by Amy Redwood
It was sweet torture, the way he circled her clit. “I need more,” she whispered, closing her eyes, moving her hips to the rhythm of his slow touch.
A crinkle of foil and he tugged at the towel covering her hips, exposing her. She felt the mattress shift as he moved up the length of her body. He braced his hands on either side of her shoulders, his breath warm on her face.
She stared up, confused to see a flash of yellow light sparking in the depths of his dark eyes. She reached out to touch his cheek, but whatever she thought she’d seen was gone. Rough stubble met her fingertips and she moaned when he lowered his hips to hers, his cock resting hard against her stomach. Heat from his body seeped into her bones, cloaked her in an embrace of warmth.
His mouth came hard on hers, unexpectedly, claiming her with a dominance that took her breath. Her hands flew up, her palms pressed against the flex of his chest muscles. She might as well try to move a pillar, he didn’t budge an inch. He plunged his tongue deep when she parted her lips to inhale. He took her breath, took her wrists as she dragged her nails across his chest. “Stop,” she moaned, feeling his teeth nip into her bottom lip, his weight crushing her into the mattress.
A deep moan rose in her throat as he pulled her arms above her head, pinned her down with one hand. She hadn’t expected this kind of strength, and when he closed his hand around her breast, pinched her nipple hard, she screamed as sharp pleasure shot from her breast to her clit. Her pussy clenched in anticipation. “Please,” she whispered, struggling to free herself. “I need—” He covered her pleading words with his mouth, kissed her almost cruelly.
At this moment, she’d have done anything he asked of her if only he made her come. Her hips bucked against him, her pussy drenched with her juices. He reached between them and his cock slid between her thighs, rubbed against her folds. Her breath came in hard and fast gasps, and she was all but sobbing with need.
He moved his hips slowly, applying just enough pressure on her clit to drive her lust higher but never allowing her to peak. And when he fisted his hand into her hair, thrusting his tongue into her mouth, she kissed him back with the same intensity.
His hand brushed down her neck, traced the curve of her breast. “Spread your legs,” he said, his voice rough and deep. She let her legs slide from his waist, hadn’t even realized she had wrapped herself around him in the first place. He propped himself up on one hand, releasing her wrists, and kept his gaze on her face as he wrapped his hand around his erection. The head of his cock prodded at her pussy, slid in just a fraction.
Just when she feared he would take it slow, he drove his cock deep into her pussy. She cried out at the sudden sensation of his thick cock stretching her wide. He groaned, holding perfectly still, yet she felt him shake slightly before he lowered himself to her, his pelvis flush against hers. He kissed her, gentler, exploring the inside of her mouth while he fucked her in long and slow strokes. She gripped the sheets, wishing she could see how his cock slid in and out of her, how he filled her so perfectly.
Choking back a moan when he thrust faster, she wrapped her arms around his shoulders, her nails digging into the skin. She tipped her head back, enjoying how each thrust drove her closer to her climax. Again she felt a shudder going through him, all the muscles on his back tense. If he was holding back, she didn’t appreciate it. “Fuck me harder,” she whispered, raking her nails down his back and flexing her inner muscles to grip his cock tighter.
He laughed quietly, his hand cupping her breast. When he pulled out, she made a noise of protest. “On your stomach, Yankee,” he said, and pinched her nipple hard. Stars exploded in front of her eyes, and before she had a chance to move, he flipped her over and ran a hand over her ass.
“Hang on,” she said, struggling to turn around again so she could feel his weight while he was inside her, but he held her in place by her hips, pulled her up to her knees with unrelenting strength. “I don’t—”
“Yes, you do,” he said, parting her wet folds with his cock. He pushed in slowly, letting her feel each thick inch as he sank to his balls into her pussy. “Such a sweet cunt,” he muttered under his breath. “So tight.”
She sucked in a breath, partly because no one had ever told her she had a sweet cunt and partly because the feel of him was different from before. And when he moved, she groaned out as heat surged through her. He penetrated her deeper than before, and when he told her again how tight she was, how wet her cunt, how hard she made him, she felt the last shred of her inhibitions dissolve into raw lust.
Feeling how tight she was around his cock, she raised her ass higher, craving more of the incredible friction, the heat. She didn’t want it to end, but she took each stroke hungrily, hearing herself begging for more. He pumped his cock into her, giving her exactly what she wanted. He fucked her fast, pushed into her harder, deeper, pushed her over the edge.
She cried out, her cunt convulsing uncontrollably as she clung to the waves of pleasure running from her core through her entire body. He thrust into her, pulled her against his groin. She heard a primal growl, a rough shout as he came, his cock pulsing and throbbing inside her, his hands gripping her hips.
For a few harsh breaths, he leaned his forehead against her back, pressed a kiss against her spine, then he pulled out, leaving a feeling of emptiness inside her. She sank to her stomach, buried her face into a pillow.
The mattress bounced slightly as he moved away from the bed. She heard him inside the bath, heard the toilet flush as he discarded the condom, heard him use the sink, heard the metallic clink of a belt buckle as he put on his clothes again. What had she expected, that he’d stay for breakfast?
Slowly, her breathing calmed, her body quieted, her thighs stopped trembling.
Still, she didn’t hear him return and jumped when he touched her shoulder. She turned on her back, gazing up at him as he closed the buttons on his shirt and then shoved it into his pants. He crouched, stroked his finger over her cheek. “Don’t cry.”
She hadn’t known she had been, but her cheeks were wet, her lips salty, and more tears spilled, her stomach a tight, tight knot. And she didn’t know if it was because she felt as if she had cheated on Simon or because he had on her, or because she wanted this stranger, this man she’d known for only a night, to stay.
———
Trent left the hotel and was glad to see that Bill still waited. He climbed inside the cab.
“Thanks, Bill. For picking me up from the airport and for driving her,” he told the driver with a pat on the shoulder. “And I guess for waiting.”
“Don’t mention it. But quadrupling the usual fare sure helped.” He checked his watch. “It’s been over an hour. That’s a long time to help a lady with her luggage.” Bill laughed.
“Bill, if it’s not too much to ask, I’d love to get home now.”
Thankfully wise enough to take a hint, Bill started the engine and navigated skillfully through the streets. He was the office’s unofficial driver, something like a mascot—he came with the inventory. Doing the odd job here and there, Bill had already been in the law firm of Kingsley & Monhollon before Trent had worked his way up to become partner. Today, with offices in New York, Tokyo, Sidney and Auckland, they were major players, but Trent still stuck to the tradition of using Bill’s taxi if he couldn’t use his own car.
And for the first time, it had kind of brought him luck.
Trent worked his hand through his still slightly damp hair. Her tear-streaked face turned up his mind and her scent was still fresh in his memory. Whatever he’d expected when he’d followed her up to her room, it hadn’t been this.
Normally he wouldn’t complain about good sex, but it had been almost too…good. The way her body had yielded to his touch, how she had tasted on his tongue. How desperately he’d wanted to please her just to hear those needy little sounds she made at the back of her throat. The smell of her skin. The way he’d almost lost control when he had thrust into her. So wet. So tight and hot.
<
br /> Her face kept on appearing in his mind up to the point where it was starting to annoy him. Her eyes, he thought. Amber eyes…light brown, with specks of yellow. No, not yellow. Gold, as if tiny golden confetti were scattered over her iris.
And he still felt bad about leaving her alone instead of pulling her into his arms and holding her until she fell asleep.
But he never stayed the night over.
He understood where the tears came from. She was either guilt-ridden or simply emotionally exhausted. From her initial reaction, he doubted she’d ever had a one-night stand before. She seemed the kind of girl who was wined and dined and given gifts to before taken to bed.
But she’d gotten what she wanted, he thought. She got herself her revenge fuck. It would set her conscience free to forgive her fiancé and get the fairy-tale wedding she had undoubtedly dreamed about since she was a little girl with a pink ribbon in her hair.
What he wanted was to drive back to her and lick his way up her legs. What he would do was stay the hell away. There was something about her that touched him, made him care just a tad too much. However good the sex, he feared it wouldn’t be uncomplicated summer fun. She had too much emotional baggage and he didn’t care to get involved.
———
Katherine woke with a start.
She rubbed the sleep out of her eyes, stretched and checked the clock on the nightstand. “Damn, why didn’t they wake me?” She had requested an early morning wake-up call last night at the reception, but they had chosen to ignore her wish. She jumped up.
And noticed her nakedness.
She waited for shame to rise within her, for embarrassment, for regret.
Nothing came.
She cast a glance through the room—the open bathroom door with her blouse and bra on the floor, the open curtains, the suitcase in the middle of the room, the pillow she’d thrown at his chest and now lay at her feet. She picked it up, pressed it against her breasts. She caught sight of herself in a mirror above the dresser.
That’s how a woman looked the morning after being thoroughly fucked by a stranger. He probably had welcome sex with all the women he met at the airport, she thought with a wry smile. Her eyes were red, her dark hair a curly mess, but her skin glowed. Whatever had made her bawl her eyes out last night, the sadness was gone, replaced by a strange kind of energy.
For a moment, she considered calling Simon, telling him where she was, telling him everything.
Fuck you, Simon.
They might be even now, but it didn’t change the fact he had cheated on her during his bachelor party. Thinking about what a fucking cliché that was almost killed her. Then she moved, winced when she felt her sore muscles. Evidently, she really could have great sex without being in love, without even knowing the name of the guy.
Maybe that was what had made it so insanely, mind-blowingly good.
She could almost hear his deep voice and feel his hands around her waist again. Once more, heat rushed through her veins, warming her insides. If only he had stayed the night…
But she’d already gotten even, there was no getting eveniest.
She let herself fall on the bed again, caught a glimpse of silver between the sheets. Nothing said reality like finding an empty condom wrapper in one’s bed.
Trying to focus on her schedule for the day, she got up and opened her suitcase, the air-con chilling her skin. She found her handbag and searched for her notes with the contact details for the property agency. She found the paper, grabbed the phone, dialed and drummed her fingers on the desk.
“Trend Property Maintenance, how can I help?” answered a bored female voice.
“This is Katherine Miles.” She heard a radio in the background. “I’m calling about the house on Chatham Road, Devonport. I sent an email about two days ago to cancel the maintenance contract and to notify you I want to pick up the keys.”
Silence greeted her on the other end of the line, and then she heard paper shuffling. “Yes, we received your notice.”
“I want to put the house on the market.” Katherine verified her identity by answering a string of questions. “So, where can I pick up the keys? Your office?”
“Jason is, was, the agent for your property. There’s a note in your file saying that he left the keys with the next-door neighbor.”
“He gave the keys to the neighbor?” Unbelievable.
The woman laughed. “We tend to trust people.”
Katherine massaged her forehead, searching for words.
“Are you still there?” the woman asked.
She nodded then quickly said, “Yes.”
“The note also says that you should call him back. He knows people who are interested in buying. Actually, his exact words are, ‘Don’t sign up another agent, call me first.’”
While buyers were exactly what she wanted, she found this Jason unprofessional. Although, this was Auckland, not New York. Maybe things were different here.
“I’ll call again.” She hung up.
Searching through her handbag, she pulled out the only picture she had of the house of her childhood. The worn photo showed a Victorian villa, a cottage garden with old-fashioned roses, a white picket fence and a rocking-chair veranda. It was a romantic dream come true. Well, at least if one was into that style, which she wasn’t.
But her mom had been.
She couldn’t remember that she had spent her first years living in the house. Happily so, she was sure, until Jack had come and ruined everything.
The property market in Auckland was still booming. The villa was in a top location, the style sought-after. She wanted the highest possible offer and she was here to get it.
And she’d use the money to build the foundation of her new life. Her own firm, her own decisions. Without Jack butting in, or Simon, or any other man who tried to tell her how to live her life.
———
After a quick shower followed by breakfast, Katherine jumped into a stranger-free taxi and headed north to Devonport. Twenty minutes later—after the driver had cut every corner—she arrived at the right address with a queasy stomach. The website she had browsed at home had described Devonport as a Charming historic seaside village with unique heritage, cafes, beaches and spectacular views over Auckland’s harbor and city.
As a child, she hadn’t noticed most of it. Now that she was here, she could check off each description. After the driver had dropped her off, she pulled out the photo from her handbag and walked along the street, looking for the right house number.
There.
Her first impression was that the villa matched the photo to a tee.
She took a few steps closer, welcoming the slight breeze playing with the hem of her summer dress. Auckland’s sun beat down mercilessly and she shaded her eyes against the glare.
Yes, it was the right house, but her first impression had been dead wrong. The cottage garden with its roses in bloom was a mess of overgrown shrubs and weeds. The white paint on the house was a faded gray and the picket fence weathered with patches of moss and rot.
The glorious Victorian villa from her photo was in reality abandoned and depressing, and she clutched the picture to her chest, staring aghast at the house. So much for maintenance—what exactly had she paid for all these years?
She wondered if the rooms inside the house were in any better condition. “Hope dies last,” she said, and tried to open the fence gate. Locked. Climbing over would be easy. The fence reached only up to her waist, but on second thought, she decided to collect the keys from the neighbor first.
On her left side was a white weatherboard house with a large garden, groomed shrubs and a vegetable patch. The house looked immaculate next to the old villa. A painted green sign, Ada’s Boutique Bed & Breakfast, hung in the front yard. On her right was a modern bungalow. More than five cats dozed in front of it.
She sneezed and turned away from the cats. It didn’t matter how many times her doctor assured her her allergy wasn’t triggered by
the mere sight of cats, she wasn’t buying it.
She approached the neat house on her left and walked under the green sign toward the door, ready to knock. Surprisingly, the door was already open.
“Come in, dear. No need to knock!”
“I’m here for a set of house keys,” she called, feeling as if she owed some kind of explanation before she stepped into the house. It was spotless. She caught her reflection on the polished floors, and a faint lavender aroma hung in the air. She wondered if she should take her shoes off but only brushed over the wrinkles in her dress to smooth it out.
“I saw you from my window. I’m Ada. So you’re my new neighbor then?”
Katherine returned Ada’s greeting smile, shaking her hand, noticing that Ada was just as immaculate as her house. She was tall, with short gray hair and her smiling face spoke of countless hours of garden work. Indeed, that was where she seemed to come from, holding scissors and cut flowers in her hands.
“Nice to meet you, Ada. I’m Katherine Miles. Sorry to disappoint, but I won’t be your new neighbor.”
“Oh, but the agent told me the owner would pick up the keys.” Ada arranged the flowers in a vase on the mantelpiece.
“Yes, that’s true. I’m here to sell the house though.” How was she supposed to find buyers for the run-down disaster?
Ada moved farther into the house, waving her to follow. “I have tea on the stove. Have a cup and tell me all about it.”
Katherine sighed, but there was no polite way to decline. If she had to drink her way to the keys, so be it.
She followed Ada into the kitchen and sat on one of the chairs at a square, well-worn wooden table. From there, she looked into Ada’s huge garden, which included a small cottage house. She mused that these were the bed and breakfast rooms.
“The villa needs some TLC, don’t you think?” Ada poured tea into mugs.
Katherine accepted her mug with a nod, asking, “What’s TLC?”
“Tender Loving Care of course.”
Katherine laughed. This was exactly what the house needed. A lick of paint, cleaning up the garden…that’s what she should do. Otherwise, the house wouldn’t bring enough money on the market, but some TLC…