by Whitley Cox
Sinking back into the bed, she let out a loud sigh as the last remaining bits of the climax disbanded. The man was relentless. He’d actually gone and read the seven best techniques to eat pussy and was determined to dine all seven ways tonight. She hardly recognized him from the man four days ago. Unsure of himself, quiet and reserved. And yet now, here he was being all dominating and assertive. Confident in his prowess and topping her like a badass. Did he know she was a good little bottom who would take any punishment doled out like a dutiful submissive? She’d wear his bonds, bend over and take his lashings if he demanded it. Would he ever demand it? She hoped so.
She popped one eye open and gazed down at him. Those sexy golden-green eyes pierced her soul, ravishing her, cherishing her, owning her.
“You don’t have to make it to seven tonight,” she said, her brain and libido battling it out inside of her. She wanted all the orgasms, wanted everything Austin had promised her and more, and yet she wasn’t sure she had the energy, had the mental capacity to go one more round. She was afraid that one more might make her brain short circuit, everything would suddenly go dark and she would wake up hours later not knowing who she was. Besides, the man looked exhausted. His lips were sexy and puffy, and his chin and freshly shaved cheeks glowed from her releases. Even if she couldn’t get off again, she wanted Austin inside her, wanted to feel him find his release, hear him groan her name as she drained him, made him feel just a fraction of how good he was making her feel.
He paused for a moment, his face expressionless, besides that lone eyebrow that was half an inch higher. Challenging her. Daring her. Scolding her. “I said seven.”
Holy fuck, who was this man?
He put his head back down, spread her wide and blew cool air onto her throbbing clit. Jesus hell, he really was going for seven. Could she? She certainly hoped so. She prepared herself for the long, decadent sweep. The flat of his tongue drifting erotically, slowly up from her perineum to her mound, hitting every square inch of her pussy and making it quiver, before he plunged his fingers inside her and scissored. But there was no sweep. No plunge. No scissoring. Instead, he flicked her clit with the tip of his tongue. Back and forth, back and forth. The move was so small, so minimal, and yet it made her insides quake as another orgasm began its climb.
She bucked into his face and groaned, needing more, wanting more.
Or did she?
Her body was a maelstrom, a cyclone building momentum, gaining force and ground before it burst forth from its confines and ransacked her body to shreds. And all from the delicate flick of his tongue. The rhythm was quick and repetitive. It was all she needed. She was going insane from just a flick. A flick would do it. A flick would pitch her over the edge that one last time.
How did he know?
No one had ever eaten her out this way. No man had ever simply lain there and given her seven orgasms, using a different technique each time. No man had ever used just one move, over and over again. They’d all mix it up, and she would get there eventually, she always did. But this, this was exquisite torture. Diabolically wonderful torture.
She brought her hands to her breasts and cupped them, smashing them together, then letting her thumbs rub the tender pearled nubs. She pinched and pulled, loving how each tug, each bite of pain sent a shard of pleasure careening through her, landing hot and heavy in her clit. She was ready. So ready. So close. One more time. She could do it. She would do it. For Austin.
Pulling on her nipples even harder this time, because Hunter liked a little pain with her pleasure, she thrust her hips up into Austin’s face and let go. Her toes curled as the twister unraveled inside her and the orgasm took hold. She shut her eyes, tilted her head back and cried out his name. Cried out for God, cried out for more.
Seven. Seven. Seven. Seven!
Moments later, Hunter’s head hit her pillow, and she let out an exhausted sigh. Had she really come seven times? Plus, the four in the woodshed. This was a new record. She felt the bed shift, and Austin got up, inching himself forward up the bed until he was next to her. She opened her eyes and turned to face him. The smile on his face, on his wet and hungry lips was enough to stop her heart and make it burst.
“That was . . . ” she trailed off, unable to find the words. So instead, with the last bit of energy she could muster, she sat up, grabbed a condom from the nightstand, unzipped his jeans, slid them down his waist and straddled him. “I can’t guarantee I’ll come an eighth time. But I want you to come. Take as long as you need.”
He took the condom from her, tore the wrapper and rolled it on. The sight of Austin handling himself, taking his thick length in his palm and rolling down the translucent rubber was hypnotic. He made sure it was down to the base before looking up at her, his gaze avid as his Adam’s apple bobbed heavy in his throat. “Not trying to brag or anything here, but I’m about ready to explode.” His lip turned up at the corner into a dashingly bashful smile.
Suddenly all Hunter wanted to do was lick that corner.
“My balls ache.”
She chuckled softly as she lifted up, hovering above him, his crown pressing at her wet and swollen entrance, demanding sanctuary. “Then let’s do something to fix that.” Then she sank down low, squeezing him the whole way.
Chapter Eighteen
Amber let out a satisfied sigh and rolled off of Will. “Well, Happy December 27th.”
His laugh was deep and throaty. “Happy December 27th to you, too. Is it a day for celebration?”
Closing her eyes, she stretched like a cat in the sun with a belly full of cream. “No, but I’d say what we just did right there was pretty celebratory.”
He rolled over onto his side to face her. “Oh yeah?” His husky whisper kissed the skin on her face, and she felt an inner grin grow from how happy it made her.
“Mhmm.”
“So,” Will started, “how are you getting back to Seattle? Seeing as your brother dropped you off here?”
Amber opened her eyes. “I dunno. I guess I planned to hitch a ride with Daisy. My truck is in the shop. Some lame-ass buffoon backed an excavator into the back of it on a job site.”
“Lame-ass indeed,” he said, followed by a yawn. “Well, you could always come back with me.”
Her smile faltered. “Really?”
He lifted one chiseled shoulder, the sheet slipping further down his body and exposing those delicious lines that ran diagonally across both hips. She licked her lips and swallowed.
“Why not? We both live in Seattle, makes sense.”
She nodded. “Okay . . . thanks.”
“No problem.”
Pursing her lips, she let her eyes fall down to the small empty space between them on the bed, the need to ask him something itching at the nape of her neck. But she was nervous. Despite the fact that the man had just been balls-deep inside her and made her come harder and more often than any man she’d ever been with, she still didn’t know him that well. How would he take her question?
“Uh . . . ”
Will lifted one eyebrow in an oddly sexual way. “What’s up?”
“How . . . How come you’re . . . Why . . . ?”
Do it like a Band-Aid, woman!
She cleared her throat and started over. “Why aren’t you pulling your weight around here?”
He sat up straight, his back against the headboard. The sheet fell even further down his body, revealing the light dusting of hair on his pubic bone. “Excuse me?”
She swallowed. Shit, that had come out all wrong. “Well . . . ” Fuck, she was the boss at work, why was she cowering under his intense gaze? She never cowered, and she wasn’t going to do it now. Exhaling, she started, “Well, Rowan and Juney take care of the meals. Austin brings in the firewood and takes care of the fire. He also shovels the driveway and front stoop. Hunter and I do the dishes, tidy up and sweep the floors, put on laundry, et cetera. What do you do?”
“Has everyone been talking about me?” he asked, the tenor of his deep
voice clipped and defensive. His glare fell on her.
She shook her head. “No. Not everyone. It’s more of a joke than anything. Will’s the big boss man, but he doesn’t do much.”
“I never asked to be ‘the big boss man,’ ” he snapped.
Amber sat up against the headboard, but instead of letting the sheet slip down her body, she pulled it up across her chest and tucked it under her arms. “I know you didn’t. But somehow you’ve become the leader. You’re the oldest, the biggest, the one who screams alpha-boss-man the moment you walk into a room. It’s hard not to defer to you. And that’s coming from me, who is also a big boss.”
A muscle ticked along his square jaw. “So everyone is making fun of me and calling me a freeloader, then?”
She shook her head. “No. No one is saying that. I’m simply curious why you’re not pitching in. You pour us all a scotch, pour yourself several, and that’s it. I don’t even think Hunter or Juney drink scotch. They always go back to wine. But you’ve never bothered to ask anyone what they drink.”
“You think I’m an alcoholic?” His tone was starting to alarm her, and Amber, who had never been one who shied away from confrontation, found herself shifting an inch or two away from him.
“No. I never said that.”
“Fine. I won’t have another drink for the rest of the trip. Just to prove to you I’m not an alcoholic.”
She had to stop herself from snorting. They left tomorrow at noon. He didn’t have to abstain for long.
“My job is stressful,” he went on. “I’m always on call, so I’m not allowed to drink. So, on the off chance I get a few days to myself, I like to indulge. Is that such a crime?”
She shook her head again. “I never said you had a problem. You’re taking this way, way out of context here.” She sighed. Crap, this had turned south fast. “Forget I even said anything, okay? Let’s just go to bed.” She went to turn out the light.
Will’s brows narrowed; he swung his legs over the bed. “Yeah, well, you’re not perfect either. You’re a fucking emotionless robot. Would it kill you to take a brick down from your wall once in a while? Have an emotion? Have a feeling? God, if I didn’t know any better, I’d have thought you were a fucking dude . . . or a psychopath or something.” He pulled his white boxer briefs on and made a “humph” sound. “Jury’s still out on that last one, I guess. I’m staying in my own room.” With that, he opened the door and left, leaving Amber sitting up in bed, her eyes wide and her mouth wider, staring at the closed door in awe while a lone tear slowly slipped down her cheek.
Will couldn’t sleep. He was furious. How dare she call him a freeloader. He was anything but. He worked his ass off for the greater good. He saved lives. He worked twenty-four-hour and forty-eight-hour shifts, often not sleeping more than a few hours the entire time. He was the antithesis of a fucking freeloader. This just proved it, Christmas was terrible.
Pacing back and forth in his room, he ran his fingers over his head, wanting to scream, but knowing he couldn’t or else he might wake up the house. He needed a drink. He wanted a drink. But he’d just promised Amber he wouldn’t touch a drop, and he was going to keep that promise. He wasn’t an alcoholic, he simply enjoyed good scotch.
Deciding he would eat his feelings instead, he stalked down the dark hallway to the kitchen. There had to be a bag of chips around here somewhere. He’d already devoured his Christmas present chips from Amber. Those hadn’t lasted twenty-four hours. Only when he turned the corner, he found another soul eating their feelings as well.
“Hey,” Hunter said, reaching into a drawer and pulling out another spoon. She passed it to Will. She took a big scoop out of the tub of Rocky Road before handing it over to him. “What’s eating you?” She licked the spoon provocatively. Was she doing it sexily on purpose? Or was that just how she ate ice cream, like a porn star?
“Am I freeloader?” he asked, putting the full spoon in his mouth.
“Yup!” She nodded.
He gaped at her. “I . . . I’m sorry.” Suddenly, all his built-up heaps of self-righteousness came thundering down, sending him into a smothering avalanche of doubt. That wasn’t at all the response he was expecting. Was he really that big of a freeloader?
She lifted a shoulder cavalierly. “No biggie. None of us really care. It’s more funny is all. Why? Did someone say something?”
“Amber.”
“What did she say?” She accepted the tub back and took another big spoonful.
“She asked why I’m not pulling my weight, why I’m not pitching in.”
“And?”
He went to open his mouth, but nothing besides air came out.
“Why aren’t you pitching in?”
“I hadn’t really thought about it. I don’t know.” He took the tub back from her and scooped out more ice cream.
“Let me ask you this,” she started. “Do you do your own cooking, laundry, cleaning, grocery shopping at home? Do you mow your own lawn? Shovel your own driveway?”
Holy shit.
No. He didn’t. Slowly, reluctantly, shamefully, he shook his head. “No. I have a housekeeper who does most of those things, and I live in a high rise.”
Hunter nodded, and a yawn followed. “Hmm.”
“Hmm?”
“And what about your childhood?”
“Well, Dr. Freud,” he said snidely. “My father left us when I was eight. He was a doctor as well. He’s been through a slew of wives and is pretty much just a womanizing jackass. I was essentially raised by a single mother.”
“And did your mother do everything for you?” She took another sexy lick of her ice cream. Will could only imagine that if Austin were here right now, he would be having fifty fits about how erotically Hunter was behaving. That boy had fallen hard for the cute little blonde, and his jealousy with any attention she received from either Rowan or Will was palpable.
“Yes.”
“Why is that?”
“Fuck, do you want me to go lie on the couch over there? Stare at some ink blots, so you can figure out I’m secretly in love with my mother and want to kill my father?”
She cocked an eyebrow and asked, “Are you? Do you?” before sensuously licking the spoon.
He scratched the back of his neck.
“Why did your mother do everything? Why did you let her do everything?”
“Jesus Christ!” He sighed, scrubbing his whiskery chin and fighting the urge to stomp his foot. “Fuck, I don’t know. Because she wanted to. Because she felt guilty, and she spoiled me, doted on me. I was a genius in school, so she let me get away with pretty much murder as long as I promised to get good grades and go to college. Which I did. And now that I’m loaded, I take care of her. I’m not a complete asshole, you know.”
She took the ice cream tub back from him. “I never said you were. I don’t think anyone said you were.”
“Yeah, well, apparently everyone thinks I am.”
She shook her head slowly, her blonde hair shimmying around her narrow shoulders. She was cute, damn cute, with a smattering of freckles across her nose and cheeks and a cute little button nose. He could definitely see why Austin was mad for the girl. But Will was attracted to Amber’s strength. He didn’t doubt Hunter was a ballbuster and strong, you’d pretty much have to be given her childhood, and had Amber not caught his eye, he definitely would have made a move on Hunter. Tiny blondes had become one of his favorite flavors. But this new flavor, ginger and spice, was throwing him for a loop and rocking his world. And now he just went and called her a psychopath. Fuck!
“No one thinks you’re an asshole,” Hunter said. “You’re just used to being taken care of. Used to going to work, saving lives and then coming home and not having to worry about dusting or sweeping or doing laundry.”
He shrugged. She’d hit the nail on the head.
“Nothing wrong with that. But here, here you need to pitch in. We’re not your mother, and we’re not your hired hand. So, tomorrow, make the fr
eaking coffee, okay?”
He looked down at his feet. She was definitely a ballbuster. She probably ruled her little empire with an iron-plated, hemp-infused fist. He nodded. “I . . . I think I messed up.”
“Yeah? What did you say to Amber?”
“How did you know?”
“You’re not in her room screwing her brains out. Call it a lucky guess.”
He huffed. “I called her an emotionless robot and a psychopath.”
Hunter’s eyes went wide. “Yeah, dude, you’re in the doghouse.”
“No shit.” Truth was Will knew there was more to Amber. He knew she had a big heart and a sweet side. He’d noticed it from the very beginning. Not to mention she was the little Christmas pixie hanging mistletoe up everywhere. Yeah, she was a sweetheart all right, and he was a bonehead who’s gone and screwed everything up by calling her a psychopath. Fuck!
“You know she’s the boss of like twenty guys, right?” Hunter said, snapping him out of his reverie.
He nodded and took back the ice cream. There was only enough for two more bites. “So?”
“So, women aren’t allowed to have emotions and feelings when we’re the boss. And especially not when we’re in charge of men. They won’t take us seriously, will question every decision and say we’re only allowed to make executive decisions twenty-five days of the month. Because the other five we’re irrational, bleeding nut jobs.”
Will’s jaw dropped. Hunter scoffed. She took the last bite of ice cream before wandering over to the sink to rinse out the tub. “You want some tea or something?” she asked.
“Sure, but I can make it.” He brushed past her and reached for the kettle out of the top cupboard.
A smile tickled her lips. “You know she’s got three older brothers too, right?”
“Yeah.” He hip-checked her out of the way so he could fill the kettle at the sink.
“And she’s a tomboy. And she’s the boss at a construction company. Where on earth has she ever been allowed to be emotional or show her feelings? She’s been trying to be ‘one of the boys’ since she was practically a baby.”