How many times had I written Mrs. Jones, Mrs. Wyatt Jones, or Mrs. Sinclair-Jones in my diary when I was young? And now it was true. Unfortunately, it didn’t have the same fulfillment as I’d dreamed it would.
“Come on. We have a reservation.” He escorted me out of our room and down to the lobby.
“Your car is here, Mr. Jones,” the concierge said as we headed to the door. “Your reservation is confirmed.”
“Goodness. Such service.” I felt like a princess.
Wyatt helped me in the car and we drove the few blocks to the restaurant. It looked upscale and for a moment I wondered if my dress was nice enough.
“Mr. and Mrs. Jones. Your table is ready,” the host said when Wyatt gave his name. I followed him through the dimly-lit restaurant to a corner table.
“Here is our wine list,” the host said, handing Wyatt the wine menu. He went through the specials of the night as he gave us the food menu.
“Oh my god, Wyatt. I’m overwhelmed.” It was a reminder that I was a small-town girl. I’d gone away to college, but not far. I had been to Lincoln only a handful of times. I’d never left the state.
“I want you to feel special tonight, Sinclair.”
“You’re taking my breath away.”
He took my hand, kissing the back of it. “Good.”
He ordered wine and then did that sniff and taste thing I always saw done on TV. Then he okayed the wine and the waiter poured it.
“Do they teach about wine in Special Ops?” I asked him.
He laughed and leaned forward. “I have no clue what I’m doing. But it tastes good.”
It made me feel better that he wasn’t completely in his element either. I sipped the wine and had to agree that it was good.
Over dinner we settled into a comfortable conversation.
“I bet you’ve seen so much of the world,” I said as I dug into the scallops I ordered.
“I’ve traveled, but much of it isn’t on any tourist map. There’s a lot in the world that isn’t that interesting. Most places I went to were downright dangerous.”
I wanted to ask him about the scars on his chest, but worried it would bring up unpleasant memories for him.
“So, no Louvre or Eiffel Tower?” I asked.
“Not Paris. I’ve been to London. And Amsterdam.”
“Is it true they have pot in everything?” I asked, intrigued.
“You can buy it pretty easily.”
I leaned forward. “Did you?”
He laughed. “No. Booze is my one vice. Everything else I avoid.”
I remembered him saying that his father was an alcoholic. I noticed that Wyatt drank, but he seemed to control it. A couple of drinks was his limit. I wondered if that was to avoid being like his father.
“Sometimes I think it would be nice to travel. At the same time, I really like Salvation. It’s home. Is that dumb?”
He shook his head. “I didn’t appreciate just how much Salvation was a part of me until I returned home. Stark and your boss notwithstanding, it’s filled with good, hard-working people. You don’t find that everywhere.”
I smiled, glad he didn’t see Salvation as being small and insignificant after his travels.
“I am sorry about Mo. He’s just… Well…”
“I can’t blame him. He has good taste in women.” Wyatt poured me more wine. I’d only had one glass, but already I could feel it going to my head. Or maybe it was the man that was intoxicating.
“Did the military teach you to be romantic too? I don’t remember this part of you.”
He gave me a sheepish grin. “I was eighteen and horny. That was romance to me then.”
I snickered. “True. I just remember wanting you to be my first.”
His cheeks flushed. “I hope it was worth it.”
I liked that I could embarrass him. “Don’t pretend that you don’t know you’re God’s gift to women.”
“I don’t care about women, Sinclair. Just you.”
I smiled, but I felt a little uneasy. Comments like that made me think he saw this marriage as more than the arrangement than it was.
After dinner, we returned to the suite where Wyatt poured more champagne from a new bottle and led me to the little balcony. The lights of the suite were off, so we had only the moon to light the night. It reminded me of all the times by the oak tree sitting in the moonlight, talking, having passionate sex and basking in our love.
“You probably think I never thought about you, considering the way I left,” he said, turning his head up toward the moon. “But no matter where I was…the jungle or the desert, wading through a river or through mud, I’d look up at the moon and think about you. All those nights we’d sit in the moonlight under the oak tree. I was a world away, but we were looking up at the same moon.”
His words reached into my heart and grabbed hold. I was losing the battle to keep from falling for him again, as proved by how I leaned into him, and pressed my lips to his.
His kiss was soft and sweet, his hand lightly stroking my back. “I used to dream of this too. Of holding you again.” He lifted his head and looked down at me. “I promised I’d keep my hands to myself, but I’d do anything to touch you, Sinclair.”
I nodded, and kissed him again. He let out a groan and then scooped me up into his arms. He kissed me hard, and then carried me into the suite. Still holding me, he climbed on the bed. He was on his knees as he set me down on my knees facing him.
“This time it will be slow,” he said as he unzipped my dress.
“What if I want fast?”
He grinned. “Next time.” He pushed my dress from my shoulders, cascading kisses over my skin and making me shudder.
I undid the buttons of his shirt, leaning in to kiss his chest as I exposed it.
“Yes, touch me, Sinclair,” he said, holding my head to him.
I pushed his shirt off and ran my hands over him. “How do you want me to touch you? I want to make you feel good.”
He cradled my face. “You do, baby. Every time.” He leaned over and kissed me, slow, thorough, and my heart expanded in my chest at the emotion I felt from him.
We finished undressing, facing each other naked, still on our knees. His dick was long and hard, pointing straight up. I had an urge to kiss the soft, velvety tip. I’d never done that before, but after what he did to me on his kitchen table, I wanted to do the same for him.
I looked up at him. “Do you like blow jobs?”
He let out a frustrated growl. “Every man likes blow jobs.”
I began to lean down, but he stopped me. “Next time.”
“You said fast next time,” I argued.
“The time after that then.” He sat back on his heels, pulling me onto him to straddle his thighs. “This time I want to be inside you, Sinclair.”
It was hard to argue with that. I ran my hands over his shoulders and then leaned in to kiss him. We kissed for a long time, my pussy rubbing over his dick until I couldn’t take it anymore. I shifted, adjusting so his dick settled at my opening.
He pulled back from the kiss and looked at me. Our gazes locked and I slowly took him inside me. His eyes held passion and desire, but also emotion that scared me.
When he was completely seeped inside me, he once again cradled my face. He looked like he might say something, but instead he kissed me. His hands moved to my breasts, cupping and kneading them. He pinched my nipples, and I gasped as it sent spasms to my pussy.
He groaned and pulled away from the kiss, lifting one of my breasts to his lips. He licked my nipple and blew lightly, making it pucker and tighten.
“Wyatt.”
“You’re amazing. So, fucking amazing,” he said as he sucked my nipple into his mouth, and again my core clenched around him. I started rocking, needing to feel him move in me, against me.
“Oh God… I need…” I gripped his shoulders and started to ride.
“Take what you need.” His eyes watched me as I rode him, up and down, back and forth. I swore
I could feel him growing inside me, his cock pulsating as I took him deep, deeper. “Come, Sinclair. I want to watch you come.”
Having him watch made me embarrassed even as it turned me on. His thumb rubbed against my clit and any thought one way or the other shot out of my brain. All that existed was me and Wyatt. His cock sending delicious sensations through my body. His thumb on my clit, cranking the pleasure up and up.
“Yes…oh God… Yes…”
“Fuck me, Sinclair. Fuck me hard.” His harsh dirty words turned up the erotic fire burning in my pussy. “Come on, baby.”
I threw my head back as pleasure speared hard and fast in my pussy and radiated out like a sonic boom through my body.
“Yes…come on my cock… God, you’re so fucking beautiful.”
I bounced over him, riding out my pleasure like a wild woman, until completely spent, I sagged on him, my breath bellowing in and out of my lungs.
“You didn’t come.” I managed.
“Next time.”
23
Wyatt
Watching Sinclair chase her pleasure and burst through, succumbing to it was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. Sure, it wasn’t the first time I’d made her come, but this time I really watched. I noted every nuance of her face as she reached for and found bliss. As she hit the mark, I wanted to tell her I loved her. That I’d always loved her. That I always would love her. And her daughter too. We could have the family we planned.
But I was smart enough to know that while Sinclair might be giving me her body, she wasn’t giving me her heart. I wanted all of her. Her heart. Her soul. So, I kept my mouth shut as she came down from her orgasm.
“How many next times are there going to be?” she asked.
“Let’s find out.” I wrapped my arm around her and lowered her back on the bed. My cock was so fucking hard, it was a wonder it didn’t explode. But this was going to be a night to remember. Fake or not, we were on our honeymoon. I’d make it mean something.
I settled over her, taking her hands in mine and bringing them over her head. I dipped down to kiss her, pouring the love I wanted to express in words into the kiss instead.
Her fingers gripped mine and she wrapped her legs around my hips. Her pussy contracted on my cock, making me growl in frustration. I was determined to take my time. To bring her up again and then come with her.
“Do you feel my cock?” I whispered as I gently bit her ear. I hoped a little erotic pillow talk would speed up her re-ascent toward orgasm.
“Yes. It’s pulsing inside me.”
“He’s so fucking hard for you.”
She moaned and arched, her tits pushing up like an offering. An offering I took. I leaned over, sucking one into my mouth. Each time I sucked; her pussy squeezed my dick. It was getting harder and harder not to start pounding away.
“I want to feel you come in me, Wyatt.”
Crap, she was using dirty talk to get me going except I was already there. I could feel my orgasm shimmering around the edges.
“You need to take me over, baby. Your pussy is so sweet when it comes.”
She squeezed my hands and moaned again as her hips rocked. “Wyatt…make me come…”
I lifted my hips, withdrawing from her and then sliding in, slow and controlled.
“Yes. More.” Her hips urged me to pick up the pace, but I kept it slow. In. Out. Sliding in deep and holding there, before withdrawing.
“Please,” she gasped. Her whole body started to rock.
Not wanting to make her suffer, I gave in. I let go and gave free rein to my own need. I clasped her hands tighter and looked down on her as I plunged my dick in her, over and over.
“Fuck, I’m gonna come…” I chanted it until the pressure was unbearable.
“Wyatt!” she screamed my name, and her pussy gripped my dick like it was trying to castrate me.
Pleasure rocketed from my cock outward. A blinding light blasted behind my eyes and I roared incoherently as my entire body shook in release. Even as my body gave out, became completely boneless, my cock throbbed and spurted.
I was unable to move for a moment, but then concerned about my weight on her, I released her hands and put my upper body weight on my forearms.
I was breathing like I’d just run a marathon, but that didn’t stop me from kissing her. I had to make this woman mine. Not in some scheme but forever. In my arms was where she needed to be, from this day until the day I died. I was desperate to tell her that, but was too afraid to ruin the gloriousness of this moment.
“Is this what you planned?” she asked, her hands rubbing my back.
“I planned everything but this.”
She cocked a brow like she didn’t believe me.
“Did I hope to have sex? Yes. Absolutely. I’ve been praying about it. Wishing on stars. Throwing pennies into wishing wells.”
She laughed.
“But I was prepared to have all my hopes and dreams be unfulfilled.”
“Are you saying I’m your dream?”
“A dream come true.” I leaned over and kissed her, wishing she knew just how true that statement was.
I rolled off and pulled her against me, not ready to let go of her yet.
She rested her head on my chest and it felt right. So, fucking perfect.
“When does next time start?” she asked.
“It could be days before my cock works again.” That wasn’t true. Her words already had him perking up.
She lifted her head and strummed her fingers on my chest. “Maybe I could help him.”
He liked the sound of that. “Oh? How?”
“I want to use my mouth on him.”
The blood began rushing back to my dick.
“I’m not going to stop you.”
She blushed and it was so sweet. “I’ve never done it before. Will you tell me…how?... What you like.”
I ran my fingers through her long hair. “Yes.”
I woke the next morning, concerned that the night before had been a dream. I rolled over and saw Sinclair sleeping beside me. A dream come true, I thought as I leaned over and kissed her neck.
She sighed. “Again?”
“Next time.” Who knew the two words would become our erotic catch-phrase. The challenge of “next time” was that it didn’t just mean sex, it meant new sex. A new position. A new speed.
After she nearly sucked my dick off and sent me into the most delirious oblivion, I was sure I was done for the night. But it turned out my dick was always happy to get it up for Sinclair. We did fast and furious as she wanted. Then I took her from behind as she held onto the headboard. We even tried sixty-nine, but both of us got too distracted from the pleasure, and I finally just pulled her sweet pussy over my face and shot her off to heaven, and then sunk my dick inside her to finish him off.
“Come with me.” I rolled out of bed.
“Where are we going?” she asked as I tugged her into the bathroom and turned on the shower.
“Shower sex.”
“Is that real? My girlfriends say it’s not that easy.”
“Your girlfriends have men in their lives who don’t know what they’re doing.” I pulled her under the hot spray with me. I pumped out soap from the dispenser and began rubbing it over her body. “Relax,” I whispered as I turned her away from me and massaged her shoulders.
“You have great hands, Wyatt.”
“They’re not too rough?” My hands were plenty calloused from riding and all the other labor required in ranching.
“I like the rough. It’s like your dick. A mixture of hard and soft.”
I gave her shoulder a light bite. “Are you saying my dick is soft?”
She laughed. “The skin over it is soft. Soft over hard.”
“Like this?” I pressed my dick between her thighs, sliding it along her pussy lips.
She sighed and let her head fall back against my chest. “Yes.”
I reached around and kneaded her tits, pinching and twistin
g her nipples until her backside was gyrating against me. I wanted to fuck her right there, just like that, but decided I wanted to see her come. There was nothing quite like watching Sinclair as her orgasm built and then released.
I turned her around and dropped to my knees, immediately fusing my mouth to her pussy. She cried out, her fingers gripping my head and holding me to her. I worked her pussy lips and her clit until her juices coated my tongue.
I stood up, hooking my hand under her knee and lifting her thigh over my hip. “Here’s how shower sex works.” Then I thrust in, hard, fast, deep.
She cried out again, her fingers digging into my shoulders as I pumped in and out. “Yes…yes…” she chanted. It was music to my ears.
I lifted my head, wanting to watch her face as she reached the pinnacle again.
“Oh God, Wyatt…” Her body went taut, her mouth formed that perfect O, and her pussy clamped down over me. Yes, so fucking perfect.
I let go, pistoning in and out of her, chasing my own release until finally I leapt over, emptying inside her.
I’d been starving when I woke that morning, but had been distracted by Sinclair’s luscious body. But once our shower was over, my stomach was rumbling loud enough for her to hear. We ordered room service, and I considered a “next time” that involved syrup, but I worried she’d think her body was all I wanted. Right now, it seemed her body was the only thing she’d give me, but I was determined to have more.
After breakfast, the realization that our honeymoon was nearly over bummed me out. Maybe I should have pushed for two days. Or a week. I looked over at Sinclair and wondered if that wistful expression meant she too was sad to see our honeymoon end. Maybe I was getting through to her. What I would do to have her love me as I loved her.
“Will you be bringing Alyssa home when we get back?” I asked her as we drove back to Salvation.
She flinched and I wondered if she was bothered by my use of the word “home”. It told me that Sinclair didn’t see my place as her home, an indication that I had more work ahead of me if I was going to convince her that this marriage was forever.
“Maybe tomorrow. By the time we get back, it’ll be late in the afternoon.”
Fake Marriage (Contemporary Romance Box Set) Page 14
