by S. A. Wolfe
“You’re flawless,” he whispers against my lips.
“You’re such a good liar,” I reply between kisses. “An amazing seducer, though. No one is flawless.”
He pulls back and looks at me. “I’m not lying.” Then, with all gentleness aside, he kisses me again with savage hunger until I’m wet between my thighs, and my lips and body beg for more.
He ends the kiss, and we’re both breathing heavily. Why would he stop? Why can’t we let it go all the way?
“Some of us are better than others,” he explains, regaining his composure. “You’re right, though. We all have marks on our character. It all depends how deep they go.”
He stopped that incredible kiss for that?
“You think I have a flawless character?” I laugh. I thought we were talking about bodies. He’s actually referring to my integrity?
“I do. I have a lot of black marks. Next to me, you’re flawless, sunflower.” He traces his finger from the tip of my scar between my breasts down the length of it. The rough pad of his finger is enough to raise goosebumps on my flesh and make me shiver. “Your scar is a badge of honor, the will to survive. It makes you that much sexier.” He continues the invisible tracing, and then around my scar, lightly brushing against my breasts. Then he stops and looks at me as if he’s trying to gauge my arousal. I want to tell him how much I need this—his words, his touch, his body. He’s making all my senses go haywire.
“If we’re being direct here, I don’t want to talk about this anymore. What I really want … what I really miss …”
“What?”
“Sex. I miss sex,” I say. “Nothing makes you question your health and strength more than the absence of sex.”
Peyton stops touching me and pulls his hand back.
“I think I said that wrong. You don’t have to have constant sex to be a strong person, but I was going through a period where everything was gray and scary, and it was dragging on for so long. I used to be full of energy. I could dance all night at a party. And sex was, well, I took it for granite.”
Peyton bites his lower lip, his tell when I unknowingly say something funny.
“Oh God, did I just say granite? I meant granted. You know that, though.”
“I do.”
“It’s true. I took sex for granted. Not that I was a nympho or anything, but who doesn’t like great sex that makes you feel incredible? Those feelings vanished after my diagnosis. I felt the opposite of sexy. I should be grateful my body has survived, but mostly I think my body signifies doom, to me, at least. So my character isn’t as good as you think. The truth is, I’m fairly egotistical.”
“Missing sex doesn’t make you egotistical. It makes you human.”
“You’re not disturbed by what I said?”
“Not at all. I always want sex. I’m surprised you’d tell me, but then, I’m glad you did.”
“I like to think we’re friends now, right? You have your big, ambitious career plans, and you won’t be in Hera for long, so I suppose I can tell you things I wouldn’t tell someone else who lives here year-round.”
He’s quiet, but he stares at me, waiting for more.
“My goals are smaller. I’m building my life here. I hope to find someone better than Marko. I won’t make that mistake again. I’m telling you these things not because I think that person could be you, so you don’t have to worry about that. I know it’s not you. But that doesn’t mean I don’t want to sleep with you.”
He moves his hand to rest firmly on my hip. “So, let’s be clear here. You want to sleep with me. You want me for sex, but you don’t want anything else?”
“Yes. Sex. I have to get back in the game.” I force a casual laugh.
“The game? Meaning sex?”
“Life. Nothing makes you feel like a part of life more than sex. That is, if you’ve been deprived of it and it’s all you can think of. And I think we have good … whatever that’s called. And I think we’d have great sex.”
“I know the sex would be great.” He looks at me, so serious. His reaction is not at all what I expected. “There’s just the issue of what happens after. It’s hard to compartmentalize these things. I tried it with other women, and they changed. They wanted more.”
“Well, I don’t want more from you.” The words fly out as if it means nothing to me. However, the truth is that it’s harder making that statement than I thought. I like Peyton. He does all sorts of things, wonderful things, to my insides. But I am realistic. With Peyton, I know what I’m getting into. Sex. Sex! And Peyton is the perfect candidate for mindless bedroom fun. “Sex is what I need. Harmless fun for both of us, and then you can go to Las Vegas or Louisiana or wherever.”
“Los Angeles.”
I smile and push him back onto the bed. “It doesn’t matter. We’re adults. We can have some fun for a while, then go our own ways.”
“You’re sure?” He looks concerned, but his sweatpants can’t hide the fact that he’s hard.
“I’m sure. It’s just sex. Nothing else.”
A flicker in his eyes triggers the beast within. It’s the green light. We’re on.
I throw myself on top of him and kiss him. He pulls me in and pins me to his chest, taking on all my bravado, kissing me back more fiercely than before. I can’t get enough of his lips, his firm hold, as I grind myself into him without restraint, without shame. I want Peyton to do everything to me, to blind my senses with an immeasurable intensity to the point that everything else fades away.
“Talia.” He’s breathing hard as he pulls away from the kiss. “Slow down.” And with that, he easily flips me over onto my back as if I’m a weightless rag doll, and then he props himself over me. “We’re not going to rush this. I don’t want a two-minute fuck with you.”
With my newly repaired heart pumping rapidly, I whisper, “Yes.”
Peyton yanks down his sweatpants and tosses them to the floor. I smile, almost perversely. He’s too sexy, too perfect for me not to be ecstatic over this mountain of a man.
His thick, corded muscles bulging across his broad shoulders and legs work to steady him above me. His eyes are locked on mine, not blinking, watching my gaze take in all of him, from his long, powerful legs to his full, thick cock, up to his washboard abs, to his gorgeous face. Those gray eyes, glinting with hints of silver as though he is going through a metamorphosis from the busy restaurant manager that I see every day to this wild beast who has one person in his sights. Me.
I’m not timid about staring, about practically panting. I don’t have to care with Peyton. This is all about our basic animal instincts, our bodies, and nothing of the world and people beyond this room.
As I loosen the belt of the robe, Peyton grabs the collar and pulls the whole robe out from under my weight, then tosses it onto the floor.
He studies my body in that primal way men do when they see a naked woman and it short-circuits their brain. A visual comedy, except for the fact it also provides them with a generous erection.
I smile to myself, thinking about the male brain depleting its resources and sending all of its energy and blood supply to his vital appendage.
The desire gleaming in his eyes is what makes me feel beautiful. We’re not supposed to feel anything beyond that.
Maybe I like him more than I’m willing to admit, and it’s fine as long as it doesn’t turn into caring. Caring is a dangerous place to go, a place where emotions get muddled and stretched to sometimes unbearable limits. This is a lesson that every girl dismisses, but it’s a lesson that every woman is conscious of. I’m also aware each caress from Peyton is only adding to this concern of involvement, and yet, I’m still not going to stop us.
Peyton tortures me by making another slow, sensual inspection of my body from head to toe. He takes his sweet time, intensifying the craving I have for him. I want him to move faster, to run his strong hands across my skin and ravish me without restraint. I want him to be rough and hard.
“You’re beautiful,�
� he says slowly.
Under the weight of his intense stare, I flush.
He smiles, then unexpectedly runs the tip of his tongue lightly around my scar. My arousal heightens, and I lose my ability to utter any words. His tongue circles around my nipples and gently sucks on each one before releasing it. My perfectly repaired heart is beating wildly in appreciation, and my ears feel as though they have been flooded with the overpowering thumping rhythm of the blood rushing to awaken every part of me.
I reach for his cock and wrap my hand around his hard length, stroking the velvety soft skin, causing moans to escape him.
“I want to devour you,” he whispers in my ear. “I want to be inside of you and fuck you until you don’t even know your own name.”
“I don’t think you own that phrase,” I taunt as I rub the tip of his cock against the wetness between my legs.
His deep chuckle reverberates against my ear before he sucks ferociously on my neck and squeezes my breast, making me ache more for him.
“But make me forget everything. Please,” I urge, not caring how desperate I sound. I have no doubt he can deliver the pleasure that has been absent from my life for far too long.
As I continue to stroke him, I grab a fistful of his hair with my other hand and pull his mouth back to mine. He tries to keep it gentle, but I’m testing his willpower, teasing his cock, stroking and pulling it until it barely enters me.
“Wait, wait,” he says, pulling away from me. He grabs both of my wrists and slams them down above my head, restraining them in his tight grip.
“What?” I smile. “Is this too much for you? Can’t hold out for longer than a few minutes? I thought you excelled in this area.”
He smiles but can’t hide the fact that he’s trying to catch his breath and control himself. “Believe it or not, it’s been a few months. I haven’t gotten any action since I’ve been here.”
“Was that intentional?” I arch into him, hoping his mouth will descend on a breast—anything to get him to touch me.
“Yes, this town is too small. I can’t afford to screw where I work. At least in the city, there are plenty of women outside of work, and it doesn’t interfere with my job. That’s not going to work here without compromising the business. Everyone here knows what’s going on with me. I’m pretty sure they know everything I have in my refrigerator, too.”
“I don’t care about anyone else.”
“For the moment. You may change your tune later. So I’m going to ask you, are you sure you want this? With me? Because eventually, everyone will find out.”
“Yes, I want this. I don’t care what other people think of … this. Are you worried they’ll think less of me? You’re concerned about my reputation?” I laugh lightly and struggle against his restraints on my wrists. “This town isn’t as provincial as you think.”
“No, I’m concerned you’ll regret this. We’re connected by this town and by a very small circle of friends, so I don’t want it to become uncomfortable for you. I want nothing more than to fuck you right now, but I don’t want us to do this at the expense of any of our friendships, especially mine and yours.”
“Okay, sure, you’re a good guy. I won’t think less of you and me. You’re a nice, concerned guy. Thank you,” I say hurriedly. “But, yes, we can screw. And yes, we can still be friends. I won’t have regrets or hate you later. I want to boldly go where other women have gone before.”
“Did you just try to quote Star Trek?”
“God, would you shut up and do this already?” I shout.
“Gladly.”
He releases my arms and settles himself between my legs, propping his arms under my thighs so I’m fully exposed to him. I’m thinking I really want the wham, bam, thank you, ma’am kind of sex. Nothing romantic, no special requests, just the quick and dirty, basic sex to get me through this miserable dry spell.
Peyton has other ideas. He slips his fingers between my legs and begins stroking me. I catch my breath, and his eyes meet mine. It’s like a challenge. I told him to give it to me, plain and simple, and he’s showing me that nothing is plain or simple with him, especially when sex is involved.
I’m about to tell him that I don’t want to drag this out. I don’t want to make it personal with extra care and attention—we’ve had our foreplay; we’re ready for the actual screwing part. But I lose that train of thought when my arousal heightens and Peyton continues to touch me in all the right places.
When he finds my sweet spot, a small yelp escapes me, and he smiles.
Looking at him makes my breasts swell and my nipples harden into pink buds again. All this buildup is going to kill me.
He watches what he’s doing to me, so I look away and focus on a wood beam in the ceiling.
“Look at me.” His voice is husky, seductive. “You want to feel alive, and I’m going to make you feel that again, but I want you to watch me.”
“I’m ready. Really. Get the condom and we’re good to go.”
“No, that’s lazy sex. You deserve better than that. Look at me.”
I pull my eyes away from the ceiling and look at him. He has a devilish gleam in his eyes before he dips his head down and replaces his fingers with his tongue.
I knew he was experienced, but I didn’t equate quantity with talent. And he is talented. He titillates and taunts my clit with his tongue like he’s got a black belt-level certification in this particular activity. My heart is pounding, my limbs feel boneless, and my mind is dizzy with images of Peyton’s tongue—the way he’s licking, probing, sucking. And then, when I start to imagine what he looks like thrusting his cock in and out of me, I climax hard … and long. I know I moan and maybe openly praise Peyton along the orgasmic journey, and when I recover, Peyton looks pleased with himself.
He swiftly puts on a condom, hooks his arms under my knees, and hikes my legs up on either side of him. He enters me in one hard, swift thrust, watching me as he pumps into me with smooth, quick, elegant hip swivels. It’s just like I imagined moments ago.
It goes on and on. He’s controlled, thrusting and striking my clit perfectly. His face tightens and he grunts the closer he gets to his own release. I feel my own body pulsate, bringing me to the edge of another climax. Except, this time, Peyton’s inside of me.
I never climax this way. I’ve also never told my partners. It’s as if Peyton knows this about me and wants to right the wrongs.
His expression becomes more intense as he works to bring us both to climax, and his thrusting loses some of its finesse when it turns into pounding. It makes me smile. I’m not the only one who’s losing control here.
He lowers my legs a bit, with a hand under each knee so he can move faster, pumping into me less like a guy who has a black belt in the female orgasm and more like a guy working on a red belt. Props to him for trying. I’m just not one of those women who can reach orgasm this way. I always hope it will happen. I’d like to think a guy’s cock could be enough … and so would they. But it never is.
Until now.
Peyton throws his head back and groans. “Fuck, this feels good.”
My own temperature seems to be rising, and instead of hovering at the edge of a climax like I always do in this situation, a new sensation takes over. The tingling wave of ecstasy is taking me on that wild ride to euphoria again, and I can’t believe it’s happening.
I reach out to touch Peyton, grasping his shoulders. His muscles give me something to hold on to as an orgasm thunders through me. I make some incoherent sound, and Peyton watches me crumple into a blissful state before he has his own explosive release.
He takes care not to collapse on top of me. Perks of having a giant scar down my chest! He sidles up to me, nibbles my ear, and kisses my neck. He drapes his arm across my waist, and we both wait for our breathing to return to normal.
This is the part that surprises me the most.
Peyton is a snuggler.
Peyton
“DON’T YOU NEED TO get to work?”
She swirls her finger around my chest. We’re both in a sated fog, and I really don’t want to interrupt this bliss unless we’re going for another round.
“I’m the boss. I can go in whenever I want. Besides, Greer is pretty high-strung, so I know she’s already there. I should be, too, but I needed this.”
“I can’t argue with that.” She angles her head to look up at me from the crook of my arm.
A million things are running through my head, like how I didn’t expect to get involved with anyone, how I thought I would blow through town, how I haven’t been able to stop looking at Talia since she almost ran me over, and how this feels so right. I’ve never connected this well with another woman. It’s never been this easy. I’m pretty sure that’s my cock talking, because he’s just happy to get some long-needed action.
I should feel some guilt, or maybe even remorse, for jumping into bed with her, but she’s the one who initiated it. She asked for it and was adamant about it being casual. This is music to my ears—having a woman tell me she expects nothing but sex. I’m also surprised that my ego is a bit deflated at the thought of her plans to give more to some other guy—Mr. Perfect, the one she’s searching for.
This is good, though, I tell myself. I’m not worthy of her, and as long as she knows that upfront, she won’t be disappointed when this ends.
Since I was teenager and started working in one of Danny Bourdain’s restaurants, I knew what I wanted. I saw how Danny and the chefs put their careers above their families and the toll it took on their marriages. I’m not going to make that mistake.
I want the career with the money and the status among my peers in the industry. That requires a lot of time and devotion, and means putting friends, family, and women on the back burner. I’m selfish. I can do this because it’s easier to succeed in business than deal with complicated relationships, especially marriage. It’s been an easy mantra to live with.
Talia sits up and looks back at me with her long, wavy, blonde locks all tousled, framing her flushed, heart-shaped face. With her fingers, she makes her way down to different parts of my body.