The Hat Trick Box Set

by Samantha Wayland

  He reached for her again and she opened her mouth to protest, but stopped when instead of trying to divest her of more clothing, he turned her to face the mirror over the dresser.

  He met her gaze in the reflection, his hands gentle on her shoulders.

  “You’re beautiful.”

  Forcing herself not to look away, she shrugged, uncomfortable with his fierce regard.

  “And you have terrible taste in men.”

  She laughed despite her embarrassment. “That’s a strange thing for you to say.”

  His slow smile made her acutely aware she’d just admitted to something she hadn’t intended to reveal. Damn.

  “I’m proof your taste is getting better. But those other men? The ones who chastised you for the most beautiful, uninhibited, honest response to lovemaking I’ve ever seen? Those guys were complete assholes.”

  Chapter Ten

  Savannah smiled sadly and shook her head. Garrick told himself to be patient, even if every particle of his being wanted to shake some sense into her.

  Ridiculous? Someone—some stupid fucking boy—had told her she was ridiculous?

  “That’s very nice of you to say, Garrick. Thank you.”

  He grimaced at her formality. Funny how good manners could be as effective as a good fuck you. She held herself rigid, her arms locked to her sides, her chin high. He fought a sigh. The buttoned-down professional armor was back in place. As if she could pack away the passionate woman he’d held in his arms a few minutes ago.

  That was how he wanted her. Always. Anything less than her true, uninhibited reactions, her honest response, would be selling herself short. Even if he couldn’t be with her again after tonight because of her stupid rules, he wanted her to believe her passion was glorious. Not ridiculous.

  He slid his hands down her arms and back up again, the touch meant to be reassuring, comforting. A reminder he was there.

  “You’re beautiful.”

  “I’m not saying I’m ugly or anything. Just…”

  “Every second of what happened in the car was beautiful.”

  She sighed. “Okay. Thank you.”

  “Don’t placate me,” he warned, utterly failing to keep his tone gentle.

  Her eyes narrowed but he avoided her icy stare, skimming his gaze over her neck. Her shoulders. The hint of lacy bra through her blouse. His hands explored, running over her ribs, around to brush her belly. He could only imagine how soft the skin hidden beneath her clothing would be.

  His gut tightened. His cock, having abandoned its enthusiasm sometime around the fourth apology, started to regain interest. Quickly.

  He held himself away from her, mere inches separating his growing erection from the swell of her ass. With her height, and those heels on, she was only a few inches shorter than him, and he wanted, desperately, to explore how that could work to both their advantages.

  He didn’t move, though, once again waiting for her to make the first move. If she hadn’t been watching his face in the mirror, if she didn’t seem so uncertain of him, of them, he might have laughed. He was generally a take-charge guy in the bedroom, and here he was with a lovely woman who seemed to enjoy giving over control. Yet he did nothing.

  They had a knack for making things complicated.

  So, he shoved back the compulsion to take. To touch and taste. And focused on making her see the truth. Making her believe it.

  “You are beautiful.”

  A little line formed between her eyebrows. Was it so hard for her to accept? He stroked his hands along her hips and belly again and her gaze focused there. He let his fingers play for a while, holding her attention while he spoke softly into her ear.

  “You should see yourself when you’re in the moment. When you let yourself go.”

  She shook her head, though her gaze never left his hands.

  He drew them higher, skimming her torso until his fingers rested just beneath the curve of her breasts, his thumbs pressed to her ribs, framing them without touching.

  Her nipples beaded to hard points, the pull of his hands on the thin fabric of her shirt emphasizing her reaction to his touch.

  She shifted and he held his breath, certain she was going to move away and send him from the room. Instead, she brought her hands to his and pushed them higher, lacing her fingers through his so that together they cupped her breasts.

  His breath locked in his chest, his heart skipping a few beats, as the heavy weight settled against his palms, her hands warm beneath his, her long fingers offering herself up to his gaze. He slid forward as she leaned back, their bodies aligning and coming into full contact.

  She gasped and arched her back, rubbing against him like a cat. The brush of his cock against her ass tore a grunt from his chest.

  She might hate her lack of inhibition in the moment, but she could not tame it.

  Thank god.

  He whisked his thumbs across her nipples, his fingers slipped from hers to pinch and tease. She left her hands where they were, holding her breasts up to him, bold and without shame.

  Caught in the throes of building passion, she was more than beautiful. She was stunning. Her lips parted, her eyes heavy-lidded and fixed on his fingers as they worked her nipples. Her hips worked in a slow, rhythmic roll against the tops of his thighs, as if searching for the answering press of his erection.

  He grasped her hip and responded to her whimper of protest with a hard pluck to her nipple. “God, how is this anything but beautiful? Gorgeous.”

  He drew her back, higher, cradling her closer. His cock, already aching and full, lodged against the firm swell of her ass. She jerked, her eyes fluttered shut, and she ground herself back against him.

  Jesus, it was so honest.

  “Open your eyes,” he said softly, his lips brushing her ear.

  She stilled and he waited, his thumb lazily skimming one nipple.

  She slowly lifted her lids and her gaze locked on his. The dilated pupils ringed in deep glowing green caught him. The pinch of worry around the edges of those sultry eyes punched into his gut.

  “Look at yourself,” he said, letting his hands roam. He slid her blouse from her waistband and ducked his head to press his lips behind her ear.

  She hummed, tilting her head to give him room.

  “Take it off,” he whispered. His tongue rasped over the gooseflesh on her neck.

  “What?” Her voice was breathless. The husky timbre rubbed along his skin.

  “Take your blouse off. I want to see you. I want you to see you.”

  She looked at him, her hands lifting, but then hovering. Unsure.

  He shuddered when she carefully slid the first button from its hole.

  Yes.

  His reaction emboldened her and she worked quickly, plucking buttons free with her long, elegant fingers. The moment the last one came unfastened, he drew the blouse down her arms and let it flutter to the floor beside them. While she stared at herself in the mirror, he yanked his tie over his head and shucked his shirt in record time. The cuffs almost gave him a problem, but he managed. He could sew the buttons back on later.

  “Your skin is incredible,” he murmured. Though he’d seen hints of it in the passing lights of the streetlamps, he hadn’t known she was this fair—a warm mix of pink and ivory. The dusting of freckles surprised him and he wanted to kiss each one. He started at her throat, his nose rubbing under her chin, his lips moving over the sensitive skin where neck met shoulder.

  “Lovely,” he murmured.

  He pursued each spot with zeal, all the while watching in the mirror. The high color on her cheeks increased with every word of praise. Every kiss. She was not unaffected by his touch, but he could practically hear her brain working.

  He brought her hands back to her breasts, fascinated by the sight of her fingers framing her white lace bra. The dark circles peeking through hinted of cinnamon and rose.

  “I like it when you touch yourself,” he whispered.

  She shook her head
and he sucked harder along her neck, gathering her close and pressing his cock into the valley of her ass.

  He couldn’t tell whose moan was louder.

  Savannah’s, though, was cut off with a strangled gasp.

  He ground against her and she pushed back, her hips working against his, her mouth open but silent.

  He brought his lips back to her ear. “You can be as loud as you want. As loud as you need to be. I want to hear it. I need to hear you.”

  She shook her head and caught her lower lip between her teeth.

  “Yes, Savannah,” Garrick groaned. “Please.”

  She gasped, the force of their frottage tipping her off balance. He caught her hips and she planted her hands on the mirror, staring, wide-eyed, at her own image within the frame of her fingers.

  “Do you see how lovely you are?”

  She studied her reflection as if looking at a stranger.

  He tugged the wooden pins from her hair and let it tumble down around her shoulders. He wanted her to see herself. To see her true face, not the professional mask she wore all day. But now he was transfixed by the glossy mahogany mane flowing halfway down her back. The thick fall of silk framed her face. Its rich, dark color and her pale skin emphasized her bright eyes and soft pink lips.

  “How can you not see how stunning you are?”

  He hooked a finger around the heavy curtain of hair and drew it away from her face, her ear. He began another exploration of her neck, the freckles on her shoulder he hadn’t yet worshipped.

  She held perfectly still, not leaning in, not moving away, but staring at herself in the mirror. He closed his eyes, determined to make her see. He pinched her nipple, and he jumped, her shiver ending with the press of her neck against his smiling lips. His drew his other hand down her side, skimming over her hip and down to slip beneath the hem of her skirt.

  Her leg shifted and eased into his hold. He nipped her neck and stroke up the inside of her thigh. She arched in his arm, a strong, elegant bow as he lifted her skirt, edging it higher to reveal the lace edging her stockings and a smooth skin beyond. Her eyes widened, her tongue wetting her lips.

  He brushed his fingers over her panties. Her whimper rang in his ears. He gathered more of her skirt and forced it higher, bunching it at her waist and baring white lace and the secrets beneath. He hooked his fingers into the strings running over her hips and looked at their reflection. Saw how she stared down at his hands and the delicate, damp fabric covering the junction of her thighs.

  “May I?”

  “Yes.” The word was barely more than a soft exhalation.

  He tugged down on the tiny scrap of lace and she wriggled her hips, helping him ease them lower. He stroked his palms over every inch of skin and stocking on his way to her ankles, admiring her strong calves, the soft curve of her knee.

  “Your legs are incredible.”

  She made a soft sound, a laugh of sorts.

  He grinned. Not a denial, so progress.

  He thought his heart might explode when she daintily stepped out of her panties, carefully placing her feet, in their towering heels, shoulder width apart. He knelt at her feet, staring up the length of her endless legs, and was left breathless.

  She flattened her hands to the mirror and canted her ass back, and he thought he might have died a little and she looked down at him over her shoulder, her gaze hot and without inhibition or shame. It was a damn good thing he was kneeling or his legs would have given out.

  He stroked his hands up her legs, trying to retain what little grip he had on his control. He was unbearably tempted by the sights before him—the smooth curve of her ass, the hint of swollen folds in the shadow between her legs, the shine of arousal on her thighs.

  He climbed to his feet and placed his hands over hers on the mirror, wrapping himself around her. She was still turned to look at him and he captured her mouth, thrusting his tongue against hers, his brain fogged with his desire for her. He thought he could do just this for hours, if she’d let him, but tried to retain some grasp of his larger goal.

  With a gasp, he ended the kiss and used his cheek to turn her face to the mirror. Smoky green eyes met his.

  “Do you see it?” he asked.

  “What?”

  “That this—” he rolled his hips against her ass “—is not ridiculous?”

  “No.”

  He ran a hand down one arm and cupped her breast. “No, what?”

  Her mouth fell open, her eyelids fluttering as he pinched her nipple and snugged his erection into the crease of her bare ass.

  “Not ridiculous,” she breathed.

  He smiled and rubbed his face against her neck, burying it in her silky hair. “This is beautiful,” he whispered, his throat gone dry.

  He rocked against her and she thrust back, their teasing taking on a rhythm.

  “Beautiful,” he whispered again into her ear.

  “Yes,” she groaned.

  He pressed his hands over hers on the mirror. “Keep your hands here. Don’t look away.”

  She nodded.

  His heart stuttered when he let himself look at the tops of her stockings accentuating pale, smooth skin, his cock lurching when he gaze dragged over the damp curls in a little V covering her mound.

  God, she was every fantasy he’d never dared to have. A siren, who would haunt him.

  “Please, tell me you have a condom,” he said hoarsely, regretting his lack of foresight and the blunt question.

  She moaned and rubbed her ass back against him. He stilled her with a hand on her hip, because if he blew in his pants and the question would be moot.

  When she shook her head, Garrick’s heart plummeted.

  Then her head snapped up. “Wait. Yes!”

  He was about to step away, to give her room to search, but she plunged her hand into the make-up kit on the dresser right in front of them and pulled out a huge strip of condoms.

  Actually, it was two strips of condoms taped together with the words GET LUCKY IN MONCTON written with one letter on each little foil packet.

  Garrick buried his face against Savannah’s neck and cracked up.

  “Oh god,” she groaned, and he could feel how her skin heated with her blush. “It’s my friend Grace. She’s kind of a nut.”

  He lifted his head, charmed by the deep pink stains on her cheeks.

  Perhaps he looked too charmed. She arched a challenging eyebrow, planted her hand back on the mirror, and thrust her ass back against him, forcing another grunt up from his chest and bringing his focus back where it belonged.

  Ridiculous? Hardly. The only word that came to mind was powerful.

  Garrick tugged the chain of condoms from her hand and tore one loose. It was a matter of seconds for him to shuck the rest of his clothes, leaving them in a heap by their feet, and roll on the condom. As soon as he was done, he wrapped his arms around her and brought them back into complete contact.

  They both shuddered.

  He could barely process the myriad textures. His cock glided over her ass before coming to rest in the crease, her skirt bunched against his belly. His thighs framed hers, tickled by the lace of her stockings. He curled his arms around her ribs, pushing her breasts together and enjoying the rough rub of the lace cups against his biceps.

  He looked into the mirror, staggered by the picture they made with him wrapped around her—she half-dressed and disheveled while he was naked.

  He adored her. Not only in thought, but in action. He worshipped her with his lips, his hands. Her skin glowed, her chest blushed pink, the high color remaining in her cheeks.

  She caught his eye and her little smile was the sexiest part of all.

  His index finger dipped into her navel, and her ass bumped back. He sucked in air through his nose and wrapped an iron fist around his control. Her smile faltered and faded altogether when he traced his fingers through her soft curls. The little sound in the back of her throat was music. The roll of her hips back against his, the rub of h
er skin against his cock—heaven and hell all wrapped up as one.

  He slid his hand south, through the soft down and slipping between her legs. She opened for him, sliding her legs farther apart, eager and honest once more. When his cock slide up over her ass to press again the small of her back, she frowned. Then with the breathtaking lack of inhibition he prized, hungered for, propped her knee onto the surface of the dresser, spreading her legs wider but remaining at the perfect height.

  God, Garrick thought as his knees wobbled, who is seducing and who is seduced?

  His cupped her in his hand. She was drenched, wet and swollen, her thighs slick, the scent wrapping around them.

  He stroked the pad of one finger over her clit and delighted in how she watched his hand, her body, apparently fascinated. Her moan was long, muffled by the grip of her teeth on her abused lower lip.

  He flicked his finger back and forth over her clit, driving her up. The grind and roll of her ass against his cock was torture.

  She whimpered. And again. Never releasing what had to be the painful bite of her lips.

  “Let it go,” he begged. “Don’t hold back.”

  She gasped when her mouth finally fell open. “I can’t!”

  He worked her harder, mercilessly battering her clit with delicate flicks. He used his other hand to spread her open, letting them both see the bright reds and pinks hidden within.

  She bit her lip again, desperate, almost pained, sounds coming from the back of her throat.

  “Say it. Scream it if you have to.”

  She clamped her mouth shut.

  He changed tactics and slid his middle finger into her tight channel, sinking in to the hilt.

  “Oh god,” she groaned.

  “Yes, tell me.”

  She shook her head. He curled his wrist and thrust his finger while his other hand still worked her clit. She ground against him, forcing herself down on his finger.

  He added a second and she groaned again. Louder.

  “Yes, that’s it.”

  Savannah shook her head again, her hair shimmering around her face, her mouth open, her breathing hectic as he took her higher.