The Complete Rixton Falls Series

by Winter Renshaw

  “Pathetic,” I say.

  “I know. I wish I hadn’t fallen so quickly. It was all so new and exciting, and he—”

  “Not you. Him. It’s pathetic that a man would walk all over the very woman who loves him.” My voice is a disgusted growl. “He’s not worth your tears.”

  “Who said I cried over him?”

  “I just assumed. That’s what women do, right? They cry. I have three sisters. Believe me, I know what happens when your little sequined hearts get broken.”

  “Little sequined hearts? Please, Derek, go on. I love it when you speak asshole to me.”

  “I was trying to be cute.”

  “Not working. Try harder.” Serena rolls her beautiful eyes and places her beer on a coaster beside her. “Anyway, for the record, counselor, I didn’t cry over Keir. I was hurt. I was angry. I was bitter. I was humiliated. I cried over a lot of things. But I didn’t cry over him.”

  “I stand corrected. Please forgive my assumption, Ms. Randall.” I slip my arm along the back of the sofa, my fingertips inches from her delicate shoulder. The beer is coursing through me already, making me warm and relaxed, comfortable and planted.

  “I cried over the things they were writing about me . . . over lost friendships . . .” She looks away, her hand covering half of her mouth. “Betrayal is . . .”

  “I know all about betrayal.”

  “Then I don’t have to explain anything. You get it.”

  “I do.”

  “Anyway, can we talk about something else?” She blinks rapidly and turns to face me.

  “Why don’t you rattle off another little story about the Queen Mother?”

  Serena laughs. “God, you must’ve thought I was the biggest jerk. And I’m sorry for yelling at you for manhandling the tapestry. It’s a reproduction anyway. No one in their right mind would use an original Auclair to cover a parlor window.”

  “You were having a rough time,” I say. “You’re a saint compared to some of the assholes I deal with on a regular basis.”

  She reaches for her drink, taking three modest sips until it’s gone, and rises, her gaze toward the kitchen.

  “Going for another?” I ask.

  “I’m calling it a night, counselor.”

  A wave of disappointment sweeps through me, and I mentally slap my idiotic monkey brain for giving two shits.

  Serena takes a step my way, attempting to squeeze between my leg and the coffee table, only on her second step, she trips over my foot. Instinctively, I reach for her, cupping my hands under her arms.

  And spilling my beer down her shirt in the process.

  “Ah, shit. I’m sorry.” I rise, my hands still on her, and glance down at her see-through blouse. Her nipples are pointed, protruding through what appears to be a lace bra, and she wastes little time covering up.

  My cock pulses, but I turn on my heel and retrieve a towel from a kitchen drawer before she has time to notice any bulge. By the time I return, she’s already unbuttoning her top, the fabric clinging to her creamy skin.

  I had her the towel and spot the sopping wet strands of hair hanging down her back.

  “Got your hair too.” I gather her red locks into my hand. “You’re going to need a shower.”

  She eyes the hall that leads to Haven’s area. “I don’t want to wake her.”

  “Use mine.”

  “I thought your area was off limits.” Her head tilts, eyes squinting.

  “I’ll make an exception. Just for tonight. Since I just dumped my Heineken all over your fancy shirt.”

  “Appreciated. You going to do my laundry too?” She steps toward my door, and I follow, imagining the way the beer might taste against her milky white flesh, the way her budding nipples might feel against my tongue.

  My heart races, thundering in my chest as we walk to my room, and I find myself wishing we were making this trek to my room for other reasons.

  I pop the light on inside the master bath and point her toward the tiled shower. Grabbing a towel from the linen closet, I place it on the edge of the counter.

  “Make yourself at home.” I try and duck out quickly. If I stick around too much longer, my mind will need a shower of its own.

  “Wait,” she calls.

  When I turn around, her blouse is at her feet, and she’s standing before me in a sheer lace bra and skin-tight leggings.

  I swear to God, if I said a word right now, it’d come out sounding like some squeaky, prepubescent boy, so instead, I lift my brows.

  “I need a washcloth. And do you have conditioner? I only see shampoo in here.” She chews on her bottom lip. “Sorry. It’s just if I’m going to take a proper shower . . .”

  Yanking the door of the linen closet, I fish out a washcloth and toss it her way. I can’t take another step toward her or I’ll risk losing all control. A beautiful girl, soaked in beer, standing in a sheer bra, in my bathroom, makes me feel like a junkie facing his demons with zero self-control.

  “I’ll grab your conditioner.” I make a beeline for the door, my heart beating in my ears, and retrieve a purple bottle of conditioner out of a cosmetics pouch in the guestroom. Lifting it to my nose, I take a curious whiff and smile when the sweet scents of citrus and lavender fill my lungs.

  When I return to the bathroom, she’s leaning against the counter, her naked body wrapped in a towel and the shower running. Steam fills the room.

  “Took you long enough.” She reaches for the bottle, winking, her free hand gripping the towel so it doesn’t slip. “Thanks.”

  I’m in a daze, trying my hardest not to make the very moves I’m dying to make. I close the bathroom door, tug my shirt off, and step into a pair of pajama pants before crawling under the covers of my bed and flipping the TV to ESPN. Highlight reels are the closest thing I’m going to get to a cold shower.

  Ten minutes later, the sound of running water stops. A little while later, she steps out from my bathroom in a cloud of steam, her slick, wet hair combed straight and her towel wrapped tight enough to lift her cleavage into a flattering position.

  “Feel better?” I ask, slipping my hands behind my head. I’m shirtless, the covers only pulled up to my waist because two can play this game.

  Also, I may or may not have pumped out several dozen push-ups and sit-ups a minute ago.

  “Do you always sleep shirtless?” She smirks as her eyes scan my room, and I’m sent into a minor state of panic until I remember that all my ‘toys’ are picked up and in their rightful places. Serena struts past, stopping to give me a second glance.

  “Every night.”

  “You don’t get cold?”

  “What’s the point of this conversation?” I pretend to yawn. “Or are you just looking for an excuse to gawk?”

  “That’s presumptive, don’t you think?” Her eyes come alive against the glow of the TV in my dark room. “And arrogant.”

  “Not at all.” I sit up, reaching for the remote to mute an untimely Viagra commercial. “I’ve been around enough women to know how you operate. You drop subtle clues, hoping we pick up on them. But deep down, every woman expects every man to read her mind because none of you want to make the first move, and it’s a hell of a lot easier for you to parade around in next to nothing than it is to come out and say you want to be bent over the foot of the bed and railed until you can’t walk straight.”

  Serena’s lips curl, and she snorts. “Yes, every woman wants nothing more than to be railed.”

  Climbing out of bed, I move toward Serena, and I feel immense satisfaction when I catch her taking quick breaths. She swallows audibly and lifts her chin until her gaze settles on mine.

  “You want me, Serena,” I say. “And I’m not going to say I don’t feel the same. But I told you, this is not going to happen.”

  The soapy scent of her skin permeates the air around us, filling each inhalation I take. I lick my lips, my tongue aching to explore every perfect inch of Serena Randall and mourning the seconds that pass without so muc
h as a taste.

  If she were any other woman, I’d have enjoyed her by now. I’d have experienced all there is to experience. I’d have had my fill of her and left her satisfied and longing for more, and I’d send her packing with an understanding that there could never be more.

  “We’re both adults,” she says, her voice a faded whisper. “We can do whatever we want to do.”

  “I’m your conservator. I can’t be sleeping with you and managing your trust at the same time. Huge conflict of interest, Serena. Huge.” The frustration in my voice is only matched by the frustration in my throbbing cock. “There are professional ramifications that accompany attorney-client sexual relations.”

  Her hand lifts, slowly, tenderly, until her palm cups the underside of my jaw. Our stares hold, and she exhales.

  “I don’t want what you think I want,” she says. “That’s what this is really about. Blame your professional ethics all you want, but deep down, you’re terrified that I’m going to expect something from you that you won’t be able to give me. And you couldn’t be more wrong.”

  “Then what do you want?”

  “I want to have fun.” Serena shrugs. “I want to feel desired. I want to forget the last eleven weeks of my life, even if it’s only for an hour. I need a distraction, Derek. A sweet escape.”

  “Do you know how many times I’ve heard that?” I sneer. “Every woman says she just wants to have fun.”

  “Women lie sometimes. But I don’t. I’m as brutally honest as they come.”

  I smirk, silently agreeing. At least she’s right about one thing.

  Her hand drops from my face, leaving a cold spot in its place.

  “I don’t want to fall in love again,” she says with a no-nonsense shrug. “Love hurts. Sex feels good.”

  “The very words I live by.”

  “All the more reason you should just give in to what you want.” Serena studies me.

  “You’re going to regret this,” I say.

  “I promise I won’t.”

  I move closer, slipping my hand along her neck, my thumb lifting the tender spot below her chin until our mouths are perfectly aligned.

  “If this goes to shit . . . if this doesn’t end well,” I say, “I’m holding you responsible.”

  “Fair enough.”

  “And if you want nothing to do with me by the time we’re finished,” I add, “don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  Chapter 16

  Serena

  His lips crush mine, and I’m weightless. Electricity radiates from my fingers to my toes, and my fingers lift to his thick, dark hair. Pulling. Tugging. His body presses against mine, and I melt.

  Suddenly, I’m freezing, yet my body’s on fire. My towel is gathered at my feet, my bare breasts pressed against Derek’s warm chest.

  His lips command mine, his fingertips traveling the nape of my neck and burying in my wet hair.

  My sex pulses for him, and I feel a slickness between my thighs. His left hand glides down my naked body, gently caressing my curves and snaking around my hip, cupping my ass. He pulls me against him, harder, his mouth hot and needy against mine.

  I drink him in with every inhalation. The smell of his soap wafts off my steamy skin and invades my lungs, and the woodsy smell of his heated skin fills my nostrils.

  “Fuck, you know how to kiss a man,” he growls, pressing his hips against mine until the outline of his throbbing cock brushes against me in just the right spot.

  My patience wears thin, my breath escapes me, and I can hardly think straight when he hoists me up against him, lifting me and depositing me in the center of his bed.

  Surrounded by tangled bed linens, my arms reach for him, my body craving his anchoring weight. He crawls over me, the bed shifting beneath us, and lowers his lips to mine once again. My lips tingle with each kiss, each graze of our tongues and each dance of our mouths. When he moves to my neck, a trail of peppered kisses brings new life with each breath. I’m lifted higher, further away from reality, to a place that only exists in daydreams—a place meant for those brave enough to find it.

  My fingers sift through his soft, dark hair as his mouth travels lower. He works his way from my neck to the hollow between my breasts, stopping to give equal, undivided attention to my waking nipples. His tongue flicks my sensitive buds before abandoning them for my belly.

  And he goes lower still.

  His hands glide along my inner thighs, and my stomach caves with his touch. Teasing kisses inches from my wetness precede the slicking of his finger between my seam.

  I swallow a long breath and exhale with the faintest moan, biting away a smile.

  It’s only when his tongue grazes my folds does my body convulse with the tease of the orgasm to come.

  Derek groans against my sex, his tongue lapping and swirling as his hands press my thighs as wide as they’ll go.

  “Relax,” he whispers, his breath a sweet heat against my shaking inner thighs.

  My head sinks into the center of the bed, and I breathe deeply, my hands cupping my swollen breasts as I try to keep my hips from bucking with each thrust of his tongue.

  Derek takes his time, enjoying my taste and refusing to rush. He isn’t in a hurry. He isn’t biding time until his cock is shoved deep down my throat. My pleasure is just as much his.

  “You’re so fucking sweet,” he moans between the languid strokes of his tongue, pulling my clit into his mouth and swirling his tongue softly. “I could devour you for days.”

  My heart thrums wildly in my chest. I could let him consume me for days. But the ripples overcoming my body threaten to bring this evening to a tragically premature stop.

  “Derek,” I whisper, sitting up. I reach for him, my hand hooking around his solid bicep, and pull him away from my pussy. “I want to taste you now . . .”

  His lips twitch into a smile, and my gaze travels to the outline bulging from his pants. Greedy with lust, I dip a hand under his waistband and retrieve his throbbing cock. Moving to my knees, I pump his length and bring my mouth to his tip, tracing my lips with his hardness.

  I wrap my mouth around him, his girth filling everything I have. A bead of pre-cum salts my tongue, and I swallow it with a satisfied smile. With my mouth wetting his shaft and my tongue swirling his head, he delivers a throaty moan.

  Derek’s hand gathers my wet hair into a ponytail, pulling it away from my face and controlling our rhythm. His hips rock as he pumps himself into my hot mouth, and the faint sound of my name leaves his lips by way of moaned whispers.

  When he pulls himself from my lips, he climbs over the top of me, his cock slick and wet and pressed against my thighs.

  So close.

  I widen my hips, an invitation of sorts, and slip my arms beneath his. My hands rest on his lower back and I hastily press him into me.

  Derek moves lower, taking a nipple between his teeth and letting it go before climbing off the bed and heading to the bathroom. He returns seconds later, a gold foil packet resting between his fingers, and climbs over me again.

  Pumping his cock with one hand, he tears the packet between his teeth, spitting the foil aside and sheathing himself.

  His eyes never leave mine as his fingers plunge between my folds.

  “God, I love what I do to you,” he sighs. His body hovers inches over mine, and my breath hitches in anticipation. With his cock in his grip, he drags the head between my folds. “And look what you do to me.”

  I smile, my bottom lip half-bitten.

  “You sure you want to do this?” he asks.

  My grin fades.

  Now he’s just screwing with me. Torturing me. Dragging this out on purpose.

  “Shut up and fuck me already, counselor.” My hands press against his angled jaw, and I lift my mouth to his, silencing whatever smart-alecky remark he was planning to give me. My hips wiggle beneath him, and I purposely brush myself against his protruding cock.

  My words are crass. Impatient. Needy.

 
And I don’t care.

  Derek slips inside me with one owning thrust, aided by my arousal. His body weighs over mine, pressing me down. I’m pinned beneath him. Warm. Safe. Excited.

  His pace is slow at first, but within seconds, it becomes hurried. Merciless.

  I’m in trouble for wanting him, for lusting over the one man I shouldn’t, and this is my delicious punishment.

  Slick thrusts combine with friction, his cock filling me, the pressure just right. His smooth, muscled chest glides over mine, inviting my fingers to trace the ripples of his abs. I can’t get enough of touching Derek. His body is a dream. His gaze makes me melt. His resolve and determination not to fuck me were merely a minor obstacle.

  I always knew it would be worth it. I knew it would be this amazing.

  Our eyes lock in the dark, his thrusts demanding and relentless. If this is being “railed,” I’ll let him rail me any day of the week.

  There’s no love or tenderness in the way Derek fucks. But that’s the way it should be. This is sex and only sex.

  It’s exactly what I wanted.

  I can’t complain. And I won’t.

  I never asked for hearts and flowers.

  All I asked for was his body over mine.

  A sweet distraction from a brutal reality.

  Derek grips my hips and rolls us over. Straddling his cock, my knees buried in the bed sheets, I rock and grind, watching his eyes claim every inch of my body. His hands travel to my breasts, cupping, teasing and toying as I bounce. I relax my neck, letting my hair fall down my shoulders in a slow cascade, the small of my back arching with each grind.

  His left hand trails down my side, slipping around my hip until his thumb is pressed against my clit. Quick circles with just enough pressure bring me closer to the edge, to the point of no return.

  To the end of this night.

  I buck harder, my hair whipping across my shoulders with each move, and his hips meet mine thrust for thrust until we’re both enveloped in our own sweet releases.

  I collapse on him, barely able to move and greedily not wanting to.

  My hair is half-dry now, a wavy, sticky mess along my neck and shoulders. I lift my gaze to Derek’s, our mouths in limbo mere inches apart. We both smile, drunk off sex, and he sweeps the hair from my face.