by Nikki Sloane
Just as I began the climb toward orgasm, Greg retreated. He planted a foot on the ground beside the chair, so he was half standing and half kneeling, with one knee between my legs. Off came the condom with a quick jerk and it was flung to the ground.
I stared up at him over my heaving chest, stunned and not sure what was happening, but he dug a hand under my neck and lifted me up. He supported me like that, so I was sitting but leaned back in his hold, and then he seized my hand, guiding it to his dick.
He wanted me to jerk him off?
My face burned hot as I understood his intent. Once I began to move my fist, gliding back and forth on him, he reached down and plunged his middle finger all the way inside me.
His lips were at my forehead, and his warm breath rolled over my face. The faster I moved my fist, the faster his breathing went, along with the finger moving inside me. His palm ground against my clit, and the climb toward my orgasm began again.
“Harder,” he encouraged quietly.
I tightened my grip and watched a shudder glance through his shoulders. Blood whooshed through my system as my heart pounded, trying to keep up. God, it felt so good. I used my free hand to support myself, along with his palm behind my neck, and leaned back further, shifting the angle so he could drive deeper inside. All the way until he hit the spot that made my toes point with pleasure.
“Oh . . . oh!” I gasped.
A devious smile spread across Greg’s face. “Yeah, that’s it.” He moved his hips in time with my hand sliding on him. “Just like that. Make me come all over you.”
His words struck the match and held the fire to my fuse. I couldn’t hold back even if I wanted to. Heat blasted through my core, and his sinful finger tapped the perfect place to make me detonate.
I groaned loudly as I came, sounding somewhat panicked because the sensation was intense. My body seized. I clamped down on the finger still inside me while my legs trembled uncontrollably, and my fist slowed to a halt. Moans streamed from my lips, broken only by desperate rasps for air.
I hadn’t finished coming down before he grabbed my fist and encouraged me to pump once more. We made it three strokes before he exhaled sharply and jerked in my hand. I flinched as the warm, thick strands flicked onto my body, dousing my breasts and stomach. Wave after wave until he was spent, slowing our mutual grip to a stop, and the last drop dripped from him.
Holy shit.
I never understood it in porn. Until this moment, watching a guy come on a woman had done nothing for me. If anything, I found it degrading. A man marking his territory. But as I stared down at my spattered skin, I flooded with a different kind of satisfaction. I liked how Greg had marked me as his.
I liked it a whole fucking lot.
He eased me onto my back, and his expression lingered on his work. Was he admiring the way I looked? I bit down on my bottom lip.
“Stay right there,” he whispered. “I’ll be right back.”
Where was he going? The thought hit me instantly. Was he going for his phone he’d left on the patio table, so he could take a picture? Every muscle in me clenched at the idea. It was foolish—dangerous to want him to do that, but I did. Another bad idea to add to our list.
But disappointment ripped through me as he grabbed a towel and unfolded it as he came toward me, his phone ignored. He stood beside the chair, readying to help me clean off, but hesitated once he looked at my face.
His voice was full of dread, like he thought he’d done something wrong. “What?”
“Nothing.” I forced a laugh and reached for the towel. “It’s stupid.”
He drew away, pulling the towel with him and out of my grasp. His expression went skeptical. “What’s stupid?”
I groaned inside my head. If Greg and I were going to keep our relationship on the down-low, I needed to get a lot better at being a decent actress. My tone was sheepish. “I thought you were going to grab your phone.”
He didn’t follow. “You thought I needed to call someone?”
“No,” I squeaked out. Oh, God, I wilted with embarrassment. “You were staring at me like you liked the way I looked, and . . . You know.” Although he clearly didn’t. My voice was shallow. “Take a picture, it’ll last longer.”
He blinked away his confusion as he considered the statement. Then, his expression turned into something so lewd and exciting, it stole my breath. His bare feet slapped against the stone when he sped to the table, plucked up his phone, and hurried back to me.
The smart voice in the back of my mind announced its concern but was instantly overruled as Greg held up the phone and studied the screen. He was so focused, and I held perfectly still as he moved in and shifted to get exactly the right shot. When the flash went off, I jolted with unexpected satisfaction. I’d never taken sexy pics of myself, and certainly not with Preston. But the concept of this filthy picture in Greg’s phone? It was so sexy.
And then he showed it to me.
I flushed hot all over at the image of myself sprawled out on the cushion, covered in the product of our dirty deed and wearing it proudly. My face wasn’t in the shot, and I liked that. This night and this picture were a secret, just for us.
“Whoa,” I said quietly.
He took the phone back and grinned as he locked the screen. “Whoa is right. That doesn’t even do it justice.” He set his phone down on the chair beside me, picked up the towel, and set about wiping me off. His hands moved slowly and sensually, and I sighed. When he was finished, he slipped in to lie beside me, although he took up the majority of the chair, and had to hang onto me to keep me from falling off.
I wasn’t complaining.
It was a great excuse to wrap myself around him and press my cheek up against the warm skin of his chest. I didn’t want this night to be over. I needed the universe to suspend time. Delay it enough so I could stay here under the night sky with him a little longer.
He traced the tip of his finger over my hairline, tucking a loose lock of my hair behind my ear. “We can’t fall asleep out here,” he said.
But his deep voice was soothing, and I snuggled closer. “Mm-hm.”
“I’m serious. The mosquitos will eat us alive.”
“I’m too comfortable. You’re going to have to carry me.”
I’d meant it as a joke, but he extricated himself from my hold, stood, and slipped his arms under my body.
“I was kidding!” I scrambled away from his hands and onto my feet. “Were you really going to carry me to bed?”
He reached a hand up and massaged the back of his neck, flashing a smirk. “I was going to attempt it. But I also did upper-body today at the gym, so I appreciate you making it easier on me. Just like I’m sure you appreciate me not dropping you while we’re halfway up the stairs, because that was probably going to happen.”
I laughed as I grabbed a clean towel and wrapped it around myself, covering up, and bent to rescue my bikini from the ground. He busied himself pulling on his damp swim trunks and then cleaned up around the pool, bringing me my nearly untouched beer. “Ready?”
I looked up at the glowing windows of the living room, and a thrill raced through me. I was excited to spend the night beside him in his house, in his bed. I tried to sound sultry and confident. “Yeah. Take me to bed.”
It didn’t have the desired effect, because he grinned widely. “Or lose you forever?”
Um . . . “What?”
His smile froze. “Top Gun? When Meg Ryan says, ‘Take me to bed, or lose me forever.’”
I shook my head slowly.
“You haven’t—” He visibly struggled to put his thoughts together into a sentence. All he could come up with was, “C’mon, seriously?”
I shrugged. “Sorry.”
He feigned an exaggerated, disappointed sigh. “Okay, Cassidy. We’re adding that to the list.”
I laughed softly, but inside it brought on a fresh wave of heat. I liked adding to our other list better
.
TWENTY
During the night, Greg selfishly stole all the covers. I shouldn’t have been surprised—Preston did it too. And then I mentally kicked myself for making the comparison. The Lowe men were similar, but certainly not the same, and once again, I repeated my mantra. I wouldn’t make comparisons between them. It wasn’t fair.
Beyond the windows, birds chirped and sang their persistent morning songs. As I stared at Greg’s peaceful face resting against his pillow, the blanket twisted over his waist, I couldn’t help but think a scary thought. Had he compared me to his past girlfriends?
Was that even what I was?
We hadn’t defined this thing between us, and I was more comfortable that way right now. I’d just gotten out of a major relationship—my first love. I shouldn’t rebound right into another. Plus, I’d go back to school in another month to start my sophomore year. He was forty years old with a demanding job. We couldn’t date, even if he was interested in doing that.
Was he interested?
I sighed loudly and climbed out of the bed, needing to escape my thoughts. I dug into my overnight bag, tugged on a tank top and the boxer shorts I usually slept in, and scurried to the kitchen.
Coffee wasn’t something I craved. I was a casual drinker, who preferred the chocolatey, pseudo-coffee drinks you could get at Starbucks. But Greg? He was hardcore. He needed his morning fix of caffeine like air. My gaze landed on the fancy, intimidating machine on the counter beside the stove.
I’d watched him fix his coffee enough times over the years, and I was smart. I could figure this out, couldn’t I? I’d make him a mug, return to his bed, and wake him up. The coffee would make sure he had no reason to leave. Neither of us had to work today, and I pictured us staying in bed until lunchtime.
But the machine was evil.
It took me forever to figure out where to put the water in, and once I had, then I had to choose from the six silver buttons on the side with pictures that made no sense. I pulled up Google on my phone and typed in the brand of the coffee maker. There was a YouTube tutorial . . . only it was seventeen fucking minutes long.
“Come on, machine. Help a girl out,” I grumbled.
“Good morning.”
Greg’s voice startled me, and I flinched, nearly dropping the phone. “Oh!” I spun to face him.
He was shirtless. He had on a pair of faded blue pants, tied at the waist, and they sat low across his hips. Hospital scrubs were supposed to be baggy and shapeless, but on him? Dear God, those pants were doing things to me. I tried not to stare at the defined, taut muscles of his lower abs or the way the dusting of hair there disappeared beneath the gathered waistband holding the pants in place.
All he needed was a stethoscope slung over his shoulders. Every dirty doctor fantasy flooded my brain in an instant, pushing out all other thoughts. If I pulled on the drawstring, undoing the knot, how fast could I get his pants down?
He padded on his bare feet toward me beside the machine, oblivious to how affected I was. He glanced at the water gauge, then picked up the pitcher to fill it again. “That’s not going to make enough for both of us.”
“I don’t want any coffee.” I was mesmerized by how comfortable and casual he seemed standing this close to me while we were both barely dressed.
His confusion only lasted a moment. “You were making it for me?”
I stood with my back against the counter and nodded.
His smile started in his eyes. “I guess I can’t be mad at you for leaving my bed, then.”
He leaned across me, trapping me in place as he grabbed one of the little cups of coffee grounds, put it in the machine, and pressed a button. The thing whirred to life, but the slow, methodical movements of the man towering over me already had my body raring to go. He was so close, and rather than move out of my space, he rested his hands on the counter on either side of me and stood only a breath away.
“What should we do,” he asked in a low, wicked tone, “while we wait for the coffee to finish brewing?”
I had a million suggestions, every one of them bad—
A deep chime rang out from the front entryway, making my heart skip and Greg freeze. At the sound of his doorbell ringing, his accusatory gaze flew to the clock on the coffee maker. He was probably thinking the same thing I was. Who the hell was at his front door at eight in the morning on a Sunday?
He pulled his phone out, scrolled to an app, and gave an exasperated sigh. I leaned over to peer at the screen. The image was the front porch, and a blonde woman in her late forties or early fifties stood there, trying to peer through the beveled glass of the front door.
His voice was clipped. “Judy Maligner from next door. That woman cannot take a hint.”
This was the divorcee who’d been trying to woo Greg with fresh lemonade and baked goods. I gazed at her for another moment. She was nice looking. She had on yoga pants and a sherbet-colored athletic top that was fitted and showed off how she kept herself in shape. Her short hair was styled, she was wearing a little makeup, and everything about her looked as if she were making an effort . . . all to appear effortlessly casual.
When her face turned down in an unflattering scowl, it suddenly made her seem much older.
Breath was tight in my lungs as we watched her on the screen. She shifted on her feet and examined through the dining room window, but unless she could see through walls, we were safe from her prying eyes.
Tension relaxed out of Greg’s shoulders when Judy crossed her arms over her chest, pressed her lips together, and finally gave up. As she walked away, relief needled at me. The way Preston had described Ms. Maligner, it had given me a very different impression. I’d expected a frumpy older woman. One who was oblivious that Dr. Lowe was out of her league.
But was she out of his league?
Judy was pretty and slender. She had a job, owned a house, could order a beer at a bar. I wasn’t stupid. I knew it made more sense for him to be with her than me, and suddenly I was grateful he’d brushed her off all those times.
“Did you ever go out with her?” I forced casualness into my words.
He put his phone away in his back pocket. “No.”
“Okay.” I bit down on the inside of my cheek, not sure why I’d even asked. It wasn’t like I had any right to him before we slept together. Today was a different story. I’d spent the night and woken beside him in his bed. I wanted some kind of ownership.
Greg’s dark eyes sharpened. “You’re looking at me funny.”
“Are you, I don’t know . . .” I frowned. “We didn’t talk about it. Are you seeing other people?”
He cocked his head to the side. “Besides you? No.” A warm smile spread across his lips. “You?”
I choked on a laugh. “Um, no.” Besides the fact I’d just ended things with his son, couldn’t he tell I was too hung up on him? Greg dominated my thoughts, and every minute spent with him only twisted me up further.
“I’m only seeing you, Cassidy.” He gripped my face in his hands, brushing his thumb over my cheekbone as he slowly lowered his mouth toward mine. “In fact, I’d like to see a lot more of you right now.”
His lips were fire, but they were the slow, smoldering kind. His mouth was soft against mine, and my knees weakened as his tongue dipped past my lips. One of his hands smoothed down my neck, glided over my collarbone, and moved down further until his fingers inched beneath the neckline of my tank top.
My nipples snapped to points, tingling and eager for his attention. The strap was pushed over the curve of my shoulder and peeled down. I sighed and stretched into his touch, enjoying how his lips progressed down my neck, working toward his fingers massaging my breast.
A moan seeped from me, barely audible over the bubbling coffee machine, as he skimmed the sharp edge of his teeth across my pebbled nipple. Christ, that felt good. I wrapped my arms around his head, holding him to me, encouraging him to feast on my exposed flesh.
&nbs
p; But a tingling, uncomfortable sensation flashed across the hairs on my arms and rocketed up my back. It was a warning of danger that my body sensed before the rest of me. A shadow fell on us, coming through the window over the sink, and drew his attention before mine.
He hardened into stone, and I glanced over my bare shoulder to see what he was looking at.
Oh. Shit.
TWENTY-ONE
The horror I felt was expressed perfectly on Judy Maligner’s stunned face. What the hell was she doing in Greg’s side yard, staring at us through the window? And how long had she been watching while I had a boob out and Greg’s mouth on me?
He grabbed my wrist and yanked me stumbling along until we were out of her view, barely giving me a chance to pull the strap up and cover myself.
“Did she see us?” I asked, which was pointless. Of course she had, and his somber expression confirmed it. I tried to bolt, not having any plan, but he trapped my waist in his hands. His voice was soothing and calm. “Stay here. I’ll throw on a shirt and then . . . handle this.”
I stared up at him. Even though he was looking down at me, it was clear I wasn’t really registering. I could see the gears turning in his head, working. He was too focused on damage control.
And that was exactly how I felt right now. I was doing nothing to him but damage. I shook off his hold and strode toward his room, needing to flee as if that would somehow help our situation. “I should get dressed too.”
He didn’t argue. Instead, he followed me toward the bedroom, but he moved much faster than I did and beat me through the doorway. He snagged a t-shirt from a drawer, yanked it on, and gave me a serious look. “Stay put, okay?” he asked quietly. “I’ve got this.”
My mouth dropped open to speak, but he turned and pulled the door nearly closed. His heavy footsteps grew quieter as he hurried toward the back-patio door in the kitchen.
I scrambled into the wrinkled clothes I’d packed for today and raked a hairbrush through my tangled hair, trying to make it look presentable. The only makeup on my face was whatever was left over from last night. God, I was the opposite of Judy in every way this morning.