Unforgiven

by Delilah Devlin

  To distract herself, she picked up her plate and stood. “You done?” Without waiting for anything more than his nod, she picked up his empty plate as well and carried them both to the sink. A small pile of dishes had already been gathered there.

  As she grabbed the sponge and drizzled some soap on it, she heard the scrape of his chair behind her. “You don’t have to do that.”

  “I don’t mind.”

  “Seriously, leave it.”

  Trying to diffuse some of her tension, she forced a smile into her voice and made a tsking noise. “Look at all these dirty dishes. You and I both know you’ll let these gather until you don’t have any other choice. I still have a few minutes, and I’ll just—”

  Without warning, hard hands closed over her hips, and she dropped the sponge. He swiveled her around. Reaching behind her, he wrenched the water off. “Goddamn it, Leyla. Stop treating me like a kid.”

  She blinked up at him, stunned at both the anger on his face and the hard tone of his voice. “I’m not.”

  “You are. I’m not your son, and I’m not your brother. I can do my own fucking dishes.”

  Her eyes narrowed. “You don’t need to swear at me.”

  He sneered. “Are you going to chastise me for my language now?”

  “Someone needs to. You idiot. I certainly don’t think I’m your mother.”

  “Then stop acting like it. You don’t have to clean up after me. You certainly don’t need to do my fu—”

  She slapped her hands against his chest. “That’s a nasty swear, Mason. Say it again, and I will make you sorry. I was doing the dishes because you cooked, you ass.”

  He stilled. “Do you mind if I use it and I’m not swearing at you?”

  “What?”

  “Fuck.”

  The short, graphic word looked erotic on his full lips. She caught her breath.

  “Do you object to the word or the context?”

  “The-the context.”

  His lips quirked. “I’ll keep that in mind. I apologize. I’m sorry if I overreacted.”

  “I’m not your sister,” she blurted out.

  “I know that. I’ve known that for a while. The question is, do you know it?”

  “Yes.” She realized at that moment that her slightly damp hands were flat against his chest.

  His naked, hard, hot chest.

  Leyla had never touched him so intimately. Hugs, pecks on the cheek, pats on the back; that was it. The way she’d been raised, males and females who were platonic friends didn’t touch each other inappropriately. Mason knew and respected that.

  She couldn’t look at his face. Instead, she studied her hands, so small against the wide expanse of his chest. Her one hand curved over his developed pec. She only had to move just a smidgeon to scrape the nail of her pinky over his nipple.

  Then he was growling, a low rumbling noise, using his tight grip on her hips to pull her closer and crowd her against the counter. He shoved one hand into her hair, tilted her head and lowered his lips to hers.

  All she could think was that she no longer needed to wonder if he desired her. He didn’t bother with an exploratory foray or gentle teasing. He kissed her as if they’d been kissing for years, as if he had an absolute right to her lips and her mouth. It was hot and carnal, his mouth open on hers, his tongue stroking against hers and inside. When she twined her arms around his neck and sank into him, he made a rough noise and captured the zipper on her hoodie. One quick tug had it undone, and then it was like her shirt just magically undid itself of its buttons for him as well. He pushed it to the side with rough impatience until her breast filled his hand.

  When he pinched her nipple, Leyla figured she was pretty much done for. Her breasts were sensitive, but Mason touched her with just the perfect amount of pressure. She arched her back and whimpered into his mouth. God, she wanted more.

  He ripped his mouth away and studied her with hot eyes. She knew what she would see if she glanced down at herself right then. Tousled hair, unbuttoned top, her right breast plumped up by his hand, her nipple long and tight. She didn’t want to look down at herself. The reality would force her brain back into action. There was a certain comfort and simplicity in letting one’s vagina do the talking. “Mason, please…”

  Slashes of red crested Mason’s high cheekbones. “You’re so beautiful.” He dipped his head, pulling her nipple into the wet cavern of his mouth.

  If she’d thought that Mason knew how to touch a nipple, that was nothing compared to how well he could suck one. He was a freakin’ maestro of the nipple, suckling hard and fast, teasing her with light flicks of his tongue. She looked down at his blond head against her skin. Instantly, doubts and worries crept into her mind. She shut her eyes and they faded. She didn’t want to think. Just feel.

  He drew away from her nipple. “One day, I want to spend just an hour or two sucking your breasts. Will you let me do that?”

  What was a girl supposed to say to that? Yes please? She nodded, since she really couldn’t think of anything she’d rather have at that moment.

  “Good.” He flicked his nail against the wet tip of her breast and she shuddered. His eyes narrowed. “Are you close? Already?”

  “Mason, I need…”

  “Don’t worry. I know.”

  New Year’s resolutions have never looked so good.

  Make Mine Midnight

  © 2009 Annmarie McKenna

  New Year’s Eve. The party is rockin’, and Claire is in her usual spot holding up the wall. It’s all right. She’s much happier scribbling in her trusty little notebook than mingling. Especially since those notes turn into the sexy erotic romances she pens in secret. Those two gorgeous gods across the room are perfect hero material and…oh dear, are they headed her way?

  Mason and Hunter know she won’t remember them as the scrawny geeks they were in high school. She also doesn’t know they’ve been lusting after her for ten long years, waiting for her to meet a man and have a normal relationship. They’re through waiting. The time has come to make their move—and show her exactly how much they’ve changed.

  One night in the middle of a Mason/Hunter manwich, and Claire has enough research material to fill a hundred notebooks. Good thing she’s got OfficeMax on speed dial to order more. Except suddenly her two hunks have this crazy idea that keeping her is selfish. Selfish? She may be mousy, but this mouse is about to roar…

  Warning: Threesomes! Light bondage, blindfolds, breakfast made by two hot men who used to be geeks. Parades, cotton candy, more sex, and convincing said men they are WRONG and threesomes are RIGHT.

  Enjoy the following excerpt for Make Mine Midnight:

  “I want the whole scoop later, sweetie,” Paul called after them as Mason and Hunter practically frogmarched her down the hall to the stairwell. There were no slow feet, no stopping or pausing, just a straight, quick arrow to the stairs. Two short flights down had them on the next floor where they proceeded to continue down the hall like they’d done so a million times. Like she had so often. Before she could say a word, they stopped right in front of 13A.

  Interesting since she’d never given the directions. They should have had to ask where she lived, not known how to take her right to her front door.

  Her suspicion rose again. “How did you know where I lived?”

  “Paul.” Hunter felt her jeans pockets and victoriously extracted her set of keys.

  “I knew that man had a big mouth, but damn. He told you everything, didn’t he?”

  “Don’t get mad at the middleman, sweetheart.” Hunter pecked her cheek as he fumbled the key in the lock then pushed open the door to her place.

  “I still want to know what’s going on.”

  “Later,” Mason growled in her ear. Literally growled. “Time for talk later. We need to see you, want to touch you, taste you.”

  Claire wondered if it were possible for one’s heart to actually explode. The thing was beating so hard surely it was close.

 
“And what if I don’t want to do those things?” The act of defiance pretty much fell flat. She knew it based on their twin predatory grins.

  “If you really didn’t want this, you’d go inside and slam the door in our faces. One thing we remember for certain about you is your stubbornness.” Hunter turned serious and touched her cheek. “If there’s anything we do that scares you or you don’t want, just tell us. We’ll back off.”

  They would. She didn’t know how she knew it, but she did. They wouldn’t hurt her. Maybe leave her heart crushed in a million pieces when they left, but they wouldn’t physically hurt her. They weren’t that kind of men. Not ten years ago, and she could see they still weren’t.

  What could she say to that? She nodded and stepped inside, letting them follow her in. Not want this? Pfft. The door sounded with what seemed like an ominous click and then Hunter spoke again.

  “Take off the shirt, Claire. I can’t wait to see you.” Mason’s hands fisted and she wondered if he were trying not to pounce on her. His expression clearly showed he wanted to do just that.

  She swallowed and reached for the hem of her shirt, revealing inch by inch of smooth, creamy skin in an almost provocative dance. Where her inner vixen suddenly came from she didn’t know and didn’t particularly care. When her bellybutton appeared, Mason dropped to his knees and placed a kiss on the indentation. The act startled her and Claire bumped back into the wall. Mason took advantage. He held her hips and kissed a circle around her navel, tickling her into a rush of giggles.

  Beside her, Hunter groaned. Because he wanted to do the same thing? Damn, she wished she had a better handle on all things sex in real life, not just in the written word.

  A moment later, Mason backed off, a silly grin on his face. “Sorry.”

  She had a feeling he wasn’t. “Right.”

  “Off.” The impatience she remembered Hunter having shone through in spectacular fashion.

  “Geez. It’s not my fault I was interrupted.” Claire shimmied the shirt up, reaching her arms to the ceiling to remove it, but before she could take it completely off, Hunter grabbed her bound arms and kept them raised above her head. As a result, her face was covered by the material as well. “Hey.”

  “Stay.” Hunter had been reduced to one-word grunts, which made a thrill go through her.

  A mouth latched on to one of her silk-bra-covered nipples, puckering the bud tight before the cup was pulled below her breast. Fingers manipulated her other mound. Claire’s knees wobbled and someone pressed her into the wall.

  Her nipple was sucked deep into a hot, wet mouth and then a tongue wrapped around it. Teeth bit gently and Claire cried out into the fabric of her shirt. She’d never experienced such a sensation, the sharpness of teeth followed by the soothing lap of a tongue. The clip between her breasts popped open with deft fingers and the cups fell to her sides, leaving her practically naked from the waist up except for the bunch of fabric around her face. She knew her nipples were standing out from her small breasts, and somewhere in the back of her mind she thought about being embarrassed but couldn’t summon the energy when what the two men were doing to her nipples felt so damn good.

  “Sheeeesh.” Claire’s legs buckled on a particularly strong suck.

  She squealed when Mason laughed and scooped her up in his arms. “Where’s the bedroom, baby?”

  “Down the hall.” The shirt still shrouded her face but try as she might she couldn’t wiggle loose. She had a feeling Mason wanted it that way.

  Light filtered through the hole at the top and she wondered what they thought of her scrawny apartment as they lit the rooms one by one. She knew what they’d find in her room. The walls were dark red—whore red she called it—the comforter plaid in a matching shade of red mixed with browns and navy. Not very girly, but then she wasn’t a very girly kind of girl. A touch of makeup on the dresser, a few simple dresses and a bit of jewelry were about as feminine as she got.

  There was a shuffling sound and then the world spun as Mason turned and laid her on the bed. Her bare back on soft sheets told her the shuffling had been Hunter pulling off the comforter.

  “Can I take this off now?” She squirmed in an attempt to extract herself. Who knew it’d be so hard to get your shirt off when you really wanted it off?

  “I don’t know, Hunt, I kind of like her blindfolded.”

  Claire stilled, her heart racing. Blindfolded? As in not being able to see? Anything?

  She’d written the scenario lots of times. And the idea of doing it here and now made her clit throb in excitement. But still, if she didn’t at least pretend like the idea scared the shit out of her, what would they think of her? That she did this sort of thing all the time?

  She fumbled out of the shirt. Her glasses came off with the material, and she eyed their blurry forms. “What do you mean?”

  Hunter pulled a black, silky-looking scarf from his back pocket and showed it to her. “A little something to force you to feel, sweetheart.”

  “Do you always carry little black scarves in your pocket, Hunter?”

  “I like to be prepared.” His lips split into a sexy smile that made her belly flip-flop.

  “Huh. I like prepared.” What the hell. It was the chance of a lifetime, right?

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