Again and again he teased, tortured, until I was writhing with need, aching with it, screaming between gritted teeth as my hips flexed, fighting to find the release on his mouth.
He never gave it to me.
Instead, he stood up. “Touch yourself,” he commanded. “Keep yourself on the edge, but don’t come.”
I obeyed, putting my two middle fingers to my clit and circling gently, just the right pressure, just the right speed.
Meanwhile, Seven was making torturously slow work of stripping for me. He took his time, shrugging out of his suit jacket, making a great show of folding it and setting it neatly aside.
“Hurry the fuck up, Seven,” I growled. “I need you.”
He just smiled, that wild, arrogant grin that had won me from the first day. “Don’t you dare come until I’m inside you.” He was undoing his cufflinks, putting them in his pocket, then freeing each button of his shirt one by one, slowly.
“I won’t,” I breathed. “But hurry up, please.”
He set the shirt aside after folding that too. I was at my breaking point, now, stretched taut, a wire about to snap, my sex superheated and quivering, clenching around nothing as I fought back the climax, slowing my circling touch while greedily watching him shrug out of his tank top undershirt, and then finally slide his belt out of the loops, lower the slacks and fold them. Set them aside on the pile of his clothing. He stood there, then, in just a pair of gray boxer briefs that could not contain the engorged enormity of his cock.
“Off,” I snarled, “Take—them—off.”
He just laughed. “You’re close, aren’t you?”
“If I didn’t know you’d keep me on the edge for another half an hour as punishment, I’d have already come.”
He hooked his thumbs in the elastic, but didn’t pull them off yet. “Pull your legs up, spread them for me. I want to see your pretty little pussy. Is it wet for me, Autumn?”
I opened myself to his gaze. “I don’t know. Is it?”
He licked his lips, an almost comical gesture of desire. “So wet for me. It’s glistening.”
I slid two fingers inside myself, pulled them out and showed them to him—they were coated. “Look. All for you.”
He knelt over me and took those two fingers in his mouth. Groaned at the taste of them. “Delicious.” He snarled. “Fuck, I need to taste you. Just once more. And then…oh baby, and then…”
He trailed off as he lay between my thighs and devoured me, hungrily, eagerly, and now I couldn’t help but topple toward the edge.
“Seven, oh god,” I gasped. “I’m—I can’t stop it. I can’t hold it back.”
“Don’t come,” he breathed, his words felt on my sex as much as heard. “Not yet.”
“Then you have to stop. You—oh god, oh god, you have to stop.” I was seconds from coming. “I’m so fucking—so fucking close, Seven.”
He crawled up over me and pressed against me, as if to slide into me.
I could only laugh as I shoved at his underwear. “Gotta take these off first, big guy.”
He growled, yanked them off and threw them across the room to hit the wall with a thud, then a soft plop as they hit the floor.
Now, finally, fuck, thank god, finally he was naked with me, bare against me. We hadn’t been bare together since that day on the beach, using a condom every time along with my birth control—and then only the condom after I’d stopped—unbeknownst to Seven.
Now, we were moments from what we’d both wanted for so long.
His eyes met mine, and I grasped him in my fingers, brushed him against my seam. There were no words needed, then, none but the unspoken I love you between us.
“Now, Seven,” I breathed. “Now, my love.”
He curled a hand under my head, bracing his weight with the other, and pressed down to kiss me. I guided him into me, and we moved together, in unison, to fill me with his length. I was split open by him, and as with every time we were together, I was left breathless by the way he fit inside me, the way he filled me, stretched me. I ached with him, and my voice rose in a plaintive wail as he pushed deeper, and deeper, until he bottomed out inside me, hip bones bumping against mine, kiss devouring and deepening as we united.
“Oh my god, Autumn. I’ve fantasized about this since the day on the beach,” he murmured.
“Me too.”
He moved, then, unable to hold still. “Autumn, I want to make this last…”
I palmed his buttocks and pulled him against me. “Just…fuck, Seven, don’t hold back. Give me everything you’ve got. I fucking—I love you, Seven, all of you, always. I love you rough, I love you wild, I love you hard. I love it when you lose control, when you can’t…oh god, that feels so good—when you can’t help it but fuck me as hard as you can.”
He groaned, losing the war against his innate desire to protect me, to be gentle with the woman he loved and cherished. I treasured that instinct of his, but I wanted the beast inside him to let loose.
I flexed against him, legs hooked around his waist to lever up into his thrusts, and I bit his lip and sucked, growled in his ear, and I knew the growl was what got him, because nothing turned him on so much as when I got wild myself and acted the animal.
He was still thrusting with slow measured movements, plunging into me at a controlled pace. But when I growled in his ear and bit his lip and started pushing up against him harder, faster, he gave in with a primal snarl.
“I wanted to…I wanted to take my time with you, Autumn. Make this last.”
“How about I promise that you can take your time next time? And the time after that? How about…” I paused to growl, to gasp. “How about you get to make love to me like this, bare, every time, all the time, as much as you want, until I’m pregnant? And after I’m pregnant, you get to keep fucking me bare, just like this, until I’m too pregnant to fuck anymore.”
He slowed, pulling up to look at me. “Holy shit.”
“That’s months…and…months and…months of fucking me…bare…” I thrust up against him in time with my words. “Just…like…this.”
He growled wordlessly, then, and gave me the beast of him, the wild primal mad frenzy, his thrusts rough and hard even as his kisses remained soft and delicate and questing. The juxtaposition of that, hard rough thrusts of his cock inside me against the slow tender lovemaking of his beautiful dirty mouth, it was heaven. It was everything.
He was everything.
He buried his face in my throat, and his groans became long and low, and I knew it was almost time.
I felt myself rising to meet him, and I slid my fingers against myself to hurry the process along.
“Oh god, Autumn, oh god.” He breathed against my breasts, cupping one in his hand and massaging it as he threw himself into the burgeoning climax. “I’m gonna come, Autumn.”
“Me too,” I whispered. “Come with me, Seven. Come with me, my love.”
He groaned, and his thrusts lost their rhythm, became pulsing and powerful, pushing deep and thrusting deeper as he gave himself to me. “Autumn, my love, my love.”
I felt it, then, the moment we merged. I came, and I felt him unleashing himself inside me, and he throbbed within me and flooded me, and I came around him, my sheath squeezing him harder and harder as I exploded, screaming his name over and over again.
We came in unison, clenching and clutching each other, trading screamed names and chanting ILOVEYOU.
Finally, he was spent and gasping, crushing me with his weight in a beautiful blanket of power and safety. I petted his shoulders and back, his butt, his head.
“I think that did it,” I whispered. “Bingo. I’ve got a baby in me, now.”
“You think so?” He sounded so eager.
“Sure do.” I scratched his butt, because I knew he liked that. “But, just in case, I think you better see about getting hard so we can do it again.”
He laughed. “Give me a minute or two, woman.”
“Nope. Now.” I pushed
at him, and he rolled to his back so I could take him in my hand. “I better take matters into my own hands.” I laughed, wiping my fingers on his belly. “Ew, it’s all slimy.”
“Sorry, not sorry.”
I patted his thigh. “Just wait here. I’ll clean you up.”
I stood up, and cackled. “Ooh, maybe I’d better clean me, first. Eeek, that’s all drippy.”
He cackled, stood up and caught me in his arms. “How about I put you in the shower and we get clean so we can get dirty all over again.”
“I like that plan.”
“That bench is just the right height, isn’t it? You sit there, and I can have my wicked way with you.”
I kissed him everywhere my lips could find as he carried me into our bathroom. “It’s not wicked, it’s wonderful. And baby, I’m all yours. You can do anything you want to me, and I’ll only want more.”
“You’re too good for me, Autumn. Too amazing. I don’t know what I did to deserve you, but I’m beyond grateful.” He met my mouth, kissed me with a love that took my breath away. “You said yes.”
I laughed, confused. “I did, I said yes.”
“You’re going to marry me.”
“As soon as we can throw a backyard wedding together, my big beautiful man.”
“And then, soon, we’re going to have a baby.”
I palmed his cheek. “You’re going to be the most amazing daddy, Seven.”
“And you’ll be the best mommy.”
I got tearful, then. “I’ll have you with me every step of the way, so how could I not be?”
The water was hot, spraying all over us, and we lost ourselves in the slip of soap and the rush of water and the slick sliding of skin on skin as we found each other again and again, and even then, we weren’t sated.
We woke in the middle of the night, and found each other.
At dawn.
Again, and again, ravenous, each time bare and messy and wild.
It was near noon before I finally woke up.
Seven had coffee for me, waving the steaming mug under my nose. “Rise and shine, love bug,” he murmured.
I stretched, sat up, took the coffee from him. “Hi.” I rubbed my thighs together. “I’m sore in all the best ways.”
He rumbled a laugh. “Good. I aim to please, baby girl.” He sat down beside me with an iPad. “You ready?”
I frowned as I sipped. “Ready? For what?”
“We have a wedding to plan.”
I giggled. “You’re as excited about this as I am, aren’t you, babe?”
He shrugged. “I’m excited to marry you, so I can’t wait to make it happen. So yeah. I am.”
“God, I love you.”
“So, I was thinking we have my friend’s band play. They’re called Bright Star.”
“Bright Star?” I mused. “Titus Bright’s the lead singer, right?”
They were famous as all hell, topping charts and selling out stadiums for at least twenty years.
“Yeah, he’s my friend. I met him at an event when we were both in our twenties and we just clicked. Been best buds ever since. He’s cool as hell.”
“Is he single?” I asked, laughing. “I have some friends he might be interested in meeting.”
Seven snickered. “Funny you say that—he texted me the other day to ask if I knew this girl named Laurel McGillis. Apparently he saw this ad on Instagram that sorta caught his attention.”
THE END
SNEAK PREVIEW
LAUREL’S BRIGHT IDEA
I stood in front of the mirror in the powder room of Seven and Autumn’s house, fidgeting with my dress. I couldn’t get the cups to stay in place, and my boobs kept trying to escape, a condition I called wandering nipple.
Or, peek-a-boob.
Either way, not a good look for a backyard wedding for one of my best friends.
I mean, the dress was killer. Givenchy, custom-tailored for me. Off-the-shoulder, cut to emphasize my hourglass figure, which, of late, was becoming more focused on the lower portion than I’d like. By which I mean, my ass was taking over. I wasn’t, like, pear-shaped quite yet, but I used to have a true hourglass figure, with proportions Marilyn Monroe would’ve been jealous of.
No matter—I could just emphasize my cleavage with some nice supportive bras and no one would be the wiser, until they saw me naked.
Which, lately, has been a sadly lacking part of my life.
I’d never admit to it, even to my best friends, but I was…gasp…in a dry spell.
The worst part was, I wasn’t even trying.
Since I discovered boys at thirteen, I’d had only to give a male a look and they were mine for as long as I wanted to toy with them.
It was no different now. If anything, I had the look down to an art form. Pickup lines were for amateurs—I could pick up some fun for the night with a single look.
Of them, at me. If I gave them The Look, they’d be under my spell by the time we got to my Aston Martin DB6.
Yes, I drove a vintage sports car.
It’s very hot of me.
But lately, I just hadn’t been interested in the same-old-same-old cast of loser wannabes and vapid playboys.
I wanted a man.
I knew the girls had posted an ad, and I’d gotten a few bites, but simple cursory sleuthing had precluded me from going out with any of them. Maybe I wasn’t giving them a fair shake, but shit, none of them interested me.
I was lonely.
I was sad.
I was bitter.
But I had a reputation as an icy sex goddess to maintain, and I couldn’t let my friends down, so I put on the Face, the bright smile and the glittery look to my eyes, which were a pale blue that was nearly white.
My hair was perfect, coiled into tendrils of naturally platinum ringlets around my face, the top tied back, the rest loose.
The dress hugged my curves, supported my boobs—when they weren’t wandering out—and made my hips look like straight-up man-killers.
Which, TBH, they were.
See, the thing about this dry spell was, my heart and mind weren’t playing along with my body—which was every bit as borderline nymphomaniacal as ever.
It was my soul that was on a dry spell. My body wasn’t with that plan, and was doing everything it could to remind me that I hadn’t had sex in months.
And even my vibrators had been off duty for a couple weeks.
It was getting positively dusty down in my nether regions.
But, time to suck it up. Be a good girl for Autumn’s wedding.
Her wedding to the man I’d jilled off to every night and every morning for the past several years.
Not that that was connected in any way to my dry spell. No, no…
Not at all.
Unrelated.
Totally unrelated.
Finally, with one last tug to make sure my boobs were firmly seated in the cups, I headed out.
And I saw God.
Or, a god, at least. Little “G.”
But if he didn’t deserve the capital “G,” I don’t know who would.
Tall, dark, and handsome, just the way I liked them. Only, this one took the cliche to sinful, devilish new heights. Six-six, if he was an inch, with naturally dark, swarthy, caramel skin tanned darker yet by the California sun. Long black hair in tight spirals hanging down loose around his back and shoulders. A short, neat beard framed a hard, rugged jawline. A silver hoop adorned the center of his lower lip. More earrings on his ears than I had, all of them heavy silver. Tattoos all over, colorful, masterful, of birds and tigers and guns and knives and angels and pinup girls and hands of cards and guitars and amps and I didn’t know what all.
He wore a leather vest, open, over a bare torso.
And fuck me, I’d never seen any man in real life as shredded as he was.
Eight razor-sharp abs, a V-cut peeking up out of his faded, ripped black jeans. Long lean hard arms with rippling cords of muscle—guitarist forearms, fingers glinting w
ith rings.
Heavy black boots, shitkickers.
A rock star.
THE rock star.
Titus Bright.
The baddest bad boy in music. Front man for a long-lived hard rock band notorious for taking the rock star lifestyle to its wildest extremes. And then, when that band broke up following the sudden overdose death of the drummer, he’d done an about-face and started a new project, Bright Star, which did ballads and touching acoustic pieces with delicate melodies and haunting lyrics. Bright Star could rock out, but they were not a metal band of the same vein Titus’s previous band had been. Bright Star defied genre. They’d featured rappers, flamenco guitarists, cellists, accordionists, opera singers, gospel choirs, banjos…anything and everything, and every single song was a platinum hit.
Titus Bright was the mastermind behind it all, the musical genius who also happened to be the single hottest and most eligible bachelor on the planet, now that Seven St. John was marrying my best friend, Autumn Scott.
And he was here, in Seven’s backyard, setting up a rack of guitars.
He saw me floating, stunned and hypnotized, across the yard, and he paused. Froze, really. Slowly set the guitar down in to the rack without looking away from me.
I’d never been looked at like that in my entire life.
Like prey.
Like something to eat, a helpless little bunny caught out alone in a field.
He was the wolf, prowling along the tree line.
His eyes were a tan so pale they were almost yellow, lupine.
He shoved his hands in his back pockets and met me in the middle of the yard, eyes narrowed, jaw flexing.
“Goddamn.” His voice was hoarse, raspy, guttural. “You’re even more fuckin’ stunning than I’d imagined you would be, Laurel McGillis.”
I blinked, swallowed, tried to breathe. “You…you know who I am?”
He shuffled closer. Towered over me, his presence imposing, powerful, primal. “Yeah, I do. I know you. Not as well as I’m going to, though.”
“I see,” I said, trying for the icy demeanor that had never yet failed me. Until now. “You’re sure of that, are you?”
Autumn Rolls a Seven (Billionaire Baby Club Book 2) Page 25