by Nicole Snow
“Sorry,” I squeak, wincing at how expensive his suits must be.
“I want your tongue back, not your apologies,” he growls.
Happy to oblige.
I fumble for his buttons. It’s surprisingly hard getting a button through a slit when your eyes are closed, your mind is full, and your body is a five-alarm fire.
So I just yank. A few get through the holes. A couple ping against the floor.
Oops. His shirt swooshes against the hardwood on impact.
I pull away from him to take in Orion in all his glory. That dip between his pecs still looks like a perfect fit for my hand.
So I lay it flat, wedged between those throbbing muscles, marveling. “I’ve wanted to do that since the first time I saw you shirtless.”
“What? Touch me?”
I nod slowly.
A throaty chuckle spills out of him and he holds me tighter, planting fresh kisses on my forehead. I smile up at him and put my fingers on the lace of my corset.
“Wait,” he clips, a one-word order that halts me in place.
“Ward?”
We’re moving, I think, and the next thing I know we’re upstairs and he’s laying me down on a bed bigger than a sultan’s. I giggle because it’s either that or choke in awe.
I don’t remember moving through the penthouse.
“I’m pulling that bow and unwrapping you right now,” he insists. “Hold still, sweetheart.”
He loosens it just like he promised, kissing the spot between my breasts where it rested. He unlaces the corset like he’s unwinding the Gordian knot, one thread at a time, peeling the cloth away with his brow pulled low as a thunderhead.
Holy hell.
His tongue traces circles over the top of my cleavage before plunging lower. He takes my breast into his mouth, flicking his tongue against my nipple, marking me with his teeth.
“Oh!” Somehow, I have the poise for my arms to flail at his belt until I find it.
He goes still, letting me move it through the loops, his eyes completely animalistic.
I unbutton his pants and slide them down, raking my hands under his boxers, pushing them away.
In one brisk tug of his arm, my dress is gone.
His head falls between my breasts. His lips paint my skin in soft, quick, sweet strokes. And he trails those soft, quick, sweet kisses down to my silk panties, the last barrier between us.
Ward’s teeth nip at my waist, and the cloth moves, but barely.
Oh, God. This is it.
My legs tremble. My eyelids quiver. The waistband moves a little bit more, inch by agonizing inch, baring me to this brute of a boss I can’t believe I’m getting naked with.
This sculpture of a man removes my panties with his teeth and a lingering shudder of thunder in his throat.
“I’ve lived like a monk and I’m clean,” he says, gazing into my eyes as he stands again. “Tell me I can feel you, Paige.”
I know what he’s asking, and I answer with a nod that turns my cheeks into cherries. “I’m on the pill. Ward, I need you.”
And his kiss tells me how flipping bad that need is as he pushes me back on the bed and climbs between my legs.
I feel like a total goddess.
I think it can’t get better.
But then he slides into me.
I forget how to breathe. My pussy molds to the enormous thrust filling me, hell-bent on conquest.
He anchors himself deep enough to rest his balls against my skin, his pubic bone grazing my clit, and—
And holy Warden.
We fuse together too perfectly.
His hips pull back and crash forward again, a wave of a man, pleasure made tsunami, everything wild in the slash of his hips that says he means to carve his name in my body with pure ecstasy.
His mouth smothers mine, ripping the air from my lungs.
Soft, lavish strokes of his tongue announce his greed, and a full body caress grinds on.
I wrap my arms around him, desperate to have him closer, even when we’re joined in a primal rhythm that keeps coming faster, harder, beautifully.
“Paige, fuck,” he groans, eyes flashing deep in his head, twin blue fires.
His hands grab mine, throwing them over my head and pinning me to the mattress, pressing me down so tight it’s hard to tell where I end and he begins. The sinful slash of his tongue and pelvis don’t miss a beat, and shit, I’m close.
My legs hook around his hips, shaking, an O the size of a California earthquake pounding through me.
I cinch my legs around him and surrender to the ride.
And I can’t withstand much more, knowing I’m about to come on every seething inch of him, every hammer of his thrusts and match-strike of my clit.
Every freaking glory that makes Ward Brandt the only constellation I’ll ever want in my sky.
He breaks our kiss with a ragged groan, a rough tension in his wall of a body, and a glance that carves me up.
The tempo of his hips rises from slow and gentle to ruthless. Impatient.
I squeeze my legs tighter, holding on for dear life.
He kisses my eyebrow and returns his tongue to my mouth, a kiss that leaves no doubt what he’s demanding.
Thank God, because I’ll die if we don’t come together.
“Ward!” I whimper, mouthing his name on the charged air more than saying it.
“Come for me, damn you,” he growls, pressing his forehead to mine, and winning the war that began the day our destinies crashed together.
White-hot pleasure rips through me, courtesy of the beast who plunges his cock ever deeper, reminding me with every stroke that I’ll be owned long after this night.
Far longer than any contract.
It’s a whole new level of electric I never knew existed.
Every nerve tingles, a fiery echo of the eruption in my core.
I’m convulsing. Floating on air. I think I’m laughing—silently, of course, because I’m so drunk on this climax I can’t make a sound.
This is new. I’ve had sex before but I’ve never floated.
With a guttural snarl, Ward drives into me one more time, plunging his steel length to the hilt. His arms tighten around me and I can feel him swelling.
“Oh, hell—Paige!”
Then comes a wave of fluid heat that sets me off again. He comes hard, ruts harder, and kisses me like he wants to break me when it’s through.
It’s just the right kind of roughness and God I’m in love.
But I love the afterglow, too, when we reluctantly pull apart and his head falls near mine, sharing one big pillow.
He turns with a smile that makes me think I hung the stars, and kisses my cheek like a prom date in his glory after his first dance with a pretty girl.
And for once in my life, I’m her.
I’m worthy.
I’m still reeling when I crack my eyes open the next day, scared the most amazing night of my life was just a dream.
If winding up under Ward Brandt was inevitable, a long road with a dozen nasty detours...then we just made up for it in spades.
Is this real life?
Chiseled gods don’t go for plain artsy nerd-girls. My heart still wants to leap out of my chest and take flight like the hyperactive sparrow it is.
Smiling into the sunbeam splashed across my face, I reach my arm out. It lands on a fluffy mattress and a snatch of tangled sheets.
“Ward?” I turn my head.
I’m still in his bed. Alone.
Well, chiseled gods don’t go for plain art nerd-girls. It was real, it was fun, but it’s not the kind of thing to last.
I find my crumpled dress on the floor, step into it, and pull the corset tight enough so I’m not exposed, then shuffle to the guest suite with what’s left of my dignity.
Crap.
He sits in the game room I have to cross to get to my suite, a soul-rending grin on his face.
“Mornin’, sweetheart. That dress looks even better on you
today than it did last night,” he says in this low panther-like purr. It’s still fraught with desire.
“It-it does?” I stammer.
“Technically, it looks better on the ground, but yeah. You’re damn near glowing, Paige.”
Ward, keep it to yourself.
There goes my heart again, but this time it’s bound for orbit.
Leaning against the couch, I rest my hand on the sleek leather and try to keep my gaze focused on my fingers. “So, I was thinking. We have roughly two months left in our contract—”
“Yep,” he says, melting me in his island pools for eyes.
Crap-o-rama.
He’s not going to make this easy.
“But since Winthrope agreed—” I try again, tripping on his gaze.
“Yep. I had the contract sent the second I woke up.”
“Wow, that’s fast. Do you think we should—”
“Yeah,” he cuts me off again, his eyes leaving no doubt whatsoever what he’d like to do. “The fun doesn’t end there just because he bought our little lie. We’ve got to keep up appearances, Paige.”
“We do?” It comes out like the faintest squeak.
Why is he making this so difficult? I was going to give him an easy out, an excuse to put his shields back up, a reason for us to start keeping our distance like sane people.
He’s a careful man.
He can’t possibly want a repeat of last night...right?
But my Warden nods firmly.
“You heard me. Can’t have the guy thinking I’m doing something insane like faking an engagement to a pretty girl just to convince him I’m a decent man.”
I giggle. “Oh, of course. Who would do such a thing?”
He shakes his head, a mock-pained grin on his face. “Leave it to those Brandt boys. So, we’ve got two months, and I’ve done some thinking of my own. I hope you’ll hear me out.”
Like I have any choice. I nod briskly.
He stands, moves behind the couch with me, and pulls me into his arms.
“Paige, we could have a lot of fun with this illusion. Actually, I think we should continue just as we are until the Winthrope hotel’s well into final approval. You open to that?”
I’m nothing but open.
Not when biceps strong enough to hold up the entire world envelope me.
Dammit, Ward, I’ll play your fiancée as long as you’ll have me.
I answer him with a kiss more syrupy sweet than raw honey.
“Now that it’s settled, do you want to go out for breakfast or should I order something here?” he asks.
At some point, my gaze falls to his lips. “If you have a stocked kitchen, I could cook for you.”
“You cook?” His head cocks adorably.
“Duh. It’s an art form.” My eyes are still focused on those full lips that moved over my body last night.
He leans down and kisses me. “I’m not sure how stocked the kitchen is, but let’s find out.”
I stand on my tiptoes to kiss him again. He meets my lips. The kiss comes long, slow, and entirely obsessed.
“Paige, last night—”
Oh my God. Worry bleeds into my eyes. He’s going to tell me it was a mistake, and it can never happen again. I mean, I get it, but...
“Yes?”
“Are you sore?” He beams the world’s wickedest smile.
Wardhole. I should’ve known. He only mentioned it to humiliate me.
“Why would I be?” I throw back, jabbing my nose in the air.
His low, gravelly snort is shameless.
He pulls the lace of the very loosely tied corset. My dress falls. And my cheeks are on fire when I dive into his hungry dark eyes.
“Because if you’re sore, I can soothe you. If you’re not, we didn’t go at it hard enough, and I’m a man who fixes his mistakes.”
His bravado makes me snicker.
“You make mistakes, bossman?” I narrow my eyes and grin.
He combs a hand through my hair. “Let me make it up to you for coming too fast last night.”
That was fast? What the what? Half-hour jackhammer sessions where he almost spun me inside freaking out?
My body was ready to explode.
And that body gets swallowed by his gaze a second later when he says, “You’re not wearing panties.”
Someone’s bravado evaporates. I bite my lip.
“Um, yeah, couldn’t find them.”
His grin shrinks me into the floor. “Should I make it up to you, then?”
My face gets hot. “Believe me, you did nothing wrong, Ward. I...I floated.”
“Floated?” he repeats.
I close my eyes, my lips wavering.
“I never floated before. Not even once. Not with anyone else.”
It’s a hard thing to admit I’ve never come before with a man. But when your dating life consists of one incredibly selfish ex plus a few Tinder boys who could stand to revisit She Comes First 101, it’s easy to wind up deprived.
He’s quiet for a minute, then says, “Oh. Oh, shit.”
Like some big revelation just occurred.
I mean, it did for me, considering I’m here naked in front of a man who mauls me with every glance.
I’m suddenly feeling too bare and start reaching for my dress.
“What are you doing?”
My fingers grasp the cloth, and I start pulling it up. “I just...I need to have this talk a little less—bare?” It comes out like a question.
His eyes blaze.
Then he pulls the dress up for me, scoops me up in his arms like a bride, and sits us on the couch.
“If you were floating, Paige, then I’ve been on cloud damn nine since the evening I came to your rescue,” he whispers. “That whole stupid tried-to-get-you-fired-thing aside, of course.”
Damn, Ward. Go right ahead and make this as embarrassing as possible.
“You’re—God, I’ve told you you’re perfect. My hormones got the best of me that night when you white knighted me. You weren’t wrong to wonder about me,” I say.
“You know what I think?”
“That I was drunk and reckless and totally willing to have a one-night stand?” None of which is actually wrong, and the only thing that is might be the fact that if I were a guy, it would all be completely acceptable.
He smiles. “I think a woman who’s never floated before needs to be airborne. And once she’s mastered the art of floating, it’s time for her to soar.”
Holy Hannah.
I can’t look at him for more than a too-hot second. Not if I want to believe he’s just talking about sex, and he totally isn’t looking at me like a man who cares. Deeply.
He lifts my head off his lap, stands, then kneels in front of the couch on his knees.
“Ward, what are you doing?”
He doesn’t answer with words.
His hands cup my legs, pulling them forward. He’s arranged me in some weird seated position, but my bottom barely touches the couch. His lips start at my calf, intent on destruction, gradually inching up my leg.
“What on earth are you doing?” I ask again.
But more of those slow-burn kisses on the side of my knee are the only answer I get, right before he traces the bend with his tongue.
A rough giggle falls out of me.
“You...you don’t need to—”
One fierce growl against my skin indicates what he needs.
Oh, sweet heaven.
His head swoops under my dress, hidden by folds of pale-blue gauze. His lips roam the side of my knee again before he looks up, pinning me to the seat with gas fires for eyes.
“Sweetheart, you don’t want me to quit. I promise you.”
He kisses my lower thigh and his lips continue their long march, inching up to a spot that makes me start to shake. Each time his lips meet my skin, he drags his tongue across my inner thigh.
Apparently, floating means going much higher the second time with this man.
His
tongue traces the crease between my thigh and pelvis before he looks at me. “Hey, I have a special assignment I need you to do.”
What?
“Right now?” I squeak.
“Yeah. Start counting how many times you float for me.” His tongue flicks against the little nub he tortured so sweetly last night, pushing against it and letting up.
How is he so good at this?
Oh, right.
Wardhole.
And that Wardhole’s tongue is velvet drenched in kerosene, a lit match striking my flesh, intent on leaving ashes in his wake.
God. I need more. I need him to—
His beard brushes my inner thigh as he moves against my folds, pausing to inhale my scent. He lifts my legs over his tense shoulders, securing them in place, making me a willing prisoner for his glorious mouth.
The next minutes are one hot mess of ecstasy.
Burning breath. Thundering desire. Tongue brushing everywhere, invading my folds, darting against this sweet spot that makes my toes curl.
And when he moves to my clit, pulling it between his teeth and lashing his tongue, just as I’m on the edge...
Gone.
I dig my nails into his leather sofa and push forward, riding his face, surrendering to the maniacal strokes rocketing me to nirvana.
“Ward!” His name is a ragged whisper before everything goes deliciously breathless.
I’m coming so hard I see stars.
Correction: I see Orion.
His kiss tickles me sometime later, bringing me out of my death-by-mouth. My body shudders as he sucks my clit one more time so tenderly, just before he looks up.
“Are you floating now, sweetheart?”
How do I even answer that? I don’t want to feed his colossal ego, but the confident smirk on his lips says it’s plenty well fed.
“God, yeah. That was otherworldly. You gave me everything I never knew I needed,” I whisper.
“Little liar,” he says with a deep laugh.
“Huh? No, it’s just—”
“You’re telling me you can’t float some more?” He doesn’t wait for my answer.
His tongue skims down my thigh again, moving back and forth across my opening.
Soft, quick strokes and teasing as hell.
I press a hand to my mouth, stifling a raw whimper.
Unbelievably, I’m ready for him again, like my body just up and decided it can’t ever have enough of Ward flipping Brandt.
