by Jami Alden
He yanked the other cup down and pinched the nipple, pulling and stroking in rhythm with his mouth. She shoved his shirt open and her hot hands stroked over his back and shoulders. "You're mine," he repeated. He didn't know where the strange urge to claim her was coming from, only that it was rising up in him like a beast, battling pure lust for dominance as he sucked and stroked every patch of skin that came into reach.
"You're mine," he said again as one hand reached under her skirt, shoving it up her legs as his hand slid up between her thighs. He cupped his hand against her sex, felt the heat of her scorching his palm as her wetness soaked through her panties into his hand. He yanked the scrap of silk aside and thrust two fingers into her slick, tight heat. She gasped stiffening against him. He burrowed his thumb between her pussy lips and pressed against her clit. He circled the pulsing bud and a strangled cry came from her throat.
"Say it," he ordered. "Say you're mine."
Her eyes flew open, dark, heavy lidded, hot with lust. When she didn't respond immediately he pressed forward with his fingers and circled his thumb over her clit. "Say it," he repeated. It didn't make any sense this gut deep need to hear it from her lips. But even if no one else on the planet had any clue what was going on between them, right here, right now, he needed it to be crystal clear.
"I am, I'm yours." She gasped, and he caught her cry in his mouth as he kissed her. "For the next three weeks, I'm yours."
He pulled his hand away and pulled her down to the floor. He yanked her panties down her legs shoved her skirt up at the waist, taking only a second to admire her long bare legs, high-heeled pumps still on her feet. And in between her sweet, perfect pussy, her legs parted just enough for him to see how swollen and slick she was with need. Her bra was still on, the cups pulled down to expose her creamy breasts with their dark red tips.
He wanted to sear this image into his brain. Then her hands were unzipping his fly and shoving down his boxers. Her hand closed around him, and he watched, mesmerized at the sight of her slender, delicate fingers wrapping around the thick column of his cock. His breath caught in his throat, pleasure searing up his spine as she pumped him in her small, tight, fist.
Drew fumbled for the wallet in his pocket and drew out the condom he'd stashed shortly after he'd set up his meeting at Chapman Cooper. At the time he'd felt like a hopeless loser, but the move had paid off. The last thing he wanted was to bring this freight train to a screeching halt so he could go around the corner to buy a pack of Trojans.
He quickly sheathed himself and got on his knees between her legs. Grasping himself in his fist, he guided himself to her opening. Her harsh panting echoed his own as he watched the thick head of his cock disappear inside the glistening wet folds of her pussy. He gasped at that first penetration, the sensation of tightness giving way to slick acceptance.
"Oh, God," she half whispered, half moaned as she arched her back, rocking her hips to take him deeper. He squeezed out, then in again, trying to go slow as he felt her so tight around him he could barely move.
"More," she begged, and he could feel her nails on his back through the fabric of his shirt. "Harder, please, fuck me harder."
The words were like an electric current straight to his cock, and it took all of his restraint not to come before he'd even gotten an inch inside. He pulled himself back from the edge and thrust hard, sinking so deep he could feel the soft curve of her ass against his balls. Again and again, going at her like a jackhammer, taking her in hard, fast thrusts he couldn't stop if someone held a gun to his head.
Wendy was with him all the way, one leg hooking around his back so he could feel the little point of her heel against his back, spurring him on. Her hands cupped the muscles of his ass, pulling him to her, urging him on as she whispered harder, faster, more.
###
Oh, God, this was going to kill her. She could feel it. Her heart was about to explode in her chest, she could barely breathe, but all she could do was beg him for more, harder, faster. It was hard, it was rough, it was wild, beyond anything she'd ever experienced. She'd never felt anything like Drew's cock buried so deep inside her. The feel of him, so huge and hot inside of her, had become the center of her universe. She thought he'd shown her deep penetration before, but now, with the unyielding floor under her back, he was even further inside, the base of his cock grinding against her clit with every pounding, stroke. She came on one last deep thrust, her hips bucking against him as her body shuddered and clenched around him.
He fucked her all the way through it, long, hard thrusts that kept her orgasm going in a long, endless wave. He gave a last, loud shout and collapsed on the floor beside her. For several seconds she lay there, too weak to do much more than catch her breath as he lay similarly sprawled.
Eyes closed, she felt his big hand close over hers and bing her hand to his mouth and press a soft kiss to the center of her palm. And in a move that made her stomach flip for no good reason, he took their linked hands and placed them on the warm, bare skin over his heart.
"Did I mention how happy I am that I ran into you tonight?" he murmured, his low, raspy voice enough to make her body quiver all over again.
Her stomach flipped again at the memory of the almost sweet grin he'd worn when he first saw her. "You might have," she murmured back.
He gave her hand a little squeeze. "I've been thinking about you a lot since I got back."
It was dangerous how happy that thought made her. Enough to make her keep her own mouth shut before she admitted as much to him. Keep it light. Simple. Easy to walk away from. "Oh please, like you didn't have your adoring throngs waiting to do your bidding as soon as you stepped off the plane."
"Doesn't mean I took anyone up on their offer."
Wendy couldn't stifle a chuckle. At least he didn't try to bullshit her and claim there weren't any other women waiting in the wings. She didn't like the way the thought threatened to chase away the last ripples of pleasure so she tried to shove it away as she sat up and pulled the front of her shirt together. Still, she couldn't get it out of her head, how many women he had on his string.
How many of them whispered they were his?
Her stomach gave a sickening clench she had no business feeling, and she shoved herself to her feet, stumbling a little on her heels. He was right there to steady her, his arm around her waist, his hand brushing the hair off her neck so he could press his hot, open mouth against her sensitive skin. "You're the only one I want right now."
Wendy felt a little cracking sensation in her chest, warning her to be careful, warning her how easy it would be to fall for this cocky player if she let herself believe for one second this went farther than two bodies pleasuring each other.
"Where's your bedroom?" he whispered, and her knees nearly buckled as his teeth closed over her earlobe. "This time I want to fuck you nice and slow."
She felt a wet rush between her thighs, her nipple peaking against his stroking fingers. It would be so easy, to let him take her to bed, fuck her all night….
Fall asleep in his arms. Wake up to his face on the pillow next to hers.
She pulled away. "I'm sure that would be amazing," she said, straightening her shirt and smoothing her hair. "But I've got some files I need to go over before I go to bed."
He was silent a long moment. "Are you kicking me out?" There was no mistaking the annoyed disbelief in his voice.
She turned to face him. "I wouldn't put it that way, but yeah, I guess I am."
"Wow," he said a flash of something that looked suspiciously like hurt on his face.
She felt a stabbing sensation in her own chest and told herself it was no big deal for her to do to Drew what he'd undoubtedly done to dozens of women before. "What, like you've never taken a woman home, banged her, then called her cab?"
The sheepish look on his face was answer enough. "Is that what we're doing? Banging?"
"Would you call it something else?" In spite of herself, her heart seemed to stop in the few secon
ds it took him to answer.
"I guess that's as good a word as any," he said flatly.
Something inside of her seemed to deflate like a burst balloon. Anger rose in her chest. At herself. At him. "Look, I'm not trying to be a bitch, I'm just trying to set some boundaries. The sex was amazing, but now I need to get some work done."
At his grim silence she turned and walked into the kitchen and got herself a drink of water, feigning a kind of nonchalance she'd never had when it came to sex.
"Don't get me wrong," she said, turning to lean her hips against the kitchen counter, "that," she gestured with the hand holding the glass to the general area where they'd been recently sprawled, "was amazing. I'm open to doing it again before you move across the country,"—she tried to ignore the hitch in her chest at the thought—"but I one of the bonuses of keeping this just about the sex is knowing that I can tell you when it's time to go without worrying about hurting your feelings."
"If only all of my relationships could be so simple," he said, moving into the kitchen with her. His pants were fastened, but she could still see several inches of bare, tan skin exposed by his unbuttoned shirt.
"See, I'm like your dream girl," she said and took a long drink of water in hopes it would cool the desire that rose by degrees as he got closer.
His mouth pulled into a funny smile. "You have no idea." He was coming closer, and Wendy had nowhere to go, her hips pinned against the countertop. "Fine, I'll get out of your hair. But not until I get another taste of something to remember you by."
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He swallowed any protest she might have made with his mouth and lifted her until her ass rested firmly on her granite counter. With hands that shook with equal parts lust, anger, and some other emotion he couldn't begin to name, he shoved her skirt back to her waist and spread her knees apart. She was gasping something against his lips, her hands pushing against his chest. But the sounds quickly gave way to sighs and her hands clutched at his shoulders as soon as his fingers came into contact with her slick heat.
The feel of her, so wet and slick, knowing it was all for him, did a little bit to soothe his stinging pride, but not much.
He was fucking pathetic, had been from the very start, chasing her down on Holley Cay. Making up excuses to run into her. Feeling hurt when she was embarrassed to let others know they were fucking.
Pathetic.
And more than halfway in love with her. He'd suspected it before tonight. Hell, he'd felt all kinds of unfamiliar and unwelcome things for her since the moment he first laid eyes on her five years ago. But the wave of happiness that had hit him when he'd seen her back in parking garage had been so keen it was like he was being stabbed in the chest. The joy had immediately been followed by a strange almost vertigo like sensation, a lump of dread settling in his gut that told him he was a goner.
Fine, he told himself as he sucked at the patch of skin beneath her ear, his cock jerking at the way her pussy clenched around his fingers in response. She could try to set up all the boundaries and ground rules she wanted.
But she couldn't deny she wanted this, just as badly as he did. And for the next three weeks he was going to give it to her, as much as he possibly could.
He rolled on another condom and shoved inside, his eyes squeezing shut as she clenched around him like a tight little fist. She was so primed, so ready, it only took a few thrusts before she was clenching and shaking around him, clutching at his shoulders as her mouth opened wide on a silent scream.
He felt his balls draw tight, his legs clenching as his own orgasm loomed. He came hard, shaking against her as her mouth muffled his own cries.
He pulled away without a word and found his way to the bathroom to clean himself up. Clothes straightened, hair finger combed he walked back out to find her still perched on the counter. Her skirt was pulled back down to her knees, but she was looking a little shell-shocked.
With every fiber of his being, he wanted to go back over there and carry her to the queen size bed he'd glimpsed through her open bedroom door. Strip her naked and kiss her everywhere from her forehead to her toes and everywhere in between.
But he'd made his point, and he'd chased her enough for one day.
Hell, for one lifetime as far as he was concerned. "I need to get my briefcase from your car," he said.
She looked at him absently for a few seconds, then managed to shake herself back to life. She buttoned her blouse with fingers, he was happy to see still trembled a little. She could play it casual all she wanted but at least the fucking got to her.
They were both silent as they walked outside to her car. He retrieved his briefcase and resisted the urge to kiss her one last time.
"I'll call you," he said simply and started up the block.
It was cool out, classic San Francisco October with a damp bite to the air. He passed the bus stop. He could use the mile or so walk to his place to clear his head.
What was it about her that made him so crazy? At first he'd been convinced it was because she played so hard to get. And for once the idea of working a little for female attention appealed to him.
But the thrill of the hunt couldn't begin to explain the strange, slightly hollow feeling in his chest, the sting of embarrassment over the fact that even though he'd gotten in the last word—or the last fuck as it were - she'd all but told him to get out and not let the door hit him in the ass. He sure as hell shouldn't take it so personally.
Had the women he'd dated before felt like this, he wondered. Sure, in the past there had been tears and total meltdowns from some when he made it clear that he hadn't been kidding when he said he was never going to get serious.
But even the ones who claimed they knew the score and were fine with it, did they leave his condo feeling a little sad, a little humiliated? A little used?
He shook the thoughts from his head.
All he knew was he had three weeks to work Wendy Carmichael out of his system for good.
And if he wasn't up to this challenge, there would be hell to pay.
Chapter 11
Wendy yawned and stretched in her desk chair, trying to focus her gritty eyes on her computer screen.
Thank God Drew was leaving in less than two weeks. He was starting to become a distraction. Everything would go so much more smoothly once he was gone.
That's what Wendy told herself, ignoring the pinching feeling she got in her chest every time she thought about Drew's inevitable move across the country. Out of her life for good. Because neither of them had any illusions about continuing this... arrangement long distance.
Because it wasn't anything, didn't mean anything, beyond two people scratching an itch.
And Drew was oh so very good at scratching her itch. That's all she would miss, she reminded herself as the words on her computer screen blurred in front of her.
She wouldn't miss the way his voice sounded on the phone every night when he called her to tell her was coming over, low and gravelly and laced heavily with sexual promise. After that night a week and half ago, he'd called the next night at ten and told her he'd be there in fifteen minutes. When she'd reminded him that she was busy, and he couldn't just expect that she would be ready and willing any time he wanted it he'd cut her off with a curt, "I've been thinking about you all day and now my cock is hard enough to pound nails. You know I can make you come inside of two minutes, and don't pretend you don't want it as bad as I do."
And damned if that didn't make her instantly wet and ready. So much so that by the time he got to her place it took him much less than two minutes for him to send her spiraling out of control.
She wouldn't miss his casual courtesies, the way he seemed to know exactly what she needed without her having to say a word. Like the night he'd shown up with takeout from her favorite restaurant, as if he'd known she hadn't eaten since breakfast and had nothing in her kitchen but stale crackers and jar of peanut butter that had been scraped clean. Or how, three nights ago, he'd watched her remove her heels wi
th a wince and wordlessly settled her down on the couch and proceeded to give her the best foot massage of her life.
"You don't have to do that," she'd said, trying to jerk her feet from his grip. It was stupid—the man had had his tongue between her legs almost every night for the past eight, but somehow this casual affection—along with the dinners, the quiet conversations over bottles of wine and the long run they'd taken over the Golden Gate Bridge last Saturday—felt like it was crossing the line.
It was too much like what people did when their relationship was about more than sex. Like a real couple.
"But you like it," Drew had said, pressing his thumb into the pad of her foot in a way that wrung an involuntary moan out of her, more than proving his point.
Wendy tried to pull away again, albeit a little more weakly this time. "You don't need to bring me dinners and wine and rub my feet. You don't have to be so nice to me," she'd said, wincing inwardly at her petulant tone.
"Call me crazy," Drew said, his hands now working their magic on her sore arch, "but when I'm getting well fucked every night of the week, it puts me in the mood to be nice. Especially to the woman doing the fucking. But if you want me to order you to give me a blow job while I rest a beer on top of your head I can probably manage it."
A surprised laugh burst from her chest, and she'd relaxed back against the couch cushions and given herself up to his ministrations. "I suppose one foot rub isn't going too far," she murmured as his hand traveled up her calf.
Then he'd surprised her by taking the relatively innocent foot rub into something decidedly naughtier. "If it makes you feel better about it, we can turn it into a game."
"What kind of game?" she'd asked as her eyes drifted closed.
"You can pretend you're my mistress and I'm your slave, bound to do your bidding in all things."
She gave a half smile. "You know, there is this load of laundry I haven't gotten around to—"
He ran his hand up inside her thigh. "I'm sorry, mistress, but you explicitly said I'm not to do any physical labor, as it might result in injury and my inability to pleasure you properly."