Trust Fund Fiancé

by Naima Simone

  “Stop it.”

  She whipped around at the softly uttered command, a bit of the wine in her glass sloshing over the rim to dot the back of her hand. Silently cursing herself for her jumpiness, she lifted her hand to her mouth and sucked the alcohol from her skin.

  Her heart thumped against her rib cage as Ezekiel’s gaze dipped to her lips and hand. That green, hooded gaze damn near smoldered, and it seized the breath from her lungs.

  Clearing her throat, she snatched her attention from him and returned it to the almost overwhelming sight of Vegas. Not that the view could abolish him from her mind’s eye.

  He’d ditched the black suit jacket he’d worn to their wedding, and the white shirt stretched over his wide shoulders, emphasizing their breadth. The sky blue tie had also been removed and the first few buttons undone, granting her a glimpse of the smooth brown skin at his throat and over his collarbone. The shirt clung to his hard, deep chest and flat, tapered waist. The black slacks embraced his muscled, long legs and couldn’t hide their strength.

  She would know that strength tonight. Intimately.

  Her lashes lowered, and she blindly lifted the glass to her lips again as her fingertips rose to her own collarbone and found the small scar there, rubbing over the raised flesh.

  “Stop what?” she belatedly replied, her voice no louder than a whisper.

  He didn’t immediately answer, but a stir of the air telegraphed his movement. A moment later, another touch from a larger, rougher finger replaced hers. She opened her eyes to meet his, even as he lightly caressed the mark marring her skin. She gasped, unable to hold it in.

  Heat blasted from that one spot, spiraling through her like a blowtorch to her insides. It battled with the ice that tried to encase her. The ice of memories. Of pain beyond imagining.

  His gaze lifted from just below her neck to meet her eyes, the intensity there so piercing, she wondered if patients going under the knife encountered the same trepidation. The same sense of overwhelming exposure and vulnerability.

  “I’ve noticed you touch this place here...” He stroked the scar, and she couldn’t prevent the small shiver from working its way through her frame. Fire and ice. Arousal and shame. They intertwined like lovers inside her stomach, mating in a dirty dance. “You did it that night on the balcony and at the cemetery. At your parents’ home. And again in my office the day you came to see me. It’s your tell, Ray. Whenever you’re uncomfortable. Or nervous. Possibly even scared.”

  He swept one more caress over her skin before dropping his arm. But he didn’t move back out of her personal space, didn’t grant her breathing room. Every inhale carried his earthy but fresh scent—like a cool, brisk wind through a lush forest. She wanted to wrap herself in it. But his too perceptive observation froze her to the spot.

  “So whatever you’re thinking that has you feeling any of those emotions, stop it. Or tell me so I can take the fear away.”

  Her attempt at diversion hadn’t worked last time, so she stuck to a believable half-truth. At least he hadn’t asked her how she got the scar. That, she could never admit to him. Because it would involve telling him her most carefully guarded secret.

  “Why?” she murmured.

  “Why what?” he asked. “Why do I want to take away your fear?”

  She nodded.

  “Because I’ve seen it one too many times in your eyes in the last few weeks, and I don’t like it,” he said.

  She stiffened, taken aback by his words. But he cocked his head to the side, his gaze narrowing on her.

  “Are you offended because I said it or because I noticed?” He hummed in his throat, lifting a hand to her again. This time he traced the arc of her eyebrow, then stroked a teasing path down the bridge of her nose before sweeping a caress underneath her eye. “These gorgeous brown eyes? They tell everything you’re feeling. Whether you’re amused, irritated, frustrated, thoughtful or angry. In a world where people deceive and hide, you’re a refreshing gift of an anomaly. Except...” He exhaled roughly, still brushing the tender skin above her cheekbone. “You have secrets, Reagan. Your eyes even betray that. I don’t need to know what they are to know they hurt you, make you guard this beautiful heart.”

  He pressed two fingertips to her chest, directly over the pounding organ. The organ he called beautiful but one that had caused her so much pain and disillusionment.

  The organ that even now beat harder for him.

  Taking several moments, she studied the dark, slashing eyebrows, the vibrant, light green eyes that seemed to miss nothing, the sensual fullness of his mouth, the silky facial hair that framed his lips and covered his rock-hard jaw. Beautiful. Such a beautiful man.

  And hers. At least for the next year.

  Hers to touch. To take into her body. To lie next to.

  But not to love. His heart belonged to a dead woman, and he had no intention of trying to reclaim it. He’d warned her of that early in their bargain. And this heat between them—this heat that threatened to incinerate rational thought and sense—it warned her that if she wasn’t careful, she could once again be that reckless sixteen-year-old willing to throw caution to the wind for love.

  She’d vowed never to be that girl again.

  Once more she skimmed a finger over the scar at her collarbone. The one she’d earned just before she miscarried and lost her baby.

  She courted danger now, with this arrangement with Ezekiel. But if she held tightly to the reminder that pain and love were two sides of the same coin, she wouldn’t cross that line into heartbreak. Because she refused to give him her heart.

  But her body? Oh, that he could have.

  Meeting his unwavering gaze, she slowly set the glass of wine on the glass table behind her. She moved forward, circling around him and heading out of the room toward the luxurious master suite. A huge king-size bed dominated the middle of the room while a wall of windows granted a sprawling view of Vegas and the desert beyond. The small sitting area with two ornate chairs and a small glass table occupied one corner, and a dainty vanity filled the other. A closed door hid the cavernous and opulent bathroom with its double sinks, Jacuzzi tub and glass shower big enough to accommodate an entire sorority.

  Yet, as she spun around to face the door, nothing in the bedroom captured her attention like the man in the entrance. With one shoulder propped against the frame and his hands in his suit pants pockets, he silently watched her. Waited.

  They hadn’t discussed consummating their marriage; she’d avoided the conversation, unsure if it would be wise to go there with him. No, it wasn’t wise. But God, she wanted it.

  Even though she trembled with nerves and foolish excitement, she stared at him as she slowly dragged down the side zipper on her simple but elegant sleeveless gown. The white satin loosened, and she slid the skinny strap down one arm, then removed the other. Heart thudding almost painfully in her chest and her breath so loud it echoed in her head, she pushed the material down until it bunched at her hips. A small shimmy, and the dress flowed down her legs to pool around her feet.

  The urge to dive for the bed and hide beneath the covers rose strong and hard inside her, but she forced herself to stay still, clad only in a nude strapless bra, matching thong and sheer, lace-topped thigh-high stockings. Then, notching her chin up, she silently ordered her arms to remain by her side, her fingers to remain unclenched.

  She couldn’t do anything about the shiver that worked its way through her body though. Or the throbbing of her pulse at her neck. Or the gooseflesh that popped up along her arms.

  Or the moisture that even now gathered in her sex, no doubt drenching her barely-there panties. All he would have to do was lower that penetrating gaze down her torso and center it between her thighs to see the evidence of his affect on her.

  That knowledge both thrilled and unnerved her.

  She lifted her gaze from the solid wid
th of his chest, where she’d focused all of her attention while she’d performed her impromptu striptease. And, oh God, what she spied there.

  Raw, animalistic lust. Those green eyes burned bright with it. An answering coil tightened low in her belly, and she pressed a palm to the ache. His gaze dropped, and when it flicked back up to hers, she couldn’t contain the whimper that escaped her. So much heat. So much hunger.

  Had anyone ever looked at her as if she were their sustenance, sanity and survival?

  No. No one had. Not the few lovers she’d had.

  Not even Gavin.

  What did it say about her that Ezekiel owned her with that look? That if she’d harbored even the tiniest of doubts about giving herself to him, that needy, ravenous, necessary stare undid every snarled tangle of doubt?

  Slowly, he straightened, removing his hands from his pockets, and stalked forward, eliminating the distance between them. He didn’t stop until not even a breath could’ve slid between them.

  The wall of his solid chest brushed her nipples, sending arcs of sizzling pleasure from the tips to the clenching, empty flesh between her damp thighs. His muscular thighs pressed to hers, and against her belly... She shuddered, desire striking her middle like a lightning bolt. His thick, hard cock burrowed against her belly, and before she could think better of tempting the beast, she ground herself against his mouthwatering length. More than anything, she wanted him to possess every part of her.

  “Playing with fire, Ray?” One of his big hands gripped her hip. But not to control her. To jerk her closer. To roll those lean hips and give her more of what she’d just taken.

  Her teeth sank into her bottom lip, her lashes fluttering. But when his fingers dived into her hair, clenching the strands and tugging so pinpricks scattered across her scalp, she opened her eyes, meeting his. He didn’t handle her with kid gloves, didn’t treat her like this demure, sheltered socialite or a fragile girl. And God, she loved it. Wanted more.

  “I’m not playing,” she breathed, stroking her hands up his strong back and digging her nails into the dense muscle there. “No games between us.”

  “No games,” he repeated in that same grit-and-granite voice. “How novel an idea.” He lowered his head and nipped at her bottom lip. Then soothed the minute sting with a sweep of his tongue.

  She groaned, leaning her head back into his grasp.

  “You’ve showed me this pretty little body, almost making me come with just the sight of you. But I want the words, sweetheart. Tell me you want this—me—in your bed. In your body. Tell me...” He bent his head, pressing his forehead to hers. His breath pulsed against her lips, and she could almost taste the dark delight of his kiss. “Tell me you won’t regret this in the morning.”

  Rising on her toes, she grazed her mouth over his. Returned for a harder, wetter taste. His lips parted over hers, and their tongues tangled, curled, took. When she pulled free, their heated pants punctuated the air, resounded in her ears.

  “I want you. In my bed. Beside me. Over me. Inside me. This is my decision, Zeke. Eyes wide open. I’ll have no regrets about giving myself to you.” My body, but not my heart. She silently added that vow as a promise to herself and to him. He wanted no strings attached with their union, so when they divorced in a year, no emotional entanglements existed.

  Well, she wanted the same. She needed the same.

  His groan rolled out of him, and his fingers fisted in her hair again, tugging her head back. He slid his mouth over her jaw, down her neck and gently bit the tendon that ran along its length. She clawed at his back, arching into him. Craving more of that primal touch. As if reading her mind, he raked his teeth along her shoulder, retracing the path with the smooth glide of his lips.

  Desperation invaded her, and she slid her hands around his torso, attacking his shirt buttons. She’d released the top four when his mouth passed over the scar on her collarbone.

  Stiffening, she curled her fingers around the sides of his shirt, the air snagged in her throat. Every instinct in her screamed to jerk away from both his caress and the memories. But when the tip of his tongue traced the raised flesh, she closed her eyes and a half cry, half sigh escaped her throat. He didn’t pause in his ministrations, but his hold on her tightened, as if lending her his strength.

  The urge to recoil evaporated, replaced by the need to lean into him, press her cheek to his chest. Let him all the way in, past her heavily guarded secrets and into her heart. She ruthlessly squelched that longing under the bootheel of reality, but she did withdraw just a bit and dip her head to seek his mouth. Lose herself in the wildness of him.

  His palms cradled her face, taking while she gave and gave. A new urgency roiled within her, and she hurriedly finished unbuttoning his shirt and removing the offensive material from his shoulders and arms. Offensive because it barred her from touching all that glorious, taut skin.

  Once more she tore her mouth away from his, this time so she could watch her hands smooth over his broad shoulders and wide chest with something close to wonder. So much strength, so much power. And vulnerability, she mused, scraping her nails over his small, dark brown nipples. He shivered, his clasp on her face shifting to her hips.

  “Again,” he ordered, grinding his erection into her belly. “And use your teeth this time.”

  The echo of dominance in that order had flames licking at her. She could do nothing else but obey. Not because he’d demanded it...but because she wanted it.

  Lowering her head, she opened her mouth wide over the small, beaded tip, swirled a warm, wet caress around it, then raked her teeth on him. Gently biting and teasing. His rumbled curse pierced the air as a big hand cupped the back of her head and pressed her closer. Emboldened, she sucked and nipped, torturing both of them. She switched to the other tip, delivering the same caresses. By the time she drew on him one last time, fine tremors quaked through his big frame.

  “Payback, sweetheart.” He strode forward, forcing her to backpedal.

  When the backs of her knees hit the edge of the mattress, she sank to the bed, and he immediately dropped to his knees in front of her, wedging himself between her legs.

  Embarrassment flashed through her for a quick instant. In this vulnerable position, he had a clear shot of what he did to her. Her thong would hide nothing from him, and even now the cool air in the room kissed the dampness on her sex and high inside her thighs.

  But all thoughts of modesty shattered into dust as he scattered hard, burning kisses to her stomach, the tops of her sensitive breasts and the shadowed valley between. He cupped her flesh with both hands, squeezing and molding, and pleasure howled through her. Tilting her head back, Reagan closed her eyes, savoring his sure touch. She curled her fingers into the covers beneath her hips, seeking purchase in this lust-whipped storm.

  Peeling away the cups of her bra, he wasted no time tasting her just as she’d done him. His diabolical tongue curled around her nipple, stroking, sucking. Was it possible to be driven insane with pleasure? If so, the trip was more than halfway over for her.

  Unable to not touch him any longer, she gripped his head in her hands, pressing him to her, staring down at him as he tormented her with that beautiful, wicked mouth. It was erotic—almost too sexual to behold. But she couldn’t drag her gaze away.

  As he shifted to her neglected breast, he whisked the pad of his thumb over the aching, wet nipple, teasing it. His attention shifted from her quivering flesh up to her face, and their gazes locked. He didn’t release her from the visual entrapment as he pursed his lips and pulled her into his mouth. Kept her enthralled as he lapped at her before drawing so hard the tug reverberated in her sex.

  Too much. Too much.

  She closed her eyes, but that was a mistake, because the lack of sight only enhanced the sizzling sensations crackling along her nerve endings.

  With one last suck on her tip, he abandoned her breast
s and trailed a blazing path down her stomach, briefly pausing to dip into her navel with a heated stroke, then continuing down, down, oh God, down.

  His breath bathed her soaked flesh, and she tumbled back on the mattress, pressing the heels of her hands to her eyes. Instinct had her squeezing her thighs, but his palms prevented the motion. He spread her wider, and though she didn’t look down, she swore she could feel his gaze on her. The heat of it. The intensity of it.

  Pushing herself up, she balanced her weight on her elbows. Stared down her body as he hooked his fingers in the thin band of her panties and drew the scrap of material down her legs. Leaving her bare, exposed and completely vulnerable. But the fierce, undiluted hunger darkening his face banished those emotions. How could she feel vulnerable when he focused on her as if she were his sole purpose of existing in this moment? No, no. She didn’t feel weak, she felt...empowered.

  He wanted her just as much as she wanted him.

  His thumb stroked between her folds, and she glimpsed how it glistened with the proof of her desire. Lifting his gaze to hers, Ezekiel brought his thumb to his mouth and licked it clean. If possible, his magnificent features tightened further, and an almost animalistic sound rumbled from him. Then he put his mouth on her.

  A keening wail tore free from her throat as he dived into her sex. His tongue licked the same path his thumb had taken. Again and again, lapping at her. Devouring her. Destroying her. His hum of pleasure vibrated against her sensitive, swollen flesh, and she writhed beneath him. He left no part of her undiscovered, staking his claim on her as thoroughly as if he’d branded her. His lips closed around the bundle of nerves at the top of her sex, and he carefully drew on her, his tongue swirling, rubbing and teasing.