by Lila Price
I swallow. Should I spread my legs and show him everything?
I have no idea where my common sense goes as I bend my knees, then open slightly for him.
He pushes the hair back from his face as he watches me, still eating me up with his intense gaze.
“Goddamn,” he whispers. “I knew you’d have a beautiful pussy, pink and wet.” His eyes lock with mine. “Just tell me yes. Tell me you want this. Tell me that one word so I can be inside you.”
I can see how his cock is hard and long, even if he’s covered by his jeans. I’m pulsating for him, and I want this more than anything, but this is still a bad idea. Isn’t it? Because once this stops being a business deal, everything will change. But would that be such a terrible thing?
Prostitute, I remind myself. You’d be a transaction.
And that’s the one magic thought I needed.
He rests his hands on my knees, gently pushing them apart even more. His covetous eyes tell me how much he wants me, and his cocky smile says the rest: You won’t be disappointed. Guaranteed.
“Admit it,” he says quietly but roughly. “You want to feel my cock slipping and sliding in you, making you come for me again.”
You bet I do.
But wait—bad idea. That’s right. This is a very, very bad idea.
Nearly sighing in exasperation, I close my knees. His hands grip them, but he doesn’t do anything else.
After a few moments, he says, “I know what you’re thinking, Jenna. But I’ve got a clean bill of health.”
“Excellent to know.” And, speaking of tell-alls, I’m also on the Pill, but only because of the menstrual migraines I used to get. We’re good to go except for the fact that I’ve come to my senses and won’t be his convenient plaything.
Damn, why do I have to have standards like this?
He must see that I’ve set a boundary—yes, I’ve finally done it—but from his ultra-confident attitude, he hasn’t given up just yet. He merely strokes his palms down my calves then stands off the couch.
“No problem,” he says. “When you’re ready, you’ll come to me.”
Umm…what?
I sit up and yank my shirt closed, yet I don’t deny what he’s saying. The lining of my belly is quivering, begging for another orgasm. But, seriously—he thinks I’m going to come to him?
Eli rests his hands on his hips, as careless as can be. “And when you do come to me, make sure you’re wearing that pink nightie you had on the other night.”
At the reminder of how he caught me wearing the sheer gown, I blush. He might’ve even seen me pleasuring myself, but he’s withholding that information, probably because it gives him some power. I seethe, because he’s so right about my wanting this, and I’m afraid I won’t be able to stay away from him.
“Maybe you’ll come to me,” I say.
“Jenna.” His voice has gone quiet and rough again, and when I look up at him, I see that he’s dead serious. “I’m waiting for you to say yes. And when you do, you’re never, ever going to get fucked like I’ll fuck you. You can damned well believe that.”
There’s nothing for me to say as he leaves the room, because I know he’s right.
It’s just a matter of how long I can stay away.
Chapter 12
It doesn’t make me feel better to know that Eli goes directly to the home gym, no doubt to work off the hard-on I gave him. And I’m sure not comforted with the reward of a good night’s sleep on my end after making the “right” decision.
In bed, I’m tossing and turning as if I’m on a roasting spit. Dammit, who ever thought this expensive mattress could be so uncomfortable?
Know what would make it comfortable? I think.
Nope, I won’t think his name. But I don’t have to do that to conjure him—not when I’ve decided to play his game and leave my door open slightly, just to tempt his ass when he comes up to bed and sees what’s down the hall in the next room. Great move, because I’m actually torturing myself way more than I’ll probably torture him.
And what do you know? When he finally does return to his room, he’s whistling a tune as if taunting me.
As I clutch the sheets on my bed, I realize the full truth: The whole prostitute thing was just an excuse for me to stay away from him. I really do have a choice in this matter. Our deal didn’t include my body, but if I did give myself to Eli, it would be because I want him.
And I do. God I do.
So why am I still here tossing and turning?
I pull at the sheet until I hear it strain. Pride. After years of wearing second-hand clothes and getting made fun of for being poor, I have too much pride, and it’s only gotten worse since I met Eli.
My realization only pains me more when he obviously leaves his door open. I can hear him moving around out there in the nearly silent house, turning on his bedroom TV to what sounds like the UK version of The Office. Then I hear the vague sound of running water.
Shower.
I groan and toss around some more. I imagine the water hitting his hard body, his sleek muscles working under his skin every time he moves. I imagine walking into his bathroom, then him turning around to see me as the steam clears.
Something sharp makes my sex ache, and I press my fingers to myself, hoping to stifle the craving for him. But I can’t. Even after one brief but fervent bout of foreplay, I’m already addicted to how he makes me feel, and my fix is just down the hall in the other room. In the shower. Waiting for me to say yes.
Yes, I think. Yes, yes, yes.
Screw pride.
I toss away the covers, jumping out of bed. I move to the walk-in closet where my nighties wait. But I’ll be damned if I give in to Eli all the way by going to him in the pink gown that he told me to wear. He’ll take a compromise or nothing at all.
I slide a gauzy sea foam green nightie from its hanger and put that on. When I look at myself in the mirror, I see that the color makes my eyes a lively blue, but maybe that’s something else at work. Excitement. Desire.
I don’t think much about how this will be my first time with a man, because I believe Eli when he says this will be good. And that’s how sex is supposed to be—if the foreplay was any indication, I’m in for the ride of my life. Why not carpe diem while I have the opportunity? Once I get back to real life, I might never have the chance to feel so exhilarated and free again.
Why not now?
Hell yeah, now.
With a shaky exhale, I leave my room and go to his. I can feel the steam from his shower even before I get there, and when I do, it’s almost as if my fantasies have come to life.
The only thing separating us is the cloudy glass of the open stall, which seems to have multiple heads. I can see him, tall, toned, and perfect, behind the partition as he rinses off the sweat from his workout. As I stand there, my heartbeat is like the pulse of a song that’s been sped up, the words unintelligible.
I know the second he sees me, because he pauses.
My heart seems to jam its way out of my chest and through my veins, multiplying, rushing all over the place as if it wants to get to him. When he shuts off the water, the only sounds are drips hitting the floor, the murmur of the TV in the bedroom.
I don’t move. Neither does he.
I’m about to lose my nerve. Maybe this was a bad idea after all…
Then, as if he realizes that I might bolt if he doesn’t meet me halfway, he steps out from behind the glass to reveal his full glory. Beads of water glisten over his tanned skin. His wide chest boasts his tattoo, the blades extending to one of his cut arms. His abs are ridged, his legs long and strong, and…
His cock. The length of it is getting hard, and it’s… whoa, it’s thick.
My pulse accelerates, and now I can barely swallow. He said I was tight, so what if he doesn’t fit into me? What if…?
When I see how his gaze strips me bare, I gain a little courage. Then he smiles in that feral way that tells me I have him as much as he has me.
> Game over.
He doesn’t mention that I didn’t put on the nightie he requested. Actually, he seems quite happy with the choice I made as he scans me with a slow, sensual gaze. By the time he finishes, there’s only one word on my lips.
“Yes,” I say.
He fists his hands by his sides, and for the span of a ragged heartbeat, I see the seriousness in his gaze, as if this really isn’t a game to him. Then the moment disappears and the hunger takes its place again.
He doesn’t bother to towel off—he merely takes his time walking over to me, allowing me to see every stunning inch of him. And there’re a lot of inches.
As he stands in front of me, I look up at him. He lifts his hand, then tucks one of my curls behind my ear. For some reason, my heart thuds a little harder, but then he hooks his thumbs in the straps of my nightie and eases them down my arms.
The steam is heavy on my skin, kissing the tips of my breasts as he exposes them. After the material drops to the floor, he starts to walk me backward, toward the bedroom itself. I’m going liquid for him, even as sparks of need jump around inside me, falling, hissing as they hit the wet center of me, threatening to sizzle me from the inside out. We pass the sinks, where thick carpet covers the floor, where I catch a glimpse of us in the mirror from the corner of my eye.
Then he stops. In an unexpected move that takes my breath away, he bends down, pressing his lips to mine. The kiss is so hot and slow that I begin sinking to the floor, clutching at his arms.
He keeps kissing me, going down with me. Digging his fingers in my hair, he kisses me harder, sucking at me, sweeping his tongue into me and sending me into a blissful haze. It’s as if I’m drunk, because suddenly, I’m falling farther down, until I realize that his mouth isn’t against mine anymore and my back is to his brick-hard chest.
“Fucking sweet Jenna,” he says, his voice rough as he runs his hands to my waist. He presses them up until he palms my breasts. His skin is wet, slippery against mine. Then he eases me down to the carpet until I’m lying on my back, staring up at him. He bends to me, kisses my forehead, my nose, playful and diabolical at the same time. He’s the prick who forced my hand by taking that selfie. He’s the asshole who maneuvered me into a situation I didn’t want until I realized that I wanted it.
And he knows it.
When he gets to my mouth, he licks me, then pauses, smiling, right before he slips his tongue past my lips in a ruthless upside-down kiss. I respond eagerly, the sensation flipping my stomach and my mind as I thrust up my hips, pushing back on my heels toward him.
He laughs at my enthusiasm, gnawing at my bottom lip, then giving me a tiny, cocky kiss. He looks down at me, daring me to say something as he slides the heel of his hand through the middle of my breasts then down and over my stomach.
“Are you ready for me yet?” he whispers.
I make a muffled, greedy sound.
He trickles his fingers down my belly, getting awfully close to my panties. “Was that another yes?”
I murmur something. Not sure what.
“You’d better tell me soon, Jenna. You don’t want me to leave you soaking wet without a way to get wrung out.”
“Yes, dammit.” I hate him so much.
I can see his upside-down smirk as he eases into my panties. Again, I lift my hips off the floor, ultra-greedy, because he’s so good with those fingers. They tease me, caress me, dip in and out of me with little sucking plunges that get me sopping, hell-yeah ready for what I really want. And he keeps stroking me and kissing me until I’m so restless for him that my fingernails dig into his forearms.
My agitation seems to stoke him, because he abruptly drags me to him and picks me up. As he stands, I wrap my legs around him, my breasts crushed against his chest. He takes me to the bed, and before I can scoot back on it, he tears off my panties and gets to his knees on the floor.
Oh shit, he’s going to…
He hooks my knees over his broad shoulders and takes me by the hips. Then he tilts me, bending down and burying his face between my legs. I let out a panicked, stifled cry, because no one has ever done this to me before.
“Shh,” he says against my pussy.
The vibration rocks me, making me feel as if I’m crumbling inside, a wall that’s rolling apart stone by stone, splashing into a pool of water. He kisses me there, using his tongue and lips and even his fingers as he massages my clit and brings me higher and higher. He kisses me as if my pussy is my mouth and we’re crazed teenagers going at it on a first date, wild for each other, and when he sucks off of one of my lips to look up at me, the devil is in his eyes.
“I knew you’d taste sweet,” he says, then turns to nip at my thigh. “And I get three months of my sweet, sweet Jenna’s kitty. Three months of going down on her and fucking her hot, creamy pussy.”
He knows just what to say to someone who’s never been talked to like this before. His words are so naughty, and I can’t even think of what’ll happen after our time is up, because the heat is only flaming hotter and hotter in me as he swirls his tongue around my clit, tasting every bit of me until—
I’m singed from the inside out, once, twice, then suddenly I’m split apart by a lightning bolt.
Again.
Again.
Panting, I grip the bedcover until I’m pulling it off.
“Are you ready for my cock now?” he asks, climbing on the bed, looming above me.
The tip of him brushes my thigh, and I wince.
“Yes.”
“I don’t know about that. Maybe you need to wait while I taste every last inch of you.”
Yes!
But as much as I’d like him to explore me everywhere with his mouth, he’s cruelly prodding my clit with the tip of his cock, and I automatically part my legs.
“There it is,” he says. “My pretty, sweet pussy cat, creaming just for me.”
Slowly, he slides his head into me, and I feel myself expand around him. The tight sensation makes me hold my breath. He’s so big, and I’m so…
As he glides into me with a smooth thrust, I grip his arms in another slight, erotic panic. He tenses up, as if he suspects that I lied to him about having sex before. But there’s a pleasured pain-like tingle inside of me, and I wiggle my hips, inviting him to give me more. He groans, then moves inside me again, and soon, the discomfort starts to fade.
I like it, and soon I’m just as hungry as he is, scratching my nails down his arms, looking into his eyes as he fucks me. My vision starts to darken, everything crumbling and tumbling into the very center of me. Then I feel a rumble, a rising, a quaking as I burst apart, an explosion in the dark sky, then fall into a thousand pieces. In my fragmented perception, Eli comes soon after that, then collapses, rolling to his back and taking me with him.
We breathe together for a while, until he cleans up then comes back to bed. He plays with my hair as I pull the sheet up over my body and wonder when we can do this again. If it’ll happen again.
“I’m glad it was you,” I whisper, cuddling against him. I could give a crap about him knowing that I just lost it to him. None of that matters now.
His arm stiffens around me, and I realize that being a virgin—an ex-virgin—also means being new to pillow talk. I’m not so very good at it.
He pushes himself up to an elbow, a hank of hair covering part of his face, the blue shadows from the TV flashing over him.
“What do you mean by that?”
I offer him a sheepish smile.
“Is this…? Are you…?”
“You mean, was I a virgin?”
He sinks back down to the bed, then utters one of the last words an ex-innocent probably wants to hear.
“Shit.”
Chapter 13
I brace myself. There was nothing “shit” about what just happened. I have no regrets, but Eli obviously does.
He finally mutters, “Downstairs, I was pretty sure you said that it’s been a long time since you had sex. Now I find out that
you’ve never had it before?”
“Don’t worry. Virgins aren’t made of glass. You didn’t break my vagina or anything.” In fact, I feel really put together, even with the achingly dull pain between my legs. But I’m certain it’s a pain that won’t last.
We’re both still on our backs, staring up at the light from the TV sputtering across the ceiling. After another minute passes, I sigh, nudging Eli in the side with my hand.
“If you’re thinking that I’m your responsibility now, don’t worry. This isn’t the Victorian Era where I’ll be socially ostracized if people find out I was sullied. Actually, I think everyone’s expecting you to dirty me up a little.”
He exhales, reaching up to rub his face. “I don’t do virgins. They—”
“We.”
“—expect too much.”
“I expect nothing more than what’s in our agreement, Eli.”
He turns to look at me. “Why me then? Why did you decide to lose it on… Well, shit, on something this temporary?”
Good question, but I have answers. It’s because my fake fiancé turns me into a raging sex monkey, because what he does to me makes me feel so damned good that there’s no way I could ever say no.
Still, Eli doesn’t have to hear any of that, so I simply say, “Why not lose it to you?”
His laugh is chopped. “Damn, you’re something else.” But then his laughter turns appreciative, as if he’s not judging me, as if he understands that I’ve finally given in to this wild streak I’ve always had but never paid attention to. He, out of all the people in the world, understands wild streaks.
I prop myself on my elbow, looking down at that gorgeous face, those blue eyes, those lips that kissed me until I came for him. “I didn’t expect you to be so old fashioned.”
“Hell, my dad lectured me up and down about girls when I was growing up. He’s old school like that. Mom passed away early and I barely remember her, so it was up to him to let me know about the birds and the bees. I didn’t obey all his commandments about how to live life but…”
