More, Please (Please Series Book 3)

by Willow Summers

  The thought thrilled me.

  “Hmm, you’re so wet.” His deep growl rumbled hungrily.

  I exhaled as two fingers worked into me. His thumb ran lazy circles across my clit, enhancing the pleasure, picking up the pace as my breath quickened.

  “Yes,” I sighed. My toes curled slowly as the pressure in my core intensified.

  “Bring something sexy tonight,” Hunter said in a husky voice, his finger-thrusting harder now. Faster.

  Heat spread across my body. I gripped the back of his neck, holding his head down, my lips against his.

  I was incapable of answering. Or kissing. All I could focus on was the delicious feeling of those fingers and the pulsing pleasure throbbing up through me. I moaned as my body tightened. I held my breath, feeling the unbearable height right before—

  “Oh God!” I exalted, shuddering against him.

  He smiled down at me. I couldn’t smile back. All I could do was breathe raggedly for a moment as I came down. Shock waves of pleasure zinged through my body as he adjusted my panties and straightened me out.

  “One hour.” He kissed me and turned away, back to work.

  “It’s going to take me an hour to get home,” I mumbled, trying to walk with legs made of Jell-O. Not that I was complaining.

  Wiping the sweat from my brow, I made my way out of the office. Bert, Hunter’s driver, wasn’t out front—he’d probably gone home for the day—so I dialed the number for Hunter’s car service. The bus would probably be faster, but getting chewed out by Brenda, and then Hunter himself, for not taking private transportation wasn’t worth the aggravation.

  Twenty minutes later I let myself into the small apartment I shared with Jane, a woman who really should know to pick up after herself by her late twenties. Sadly, that was not the case.

  “You’re home late.” Jane sat on the couch in a faded, holey T-shirt. She had a bowl of ice cream in her lap and a smear of chocolate on her cheek.

  “I’m always home late. My boss is demanding.” I quirked my eyebrow. Since when did she start noticing my schedule?

  I put my keys in the bowl by the door and made my way into the kitchen, ignoring the dirty plates stacked in the sink. None of them were mine. Call me stubborn, but I’d rather live in disarray than clean up after a grown woman I wasn’t related to.

  “Your rent check was on time. And here I thought this month would be your last…” Jane continued to look at me, an easy feat in an apartment as big as a shoebox.

  “Yeah. Boss. As in, guy that tells me what to do in exchange for paying me.”

  Jane didn’t respond. She also didn’t stop staring.

  Trying a little harder to ignore her, because it wasn’t easy, I sulked off to my room as I thought about my options for that night. Thanks to Hunter’s charge card, I had a bunch of sexy, lacy things I could choose from. But he was used to those. I wanted something that would make him salivate. That would make him lose control.

  My mind went to the night I wore my old shirt. He’d practically jumped me. Naked was also an option.

  He’d said something sexy, though.

  After shoveling the mostly terrible dinner into my mouth, I did grab an old shirt, as well as some pajama bottoms. I also grabbed a silky nightie, a garter, heels, and fishnets. I’d see how the evening played out.

  I stepped into the bathroom to grab some overnight products, like a toothbrush and hair product. As I made my way back to my room, Jane said, “Where are you going?”

  “Not real nosy, are you?” I muttered.

  “Huh?”

  “Just going to stay with a friend.”

  “A new job and a new man, huh? Or are you fucking your boss? Because that is never a good idea, Olivia. But you needed a job, so I get it.”

  Wow.

  Ignoring her was impossible. Wasn’t going to happen.

  I went back in my room and shut the door. Hiding was a safer bet. Otherwise, I might lose my cool and throw a frying pan at her head.

  Everything packed, I sat and stared for a moment, wondering what I should do next, but then my phone chimed. A message from Hunter flashed on the screen. “Coming up.”

  A blast of excitement stole my breath for a moment as I jumped off my bed and grabbed my bag. I yanked open my bedroom door as a knock sounded.

  “A little eager, aren’t we?” Jane said in a droll voice.

  Yes. Yes I was.

  Knowing I was wearing the stupid smile of a lovesick girl, I ripped the door open and beamed at the incredibly handsome man standing in the hall.

  “Hi,” I said. It had only been an hour since I’d seen him last, but who was counting.

  Hunter’s sexy gaze paused on my face for a moment, which I knew was flushed with desire, before sliding past me into my apartment. That small crease in his brow appeared again.

  He’d been in my apartment before, but had always been distracted. This was the first time he had been able to calmly look around.

  “So it is the boss, huh?” came Jane’s smug voice. She sucked so hard.

  “Ready?” I asked Hunter, suddenly embarrassed.

  “Yes,” Hunter answered as he stepped out of the way, looking past me with a focused, power-filled stare.

  Jane’s eyes widened and her mouth snapped shut.

  I needed to learn how to do that stare.

  I stepped into the hall as he closed the door behind me.

  “Sorry about the mess,” I said in a whisper. If Jane heard me, she was liable to run into the hall to defend herself aggressively. “She…doesn’t like to clean. And I don’t like to clean up after her.”

  “How long have you lived there?”

  Hunter held the door open for me when we reached the street. The cool blast of a San Francisco night greeted me as I stepped out onto the sidewalk. A black town car waited with its hazards on, double-parked.

  “Way too long. It’s cheap, though. And until lately, that was the only reason I still had a place to live. Thank you.” I took Hunter’s hand as he helped me into the car. “I cleaned up after my mom when I was growing up,” I continued when he had slid into the seat on the other side. “I hate living in filth, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to be someone’s bitch. You know…if I’m not their daughter…”

  Hunter didn’t comment as the car pulled away from the curb.

  “If you didn’t work me so hard, I’d look for a place of my own.” I smiled over at him, but he continued to stare straight ahead.

  A weird tingle of uncertainty had me fidgeting with the hem of my shirt. I knew Hunter didn’t care that I was poor. I knew this. He’d said it. But it was a hard fact to digest. From what I knew of rich people, they didn’t like hanging around with those who weren’t. My old boyfriend dumped me because he’d been embarrassed to have me on his arm. And he looked up to Hunter, so…

  I blew out a breath. Insecurity: one of life’s more irritating pastimes.

  The car stopped in front of a giant house in the wealthiest part of San Francisco. The view was spectacular, overlooking the ocean and giving a glimpse of the Golden Gate Bridge.

  Hunter got out as the driver opened my door for me. I hoisted my bag only to have Hunter take it from me, his jacket thrown over his shoulder.

  “Is that all, sir?” the driver asked Hunter.

  “Yes, Mr. Portsmouth. You can go.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  I crossed in front of Hunter onto the sidewalk and up the path to his front door. After opening the door, he waited for me to enter in front of him.

  “Did you eat?” he asked once we were in the foyer and the door closed behind him.

  He put my bag at the base of the stairs. Soft light illuminated the hallway, enhancing his handsome features. The sweet scent of flowers from the arrangement on a small table tickled my nose.

  His eyes delved into mine. “I haven’t had dinner. I called ahead and had Mrs. Foster prepare something. Are you hungry?”

  “I’d be hungry for Mrs. Foster’s
food anytime. If she’s cooking, I’m eating.”

  “Such faith in her after only sampling her pot roast.” He put his hand on the small of my back and gently applied pressure, having me walk toward the kitchen.

  “It was a really good pot roast.”

  “I take it you don’t cook.”

  “I cook. Kinda. But I don’t cook, if you know what I mean.”

  “I see.”

  He probably didn’t.

  He directed me through the richly decorated and spacious house and into the kitchen. He left me standing by a small table in the corner while he retrieved two covered plates from the oven. He set them on the center island, but then hesitated. “Would you like to eat in the dining room…?”

  “Oh.” I looked out through the archway, remembering the large, somewhat sterile dining room. “Can we just eat here?” I motioned to the worn table next to me.

  “Of course.” Suddenly fluid again, Hunter moved around the kitchen, gathering silverware, glasses, and wine with economic motions. He set two places on the table, opened the wine, set the glasses, and then retrieved the dome-topped plates. He set each down and stood behind a chair, looking at me.

  “Are we going to say the Pledge of Allegiance, or…”

  His brow crinkled. “Would you like to sit?” He pulled the chair back a fraction more.

  “Oh, right. Sorry, I didn’t expect the whole gentlemanly treatment at a kitchen table.” I moved in front of the chair and sat as he pushed it in for me.

  “If not here, where?” He removed the domes from the plates and set them on the island. I looked over the lasagna in the center of the plate. The smell wafted toward me, absolutely divine. He then poured the wine before taking his seat.

  “It’s just a lot of extravagance for a kitchen table. I’m not really sure what comes next.” I laughed, glancing at him to take my cues.

  “Manga!” With a grin, he picked up his knife and fork.

  “What? You’re not going to put my napkin in my lap for me? What kind of host are you…” I faked being put out as I slid my napkin out from under my utensils.

  “I’m going to enjoy this, I already know it.” I placed a morsel on my tongue. The flavors exploded, so much better than most of the restaurants I’d ever eaten at. A symphony in my mouth.

  “Oh man,” I said with closed eyes, just taking a moment. I needed a little quiet time to process how good this lasagna was. “She’s a pro. No two ways about it.”

  When I opened my eyes, intent on getting another bite into my mouth as quickly as possible, I noticed Hunter staring at me. He hadn’t taken a bite yet.

  I gave my signature flush. “Sorry.” I slowed my movements, lest he think I was a savage. “I haven’t eaten this well for a long time. Not since my father cooked for me.”

  I chewed the next mouthful slowly. To try and dislodge his stare, I motioned at the table. “You eat here a lot, huh? Not at the big table?”

  “I do, yes. It’s usually just me, and it’s usually out of economy.”

  “What do you mean, out of economy?”

  He used both knife and fork at all times, something common Americans didn’t. I generally switched hands for the fork when I needed to cut.

  I eyed my knife, wondering if I should adopt the practice.

  “I eat to live. I lift weights for fitness. I work to disappear from reality.” He took a sip of his wine as his eyes lost focus. He glanced away. “You shame me, Livy.”

  “What for?” I asked around my full mouth. I really needed to go to charm school.

  His expression turned uncomfortable. “You…live.” He nodded toward my plate. “I see how you’re enjoying your dinner. The pleasure you’re taking in it. I see the passion when you work on Bruce’s project and know that, while I’m good at what I do, I don’t feel that passion. I’ve…never really lived, I don’t think. Not like you do.”

  “Oh.” Warmth spread through me. I shrugged one shoulder. “Don’t compare yourself to me. You have great cooking all the time, whereas I eat hotdogs and Top Ramen. You’re doing your dream job, while I’m only just getting the chance to work on something I went to school for. We’re just in different points in life. You were like this once, too, you just forget.”

  Hunter looked at me for a while longer, but didn’t share his thoughts. Instead, with a pensive expression, he turned his attention to his food. I noticed his movements slowed, though. He looked away to his left. He was tasting. Exploring the flavors.

  I bit my lip to hide the delighted grin and tried to ignore the deep, warm feeling that grew stronger the longer I spent with him. My regard for him was flowering into something powerful. Something intense and profound.

  I let out a big exhale. Dangerous waters, Olivia.

  I took a sip of the wine to distract myself from a feeling that was quickly taking over me.

  And moaned.

  Hunter’s eyes found me again.

  “Sorry.” I stared into the depths of that burgundy liquid. “But you also get some great wine all the time, whereas I get two-buck Chuck. Wowza. Good stuff.”

  “You’re trying to rub it in my face now.” His lips turned into a smile. He shook his head, glancing at the wine before going back to his dinner.

  “Well, well. What have we here?”

  I froze mid-chew.

  Blaire stood in the doorway to the kitchen, glaring down at me like I was a filthy rat.

  Hunter’s gaze hardened. “Can I do something for you, Blaire?”

  All hip and breast, the beautiful woman sauntered into the room with her arms folded. She glanced at my plate before homing back in on my face. “Didn’t think to invite me to dinner, hmm?”

  “We never eat together, Blaire. You’re usually otherwise engaged.” Hunter turned back to his plate.

  “Yes, usually I am. Because usually you don’t have time for anyone else. You work, you eat, you work out, you shower, you go to bed. So who is this Hunter Rochester Carlisle who brings home a secretary, I wonder…” Blaire leaned against the island, her face screwed up in scorn and hatred as she stared at me. “I warned you.”

  My throat tightened. I couldn’t tell if she was talking to Hunter, or to me. She’d warned us both, sure, but I was the only one who might die from it.

  “Blaire, as you know, the rest of this dish is in the refrigerator,” Hunter said with a patient voice. “Mrs. Foster is always happy to make you a plate.”

  “Your hired help hates me, Hunter. They judge me, but for some reason, don’t judge you. Now, why is that, do you think? You hire women to fuck you. You pay them to be your sex slaves. Yet I am the one being judged. Seems highly unfair.”

  Hunter put down his fork and turned in his chair to face her. Fire burned in his eyes. “We’re trying to enjoy our meal. If your sole purpose is to cause problems, please see yourself out.”

  A flash of pain rolled across her face before rage covered it up. Her eyes burned just as brightly as his, but with a maniacal light. “I didn’t invite anyone over tonight. I thought maybe we could be alone. But I see that you’d rather fuck the hired help.” She pushed off from the island. “I tried to be nice, Hunter. I really did try. But now I guess I’ll have to teach you a lesson.”

  She sauntered over and stopped right next to Hunter, staring down at him with hate sparkling in her eyes. “I don’t like people making a fool of me, Hunter. It really doesn’t sit well.”

  “I am not responsible for that.”

  She scoffed. “Aren’t you?” Her gaze flicked to me before she slowly walked out.

  When she was gone, Hunter turned back to his plate and stared at his food for a moment, his fists clenched and his lips thinned. He took a deep breath and picked up his fork. “I apologize for that.”

  “Should I go?” I asked.

  His deep brown gaze hit mine, anger mixed with uncertainty. “No. You’ll stay here tonight. I need to…take steps, however. I don’t want you subjected to that every night.”

  Shivers cove
red my body upon hearing him speak like we’d be spending nights together in the future. Lots of nights. Maybe every night.

  I smiled, and probably blushed, as my face felt suddenly hot. He must’ve seen it, because his eyes softened immediately. His gaze dipped to my lips again. “Finish up. I have to work out, but then I’d like as much time as possible kissing you.”

  An hour later I stared down at the clothes I’d brought for bed as Hunter used his workout room. I probably should’ve been in there with him, working off the brick of food I’d just eaten, but sometimes feeling guilty was much better than lifting weights.

  I stared down at the shiny material of the slinky lingerie I’d brought. Then switched my gaze to the homely pajamas that I knew, especially in this mood, would drive him crazy. He’d set the mood when, after dinner, he came up behind me as I was rinsing my plate. He’d slipped his arms around my waist. He’d kissed my neck softly, stilling my movements. Without a word, he moved me to the side and took the plate from my hand. “Enjoy the rest of your wine. I’ll clean up.”

  I smiled, thinking about it. He’d turned all domestic on me, so soft and subtle compared to the Hunter at work, but with the same current of power and command. There were very few men who could do both, but he was one of them.

  Heat sparked in my groin as I let my fingers trail over the silky material on the right.

  I’d feel sexier in that, with the garter and maybe even heels.

  I glanced at the cotton pajamas again.

  But he’d feel more comfortable, and maybe more open, if I wore frumpy pajamas.

  I bit my lip, bracing my hand on my hip in indecision.

  That was when I noticed the folded pile of clothes on the chair near the fireplace. His T-shirt and some light sweats—the very ones I hadn’t put on that morning in case he got weirded out.

  A smile graced my lips as I packed away what I’d brought. His clothes were the best of both worlds. I’d feel sexy for reasons it was hard to explain, and he’d get the domestic vibe he loved. Win-win.

  I took off my clothes, all of my clothes, and stepped into his sweats. As expected, they fell down to the middle of my bare butt. I threw on his shirt, letting it drape over my body.