He took a long look around, eyeing the hobbit-sized stove and mini-fridge huddling next to the sink along the left-hand wall. He noted the flat-screen TV mounted between two small windows on the wall across from the door; my thrift-store couch and curbside-find coffee table gathered before the TV like a fan club. A closet and shelves and the bathroom door occupied the wall to the right, and around the corner of my L-shaped cubbyhole of a place, there was the bed.
Um, yeah. The bed. That was the crown jewel, such as it was, of my realm – a king-size four-poster complete with ruffled canopy, it filled its corner of the apartment from wall to wall, like a giant cramming itself into a subway car.
I’d had to take the thing apart to get it through the door when I first moved in, but the effort was well worth it. Some people might say it was too much for such a small place, but those people didn’t get to dive into it and curl up under a pile of three or four assorted comforters on a stormy night, feeling all nested and cozy and – well, the man said it, didn’t he? – safe.
I shrugged my coat off and hung it in the closet – hi, red dress – then visited the thermostat and spun that puppy up a few notches, because people who might be doing naked things soon appreciate a warm environment to do them in.
“Outside my door, all you could talk about was how unsafe it was out there – what’s different in here? Aside from the multiple locks, I mean?”
He turned to glare at the door, as if it had committed some personal offense against him. “Locks mean less than nothing when they’re attached to a cheap, mass-produced door that any man with a will could smash into splinters with a few well-placed kicks. I’ll be sending someone around tomorrow to replace that travesty of a door with something that’s far more secure.”
“I don’t think the management here will let me make a change like that without prior approval, big guy.”
“I give something less than a rat’s ass for the rules of any property management company that can’t be bothered to provide a minimum level of security for its tenants; you’re receiving a new door tomorrow, and that is non-negotiable.”
He turned back to look around the apartment again, and his face eased into a smile. “As for what’s different in here … outside, the world is a vast, shifting arena, filled with people with unknowable desires and erratic whims, people dealing with random chance and fate and all the impossible notions of a million other desperate strangers – but on this side of your door, it’s small, close, and safe. In here, you have your own tight, measured little world, like a warm and comforting womb from which you need never emerge, if you wish.”
I decided to ignore the weirdness of my apartment being compared to a uterus. “I need to emerge and go to work so I can pay the rent, or those evil management goons will kick me to the curb and hand over this cozy little womb to somebody else.”
He turned away from the far wall and walked toward me, glancing all around at my furnished shoebox. “The smallest bathroom in my home is larger than this, and yet I feel so much more comfortable here.”
“Hey, it’s just a regular-girl kind of place …”
My voice drifted away and deserted me as he drew closer. I’d daydreamed about this moment, dreaded it, desired it … and now, it was here.
He stopped two feet away and glanced down at his t-shirt-and-jeans ensemble.
“Speaking of being a regular sort of person, have I succeeded in pulling off the ‘regular guy’ look you requested? I feel I’ve done rather well at taking you on a normal sort of date so far, but is this the proper attire?”
MORE talking? A girl has needs, big fella.
He thrust his hands into the pockets of his skintight jeans as he continued staring down at himself. “My housekeeper thought a casual sort of suit, with an open-throated shirt and no tie, would strike just the right note – but I don’t seem to own any casual suits, and wearing any sort of suit without a tie makes me feel quite naked. One of my drivers, on the other hand, assured me that jeans and a t-shirt are the standard ‘regular guy’ uniform.”
“Geez, did you discuss our date with your entire household staff? How about strangers off the street?”
“As it happens, I consulted the housekeeper, both drivers, a cook, and the senior gardener – they were the only people I had ready to hand who seemed like they’d know about such things. The younger of the two drivers suggested this look, but the only jeans I could find in my closet dated from before I started concentrating on weight training in my workouts a few years ago, so I’m afraid the fit is rather tight.”
I eyed the powerful thigh muscles straining to get out of those jeans, and silently thanked his driver.
“And is the shirt all right? I have quite an extensive collection of signed t-shirts from the band, but I’ve never worn one of them before.”
For the first time, I took a closer look at the riotous mass of thrashing colors splashed across his black t-shirt. I was somehow not surprised that the design depicted three men dressed as medieval plague doctors performing open-heart surgery on a victim who was fastened to their operating table with barbed wire, and who from his wide-eyed silent scream was evidently not enjoying the benefit of any anesthesia for the procedure.
After noting that someone called ‘Vassily’ had signed his name across the operating table in an erratic scrawl that looked disturbingly like dried blood, I peered around to look at the back of the shirt. There I saw a list of concert dates from two years ago confirming that yes, this was a shirt from Mr. K’s beloved acid death metal band Rats Eat My Brain.
Whatever.
Maybe he felt he was being a gentleman by letting me take the lead here, or maybe he was puzzled about how to proceed in a scenario involving someone who meant more to him than just a quick session of mad monkey sex – but my body didn’t care about the reason. Desire and need surged somewhere deep inside me, and I knew I couldn’t wait any longer.
“Boss, I only have one problem with your ‘regular guy’ outfit.”
“And this problem is?”
“You’re still wearing it.”
Before I could lose my nerve, I reached up and settled my hands on his shoulders. I bit the inside of my cheek and forced myself to stare up into his haunting blue-violet eyes as I ran my hands down his body, fingers splayed wide.
“Ashley …”
My hands came up against the waistband of his jeans. I reached beneath the bottom edge of the t-shirt and settled my palms flat against his washboard abs.
“Besides wearing too many clothes, you’ve also got one other problem with your seduction technique.”
Something midway between a purr and a growl rumbled in his voice. “Tell me.”
“You talk way too much.”
I ran my hands back up his body, pulling up his shirt as I went, until he took the hint and stripped it off over his head.
I stood back and stared at his sleek, powerful body, then stepped in close and settled my face against the rock-hard muscles of his chest. I felt the thin film of sweat on his skin under my cheek, and then I closed my eyes and just breathed in his musky masculine scent.
Devon Killane was no more than a distant fantasy in my old life; now the man behind the fantasy nuzzled the top of my head, his breath stirring my hair in the darkness as he muttered something I couldn’t make out.
He wrapped his arms around me as if he were afraid I’d get away, and then he flattened his powerful hands against my shoulders, spreading his fingers wide. A satisfied rumble echoed through him as he ran those strong hands down my back and then further down, sinking his fingers into the soft, yielding spread of my ass as he pulled me tight against him.
Those hands pinned me in place as one of the most impressive erections ever pressed hard against my stomach, reaching for me, wanting to thrust deep inside me and claim me. Desire seasoned with just a little bit of fear burned through me like a fire, and I felt warmth and wetness gathering between my legs. I had to have him. God, I had to have him, and right
now.
But he wanted something first.
His hands with their long, knowing fingers eased away from my ass and drifted up my sides, sliding up under my long-sleeved flannel shirt – hey, if I’d known sex was going to be happening that night, I would have put on something sexier that morning – and pulling it off as buttons popped free and went spinning and rattling off into distant corners.
Seconds later, the shirt was on the floor and his hands were on my breasts. He took one in each hand and lifted them just a bit, feeling their weight. I felt the warmth of his touch through my bra, but I needed his hands on my skin, just about as much as I needed to breathe. I leaned into him, pressing my breasts into his grip, giving myself to his strength.
A chill coursed through me as he whispered into my ear.
“I’ve dreamed of this moment, my Ashley, dreamed for so long of holding your magnificent breasts, dreamed of exploring their fullness and warmth while we make love in your bed – well, any bed, really. In all honesty, I would be quite pleased with getting to know your lovely body on the floor, or in Times Square – or perhaps on an escalator at The Mall of America?”
Aroused as I was, I couldn’t help but giggle. “Next time will be in the exotic location of your choice, big guy – but can we get going with this time first?”
“Yes, sweet Ashley; after all, there’s so much here that needs to be explored.”
He traced my earlobe with the tip of his tongue, and in the same moment unhooked the front of my bra. The lacy cups fell away, the bra joined my shirt on the floor, and my ample breasts tumbled free. Now my full, aching breasts hung heavy and open to this man, open to his touch and to anything he decided to do them.
I gasped as he bent down and nested his face into my cleavage, nuzzling and licking the warm valley of flesh between my breasts. At the same time, he tightened his hold on the soft mounds, squeezing them gently, lifting them up and pressing them together, as I hissed in a sharp breath and fisted my hands against his ribs.
After a final saucy lap from his tongue over the top of each breast – god, I wanted that talented tongue to go lower, and explore further – he straightened and pulled away from me.
Taking a step back, he reached out and just teased my full, aching breasts – he traced the round swell of each one with his fingertips, eased his palms over the skin, just barely touching, making me crazier with each passing second, gently hefting the weight of each breast in his hands once again … and then he eased his thumbs over my nipples, rubbing them until they were rock-hard and I moaned with need.
I don’t remember walking over to the bed – suddenly we were just there.
I sat on the edge of the king-sized mattress, huddling into the pile of comforters and looking up at this strange, moody, beautiful lover and problem child that I’d somehow acquired.
Was this really happening? To me? Things like this didn’t happen to big girls generally, in my experience, and they most definitely did not happen to me in particular. When was I going to wake up and find out this was all a lonely, lingering dream?
He stood in the narrow space between the bed and the wall, and for a moment, he just looked down at me. Feeling those eerie eyes roaming over my body was weird, and I gave a nervous little jump when he spoke.
“Ashley, I need to see you first. Before I come into your bed, I need to see all of you, every bare inch of your lovely skin and rich body. Can you do that much for me?”
I knew this moment would come, and I’d been dreading it. The sheer impressive size of my breasts was enough to make most guys happy, but my wide, soft pillow of a stomach? My infamous thunder thighs, my pudgy waist, my way-too-well-padded hips?
My head knew that I was every bit as desirable as any of those bony little teases with fake helium breasts pinned to a stick-figure body, but my heart? My heart was terrified that this beautiful muscled god of a guy would take one look at my generous curves and run for the hills.
I couldn’t look at him as I ditched my jeans and underwear, toed off my Wal-Mart-special sneakers, and stretched out on the bed – the bed I hadn’t shared with anyone in almost a year. I squirmed into the best come-hither pose I could manage, decided that made me feel even more uncomfortable and weird, and settled for just stretching out and waiting for his horrified reaction.
At first, he didn’t say anything.
When he did speak up, the man had a thing or two to say.
“You are a goddess, my lovely Ashley.” The honest wonder in his voice gave me the courage to edge my eyes open just a bit and look up at him.
He stood over me, his towering body trembling ever so slightly, his breath coming faster. “Your body is round and lovely, like the rising Venus painted by Botticelli.”
Was he high? Had I somehow acquired the body of a Renaissance goddess when I wasn’t looking?
I knew he meant it when he settled onto the foot of the bed and sat there staring up and down the length of my body, running his gaze over my curves, my soft hills and valleys. Just feeling his eyes on me was arousing as hell …
“Um, big guy?”
“Yes, my lovely Ashley?”
“Why aren’t you naked yet? I mean, as a ripe goddess and all, I need to make sure your sorry ass meets my high standards before we interlock our naughty bits.”
His grin made me adore him all the more. “A shocking oversight on my part, Ashley – I do apologize.”
He reached down to pull off his Nikes one after the other, then stood back up. He eased his skintight jeans down over his hips and onto the floor, stripped off his underwear – boxers, I just knew it – and stood before me fully naked and very aroused.
And I mean very aroused, as in I’d never such a huge and gorgeous and terrifying cock in my life – not that I’d seen vast numbers of them for comparison or anything, but this guy was gifted; what I was looking at would make the Eiffel Tower jealous. I was scared, hot, wet, and intimidated as hell, all at once.
And somehow, he knew.
He sat back down on the foot of the bed, and just stroked my legs for a minute, running his hands up and down my calves as he looked at me.
“Ashley, I will take care of you, I will pleasure you, and I will do all of this as slowly – or as fast – as you need me to. You are a woman to be savored and treasured and cared for, and I promise that I will try to be all that you need me to be tonight. Do you trust me, Ashley? Do you trust me to take care of you?”
Tears welled up in my eyes – just like that, out of nowhere, I wanted to cry. What had I ever done to deserve a man like this?
I had so much to say and no idea how to say it – so I just said, “I trust you.”
Then I let him take care of me.
Devon Killane moved over me like a panther. On his hands and knees, he stalked up my body, dancing his tongue into my navel and nibbling along my ribs. He nuzzled the side of one breast, licked beneath the other, and then lowered himself over me until his chest hair brushed against my nipples.
Arousal speared through me. My stiff nipples ached, desired pulsed deep between my legs, and I whimpered. I arched my back, pushing my hips up against him, wanting him inside me. He murmured something I couldn’t make out, then leaned down and kissed my left shoulder. His tongue licked and tasted along my collar bone, and then he fastened his mouth onto my neck.
He marked me. He branded me as his, working his teeth and lips and tongue against my skin, sucking and chewing, as I twisted beneath him. I made a mental note to wear a turtleneck in the morning – yep, my brain keeps working even in the oddest moments – and then he moved up to settle his mouth on mine, and rational thought deserted me again.
I opened my mouth to him and he took possession immediately, probing with his tongue, dancing it against my tongue, tasting me like wine. I moaned into his mouth, helpless and needy and wanting him like I wanted air.
I whimpered when he pulled away from my mouth and kissed his way back down my body. He rested his head on my stomach for a
moment, murmuring something against the wide stretch of soft, warm skin, and then he rose up onto his left elbow and slipped his right hand between my legs.
Before I knew it was happening, those long fingers were sliding between my moist folds, stroking and pleasuring me. He ran the tip of one wet finger all around my clit, not quite touching it, teasing at it like a devil while I groaned with frustration. When he moved away from the swollen nub, I could have cried – but then he moved lower and eased a single finger inside me.
He pressed and probed, I straight up howled like a crazy woman, and then he added another finger, rubbing both of them firmly back and forth inside me while I whited out, unable to process so much delicious sensation. I felt the loss when those talented fingers slipped out of me, I bit my lip and wanted to yell again, and then with one finger he rubbed my own wetness over my clit.
I almost came right then. I would have, I know that for a fact, but the impossible man abandoned my clit after just one nudging touch, while I wondered about the possibility of locating a pistol and forcing him to get down to business at gunpoint, if necessary.
He flowed back up my body like a river, and then that low, rumbling voice whispered into my ear.
“You’re so wet, Ashley, so wet and warm and ready for my cock – why, one might almost think you like me. Is that a possibility, perhaps?”
The bastard chuckled as he nuzzled my neck and nipped my ear. I adored him, but in that moment I could have killed him so dead. Why didn’t I have a gun around here somewhere?
I settled for reaching up and sinking my nails into his shoulders while I hissed into his ear. “It’s possible you’ll turn up in the obituaries tomorrow if you don’t fuck me tonight – tonight as in right now, please …”
My voice trailed off as I let my head sink back onto the comforter. In the darkness, I felt his head drifting down my body again as he spoke.
“Soon, my Ashley – I delay because I want you to know pleasure beyond anything you’ve known before, but I admit I myself simply cannot wait much longer. If I could, I’d certainly take far more time than this with your magnificent breasts.”
Five Minutes Late: A Billionaire Romance Page 18
