by JC Harroway
I pull back and she collapses against the wall, fire in her eyes, as if she’s forgotten this was her idea. ‘Don’t stop.’
I smile, nowhere near done with her. ‘I have no intention, gorgeous.’ I drop to my knees and her thighs tremble.
I hold my breath, the burn in my throat fiercer than it should be. I want to taste her more than I want my next heartbeat. More than I’ve wanted anything in a long, long time.
My hands bracket her narrow hips, my stare locked on the sight before me. Her breath hitches, her chest expanding as she too holds her breath.
‘Open. I want to go down on you. I want you to come watching me.’ Fuck, my voice is sandpaper-rough—this game with Mia is ten times as rewarding as my usual sexual encounters. Because her eyes tell me she wants everything I can give her, but something in her head holds her back.
She obeys, but when I look up the expected hint of rebellion is there in her eyes. We’re similar, Mia and I, I suspect. Neither of us keen to perform to an expected societal role.
And here we don’t have to. Just two people, enjoying pleasure. Free to walk away afterwards, expectations intact.
I lean in, pressing the flat of my tongue against her and locating her pouty clit.
‘Oh...’ Her hands re-find my hair and her hips shunt backwards, withdrawing. But I follow, and now she has nowhere else to go, trapped between my insistent mouth and the wall.
From between her legs I watch every reaction, every cry, every flush. Her hips jerk restlessly in my hands. She scrunches her eyes closed, her head falling back against the wall with a thud, and her hands cling to my hair as if I’m the only thing between her and the floor.
Fresh blood pounds in my groin and roars in my head. I smile as all the while my tongue alternately works her clit and plunges inside. I love that she’s not afraid to watch me go down on her. The challenge sparking in her amber stare, as if she can take anything I can dish out, spurs me on. I delay my own need a while longer, desperate now to make her come like this, pressed against the wall, watching me work her to orgasm with my mouth.
I don’t have to wait long. With a final whimper, some unintelligible curse, her face contorts, jaw slack as she comes. Her stare latches to mine until the last, blissful seconds when she loses some inner battle and her head once again falls back against the wall.
Perfect.
Blood pounding, temperature soaring and muscles twitching, I’m all action. I kiss her while I shrug off my jeans and heel off my shoes. If she needs recovery time, she’s not going to get it. She can ball me out while she’s coming again. I encourage her towards the bed, pausing to scoop off my socks and fish out the condoms from my jeans pocket.
I tear my mouth away from hers. ‘Get on the bed. All fours.’
She follows my curt orders while I cover myself. My pulse pounds in my head at her position of relative vulnerability on the bed.
My hand traces the bumps of her spine and I caress both smooth cheeks while I stare at the place between them, a place I’m soon to get lost inside.
‘Kit, hurry...’ Her voice is a whimper.
My head swims and my knees practically buckle. I position myself at her entrance, the tip of my cock nestled in her heat. I grit my teeth, the pleasure so intense, the urge to rush this almost suffocating me. But Mia is worth savouring. I bite my lip, the metallic tang of blood helping me find the control I need.
With my hands once again encasing her rounded hips, I slide inside, just an inch.
Mia’s fingers curl into the sheets. My brain overrides every muscle in my body as I hold myself perfectly still. ‘Am I hurting you?’ That’s not my kink, either.
‘No...no, don’t stop.’ Her chest works hard with the soft pants she’s emitting.
Only a stampede of wild horses bursting into the room could stop me now. I ease myself inside the hot clasp of her until I’m buried to the hilt. My eyes roll, but not before she writhes her fantastic arse and rears her head up, the wildness of her dark hair flicking down her back towards me.
How did I get so lucky? Tomorrow I’ll thank Reid and Drake.
While I give her a second to grow accustomed to me buried deep inside, and myself a second to will away the tingles shooting down my length, I reach out and stroke her hair, loving the contrast of its rich colour to the golden skin of her back. I want to grip the thick mass of it, to twist it around my wrist and hold firm while I pound into her.
I close my eyes, engulfed by her...her tight heat clamped around my cock, her feminine scent clinging to my skin, invading my nostrils, and her wild, silky hair flowing through my fingers. I slam my eyes open, shaking the stupid poetic shit from my head. But Mia is impatient. She shunts her hips back onto me with a small mewl.
I abandon her hair to caress her arse as I begin thrusting. She’s perfect. She’s given me everything I wanted, conceded to my whim and embraced the unexpected sexual tension raging between us.
Why was I worried? As long as she’s as pragmatic when this ends, I’m home free.
As I pound her harder, guided by her cries and gasped encouragement, I clasp one of her shoulders for purchase. Her moans grow choppier with every thrust even as my brain shuts down to everything but the fire building at the base of my spine.
But I want more. Want her with me. This sexy, ballsy, beautiful woman. I bend over her, my free hand delving between her legs to locate her clit once more. She’s drenched, coating my fingers. My cock swells and she cries out as I strum the swollen bundle of nerves back to life.
‘No... I can’t...’ she says, but she grips my cock tighter. And I won’t take no for an answer.
‘You will.’
She braces her weight on one arm and her fingers join mine, each of us greedy for the slip and slide of pleasuring Mia.
But then it’s just my fingers, because she’s coming again, her hands clawing the bedclothes and her muscles clutching me so tight I let go and join her. With her wails still sounding in my head, fire shoots down my length and I come, pumping into her and collapsing my weight onto her back, finally spent.
We lie in a sweaty, panting, tangled heap for a few seconds until I slip from her and dispense with the condom.
My chest burns, but it’s the good kind of burn, the endorphin-associated high of extreme exertion. I wait for the icy revulsion to return, to dampen the rush—the usual loathing that I’ve just cheated on Laura. It’s there but distant enough to ignore after a few harsh swallows.
Mia stirs beside me. I throw my arm around her waist, stilling her escape. If she leaves now, it might return full force. I slide my hand to her arse, caressing the pale cheek as my still engorged cock flicks on my thigh.
‘I’m not done. Give me five minutes.’ Fuck, after that I might need ten.
She groans, burying her face in the bed linens, but I catch her hint of a smile, which fills my lungs with the freshest cool mountain air.
It’s three a.m. by the time we’re too exhausted to wring any more pleasure from each other. I’m in a semi-slumberous state, my body sated and mind blank, when she crawls from the bed and pads into the bathroom. Two minutes later the door clicking closed informs me not only isn’t she coming back to bed, but she’s left.
Without so much as a goodbye.
I prop myself up on my elbows and scan the room for confirmation. But no, her coat and bag are gone.
Well, that’s a new one on me.
I wait for the flood of lightness in my head heralding relief, but instead I’m greeted with a gnawing sensation in the pit of my gut I don’t want to examine too closely. I exhale, scrub at my haphazard hair and stretch, certain it will pass. I shower, dress and head home through quiet, darkened streets to my even quieter, darker home.
CHAPTER FIVE
Mia
A WET SNOUT and a doggy whine greet me as I open the door and peer gingerly inside Kit
’s darkened house. I’m not proud that I’m resorting to hunting him down at his swanky Chelsea address, but he has his side of the bargain to uphold.
I stroke the dog, a beautiful, sleek Weimaraner with soulful eyes and the happiest tail I’ve ever come across, my chuckle of delight banishing any reservations I might have had for inviting myself into Kit’s domain.
Dogs are certainly Mia’s best friends. I drop to a crouch, my throat hot and achy, and give rein to my homesickness, my mind back in New Zealand with my family’s elderly Labrador, Bess, as I bury my face in his wriggling neck. A quick check of his collar and we’re on first-name terms.
Aside from the clatter of Bob’s claws on the hardwood flooring and my joyful sniffling, the house is silent and shrouded in relative darkness. I drop the key Reid gave me onto the hall table, lean my heavy backpack of equipment against the wall and move into the kitchen, relieved to see Bob has fresh water in his bowl.
Bob laps at the water as if showing me he’s perfectly well cared for. I lean against the immaculate, clutter-free bench top, my muscles restless. It’s midday. Like me, this dog has way too much energy to be cooped up inside. And it’s London. Why does Kit need a dog like this in the city? I’m one misdemeanour from calling the RSPCA when I spy the framed photo on the wall in the living space.
The electrical signals to my heart short out as if the wiring is faulty.
A beaming Kit and a beautiful blonde woman sandwich a puppy version of Bob. It’s Kit’s smile that slays me the deepest, the knife sliding through my vital organs until I release the hushed gasp trapped in my chest. It’s exactly as I suspected—his genuine, unrestrained smile changes his face completely, taking him from cruelly handsome to weep-worthy, dashing and a hundred other clichés. I stare, marvelling at the way happiness brightens his eyes, deepens the grooves that bracket his sensual mouth and lends his entire face a playfulness that makes me smile myself. But it’s so alien I want to rush to find him and check I have the right address. I wonder how long it’s been since he wore that smile. Perhaps this woman here, his dead wife, was the only one ever to inspire such dazzling happiness.
My eyes start to burn looking at the impossibly beautiful trio, their joy pouring from the photographic paper. I look away, acid in my throat and my shoulders around my ears.
Intruder.
I shouldn’t have come here. If he’d wanted me in his home, he’d have brought me here in the early hours of this morning when he sought me out at four minutes past midnight.
For incredible sex.
I flush hot at the erotic memories—I was correct about the sheet-clawing ride of my life—reminding myself I don’t have to belong here. I’m here because Kit and I have a deal.
But then I remember his expression while he filled my brother’s doorstep—unmistakable fire in his eyes, yes. But something darker too. Some demon lurking. Pain...? Regret...?
Of course, his anniversary must have brought up difficult memories. So he had ghosts to banish—we all have motivating factors. The sex should be out of our systems so we can move on.
I kept my side of the bargain, despite being unprepared for the dark intensity of what we did last night. Yes, I’d been a willing accomplice to the best sex of my life. But, somehow, I’d expected less. Some rushed fumbling, a perfectly adequate orgasm and a lift home.
Something forgettable.
Liar.
You know we’re going to be good together...
I knew. I wince, the niggle of jealousy at seeing Kit with his wife irrational but strong enough to linger. For the hundredth time I wonder what I’m doing here. A place I definitely don’t belong...
Kit Faulkner, that’s what—an unexpected man on multiple levels.
I hadn’t expected the irresistible thrill at the bite of command in his gruff voice, or the searing eye contact as he pressed me against the wall and licked at me, or the ruthless way he dragged another climax from my over-stimulated, weaker-than-I-thought body.
But last night was simply really good sex. He’d needed it. I’d needed it. And now it’s over.
My stare wanders to more informal snaps on the contemporary bookcase and then to one of Kit, Drake and Reid together. It’s a few years old, each brother younger and alike enough in looks to show the family resemblance. Reid and Kit bracket Drake, who wears army dress uniform. All three point similar handsome smiles at the camera.
I swallow hard, hoping to ease the burn behind my sternum. I’m standing in Kit’s beautiful home, looking at his family photos while I stroke his beautiful dog. Kit, his life, the trappings on display, scream roots. Family ties. The permanence of a pet to love. A place to come back to, to belong. Just like Will has with Josh. Just like Kit must have had with his wife.
I fill the empty space in my chest with air, reminding myself I have everything I need. Everything I want.
Bob nudges my hand and I suck in a calming breath in the here and now, refocused on my mission—Kit had his way last night, and I’m determined to get mine today.
‘Go on, then,’ I say to my companion.
Bob understands me, clever dog. I follow him down the hallway. My hand finds the light switch as I push open the door to what I’m guessing is a bedroom.
I was fired up enough when I lugged my backpack of filming equipment here on the tube, even before I discovered poor, neglected Bob. Just because we shagged a four-race marathon last night, there’s no excuse for Kit’s lazy-arsed antics.
Bob sits obediently beside the occupied bed, whining, his tail swishing across the hardwood.
I know the feeling. The occupant has let us both down. I move to the floor-to-ceiling drapes, dragging them open to let in the gloriously sunny day, already half wasted. There’s a groan from the bed and the mound under the duvet reconfigures itself. I plop down at the foot of the bed and scratch the top of Bob’s silky head.
Another doggy whimper.
Kit’s arm shoots out, patting the air as he searches, presumably for his hound.
An incoherent mumble.
More tossing and turning.
The duvet slips to his waist.
I freeze while my lady parts clench viciously. My mouth dries as I trace his back muscles with my greedy eyes. Part of me craves a repeat of last night, even though I still feel him between my legs when I walk. But, as good as the sex was, it’s done. We’ve scratched that itch. Time to keep moving forward. Time for work.
Still, I indulge my stare, taking in the golden skin covering Kit’s sculpted shoulders, the dimples at the top of what I know to be his superbly muscular arse and the dark hair covering the strong arm pillowing his head.
My fingers tap the bedclothes, restless to grab my camera and photograph his male beauty. I’ve been addicted to visually capturing the world around me since a sixteen-year-old Will saved up all his money from his summer job to buy me a camera for my fifteenth birthday. Even as a teen, my brother knew me better than I knew myself; saw something in me others had failed to pick up—that the reckless, rebellious girl was hurting and needed an outside focus beyond her own head, her own demons.
Bob whines again, and I clear my tight throat. ‘Why would you name such a sleek and regal creature as this Bob?’
Kit leans up on his elbows, his back clenched to show me all those yummy muscles my artist’s eye longs to immortalise in digital form, all disarrayed bed hair and sexy sleepiness. I press my thighs together, the resultant twinge reminding me of the multiple orgasms I received a mere eleven hours ago. Orgasms that should have cured me of this distraction.
Tearing my mind from the possibility of a repeat, I pre-empt his likely question. ‘Reid gave me your key and your address. He said skipping work wasn’t that unusual for you. But I know you’re not lazing in bed because you’re welching on our deal. I have my business to run, even if you don’t care about yours.’
Bob rests his
chin on my knee as if he senses the tension coiling between Kit and me.
‘Fuck.’ Kit plops back on the pillows and scrubs at his haphazard hair. ‘What time is it?’
‘Just before midday.’ I focus on Bob, a distraction from thoughts of Kit naked under the duvet. ‘Has this poor creature been out for a toilet stop?’ First things first. I can berate Kit once Bob’s needs are met.
He nods. ‘Eight o’clock. I must have dozed back off.’
I’m not surprised. I assumed he would stay at the hotel after I’d left. His extreme stamina and short recovery time kept us both up until three a.m. We used all his condom stash and one of mine.
I dive right into the reason I’m here, keeping my own tricky libido on track. ‘So, I’ve looked at the program Bounty Events provides through Off the Guidebook. I want to do a recon today, visit one of the venues, perhaps do a little filming if the light is good.’ I stand, eager to start work. Bob wags his tail.
Yes, it is walk time.
To Kit I say, ‘Up and at ’em.’ My knee nudges his foot.
Kit mumbles something unintelligible and then throws off the duvet and strides bare-arse naked with a full morning glory to what I assume is an en-suite bathroom.
I roll my eyes at Bob. ‘At least he had the class to close the door.’
With a flush and some running water he’s back, drying his hands on a towel and staring from the doorway. My nipples chafe on my shirt—he does that so well. Brooding. Intense.
‘You left. Last night.’ Clipped. Pissy. And completely unapologetic for his nakedness.
I fight the urge to stare at his erection. I don’t need to look. I remember his prowess in minute detail. He’s waiting for my response, so I shrug. What did he expect? The sex was over...eventually. Did he think I’d want to snuggle, that I’d come over all clingy?