Worth the Wait (Very Personal Training Book 2)

by Karla Doyle

  Onto her stomach she went, the sexy little gasp she made when he flipped her over serving to make his cock that much harder.

  “Did I hold you down and fuck you like this?” He ran a palm down her back, past the dimples near the base of her spine, over her hourglass curves. He took hold of her incredible hips and drew her toward him, elevating her very fine backend. “Or was your sweet ass up in the air for me, like this?”

  “Yes, like this.” Her voice was throaty, almost hoarse. Pure fuck-me.

  He was more than happy to oblige. He slid a finger inside her, groaning at the heat. “So beautiful and sexy… I’m going to give you everything you want. Everything you need.”

  “I want you deep inside me, I need you to make me come.”

  Oh, hell yeah, he’d give her those. All night long. He grabbed his cock and angled it between her legs. One touch and she backed up, hips moving side to side, trying to swallow him whole.

  “Not so fast, babe. I want inside you too. Fuck, do I want that.” He kneaded her flesh, smoothed his hands over her ass, spreading her open for a better view. “But I’m savoring this.” He pushed inside, slowly as possible, which was not nearly as slow as he’d have liked. “Watching my cock disappear inside you, feeling your pussy squeeze each inch I give you, fuck.”

  “Sam, please…”

  As if he could resist. He gripped her hard, drove in fast, stilling when he was balls-deep. “You’re so tight.” So tight, in fact— “Am I hurting you?”

  “No, God no.” She arched and rocked, getting him unbelievably deeper inside her. She looked over her shoulder at him, and bam—nailed him with the sexiest combination of shy and naughty he’d ever seen. “Fuck me, Sam. Hard.”

  Best words ever heard. He withdrew, pausing only long enough for her to wiggle in complaint, then he thrust back in, grinding his hips against her ass to get deeper.

  Cheek pressed to the bed, she reached around with both hands and spread her ass. “Deeper.”

  The sight of her tight little asshole, right there, so inviting—Jesus. He gripped her hips hard, pushed farther into her pussy. So fucking deep.

  Her deep, hungry moan mixed with his groan of pleasure. “God, Sam, do it again.”

  Oh, fuck yeah. He eased free of her body, smacked her perfectly round cheeks, spread her ass and buried himself to the hilt in her pussy. Then did it again. And again, no stopping. No thinking, barely breathing. Just fucking, until fire flared in his balls and raced up his dick and all he could do was grab her hips and hold her tight against him while he unloaded.

  Shit. Shit and double fucking shit. He’d fucked her hard, but he sure as hell hadn’t made her come. Yet.

  He pulled out, tossed the condom on the floor and dragged Leigh to the edge of the bed. Knelt between her legs. Ran his hands up and down her soft skin, from her toes where they touched the carpet to that sweet crease at the top of her thighs.

  “Sam?”

  He heard the question in her voice. “Making good on my promise.” He breathed the words against her swollen flesh. Leaned in, swirled his tongue in her pussy. Slid his hand between her body and the bed and found her clit.

  She moaned, opened wider for him, arching to give him better access. He rolled her clit between his fingers, rubbing her harder and faster as he tongue-fucked her from behind. Her body shook and writhed before him, her fists curled around the duvet.

  Low, hotter-than-hell panting filled the room, filled his head. So did her scent. This was for her, but Jesus, it was for him too. He banded his free arm around her hips, pulled her closer, his hard-again cock fucking the air as he buried his face in her sweet, sweet pussy.

  She cried out and jerked against him, pressing mercilessly against his face and hand at first, then trying to wiggle free from those same things. One thing he knew right then—he wasn’t about to let her get away.

  Chapter 3

  SAM

  The clock on the bedside table read six o’clock. Only he didn’t have a bedside table. Or a digital clock. He waited, but the usual get-the-hell-out-of-here response didn’t jump up from the pit of his stomach to propel him from the strange bedroom.

  Leigh’s room. A soft murmur rose from the sleeping figure at his side as she snuggled closer. Nope, he definitely didn’t want to bolt.

  But he did have to take a leak. He rolled to his side, carefully sliding free of the arm she’d draped across his stomach.

  Early-dawn sunlight filtered through the window, casting a warm glow over the bed. He propped up on one elbow and took a few seconds to enjoy the scenery. Delicate eyebrows, slender nose, a smattering of pale freckles barely visible through her sun-kissed tan. She didn’t look forty-two.

  Not that any age had a specific look or he was some expert on the subject. But when he looked at her, which he’d done plenty since they met and at very close range in the last twelve hours, he didn’t automatically think in terms of over-forty. The words that came to mind were cute, beautiful, sexy, hot, smart, funny. Not older.

  The gap in their ages rattled her some, he got that. In time it wouldn’t. He’d see to that.

  One night with her and he was already thinking about “down the road.” As he’d thought might happen. Because he’d enjoyed talking with Leigh as much as he had fucking her. And holy goddamn, he’d enjoyed that part. Her scent, her taste, the way her hips rolled and her tits bounced when she moved. The dirty things he’d coaxed from her mouth in the dark. That same mouth wrapped around his cock every time she got the chance. Jesus.

  His trip to the john would have to wait until his dick wasn’t standing at full attention. Until then, he’d continue to admire the beauty sleeping peacefully at his side.

  Her hair fanned across the pillow, a few wisps having fallen over her cheek. His fingers itched to tuck the strands behind her ear, but he resisted. He’d kept her up half the night as it was. A cycle of fucking, talking, and laughing he could’ve repeated until dawn if she hadn’t finally drifted off in his arms, smack in the middle of a sentence.

  She’d jolted awake a few minutes after dozing off, apologizing in a sleepy voice he’d found temptingly sexy. Everything about Leigh tempted him.

  He hooked a finger under the edge of the covers. Slowly worked the sheet down, over her shoulder, down her arm. The swell of her incredible tits came into view. A little bit more and—

  A cool spring breeze drifted through the window, making her shiver and haul the covers back into place. Foiled by Mother Nature.

  Served him right. If he’d caught sight of her nipples, he would’ve had to suck them. Nibble them. And he needed to let her sleep. Give her another hour. Two, if he could stand it. The only way he’d manage that feat would be to remove himself from temptation. That, and a cold shower.

  He pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I’ll be back for you in a while, babe.”

  She mumbled something incoherent against the pillow. Most of it, anyway. The “Sam” at the end was clear as day. And the sound of his name in her soft, sleepy voice… Yeah, he could get used to that.

  He made his way down the short hall, past a couple of open doors to the bathroom at the end. Like most storey-and-a-half houses, the ceiling sloped on one wall. Not the shower side, thankfully. He leaned in and started the water. His hand under the frigid spray made the idea of a cold shower much less appealing. Yeah, his dick could go down on its own while he waited for the water to warm up.

  He’d been in here a few times over the course of the night, but as with Leigh’s bedroom, hadn’t taken the time to check it out. Glossy white subway tiles covered the straight walls, while the ceiling and slanted areas were painted a soft, bluish-green. That’s where the plain and normal ended. Many of the tiles had been decorated, though there didn’t appear to be a pattern or obvious theme.

  At first glance it was jarring, but then it wasn’t. Each of the decorated rectangles held a hand-painted scene. Fish, mermaids, butterflies, fairies. The pictures weren’t random at all—he was standing insi
de the artist’s imagination. A closer inspection revealed a tiny “LI” buried within each image. Lennox Irwin. Had to be.

  Light tapping snapped him from his awestruck state. He turned off the water, apologizing as he opened the bathroom door. “Sorry if I woke you.” His eyes dropped to Leigh’s beautiful, buck-fucking-naked body. “On second thought, scratch that.”

  “You did wake me up, but not in the way you meant.” Pink spread across the tops of her cheeks. “I was dreaming about you.”

  Boom. His cock was on the rise again. “Do tell.”

  “Actually, it involved a shower.” She glanced at the small space behind him. “But I’m not sure we’d both fit in mine.”

  “One way to find out.”

  Giggling, she deked backward to avoid his reach. “I can’t. I need to be at the store in less than an hour.”

  “All the more reason to shower with me. With both of us washing you, it should take half the time.”

  The cute giggle he couldn’t get enough of grew into a full-blown laugh.

  Yeah, he couldn’t get enough of that sound either. “No sale, huh?”

  “Sadly, no. I’ll take a raincheck, though.” Her blush deepened to a rosy red. “I mean, I would, if you wanted. Not that I expect that. Last night was great. Amazing, at least for me. But I know that doesn’t mean we’re doing it again. Or doing anything. Oh, shit.” She clapped a hand over her eyes, then peeked at him through a tiny crack between her fingers. With her free hand, she snatched a silky bathrobe from a hook on the door and backed away from the door. “I was never here.” From in the hall, she called, “Take your time in the shower, I’ll see you, um…”

  The next thing he heard was her feet on the stairs. He followed, but by the time he reached the top of the staircase, her hand was on the bottom banister as she began to round the turn.

  “Leigh.”

  She looked up at him—and looked him up and down, her eyes settling on his not-going-anywhere hard-on. “Yes?” The single word came out higher-pitched than her normal speaking voice.

  “I want that raincheck.”

  “Then you’ve got it,” she said.

  Man, that slow, spreading smile. Perfection. “I’ll be down in a few.”

  “I’ll make breakfast. A reward for all your hard work last night.”

  “That wasn’t work, babe. That was one hundred percent pleasure. My pleasure.”

  She slipped out of sight. A wise move, since he was about two seconds from charging down the stairs and dragging her back to bed. Fuck the shower. Fuck their jobs and responsibilities. Just an entire day with Leigh under him, over him, and any number of combinations to that effect.

  He returned to the bathroom and cranked the faucet to the right. “Holy goddamn…” Now that was cold freaking water. Hundreds of icy drops needled his skin as he cleaned up at high-speed. He rinsed as quickly as he’d lathered, ending the temperature torture. At least his dick had relented—somewhat.

  He snapped the shower curtain back and scanned the tiny room. A lone towel hung on a hook by the pedestal sink. Lucky if that’d dry half a leg.

  He shook off as much water as possible before heading off in search of something more significant. No linen closet in the hallway. He could call down to Leigh, but if she got within reach while he was still naked, all bets on good behavior would be off. So he’d explore until he found her towels. Shouldn’t take long in a house this size.

  The first room obviously belonged to Lennox, so he moved along. If that was where Leigh stored her towels, he’d go without. He wasn’t about to wander into a ten-year-old girl’s bedroom in the raw, even if she was several hours away at a cottage.

  He flicked on the light in the next room. A guest room, as he’d expected, and completely different from what he’d seen of Leigh’s house so far. No soft hues or feminine touches in here, just deep colors and dark furniture. She had eclectic taste.

  The closet was directly to his right, meaning he didn’t have to drip all over her floors much longer. He pulled the bi-folding doors open. A pile of towels on the top shelf, check. Also, a bunch of men’s clothes hanging on the bar. Shirts, hoodies, a bathrobe.

  He yanked a blue towel from the stack and secured it around his waist. But close the door and walk away, hell no. Not until he had a better look around.

  More guy stuff in the dresser drawers. Not packed, but full enough. T-shirts, jeans, sleep pants. Underwear and socks. He shoved the final drawer closed and turned to survey the rest of the room, then crossed to the bedside table and picked up the single framed photo. A candid shot of Lennox, Leigh, and Tim on a dock, probably at a cottage. The same one Tim had taken Lennox to this weekend? Wherever, whenever the picture had been taken, one thing was as clear as the summer sky in the background—they were a happy family. Shit.

  LEIGH

  “Hey. Perfect timing.” Leigh scored the omelet with the spatula and slid the halves onto two plates, then deposited both on the island where she and Lennox ate most of their meals. “I hope you like eggs and veggies.”

  “Yeah, sounds great.” Sam moved from the doorway, where he’d appeared moments before, and then stopped, arms folded over his chest. He pulled a barstool around to the opposite side of the island—the spot farthest away from her—slid onto the stool and pulled one of the plates toward him. “Smells great too. Thanks.”

  “Good thing breakfast smells good. Guess I should have showered after all.” Maybe it wasn’t the wittiest thing in the world, but her attempt at self-deprecating humor went completely unanswered. Not even with a smile.

  Fifteen minutes ago, he’d looked at her as if she were all the breakfast he needed. Now, he seemed more interested in cataloging every detail of her kitchen than looking at her. So much for that raincheck.

  “I have coffee if you’d like some. Not as good as what they make at Bean There, though, if that’s what you’re used to.”

  “It’s not.” Another mouthful of omelet went in, got chewed, went down. “And no coffee, thanks.”

  That was it? Enough of this nonsense. She stood, gathered her half-full plate and her pride, and waited for him to grace her with eye contact. “I had a lot of fun with you, Sam, at my store and in my bed. And if you’d wanted to see me again, I would’ve said yes in a heartbeat. However, I’m not into broody men, not even when their flipside is as great as yours. So, thank you for last night, but once you’ve finished your eggs, please show yourself out.”

  The trip upstairs felt like a slow-motion scene from a dream. But she made it. Without looking back, she might add. Once behind the closed bathroom door, she released the big breath she’d taken in the kitchen, the one that’d straightened her spine as she walked away from Sam.

  She would not make a big deal of this. He wasn’t her first one-night stand, nor would he be the last. So what if he happened to be the best. She’d count herself lucky for the experience—and its multiple orgasms—and keep moving forward. As she always did.

  She showered and secured her damp hair in a casual twist rather than spend valuable minutes on blow-drying and styling. The store didn’t open until nine, but she had a lot to do prior to turning the sign in the window, especially after knocking off earlier than planned last night.

  She dressed quickly and headed down the stairs. Started to, anyway. The sight of Sam, waiting in her front hall, slowed her pace considerably. “You’re still here.”

  His cap covered the hair she’d become accustomed to looking at, and quite enjoyed running her fingers through. His hands were stuffed in the front pockets of his deliciously low-slung jeans.

  But she would not falter. She descended from the last stair, careful to skirt around him, rather than make contact. “Did the door not work?” The deadbolt clicked beneath her fingers, then she turned the handle. “It works for me. There you go.”

  He didn’t go. “Does Tim live with you?”

  “What?”

  Sam’s eyes remained trained on her face, entrancing as always, b
ut lacking their usual lightness. “After my shower, I was looking for your towels. I found some in a closet—along with a bunch of men’s clothes.”

  Perhaps they should have talked a bit more last night and messed around a bit less. She straightened, tucked her cell into her purse and slid the strap over her shoulder. “Tim doesn’t live here, but it’s not your average…” Situation? Arrangement?

  “Relationship?”

  “Yes.”

  “Shit.” Off came the cap, so he could scrub his palm over his hair. “You told me you were single.”

  “Because I am single.”

  “Does Tim know that?”

  “Yes.”

  Sam didn’t look convinced. Jaw clenched, lips shut tight in a straight line. They’d had their fun last night, he shouldn’t care if she was single or not. Unless…no. He couldn’t possibly be jealous.

  “Is that why you went from frisky to pissy this morning? Because you think I’m romantically involved with Tim?” The craziness of it all made her laugh until she snorted, the sound drawing a slight smile from Sam. Finally. She caught her breath and released it on a sigh. “Tim and I are best friends who share a child. On occasion, we share a roof. We’re a family, but we’re not a couple. You could’ve asked me about it over breakfast.”

  “I should have. Sometimes I’m a jackass.”

  “I think that goes with having a penis.” She bit the inside of her cheek. Too late, though, he’d already seen her smile.

  And taken it as an invitation, apparently. In a blink, he had her boxed against the wall, a strong, muscular arm on either side of her head. “Have dinner with me tonight.”

  “I don’t think we should, Sam. Last night we pretended our ages aren’t important, but this morning’s incident in the kitchen proves we’re at different places in life. I’m past guessing games, misunderstandings, and drama, even in my casual relationships.”

  “Maybe your old age is affecting your memory.” He trailed his fingers down her neck and along her collarbone. “Because there was no pretending going on between us last night.”