Have Me

by Anne Marsh

  “No way.” I’m not sure she knows how to sit still because she pops up and toes off her boots. She’s wearing white ankle socks dotted with little cherries. Naturally, the cherries are smiling. I can feel myself smiling back.

  “Jax has been here. A few other friends.”

  “But no lady friends?” Her eyes laugh at me over the rim of her margarita glass.

  “You’re the first one of those, too,” I say immediately.

  “Really?”

  “Yes. New topic.” Talking about where I bang my hookups seems like a bad idea. There’s no way to make it sound good, plus she’s already had the grand tour of my Napa place.

  She wanders over to the edge of the pool and dips the toes of one foot. “You could have told me to bring a swimsuit.”

  I decide I’m tired of behaving myself. It’s been an entire evening. “We’re moving on to the bad-girl lessons. Skinny-dipping.”

  “Oh, really? Does anyone under the age of fifty still use those words?” The corners of her mouth twitch, as if she’s trying really hard not to laugh. Given her response to a simple phrase like here we are, I’m impressed.

  “I’ll demonstrate. If that’s what you’d like.”

  I had no concrete plans to jump her tonight. Hopes, yes. Aspirations, absolutely. But the only thing I was planning on was dinner and drinks. That seemed pretty non-offensive to me because everyone has to eat, right? I definitely don’t want her to think that she has to have sex with me, even if she let me finger her earlier today and now she’s at my place. No is an important word, although I prefer yes.

  She grins at me, twisting her hair back up into that ice cream cone thing she had earlier. “Go right ahead. Make my night.”

  I strip down efficiently, setting my clothes on the back of a lounger. By the time I’ve pulled my T-shirt over my head, Hana’s sitting on the foot of the lounger watching me like I’m her favorite television show. She shifts to keep me fully in view as I unbuckle and unzip, shoving my jeans and boxer briefs down my legs. My dick is full of hope as she can see for herself by the time I’ve finished.

  She applauds enthusiastically. “We need music!”

  “Your turn.” I tug her sweater over her head.

  She grins and lets it slide down her arms. Followed by the rest of her clothes.

  “You’re gorgeous.” I shamelessly look her up and down.

  I last saw her naked days ago and I haven’t been able to stop thinking about her. It doesn’t make any sense—it’s not like she’s the first naked girl I’ve ever seen. She’s got a great body, but it was a sex party full of naked people. It’s hard not to be jaded.

  There’s just something about her that really does it for me. She’s like the best pocket-sized present, short enough that her head barely reaches my shoulder. Now that I’ve finally got her naked, I’m reminded that she’s all curves and surprisingly long legs. She’s definitely worth waiting for. My eyes dance over her body like balls in a pinball machine, admiring the soft tease of her belly, the way her waist dips in and her hips curve out, the amazing boobs. Since I’m naked, there’s no hiding my enthusiasm or the way I’m losing focus because stripped-down Hana is gorgeous.

  Though my pool is heated, I turn it up some more because I don’t want Hana to freeze. The control panel’s tucked into the wall, so my back’s to Hana when I hear the first splash.

  When I turn around, she’s easing into the water, careful to keep her hair above sea level.

  I follow her without really intending to. She’s on the far side, arms folded on the edge of the pool as she stares at the city lights. I don’t see anything but her.

  She lets out a little murmur when I come up behind her, bracing my arms on either side of her. Her back brushes my front as I step into her, and I like that. I like the way her fingers try to cover mine, the way she leans back into me. I like everything about her, but that’s a problem for another day.

  She makes a small sound, her fingertips stroking the backs of my hands.

  I lean into her, breathing in the herbal scent of her shampoo. “Can I touch you?”

  She pushes off the bottom of the pool, floating against me. “Always. Hold me.”

  I turn her in my arms. She reaches for me because this is Hana and she’ll never let it just happen. She’s going to jump in, all the way. We come together in a tangle of mouths and hands, kissing and sucking. She runs her hands along my shoulders, traces the line of my back and squeezes my ass. There’s more kissing, her hands dragging my head down to hers as pool water splashes and we twist into each other. Her legs scissor around my waist, so I pull her against me, cupping her butt with my hands so I can hold her up.

  When I finally carry her across the pool and set her down on one of the lounge chairs, she’s got her arms locked around my neck, letting out these little whimpers that are the best sound ever. I pry myself free long enough to retrieve a condom from my pants and roll it on, and then I press her down into the cushions.

  “Is this okay?” I ask.

  She whimpers something and pinches my ass.

  “Can I have you here?” I kiss a path down her shoulder and over her chest.

  “Have me,” she groans. Her hands fist my hair, pulling. “Don’t be so slow.”

  She’s working herself against my dick, rolling her hips against mine. Any faster and it’ll be a quickie. I drop down between her thighs, pushing them apart with my shoulders.

  “What are you—”

  I slide my hands between her legs, opening her up. My tongue strokes up the space I’ve made for myself and she squeals. Despite our time in the pool, she’s slick. I circle my tongue around her clit.

  “Liam—” Her heels dig into my shoulders, her hands twisting in my hair. I cup her ass with my hands. I don’t think there’s anyone who can hear us, but I don’t care. She just lets go and lets me make her feel good. It’s the sexiest thing ever.

  She wriggles against the cushions, shoving her hips up. I don’t care if an entire fleet of sightseeing helicopters does a flyover because holy fuck, this woman is everything. She tenses and squirms, her hands using my hair to steer me to her favorite spots. I push a finger inside her, searching, and then I feel the first pulse.

  When she’s desperate to come, I move up her body with one last lick of her clit. I need her as desperate for me as I am for her as I push forward into her. She wraps her arms around me and buries her face in my shoulder. I hold her back, moving slowly until she’s gripping me tight. Her nails bite into my skin and her teeth sink into my shoulder as she squeezes down on me hard. I go off like a rocket at the way she comes.

  I’ve got just enough game to roll off her and pull her to my side. I need to buy bigger patio furniture if we’re going to make this a habit.

  “You okay?” I whisper the words into her hair, my hand caressing her back. She rubs her cheek against my chest and mumbles something, but the only words I can make out are sex god, freaking machine and later. The possibility that I’ve boned her senseless makes me grin.

  When I shift her so I can see her face, she’s asleep. I watch her face for a while before I pick her up and move our party inside. I debate taking her to one of the guest rooms—I have seven—but don’t. We’re married, we just had pool sex, and I totally want to wake up naked next to her again.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  SNEAK ATTACK

  Hana

  I WAKE UP in Liam Masterson’s bed.

  Once again, I don’t remember getting here. I do remember the pool, the world’s best orgasm and Liam’s big hands pulling me close. I think I also told him there was a fine line between sex maniac and sex god, and I’d get back to him on which he was later. I may also have been very, very bad.

  Déjà vu.

  Since my French is limited to food words like croissant, vin rouge, s’il vous plaît, I might not have the phras
e right, but I decide I like the way it sounds. Liam is asleep next to me. He’s facedown, his head pillowed on one muscled arm. I haven’t seen him like this before, not really. Last weekend I’d only been awake for seconds before his phone went nuts. I don’t want to creep on him, but I also don’t want to lose the opportunity. It’s still early enough that the sky is an inky, dark gray like that poem about cat’s feet. I try to remember how it goes but I’m not that awake yet.

  I don’t think Liam picked out the stuff in his bedroom. It’s gorgeous, all tasteful grays and creams. A big armchair in the corner is piled with faux fur throw pillows and a stack of books about space exploration. I imagine Liam sitting there and reading, maybe checking his phone or trying to find Mars or whatever planet has wandered into view this month. I like this room, much more than his sex shrine in Napa Valley, probably because I’ve decided to believe him that I’m the first girl he’s invited to have a naked sleepover here.

  Floor-to-ceiling windows open onto a balcony with more incredible views of the city. I take a moment to wonder if the lack of curtains means people with binoculars will be able to look in and see us having sex. It’s a question I probably should have asked last night before we had pool sexy times.

  Unlike last time, Liam’s not gone. He’s perfectly lined up on his half of the bed while I’m sprawled everywhere.

  It sort of feels like we’re starting over. Last night it was dark and I was in a hurry, so I take the opportunity to totally perv on him. The man’s a freaking Goliath, although I guess I’m trying to make him over into the hero David. I might need to rethink that. His hair is loose and tousled in a way that screams lion’s mane or pirate. Even asleep, there’s a rock-hard line to his jaw that says he’s got this. I’m not surprised he’s king of the business world.

  I stare some more, mentally tugging down the sheet that’s tucked around his waist. I bet he has manly butt dimples. He just keeps sleeping, though, like a big, predatory cat catching some rays. Except, you know, the room is mostly dark and I’ve got half the bed so he can’t even stretch out. Will that be his side from now on? Do I have to stick to the right side? What if we both get tired of that?

  Too much reality bites before coffee, so I slip out of bed and borrow Liam’s bathroom before I can talk myself into a panic attack. Like everything else, it’s completely over-the-top fancy, all sleek marble counters and floor-to-ceiling windows with sweeping views of San Francisco. Clearly, Liam’s not a fan of curtains. I brush my teeth with a new toothbrush he’s laid out for me—my bag is somewhere in his McMansion—and then perform a little basic housekeeping to my person, pee, wash my hands and tiptoe back into the bedroom.

  I’m strangely nervous when I get back in bed. This feels like a big deal or at least as if I should have a workable plan. The problem is, I’m still not sure what he wants from me. The good guy/bad girl lessons are a joke. On the one hand, we had awesome sex, so that bodes well for us. On the other hand, he clearly needs some kind of picture-perfect accessory wife for his business functions, so I’m not sure he’s thought this through with his usual logic. I’m loud and colorful and I happily raise bees and wear clothes with pom-poms. He, on the other hand, has a closet full of three-thousand-dollar suits, a car service and a building full of people who willingly call him Mr. Masterson. What if he wakes up and decides I’m too much, too quirky, too unlikely to fit into his business lifestyle?

  He rolls over, still asleep, and that has me wondering what exactly it would take to wake him up. It seems mean to strip the covers off him, so I burrow underneath. I hadn’t factored in the whole no-light thing, but I just start at the bottom and go up. Fortunately, he’s already naked, so I don’t have to deal with the logistics of undressing him.

  I run my hands up his legs, trying to go slow so I won’t startle him. My mouth is right behind my fingers, my tongue gliding over his skin until I’m inches from my goal. I blow lightly, cupping his balls with my fingers. Even semihard, he’s impressive.

  “Hana?” His big hand tangles in my hair, tugging gently. He folds back the covers so he can see my face.

  “One advantage of dating a farmer is that we get up super early. I mean, apparently you do, too. Which is great. I wouldn’t want...” Shut up shut up shutupshutup. Why did I think I could be sexy before coffee? “I mean, I know you’re a businessman, not a farmer, and you like it that way, but if you wanted to come to the dark side with me, now you’re kind of all primed and—”

  There is no good way to finish that sentence, but mercifully I find myself stopping. I do this by sliding my hands up his thighs and wrapping my lips around his penis. He says something, but I miss whatever it is because I’m deafened by all the blood rushing to my head and pounding in my ears and other parts.

  God, there’s just so much of him to enjoy. I claim him with my mouth, dragging my hands up until they meet my mouth coming down. He’s hard and hot, and there’s no way I can take all of him without tons of practice. I lick and suck what I can, teasing him with my lips and my hands. I don’t want any part of him to feel left out, so I fist what’s not in my mouth. He makes a rough sound, like a jaguar or some other very large, very predatory animal. It’s very motivational, as is the shudder he makes when I drag my tongue about him and swirl it around the thick crown. My heart’s pounding like a one-man band, which may have something to do with the way he keeps growing. And growing. He may be in the running for world’s biggest dick.

  “Jesus, Hana.” My name is a hoarse mumble that I take to mean do it more and don’t stop. His hands thread through my hair, further confirming my impression. I pull him deeper, relaxing the muscles of my throat because I need him inside me.

  The way he pumps in and out of my mouth expresses his total agreement with that need. I mentally fast-forward through all the Cosmo articles I’ve read and my firsthand experiences (nowhere near as diverse as Liam’s), but I can’t remember any special techniques or secret sauce to make him feel extra good. It’s slightly panic-inducing, but there’s nothing I can do about it now so I give up trying to be extra dirty and just enjoy myself.

  It’s not hard.

  I find a rhythm that has him making rough, needy sounds while I’m porn-star humming around my mouthful of dick. I need him to be crazy for me, for him to lose it the way I do when he touches me. So I just keep kissing him, sucking on the fat crown, then licking my way down so I can do it again. It’s like dirty sledding or something. He gets harder, his thrusts a little less controlled until he’s hitting the back of my throat.

  “I’m going to come.” His hand strokes the top of my head, urging me to let go.

  I pop off long enough to ask, “Mouth or boobs?”

  “Let’s negotiate.” He bites my ear. “Inside you, yes.”

  “That works for me.” The words come out as a garbled sigh.

  “Good.”

  He flips me over onto my stomach and reaches into the bedside drawer. Thank God one of us is a Boy Scout. There’s a tearing sound as he opens a condom, a muttered curse, and then he’s on top of me, his thighs pushing mine wide as he eases inside me. I moan his name and reach for the hand he’s braced on one side of my head.

  “Is this okay?” he asks.

  “Better than,” I gasp. “A-plus, in fact.”

  My body’s tight from all the sex we had yesterday, but he pets me with his fingers until I relax and he gets all the way in.

  “You’re—” He makes another one of his sex sounds as he pulls back.

  “You, too.” I wrap my fingers around his wrists, this part of him he lets me have.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  IT’S ALL FUN AND GAMES

  UNTIL SOMEONE GETS HURT

  Hana

  LIAM REFUSES TO tell me where he’s taking me. He says it has nothing to do with shoring up his business image or our temporary marriage of convenience—rather, it’s a chance to “make things up to me.” I
decide to let him. We’ve hammered out a compromise: we each are giving up one day. This means that the bees are going to be on their own on Sunday and Liam’s minions and the moneymaking world will have to fly solo on Monday.

  We head out on Sunday in another fancy car. He has a thing for vehicles with fast engines. They’re total pinup material for him. It may also explain his fascination with space travel. When he finally finishes working out the design for his Mars rocket, I’m betting he flies it.

  The first hour speeds by. Liam’s packed us some road trip snacks because he’s a genius and doesn’t even cringe when a few loose pieces of gravel ping off the side of his car. There’s a fancy Bluetooth speaker set up that just begs for a driving playlist, so I thumb through the music on his phone. He has terrible taste and I tell him so. Then we argue amicably over which songs are best for a drive up the California coast.

  The thing about long car rides is that they make me sleepy. The snacks and the music debate help, but eventually my eyes start to drift shut and I do the embarrassing head jerk thing. Even worse, I think my mouth might be open.

  “You could take a nap,” he suggests, patting his leg in invitation. Amusement colors his voice, so clearly I’m not fooling him.

  It takes a few moments of tense maneuvering to get my head onto his leg without sending us careering over the side of the highway and down into the Pacific Ocean, but Liam’s as good at this as he is everything else. My leg-pillow is also outstanding. Liam makes a deliciously muscled and warm bed; whenever he shifts his leg to push a pedal, I get an endorphin hit.

  My thumb is way too high to be socially acceptable but I’m practically using his dick as a pillow, so I figure he’s aware that it’s up to him to tell me to stick to my side of the car. Since he’s now stroking my hair away from my face, his talented fingers rubbing away the tension and massaging my scalp, I decide that’s tacit approval.