by Naima Simone
Untangling one hand from her hair, he traced her lips, mesmerized by her. A flush brightened her cheeks, and desire gleamed in her eyes. She fucking loved this, sucking him off, jacking his flesh. He bet if he jerked open the front of her jeans and thrust his hand down her panties, she would drench his fingers.
He couldn’t last. Not with the sweet, erotic suction of her mouth. Already, sparks sizzled at the base of his spine, drew up his balls. Just a couple more pulls, and he would lose control. But as lovely as her mouth was, he didn’t want to come there. He wanted—needed—to be buried inside her. Feeling her pussy quiver and ripple around him.
Cupping her jaw, he gently pulled away from her, and ignoring her murmured protest, drew her to her feet.
“I need to be inside you.” Two weeks—two weeks he’d imposed this sentence on the both of them. He should kick his own ass.
Desperation suddenly entered him, and he knelt before her, quickly zipping down and tugging off her boots. Her jeans and panties followed in short order. He should ask her where her bedroom was located and take her there. She deserved a soft place where she could be worshipped. And that had been his intention when he’d kissed her. But now… Now, he needed in.
He reached into his back pocket for his wallet, removed it and then the condom inside.
Slim, elegant fingers wrapped around his. He shifted his attention away from the protection and met her gaze.
“I want you. Only you,” she whispered. Her teeth sank into her bottom lip, then she nodded as if coming to a decision. “I’m on the Pill. If you…”
He tossed the wallet and foil packet on the floor and stroked his hands up her shoulders and neck to cradle her face between his palms. “I just had a company physical. I’m clean.” He briefly closed his eyes, a shudder working its way through him. “Are you sure, baby?”
Again, she nodded. “Please.” She reached down between them, grasped his erection and stroked him. “Yes.”
Bending his head, he took her mouth in a burning kiss, at the same time, lifting her into his arms. He’d intended to be gentle, tender, but then she’d went to her knees before him. Pressing her back to the wall, he hitched her legs around his waist. His heart jackhammered in his chest. Slowly, he notched his cock at her entrance, and just that first wet kiss of her flesh to his had him hissing in pleasure.
Then he sank inside her.
“Goddamn,” he rasped. So wet. So tight. So fucking good. His assumption had been right. Taking him had aroused her, and now she bathed him even as she set him on fire. Like the first time he’d penetrated her body, her walls fluttered around him like a butterfly, working to adjust to his size. And like then, he waited, gave her time to accept him. Even if it damn near killed him.
With her arms wrapped tight around his neck and her face buried in the crook between his neck and shoulder, each of her harsh pants bathed his skin. She worked her hips in tiny pulses, and he matched her, claiming her inch by inch, increment by increment until he was fully seated inside her. With nothing between them.
Jesus. He’d never taken a woman without a condom. Didn’t know what it felt like…couldn’t have imagined the pleasure streaking through him like lightning strikes. Though his body screamed at him, demanded he pound, that he fuck, he held still. Leaning his head back, he pressed his lips to her temple.
“You okay, baby?” he inquired, unable to keep the lust out of his tone.
“Please,” she murmured, tipping her head back. “Move.”
He swallowed a harsh curse. Need twisted her features, glistened in her eyes. They were all the signs he needed. On a growl, he withdrew, then thrust back inside her tight heat. Her muscles clutched at him, and he ground his teeth against the grip.
“Don’t hold back.” She whimpered, undulating against him. “Let go with me.”
As if her words snapped the restraints on the last scraps of his control, he drove into her. She cried out, but not in pain. Not with her hips rocking toward him. Not with her sex pulling him into her, squeezing him, clutching at him. Over and over he plunged into her, rocking into her, slamming into her. And she took every stroke, every thrust.
She shook in his arms, and from the rhythmic seizing of her sex, he could tell she teetered on the edge of orgasm.
“Come for me, baby,” he murmured, reaching between them. “Give it to me.” He circled her clit, once, twice. Pressed down with his thumb, and she exploded on a high-pitched scream. Her flesh clamped down on him, making it nearly impossible to move. But he did, riding her through her release. Giving her every measure of ecstasy.
And only then did he let go.
Only then did he pour into her body, shuddering in her arms.
Only then did he surrender.
…
“Thank you,” Morgan murmured, tracing a line around a flat male nipple.
Groaning, he flattened a hand over her roving one. “For what?”
She switched to skimming her lips over his chest above their stacked hands.
“For today. For coming to take me out to dinner. For staying and helping.” For taking an interest in what interests me. No man had ever done that for her before. Not even Troy. He’d dismissed her passion about the nonprofit as a pet project, and other than when they met, hadn’t supported it or her. That her fake fiancé had when her real one hadn’t bothered wasn’t lost on her.
Alex skimmed his fingertips down her spine, retracing the path when he reached the small of her back. “You’re welcome.” A beat of silence. “Why does Phoenix House mean so much to you?” he murmured.
She considered giving him the pat answer—the one she gave everyone when they asked the same question. Awesome community project. They provided much-needed services to the segment of the population often forgotten or dismissed. New lease on life for many women and children. All true reasons, but none of them touched the real why.
Sighing, she turned her face into his chest, and after another moment, trusted him with her truth. “I can’t help but think if my mother had had a Phoenix House after my father died, she wouldn’t have hopped into these relationships, always looking for someone to take care of her, to provide for her and our needs. Maybe if she had, she could’ve seen her strength, her worth, and provided all that for herself. Not that I don’t appreciate all she did for us, because I know her marriage was as much for Merri and me as it was for her,” she hurriedly added. “I just wish…”
“I understand,” he said softly, brushing a kiss over her forehead.
She believed he did. From what he’d told her about his childhood, he undoubtedly grasped the pride and gift of having to answer only to oneself about your future. Hell, he’d entered into this unholy bargain with Morgan so he could obtain that power.
And once he did have it, they—this…whatever they had—would end. It had to. Especially before she did something as foolish as fall for him. Doing that would be like wearing Lady Gaga’s meat bikini around a pack of wild dogs. Destructive. A disaster. And stupid as hell.
Which was why she’d interrogated him before kissing him in the back seat of the town car earlier. She needed the reminders of why they had an expiration date. Why even allowing a mustard seed of hope to sprout and grow would mean doom and pain. Dramatic, but there it was.
Nevertheless…the expiration date stamped on their arrangement and time together didn’t mean she couldn’t indulge in the benefits. And laying here in Alex’s arms, damp with sweat, with the musky scent of sex still permeating the air was the very definition of benefit.
Even benefits, though, had to end sooner or later…
“I have something for you,” she announced, forcing a cheerfulness into her voice that sounded strained even to her own ears. Lying in a bed of sheets tangled from the hottest sex she’d ever experienced, she didn’t want to dwell on endings and inevitable pain.
She scooted off the bed, and after swiping his shirt off the floor and shrugging into it, crossed to her closet. Picking up the two gift bags
inside, she returned to the bed and him. Spotting the presents in her hand, he arched an eyebrow and rose to a seated position, the sheets falling around his hips, placing that delicious chest with those sexy-as-hell tattoos on full display. Tonight, she’d discovered another quote: Courage, dear heart. From one of her favorite books, Voyage of the Dawn Treader by C.S. Lewis. Studying his body was like a treasure chest that kept on giving.
“Why do you love Young Adult books so much?” she blurted out. He went still, and for a moment, she regretted the impulsive question. Though they’d been as close as two people could be only moments ago, and he’d opened up to her emotionally a couple of times, she sensed this was more…personal. That it struck to the heart of the man who hid his feelings behind an iron mask. Waving her fingers toward his tattoos, she barreled forward. “Most of your quotes are from YA novels. Is there a special reason?”
A muscle ticked along his clenched jaw, and her stomach dropped as she realized she’d overstepped the invisible boundaries set in their…relationship.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her fingers tightening on the gifts in her hands. “It’s not my business—”
“Growing up, I spent a lot of time alone. My mother had walked out, and my father often left on business trips. And when he was home… Well, he wasn’t. Women, parties, dinners. But, honestly, I didn’t mind. I had my books.” Sighing, he dragged his hand through his hair, tousling the dark strands even more than her fingers had. Because she’d never seen it on him before, she almost missed the meaning behind the slight flush to his cheekbones and the tautening of his mouth. But she didn’t miss it. Discomfort. Alex was uncomfortable. And damn, if that wasn’t just a little bit endearing.
“My mother introduced me to books,” he continued. “It’s the only thing I can thank her for. And after she left, I buried myself in them. Soon, they became my world…my friends. Books were dependable, reliable; they were a comfort that allowed me to get lost and never be lonely. My favorites were about kids tumbling into different worlds, or fighting the big, bad evil that should’ve destroyed them but didn’t. They spoke to me, and I guess I never stopped loving those particular novels.”
She couldn’t speak for several long seconds after his voice faded away. Humbled by his confession. Honored that he’d chosen to share it with her.
Clearing her throat, she blinked back the burn of sudden tears and climbed onto the mattress, handing him the two bags. He didn’t immediately accept them, but stared for several long moments as if not sure what to do with them. Finally, he extended his hand and cautiously accepted the presents.
“They’re gifts, not gonorrhea,” she teased.
“For what?” he asked, opening the largest bag.
“Your birthday, of course,” she drawled.
It’d been the day after Thanksgiving, but since his schedule hadn’t penciled them in to see one another, she hadn’t mentioned it. God, she’d hated that fucking schedule. Not rational at all, considering it’d set them back on the “business only” playing field she’d told herself she wanted. But after he’d rocked her world in New York and then rejected her, or so she’d believed, it had been like a slap to the face. He’d relegated her to a duty, a penciled-in note. One he seemed to regret touching, while that night was all she’d been able to think about.
His hand froze, and he jerked his head up, astonishment flashing across his face. “How did you know?”
She scoffed. “I told you before. I was your assistant; I know all of your information.” She flipped her hands in a shooing motion. “Go ahead. Open them.”
His gaze remained on her while he reached into the bag, only breaking the intense, visual contact when he pulled the gift out. He opened the large, olive green shirt, studying it. A slow, beautiful smile spread across his mouth, lighting his grey eyes. She sucked in a breath.
Wow. She blinked. Blinked again. She’d known when she finally witnessed a full-blown smile from him, it would knock her on her ass. And she hadn’t been wrong. It transformed him from gorgeous to absolutely breathtaking.
A shame really. He should always smile, always laugh. He wore joy well.
He turned the shirt around, and though she glanced down, she already knew what the T-shirt said: Muggle in the streets, Wizard in the sheets.
“Perfect, right?” She snickered. “Open the next one.”
Shaking his head and still wearing the wide grin, he set the shirt back in the bag and picked up the smaller one. Once more, he reached inside and pulled out a tissue paper-wrapped gift. Nerves fluttered in her stomach as she watched him remove the paper. The T-shirt had been a gag gift, and considering his love for all things Harry Potter, a slam dunk. But this… This one worried her. Had she overstepped? What would his reaction be? With Alex, she couldn’t be certain…
He held the 5 x 7 picture frame in his hand, his stare fixed on the photo. She didn’t need to see the image to know what he saw. A color photograph of a six-year-old Alex and his grandfather, who so closely resembled the adult Alex, they could be doppelgangers. A big mischievous grin split the boy’s face, his joy unmistakable. The picture had tugged at her heart—for the little boy whose world hadn’t been rocked by his mother leaving yet, and the boy-turned-man who’d closed off his heart and allowed himself to forget the joy of the child in the photo.
How long they sat there, she lost track. Seconds. Minutes. Hours, maybe. She didn’t speak, afraid to shatter the delicate, almost brittle, silence. Afraid that she would say the wrong thing. Just…afraid.
Finally, he lifted his gaze from the frame and locked his with hers. In his eyes…
Oh God.
She’d assumed and believed he didn’t have emotions. But she couldn’t have been farther off route than Christopher Columbus sailing for the East Indies. Alex might not easily show joy or grief or anger, but he did feel. The evidence of the depth of his feelings was inked into his skin. The different quotes about hope, sadness, loss, and perseverance expressed what he couldn’t. And now emotion darkened his storm-heavy eyes. It stole her breath…and a piece of her soul that she just waved bye-bye to. Somehow she knew she wouldn’t see it again.
“Where did you find this?” he rasped.
“I called your father and asked him to send me a picture of you and your grandfather. You’ve mentioned him before, and I assumed you two were close. I hope you…” Her voice trailed off, the doubt kicking up a notch.
“I love it,” he whispered. “I’d forgotten…” Now his voice was the one to disappear as he returned his attention to the gift. “Thank you.”
In a move too quick to track, his arm shot out and cupped the back of her neck, dragging her across the space separating them. He pressed his lips to hers, his tongue thrusting forward and claiming her mouth as his.
“Thank you,” he repeated in a hoarse murmur, leaning his forehead against hers.
She cupped his face, smoothing the pad of her thumb over his cheekbone.
“You’re welcome.”
Chapter Eleven
“Remind me again why we’re here,” Alex growled in Morgan’s ear.
Shivers waltzed their way down her spine. That rumble thing he did with his voice never failed to get her hot. But in the middle of a crowded theater where they could do nothing to extinguish the heat? Really inconvenient. Squeezing her thighs, she smiled at an acquaintance of her mother’s, who waved as she passed.
“We’re here because you couldn’t stand the thought of me suffering through The Nutcracker by myself,” she said, patting his arm. “And because if you didn’t, the gates to this paradise would be locked down for repairs.” Unobtrusively, she waved her hand down her torso. To an onlooker, her gesture probably appeared like a casual wave. But from the narrowing of Alex’s eyes, he definitely received her meaning.
“Kim owes me. Big,” he grumbled. “She could’ve seen Matt another weekend.”
“I think visiting her husband comes before a ballet,” she said. “And just think, if she h
adn’t, neither one of us would’ve had the”—she grimaced—“pleasure of two hours of tutus, tights, and mind-numbing boredom.” Raising on tiptoe, she tugged his arm so he lowered his head. “We’ll give this party an hour before we skip out,” she whispered in his ear.
“Deal.” He nodded, then shifted his head so his lips brushed her temple. “You think we can find somewhere dark and private to pass away the time?”
She closed her eyes, another tremble shuddering through her. How could she be expected to turn down such a tantalizing offer of furtive, dirty, quick sex in a dark alcove? Wasn’t that every woman’s dream? If not, it should be.
“Oh, you’re not fighting fair,” she breathed.
“You’re looking at a desperate man,” he replied, voice as dry as the wine waiters offered to guests from their trays.
“So I guess it would be really mean of me to tell you I don’t have any panties on,” she whispered in her best Eartha Kitt imitation.
His breath deepened, his hooded gaze dipping down her body as if he could peer underneath the emerald, off-the-shoulder evening gown and see for himself if she spoke the truth.
“Now who’s not fighting fair?” he said, the desire in his eyes lighting her up like a Roman candle. “I’ll give us thirty minutes.”
Biting the inside of her cheek, she smothered her grin. “An hour,” she countered. “Just think of the tongue-wagging we’ll start if we don’t at least stay and mingle for a little while. They’ll say we’re horny degenerates who couldn’t even wait a proper amount of time before leaving to do God knows what.”
He snorted. “What’s wrong with that? It’s true.”
“Yes, but they don’t have to know it,” she said, pouring a healthy amount of exasperation into her voice. “I mean, do people really need to be privy to how I intend to jump your bones as soon as we get in the limo, and—”
