Nymphomania (Erotic Romance Bundle)

by Dalia Daudelin

  His head dips to take a dark, pointed nipple between his lips. The feeling of warmth, of his rough lips pulling at the sensitive bud sends signals through her body that only serve to make sure that she continues down the path that she's already on.

  Her body presses up into him, her arms wrapping around his head and trying to get him to take her deeper into his mouth, to spread that warmth. His tongue flicks across the nipple. Again. Her body is starting to tense, preparing early for an orgasm that she knows isn't coming yet. She'll need a little more, but she knows it will come. In time.

  His hands explore her skin. Gone is the quick, forceful sex that they'd had the first time. He lets the need burn slow, takes his time in getting to know her flesh.

  His hands trace the silhouette of her hips, cupping the roundness of her ass and pulling it away from the steel bumper. He squeezes, eliciting a soft yelp that she can't quite keep silent any longer. He can't quite keep the smile off his face as he sees it.

  Callahan's teeth gleam in the darkness as he smiles. Those teeth take her hard, sensitive nipple between them and pinch, a high-octane mix of pain and pleasure sending signals to every nerve center in her brain.

  Her body bucks against his, trying to get the pleasure that she knows isn't there to take yet. He presses a knee between her thighs, a small concession to her need, a little promise that she knows he'll have no difficulty in fulfilling when the time comes.

  Her hips rock against him, the rough fabric of his trousers giving her a tiny taste of relief. And then he's spreading her legs a little wider. His hand dips between them, exploring the skin below her belly-button. She's never thought of it as sensitive until now, but every tiny touch, every time that his skin brushes against hers, it leaves a trail of burning memory that promises and delivers all by itself.

  His fingers dip deeper, caressing the downy-soft hair above her core. He knows what he wants, and he knows exactly what she wants, too. Her hips press up into his hand and he grows still, pressing her hips back with his palm.

  "Now, what made you go and do that?" he says. His voice is low and sexual, and speaks to the teasing that's going to drive her nuts.

  "I'm sorry," she says. She's played this game before. It's a game she's always liked. From both sides.

  "You need to stay still, girlie. It's not your turn yet. It's my turn."

  His fingers find the place where her legs meet. The folds part easily, readily, for him and his probing fingers. Her clit sends alarm bells ringing through her entire body as she feels him circle around it, as she feels the vaguest threat that he might press against the hardened nub.

  Then he's passed, the very tips of his fingers spreading her the tiniest possible amount, hinting and tantalizing without ever going quite far enough to give her what she needs.

  Her hips squirm again, trying to get a little more. She forces them still as quickly as possible, but it won't happen. She can't make it happen. And then he's pulling away.

  "What did I say about moving, little darlin'?"

  She whimpers. The words, so immediately ready, just won't come out. "I didn't mean to—"

  "Now, what am I going to do with you? Disobedient… needy… oh, you can't help yourself, can you, little thing?"

  "No," she says. She looks up in his eyes, pleading with him. Please, don't stop. Please. Just a little more. Just a little further, and—

  "You're going to have to learn better. You remember what to do?"

  She nods. She knows exactly what he wants. And she knows that she's going to give it to him.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  There are only three sensations that a man can feel through his cock. Only three that feel good, anyway. And those three are more than enough for any of them. Wet, hot, tight.

  Philip's eyes are closed when her mouth wraps around him, because he already knows what's coming, practically already feels the relief that she'll bring his arousal.

  His hands move to her head, not quite guiding her. He keeps his hips still as best he can. It's not time for that sort of thing, not just yet. He'll take what he wants, but he'll wait until he can maximize it for himself.

  A fire burns inside him, a need that only gets worse as her mouth bobs along his length. Her tongue is moving along with her mouth, testing the bottom-side of his cock.

  Callahan's breathing is coming in hard, raspy breaths, his body already beginning to feel the strain of simply holding itself back.

  And then he isn't holding himself back any more. He pulls her off.

  "Is everything—"

  "Turn around, bend over," he says. She does as she's told, on her hands and knees in the dirt. His cock lines up with her entrance easily, readily, as if it were finding its home.

  He presses in a little bit. He doesn't encounter any resistance; even still, he pushes in slowly. His manhood stiffens even as it rests inside her, so erect that it hurts.

  He pulls back and enters her again, his hips finding the perfect groove that takes him out as far as he can go before driving himself home. He settles into that rhythm, pushing himself deep into her before withdrawing slowly.

  His orgasm, threatening to overtake him in her mouth, takes a step back, and he takes a step forward to chase it, his thrusts coming harder and faster, motivated by need.

  He grasps her body, any way he can get a better hand-hold to take his pleasure from her. Her shoulders do nicely, and he grasps them and uses them to push himself to move faster still, harder still. To rip what he needs away from her, even as he can hear her breaths turn to soft moans.

  She tightens down on him, and yet still he doesn't slow. His hips move harder. Faster. His body is beginning to tire, but his need only burns hotter. His fingers grip hard into her shoulder. No doubt they'll leave bruises, but the girl below him isn't complaining.

  Her soft moans have grown harder, have grown more throaty with need. If she still remembers that they're outside, the information isn't stopping her.

  "Fuck," he says—his voice sounds hoarse, from the heady combination of sexual arousal and his rapidly approaching orgasm. "I'm gonna—"

  "Cum in my mouth," she says. The words hit somewhere deep inside him, an instinct that he can't suppress any longer.

  He pushes himself into her warmth once, twice more, and then withdraws, scrambling across her body to enter her waiting, open mouth. His fingers dig into her hair. It's not the time for reservedness, not now.

  His hips press out an erratic rhythm, trying to press his cock as deep into her mouth as either of them will let it go.

  His fingers tighten, her hair caught up in his hands, starting to pull. And then he feels the release rip through him, drawing out a hoarse, triumphant shout as he shoots his cum into her waiting mouth.

  A moment later he regains his senses. Morgan Lowe, one of the richest women in the country, is kneeling in the dirt in front of him; her clothes are in disarray, her hair a mess. She's got a vacant sort of expression, and a dull smile on her face that she likely doesn't even realize that she's showing.

  "You look good," he says, and he means it.

  "That was exactly what I needed," she says. She sits back and starts to take her feet again. Her clothes slip easily back into place. A hand run through her hair doesn't do nearly as well getting her hair back into place, but they're not planning on going back out.

  "I'm glad you liked it. If you don't have somewhere to be, I've got a movie set up in the living room."

  She's still got that vacant, well-fucked expression, as if the world is far too complicated with her brain so scrambled. But she smiles a little more, and leans into his body as he wraps an arm around her shoulder.

  "I think I'd like that, too."

  He leans down to kiss her forehead.

  "Then we'll get to it."

  Chapter Thirty

  Morgan Lowe's phone, pressed into her shoulder, buzzes, and she jerks awake with a gasp. She'd been having another dream. The ones she doesn't like. It's been happening more and more s
ince Dad died.

  She reaches down and flicks to answer the call, hoping to get it before Phil wakes up beside her, and she pads, still nude, out of the bedroom before she puts the phone to her ear.

  "Hello?"

  It's a woman's voice on the other line, and it takes a minute before she realizes who it is.

  "Hello, Miss Lowe. How are you doing this morning?"

  She rubs the sleep out of her eyes and tries to pretend she didn't just wake up.

  "Things are going great," she says. It's true, as far as she knows. But it would still be nice to know why she's getting a call at five in the morning from anyone on her board, never mind Andrea Neill, who's never been keen on her to begin with.

  "Oh, I didn't wake you, did I?"

  Morgan presses her eyes shut and tries to get the stinging to go away, but no matter what she does, it doesn't seem to work.

  "No, not at all. I was just getting ready to jump in the shower."

  "I'm glad to hear it."

  Morgan presses her forehead into the wall.

  "It is a little early, though. Did you need something? Is everything alright?"

  "Oh, of course," the woman on the other end says.

  She's not a young woman any more. Well… that would be one way to put it. The polite way. The extremely polite way, even. A less polite way to phrase things would be to point out that she's the eldest member of the board by almost ten years.

  For a woman her age, it's a surprise that she gets out of bed in the morning. For a woman her age, with her money, it's a surprise that she makes calls for herself. But she's a woman who knows what she wants and makes sure she's in a position to get it.

  "Yes, it's about what we discussed during the phone conference, the other day. You recall, don't you?"

  She did. She remembered that they'd discussed things for nearly an hour, and that was before they'd started their bimonthly barrage of questions. "Yes, of course. You didn't need to call, you know. The next conference call is only in a couple of days, I'm sure you've got more important—"

  "I'm sure that you're just being polite, Miss Lowe, but if I wanted to wait, I would have. I'm not so old as that."

  "I didn't mean—"

  "Of course you didn't. Now, about the Callahan ranch, specifically."

  "What about it?"

  "How is progress going?"

  Morgan looks back over her shoulder. He'll still be in bed for another couple of minutes, no doubt. In a job like his, you rise early, but five in the morning might still be early for him.

  "It's not clear at this point. I'm not sure if I'm going to continue to pursue it."

  The woman on the other end of the line is silent. There's no part of Morgan that believes for a moment that she doesn't have an opinion. Given their prior interactions, there's only a very small part of her that believes that opinion is going to be positive.

  "That would be a mistake, dear," she says. If her tone is what she arrived at after calming down for a moment, Morgan's concerned how stern the rebuke would have sounded if she'd spoken immediately.

  "I'm continuing to look at the situation from all available perspectives, of course, but as the situation has developed—"

  "If you're going to override every man's opinion up to this point, Miss Lowe, you'd better have a pair of cast-iron balls, and you'd better deliver. Now. Are you planning on making sure that you deliver on your promise, and you drive the sale as hard as you can? Or are you going to back out? Because you can back out of anything you like, but—well, that's how we women are, isn't it?"

  Morgan leans against the wall. Her body feels heavy, and the one thing she doesn't want right now is to continue the conversation.

  "Do you hear what I'm saying, Miss Lowe?"

  "Of course."

  "Then you'll have some good news for us in a few days, I hope?"

  Philip's arms wrap around her waist, his lips press into the back of her neck.

  "You'll just have to wait a few days to find out, Mrs. Neill."

  "Good to hear. Have a good, productive day, Miss Lowe."

  "You too, Ma'am."

  She hangs up the phone and turns to Philip. He's pulled on a pair of jeans. They seem to suit him better than the nicer clothes. Between the two of them, they've almost got a single complete set of clothes.

  "Work talk?"

  "One of our investors thought she'd give me a wake-up call."

  He presses another kiss against her lips, and she kisses him back.

  "I'm sorry to hear about that."

  "I've got what I've got to deal with. When are the boys going to be arriving?"

  His face drops. "Yeah, they, ah. They ain't comin' in today."

  "Is something wrong?"

  His face gets straight again, and then whatever doubt that might have been in his mind is gone from his face.

  "Don't worry about it."

  The way he's looking doesn't look like something she shouldn't worry about. But against her better judgment…

  She'll let it go. Then his lips press against hers and she whatever concerns she had, they would wait.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Philip Callahan shouldn't be working. God only knows what he should be doing, but the one thing he knows he shouldn't be doing is carrying a bundle of fence rails on his shoulder out to the truck to finish a job that got stuck in time.

  There's a boy in a hospital waiting for surgery.

  There's a woman who, for all the surprises in the world, seems to be interested in more than just what she says she's interested in.

  And sure, there are animals that need feeding. It's the same as every day. That was hours ago.

  More than anything, though, he should have been getting ready for lunch. It's not something that he normally worried about. He ate when he was hungry, and when he wasn't, then he didn't worry about when he was going to get hungry. And there was no 'getting ready' for lunch—he hopped in the truck and headed out.

  Most days, he wasn't meeting Glen Brand to talk numbers on a black stallion that he had to trust to rescue him from the tax burden that was doubtless going to drop on his head any day now.

  He takes a deep breath and refocuses himself. The rails drop into the bed of the truck easily. This isn't what he should be doing right now. He's right about that. With a deep breath he heads inside. He's not going to go to a meeting in his work clothes, his hands still torn-up and dirty from work in the yard.

  An hour later he's walking into the little diner. Glen's got a little pad with him, spiral bound at the top and sized to fit in his breast pocket. It shows a wear that tells Callahan that he can't just assume the sale is final until the ink dries on the contract and the cash is sitting in his account.

  "Afternoon, Phil," he says, standing up and reaching out for a firm handshake. It's always strange to deal with Glen because he's got the body of a man who works for a living. His wrists are near as thick as a baseball bat, and he's got a grip like iron.

  "Glen. I didn't realize I'd be keeping you waiting, I'm sorry."

  The other man gives a hard smile. "Only a minute or two. Don't worry about it."

  "You talked to a waitress yet?"

  "Like I said—only a minute or two."

  Callahan slips into the seat opposite. Unlike Glen, this place is only a few miles from home—he's got the menu just about memorized.

  Which means that for better or worse, he's got all the attention in the world to pay to how much he's worried about the next few minutes, and how they're going to go.

  "I've been trying to reach you," Glen starts, looking down.

  "Yeah, we had a bit of trouble at the ranch. I haven't been able to spend as much time as I'd like."

  It's not a lie, exactly, but it doesn't get down to the point, which in reality is that he's been avoiding returning the calls, because when he does, it's going to mean that either things go well, and the horse goes, or it doesn't go well, and…

  Turning over the cards was just too much for a
long time. But now, the choice was out of his hands. He needed to get the work done, and that was how it had to be. More than that, he needed the money, and he needed it yesterday.

  "Shit, I don't know." Glen looks up. "What's good here?"

  "You like eggs?"

  "Sure, I guess."

  "Eggs are alright. Get the sausage, Saul likes to burn the bacon."

  "Right," he says. He looks at the menu a second longer before putting it down. "If you say so."

  The waitress comes a minute later, and they order.

  "So what were you hoping to get for him?"

  It's been a long time since Callahan's had to negotiate. Some part of him worries that he's going to have forgotten something. The thing that he doesn't wonder about, though, is that he's not supposed to be the first one to say something. The first one to say a number loses.

  "How about you tell me something you think is fair?"

  Glen chews on that thought a minute. Part of him must be thinking that he'd rather not say a number any more than Philip had. But someone's going to have to, at some point.

  "I could justify fifteen."

  Philip's throat tightens. It's a starting number. It's low, and perhaps too low. But it's only a starting number.

  It's a starting number he's going to have to bring up.

  The food comes.

  "The horse is worth twenty-five," Philip says. "I can't let him go much less than that, I'd be losing money."

  Any hope that Glen might buy that is gone when Callahan looks up.

  "Fifteen is fair, Callahan. Don't bullshit me."

  "Alright. I need twenty. I can't let him go less than that. Honest. That's the least I can go."

  Glen smiles, a look that tells Philip what he already knows. A look that tells him that he's lost whatever he'd stood to hopefully gain.

  "Twenty's high, Phil. But I can do you a favor, this once."

  Callahan's jaw tightens. Glen Brand isn't the kind of man that you want to owe a favor to. But the alternative isn't any better.