The Perfect Fit (Riley O'Brien & Co. #2.5)

by Jenna Sutton

  He couldn’t believe what she was telling him. Questions ping-ponged inside his head.

  Lightly caressing his fingers with hers, she said, “Whenever you have a nightmare, he wakes me up, and I let him into your room so he can sleep with you. Last night, he couldn’t calm you down, so I stayed with you instead.”

  She had known about his leg all this time? She knew about his nightmares? Roby couldn’t open doors on his own?

  “If you knew about my leg, why didn’t you say something about it?”

  “Why didn’t you?” she countered.

  “Because I want you to treat me like a normal guy. I don’t want you to feel sorry for me.”

  “You are a normal guy.”

  Oh, shit. He hadn’t meant to say those things out loud.

  “And I don’t feel sorry for you.” Under her breath, she mumbled, “Right now, I feel sorry for myself.”

  Baffled by her comment, he asked, “Why do you feel sorry for yourself?”

  She huffed in obvious frustration. “Because I’m in your bed, Zeke, and you haven’t even noticed that I’m almost naked.”

  Glancing down, he eyed her breasts. Her tight black camisole barely contained the plump mounds.

  “I noticed,” he assured her.

  She slid her hand between their bodies. “I noticed something, too,” she murmured, brushing her knuckles against his cotton-covered erection.

  Jesus.

  All the blood rushed from his head and pooled in his groin. A half-naked woman was in bed with him—a woman he wanted desperately. Before he’d met her, he hadn’t known what it was like to feel this way.

  She knew about his leg. She knew about his nightmares. And she still wanted to have sex with him.

  He wasn’t going to waste any more time talking. He could think of a lot of other things he’d rather do with his mouth.

  He rolled onto his back, hooked an arm around her hips, and pulled her on top of him. Her full breasts flattened against his chest, and his hard-on nestled into the notch of her thighs.

  Reaching up, he tugged the elastic band from her ponytail. Shiny, fragrant strands created a curtain around their faces. He threaded his fingers through her hair and brought her mouth to his. She sighed when their lips touched, a tiny exhale that sounded like pleasure and relief combined.

  He’d been fantasizing about her mouth for weeks now. The taste of it. The feel of it. The wet heat of it as she sucked on his tongue and his dick.

  And now, he devoured it, biting and licking her lips until she pulled her head back, gasping for air. He gave her a moment before diving back in.

  Her lips fell open, and he dipped his tongue inside, moaning as he got a taste of her … sweet and earthy, like maple syrup. He licked and savored, touching his tongue to hers, sliding it against hers, sucking hers into his mouth.

  Releasing her lips, he trailed his mouth across her jaw toward her neck. She tilted her head back, giving him access to the sensitive skin. With his tongue, he found the frantic flutter of her pulse. It seemed to match his own.

  “Sit up,” he ordered hoarsely.

  She immediately did as he asked, placing her palms on his shoulders and using them for leverage. Finding the hem of her top, he said, “This needs to go.”

  She raised her arms. He ripped the camisole over her head, revealing her breasts.

  Jesus.

  He’d seen them before, touched them, too. But his memory wasn’t anywhere close to the reality—firm, perky mounds tipped with dainty apricot-colored nipples.

  He wanted those nipples in his mouth. He wanted to feel them against his tongue.

  Now.

  She must have been a mind reader, because she leaned forward, letting her breasts swing over his mouth. He caught one of her nipples between his lips and sucked it deep. While he laved the hard nub with his tongue, he massaged her other breast with his hand, shaping and molding it to fit his palm.

  The contrasting textures intrigued him: the silky plumpness of her breasts and the pebbled velvet of her nipples. He swirled his tongue around the peak before giving it a hard nip.

  She gasped. “Zeke, oh, my God. Do that again.”

  He obliged her before shifting his mouth to her other breast and giving it the same attention. As the rich, sweet taste of her skin filled his mouth, he wondered what she would taste like between her legs.

  Jesus.

  He wanted to shove his face between Margo’s legs. Would she let him?

  Skimming his hands over her rib cage, he traced the line of her spine until he reached the waistband of her panties. He slid both hands under the lace and cupped her ass cheeks in his palms.

  As he kneaded her ass, she nuzzled her face into his chest. She found his nipple and flicked it with her tongue. When her teeth grazed it, a spark zipped down his nerve endings, making his dick even harder.

  She rocked her hips a little, grinding on him, and for a moment, he was afraid he was going to shoot off in his underwear like a teenage boy. Gripping her waist, he lifted her off him, reducing the delicious pressure on his dick.

  “Zeke, no,” she protested. “I don’t want to stop.”

  Before he could tell her that he had no intention of stopping—that he just needed a little time to regain some self-control—she wriggled out of her panties and climbed back on top of him.

  She sat up with her knees bracketing his torso. Like a heat-guided missile, his eyes found the apex of her thighs.

  Jesus.

  The hair covering her pussy was a little darker than the strawberry-blond strands on her head. He wanted to nuzzle his face into that tiny tuft and let her smell fill his nose before spreading the lips of her pussy and licking her plump pink flesh.

  And the only way he was going to get what he wanted was to ask for it.

  “Margo…” He paused, surprised by how raspy his voice sounded. He cleared his throat roughly. “I want to…”

  He hesitated, unsure of how to phrase it. Perform cunnilingus? That sounded like a surgical procedure. Go downtown? She might give him bus fare.

  Fuck it.

  He wasn’t going to ask. He was just going to do it, and if she didn’t like it, he would stop.

  Clasping her waist with both hands, he slid down the bed a few inches. Then he lifted her up and placed her pussy right on his face.

  Margo’s squeal of surprise barely registered because his senses were on overload. He was lost in her.

  Her private curls tickled his mouth, and her smell intoxicated him. She was so wet her juice had glazed his lips. He licked at it, and the taste of her almost made him lose it. No wonder guys talked about pussy as if it were a gourmet meal.

  Gently, he eased his tongue between the folds of her sex, stroking the delicate tissue. He delved deeper, finding the opening to her body. He lapped up her juice before pushing his tongue inside her.

  Above him, Margo moaned softly. Suddenly, a stab of apprehension dampened his excitement.

  He had never done this before. He was just going on instinct and what he’d heard over the years.

  What if he wasn’t good at it? What if he disappointed her?

  Margo’s voice floated from above. “Again, Zeke. Do it again.”

  Wanting to please her, he darted his tongue inside her again. Then he swept it upward until he reached her clitoris. It was smooth and hard, like a pearl, and he rolled his tongue over it.

  She cried out in unmistakable pleasure, so he did it again and again until the little nub throbbed against his tongue. Switching things up, he licked circles around her clit, occasionally swiping his tongue over it.

  He could tell she liked that because she began to move against his mouth, little moans drifting from her with every rock of her pelvis. Digging his fingers into the cheeks of her ass, he pulled tighter against his face and sucked on her clit.

  She froze with her thighs trembling around his head. She screamed his name, her voice echoing in the room as her juice flooded his mouth. He couldn’t b
e one hundred percent certain, but he was pretty sure he’d just made her come.

  She lifted herself off his face. He glanced up, past the vibrant curls on her pussy and the sinuous curve of breasts. Her hands were clenched on the headboard, and she was looking down at him.

  This woman turned him on like no one else. His ears roared with the sound of his blood rushing through his veins, and his dick throbbed with every beat of his heart.

  “Have you been with anyone since you lost your leg?”

  He shook his head, and a small, pleased smile curved her mouth. Dropping her hands from the headboard, she scooted down his body until his hard-on was snug against her ass and her knees hugged his hips. With just a little nudge, he would be pressed up against her asshole.

  Jesus.

  He’d never been one of those guys who got turned on by backdoor sex, but the thought of taking Margo’s ass made his balls draw up tight. Maybe he was one of those guys after all.

  She rose up on her knees, positioning herself over his erection. “Zeke.”

  Reluctantly, he dragged his gaze from where their bodies touched. “What?”

  “Do you want me?”

  “Yes,” he answered hoarsely.

  She wiggled a little. The tip of his hard-on nudged her slick opening, and her juice trickled over him. She lowered herself in a slow, torturous slide, her internal muscles tightly clasping his dick. Widening her legs, she took him deeper … deeper … ah, deeper.

  Jesus.

  With his balls flush against her, she braced her hand in the middle of his chest and began to ride him slowly. He wanted to be patient, to let her set the pace. But she was tight and hot, and he couldn’t stop himself from clenching his hands on her hips and taking over.

  He worked her over his dick, lifting her up and thrusting deep when he brought her down. He knew he was taking her too hard and too fast, and he told himself to slow down, to be gentle with her. But his control was unraveling, like a spool of thread.

  It wasn’t because he hadn’t had sex in nearly three years. It wasn’t because this was a new position for him.

  It was because of Margo. She made him lose control.

  He lifted her again, and when he drove deep this time, his control snapped. With a roar, he came, harder than he ever had. As he flooded her with his seed, he heard her cry out. Her pussy clenched around his dick, the powerful spasms wringing him dry.

  She fell forward, tucking her face into the side of his neck. She was shaking, and he ran his hand up and down her back, trying to soothe her.

  His vision was blurry, and when he blinked, he realized tears were leaking from his eyes. He had no idea why he was crying; he’d never cried after sex before.

  But this wasn’t just sex. It was a hell of a lot more.

  “I’m sorry.” His voice sounded like he’d swallowed gravel. “I know I was too rough. Did I hurt you?”

  Turning her head, she kissed his jaw. “No.”

  She lifted her hips, and he pulled out as carefully as he could. She climbed off him and rolled onto her back.

  He glanced down at his dick, which was still semi-erect. It glistened with their combined fluids, visible proof of how irresponsible they’d been.

  “We didn’t use a condom.”

  “I know,” she replied. “But we’re both clean, and I’m on birth control pills, so there’s nothing to worry about.”

  Her calm response told him that she’d known there was no risk. He was the one who had been careless.

  Suddenly, she jumped off the bed and pointed to the clock that sat on his nightstand. “Is that right?”

  “Of course.”

  He wouldn’t have a clock in his room set to the wrong time. That would defeat the purpose, wouldn’t it?

  Her eyes widened in obvious dismay. Then she darted for the door and flung it open.

  “Stop right there,” he barked, sitting up in bed.

  She froze, standing in his open doorway, stark naked. “What?”

  “We have to talk about this.”

  “Not now, Zeke. I’m late for work.”

  And then she disappeared in a flash of smooth, white skin and tousled, reddish-gold hair. He flopped back on the mattress, wondering if he’d just been a hit-it-and-run victim.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  When it came to wine, Margo had low standards. She drank it to relax, not as a sign of her socio-economic status.

  As she took a sip of the pinot noir she’d bought at Trader Joe’s, she prayed the vintage would loosen the tension that knotted her entire body. She wasn’t looking forward to talking with Zeke about what had happened in his bed this morning.

  She had used work as an excuse to hightail it out of his room. She could have missed the meeting and talked with him. But she hadn’t been ready to hear him say that they’d made a mistake.

  Leaning against the kitchen counter, she took another sip of wine. It tasted pretty good, but then again, she couldn’t tell the difference between a five-dollar bottle and a fifty-dollar bottle.

  For once, she had beaten Zeke home from work. Her days were usually crazy, full of sick animals and worried owners. But today had been surprisingly low-key and peaceful, and she’d been able to leave an hour earlier than usual.

  Zeke had sent her a text, warning her that he would be late because he was dealing with a supply chain emergency. That was the only communication they’d had all day … except for the nonverbal communication in his bed.

  Closing her eyes, she massaged her forehead with her fingertips. She didn’t have a lot of sexual experience—she’d only been with three guys, including Zeke—but this morning had rocked her world off its axis.

  He had sent her spinning with two luscious orgasms. It made sense that he was good in bed; he was a classic overachiever.

  Her feelings for him had intensified her physical response … that, and the knowledge that she was the only one he’d been with since he had lost his leg. She hoped that meant something—that this morning had been more than just sex for him.

  She absently lifted the wineglass to her mouth. To her surprise, it was empty. She debated whether to have a second glass.

  Oh, what the hell. Why not?

  As she poured another serving of pinot noir, she asked herself what she wanted from Zeke … assuming he didn’t come home from work and insist that they forget this morning ever happened.

  She knew what she didn’t want: a roommate-with-benefits arrangement. But what if that was all he was willing to offer her? She could never be satisfied with that, not when she wanted an exclusive relationship that would eventually lead to marriage and children.

  A buzzing sound echoed in the apartment. After placing her wineglass on the counter, she headed toward the intercom near the front door. She wasn’t expecting anyone, but sometimes delivery people left packages with other residents when they couldn’t reach the recipient.

  Pressing the intercom button, she said, “Can I help you?”

  “Yes,” a woman’s voice answered. “I’m here to see Zeke May.”

  Huh?

  The woman spoke again. “Are you Zeke’s roommate? I’m Andrea May.”

  For a moment, Margo was frozen in disbelief. Zeke’s ex-wife was in San Francisco?

  “Can you let me in?” Andrea requested.

  Like an automaton, Margo pressed the button to allow Andrea inside. Then she leaned against the wall and took several deep breaths. This was the last thing she had expected to deal with tonight.

  Just then, a knock sounded on the apartment door. She took one more deep breath and exhaled before opening the door.

  “Hello,” Andrea said, extending her hand. “You must be Margo. I’m Andrea May.”

  Margo took the other woman’s hand, noting the perfect French manicure on her nails. “Yes, I’m Margo.”

  The photos of Andrea didn’t do her justice. Zeke’s ex-wife was even more beautiful in person.

  Margo would have killed to have the other woman’s l
ong, feathery eyelashes. They had to be fake, right? And her long, wavy hair had to be extensions. No one’s hair could be that thick without the help of a salon.

  Andrea knew how to dress to accentuate her tall, willowy figure. She wore a pair of cream-colored trousers that made her legs look a mile long, a silky black shirt with a draped neckline, and red patent leather stilettos.

  Next to Andrea, Margo felt like a troll. She was at least six inches shorter than the other woman.

  Margo had planned to shower and change before Zeke got home. She was still wearing her maroon scrubs from work, her makeup had worn off, and her hair was twisted into a messy bun on top of her head.

  “It’s so nice to meet you,” Andrea said before releasing Margo’s hand.

  The taller woman moved forward, as if she had every right to be there, forcing Margo to scoot to the side of the entryway. And that was when she noticed the black suitcase Andrea pulled behind her.

  Slowly, Margo closed the door and followed Andrea into the living room. Zeke had neglected to mention that his ex-wife was coming for a visit.

  Where had he planned for her to sleep? Somehow she doubted Andrea would be bedding down on the sofa.

  “This is a nice apartment,” Andrea noted. “It’s bigger than I thought it would be.” She glanced down, her scarlet lips pursed in visible distaste. “I always hated this rug.”

  Pushing down the telescoping handle of her suitcase, Andrea asked, “Where’s Zeke? He’s usually home by now, isn’t he?”

  “He had to work late. He didn’t mention that you were coming.”

  Andrea sat down on the sofa and crossed her long legs. “We’ve talked for months about me visiting, and I decided to surprise him.”

  “Oh,” Margo replied lamely, wondering if Andrea’s presence would be a good surprise or a bad surprise.

  “I thought it would be a good idea to come out since I’ll probably end up relocating here. Zeke loves his job at Riley O’Brien & Co., and I don’t think he’ll be willing to move back to Maryland.”

  What?

  “It’s probably better that we start over in a new city, anyway,” Andrea continued.

  Margo stared at Andrea, unable to believe what she was hearing. “Start over? Are you and Zeke getting back together?”