by Tina Martin
“You’re so beautiful, Shiloh,” he says, looking at my body, taking in every inch of me. “Everything about you is. From your lips,” he says, then presses his lips to mine. “To your fingertips,” he hums and takes my hand to his mouth, tasting my fingers like he’s sucking barbecue sauce off ribs.
He leans on his elbow, takes the burden of his weight off of me only so he can see my body – more specifically my breasts. He draws circles around my softness. Teases their hardened buds. Looks at me to see how I’m reacting.
At his touch, I gasp. I can’t believe he’s touching me this way. Can’t believe he wants me. The man who has everything wants me.
He threads his hands with mine. His weight comes down on me again. I like his weight on me. Love being buried beneath his muscles. His mouth takes mine with leisurely strokes. His tongue feasts, tastes and tangles.
I moan in delight.
“I love your lips,” he tells me. “I love the way they feel. How soft they are. I love the way they fit inside my mouth.”
He licks them. Pulls them into his mouth. Teases them. Shows me what he means.
He kisses a path along my jawline to my ear while I mentally prepare myself to get a handle on breathing. Otherwise, I’ll die right here beneath him. I was doing good with my breathing exercises until his tongue circles on my neck. He nibbles. The feel of his teeth incites me. Makes me want more.
I gasp. “Magnus,” I whisper.
Moans are plenty. He seems to enjoy that he’s causing me to make these noises I can’t hold inside. He gives attention to my collarbone. He tattoos his lips over it and along the length of my arms.
He looks at me. Our vision connects. My eyes to his green ones. Oh, the glory of them…
He smiles – one of those smiles that looks sweet and devious at the same time.
His body is hard, pressed against my leg. He taps his lips to the center of my forehead, then stares again.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
“Nothing’s wrong.”
“Why are you looking at me like that?”
“I just like to look at you. It’s become a habit, Shiloh.” He manages another half smile. “I like to look at you. I like to smell you. I don’t know what intoxicating elixir you wear, but don’t ever change it. It smells so good on you. Smells like heaven.”
He takes my lips again, prying my mouth open with his tongue before plunging into a deep kiss. I feel his hand on my breast. He moves his mouth there, kissing me softly. Nibbling. Tasting.
I close my eyes when I’m blazing with heat, hoping not to get scorched, but with a man as hot as Magnus, that’s impossible. I’m Alicia Keys. This girl is on fire.
The fire spreads when he settles between my thighs, secures my wrists and holds my gaze as he enters me. It’s a difficult joining. He knows I’m not experienced, but he doesn’t seem bothered by it.
He’s claiming my body, settling inside me so deep, I feel like we’ll be this way forever. I release screams that become moans.
He gasps, the first time I’ve ever heard him do so. It’s more like one of relief. One of need. Like he’s quenched a thirst after his run.
When he moves, squeezing my hands in the process. He buries his face in the cradle of my neck as he utters low groans. I feel my body come alive with each wave of his hips, each time he comes forward into me, his groans become more frequent.
I’m gasping, holding tight to his slippery, caramel skin, unable to get a good grip. My moans are plentiful. His thrusts are measured. Precise. He kisses me as if to quiet my moaning, but I know it’s because he wants to. He wants me. His movements are more uncontrolled when he dips his tongue inside my mouth, muffling my moans, but that doesn’t stop me from forcing them out somehow. I’m amazed at how he’s able to roll his body in waves.
He has me losing control.
I think he’s right there with me. Losing control.
Feeding off of my energy, he increases the tempo, takes me harder and only releases my tongue when he feels my body shivering beneath him. I muffle a scream.
“It’s okay,” he tells me. “You can scream as loud as you want. No one will hear you. Only me, Shiloh.”
I pant, trying to catch my breath, thinking I could ignore his request and hold it in, but I can’t. The screams come. Oh, do they come.
“Magnus!” I say, over and over again.
“Magnus, oh-Magnus. Mag-nus. Magnus!”
“That’s it, baby,” he says. “That’s it. Let it all out.”
He groans, calls out for me while still rocking his hips, taking more before he spills inside me and he doesn’t stop until every spasm leaves his body. Until he gives me every drop of him. Then and only then does he stops moving, rests his head on the pillow that’s beneath my head and release a series of groans.
Moments later, he looks at me and says, “You’re amazing, Shiloh. I didn’t know how much I needed you.”
“I needed you too, Magnus.”
He smiles. I still feel him buried inside me. “You did?” he asks.
“Yes,” I say, my chest heaving, matching his attempts at normal breathing.
He leaves a single kiss on my lips and whispers, “I could stay here forever.”
“Magnus—”
“I haven’t felt this way in so long.”
“What way?”
“This way,” he says, choosing to remain vague and not attach feelings to his words, leaving me to assume. “I want you to stay tonight.”
“Okay.”
“Have you had dinner?” he asks.
“Magnus, you realize you’re still inside me, don’t you?”
“I know. I’m not ready to leave yet. I like it here.”
He smiles.
The handsome features of this man are about to have my body quivering again. I touch his face and strum my fingertips across his beard, down his nose. Across his mustache. His lips. He’s perfect.
He takes a final kiss before he pulls his length out of me. I grimace when he does so.
“You okay?” he asks, lying next to me, staring at me again.
“Yes. I’m okay.”
“I owe you an apology,” he says. “I shouldn’t have thrown your gift away. I know it hurt you and I didn’t mean to hurt you. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“But I am, Shiloh. I’m worried I hurt you and I didn’t want to.”
“Okay,” I say, still in a state of euphoria not wanting to think about that right now but since he wants to take it there, I ask, “Why’d you throw it away?”
“It’s a long story. Something that happened when I was growing up. And then Nicoletta gave me a gift before she died—the last gift anyone has ever given me—well before yours.”
“Oh. Then I guess I owe you an apology.”
“No, you don’t. I appreciate your gift. I appreciate you, Shiloh.”
“How can you appreciate something you threw away?”
“I retrieved it. It’s on my desk now. Every time I look at it, I think of you.”
He takes my hand, threads our fingers together and stares into my eyes.
“And I’ll always be your hero.”
I smile. My euphoric high has me drained and weak.
“You’re tired?”
“Yes.”
“Okay. Get some rest. I want you to have dinner with me later.”
“Okay, Magnus.”
Chapter Thirty-Five
Magnus
I left her in bed this morning. That beautiful woman who’s making me break rules. Whose lips I can still taste. In the guest bedroom is where she’s been staying. It’s where I slept last night.
Sitting at my desk at work, I relive the passion between us. Last night before dinner, I made her mine. Twice. After dinner, very late last night she was mine again until two in the morning.
I’m not sleep deprived. I’m not guilty. I’m happy. This is the feeling I haven’t felt in so long. Happiness. I’m that way wh
en I’m with her.
I hear my secretary tap at the door. She peeps in and says, “Mr. St. Claire, Irving Tippens is here to see you. I didn’t see a meeting with him on your calendar so I want to make sure it’s okay.”
“Yes. Send him up, Hilda.”
“Will do.”
“Oh, and Hilda?”
“Yes, Sir?”
“Make a run to pick up lunch for two at my normal spot today. I’ll be leaving early.”
“I’ll call it in now.”
“Thank you.”
Irving walks into my office a few minutes later, hitting me with his normal, cheerful greeting then asks in a serious tone, “Have you come to your senses yet, my friend?”
“Your question implies I’ve lost my senses.”
“I thought we’d already established that.”
“Have a seat,” I tell him. “Can I get you a drink?”
“Nah, man. I’m good. I’m about to meet my wife for lunch.”
I smile inwardly. He’s meeting his wife for lunch. I’m having mine for lunch. She just doesn’t know it yet…
I walk over to the wet bar and pour us a shot of Patrón. I hand one to him. I heard him when he said he didn’t want anything to drink, but I know he doesn’t consider a shot a drink. And, I know he won’t turn it down.
He downs his shot and I throw mine back.
“I haven’t changed my mind about Shiloh if that’s what you’re asking.”
“So nothing to protect your assets from her?”
“No. Nothing. I don’t need to protect anything from her.”
“Mag, I’ve been married for ten years. Before I said vows, I laid out a prenuptial agreement that was so ironclad, my wife won’t get a dime if she decides to leave me.”
“And you live your life, your marriage, with the thought of your wife leaving you?”
“Ay, things happen.”
“Right. Things happen, but I know what I’m doing, Irving,” I say to him. I glance at the clock. It’s a little after eleven. About forty minutes more until I see her…
“I hope so, man. What’s the latest?”
I grin. “The latest? You act as if my life is a reality TV show for your entertainment.”
“It’s not every day I meet a man who marries a stranger only so she can have his baby.”
I smile. It’s strange how when I stayed buried inside Shiloh yesterday, I wasn’t thinking about a baby. I was focused on her body. On the way she felt. On the way we felt together. Making…
Making…
Love.
Was it love? It felt like it. We felt good together. I feel myself swelling to get to her again right now. But love? The only woman I ever loved was Nicoletta.
“Okay, we’ve already crossed that bridge, Irving. It was a bit outrageous. But I like her. She’s growing on me.”
“Does she still have that smart mouth?”
“Sometimes. Is Shiloh the only reason you came here?”
“Not the only reason. I hear you’re looking to file a new patent.”
“Who did you hear that from?”
“Got a call from Bransen.”
“Yeah, the prototype isn’t ready yet. I’m behind on it. Been taking my time with it—not pushing the team so hard.”
“That’s how I know there’s a distraction. Usually, you’re on top of those things.”
“Yeah, well, now I’m on top of something else.”
Irving laughs, reaches to slap my hand. “I’m happy for you, man. Maybe that’s what you need to take the edge off. A little action. You look relaxed. It must be working.”
“It is, now get out of my office.”
He laughs but I’m serious.
“You don’t have nothing else for me?” he asks.
“No, and I’m leaving early for lunch—probably won’t be back for the rest of the day. I’ll still be available by cell if you need to reach me.”
“Okay, then, man. I hope you enjoy your lunch. With Shiloh,” he tacks on.
I smile. He’s making assumptions, hoping I’ll confirm. I don’t bother.
“Have a good one, Irving.”
“Yep.”
* * *
When Hilda returns with the food, I head straight home. I don’t call Lucille in advance. I don’t call Shiloh. I get in the car and go. Nobody’s getting a warning today.
I pull into the garage and make my way to the kitchen. I see Shiloh leaned against the counter with a cup in her hand. She’s wearing a robe. My robe. Her hair is down. She turns to look at me as if she’s sensed my presence.
“Hi,” she says. Smiles, that beautiful smile.
“Hi.”
“What are you doing here, Magnus?”
“I live here, Shiloh.”
I walk over to the counter, place the takeout bag there. My hands are aching to touch her. To get lost in her hair.
“Where’s Lucille?” I ask her.
“Here I am,” Lucille says, walking into the kitchen with a dust cloth in her hand.
“Lucille, take the rest of the day off,” I tell her, but I’m looking at Shiloh as I speak. Shiloh’s staring back at me. She knows what I want. I know what she wants and as soon a Lucille is out of here, I’m going to give it to her.
“You—you said take the rest of the day off?”
“Yes. Don’t worry about the pay. I’ll pay you for a full day’s work. Just go ahead and leave, okay?”
“Yes, Sir. If you insist.”
“I do insist.”
She heads back in the direction of the living room and I take a few slow steps over to Shiloh. “Are you just now getting up?”
“Something like that. I had a rough night.”
I smirk. She’s about to have a rough midday.
“What are you drinking?”
“Green tea—not coffee this time, so you don’t have to snatch the mug out of my hand and pour it down the drain.”
I take the cup from her, anyway. Set it on the countertop. I touch her lips with my thumb. She opens her mouth and bites me. Intentionally.
I snatch the belt that’s holding the robe together. She tugs at the belt around my pants, loosening it along with the zipper that would’ve certainly popped had she not relieved the force there. I lift her from the floor. Her legs wrap around me as I push myself inside her.
“Mmm,” I moan. “So good.”
I’ve crossed so many lines with Shiloh. Broke so many of my own rules. I’d let her in my house, allowed her to be a part of my world. I’d breached the contract I put together. And I allowed myself to develop feelings for her. Now, I’m allowing myself to have her. For lunch. In my kitchen.
I have her pinned to the counter. She moans. Pants. Her cries of my name sound like cries of mercy but I know they’re ones of pleasure because I’m learning her now. Learning her cries. Learning when she’s reaching the pinnacle of pleasure. The way she digs her nails into me, squeeze me – they’re all telling signs.
I slide my tongue between her lips and devour her moans. Then I kiss the woman like I’ve never kissed her before. Take her like I’m starving and I hear her scream – a muffled one since my tongue is still playing with her tongue. She’s steadily screaming and I decide to free her mouth so she can breathe. She does.
Her pleasure sounds fill the kitchen. Her body convulses.
She moans.
Her body steadily shakes.
She’s done for.
I’m still gripping her, still sending precise shots into her, stroke after stroke after stroke after stroke, prolonging my release for as long as I can until I feel her squeeze and grip me. I look at her. Her head is thrown back, eyes closed.
“Look at me, please,” I tell her.
She does, and I stroke. And stroke and stroke.
Those big, beautiful eyes of hers satisfies my soul, makes me erupt the second I see them. They overpower me. Makes me whimper as sensations tear through my body while she’s clenching me.
And I still wan
t more.
Panting, breathless, nearly having an out-of-body experience, I still want more, but I pull myself out of her and give us time to rest.
I give myself time to breathe.
I look at her. She’s holding on to the counter like she needs it to be able to stand.
“Are you okay?” I ask her, zipping my pants. Securing my belt.
“Yes,” she responds, her chest moving in and out quickly.
I pull the robe together, tie the belt for her then tell her, “Go put some clothes on so we can have lunch.” I’m afraid if she stays like this I’ll want her again.
“Okay,” she says like air is still hard to come by.
About fifteen minutes later, she’s back to the kitchen. I’m in the midst of warming our food.
“What took you so long?” I ask.
“I had to uh—freshen up a bit.”
“Oh.”
I place her food in front of her. A Mediterranean dish. There’s chicken, rice, potatoes. I know she’ll like it.
I sit directly across from her and begin on my food.
“Is that really why you came home early? Because you wanted me?”
“Yes,” I answer truthfully. There was no sense in lying about it. I did want her and I don’t care if that knowledge has given her some kind of power or advantage over me.
She smiles. “How was your morning?”
“Good.”
“You weren’t tired at all?” she inquires since we were up until two this morning.
“I run ten miles straight two days in a row. I’m sure I can survive a workday after staying up late, wrestling with you.”
We eat more, then I ask, “Did you have any plans today?”
“Yes.” She takes a sip of water.
“Are you going to tell me or should I make random guesses?”
She smiles. “Take guesses.”
“Why are you playing with me, Shiloh?”
She laughs. “I’m not. It’s just funny how much you seem to like me now.”
“I don’t seem to like you. I do like you.”
“So much so that you’d leave work early to be with me?”