“Anything you want,” I breathed, every muscle tensed as he nuzzled at my labia.
“Promise not to fuck anyone but me.”
“For a month. I promise.” I let my head fall to one side and I closed my eyes, loving the way my body was stretched out and completely available for whatever sexy torture he had in mind.
“Only a month?” That hot, rough tongue slid over my clitoris again, making every nerve-ending in my lower body clench and release as the dizzying pleasure skidded through me.
I breathed out a sigh, desperate for more, but aware that he’d asked me a question. Unfortunately, my mind was so clouded with pleasure, I couldn’t concentrate enough to work out what he wanted.
“Yes. Whatever. Anything,” I breathed, as that lazy tongue slid up over my clitoris again, more firmly this time, making me squirm. If he kept going like that, I would soon be screaming the house down.
Only…he stopped licking. “Fritha?”
Damn.
I forced my eyelids to flutter open, but my brain simply wouldn’t cooperate. “Muh?”
“How do you feel about me?”
I frowned when I realized that inarticulate noises wouldn’t satisfy him “I lo—like you. A lot. Especially when you make me come,” I added in a not-so-subtle hint.
“Like now?”
“I don’t know.” I let my head flop back and I closed my eyes. “Maybe I won’t come.”
Nothing happened and eventually I opened my eyes again, wondering what I had to do to get that amazing tongue back onto my clit. He was gazing at me, from the top of my wild red curls down over trembling breasts and belly and thighs and legs to my bright pink nail polish.
At last he said, “I love everything about you,” and he looked back into my eyes, frowning slightly, as if the observation surprised him.
“My tits could be bigger,” I said, knowing he was used to busty blonds.
He surprised me by nodding. “Sure,” he said easily. “But I couldn’t give a rats arse about that. It’s your legs that make me hard. And that high, hard ass I just can’t keep my hands off.” As he spoke, he slid his fingers under my butt and squeezed it gently, his thumbs close to my backdoor, making my clitoris tingle in excitement.
Somehow I managed to hold in a moan. “What about my clitoris?” I swallowed in a mostly dry throat. Damn panting. It made speech difficult. “Isn’t it beautiful? Doesn’t it deserve to be worshipped?”
A slow, sexy smile spread across his face, and something about the combination of smoldering eyes, glistening white teeth and broad muscular shoulders made my stomach flutter in excitement.
But it wasn’t the sort of feeling I had during regular foreplay. It was…romantic. When he gazed into my eyes with that sexy I am going to make you howl smirk, of course I wanted to come. But I also wanted to laugh with him, and cook with him, and curl up next to him reading a book.
Which was confusing!
It was like a friend-feeling, but so much stronger. And I didn’t normally mix friendship with sex. So I was in unfamiliar territory.
But I liked it.
“So…” I closed my eyes again and let my head flop. “Is this some British stiff-upper-lip clitoris torture?”
“Yes.” I could hear the smile in his voice. “But your skin is so pale and perfect, I can’t bear to whip you, so it’s the only sort of torture I can resort to.”
“Whip me,” I demanded. Anything had to be better than hanging over the edge of an orgasm waiting for closure. I wriggled my bottom for good measure, but he only grasped my butt-cheeks more firmly.
Then I felt his tongue sliding up the crease of my labia, poking into crevices on the way and eventually rolling good and hard over my clitoris, setting off pleasure fireworks that made me stiffen and moan. When I wanted to wriggle, he squeezed my ass tighter, setting off that backdoor tingling again.
And then I was moaning in earnest, because he stopped teasing me and focused in on that throbbing bud of pleasure, circling, suckling, and then squeezing my ass hard as the squirming pleasure built. I pulled on the ropes and my table creaked as my body started shuddering with the first tendrils of an orgasm. Then I couldn’t stop myself squealing as the roar of pleasure slammed up my body, tingling everything from clitoris to nipples and beyond while my brain filled with a sound like oceans of crashing sparklers.
He just kept on, licking and suckling and driving me crazy until the orgasm faded and I told him to stop. Then he untied me and I kept my eyes closed while he pulled me up into his arms and carried me to bed. We lay there for the longest time, with me shuddering and trying to catch my breath while he stroked me gently, whispering softly into my forehead as I breathed in the scent of his skin, marveling at what had just occurred. Because it had been so much more than what we’d done before.
This time had been spectacular and terrifying, because I’d never come like that—as if everything in me had been part of the undoing—my heart, my mind, my body. They had all come apart and been reconnected in a different configuration where I wasn’t quite sure who I was anymore.
I should have been opening my eyes and joking about it being his turn or concerning myself with where the sexual play would go from here. But instead I was listening to his heartbeat against my cheek, marveling at the chest hairs that tickled my nose, and loving the feeling of his biceps surrounding me.
“Luv?” he said softly. “Are you okay?”
I shook my head, spreading my wild hair further. “I’m fucked. Literally, and figuratively.”
He tried to brush hair back off my forehead. “How so?”
“I’m…feeling things.” I swallowed, knowing I was making a hash of it. “And this is sex.”
“Where you don’t feel things…?”
I nodded.
He was silent for a moment, then said softly, “I wish I didn’t have to leave in half an hour. But I do.”
My heart jump-started. Half an hour? I struggled out of his arms and pushed my hair out of my face. Then I looked up and down his beautiful body, with those amazing shoulders, abs I’d only ever seen in the movies, and thighs I wanted to lick all over. Not to mention… “We’d better do something about deflating that sizable dick.”
I leant toward it, but he scooped me back up to be astride him before he said, “Condom, Missy.” He was frowning in his best I’m a bad food critic and you won’t argue with me expression. “You tell me you’re from an outback town. I want to see some cowgirl moves.”
That made me grin. So I reached across to the bedside drawer and snatched out a condom which I insisted on applying with my mouth—showing off—but he humored me, then he said, “Mount up,” so I lifted my haunches and he guided me in.
I was tempted to tease him, but my whole genital area was sensitive from that epic orgasm, so at the first contact with his very hard cock, it started tingling and clutching and I knew it wouldn’t take much for me to come again.
Greedy pig that I am, I slid straight down on him, and was gratified to see his eyelids slide closed on a soft groan.
“Fuck.” He gripped both my thighs. “Just stay there a moment.”
“But I want to move. I want to come. Again,” I whined.
One of his eyelids came open. “You will.”
I started to wiggle and his fingers tightened. “Stop doing that,” he said softly, and when I complied, he added. “You want this to last.”
I nodded.
“So seeing as you got me very excited in the kitchen. I’d like a moment to regroup.”
“Can I come first and then you regroup later?”
Both his eyes opened, and he gazed at me for far too long before he said, “There is not a single moment of you trying to impress me, is there?” As if that was amazing.
“Why should I?” I had him in bed, doing what I wanted—mostly. What more could I be angling for?
“People usually do,” he said. Then he added, “Women usually do.”
“Is that why you like me?”
I tried to squirm my clitoris against him without him noticing but his fingers tightened again—sprung.
“Yes.”
The single word caught my attention and I stopped trying to force my own pleasure. I thought about him liking me and asked, “What if you don’t like me after you leave? What if you don’t want to come back in a month?” It would be an appalling waste to be celibate for so long if there was no reward at the end.
He stretched up to rub a thumb over one nipple and I felt the tingling run straight down between my legs, making my muscles clutch around his cock. That made him smile just before he said, “I’m coming back to film the feature. And whether or not I still like you,” he put deliberate emphasis on the word, “I’m definitely going to fuck you. Are we clear on that?”
“Are you just telling me things I want to hear?”
“Stop talking and ride me, cowgirl.” He let go my thighs and stretched out all sexy underneath me with his hands up under his head.
I was still annoyed by his may not like you then comment, so I pouted. “They’re not cowgirls in Australia. They’re Jillaroos.” Although he had said he’d fuck me anyway, so perhaps I shouldn’t be prickly.
He raised an eyebrow. “But can they ride?”
I put both hands on his chest, then I raised my haunches almost to the point where he popped out, but at the last second I slid back down, feeling that hard shaft waking up every nerve ending inside me, and stretching the tissue so deliciously I was throbbing with need, which was crazy because I’d only just come. Still, within a minute of starting to ride him I was moaning, grinding my clitoris against him with every downward thrust.
“Look at me,” he demanded when I closed my eyes.
So I opened them again, pressing my lips together, trying to hold in the squeal that wanted to erupt because I could feel an orgasm building so fast there was no way to stop it—not that I’d want to, but when his hands came around me to caress my backside—guiding me up and down slower and yet crazily driving the pleasure faster as he stroked and squeezed—I completely lost it.
Some weird keening sound came out of my mouth and in a swoop, I was underneath him and the world was closer, darker as he loomed over me and I shuddered and squealed, on and on, dimly aware that he was still driving into me, faster and faster, kissing me and tasting of strawberries, driving his fingers into my hair to hold my head still so we were staring into each other’s eyes as he fucked me hard.
And then it was his turn and he was breathing hotly against my lips, saying, “This…is all…I want,” before he slammed one last time, groaning deep in his chest as his body shuddered and his dark eyes went black and hot. His cheekbones were so stark with tension his jaws could have been etched in stone.
And in that second….I realized I’d never seen anything more beautiful, more perfect, more needed, in my life.
Not anything.
Ever.
And my heart stuttered as I caught up with the realization that I needed Max.
I needed to have sex with him again. And again. And I very much needed him to look at me like he was, as if I was the only thing on the planet that he wanted, as if nothing else mattered but me, but us together.
In that moment, the rawness of my need was an ache, a wrenching in the middle of my chest, and it was so fierce, so physical, I had to press myself up into him to try and sooth it, squishing my breasts as I hugged him close, pressing my cheek against his, breathing his scent, running my fingers into his thick hair as emotions tumbled through me, most of them uncomfortable.
It was way too soon to be thinking ahead, but I couldn’t stop the premonition that the moment he walked out the door, the ache would intensify, which was terrible because it was already bad.
“What’s the matter?” he asked softly, and I tried to swallow down all the craziness that was surging inside me.
“You have to go.” I pressed my cheek harder against his. “I’ll be alone.”
“For a month,” he replied. “You can do that.”
I frowned and he pulled back to look at me. Then he smiled wryly. “Most people are happy to see my back.”
He was trying to make me feel better, which was sweet, but that only made me like him more, and that hurt. “I’m not most people.” We’d already established that.
He nodded and kissed the tip of my nose, then after a moment’s consideration, he kissed my lips, sweetly to start, then with deliberate intention, as if he was trying to seduce me. And even though I’d just had an orgasm, I started to feel my body come back to life as his tongue brushed over mine, tasting of strawberries and me.
Was he marking his territory? Making sure I wasn’t tempted to break our agreement? Whatever, I pulled him closer with my legs that were still wrapped around him, and kissed him back for all I was worth. Making memories to hold onto? I wasn’t sure. It was just instinct.
But all too soon he pulled away, frowning in regret. “Shower,” he said, and I nodded.
He rolled off the bed and immediately the cold air chilled me. But I tried to get past that as I watched him gather up his toiletries, and I even managed to smile at him as he glanced back at me from the door.
Then I was alone in the bed, staring out the window at the pretty blue sky, realizing the morning was half over and I had to get showered and dressed as well. I’d promised Traci I’d drive him back to the shop, and I was due there by ten anyway to prep for the lunch shift.
Post-orgasm lethargy wanted me to stay flopped on the bed, but I crawled out and pulled on an oversize tee-shirt, because I had no idea where my robe was. Then I decided to save time and do my lock up the house rounds now so we could leave straight after my shower. I shut the bedroom window in case of a thunderstorm while I was away, and set off to check the other rooms in the house, closing windows and locking doors methodically as I went.
With the back of the house done, I headed for the front, but was only half way down the hall when I heard footsteps on the front porch, and the sound of a man clearing his throat. I shook my head in disbelief. If Dr. Tall, Blond and Stupid had come back for round two, I was seriously going to slap him. Stupid prick, telling Max that I was his girlfriend. Who did he think—?
I wrenched the door open and my outrage faltered into shock. Four men stood on my front porch, all of them strangers. Two of them had cameras, and one started flashing shots while another said, “So this is Fritha Wynde. You look like you just rolled out of bed luv—”
I slammed the door shut and locked it, then I turned to press my back against it as they laughed amongst themselves. Something in the derision of their tone made my stomach freefall, as if I was remembering something horrible, only, I didn’t have time for that. I had to work out what to do now.
One of them started banging on the door, calling out for Max, and for me, and asking for a ‘statement’ of our relationship. In that second I realized that this was going to end up as a ‘story’. Those men knew that Max was in my house.
Damn it! I’d left his car parked out the front. Traci had told me to put it around the back and I forgot. And now, whatever tip-off they’d received about Max being here would seem confirmed. I was such an idiot.
The door vibrated against my back, pitching my heartrate into overload, but I had not the slightest clue what to do. When Max stormed out of the bathroom into the hallway, my body jerked in nervous reaction. His hair was wet from the shower and he was wearing only black tailored trousers and a black unbuttoned shirt.
I opened my mouth but nothing came out, so he marched down the hall toward me, his expression thunderous. Despite everything that was going on, I noticed how totally hot he was with his wet hair slicked back and those delicious pectorals and abs on display.
I expected him to wrench the door open and tell them off—he certainly had his Don’t fuck with me, I’m Max Banks expression on. But instead he grabbed my arm and looked deep into my eyes. “Calm down,” he said, too quietly for them to hear. “They don’t know for sure
that I’m here, so I want you to yell something at them.”
I nodded, but my teeth were chattering in reaction.
“I want you to say, This is private property. I’m calling the police. Get off my land. Can you do that?”
I nodded again, but it took me a couple of seconds of swallowing before I could turn and face the solid timber door and shout, “I’m calling the police. You’re trespassing on private property. Get off my land. Now!”
Max didn’t wait for their reaction. He pulled me back up the hallway, but behind us, I heard one of the intruders call out, “Wonder what Hilary is going to say about this.”
Who the fuck was Hilary?
When we were inside my bedroom, Max shut the door quietly and let me go. Then he walked to the window and pulled the heavy red velvet curtains closed. “Is the house locked?” He turned back to face me, his expression grim.
“All except the window near the back door. I leave that open in case I can’t get in.”
“I’ll shut it. Stay here.”
I swallowed down an ocean of anxiety and shook my head. “It’s my house.”
“They’re my tormentors. Not yours.” With his dark eyes blazing and his gorgeous shoulders so stiff, he looked completely impervious, as if slander and innuendo would simply roll off his stunning chest. I, on the other hand, felt as fragile as cracked china, ready to shatter at the first hit.
“Fritha?” He was warning me, and I was tempted to obey, only…I wasn’t the damsel in distress type.
So I shook my head again. “I can weather this—”
“No you can’t,” he said categorically. “You have no clue what they’re capable of.”
He pulled out his phone and punched in a number, then held it to his ear as he stared through me, looking like he existed in another dimension and couldn’t even see me anymore.
When the phone answered, he said, “There are press at Ms. Wynde’s house. They can’t get in, but we can’t get out without being photographed.” He listened for a few seconds then said, “I don’t want her here alone.”
His focus sharpened then, and honed in on me. “How many are there?”
Husband Rollover (Husband Series Book 4) Page 14