intended to return to the cottage but when I stood to leave, Oliver snatched my wrist.

  “I believe you, Darcy. The time felt right for you to know about my past, and why Luther’s being so difficult. Don’t go rushing off to Auckland. I’m not pushing you away.”

  He pulled me onto his lap. His scent and the feel of his body so familiar now it would have been easy to curl into that hard, broad chest and forget that I had my own past I should be sharing with him. Sharing now. Now, because later it would always appear as if I was deliberately keeping secrets from him.

  Yet, if he found out by other means, it would feel like a betrayal, and that would destroy us, too.

  Like a fractious child, I wriggled in his hold. “I need to go, please.”

  “What is it? Darcy? That was my past. It bears no relevance to what we’ve started.”

  “I’m becoming attached to you, and that scares me. I came here, to Waitapu, to get myself back on my feet. I wasn’t looking for a relationship, just a job and a bit of a timeout from the rough year I’ve had. Out of nowhere, we’ve fallen into this.” I waved my hands around, pulling everything around us into my abstract notion of Oliver and me.

  “If you want to slow things down, we can go at your pace. But I want you to understand Luther. Protecting my back is in his DNA.”

  A raw, emotional-filled laugh burst from my chest, and Oliver pulled me tighter against him. Feeling the steady thump of his heart made me wonder what it would be like to have people around who had your back. Words like solid, and reliable, came to mind. Maybe it was a smalltown thing, but watching out for each other was both honorable and expected. Luther might be explosive, but he protected his friends.

  Oliver pressed his lips to the top of my head. “When I arrived home tonight, the smell of your cooking was amazing. Let’s get back to it and you can tell me about your meeting today.”

  He opened his arms, and his release felt like the key to my better future. His hands took my hips, helping me stand. I gathered the glasses, Oliver picked up the wine, and by the time the base for the sauce was heating again on the stove, the things I had to hide were shut firmly away.

  I added capers and fresh herbs to the sauce, stirring constantly so that it wouldn’t catch and burn.

  Oliver was washing lettuce from a box of organic vegetables that waited at the door when I arrived earlier.

  “They look amazing,” I said, pointing at the box.

  “I get a delivery from Organicals each week. I need to tell you about that company, but first, tell me about your meeting this morning.”

  As I gave him the details of the meeting, he put together a salad. It still amazed me how capable he was at preparing food. Rob found even the act of phoning for a takeout order a threat to his masculinity.

  A small cardboard box held different-colored cherry tomatoes. Oliver sliced one, dipped it in this amazing single-estate olive oil and slid it into my mouth.

  “Hold it there, cut side down on your tongue, don’t chew.” He watched me as if this was some sort of test. “Now press it slowly against the roof of your mouth and wait for the flavor to erupt.”

  His smile spread like a sunrise as I followed his instructions. He was right. The sweetness of the tomato joined with the grassy flavor of the olive oil and melted over my tongue. I didn’t swallow until there was nothing more than the small empty cap of tomato skin left.

  “That’s pretty good, Sackville. You really are spoiled for great food in this town.”

  He tapped the logo on the vegetable box. “They’re an amazing company about ten miles up the river. Grow most of their produce—organic, obviously—and source what they don’t grow from other, smaller producers. They’ve been marketing the produce as weekly vegetable box deliveries. Nothing new there, but they’ve just landed a contract to supply Ron Bowen’s restaurants. They’re also helping other growers switch to organic. The company is on the cusp of something big. They’re hosting a party on Saturday night and I want you to come with me. I think you could help them out.”

  “And there I thought you wanted me as arm candy,” I teased.

  He laughed. “There’s nothing worthy in my motives, believe me. I want Organicals to use your PR expertise. It’s a way to keep you in Waitapu.”

  My heart gave a couple of quick ‘are you listening?’ thumps that I chose to ignore. Oliver’s words suggested something permanent I couldn’t give him. “You do realize I can do that sort of work from Auckland, or Timbuktu.”

  “We’re country folk, Darcy. We like the direct, hands-on approach.”

  “Yes, I noticed that,” I said, because Oliver had turned me away from the stove and lifted me onto the counter.

  He placed his hands inside my knees, opening my legs and shifting between them. Then he leaned right in until our noses were almost touching. “You’ve had a shitty day, Darcy. I intend to make it up to you after dinner.”

  He was operating on full sexy voice, sending a shiver of desire through me. “Am I allowed to ask how?”

  “Orgasms. Lots of them.”

  “You’re going to fuck me back to happiness?”

  “Whatever it takes. My dick is kind of magic like that.”

  I burst out laughing.

  “See?” he said, with a cocky grin. “Even the mention of it cheers you up.”

  “I’m going to hold you to that promise.”

  Twenty-Two

  Oliver

  Years back, Luther and I used to visit a club when we were in Auckland. The dominance, restraints, rough sex were more Luther’s thing than mine, but I can’t deny it was wild and heady. Nothing, though, came close to Darcy on her knees, gazing up at me with wide eyes.

  She’d come to me in the bathroom while I showered. At the entrance to the shower she stood silently and stripped. Our eyes stayed locked, both of us naked, her hands at her sides as if waiting for my permission to step into the spray.

  I held my hand out to her and she walked in. Taking hold of my forearm she lowered herself to her knees, water streaming over us from the double jets.

  “May I?” she asked, dropping her gaze from my face, to my hard cock, and back to my face again.

  “All yours.”

  Eyes still on mine, not flinching as a stream of water hit her face, she ran her tongue around her lips and gripped the base of my cock. Then she lowered her head and without any teasing engulfed me with her mouth. Her other hand cupped my balls, and my knees threatened to buckle as I hit the back of her throat.

  She gagged, and tried again, further this time before she slid b
ack up my shaft and swirled her tongue around the head. My jaw clenched and I swallowed hard because within a minute, she had me right on the edge.

  I gathered her hair up as she sucked me in and out of her mouth, her tongue, hands working the base of my cock and balls. I wasn’t going to last long in that perfect wet heat.

  “Fuck, Darcy.”

  She released me with a pop. “Is that how you like it?” she asked, eyes all mock-innocence.

  “No. That’s how I love it.” I eased her head back down, and she took me again. Three thrusts and I pulled her back off. “Exactly like that. How about you?”

  Darcy took in a couple of big gulps of air. “I love your cock. The taste, the soft skin, the way it’s so big.” She gulped again and swallowed. “So big I think I’m going to choke, that I can’t take it…and then, I can.”

  She tried to dive down, stopped by the grip I had on her hair.

  “Look at me.” Her eyes found mine. “If my cock goes down your throat again, I’m going to come. You tell me where.”

  “In my mouth. Drown me.”

  I eased the head past her lips and stopped. She tried to take more but I gave her hair a tug. “That’s enough. Suck, just there, and while you do that, I want you to think about how your pussy feels. Is it wet?”

  She groaned, her tongue drawing patterns over the end of my cock.

  “Does it need my mouth, or my cock?” She made a sound and I jerked out of her mouth. Spit and shower water ran down her chin.

  “Everything,” she said. “Your cock, mouth, fingers.”

  “Spread your knees wider. I want you to play with yourself while I fuck your mouth. Get that pussy ready for me.”

  Her hand disappeared between her legs as I pushed back into her mouth. This time, I went deeper. Her other hand reached for my hip and I used it to guide how deep I went. I hit the back of her throat, she gagged, but when I went to ease up, she pulled me closer, and swallowed. I stayed there, my balls tightening ready to come. I dragged myself back out.