Going Hard (Single Ladies' Travel Agency Book 2)

by Carina Wilder

  Slowly I roll onto my back, my face turning to look and see if he’s awake. He’s still next to me, and as he senses my movement, his eyes open sleepily. That sexy smile infiltrates his lips the second he spots my face.

  “Loose,” he whispers as he lays a hand on my stomach and strokes me gently with his thumb. “You’re still with me.”

  “I am,” I reply. Of course I am. I’m happy. So freaking happy to be with him.

  He edges over and lays an affectionate kiss on my forehead before laying a second one on my lips. Then he rolls onto his back and lets out a quiet yelp, thrusting a fist high into the air. “Yes!” he shouts.

  “What’s that for?” I chuckle.

  “I did it. I finally conquered the elusive Lucy Horner. It’s like summiting Everest, but probably a lot harder.”

  “Is that what I am?” I ask, slipping over him, my thighs gripping his hips. “A big fat mountain?”

  His hands slide up to my breasts and he cups them, fingers and thumbs working their way to my nipples. He pinches them gently, hardening them with his fingertips. Oh, that feels good. Way to distract me, Mr. Emerson. “The greatest conquest in the history of the world,” he tells me as his erection throbs to life under me. Carefully I pull myself up and slip down onto his shaft. This has quickly become my favourite position. I love to watch his face while I pleasure him and myself at once.

  “I’ve wanted you forever,” he breathes, his eyes closed as I ride him, my insatiable body ready to claim him for the fourth time.

  But as his words hit my mind, I freeze over top of him. Forever. Really? If he’s wanted me forever, then why did he treat me so badly that night so long ago?

  Losing my desire to be so close to him, I pull myself up and off his dick, separating us temporarily.

  His eyes pop open and he stares at me, confused.

  “What’s wrong?” he asks. “What is it?”

  “Why didn’t you come after me then? After what happened that night—why didn’t you try to make things right?”

  I know this might not be the best time to ask the question, but I can’t help it. There’s no more honest moment than when you’ve just had someone’s hard-on inside you.

  “I tried calling you, but when I didn’t hear back, I thought you hated me,” he says. “I thought you’d decided you didn’t want anything to do with me.”

  I remember the messages from my housemate. I remember hearing over and over that Dylan had called, like that could make up for what he’d done to me.

  “You were probably right,” I reply. “I did hate you.”

  He’s still staring at me, waiting for me to expand. Waiting to hear how much I despised him. The guy must be a masochist. Or maybe this is his way of doing penance.

  “Sorry,” I say, all too aware of how nuts I probably seem right now. “I shouldn’t dwell on it. It was a long time ago.” Shit. I’m doing exactly what I promised myself I wouldn’t. I’m being an idiot and letting the past colour our future. Let it go, Lucy. “Forgive me?” I ask.

  He nods. “You’re naked in my bed, and a minute ago you were riding my dick. Of course I forgive you.”

  I ease over him and lean down to bite his lower lip, my breasts pressing into his chest as I gyrate my hips a little, welcoming him inside my body all over again. “Just so you know, right now, I don’t hate you at all.”

  “I sort of guessed that,” he tells me, thrusting his pelvis upwards so that he rams himself deep into my core. I let out a sharp cry of pleasure.

  “I think you might be a little into me as well,” I say when I’ve recovered.

  “You think?” Another thrust.

  “Just a wild guess.”

  He reaches a hand up and pushes my hair behind my left ear. “You’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” he says. “I don’t care that things went badly back then. We’re here together now.”

  “Yes, we are,” I reply, speeding up my pace.

  Dylan’s on his way to orgasm number four, and he deserves it.

  “I have a meeting at 9:30,” he tells me when we’ve finally gotten out of bed and showered. “Do you want to walk me over to the office?”

  “Absolutely,” I reply, looking over at the clock. It’s 8:15. We barely slept last night, but who cares? Sleep isn’t necessary when you can live on the power of multiple orgasms. “I’d love to see where you’ve been hiding yourself during the day.”

  “Good. We can grab some coffee on the way.”

  I steal the top sheet off his bed and drape it over myself like a toga. “Should I wear this?” I ask.

  “Fuck, yes,” he replies. “I can see your nipples. Any outfit where they’re conspicuous is a good one.”

  When I look down I can see that he’s right; the white sheets don’t do much to hide them.

  “Hmm. I suppose I can’t, then. You’d be walking around all day with an erection, and the other architect boys would make fun of you.”

  “Either that or they’d ask me for your number,” he says, grinning. “You go get dressed, and I’ll do the same. Meet you back here in five?”

  “Absolutely.”

  I steal his sheet and run across to my balcony, dropping it to the ground just as I dash in my door. I know he’s watching me; I can almost feel his eyes on my bare butt, and I love the thought of it.

  I turn around, blow him a kiss, tell myself it’s okay to be a total idiot, and run to my bedroom in search of clothes. When I’ve pulled on a cute little blue dress designed by yours truly I slink back over to his place.

  When he sees me again he kisses me like I’ve been gone for days, his hands interlocking behind my lower back.

  “Who would have thought last night’s date with Giancarlo would’ve ended in this?” I ask him, teasing.

  “Well, certainly not Giancarlo, I’ll bet,” he replies. “Poor guy has no idea what he missed out on. Come on, let’s get going. The sooner I start working, the sooner I can get back into bed with you.”

  We all but skip our way down the stairs. Apparently a lot of sex has revitalized both of us and turned me into a chatterbox. I tell Dylan about my plans for the day—to go look at the Pantheon, to eat gelato by the Spanish Steps, to be a generally super-annoying tourist with a doofy post-sex grin plastered to her face.

  “More gelato, huh?” he asks. “You’re an addict by now.”

  “Just practising my licking for later tonight,” I tell him as we traipse along the cobbled sidewalk.

  “Don’t get started on licking.” Dylan grabs me, spins me around and kisses my lips, his tongue finding mine. A little clutch is wrapped around my wrist, and I almost feel like I should bend my knee and pull my foot up into the air behind me. Well, if you’re going to make out on the streets of Rome, do it right.

  “What was that for?” I ask him when I’ve pulled away, my heart racing with the power of his kiss.

  “For being Lucy. For everything.”

  When we’ve grabbed a cappuccino and a couple of Italian pastries, Dylan takes me over to an old fifteenth century office building owned by a Roman architecture firm. We slip inside the stairwell, and immediately I’m enthralled. The walls are covered in framed sketches of old structures, the building itself a marvel of arches and leaded glass.

  He guides me upstairs to the second floor where a few offices line the corridor, all with modern-looking glass walls. Dylan pulls me into one of them, slipping over to the table at its centre, which is covered in sketches.

  “This is what I’ve been working on,” he says, showing me a pile of large pieces of thin paper. Each has a different set of drawings on its surface, different vantage points of the apartment building he’s designing.

  But to the right of the pile is another drawing, one that looks like an Italian villa.

  “What’s this?” I ask, pulling the page away from the others.

  “Oh, that’s just a fantasy of mine,” he says, craning his neck to look at it. “Something I’ve always wanted to build.”
>
  I pull my eyes off the drawing to meet his. “Your future house?” I ask.

  He nods, hopping up to sit on the table. “I have a bit of a dream that someday maybe I’ll head back to California and open a vineyard. Stupid, I know.”

  “Not stupid at all,” I say, shaking my head. The house is gorgeous. Shuttered windows, a tiled roof. Everything it should be. My heart aches with envy for that house. Someday I just know that he’ll live in it, raise a family. But I can’t begin to imagine that I’ll be part of the dream. “It’s going to be amazing, and I’m sure you’ll be very happy in it.” I try my best to smile.

  “Lucy,” he says softly. I pull my eyes up to look at him, and see a stare of pure affection that makes my heart melt “I…”

  A knock hammers at the door, interrupting us.

  Dylan sees the visitor before I do. His face immediately goes pale, like he’s just been confronted by a spectre of doom. When I turn to face the same direction, a sick feeling hits me, too, though I’m not entirely sure why.

  A beautiful woman is standing in the doorway, dark hair curling around her cheekbones and over her shoulders. She’s wearing a short skirt, high heels and a low-cut top. To top off the look, she’s smiling at my lover like she’s going to eat him for lunch.

  “Dee-lan,” she says, her accent thick, sexy, all the things I don’t want it to be. She strides over to him on stilettos that would break my ankles and kisses him on both cheeks, her lips lingering just a little too long. Suddenly she’s reminding me of Giancarlo.

  “Renata,” he replies. Of course this is Renata. I think I knew it the moment I laid eyes on her.

  She plays with the collar on his shirt for a few seconds, her lips dipping into a pout as she says, “I miss you, Deelan.” Like I’m not standing right here, my jaw open, every swear word in the world trying to force its way to my lips.

  “Renata,” Dylan says forcefully, pulling himself away from her hands and slipping off the desk, “this is Lucy. She’s an old friend of mine.”

  Friend. That’s just great. Well, I guess it’s what I am. I’d probably be freaked out if he called me a girlfriend so soon. I’d lose my mind if he called me his lover, though it would fill me with pleasure to see Renata taken down a notch.

  “Lucy.” Renata says my name with finality, like she’s cursing me with it. She looks me up and down, judgment all over her face before casting her gaze back to the obvious object of her affections. “We have work to do today, you and I,” she tells him.

  “We?” he asks. “Oh, shit. Right.” He turns my way. “We’re supposed to go have a look at the Villa Doria Pamphili this afternoon,” he tells me. “A bunch of us. But after that’s finished, I’ll come home and see you.” To my surprise, he steps over and kisses me on the lips for longer than one normally kisses a “friend.” I guess he’s just let Renata know what I really am.

  So what if the gorgeous Italian sex-bomb with great boobs still wants him? So what if she’s going to spend the day with him in some romantic villa while I go drip chocolate gelato all over myself? So what if she’s obviously planning to try her damnedest to get him back? So what if he has a history of hooking up with his exes just when things are getting good between him and me?

  I have nothing to worry about, right?

  Wrong.

  My stupid old insecurities are biting me, needling me, punching me. I need to remind myself of Katherine’s words all over again. Don’t judge him by the past. Unless the past is confined to last night and this morning, in which case I should judge the hell out of him.

  “I think I should go,” I tell him, smiling and holding my head high as I avoid looking at Renata. “Busy day ahead.”

  “I’ll walk you out,” Dylan replies, grimacing as if to say “Please don’t leave me with the monster.” Together we step by the foul temptress into the hallway and down the stairs. When we reach the door, he presses a hand to my cheek and kisses me tenderly. “I want you all over again,” he tells me, almost replenishing my supply of ego-juice. “I want to see you tonight. Promise me I will?”

  I nod. “Of course I promise.”

  “Good.” I think the words make us both feel better.

  “Listen, about Renata—you have to know that she’s nuts,” he tells me. “I don’t mean that like the flippant ‘all exes are nuts,’ either. I mean she’s up and down like a roller coaster. She’s jealous of you, so she’s acting weird right now.”

  “Jealous?” I say. “Why would she be jealous? She didn’t know I even existed until about two minutes ago.”

  “Because she can tell that I’m crazy about you.” He gives me another kiss, this time with tongue. My head spins with pleasure. Good boy, Dylan.

  “Well then,” I reply. I want to tell him I’m crazy about him too. Want to say that my heart’s filled up since last night, that I’m in serious danger of falling for him all over again.

  But I don’t say it, because I’m afraid. Because I’m a coward.

  I give him one last kiss and send him on his way back up those stairs to the vixen, while I turn to face the city of Rome on my own.

  Twenty-Two

  Dylan

  As I climb the stairs back up to my office, I remind myself that I’ll see Lucy again this afternoon. Whatever crap Renata throws my way today doesn’t matter, because tonight I’ll have Lucy in my arms again. We’ll kiss. I’ll explore her body with my tongue and find all the erogenous zones I missed last night. I’ll learn more and more about what makes her feel good. And then I’ll do it all over again.

  God, I love making her come. I know men are supposed to be selfish fucks in bed, but man, all I want to do is make Lucy moan against my mouth like she did last night. I love the way she goes silent just before an orgasm hits, like her body has taken her to another universe. I can tell when I’m sucking, licking, or fingering her just right.

  But I have so much yet to learn. So much exploring to do. Lucy’s complicated, refined and so fucking sexy that I can’t believe I even managed to drag myself to work today, when I could have spent the day in bed with her.

  By the time I hit the top of the stairs, Renata has positioned herself directly in front of me, lying in wait like a lioness about to pounce on its vulnerable prey. Sorry, lioness. There will be no meal for you today. I’m not vulnerable, for one thing. I’m strong as hell, and there’s nothing you could ever do to persuade me to look at you again. Not with Lucy in my life and my bed. Other women may as well not exist anymore.

  “Dylan,” Renata says as I get closer, only she doesn’t exactly say it. She moans it, whines it, like she’s pleading with me for something.

  “What?” I reply when I hit the top step, my voice tainted by my irritation.

  She moves towards me as I try to step around her, forcing me to back into the wall. “I miss you,” she says.

  Oh, for fuck’s sake.

  “Do you?” I ask. It’s a rhetorical question. I don’t give a flying fuck if she misses me. She goes hot and cold faster than a witch’s microwaveable tits. She’s a total mess and I’m sorry I ever made the mistake of getting into bed with her.

  She reaches out and strokes a finger along my arm, which I yank away. “Don’t you miss me?” she asks.

  “Renata,” I snarl. I suppose I should just tell her to fuck off, but I don’t. I’m just slightly too nice to do that to a mentally unstable person. “We have to get to work.”

  “The Villa we’re going to see this afternoon,” she continues. “It’s very romantic.”

  “I’m not looking at the building for romance. I want to see how its walls are supported.”

  “I was hoping we could bring some lunch and eat together, just you and me.”

  I glare at her. I can feel my face turning red with rage. Since I’m not a complete and utter moron, I know what she’s doing. “You think you want me, because I brought Lucy here,” I growl. “That’s it. That’s the only reason, and it’s not going to happen. Look—we broke up, Renata. And we’r
e not getting back together. If you’re not happy with that simple fact, then I can’t help you.”

  Great. She’s pouting again. “But I still adore you,” she says, piling it on as she steps towards me again, stroking a finger over my chest. I grab her wrist and hold it tight. “I miss our nights together,” she whispers.

  “Well, I don’t.” With that I drop her arm and walk back to my office, slamming the door hard.

  This is going to be a long fucking day.

  The first thing I do when I sit down is check my email. There’s a notification of a Facebook photo album from an old college friend, Gary, who was on the football team with me. The heading is “End of term party, June 2010.”

  Holy shit. What are the odds of receiving this message, today of all days?

  I click on the link, which takes me to my account. My eyes are greeted by several dozen photos from the night of our party. The night Lucy and I kissed.

  As I take a quick look, I see a photo of me talking to my friend Aaron, my quarterback jersey adorning my torso. I can see everyone from back in the day, half-drunk, totally stupid and having a great time.

  In another photo I spot Chloe, my ex, talking to my friend Aaron.

  As I’m staring at the strange assortment of memories, a gentle knock sounds at my door. I turn to glare at the visitor, who turns out to be Paolo. My face breaking into a smile, I signal him to come in.

  “Just checking to see how things are with Lucia,” he tells me, shutting the door behind him.

  “Very good,” I reply. “And check it out—an old friend just posted some photos.” Quickly I click through them until I see Lucy’s face. She’s standing by the bonfire, a curious glint in her eye, like she’s looking for someone.

  “Is that her?” Paolo asks, admiring my lover.

  “Yes, seven years ago,” I reply.

  “I see why she’s worth waiting for,” he tells me, leaning in to get a closer look. “Nice tits.”