Big Shot

by Carly Phillips

  “I’m so fucking close. Finish me off,” he demanded harshly. “Do it. Make me come hard. Now.”

  She took him in her palm again, realizing that he’d changed positions so that she could watch as he climaxed. And it didn’t take long, just a few more tight strokes, and he growled and shuddered and threw his head back as his entire body began to shake . . . and she had a front-row seat to it all. The straining cords in his neck. His heaving chest. The rippling of his abs. The shallow jerking of his hips as he kept driving harder, faster, deeper into her fist.

  And finally, she felt the pulsing along the underside of his erection right before his orgasm burst free, along with a long, hoarse groan. Hot spurts of thick, milky fluid erupted from his cock, surging as high as her breasts and eventually pooling onto her stomach. It was spectacular to watch him lose control and to know that he’d done so because of her.

  A secret little smile touched her lips as he lowered himself on top of her, the sticky mess between them slickening their skin and making an even bigger mess.

  She pressed against his shoulders, which did nothing to make him move. “Arggh, seriously, Wes?”

  He chuckled and lifted his head from her neck, his lashes half-mast, his expression sated. “Yes, seriously. You wanted wild, anything-goes sex, and coming all over your tits and stomach definitely qualifies, and it was hotter than fuck.”

  Okay, she couldn’t argue with that. Everything about what had just happened was emblazoned on her mind, an erotic fantasy for her to retrieve later when it was just her and Liam again.

  He smiled down at her, slow and sexy, and she hated that her heart skipped a beat when nothing about her heart should have been involved in this fling. “Besides, cleaning up this mess gives us a great excuse to have shower sex. What do you say about that, Minx?”

  Her inner hussy gave an enthusiastic hell yeah, and Natalie grinned right back at him. “I’m totally in.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Wes wasn’t sure why being Natalie’s transition guy bothered him so much. But two days after their night together, on the drive to pick her up for the Sunday afternoon surprise birthday party for a friend that he’d asked her to accompany him to, he was still thinking about the fact that she was using him to get over her ex.

  Okay, she hadn’t said those words exactly, but the fact that she was using him to transition her way back into finding a suitable guy to date . . . he figured it was the same damn thing. Normally, the whole let’s have fun and not take things too seriously rule was his mantra. Words he lived by when it came to all the women who’d passed through his life, since his high school days.

  So, now that the situation was reversed and Natalie had laid out the terms of their affair, why did being relegated to being her fuck buddy make him feel so . . . annoyed?

  God, it was all so confusing and ridiculous. As Connor or one of the other guys would say, he was acting like a fucking girl—wanting more time with Natalie, thinking about her when they weren’t together, sending her amusing and sexy texts throughout the day and anxiously awaiting her witty responses.

  One night of fucking his best friend’s sister and his business adversary—the one woman he’d sworn he’d never touch that way—and he was like a goddamn puppy needing her attention, waiting for a pat on the head, a scratch behind the ear, or a freakin’ belly rub. He smirked to himself at that latter thought, because judging by the hand job she’d given him two nights ago, he was pretty sure that Natalie would give really good belly rubs.

  The navigation system in his car told him to turn down Belmont Avenue, cutting into his thoughts as he neared her condo. For as many times as she’d been to his place, he’d never been to hers. Never had a reason to. He knew from Connor that after Natalie’s breakup with Mitch, she’d bought the small two-bedroom condo on her own. It was located in a nice area of Roscoe Village where real estate held its appreciation, and resale value was something that would be important to her, being an agent, for the future, depending on how long she decided to hold on to the place.

  He parked his vehicle in a lot for visitors and walked toward the building. It was the end of August, a little humid but a nice enough afternoon for a birthday gathering. Making his way up to the sixth floor, he found her unit and knocked on the door. She answered a few moments later, wearing a pretty but casual peach-colored dress with a band around the waist that was made of the same color of lace. The sleeves were short, the neckline appropriately modest, and the hem ended just above her knee. She’d left her hair down in soft waves, and her eyes looked even bluer than normal because of whatever she’d done with her makeup.

  “Hey, beautiful,” he said, resisting the urge to push her back into the condo and up against the wall so he could have his way with her before they left. Two fucking days, and he was dying to be inside her again. Was already counting down the hours until they could leave the party and he could get her naked and pinned beneath him.

  Smiling, she gave him a quick, appreciative once-over, taking in his burgundy shirt and black jeans. “Hi, yourself, handsome. I’ll try not to spill a drink on your pants tonight.”

  He chuckled at the reminder of her doing just that at his poker game . . . and what it had eventually led to. The best fucking sex of his life. Seriously. Nothing came close to what this woman did to him physically. He didn’t want to think about how she was starting to tie him up in knots emotionally, because that was just too dangerous a place for him to go.

  She opened the door wider and he walked inside, then followed her into the small living room. She was wearing a pair of shiny, high-heeled beige pumps, and predictably his eyes were drawn to the subtle sway of her hips and the way the material of her dress smoothed over her ass.

  “You wearing panties beneath that dress?” Because as far as he could see, there were no telltale lines.

  She gave him a cheeky smile over her shoulder. “Yes, I’m wearing a g-string, so keep your dick in your pants.”

  Yeah, sure. Now that she’d put that hot mental image in his head, every time he looked at her ass, his horny dick was going to follow her around like a heat-seeking missile.

  “Give me a sec,” she said as she kept on walking toward another door that led into what looked like the master bedroom. “I need to grab my lipstick and purse, and then I’ll be ready to go.”

  Once she disappeared into the room, he glanced around the place, which was smaller and more compact than he would have thought. From where he stood in the living room, he could see both bedroom doors, a main bathroom, and the connecting kitchen. The furnishings, though high quality, were just the essentials because there wasn’t much extra room for anything more than the basics. The decor was clean and uncluttered and made up in neutral tones, with splashes of brighter colors thrown in to showcase a bit of Natalie’s personality.

  She returned a few minutes later, her lips now shiny with a peach-colored gloss that looked like candy he wanted to eat off her mouth. She adjusted the long strap of a beige purse over her shoulder and stopped in front of him, bringing with her the scent of something soft and flowery.

  “Nice place,” he said, meaning it. Despite the size, it was reflective of her.

  “Thanks.” She glanced around the living room, as if seeing it through his eyes. “It’s small, but it’s just me living here, so it’s fine for now.”

  “A transition home?”

  Oh, shit, did he really just go there? Did his subconscious just betray the fact that he was a tad bit annoyed being labeled her transition guy? Judging by the amused arch of her brow, yeah, she’d definitely caught on to his not-so-subtle gibe.

  Instead of calling him on it, she shrugged it off. “I guess you could call it that. I don’t intend to live here forever.”

  Just like she didn’t intend to be with him forever.

  Where the fuck did that thought come from? And why the hell did he feel as though he’d just been kicked in the stomach?

  “I want a nice house someday,” she wen
t on, oblivious of the turmoil he was dealing with inside his chest. “But it doesn’t make sense for me to buy one on my own. I’d like to think I’m going to meet someone who wants to get married, have kids, and live in the suburbs. Then I can sell this place.”

  Everything he’d never wanted. Her little spiel should have put things into perspective, but instead it made him feel oddly . . . alone. Which was exactly what he preferred, he quickly told himself. He wasn’t interested in marriage, or even kids, not when he’d watched how ugly things had gotten between his parents, how a divorce had ripped apart their family, and how he, as a young preteen, had grown resentful and bitter toward his father for devastating Wes’s mother and walking away to start a new life and a new family with the woman he’d been having an affair with.

  And that’s why Wes kept himself closed off to women. Not because the leaving had wrecked his mother emotionally but because his father’s selfish choices had destroyed a part of Wes and had made him feel as though he hadn’t been good enough for his dad to stay, or even worth him visiting after the nasty divorce.

  Once his father was gone, Wes only knew that he never wanted to feel that kind of all-encompassing rejection from someone he’d loved ever again. And so he’d always avoided emotional ties with a woman, deliberately ending things before they could decide he wasn’t boyfriend material or that he wasn’t what they were looking for in a man.

  It was easier and much less complicated that way, and he liked being a bachelor—free to come and go as he pleased, no drama in his life, and a little black book filled with plenty of females willing to enjoy a casual hook-up, no strings attached, all at a moment’s notice. The arrangement had always worked for him, so why did he even care that Natalie wanted to get married, have a family, and live in the suburbs? He might not be cut out for wedded bliss, but he’d known Natalie for over twenty years, and while she’d been a pain in his ass most of that time, she certainly deserved to be some lucky man’s wife, he told himself, forcefully ignoring the heavy sensation settling in the pit of his stomach like a rock.

  “Hey, Wes, where did you go?”

  Natalie’s voice penetrated his thoughts, and he realized he was frowning and she was staring at him quizzically. He gave his head a shake, quickly reminding himself that this thing between them was all about mutually satisfying sex. It was what they both wanted and agreed upon. Hot, anything-goes fucking. For now, she was his, but what she did after the terms of their bet was fulfilled, and with whom, was none of his concern. Even if he didn’t like the thought of her being with another man after him—someone nice, steady, and dependable . . . like Richard.

  “Ready to get going?” he asked, because he was more than ready to leave his serious thoughts behind.

  With a nod from her, they headed out of the building toward where he’d parked his car. He tucked her into the passenger-side seat of his sporty Audi Coupe, then got behind the wheel. Once they were on the road, Natalie turned toward him on the leather seat, the slight shift causing her dress to move up her smooth thighs a few tantalizing inches. “Tell me how you know the guy who is having the birthday so I know a little about him before we get there.”

  He welcomed the distracting conversation. “I met him about six years ago after he’d gone through a bad divorce, and I sold him a condo on Lake Shore Drive. We became good friends after that. His name is Jackson Stone . . . or rather, Kincaid, since he recently changed his last name.” Wes was still getting used to that switch, even though he completely understood the reasons for his friend’s choice.

  “Why would he change his last name?” she asked curiously.

  “He was illegally adopted as a newborn,” Wes said, still a bit astounded by the story that Jackson had told him months ago. “He was a twin, and his birth mother sold him for drug money, so it was all very black market.”

  She gasped in shock. “Oh, my God.”

  Wes briefly glanced at Natalie, her eyes round and filled with disbelief. “Even being adopted, Jackson had a crappy life growing up, and when he found out from his aunt that he was illegally adopted, he had a PI search for his real family and found his three brothers. Mason, Levi, and his twin, Clay Kincaid.”

  “Wow,” she said softly. “I take it they’re all very close now?”

  He nodded. “It took awhile for his siblings to come around, but yeah, they’re all really nice guys, and Jackson finally feels like he fits into a family, which is why he changed his last name to Kincaid, since that’s his legitimate birth one. He recently got married to a woman named Tara, who works as a bartender for the Kincaid brothers.”

  “The whole illegal adoption thing is fascinating, but I’m glad it worked out for him and he’s with the family he always should have been with.”

  Wes silently agreed. As he continued the drive to Clay’s house, where the party was being held, he gave Natalie a quick rundown on Jackson’s brothers and their wives, all of whom he’d met at his friend’s wedding to Tara a few months back. That way, she’d at least have some knowledge as to who was who before they arrived.

  As the invitation had instructed, Wes parked on a side street so Jackson wouldn’t recognize his car, and he walked the short distance with Natalie to Clay’s house, located in a nice neighborhood in a suburb. Samantha answered the door, and after introductions, she ushered them out to the backyard deck to wait for Jackson’s arrival, which gave Wes time to introduce Natalie to the people that he knew personally, which was mostly Jackson’s new family—his brothers and their wives, and a few co-workers from Jackson’s architectural firm.

  Twenty minutes later, the man of the hour stepped through the glass slider to the backyard with his wife, Tara, beside him, where he was met with a loud chorus of “surprise!” And judging by the startled look on his face, he clearly hadn’t been expecting a party in his honor.

  The casual party got underway, with a bar set up for beer and mixed drinks, a DJ playing music, and a local restaurant that had catered in a buffet for dinner that included barbeque ribs, chicken, and an assortment of side dishes. At some point, the ladies gravitated together on the deck to talk about whatever women talked about, with Natalie included in the group since she’d hit it off with the Kincaid wives right from the start. The bunch of them were chatting and laughing as if they were all old friends. But then again, Natalie always did have an outgoing personality.

  The men did the same, banding together and discussing mostly business-related stuff, and between all four Kincaid siblings, there was a wide range of careers to cover—bar owner, tattooist, cop, and architect. Toss in Wes’s real estate background, and there was no lack of interesting conversation.

  After a while, Samantha stepped out onto the deck with a happy, bright-eyed baby in her arms, Charlotte, who was about six months old, if Wes remembered correctly. Clay’s wife joined the women again, and the conversation around Wes suddenly faded as he watched as Natalie asked to hold the little girl, and Samantha didn’t hesitate to hand the baby over.

  The expression on Natalie’s face was soft and wistful as she talked to Charlotte and tickled her belly, and the infant bounced in her arms and waved her fists gleefully, making Natalie laugh. Gently, she caressed her hand over the wispy blond hair on Charlotte’s head, then Natalie leaned in and gave the baby a sweet kiss on the temple.

  That’s when Natalie caught him watching, the look etching her features filled with unmistakable longing that said, I want this so much. Not with him, he knew, but with a man who could, and would, give her those things.

  In that moment, Wes was grateful that his heart was concealed inside of his chest, because it suddenly felt heavy with a regret he’d never, ever experienced before. And he certainly didn’t want to start thinking about what ifs right now. But all at once he was hyperaware that most everyone around him at this party was married and happy and starting families and moving on with their lives. Hell, even Mason’s wife, Katrina, and Levi’s wife, Sara, were walking around with noticeable pregnant bellies a
nd glowing about it. And Wes was . . . right where he’d always been. Single, happy—which was relative to each person, he supposed—and swearing he didn’t want to have anything to do with settling down.

  “Uh, oh, are you feeling the urge to populate with some baby Sinclairs?” While Wes had been lost in his thoughts, Jackson had come up beside him and figured out what had ensnared his attention . . . Natalie holding a baby. He took a drink of beer from his bottle and glanced at his friend, giving him a droll smile. “Not even close.”

  Jackson studied him for a few moments longer before glancing back at the circle of women and speaking again. “You know, the whole marriage thing isn’t as unpleasant as you might think.”

  Wes arched a brow. “This coming from the guy who went through a nasty divorce?”

  His friend shrugged. “So I didn’t get it right the first time, and looking back, I never should have married Collette, because I did it for the wrong reasons. But Tara . . . ” A sappy smile transformed his expression. “She is everything I want and didn’t know I needed. And so much more. But I suppose that’s something you’re just going to have to figure out for yourself.”

  Wes rolled his eyes in humor. “Okay, yeah, thanks for your words of wisdom.” But he already knew they didn’t apply to him. And especially not him and Natalie—his best friend’s little sister and a woman who’d already set down strict guidelines for their affair, which didn’t include anything other than getting laid regularly for the next two weeks.

  “By the way, isn’t that the brunette who was ignoring you that time we met for drinks over at the Popped Cherry?” Jackson questioned in a speculative tone.

  Wes was surprised his friend remembered that evening. “Yes.”