30DaystoSyn

by Charlotte Boyett-Compo

  “We talk about baseball and football and basketball,” he said, a muscle working in his jaw. “We talk about the Game of Thrones books and Dean Koontz and John Saul. We talk about rap music and cars and—”

  “All right,” she said, her temper easing.

  “He’s a boy, Melina,” he said. “He may be nineteen years old but he’s still fourteen in his head. I would never, never say or do anything to hurt him or—”

  “I said all right,” she told him.

  “I’m not a bad guy, Melina. Give me a little credit for being somewhat of a decent human being,” he said. He turned around and headed back down the hall, hands dug into the pockets of his jeans.

  “Where are you going?”

  “I’ll wait in the car,” he said without looking around. “Take as long as you like.”

  “What are you going to do in the car?” she asked, taking a few steps after him.

  “If my Glock is under the seat I’m going to blow my fucking brains out,” she heard him mutter.

  He knew why she might have been suspicious of his motives for going to see her brother. Jono had warned him she might not like it but he had wanted to get to know the boy. After all, it was his money that would basically be taking care of him for the rest of his life. He hadn’t counted on really liking Drew Wynth and wanting only the very best for the young paraplegic. That more than his desire to have Drew’s big sister completely under his control had made him pay for the young man’s place at Cedar Oaks—a spot that would be opening in a few weeks.

  Slumping down in the car seat, pressing the back of his skull hard into the headrest, he doubled his fists and pressed the back of them over his eyes.

  “Infuriating little witch!” He named her. His palm itched to connect with her bare backside.

  God, he thought, the woman was getting under his skin like an STD! He couldn’t eat. He couldn’t sleep. He couldn’t stop daydreaming about her during board meetings. It was a good thing his chair swiveled and his staff was familiar with his habit of turning to the window when one of them had the floor.

  “Go on,” he’d tell them. “I’m listening.”

  That wasn’t the truth of late. Since he’d been meeting Melina in the Room, he was away with the fairies, paying less and less attention to his work and more to what he ached to do to her. He fantasized about her while he lay in his bed at night. When he watched her on the monitors in his den, it was all he could do to keep his hands off his cock. He was quickly becoming a lust-struck teenage boy all over again. Next thing that would happen would be a ginormous zit popping up on the end of his nose.

  “Fuck!” he snarled and pounded the steering wheel with his fists.

  He leaned forward and put his forehead on it, squeezing his eyes tightly shut, his hands wrapped around the leather cover.

  The car door opened and he swiveled his head to look at her. She had a sheepish look on her face.

  “I’m sorry,” she said.

  He was still hunched over the steering wheel, his temple pressed to the cover. “For what?”

  “For insulting you,” she said then looked down. “For hurting you.”

  He liked the way stray wisps of her dark hair escaped the tight constriction of the French braid hanging over her shoulder. He longed to sweep them behind her ear.

  “Who said you hurt me?”

  She looked around at him. “I could see it in your eyes.” Her lips almost formed a smile. “You have the saddest eyes I’ve ever seen and every emotion you have is broadcast through them.”

  He sat back with his hands still around the steering wheel. He laid his chin on his arm and stared at her. “And you are the most confusing woman I’ve ever known.”

  “I’ll confuse you even more,” she said. “I want some ice cream.”

  He blinked, sliding his hands from the wheel. “Excuse me?”

  “I want an ice cream cone. A big swirly one.”

  For a long time he just stared at her. She looked back at him with a carefully blank face, giving nothing away. At last he nodded, started the car and said, “All righty then.”

  She was accurate about confusing him. She had dumbfounded him as well by asking for an ice cream cone. As he drove, he kept cutting his eyes over to her but she was staring out the window at the passing scenery—saying nothing. When he turned into the parking lot of the Dairy Barn he shot her a glance.

  “Inside or outside?”

  “You trust me not to drip ice cream on your car seat?” she countered.

  “I’ll make you lap it up if you do,” he replied and at her mischievous grin he felt his cock harden.

  “Then outside,” she replied. “I hate sitting in there. It’s even more depressing than a burger joint.”

  “True that,” he agreed.

  He angled the car toward the drive-thru lane. “Whatcha want?” he queried.

  “Medium swirl sugar cone,” she said. “My treat.”

  “Unh unh,” he said, shaking his head, pressing the button to lower his window.

  “My treat,” she state firmly. “As a peace offering.”

  “Not necessary.”

  She reached over to put her hand gently on his thigh. “It is to me.”

  Where she touched him through the fabric of his jeans, burned and sent a shock of desire directly into his groin. He knew she couldn’t help but see the leap of his cock because she quickly removed her hand.

  “Welcome to Dairy Barn. Would you like to try our new double Italian melt?” came the bored voice over the drive-thru box.

  “No thanks,” he said. “Could we have one medium vanilla and one medium swirl? Sugar cones.”

  “Will that be all?”

  “Yep.”

  “That will be three eighty-six at the window. Please pull forward.”

  He saw her fishing around in her purse and wanted to deny her paying but he kept his mouth shut. He’d already pissed her off enough for one day. She handed him four dollar bills when he pulled up to the window. Reluctantly he took the money.

  The girl who handed him the vanilla swirl smiled at him like she knew him well or at the very least wanted to—in a carnal way. Her smile was predatory as she licked her lips and when he took the cone, she deliberately slid her flingers along his. He had a wild urge to wipe his hand on the leg of his pants. When he gave the cone to Melina, she lifted one finely shaped brow in amusement.

  “I have that effect on women,” he whispered.

  “Obviously,” she said and took a swipe of her cone.

  His cock made an instant attempt to break free of his fly and he shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

  “Here you go,” the girl at the window said as she extended the other cone. She looked directly into his eyes. “Can I get you anything else?” Once more she swept her tongue over her lips.

  “Ah, no,” he said and hit the button to raise the window. The last he saw of the girl was a very disappointed look puckering her heavily made-up face.

  “I’ve told you before,” Melina said as he pulled over to one side of the parking lot. “You are an evil man.”

  “What did I do?” he asked as he stopped the car and turned off the engine.

  “You got that poor woman all hot and bothered and left her aching to see what’s under that tight T-shirt.”

  “Let her wonder,” he said. “I’m taken.”

  “Are you now?” she asked.

  He twisted in his seat so he could face her. “Yes, I am.”

  “Anyone I know?”

  “I doubt you know her as well as I do,” he said and took a long lap at his cone.

  His gaze lowered to her mouth as she took another lick and had to stifle the urge to groan. Two, he thought, could play at that game. He flicked his tongue slowly over the ice cream.

  “You’re doing that on purpose,” she accused.

  He drew his ice-cream-coated tongue into his mouth and grinned brazenly before making another foray across the treat—this time even more slowl
y.

  “Stop it,” she said, laughing.

  “Am I disturbing you, Miss Wynth?” he asked and arched his tongue over his top lip to lick away a smear of ice cream.

  She ignored his question and asked one of her own. “Why do you men like that so much?” she queried.

  “What?” he asked innocently though he knew perfectly well what she meant.

  “Oral sex,” she said, blushing.

  He deliberately raised his eyebrows. “Were we talking about oral sex?”

  She took a long, slow lick of her own cone.

  “Oh, now, that’s just plain mean,” he said. “Remind me to never watch you eating a banana.”

  She laughed. “Answer me, Kiwi. What do men find so fascinating about it?”

  He made a couple of forays over his cone as he thought then licked his lips before answering. “Well, it’s a sensory thing,” he said. He held up his left hand and ticked off the reason on his fingers beginning with his thumb. “It’s the woman’s scent primarily. Pure pheromone overload that close to the source.” He raised his index finger. “The taste.”

  “Eww,” she said.

  “Hey, he likes it!” he said then lifted his middle finger and the other two in succession. “The way she feels against his tongue. What it does to her.”

  “What does it do to him?” she asked.

  “Makes his cock as hard as steel. He’s got his nose buried in her muff, his tongue rammed up inside her and—”

  “I get the picture,” she said, her face red.

  “You asked,” he said with a grin.

  “I’m glad it gives you pleasure,” she said.

  “I’ve never done it,” he admitted.

  She gave him a look of incredulity. “You haven’t?” When he shook his head, she asked why not.

  “There’s never been a woman I wanted to taste or one I felt safe in tasting,” he replied.

  “But you do with me?”

  “I want to taste you so bad my cock leaks every time I think about it,” he told her.

  A hard quiver ran through her.

  “Have you ever had a man go down on you?”

  “No,” she said too quickly and he was pleased he would be her first, the one to initiate her into the pleasure.

  “And you’ve never performed oral sex on a man,” he said.

  “Certainly not!” she said and shuddered.

  “You find that repulsive?” he asked.

  She wouldn’t look at him. “Yes and I’m not looking forward to you making me do it.”

  Her words bothered him. He was looking forward to having her mouth on him but he didn’t want to force her into anything. Perhaps she had a misconception of the act and if she did, he wanted to know so he could allay her fears.

  “What do you find revolting about it?” he asked.

  “The thought of you in my mouth…” She shuddered again. She looked around and there were tears in her eyes. “It’s gross.”

  “What’s gross?” he questioned. “The feel of my flesh? The taste of me? The actual cum?”

  Her blush deepened. “All of it.”

  He shifted the cone to his left hand and reached over to put his hand on her shoulder.

  “Sweetie, I could wear a frenchie.”

  “A what?”

  “A condom,” he said.

  “But you said you didn’t want to.”

  “Well, I don’t but if it would make you feel more comfortable, I will.”

  “You’d do that?” she asked and swiped at a lone tear that escaped the corner of her eye.

  He would do anything to have her mouth on him, he thought. “Yeah, baby. I’d do that.”

  On the way up in the elevator, she wondered what he would do to her tonight. She was anxious but not in the same ways she’d been before now. She was excited. She was looking forward to seeing him. When he’d dropped her off at her house—pulling up alongside the car he had loaned her—he had reiterated what he’d said at the sub shop.

  “I’m going to do wicked, wicked things to you tonight.”

  A shiver worked its way down her spine and when the doors opened she didn’t hesitate to step out of the cage. It seemed to take forever for the digital clock to read 08:00:00.

  He barely gave her time to lock the door and move to the chair he had once again placed beneath the circle of light.

  “Take off your blouse, your bra and your skirt,” he ordered, “then sit down with your arms locked behind you and your legs open.”

  Whoa! she thought. He wasn’t wasting time but then she didn’t want to either. She was nervous but she wanted his hands on her. She knew he probably wouldn’t take her tonight, but he would do wicked things that she was pretty sure she’d like.

  And she wanted to make sure he was as feverishly anticipating his hands on her as she was.

  Forcing herself not to hurry as she desperately wanted to, she unbuttoned her blouse, pulled the two sections slowly apart then shrugged off the garment. She dropped it to the floor beside the chair and reached for the button at the waistband of the skirt. There was a slight sound from where she knew the wingback chair sat. With infinite slowness, she lowered the zipper of her skirt then inched it just as slowly over her hips and down her thighs.

  “You’re playing with fire, woman,” he told her.

  She knew he didn’t want her to speak but he’d issued no rule against grunts or groans, moans or snorts. She gave him a combination grunt-groan and heard him chuckle.

  She let the skirt pool at her feet then kicked it aside. She put her fingers on the front closure of the very expensive lace-and-silk bra he had provided for her. Leisurely she unsnapped it and peeled the cups from her breasts.

  The unmistakable sound of the chair creaking made her wonder if he had simply shifted position or had risen from the seat. She knew she’d soon find out as she slipped her arms from the bra straps and tossed it atop her blouse. She sat down in the chair, put her arms behind it and locked her fingers together. She parted her thighs but not as much as she knew he wanted her to.

  He appeared out of the shadows and came to kneel in front of her. His gaze was riveted to hers as he reached down to lift one of her feet to his thigh. Slowly he slid off her sandal then turned his attention to the other one.

  “You have such pretty feet,” he said, caressing the top of her foot with his thumbs.

  The blue of his eyes was very intense beneath the overhead light as he looked up at her. He was sitting back on his haunches and she realized he was barefoot—the top of one foot crossed over the instep of the other. It was a position of adoration as he knelt there at her feet, his finger now massaging her toes.

  “I’m double-jointed,” he said. “Very flexible.”

  Her womb clenched beneath his steady regard. He was so handsome, so sexy hunkered there with the light-blue T-shirt stretched taut across his muscular chest, clinging tightly to his broad shoulders, hanging loose over his faded, torn jeans.

  He lowered her foot to the floor and put his palms on his thighs.

  “Spread your legs wider, baby,” he said, his voice thick.

  She did as he ordered and felt her blood begin to race.

  “Hook your feet around the legs of the chair.”

  She thought of him sitting just that way at the sub shop and smiled knowingly.

  “Do I want to know what that smile means?” he asked, head to one side.

  She shook her head, pursed her lips but did not answer.

  “Good girl,” he said. “You’re learning.”

  She gave him an unladylike snort and he laughed. He rubbed his palms up and down his thighs then pushed up to his knees. He bent toward her and put his hands on her breasts. She sucked in a breath at the warmth of his flesh covering hers.

  “I’ve been thinking about this all day,” he told her.

  He began rubbing his thumbs from the crease of her breasts outside along the lower edges in a slow, rhythmical arch. Staying away from her sensitive nip
ples that were aching to be touched.

  “Have you ever had a man’s fingers inside you?” he asked conversationally.

  “You may answer.”

  “No!” she replied and squirmed against the chair’s hard wooden seat.

  “Not even the tip of one finger?” he asked. He was edging closer and closer to her nipples.

  “No,” she whispered. There was a heavy weight bearing down on the floor of her vaginal walls as his thumbs swung back and forth.

  “You’ll like it,” he said. His voice was low, hypnotic and his eyes were fused with hers. “It’s a little bit like sex but not as deep and doesn’t fill you up like a man’s cock will. I can make you come with my fingers.”

  She squirmed again and watched his eyes flash.

  “Be still, Melina,” he ordered. “Keep that sweet little ass immobile.”

  She held her breath for his thumbs were intruding onto the dark circles around her nipples. It was only a matter of seconds before…

  He dropped his hands from her breasts to the sides of her waist and she groaned in frustration.

  Those sweet thumbs began to draw a line from her navel outward.

  “You know a woman’s twat isn’t the only thing a man likes to lick.” He saw her flinch. “Don’t like that word?”

  She shook her head vigorously.

  “Okay,” he said, drawing the word out. “How about snatch? Slit?” When she pursed her lips he sighed. “Cunt?”

  She cocked a shoulder to let him know that was the least offensive to her.

  “Taking back the word, huh?” he inquired and at her slow nod he grinned.

  “Unh huh,” she hummed without opening her mouth.

  “Good on you,” he said. “Personally the word cunt makes my cock hard as steel every time I hear it. Twat’s a silly word and I equate snatch and gash with foul body odor or a bloody wound. Slit? I have no feelings one way or the other about that one. In New Zealand it’s gunga.” When she frowned, he laughed. “Yeah, odd word that.”

  The tip of his right thumb delved into her navel and her entire body quaked.

  “Like that?” he said. He leaned in closer until he could put his lips against her ear. “Want me to go lower?”

  She hummed her answer and he flicked his tongue into her ear. She cried out and jerked. When she did, his hands tightened around her waist to keep her from moving.