Shrew & Company Books 1-3

by Holley Trent

He eased her foot to the floor. “I think you prefer solids over patterns, so that makes it easier.”

  The small amount of personal space between them vanished as he leaned in over her, placing one hand at either side of her hips and grazing her left earlobe with his lips. “You may like your booze the color God intended, but I’d bet my pub your panties are shamrock green today.”

  She swallowed and her vision—normally hyper-sharp—suddenly went a bit blurry. It took her a moment to realize she’d crossed her eyes.

  One of his hands wrapped around hers and gently moved it from her zipper. With one little bend of the fabric, he confirmed his hunch. “It’s a good color for you.”

  Somehow, she figured out how to breathe again. “Uh, thanks.”

  “Now take it off.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  Patrick didn’t think Dana would actually comply with that request, but she did. In fact, she turned the tables on him so hard, he wasn’t sure which of them was the one leading the dance.

  She locked that dark gaze on him and kept it there while she removed everything down to her bra and panties. She wasn’t going to give him instant gratification, though. She actually took the time to carefully arrange her pleated slacks over the back of the chair, and draped her sweater over them. Her trouser socks came off next, slowly, with her rolling them down from the tops and shimmying them off her small feet like some kind of 1950s bombshell posing for a pin-up.

  And she could be a pin-up with those curves and that face.

  She tried so hard to be austere—stern in appearance—but she was a woman who’d probably once been a really cute little girl, and still had traces of that cute. Sure, she was a beauty now, but it wasn’t a frigid beauty like women who stomped down runways had. It was soft. Sweet, even. He doubted she wanted to be told that, though.

  “Do you need some help?” he asked. As much as he was enjoying the show, he wasn’t a man of limitless patience, especially not at the moment. It was like he’d been forced to fast for a day to have blood drawn and suddenly got pushed in front of a buffet he couldn’t touch. It hardly seemed fair.

  She blinked. “Do you?”

  He hissed as her fingers dragged up the inside of his leg and traced a circle around his balls. She grabbed them.

  He clamped a hand around her wrist, and wheezed, “I’m perfectly capable of undressing myself. Been doing so since I was two.”

  She released her grasp and leaned back onto her elbows with a self-satisfied grin. “Good. Have at it, Paddy.”

  With the way her push-up bra barely contained her full, round breasts, the only thing left to imagination up top was whether her areola would be chocolate- or coffee-colored. He guessed chocolate. Milk chocolate, and slightly sweet.

  His gaze trailed down her taut belly to where her thighs joined. As far as underwear went, they didn’t cover very much. Why even bother with them? Women.

  “Paddy?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Are you waiting on me to give you permission again?”

  He dragged his tongue over his dry lips and planted his hands on her thighs. Just open them a wee bit, love. “Permission?”

  “To take off your boxer briefs.”

  Oh. Those. He eased them down, giving his cock some clearance as he worked the waistband past his crotch. Once on the floor, he shoved them away with his foot.

  She didn’t move. Didn’t say anything. Just stared.

  He scoffed and lifted one of her hands, turned it over, and placed a condom in her palm.

  Her fingers wrapped around it, so she was at least subconsciously aware of its existence, but otherwise she remained frozen. Fixated.

  Who’s the cat, here?

  He cleared his throat.

  Finally, she righted her gaze and stood. He was so close that as she came erect, her body grazed the front of his—her breasts, in particular, briefly meeting his erect cock.

  Fuck.

  She turned her back to him, and now it was the swells of her ass that made contact with his skin. They pillowed against the front of his thighs as she moved her hair from her neck.

  He wanted to palm her cheeks, knead them, but that didn’t seem to be what she was asking.

  “Why don’t you unhook my bra for me?” she said.

  “Of course.” All it took was one flick of his finger, and it sprang open.

  She worked the straps down her arms and he leaned in, pressing his lips to the hot, sweet crook of her neck and kissing out toward her shoulder. It was a nice view from there, what he could see of it. She’d tried crossing her arms over her naked chest, but he’d wrapped his fingers around her forearms and guided them down to her waist, holding them there while he kissed and took in the sight of her.

  Milk chocolate peaks, already beaded and aroused that he wanted to trail his tongue around. He had plenty of time for that, though.

  He kissed some more, now behind her ear and over to her cheek as his hard cock pressed against the small of her back. It was taking all the willpower he had not to bend her over right there and sate himself, and of course there was the small matter of her panties being in the way.

  “What’s your favorite position?” he whispered.

  “I don’t have one,” she said, and her husky voice went breathy. She actually wriggled her butt against him, urging him on.

  He stopped kissing. “Everyone has a favorite.”

  “It’s all the same to me.”

  That insane statement made him spin her around by the shoulders. “What?”

  She shrugged. “Really, it all feels the same.”

  “Then whoever you’ve been doing it with hasn’t been doing it right.”

  She seemed to consider it, but made no verbal affirmation. In fact, she tried wrapping her arms over her breasts again, but before she could, he picked her up by the bottom and deposited her on the bed.

  He shimmied her panties down her thighs—taking just a moment to appreciate her impeccable grooming—and tossed them after her bra. If she thought it was all the same, no matter how it was done, well…she hadn’t really experienced pleasure. It came in so many different shades and nuances, and he’d learned even the slightest change of angle or application of pressure could make the lovemaking an entirely different experience.

  Was there something wrong with her? Was she switched off? Or had she just not found the man who could do it for her?

  Well, he could test at least one of those theories. First things first, though.

  He crawled on the bed and situated himself between her open legs, putting a hand under both thighs. “We can talk positions later.”

  “If that’s what we’re going to be doing later, what’s happening right now?”

  “Taste test. I like to sample everything before I commit to buying.”

  She smoothed her face to a blank. “Who said anything about committing?”

  Okay, maybe it had been the wrong choice of words, but there was something there, right? Not only was this woman damned sexy, but also there was an undercurrent of attraction there that had nothing to do with her considerable good looks. Or maybe it was the pheromones, because fuck she smelled good.

  Nah, this wasn’t about glands and chemistry. He was as aroused by what was between her ears as he was with anything on her body. That snap and wit? He could verbally parry with her all evening and she’d probably keep up just fine.

  He slipped two fingers into her cunt and tested her for size. Yeah, he’d have to be careful. “You’ll commit,” he said, watching her pull that plump bottom lip between her teeth as he massaged inside of her wet sex. He turned his hand over. Let’s see if this does it for her.

  Her knees pounded against his sides, and he laughed.

  “Don’t get ahead of yourself, Patrick.”

  “Planning ahead is what makes me a good businessman, sweetheart.” He flattened his body against the bed and settled her legs over his shoulders. “Just think about it. You’d get me as a boyfriend.”

&n
bsp; She rolled her eyes, but it was evident her heart wasn’t in the action. “A dirty cat.”

  “Cats are self-cleaning. And sometimes, they get a little…” He dipped his face low and licked her from slit to clit.

  She squirmed.

  “…overenthusiastic.”

  Her fingers kneaded his hair in the back and she gave a pull that needed no captioning. More, she was saying. Or else, Stop talking.

  Gladly.

  He laved at her folds. Licking, nibbling, sucking, until he was certain there was no hair left at the back of his head. With every iota of pleasure he gave her, she gave him a heap of pain. It made him a bit afraid of what she’d do if he gave her an actual orgasm.

  Carefully, he unthreaded her fingers from his crown and crawled up so his knees straddled her breasts, holding his cock at the base and looking at her expectantly.

  The look of annoyance on her face, probably that he’d abandoned his job prematurely, shifted to one of understanding.

  “Oh.”

  She patted the bed around her and finally found the condom packet. It’d become wedged under her body while he teased her down below.

  She opened it, tossed the foil, and expertly rolled it onto him.

  Now, what position?

  She’d said she didn’t care one way or the other, but he wanted to show her sex was meant to look forward to. There should have always been an element of surprise—her partner should always have something up his sleeve.

  But, maybe next time. This time, he wanted to keep it simple, his gaze locked on hers, her comfort his primary concern.

  He eased back into the vee of her legs and hooked her ankles together at his back.

  She watched him, expression that unreadable blank once more, as he gathered pillows and propped them under her rear, just enough to improve the angle. Just enough for him to see the wetness he’d aided and the slight clenching of her sex as he looked down at it.

  “It’s not exactly a work of art, Patrick. You don’t need to stare.”

  “I love your body. Of course I’m going to stare.” He angled himself over her, nestling his arms beneath the pillow holding her head, and fixed his gaze on hers. His cock probed at her entrance and she moved her hips to meet it, but he wasn’t ready. “Any man who doesn’t look—doesn’t stare—isn’t worthy of taking the prize.”

  “You think that makes you worthy?”

  With a slight tilt of his hips, his head was in her, and her hungry cunt tried to take more of him in. He wouldn’t allow it.

  “No. What makes me worthy is that I give a shit.” He eased in further, pausing to let her body adjust to his size, for her to relax and let in more of his length.

  Her lips parted and she exhaled a little moan, raising her chin and exposing more of her neck.

  He leaned in and kissed it, holding his cock very still inside her while he grazed his lips over her throat and licked her pulse points. She was so hot and her heart was beating so fast already.

  He slipped himself almost all the way out, and pushed back in further, this time touching her cervix. “Look at me,” he whispered.

  She didn’t. Her eyes were closed and she’d started to take ragged breaths through her mouth.

  As hot as it was knowing he had that effect on her, he wanted her present. Fully aware that she affected him as much as he affected her.

  “Dana, sweetheart, please. Look at me.”

  With a deep breath through her nose, she opened her eyes to the ceiling, and then slowly tracked her gaze to his face. Now, forced to bear witness to the engagement, she looked a bit startled. Frightened, even. What was she expecting?

  He resumed his hips’ motion, watching her face in between stolen kisses.

  Tentatively, she put her hands on his back—an embrace that felt somewhere between caress and plea—and swallowed hard enough for him to hear.

  “How are you?” he asked, propping himself onto his forearms as he worked her.

  She took in some air and after a moment managed, “Fine. I’m fine.”

  “So you don’t mind if I go faster?”

  “B-b-be my guest.”

  He laughed at how flat and serious her voice was, even with her eyelids fluttering and her cunt clenching around him as if it contained the last source of water in a desert. She would milk him dry at the rate she was going.

  With her permission, he increased his pace, slipping in and out of her slick, tight sex, his balls slapping against her ass as he pumped.

  Beneath him, her belly quaked, and her fingernails clamped into his back. When she closed her eyes, he pulled out.

  Her eyelids sprang open and forehead furrowed. “What are you doing?”

  “I thought I was clear. Look at me.”

  She forced a hiss through clenched teeth, but gave him a nearly imperceptible nod. Compliance.

  “Thank you.” He eased back in, and this time when he stoked her, she hardly even blinked. So of course, she had to see every twitch of his lips as she clamped him tight, every gasp he sucked in, every grind of his teeth.

  She felt good. So good, and watching her face as her body received him was going to send him over the edge fast.

  God. The intimacy. The closeness. The emotion. And there was a lot of that. She not only wanted him, but he could see in those far-too-knowing eyes of hers that she needed him, too.

  Now it was his turn to want to close his eyes and stave off the torrent of what was coming, but he didn’t. He counted all the beer brands he knew from memory in his head and thought about the week’s pub payroll. That’d buy him a couple of minutes, at least.

  Finally, when her eyes began to water and her breaths became more ragged, he freed his hands from beneath the pillow and cupped her face between them. “Go on,” he whispered.

  He hoped she would, because he didn’t have much left.

  She cried out his name and held him tight, and she obviously understood what had happened, because suddenly there was confusion on her face, followed immediately by resignation. She wasn’t used to vocalizing it. He could tell.

  “Just enjoy it, sweetheart,” he said, and he came too, eyes wide open, whispering her name.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  Dana wasn’t sure if she should have been ashamed of what she and Patrick had done. She didn’t do casual sex. Never had so much as a one-night-stand. The way she saw it, sex was a complication she didn’t need in her life, because it always came with strings attached. And Patrick? Patrick definitely felt like he had a lot of strings, and maybe some hooks, too. Perhaps a few of those hooks had already gotten under her skin.

  She lie there in the dark, listening to the sound of the wall clock in the kitchen tick off seconds, and Patrick’s slow, even breathing as he slept. Even in his sleep, he was tending to her. He rested on his belly with one arm and one leg slung over her body.

  She’d always been annoyed at that in the past—having her personal space invaded—but didn’t mind so much with him. He wasn’t just trying to take up space on the bed. He was trying to be in her space specifically.

  She liked him in her space. Maybe too much.

  “I can’t do this,” she whispered into the dark. Her fingers stroked the top ruffle of his messy hair, twining strands around them.

  “Can’t do what, sweetheart?” he whispered back.

  “You heard that, huh?”

  “Cat thing, I guess.”

  “If I go outside and shake a bag of kibble, will you come running?”

  He chuckled and pulled her a little closer. “Sweetheart, if it’s toward you, I’ll always come.”

  Her cheeks burned yet again, and she was glad he couldn’t see them in the dark.

  She’d been sweet-talked by a player or two in the past, but this was different. Her gut said that when Patrick blew smoke, it’s because he had a fire. He wasn’t trying to trick her, set her up for a bait-and-switch like so many others had.

  Humiliate her.

  Apparently, he wanted her as sh
e was.

  The idiot.

  She sat up. “Patrick, you do understand I’m a very difficult person to get along with, right?”

  “I have a well-honed sense of self-preservation,” he said, and she imagined him grinning because there was a smile in his voice.

  “I’m serious. Everyone tries to change me and they all fail. I’m warning you now.”

  “I have no interest in changing you. I’m sure your personality suits you well in a lot of ways, especially as a businesswoman. But, I’ll say this…”

  It felt like he was trying to sit up, but couldn’t manage it. The bed shook as he dropped his head back onto his pillow.

  “Ugh,” he grunted.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing, just feeling a little tight. Worked a few muscles I haven’t taxed in a while, I guess. Anyhow, I’m the type of man who’s kind to people who are kind to him. If you try, sweetheart, I’ll reward you for it.”

  She drummed her fingers on her thighs as she considered the words. Sounded almost like positive reinforcement in a way. She was a lab rat again.

  “Dana, sweetheart, I can smell your sweat. Chill out.” He yawned and the mattress sank a bit as he rolled onto his side, facing her, given now she could feel his breath tickling her waist.

  “You’ve got to understand where I’m coming from.”

  “I’ll never understand where you’re coming from. I haven’t been in your shoes. I’m not going to pretend I know what you’ve been through. I just want you to get that I know it’s hard for you to open up. I’m not going to take anything personally that isn’t meant to be an insult.”

  “You can tell the difference? Most people can’t.”

  “I’ll learn it.”

  And just like that, he’d committed.

  What kind of shit is this? Men aren’t that easy.

  She let him stroke the side of her leg for a moment, then swung her other leg over the edge of the bed. “Shit, I need to find out where Sarah is.”

  He put an arm around her waist and pulled, ineffectually, then sighed. He sounded way too tired for a man of his occupation. He should have been raring to go for another few hours at least.

  “All right. I’ll keep the bed warm.”