by Olivia Dade
“What do you want?” He didn’t sound offended, simply confused.
Dragging her gaze back to him took a surprising amount of effort. “I want you to fuck me, Wolcott. No extended foreplay. No pretending this is anything other than a booty call. Let’s get off and get over each other.”
Thank God Thornfield Hall had finally given them a room. Men sometimes settled in a bit too much when she brought them to her house, and she had no desire to visit Sam’s home either. She wasn’t interested in his daily life or his history.
What she needed from him was concrete and finite: His cock. His sweat. His effort. Then, inevitably, his departure.
He hesitated for a long moment, shoving his hair back from his forehead, and she struggled against the uncharacteristic urge to hide herself from him. To run, even though he posed absolutely no danger to her.
Finally, he spoke in a low rasp, his voice rife with sexual threat. “You want it hard? You want me to stretch that pretty little pussy wide? Bounce you on my cock until you come screaming my name?”
That was more like it.
“Sounds perfect.” She smiled at him, crooking a finger to invite him inside her. “The only question is whether you can do it.”
With brisk efficiency, his hands worked the buttons of his shirt and the fastening of his pants. He shoved those pants and his boxer-briefs down his strong thighs, kicking them aside as he shrugged off his shirt. His socks disappeared into a distant corner of the room. And when he removed her dress and bra, his grip had turned more purposeful than cherishing.
For a moment, she regretted her insistence on haste. His body… Shit, he was gorgeous. Worthy of hours of exploration. At some point, she really needed to ask him how he stayed in such good shape despite spending so much time in front of his computer. He wasn’t ripped, but he was solid everywhere, with obvious strength in the slabs of muscle underneath his pale, pale skin. Generally, she preferred men with scant body hair, but her fingers itched to tangle themselves in the fur on his chest and give it a teasing tug.
His cock saluted her, long and thick and glistening at the flushed tip. He stood with his fists braced on his hips and let her survey him without an ounce of shame. Probably because he was too busy staring at her tits and wide-open sex.
She wanted to blow him, envelop him in her mouth and suck him dry. But she wanted him inside her pussy even more. And they’d delayed enough already.
“Come here,” she said, “and fuck me.”
***
Sam had never received a more welcome order in his life. And before he quite knew what was happening, his feet began moving obediently in Con’s direction.
Somewhere in his lust-addled brain, though, a few stalwart cells continued to function. Some were attempting to work out why Con seemed so comfortable with fucking and so resistant to actual intimacy. Other bits of gray matter were mourning the loss of his opportunity—maybe his only opportunity—to go down on her, eat her out, and feel her come on his face. And a final, heroic cluster of synapses kept firing, reminding him of crucial information.
Jesus, her breasts were beautiful. Small and round, with tight brown nipples he was aching to taste.
Wait. What was that crucial information again?
Oh, fuck. Birth control.
His feet stopped moving, and he closed his eyes in frustration. “Condoms. I was afraid if I brought any, I’d be too tempted to do”—he flicked a glance down at his stiff dick—“this.”
She smiled at him. “Don’t worry. I can’t get pregnant.”
Thank Christ she’s on the pill or has an IUD or whatever, he thought.
“But I agree we need to use condoms,” she added, “since we don’t know each other that well.”
From what he could tell, she didn’t especially want to change that fact. And given the situation with Penny, no doubt Con had the right idea. He suspected, though, that she kept all her lovers at a careful distance, whether they were the brothers of her best friends or not.
“I can drive to the closest pharmacy.” He eyed his pile of discarded clothing with distaste, but reached for his pants, anyway. “Give me fifteen minutes.”
Her smile widened. “No need. I always carry condoms with me. Just in case. They’re inside the inner pocket of my purse.”
Since she didn’t make a move toward the bathroom, where she’d left her bag earlier, he figured she didn’t mind his intrusion into her personal belongings. Her purse’s inner pocket unzipped easily, revealing a hidden stash of tampons and pads, as well as a lengthy strip of condoms. The packages appeared new, and the expiration date stretched far into the future. Long after the two of them would have already gone their separate ways.
He fisted those condoms until the sharp corners bit into his palm.
Just a quick fuck to take the edge off, he reminded himself. Secret and hot and temporary. That’s what she wants. That’s what you both want.
So he didn’t drag matters out. He rolled on the condom, crawled up onto the ridiculously high mattress, and spared Con’s slim, golden body only a fleeting glance before pushing her knees up to her chest.
His cock nudging against her slick slit, he paused one last time. “Ready?”
“Yup.” Con raised her sleek brows in challenge, self-assured and comfortable despite her vulnerable position. “Are you?”
He didn’t bother answering. Struggling with a flash of unexpected anger at how she’d orchestrated their whole encounter, he watched himself penetrate her, saw how his cock stretched her wide and then disappeared inside her tight pussy.
She took a shuddering breath, but he didn’t pause. Instead, he pressed her knees harder into her chest, withdrew completely, and slammed home a second time.
“Yes,” she hissed. She scrabbled at the bedcovers before hooking her nails into his back. With each shove of his cock, she gripped him and added the force of her arms to make it harder, tighter. She raised her hips as much as she could, and his pelvis slapped against her spread thighs in a harsh rhythm.
Before long, she was breathing hard, and he was gritting his teeth against the sensation of her pussy clenching around him, clutching his cock as she grew wetter.
“Fuck, Sam,” she gasped, her neck arching.
He bared his teeth at her in something close to a smile. “Panting my name.”
“But not—” Her eyes fluttered shut for a moment, and she moaned at the impact of his cock sinking deep. “Not screaming.”
“Yet.” He ground up against her, hoping the friction against her clit would drive her closer to orgasm.
Without warning, she pushed at his shoulder. He immediately stilled and lifted himself away from her, confused.
Then he understood, as she moved to straddle him. In control once again, she positioned his dick with confident hands and impaled herself on it. She began riding him with rough force, his hands on her hips helping to provide the impact she seemed to crave.
Poised above him, her tits bouncing and her pussy squeezing his cock, she was magnificent. But she’d bowed her back, leaning away from him. Her face was tilted toward the ceiling, and her eyes were closed. He could have been anyone. Anything, really. A mechanical hard prick she was using for her pleasure. And he wanted her attention, her acknowledgment that he was the man inside her. He was the man filling her deep and hard.
With one hand, he reached for her clit, intending to draw her attention and spur her orgasm at the same time. At the first rub of his thumb against that stiff nub of flesh, she cried out, and he could feel her sex start to quiver around him.
“Fuck,” she bit out again through gritted teeth, her movements turning jerky and frantic.
But his flash of triumph at her reaction faded quickly when she pushed his hand away and replaced it with her own.
His own orgasm imminent, he could barely speak. But he tried, anyway. “Con, what—”
“I’ve got it,” she interrupted.
He
r first two fingers circled her clit, stroking and gliding in the same way he’d wanted to. The same way he’d done until she’d stopped him. And even though he’d never buried himself in such a tight, hot pussy, even though he knew he was going to come hard enough to blow away every thought and concern in his overactive brain, the loss of that extra connection, that intimacy, seared through him with unexpected ferocity.
But then she gave a strangled cry and arched violently above him, grinding herself onto his cock as her sex fluttered, gripping him tight and releasing him rhythmically. And he couldn’t think anymore, could only buck his hips upward, yank her down onto his heaving chest, and roar his orgasm into the night.
Only after his heart had slowed and the sweat had begun to dry from his body did he realize he’d never kissed her on the mouth. Not once.
Now didn’t seem like the right time, either. Even with his softening penis still buried deep inside her, he could have sworn that Con had retreated across the room. Her body had turned stiff in his arms, and she wasn’t looking him in the eye, not even when he tried to catch her gaze.
Laughing breathlessly, she disentangled their bodies and headed for the bathroom. “Good work, Wolcott,” she tossed over her shoulder as she strode across the room, still without making eye contact.
But everything seemed to return to normal once they’d both had their turns in the bathroom. He switched off the bedside lamp, and they nestled back under the covers. She immediately climbed on top of him, propping her chin in her hands as she studied his face.
“That was fun.” She flicked his nose with her forefinger. “Want to do it again soon?”
He couldn’t help but laugh. “What do you think?”
“I think we should christen Big Bertha tomorrow.” She grinned back at him. “I already have some ideas.”
“Me too.”
Unable to wait any longer, he pressed a soft kiss on her lips. Their first, despite everything else they’d done that night. She went very still at the light contact, the coaxing pressure he exerted to part her lips.
Let me in, he urged silently.
After a long hesitation, she did. Her mouth opened, and he finally got a taste of the heat within. Her lips were plush, the insides of her cheeks silky and soft. She murmured, her breath escaping in a shaky exhalation when he stroked his tongue against hers. He explored her without any hurry, without any motive except to learn her. Please her.
God, she was sweet. Dizzy with pleasure, he tunneled his fingers through her hair and cradled her skull, reveling in her warmth and responsiveness. Her tongue slowly twined around his, caressing and wet.
Then she lifted her mouth with a fierce little jerk, and he let her break the kiss. Keeping his arms around her, he settled back onto the soft mattress and closed his eyes. She tolerated the embrace for maybe a minute before explaining she wasn’t much of a cuddler. So he released her, and she rolled to the other side of the bed.
Not a big deal, he told himself. She knows who’s in bed with her. And more importantly, she definitely knows who made her come ten minutes ago.
It shouldn’t matter. Not when they were indulging in a casual fling with a quickly approaching expiration date.
He couldn’t lie to himself, though. It did matter.
Normally, he’d have lasted longer for Con in bed. Maybe even brought her to another orgasm before letting himself climax. But when she’d come around his cock, she’d gasped out a single, garbled word. His name. And at the sound of it—at the knowledge that he hadn’t become a disembodied dick to her, at least not entirely—he hadn’t been able to hold back. He’d come as if at her command, flooding her with everything he had.
With her cry of his name still echoing in his head, he could relax despite the unfamiliar bed, the distance between their bodies, and his concerns about what they’d begun. About what it meant for the two of them, as well as their separate relationships with Penny.
As his world began to fade, he reached over and clasped Con’s hand, and she squeezed back. That’s all it took. His body satiated for the first time in months, he immediately fell asleep. The last sound he consciously registered was Con’s slow, even breathing.
But when he woke up the next morning to the screech of an unfamiliar alarm clock, her side of the bed had turned cold. Her purse and clothing had disappeared, and the room echoed with emptiness.
Constance Chen was long gone.
12
Sam leaned forward, squinting at the small house directly ahead of them. “Am I hallucinating? Or does this person have a skull and crossbones flag in front of their home?”
Big Bertha shuddered to a halt at the curb.
“You’ll see,” said Con.
When she arrived at homebound patrons’ residences, Con usually jumped right up to gather the library materials waiting for them. Not this time. Instead, she stayed seated and squeezed her thighs tighter together, hoping to assuage the empty ache between them. The ache that hadn’t dissipated even after three hours on the road with Sam.
Squeezing didn’t work. Nothing worked.
“Con?” he asked when she didn’t budge.
He wasn’t trying to arouse her. He wasn’t looking at her or touching her with any noticeable desire. He wasn’t doing a single thing except proceeding through his day as if nothing had happened the night before. As if she hadn’t felt his cock deep inside her. As if he hadn’t—to her vast disgust—made her pant his name.
And yes, maybe she’d asked him to keep it professional when he’d arrived at her office that morning, closed and locked the door behind him, and prowled across the room with an unmistakable glint in his eye. Yes, maybe she appreciated the way he’d immediately backed off and become nothing more than an amiable coworker spending his last day at her side.
But that didn’t mean she wasn’t irritated by his seeming indifference to her proximity now. Especially in contrast to her acute awareness of every reddish hair on the backs of his hands, the way the winter sun hit his hawkish nose and pale skin, and each shift of his thigh muscles beneath those stupid cargo pants. Why couldn’t the man just wear oversized jeans? Or an all-body poncho of some sort?
“Con?” he asked again. “Are you okay? Is your head hurting?”
“I’m fine.” She swung belatedly into action, grabbing the pile of books she’d set aside for the patron. “You should join me on this stop.”
He’d have accompanied her on every stop today if she’d let him. But she hadn’t, specifically because she’d wanted him by her side. It was the same reason she’d fled Thornfield Hall as soon as he’d fallen asleep.
She’d wanted to stay, which was completely unacceptable.
His brows rose, but he stood and stole the books from her arms before she could argue. “Okay. Let’s go.”
They walked in silence to the front porch of the house, and she waited for the inevitable comments. But he didn’t remark on the dark wood siding or how the homeowner had installed a plank leading up to the door. Not steps, not even a wheelchair ramp. A plank. He also didn’t seem startled by how their patron had attached a ship’s figurehead above the door, one made of painted wood in the shape of a woman’s head and torso. A very, very well-endowed and noticeably naked woman’s head and torso.
No one on Earth possessed that much equanimity. Unless…
“You figured out whose house this is,” she said as she rang the brass bell by the door.
He shifted the books in his arms. “Let’s just say I’m eager to meet my sister’s most notorious patron.”
The door opened, revealing a skinny man in a wheelchair, casts on both of his long legs. He was wearing cutoffs and a T-shirt. Nothing unusual about that. More noteworthy: the bandanna wrapped around the top of his head and the hoop earring in one ear.
Not to mention his greeting to them, a hearty “Ahoy, mateys!”
“Ahoy, Clarence.” Con nodded toward the books Sam carried. “I set aside the latest
in the Rafael’s Ravishment series for you, along with some other pirate books. Do you want my colleague Sam to bring them inside?”
“Aye, little lassie,” he boomed. “That series be why I called for a homebound visit. I can’t make it to Battlefield for the nonce, although their collection of swashbucklin’ smut be second to none!”
Sam edged around Pretend Pirate Clarence and set the books on a rough-hewn table in the entry hall. “My sister, Penny, works there, and I know she’s worried about you. I’ll be sure to tell her you look hale and hearty.”
“Blimey!” Clarence peered at him. “Ye be Penny’s brother? I’d have sworn on Captain Kidd’s treasure that Helen be your sister instead!”
Biting back a reluctant smile, Con watched Sam wince and shudder.
“Sam seems to have relationships of one sort or another with most of my friends,” Con said. “It’s part of his charm.”
Sam quickly changed the subject. “If you don’t mind my asking, are you okay?”
Clarence sighed. “That be a sad tale. One I hope to bury in Davy Jones’s locker once I recover. But ye brought me pirate smut, so I’ll tell ye. Buccaneer Times was having its annual public tryout for new pir—”
“Wait.” Sam turned to Con. “What’s Buccaneer Times?”
She leaned against the doorframe, beginning to enjoy herself. “Nice County’s only venue for dinner and a costumed sea battle. Think hardtack, rum, turkey drumsticks, and grown men whacking each other with blunt wooden swords.”
“Turkey drumsticks?” Sam’s brow wrinkled. “How many turkeys would pirates encounter at sea?”
“Doesn’t matter.” She waved away his objection. “Anyway, once a year, they let people try out for a coveted position as Buccaneer Beginner.”
“First ye swab the decks and yon customer toilets,” Clarence said. “Then ye become part of the show.”
“I take it you tried out.” Sam had skirted Clarence’s wheelchair and returned to her side. Seemingly without thought, he looped an arm around her shoulders and drew her into the warmth of his big body. “What happened?”
