The Deal

by Holly Hart

  Still her hand lingers near my cock, temptingly close to it but not quite touching. Probably for the best. I’m more turned on than I’ve ever been in my life; her touch will send me over the edge, and that’s not what I want, not now. When I go, I want to take her with me.

  I reach down, braceleting my hand around her wrist, pulling her hand away from my body and moving it upward until it’s wrapped around my neck.

  She shifts her head back, and her eyes clash with mine. Questions swirl in the green depths.

  “Did I …” she starts, her voice so hesitant, so unsure, it nearly breaks my heart.

  Wanting, needing, to reassure her, I cover her mouth in a kiss so hard and so hot, I’m certain she feels it all the way to her toes.

  I cup the back of her left thigh, guiding her leg up until it’s hooked around my hip. My cock strains, desperate for the feel of her sweet pussy surrounding it.

  “I need to come inside of you,” I say against her mouth, stealing a kiss between each word.

  She doesn’t respond; she doesn’t have to. The way her body is undulating around me is enough.

  I push against her, bracing her back against the slick shower wall before sliding one hand between us. My thumb finds her clit, rubbing slowly against it as the head of my cock unerringly finds and parts her folds.

  She tenses and I hurry to reassure her. “Just relax,” I murmur against her wet, heated skin. “Just relax and let me take care of everything.”

  Her nails dig deep crescents into the back of my neck as she squirms against me, the movement causing bolts of white-hot lightning to flash behind my eyelids. My cock jumps, straining to go deeper into her channel.

  “Easy.” My thumb presses down on her clit, the action causing her pussy to spasm around my cock. I need to slow down or else I’m going to come too soon and leave her hanging, which is the last thing I want to do.

  Bit by bit, she relaxes against me, her body adjusting to the intrusion. I take advantage of the situation and slam into her, my first thrust taking me all the way to the hilt. Her eyes widen and her heel digs into my ass, trying to hold me in place, even as I retreat. I arch against her and drive into her a second time, loving the way her eyes glaze with passion.

  If there’s a heaven on earth, this is it, I think as her inner walls clamp down on my cock, her sweet heat enveloping me.

  Pressure builds in my balls, demanding release. I won’t be able to hold back much longer, but I’m determined to make sure that Caitlin is right there with me, that when we come it’s together.

  I cup the back of her thigh, shifting her leg just enough that I can change the angle of my thrusts. The change is small but it’s enough that the tip of my cock slides against Caitlin’s G-spot. The unexpected touch on that sensitive bundle of nerves causes her legs to tighten against me.

  “Jeremy.” She screams my name and bucks in my arms. Her head whips back and forth. Her wet hair sticks to the shower wall as her body tightens, vice-like, against my cock, the feeling so good my eyes cross.

  It’s all I can take. I throw my head back and roar out her name as I shoot a hot, thick stream of cum into her depths.

  All of the strength goes out of my body. My knees buckle and I slowly collapse onto the shower floor. My arms remain tight against Caitlin, bringing her down with me, holding her close against my chest, murmuring meaningless words against her hair. Her body bucks and shakes around me, her pussy continuing to convulse around my cock as she rides out the tail end of her orgasm.

  71

  Caitlin

  “Add a little more baby’s breath to the right side.” I watch as Jeremy inserts the flowers into the cheap plastic vase. “Gently now, you don’t want to damage the stems.”

  Jeremy follows my advice and slides the baby’s breath into the vase with as much care as he would use if he was handling the Crown Jewels.

  I grin as I watch him. Never in a million years would I have guessed that I’d have Jeremy Caldwell, one of the richest and most important businessmen in the country, in my workroom putting together budget flower arrangements. And the fact that he is doing so in damp, wrinkled clothing that was scooped up off my bathroom floor after a bout of mind-blowing shower sex is icing on the cake.

  He looks up, meeting my eyes. “How’d I do?”

  “Marvelous.” And he has. It is a simple arrangement, just a few pink and red carnations, some baby’s breath, and a single azalea. “They’ll assume I did it. Now, can you repeat the process?”

  “Can I repeat the process?” He reaches for another cheap vase. “I’m practically a pro.”

  I pass him two carnations, one a light red, the other pink. He carefully slides the long stems into the vase. “I’m not sure I’d go that far, but you do seem to have a knack. Maybe when you retire from Caldwell Industries, you can take up flower arranging.”

  “Might be an interesting way to supplement my pension.” He tucks the pretty azalea between the large carnations. “Why these flowers?”

  “Baby’s breath because it’s pretty and makes everything look nicer. Azaleas for love that never fades. Light red carnations for admiration and respect. Pink carnations—” I brush my fingers over one of the pale pink blooms “—to represent the unflagging love a mother has for her child.”

  “What are these for, anyway?”

  “A dinner at a local daycare center that caters to disabled children.” I take the vase from him and carry it, and the first one he put together, to the large refrigerator, where they’ll keep nicely until it’s time to run them to the center. “Every few months, they like to put together a big event that’s designed to make the kids and parents feel good about themselves. Tonight is one of those events.”

  “And they need flowers?” Jeremy starts putting together a third vase.

  I slant him a quelling glance. “Everyone needs flowers. If they didn’t, I wouldn’t have a job.”

  “Good point. So this daycare center hires you to put together some arrangements?”

  “Not exactly.” I fetch some more azaleas and carry them to the long table where he’s working. “I donate arrangements whenever they have an event.”

  “Really? Why?”

  “When I was growing up, my best friend had an older brother who attended this same place, so I got to see how hard they work and what a positive impact they have on both the kids’ and parents’ lives. Even though I was just a kid at the time, I was impressed. One of the only other career paths I considered was becoming a specialist, probably a speech therapist, just so I could work there and make the world a better place.”

  Jeremy stares at me. The light in his beautiful mis-matched eyes, along with the quality of his expression, causes nerves to dance across my belly. I look away and lightly touch one of the carnations. “The truth is that I feel silly about not following that career path. Designing flowers seems so … selfish and shallow in comparison to the work the therapists do there. Giving away a few cheap flower arrangements is my desperate attempt to assuage some of my guilt.”

  Jeremy’s hands still. The air in the room suddenly thickens. Tension and something else crackles between us. Unable to look at Jeremy and desperately needing to do something with my hands, I grab a vase and start inserting flowers, treating them with far less care than they deserve.

  The sole of a shoe scrapes against the floor as Jeremy steps away from his work station. Even though I refuse to lift my eyes, I sense him coming toward me, feel the weight of his stare. The air practically bursts into flame between us. My hands shake, though I don’t know why.

  “Caitlin.” Jeremy stops, and I feel his body heat meshing with mine. He reaches over, hooking a finger under my chin and applying pressure until I have no choice but to look at him.

  “Caitlin,” he repeats, his voice nothing more than an undertone that sends warm shivers up and down my spine. The pad of his thumb caresses my cheek. “You are, without a doubt, one of the kindest, sweetest people I’ve ever met.”

&nbs
p; He leans close, bushing a butterfly kiss across my lips. There’s no passion, just admiration in the kiss, and still, my toes curl.

  “Because I make up some flowers for the disabled daycare?” I should pull away, put some distance between us, but I can’t. There’s something about Jeremy that holds me in thrall.

  “Because you arrange flowers for the disabled,” Jeremy breathes, “which you do for free even though you need money.”

  “It’s a tax write-off,” I point out.

  “No.” Another feather-light kiss that’s as delicious and addictive as chocolate kisses. “If you were only interested in that, you’d write a check, like all other business owners. You go the extra mile; you create something. Something that makes the world a better place. There aren’t many that will do that. Trust me, I know. You’re an incredibly rare and remarkable person.”

  Oddly uncomfortable with the brilliant way he’s painting me, like I’m on par with Mother Teresa, I open my mouth, prepared to argue with him, but before I can, his fingers slide under the bottom of the sweatshirt I’m wearing and all rational thought flies out the window.

  Without any conscious cues from me, my own hands slide up his chest, and start working with the buttons on his shirt.

  Is it always this way? I wonder. Will it always be this way? One touch—hell, one look from him and the only thing I’ll be able to think about is how fast I can get his clothes off.

  “I want you, Caitlin,” he whispers against my mouth. “The more I have you, the more I learn about you, the more addicted to you I become.”

  His words send a thrill ricocheting through me. They bolster my confidence. Make me bolder than I ever imagined I could possibly be.

  My hands are a blur of action pulling at his shirt, clawing at his pants, until he’s standing in all his naked glory before me. This is the first time I’ve really looked at him, I realize.

  He doesn’t move, simply watches me with his beautiful, unusual eyes, as I drink in the sight of him. “Enjoying the view?” he murmurs, his tone mild.

  “Mmm,” I purr. “Very much so.”

  Just the sight of him standing bare-ass naked in my workroom makes my mouth water. He’s every bit as well built, as gorgeous as the male models who parade around in sexy underwear, maybe even more stunning.

  He’s lean, more of a runner’s body than a weight lifter’s, but all of his muscles are well defined. My palms itch to run along his body, slowly exploring each taut rise and fall of muscle, stroking it over and over again until the feel is committed to memory.

  My gaze slides lower and lands on a small, puckered scar on the right side of his abdomen. I reach out and lightly trace it. “What happened?”

  Jeremy draws in a sudden deep breath and his skin jumps beneath my touch. A hot thrill bolts through me. I love knowing that my touch impacts him almost as much as his touch leaves me completely undone.

  He covers my hand with his, holding it in place, as if savoring the feel of my skin against his. “Back when I was a vet student, one of the clients brought in a pet monkey for treatment. It decided it didn’t like me and managed to get its little paws on a pencil and stabbed me.”

  “Ouch.” I drop to my knees and move my hand so I can place a light kiss on the scar.

  “That wasn’t quite the word I used at the time.” Jeremy’s voice is strained. His hands ball into tight fists. “Caitlin, having you there … It’s almost too much. You’re too-”

  While I’m aware that Jeremy is saying something, I don’t hear the words. I’m too focused on his cock, which is now at eye level with me.

  I’ve never really given much thought to men’s cocks before. Whether it’s looking at art or watching dirty movies, I’ve always been more turned on by tight abs and a toned ass than the cock. But Jeremy’s is different. His is truly a thing of beauty. Already swollen to full size, it juts away from his body, long and proud.

  Curious, I reach out, doing the one thing I didn’t have the courage to do while we were in the shower. I touch his cock. It bucks against my fingertips. I feel the blood pounding through the delicate network of veins hidden just below the skin.

  Jeremy curses and reaches behind him, grabbing onto the table, but he doesn’t pull away, doesn’t tell me to stop.

  I run my fingers along its length, marveling at how soft the skin is, almost silken. And it’s huge. Had I gotten a good look at it last night, I would have lost my nerve, convinced that there was no way my body could adjust to it. Even now, when it’s been buried in me multiple times, I’m not sure how it fit.

  I run my thumb along the edge and a drop of liquid oozes out of the tiny slit.

  “Oh my God,” Jeremy groans. His knees shake.

  I tip my head back to look at him. His neck is bowed, his face turned to the ceiling. I can’t tell if his eyes are open or closed.

  “Do you want me to stop?” I whisper as my thumb makes another pass, drawing even more moisture from him.

  “Fuck, no,” he grinds out between gritted teeth.

  Grinning, I turn my attention back to the matter at hand.

  The sight of the pre-cum glistening on the end of his cock inspires me.

  With more courage than I ever would have thought I was capable of, I lean closer, breathing in his musky scent as I flick out my tongue, tasting the salty essence.

  “Shit,” Jeremy grinds out, even as he releases one hand from the death grip on the table and tangles his fingers in my hair. Encouraged when he doesn’t pull me away, I open my mouth and lean close, taking a few minutes to explore the soft underside of his cock with my tongue, loving how my ministrations cause it to swell to an even more impressive size.

  I’ve never felt more in control, more powerful than I do right now.

  Jeremy’s fingers dig into the back of my skull, urging, but not forcing me to take more of him into my mouth.

  “Just relax. Soften your jaw and breathe through your nose. That’s it. God, it feels so fucking good.” Guttural sounds of masculine pleasure punctuate each of his words.

  I swirl my tongue around his cockhead as his hips slowly start moving. Each time he thrusts, I open the back of my throat, welcoming him.

  Loving the feel, the taste of him, I adjust my angle so I can look up at him through lowered lashes. His head is bowed, eyes closed. Sweat streams down his face as his harsh breathing billows his cheeks. Pride wings through me as I swirl my tongue and moan as he thrusts just a little deeper. His fingers tighten in my hair, steadying me as I swallow more of his pre-cum.

  My hands rest on the sides of his thighs. I feel the muscles tense and bunch and I instinctively recognize the signs that he’s on the edge of losing control. I brace myself, preparing to take whatever he’s about to send my way, when he suddenly jerks free of my mouth. My clothes disappear in a flurry of movement that leaves me breathless, and I’m more than happy to assist.

  His hands grab my shoulders, lifting me up and off my knees. He spins me around, slamming my ass on the table, sending flowers scattering, as he parts my thighs and thrusts into my moist heat.

  His cock unerringly finds my G-spot, stroking it, once, twice, a third time, and the fireworks explode behind my eyes as an orgasm rips through me. My fingers dig into Jeremy’s biceps as his shout matches my own and together we fall to pieces.

  72

  Caitlin

  “Can I ask you a question?” Jeremy is sitting on the side of my bed, tying the shoes he’d convinced his housekeeper to run over here from his apartment, along with an entire change of clothes so that we could go from here straight to the special needs school. She also brought Sasha, which feels significant, though I’m somehow afraid to explore why.

  I swear softly under my breath as I completely miss the tiny hole in the bottom of my earlobe and try to use the back of the silver sterling hoop to poke a brand new one. “Sure.”

  “Yesterday, when I brought you to my place for dinner, you seemed really nervous.” Jeremy’s voice trails off.


  “That’s a statement, not a question.”

  My second attempt goes more smoothly and I fasten the earrings and step back to study my reflection in the full length mirror. The green sweater dress matches my eyes and the cut disguises the fact that I’ve lost too much weight since learning about my dad’s diagnosis. All bones and no meat these days.

  The little bit of makeup I put on draws attention to my eyes, which just this afternoon Jeremy said were the first thing he noticed about me. And my French braid adds just the right amount of elegance for a low-key awards banquet.

  “It’s just that you were nervous. More so than what seemed natural. I was wondering why?”

  I really hoped to avoid this particular conversation. There’s no way to sugar coat it.

  Maybe the best way to approach is quickly and bluntly. “A few years back I was dating a guy. We’d been going out for a few months and I guess he got tired of waiting for me to be ready, so he decided to give me some encouragement.”

  Stone-faced, Jeremy stares at me. Unable to look at him, I go to my closet and drag my one pair of fancy high-heeled boots out.

  “He got rough and I screamed, which caused his neighbor—he had this super cheap apartment with extra thin walls—to yell something. That distracted my – ex – boyfriend enough that I was able to run out of the apartment. Once I was out of the building, I called my dad.”

  It was one of the hardest calls I’ve ever made. With the front of the dress I was wearing torn, my mouth bruised, and my hair a tangled mess, there was no hiding what had happened.

  “He took me to the police station and insisted I file assault charges, even though I just wanted to pretend the whole thing hadn’t happened. But he pointed out that if I didn’t do something, then my boyfriend might do it again, to someone else. That night, I pressed charges against him. The next day, when I heard he’d been arrested, I asked my dad to drive me back to the county jail and I officially broke up with the jackass.”