by Beth Yarnall
As his heart rate slowed and his brain re-fired its engines, he realized she was crying. He pushed himself up and looked down at her. She was smiling, but tears leaked out of her eyes and into her hair.
“Darlin’, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong.” She sniffed.
“Then why the tears?”
“Because it’s been so long since I came during sex. I missed it.”
He put his forehead to hers. “Jesus, darlin’, don’t say things like that.”
“It’s true. God, Cal. That was so good. I don’t care if it was in the option agreement or not. Plain old vanilla missionary sex works just fine for me.”
He gave her a gentle kiss. “Me too, darlin’. Me too. Any way I can be inside you works for me.”
“I missed you.”
“I missed you too.”
“I’m counting this as one of your five even though it’s probably not in the option agreement.”
“Oh, are you?” He rolled them over so she was on top. One of the nipple clamps had fallen off. He released the other one and threw it on the floor, then he bent his head and kissed each of her breasts. God he loved her breasts.
“Yeah.”
“So you’re making the rules around here now?”
She leaned forward, brushing her nipples across his chest. “Got a problem with that?”
“No, darlin’. When you do that, I don’t have any problems at all with that or anything else in the world.”
“Could I ask you a favor?”
“You could ask for anything from me right now and I’d likely give it to you.”
Her lips curved into the kind of smile she used to give him. Even if she weren’t naked and lying on top of him, that smile would get her whatever she wanted. It had been too damn long since he’d seen it.
He cupped her face. “What can I do for you?”
“Can we keep things the way they are?”
“What do you mean?”
“You haven’t exactly been subtle about wanting me to share your bed every night. I’m just not sure I’m ready to move across the hall.”
“We can keep them any way you want. I kind of like having to walk across the hall and ask permission to come into my wife’s bedroom. Keeps me honest.”
“Are you sure?”
“There’s only one thing I’m completely sure of, darlin’. And that’s if nothing at all changed between us and we stayed exactly the way we are right now, I wouldn’t have a thing to complain about.”
“You’re only saying that because I’m naked and laying on top of you.”
“Like I said. Keeps me honest.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
It was the night of the dinner party when Lucy would really earn her stripes as Cal Seller’s wife. She’d chosen what she thought was the perfect dress and had her hair and makeup professionally done. The house was spotless, the decorations flawless. The food was more than delicious—it was exquisite. Even Poppy had a new outfit for the occasion, a cute little red, black, and white dress with white tights and shiny new black Mary Jane shoes.
Lucy stood in the entry hall, ready to greet her husband as he came home from work. She hoped with everything in her that he approved of what she’d done. This dinner was important not only to Cal but to Lucy as well. He’d offered her marriage as a way out of her situation based on her ability to pull off the kind of corporate affairs wives of her caliber were expected to perform. Only she’d never hosted a dinner party, and she’d certainly never choreographed a six-course dinner for four.
Twisting her hands together, she checked the time again. Twenty minutes. Twenty minutes until their guests arrived, and their host had yet to make an appearance. What would she do if he didn’t come home before their guests got here? How would she entertain them?
The front door opened, and Cal appeared. “I’m late. I’ll be right down.” He barely gave her a glance before he ran past her up the stairs, briefcase in hand.
Halfway up the stairs, he turned. “Damn it.” He made his way back down and gave her a brief kiss, then headed upstairs. “I’ll be five minutes, no more.”
She stared at her husband’s retreating form, wishing he was standing next to her so she would at least know what to expect before their guests arrived. She made her way into the kitchen to check yet again on the preparations. All seemed to be in order as the caterer shooed her away. She found herself back in the entryway, alone, waiting for people she’d never met yet had to impress.
She checked her reflection for the third time in the past few minutes. The hairstylist and makeup artist had made her look like someone she hardly recognized, a better, prettier, more presentable version of herself that perfectly matched the expensive dress she wore. She was a long way from the trailer parks and apartment complexes she was used to. Washed, waxed, made up and done up, she felt the part. She knew how to charm people. She knew how to present herself in the best possible light, and she certainly knew which fork to use and when.
She could do this.
Straightening her spine and lifting her chin, she imagined herself greeting the President of the United States and the First Lady. If she was worthy of them, she was certainly worthy of a good old boy from Tennessee and his wife. Even if they were billionaires and were often photographed doing ordinary things like wrangling steer and organic gardening.
Oh, my God.
She was so out of her depth. She didn’t know the difference between millionaires and billionaires. To her they were ’aires miles out of her reach. What had Cal been thinking, putting her in charge of a dinner party where she was expected to not only entertain but to charm them over to her side…to Cal’s side, where he could convince them he was the one to buy their company and grow their business? She knew nothing of these people.
As far as she was concerned they may as well live on opposite sides of the galaxy, let alone the state. She checked her reflection in the hallway mirror for the fourth time. Too much blush! She looked like a harlot. This would never do. She’d embarrass Cal, and the deal would be dead before discussions even began.
She rushed toward the bathroom as Cal thundered down the stairs. He caught up to her halfway there.
“Where are you going?” he asked. “They’ll be here any minute.”
“I need to fix—” Oh, damn. The doorbell. “I’m wearing too much blush. Stall them.” She started for the bathroom again, but he gripped her elbow.
“No, you don’t. You look perfect. In fact… Come here.”
“There’s no time!”
“Darlin’, if you don’t come here, I’m not going to answer the door.
“What?”
“Thought that’d get your attention. Come here.” He hooked her hand into the crook of his arm. “You’re perfect. Let’s greet our guests.”
She stared at him like he’d lost his mind because clearly he had, and then the doorbell rang again and she realized it was she who had taken a turn for the worse. She had guests to greet. Oh, Lord, help me please, she prayed. There was no way she could get through this night successfully without some kind of divine guidance.
Cal opened the door to a rather ordinary-looking couple about twenty years older than they were. For some reason that made Lucy feel better. The wife’s dress was of a similar color as her own, and the man appeared to be more interested in their house than he was either her or Cal.
“Hello, Joel,” Cal said smoothly. “This must be your lovely wife, Anne. Please come in.”
He held the door open for them. The wife’s attention was focused more on Cal than on either her husband or the home they’d been invited into. She spent way too long greeting Cal and hardly gave Lucy a glance as she was introduced. Lucy had her number. Anne Gleason was a woman who had married young for money, produced the proper heirs, and was now free to pursue her options. Lucy was going to make sure that Mrs. Gleason knew that Cal wasn’t anyone’s option but hers.
“A pleasure to meet you.” L
ucy held out her hand to Mr. Gleason only to be crushed into a hug so fierce it left her breathless.
“Mrs. Sellers. Lucy,” Mr. Gleason said, holding her away from him with both hands on her arms. “I’ve heard so much about you.” His gaze raked her from head to toe, and by the time he was done, Lucy was desperate for a shower.
So this was the man they had to charm into agreeing to sell his company to Cal’s. Cal hadn’t mentioned anything to her about him being a letch.
Cal dropped an arm across Lucy’s shoulders, drawing her in close. “My wife and I are pleased to welcome you as our first guests as husband and wife. Isn’t that right, darlin’?”
Lucy picked up where her husband left off. “It’s such a pleasure to have you in our home. Please, won’t you come in?” She guided them to the living room where a tray of hors d’oeuvres had already been set up. “May I offer you a drink?”
Mrs. Gleason lowered her shawl, revealing an unexpected plunging neckline. “What do you have?” She settled herself into the sofa, arms draped across the back.
Lucy suddenly realized that Anne’s entire outfit was nearly see-through, with little peek-a-boo cutouts that barely covered her areolas. But Mr. Gleason didn’t seem to notice his wife’s outfit. His eyes were glued to the front of Lucy’s dress, which was much more modest in comparison to Mrs. Gleason’s.
Lucy sat next to Anne on the couch and crossed her legs.
Instead of sitting in the chair opposite the couch, Mr. Gleason squeezed in next to Lucy, making her scoot over to avoid being sat on.
Cal came forward, reaching a possessive hand out to Lucy. “Darlin’, why don’t you go and check on dinner while I see to our guests?”
She took his offered hand, leaving Mr. and Mrs. Gleason alone on the couch. “Please, help yourself to an appetizer. I’ll be a minute,” she told her guests.
Cal followed her partway to the kitchen and leaned down close to her ear. “You stay next to me and we’ll be just fine.”
Lucy wasn’t so sure. The Gleasons seemed to have differing objectives for the evening, and they had nothing to do with business.
“I’m up for some kinky things,” she said to her husband. “But wife swapping isn’t one of them.”
“I’m telling you right now, darlin’,” he whispered so just she could hear, “I’m the only one who’s going to be taking that dress off you tonight.”
She flushed under his gaze as memories of the past few nights came into her head. They’d knocked off Cal’s remaining options from their bet, including the reverse cowgirl. At first it had been difficult for her to enjoy it, but then Cal had stroked her from her shoulders down to her waist, over her hips and across her thighs, and she’d felt how much he cared for her. The next thing she knew she’d rocked them both to completion, tossing her head back and crying out Cal’s name.
Tonight it was Lucy’s turn to choose an option. Just thinking about it made her nipples hard and her panties wet. Why should she be the only one who was uncomfortable?
“You know when you say things like that, cowboy, it makes me so wet.”
“Jesus, darlin’. I love it when you talk like that. Makes me want to push you up against the wall, lift your skirt up, and see for myself how wet you are.”
“That’s exactly the option we’ll be scratching off the list tonight.”
He groaned and turned back to his guests. She chuckled and headed for the kitchen, making a show of checking on dinner even though she knew everything was being taken care of. After a few moments she rejoined Cal and the Gleasons in the living room with a fresh tray of hors d’oeuvres. Joel still sat on the couch, drink in hand. His wife stood next to Cal at the bar as he fixed a drink. She leaned forward, and her breasts practically fell out of her dress and onto Cal’s arm.
“Come sit next to me,” Joel said, patting the couch.
Lucy sat and held out the tray to him. “Would you care for an appetizer?”
“Thank you.” He chose one and popped it into his mouth. “Delicious. Now you.”
Before Lucy realized what he meant to do, he was pushing a Brie and crabmeat puffed pastry into her mouth. She was still chewing when he reached out and brushed his thumb across her lips.
“A crumb,” he said and then licked his thumb.
Lucy swung her panicked gaze toward her husband, but he was busy making another cocktail with Anne pressed up against him as though she was interested in learning how it was done. Or else the whole front side of her had been superglued to Cal.
“You have a lovely home,” Joel said, drawing her attention back to him.
“Thank you.”
“You’ll have to give me a tour after dinner. I’d love to see the upstairs.”
“Oh, it looks a lot like the downstairs. Except with beds.”
He put a hand on her thigh. “Then I’m sure I’ll love it even more.”
“We shouldn’t hog all of the hors d’oeuvres.” She popped up off the couch, making his hand slide away. “I should see if Anne and Cal would like some too.”
“Excellent idea.” He rose as well, placing a hand on her back where the cutout on her dress opened up to bare skin.
With her hands full of the tray, there was nothing she could do except put up with it as they made their way across the room. A sick knot twisted in her belly. This man didn’t seem to care if she was interested in him or not. As soon as she could, she turned so that his hand fell away, offering the tray to Cal and Anne.
“Care for an appetizer?” She could hear the strain in her voice.
Cal must have heard it too. “Darlin’, why don’t you put that tray down, and I’ll mix you a drink.” He handed Anne her cocktail, forcing her to move back or end up with her drink down the front of her dress. “Here’s your Slow Comfortable Screw, Anne.”
Lucy couldn’t believe the woman’s nerve.
Cal leaned on the bar toward her. “What can I get for you, darlin’? How about a Harvey Wallbanger? A Screaming Orgasm? I can also do a Long Slow Comfortable Screw Up Against the Wall.” He winked. “But only for you.”
Lucy bit the inside of her cheek to keep from smiling, then cleared her throat. “I’d love a Long Slow Comfortable Screw Up Against the Wall. But only from you.”
The rest of the evening went well, Lucy thought. Anne and Joel continued to flirt with them, but after Cal’s drink offering they weren’t as persistent. Cal insisted on showing their daughter off to them, which brought out a different side to Anne that Lucy appreciated. They had motherhood in common if nothing else.
Cal closed the door after waving goodbye to their guests and leaned back against it. “I think that was the most interesting dinner party I’ve ever attended.”
“I’m not sure interesting is the word I’d use, but it was certainly the most unique.”
“You know, darlin’…” he eased away from the door and came toward her, “…you really held up your end of the bargain tonight. The food was delicious. You were a gracious and generous hostess. Not to mention the fact that you look amazing in that dress.” He hooked a finger into her neckline and pulled. “Every time you bent over I got to look down it.”
“You and Joel. I think next time I’ll wear a turtleneck.”
He let go of the front of her dress, trailing his finger up to cup the back of her neck. “Did you enjoy yourself despite the rudeness of our guests?”
“I actually did. I especially enjoyed my cocktail. I don’t think I’ve ever had a Long Slow Comfortable Screw Up Against the Wall.”
He backed her up until she met the wall. “I’m feeling challenged to remedy that, darlin’.”
“You already did once tonight.” She brought her arms up around his neck. “I’m counting on you to do it again.”
“This is a wall,” he said, moving into her. “And you’re up against it.”
“We’re in the middle of the house.”
“The caterers have gone. The staff is in their quarters. We’re alone and up against a wall.�
�
“I’m not wearing any panties.”
“It drives me crazy when you talk like that,” he growled.
Cal put his mouth to hers, finally able to do what he’d been dying to since he came home and saw her in this dress—mess her up. Wedging his leg between hers, he changed the angle of the kiss, grinding his thigh against her. Her gasp fanned the flames inside him to the point that he struggled for control. When she went for his belt buckle, making quick work of it, he fought to keep from shoving up her skirt and driving into her without any ceremony at all.
Kissing a path down her neck, he found the zipper at the back of her dress and drew it down. The lower the zipper got, the lower the front of her dress dipped until the sleeves slipped down her arms and she pulled them free. A flick of his fingers and he had her bra hooks undone, and it too slid down her arms.
He caressed her breasts with both hands, fondling her nipples. She went wild for him, reaching for his zipper. He felt cool air and then her hands on him. He loved the way she touched him, caressing up and down. Fisting her dress in one hand, he raised her skirt. The naughty minx hadn’t lied. She was bare and wet, so unbelievably wet for him. Slipping one then two fingers into her, he groaned at how wet she was for him. She widened her legs, her head tilting back to give him access.
He nipped and kissed her neck, which he knew drove her mad. She thrust her hips against his hand, clutching at him and moaning as she drew closer to climax. He wanted to be with inside her when she came. If she kept stroking him like that it would be over before they got started. He reached a hand into his front pocket and came up with a condom, which he handed to her. She ripped open the packet with her teeth. So damn sexy when she took charge. Rolling the condom on him, she drove him insane, stroking him non stop.
He shoved her skirt all the way up, gripped her ass in both hands, and lifted her up against the wall. Pinning her with his body, he grabbed his dick and found her entrance. He thrust up as he brought her down until he completely impaled her. God the feel of her.