Everything I Hoped For

by Ann Christopher

  Then it was her breasts’ turn.

  He didn’t bother stripping her out of her bra and it didn’t matter. Not when he was blessed with hands that knew to start at the outer curves, gently stroking and circling inward rather than immediately grabbing and squeezing as though he was kneading pizza dough. He took it slow and easy with his feathery touches, pretending she didn’t have nipples that ached for his attention until her restless and overheated body couldn’t take it for another second. With a growl of frustration, she flattened her hands over his, forcing him to manhandle her. Hissed an unabashed yesss when he finally squeezed her nipples. Arched to give him access when his mouth followed his hands.

  Ignored his dark laughter and murmured “All you had to do was ask,” before he latched on and suckled.

  “Anthony.”

  She couldn’t keep the anguish out of her voice. How could she when she’d simultaneously realized both that her body could feel like this and that she’d been having Utilitarian Sex 101 with fumbling bozos all these years?

  And it wasn’t that she didn’t know what an orgasm was.

  It was just that she’d never known that the pleasure could consume her entire body until even her hair follicles felt like they were singing.

  All that time spent focused on her career and grabbing friends with benefits quickies here and there on those rare occasions when she had both the time and energy.

  And the whole time, there’d been a man like this in the world.

  What a freaking waste.

  He took his time, giving both breasts the same loving treatment. Then he drifted lower, gripping her torso while he rubbed his prickly cheeks over her belly. While his tongue swirled in her navel, making her hips jackknife. While he slid to the floor and scraped his teeth over the meaty part of one of her thighs when she was still trying to recover from the thrill of the navel thing. While his silky hair and hot breath tickled her until she squirmed. While she belatedly registered his intentions.

  Somehow she got her heavy lids open and her eyes to focus as she stared down the length of her body at him. Past her heaving breasts still encased in that sheer black bra, with her jutting nipples perfectly visible. Past her quivering belly and the top of her bikinis. And she watched as he raised his head and frowned with unmistakable concentration as he stared at her pussy, experimentally stroking a finger over her engorged folds.

  Her flesh leapt.

  He reached beneath her panties to stroke her perineum with lazy curls of his fingers.

  She twisted and made a strangled sound, then gathered enough breath to form a coherent word.

  “Anthony…”

  He raised his head, nailing her with that unrelenting and vaguely disgruntled gaze. Evidently he didn’t like being interrupted.

  “Yes, darling?” he asked conversationally, curling and uncurling those fingers, every glancing touch making her a bit more insane. “Did you say something?”

  Well, she’d meant to.

  It was just that she couldn’t get her thoughts to cooperate with her words.

  “I just think…” she began, panting, wanting to tell him that she wasn’t a selfish person and she knew there were protocols in place here. He worked on her a little bit, then she worked on him, then everybody finished up with the foreplay and they commenced with the screwing. That was life in the civilized world. “You have to stop. I haven’t even…I haven’t even had the chance to touch you.”

  “I see.” He paused, those fingers still stroking. “Anything else?”

  She wriggled, trying to break free of that unyielding hand on her hip. “No, but I— ”

  There was a rumble of impatience and a flash of blue. Amused. Wicked.

  Then he lowered his head again, rhythmically using his mouth on her in new and wondrous ways. Leaving her nothing to do but let her eyes roll closed, stretch her arms overhead as she clung to the armrest and accept his gift.

  She laughed with surprise and gathering ecstasy. She pleaded. She chanted his name like the mindless fool he’d turned her into. She might have even cried a little. Possibly even sobbed.

  Who could say?

  Once again, it wasn’t like no one had ever gone down on her before.

  It was just that none of them had known what the hell they were doing.

  When she came it was on a long and high note of astonishment as her body seized up, riding a wave of rippling spasms that seemed to stretch into infinity. Nothing much pierced her consciousness in that unprecedented moment, but she was dimly aware of Anthony resting his head on her belly, his words and hands soothing as he caressed the outside of her thigh and nuzzled her a final time.

  He disappeared for a second, leaving her body to melt into the cushions like hot caramel. She murmured a weak protest, turning her head to see where he’d gone and to register her complaint at his loss, but he’d only reached for his overnight bag at the end of the sofa.

  And then he was back, kneeling in front of her holding a string of condoms, his glittering gaze skimming over her reclining body from head to toe. Slowly, almost reverently, he ran his fingers down her arm, which was still overhead. Through her hair as it trailed over the side of the sofa. Down the damaged side of her neck. Across the tops of her breasts. Down her torso and between her thighs, to the place he now owned. All the way down her legs, to her toes.

  By this time, she’d recovered enough for her body to cool and her cheeks to heat. To wonder what had just happened and worry about her loss of control. She didn’t just serve herself up to men on a silver platter or lose her freaking mind like this. Oh, sure, she slept with the occasional one, but those were strictly utilitarian fucks to address her body’s needs when she couldn’t face another date night alone with her vibrator and a glass of pinot grigio.

  A lot like sneezing when her nose itched.

  But this…

  “Is this a normal first time for you?” she asked.

  He paused, looking incredulous.

  “How could anything be normal about being with the most extraordinary woman I’ve ever met?” he asked, sounding honestly puzzled.

  That answer went a long way toward quieting the doubts that had begun popping up in her head like jacks-in-the-box. She was a little freaked out, yeah, but so was he.

  And maybe that was okay.

  Meanwhile, they weren’t finished here.

  Not by a long shot.

  So she stood, a real challenge to her jellied knees, and offered a hand to pull him up. Staring up into his face—God, he was tall—she reached for his robe’s belt. Untied it. Pushed the two halves apart.

  Stared at him, losing a bit more of her mind.

  He had a lean torso, tan and dusted with cornsilk. Ladder-rung abs and zero fat on his belly. A thick patch of golden hair and a ruddy erection that made her a very lucky woman. Muscular thighs narrowing to shapely calves. Nice feet.

  Easing closer, she pressed her mouth to the divot between his collarbones and gave herself a moment to revel in the warmth of his smooth skin. Trailed her hand low across his belly and savored the slow hiss of his breath. Reached for his heavy length and closed her fingers around him, one by one, until his pounding heartbeat told her that he approved of her firm grip.

  Then she began to pump him. Up and down. Harder. Faster.

  A shaky laugh from Anthony.

  She looked up at his face again, savoring his utter stillness and rapt attention as he stared down at her.

  “I’m really glad this is all for me,” she said.

  “Is that so?” he said on an uneven breath.

  “Yeah. So make sure you don’t share it with anyone else.”

  A disbelieving laugh this time. “Don’t worry.”

  Pleased, she let him go, put both hands on his shoulders and pushed him down to the sofa. Straddled him when he sat and watched her with a wary new respect. Held his eye contact as he hastily ripped one of the foil packs open with his teeth and rolled on a condom. Guided him to her slick core, nudg
ing aside her panties’ edge to help him.

  Then she stayed where she was for a pregnant moment, poised over his plump head, and savored her bird’s-eye view of his handsome face, now damp with sweat, and glazed eyes. He also seemed to take a moment to brace for impact, taking a handful of her hair on one side and a handful of her ass on the other.

  She glanced down at his mouth and surrendered to the irresistible urge to lick his delicious lips. He eagerly opened for her. She kissed him hard and deep. For one second.

  Then she pulled back, ignoring his groaned protest.

  “I want to see you come for me,” she said, and impaled herself on his huge dick.

  They both cried out with the shock of the connection. Watched each other, their mouths agape. She’d thought that this time would be for him—she’d already had her head-exploding orgasm for the night, thanks—but she hadn’t counted on the exquisite friction between them, or the way one of his sneaky thumbs found its way to her clit and lingered there with a steady pressure.

  His head fell back against the cushions and his lids drooped to half-mast, but he seemed as determined as she was not to miss a second of their first time together.

  And what a time it was.

  Working him as hard as she could, she braced her hands on either side of his head and rose and fell. Swiveled. Pivoted. Kissed him in little nips and nuzzles. Teased him by withdrawing her mouth until he frowned and tugged her hair to bring her back again. Anything to milk him for every hiss, gasp and moan he was worth. He met her thrust for thrust, grinding against her until they were both sweat-slicked and abandoned and her wild hair hung in her face. Even better? He talked to her the whole time, half-formed words of encouragement, or telling her how tight she was or that she’d found the exact right spot and should never stop.

  Through it all, the pleasure spiraled tighter and lower inside her, crystallizing around the point that his thumb now possessed. How he knew things about her body that she hadn’t learned in thirty-plus years, she had no idea. All she knew was that there was no controlling the gathering orgasm that was so determined to roar through her.

  She was right.

  It overcame her, forcing her head to fall back, her back to arch and her mouth to moan, long and loud. Only his strong hand on her hip kept her from keeling over backward and knocking herself out on the coffee table. Honest to God, she’d never had the slightest inkling her body could do this under the right circumstances. It was like the pleasure chased her down and tackled her to the ground, refusing to release her until every part of her body shimmered like a handful of diamonds in the noontime sun.

  Anthony stiffened. Shouted her name as he thrust a final time.

  And when she’d ridden it out and managed to right herself and brace her hands on the back of the sofa again, he surprised her by taking handfuls of her hair on either side of her head and shaking her just enough to make sure he had her attention.

  His face and chest were damp. His eyes were bright and glazed. His chest heaved. And his expression was equally bewildered and determined.

  “You’re probably it for me,” he said hoarsely. “You know that?”

  The words stopped her heart, then shattered it like a fastball through a plate glass window.

  Men spouted sweet words and meaningless promises in the heat of the moment. Everyone knew that.

  It was the woman’s job to know that such promises only lasted as long as the orgasmic aftershocks pulsed through his body. It was a woman’s job to keep her head on straight. And it was her job to remind herself that a man like this, who could have any London-based model or actress he smiled at, would never truly commit to an ultra-long-distance relationship with a woman whose childhood playground nickname had been Scarface. He might think he would, but he wouldn’t. He might show up for a while, but then he’d stop. And it was no good telling herself that Samira’s long-distance relationship with Baptiste was chugging along just fine. That was Samira. Who, in addition to being special, had a beautiful and unscarred face. That could never be Melody.

  “You know that?” Anthony murmured again, his glowing gaze grazing over her features.

  One of the jagged shards of Melody’s heart cracked and smashed on the floor.

  If only he meant it. If only fairy-tale endings were possible.

  She helplessly shook her head.

  “Shhh,” she said, kissing the hard plane of his perfect cheek, wrapping her arms around his neck and keeping a firm grip on her reality. “You don’t have to say that.”

  “Yes, I do.”

  She shook her head again and held on tight, reminding herself that he couldn’t hurt her if she didn’t let him. And they might have explosive sex, but that didn’t mean she planned to give him an opening into her heart.

  18

  Anthony knew he was living on borrowed time, but he didn’t care.

  He borrowed it during the night, as he woke Melody up to make love when her body was warm and supple in his arms and she cooed like a dove. Then again as the morning’s first light tried to break through the blackout drapes and he couldn’t believe the good fortune that had brought her into his life and his bed.

  He borrowed it as they brushed their teeth and she complained about the way he squeezed the tube from the sides rather than rolling and flattening it from the bottom. He borrowed the hell out of it as they showered together, dressed in their matching white robes and argued over what to order for their room service breakfast, with Melody laughing and expressing utter disbelief that a proper English breakfast fry-up included baked beans and grilled tomatoes.

  But by nine o’clock, their breakfast had arrived and been set up on his dining table. They had their coffee and tea poured and their toast buttered.

  And he was out of excuses.

  He’d begun to fear that he’d handled things all wrong and that he should have given her a complete family tree and résumé right when they met. But he’d been so enthralled with her. So intoxicated with the thrill of meeting someone who didn’t treat him any differently than any other bloke and the possibility that such an extraordinary woman might get to know and like him for him.

  And now he was all caught up in the thrilling whirlwind of their relationship. So drunk on her glorious smile and laughter and the touch of her skin within easy reach that he couldn’t stand the idea of rocking their fledgling boat with the news that he hadn’t been open with her and, worse, that he came as part of a monstrous package deal with his family.

  A shadow crept over his heart.

  Fear tightened his throat.

  And he knew he was out of time.

  “So, listen.” He tried to keep his voice light, but it wound up sounding ominous, even to his own ears. “We should talk about my family for a minute. I need to tell you a bit more about my father’s side. And my, ah, grandmother—my mother’s mother— specifically.”

  She glanced up from salting her eggs, her makeup-free skin absolutely luminous in the morning light. Her hair, still wet from the shower, was piled on top of her head with only a few corkscrew strands trailing down the sides of her neck, and her robe gaped open just a bit in front, showing the curves at the tops of her baps.

  And he thought it would be hard enough to leave her when he had to go back to London tonight. Damn near impossible to go if she were angry with him or worse.

  “Okay…?” she said. “No one’s in prison, are they?”

  “What? No. Nothing like that.”

  She set down the salt. “Well, why do you look so grim?”

  He sighed. That settled it.

  His acting skills were far more dreadful than he’d feared.

  He cleared his throat, then took a sip of water, searching for the right words.

  “It’s just that…I hope you can understand that…”

  She took a bite of eggs, looking puzzled.

  He rapped his knuckles on the table, realized he was doing it and tried to use the same hand in an offhand wave.

 
Her frown deepened, losing a lot of its bemusement.

  “The thing is…it was very important to me for us to get to know each other a bit. Just as people. You know. That’s why I asked you not to look me up online. And things have progressed so smoothly and so quickly. It wasn’t that I never planned to tell you at all. That would be unthinkable…”

  She put her fork down and folded her arms.

  “But when you’re in my position, you never quite know who you can—”

  “Spit it out,” she snapped, startling him.

  Right, then.

  Spit it out, Anthony Scott, billionaire and future Earl of Stockbridge.

  He closed his eyes, raked his hands through his hair, opened his eyes and said a silent prayer to let God know that tomorrow he’d happily be twice as awkward as normal if only God gave him a bit of divine grace right now.

  “My father’s family is the, ah, Scott behind GeoScottCo Petroleum.”

  She blinked, her expression sliding into incredulity.

  “My, ah, grandfather was George Scott. And of course geo also means earth. And so he put the names together…”

  She made a sputtering noise of disbelief. “Are you talking about the GeoScottCo that has a gas station every two blocks everywhere in the United States? The Starbucks of gas stations? The GeoScottCo that goes with the red, white and blue gas card in my wallet right now? That GeoScottCo?”

  “That would be the one.”

  His fidgety hands wanted to rap on the table again, so he laced his fingers and put them in his lap.

  One leg, meanwhile, began to jiggle.

  “But…” Melody tried to laugh. “I didn’t really think anyone owned it anymore. I thought it was a huge, multinational publicly-traded company.”