“Tavia,” he murmured accusingly, “you’re wet!”
She moaned in answer.
“How can you be wet again?”
“I don’t know, Bolt. How can you be hard again? I see you and I just start…leaking. I’m sore as hell, my pussy’s as sore as hell, and every time I see you I…just ache for you.”
“Poor Tavia,” he murmured, leaning over her and bracing his hands on the table beside hers.
For a long time he just leaned against her with his chest warm across her back, rocking his denim-covered crotch against her pussy, his fingers playing with hers as his mouth hovered at her ear, pelting her cheek with his humid breath. When he put his damp lips against her cheek, she turned her face and found his mouth with hers. He returned her kiss stroke for stroke, using the hard, flat surface of his teeth like a weapon, bruising her lips, using his tongue to probe the slick inner recesses of her mouth, twisting his stubble-edged lips into her kiss.
When he finally broke away and straightened behind her, his breath was rough and harsh. There was a pause while he unbuttoned his jeans and guided his cock out of his pants. The next thing Tavia felt was the wide head of his penis riding through her sex from the top of her vulva, through the fragile, swollen folds of pink, over the tender bud of her clitoris to settle at the top of her cleft. Drawing back again, he loitered at her entrance for several moments, rimming her opening with his crown, collecting her moisture before sliding through her folds again and prodding at her sensitive clit.
Her clit was so damn hypersensitive that any more contact would have been painful. But his velvet-skinned cock head was unbearably gentle as he played its tip over the swollen knot of her clitoris. Her belly filled with heat while her vagina filled with want. Warmth and wet slid from her opening. She felt it trickle down through her folds until his cock head was sliding over her slippery flesh and heightening every wicked sensation he laid on between her spread legs.
Her body relaxed as her breath came in rushing pants and she resituated her bottom, shifting and wiggling until she’d guided her open vulva to the fat, cushioned head of his penis.
Bolt chuckled softly. “You ready, baby doll?”
“I’m ready,” she breathed.
“Are you going to beg for it?”
She gritted her teeth. “Only if you make me, you fucking sadist.”
Bolt pushed out a tense laugh. “Okay,” he murmured. “This one’s on me.”
She felt his huge cock head pressing against her oh-so-tender entrance and she held her breath.
“Brace yourself,” he warned her with a grunt. With those words, he grasped her hips tightly and shafted her.
Her sudden intake of breath was a whistling squeak. His massive cock stretched and scraped at the raw, used flesh of her swollen vagina. She whimpered, wanting to cry out, wanting him to stop, wanting him to go on. Sliding down onto the table, she laid her hot cheek against the cool surface of the polished maple, reaching for the table’s edges and holding on for dear life while sweat popped to bead on every pore of her body. A wide ellipse of fog pooled on the table beside her mouth.
“Bolt,” she whimpered, “Bolt…I…go easy, Bolt. Please.”
She felt his big hands on her derriere, pulling apart the cheeks of her ass as he ground his way deeper. She sucked in a painful breath.
“You sore, baby doll?”
“A little. I…do you think we could do this without…without moving?”
He chuckled. “That would be hard.”
She groaned. “I was afraid you’d say that.”
“But not impossible,” he added, reaching around in front of her leg and settling his fingertips over the top of her labia. “I won’t spread you,” he told her. “So you tell me when I’m in the right place.”
When he moved his hand in a small circle, she moaned. “That’s the right place.”
“Thought so,” he grunted.
His shaft was buried deep between her cheeks, thickly enclosed within the flesh cushioning his groin. His thick wrist slid down between their bodies and she felt his left hand moving against her skin, stroking his balls as he rocked gently against her backside, barely moving inside her, nudging the full tip of his cock head against the back of her vagina, delivering deep, dark ecstasy with each thumping blow.
Moments later, his right hand was slipping as he massaged the full, wet lips that sheltered her clit. The deep pounding delivery at her sweet spot moved her slowly toward climax as he bucked against her in short surges. At some point the pleasure and need for deliverance overwhelmed any discomfort Tavia was aware of. She gripped the table’s edges, braced her legs and lifted her ass to him.
“Jesus,” he complained as his hands gripped the flesh of her cheeks. “You shouldn’t have done that, Tavia. Hold on, sweetheart. You’re about to get fucked.”
With these words he pulled his hips and slammed into her, groaning as he drove into her with violent urgency, stretching her channel impossibly wide as his cock expanded in his own approach to climax.
Tavia didn’t hear the doorbell ring. She was orgasming when it opened several minutes later, pressing the side of her open mouth into the table’s smooth surface. Behind her, Bolt pounded against her backside, flaying her with the slap of his hips, flogging her with his cock, too close to climax to stop for anything less than the end of the world.
The stunned deliveryman stared a startled instant as a bouquet of red roses slipped from his fingers and dropped to rattle against the floor. Abruptly, he backed out of the house as Bolt threw his hips at Tavia’s ass three more times then stilled, coming in blisteringly hot surges, pumping his cum into her sheath, choking back obscene phrases mixed with hard words of devotion.
Afterward, Tavia groaned. “Oh man,” she panted against the table, “poor guy. I bet we gave him a scare.”
Bolt’s shaft pulsed inside her as he ground his groin against the cushion of her ass. He jerked his chin upward. “Either that or a hard-on,” he murmured.
Tavia’s breath fogged on the table as she gave a weak giggle.
Bolt drew his cock out of her hold in a long, sore slide of thick flesh. “Did you get your story finished?” he asked as he pulled her dress down to cover her exposed backside.
“Story?” she mumbled vaguely.
“You had a noon deadline,” he reminded her, tucking his cock inside his pants and buttoning up.
“Yes,” she lied primly as he fell to one knee and released her from first one shoe, then the other.
“What about you? Did you get a ride to Albuquerque?” she asked, holding her breath.
Bolt was a moment answering. “Not tonight,” he said softly. His gaze probed hers from behind thick lashes and for several seconds Tavia gave up on breathing altogether. His expression told her that he was staying the night. That he wanted to stay the night. And that she didn’t have much choice in the matter.
Once Tavia was free of the shoes, she and Bolt crept across the entry to the front door. They found more flowers on the porch. Another dozen bouquets.
Tavia didn’t open the notes.
Bolt spent the night.
Chapter Seven
Tavia overslept. She’d had a busy night. She smiled, stretching in the large king-sized bed as she reminisced. She particularly liked the memory of Bolt stretched over her, lying between her spread legs, his weight on his elbows as his cock pulsed inside her and he dipped his face to kiss her mouth. That was a good one. Turning on the bed, she snuggled her face into the pillow beside her and drew in a breath full of the rich, masculine scent of Bolt Hardin.
It was about then that she realized he was absent from the bed. Rising swiftly, Tavia wrapped her soft white robe around her and went looking for him.
She found him in the kitchen. And immediately wished she hadn’t. She knew it was unreasonable, but what she saw in the kitchen turned her around in a hot firestorm of jealousy. She was out of the kitchen in a flash, striding through the dining room and down the hal
l, trying to distance herself from Bolt before she cursed him to hell and back.
Why were men such pricks?
Shaking her head, Tavia tried to dislodge that image from her head. When she’d opened the swinging door to the kitchen, she’d found Bolt Hardin—biggest prick on the face of the earth—with an arm around her cook. The curvy, dark-haired little woman was tucked into his side and his lips were on her neck, behind her ear. Behind her ear!
“Tavia!”
Tavia heard Bolt shout behind her as she spun into her bedroom, spinning again as she realized she had no fucking doors to slam in his face—and no weapon that would separate his head from his shoulders.
“Tavia,” Bolt called again just before he appeared in her doorway.
“Get out of my house,” she screeched at him in a whisper, her hair flying around her face, her cheeks burning up in anger. Stabbing him with her eyes, she gave him a look that guaranteed death and danger. “Get out of my house, you fucking prick!”
His eyes were narrowed in awe. “Tavia, you’re overreacting.”
“Am I?” she shouted. “Am I? What did I see back there in my kitchen?”
Slowly, he edged his way toward her. “You saw me kissing Maria.”
She exploded. “That’s what I thought I saw!”
He inclined his chin slightly, sliding another foot toward her.
“Why the fuck were you kissing my employee?”
Bolt’s gaze hugged the floor. “Cookies.”
“Cookies?” Tavia echoed, stunned.
Again Bolt nodded as he crept a few more inches in her direction. “Give me a break, Tavia,” he muttered. “The woman had a plateful of warm cookies. I’d have kissed Alex if he’d had a plate of warm cookies.”
Tavia tilted her head in disbelief as her eyes narrowed suspiciously on his face. The man was contrite. Way too contrite. She wasn’t buying it.
In the next instant it didn’t matter whether she was buying it or not because, in a flash of gliding movement, Bolt had her plastered up against the wall, his knee between her legs and his hands inside her robe, groping her breasts.
In a mad froth of rage, Tavia twisted beneath him. Her struggles had no effect whatsoever on Bolt except to roughen the breath that rushed from his lips and pelted her hair. With a groan of defeat, she glared down at the hands that had captured her breasts. The pale mounds of flesh spilled out around the edges of his huge hands. His palms were beneath her nipples, lifting her breasts into his splayed fingers. With frustration bordering on angst she watched her nipples, traitorous little sluts that they were, peaking for him. Her mind might still be her own—raging against him. But her body was his—lock, stock and nipple. She glowered at her breasts as his fingers moved together, squeezing her erect nipples between the scissoring vise of his thick digits.
She was on fire. From the full, hungry lips of her pussy to the tips of her hardened nipples, she was on fire for him. She was angry and taut and tense, and on fire for a man with no potential who would never be anything more than a womanizing, lying cheat.
Wanting to cry and scream and sever his balls all at the same time, Tavia watched Bolt’s gaze on her misbehaving nipples as a rough, male growl rumbled from his throat. His chest expanded as he sucked up air in lusty bursts. His gold eyes glowed with carnal heat as his lips slanted over hers and his mouth crushed into hers.
He forced the kiss on her. He forced it.
And she took it. Ate it up. Drank it down. All of it—hook, line and the long, lead sinker he had pressed up against her belly. When he was done imposing his carnal will between her lips, his mouth made a wet path to her ear. “Tavia,” he whispered between the huge expansions of his lungs. “I’m only going to tell you this once, so pay attention. I’m not interested in Maria.”
“Then why,” she ground out between her own gasping attempts to breathe, “if you’re not interested in Maria, do you have such a huge, fucking hard-on?”
He laughed and groaned at the same time. “Don’t you know, baby doll? You are so fucking hot when you’re mad. Look at you.” Dragging her from the wall, he turned her to face the mirror above her painted dresser. He stood behind her as she stared at her reflection. Her hair was wild, two spots of bright color burned high on her cheeks and her eyes were just about emitting sparks above her angry pouting lips.
“If you want me to kiss you the way I kissed Maria, make me a plateful of warm cookies. But if you want me to fuck you up against the wall,” he murmured into her neck, “just look at me like that.”
His hands crossed beneath her chest and he lifted her breasts, one in each hand as he kneaded them in his fingers and pressed his iron-hard erection into the cleft of her ass. The scorching flame of her anger was just beginning to dampen when the spell was broken by the tinny sound of annoyingly cheery music. Bolt cursed as he reached for the cell phone in his pocket.
“Hardin,” he barked into the phone. “What? Say again. You’re breaking up. What? Listen. Listen. I’ll try to call you back.”
Snapping his phone closed, Bolt frowned at it for a few seconds. “I’d better make this call from a land line,” he told Tavia. “Be back in a minute.” He headed through her open doorway and down the hall. “We’ll finish making up then.”
As Tavia glared at the opening, she heard his footsteps returning. “You might want to talk to Maria,” he suggested. “Make sure she knows she still has a job. She…seemed worried. Tell her it was my fault.” He headed down the hall again.
This time Tavia’s eyes narrowed on the empty opening. So Bolt would like her in the kitchen, would he? Way down the hall, across the living room, through the dining room and in the kitchen where she couldn’t possibly overhear any of the conversation he’d be having on the phone in the other bedroom.
Tavia stalled. Angry. Suspicious. She eyed the telephone in her room. She could talk to Maria later. Despite Bolt’s purported concern, Tavia wasn’t about to fire her cook because of his bad behavior.
She heard Bolt laughing from the bedroom down the hall.
You know…it was funny, but that didn’t sound like the sort of laugh two men shared. It sounded like the sort of laugh a man shared with a woman. Warm and deep, teasing and almost sultry. Slowly, Tavia made her way over to the bedside table and the ivory-colored phone sitting beside the lamp.
Okay. She was jumpy. She was on edge. She’d just seen Bolt pressing a kiss behind Maria’s ear. Damn Bolt! Why did he have to be so sexy? Everything he did was just cut thick with sex appeal. He walked across the room and it was sexy! He stretched his arms behind his head and it was sexy! He kissed her cook and—Jesus.
Tavia snatched the telephone receiver out of the cradle and pressed it to her ear. She was so frustrated and angry and suspicious she didn’t even begin to feel guilty about listening in on Bolt’s conversation. Immediately, her lips twisted into a tight knot and her eyes narrowed on her reflection in the mirror across the room as she heard a female’s voice.
“When are you going to be home, Bolt?”
“Soon, sweetheart.”
“How soon?”
“You’re not my mother, Mindy.”
“Thank god,” Mindy laughed. “If I were your mother, I’d have to feed you.”
Bolt laughed while Tavia burned—scorched in fact—blackened around the edges to be quite honest.
“I have a surprise for you,” Bolt taunted the woman on the other end of the line.
“Will I like it?”
“Oh yeah. You’ll like it. It’s something really big. Bigger than what I usually bring back.”
“Bolt,” Mindy giggled, “you’re such a tease.”
Tavia jumped away from the phone like it was a snake. Glaring at the receiver she’d flung on the bed, she backed away from the hateful thing.
Okay. That’s it. That was flirting. That was the sound of Bolt flirting with another woman. His girlfriend. His fiancé. His wife for all she knew! When are you going to be home, Bolt? Tavia stared at her burn
ing reflection. She’d cry if she wasn’t so goddamn mad.
Bolt Hardin wasn’t any more interested in her than he was in Maria or…or Mindy—whoever she was. So why the hell was he hanging around? It couldn’t be sex. Evidently he could get that anywhere and everywhere.
That left money.
And he’d had the nerve to call Alex a gold digger!
Well, the good thing about being rich was…it wasn’t hard to get rid of a gold digger boyfriend if you wanted to.
Stumbling out of her bedroom, Tavia crossed the hall to her office and placed herself behind the large, shielding mass of her desk. When she dropped into her chair, it finally hit her. She covered her face, fighting tooth and nail to hold back a crushing wave of tears. Somehow in the last few days she’d fallen for the great, huge, stupid enough lug nut. Despite everything. Despite the fact that she’d known from the start he was a man without drive, ambition or potential. Despite the fact that he didn’t even have the wherewithal to keep his car running.
With nothing more than a sexy saunter and a low-slung pair of faded jeans, he’d wormed his way right into her unhappy heart.
Bolt’s voice startled her. “You’re still mad at me.”
“No,” she responded sharply, willing her voice not to crack as she pulled her face out of her hands. She even managed the semblance of a brave smile for the man who stood in the doorway. “It’s something else. I’ve just received some bad news.”
“Bad news?” Bolt’s eyebrows crushed together in an expression of concern.
Tavia ignored his expression as she forged on. “My accountant cleaned out my bank account ten days ago,” she informed him. “I’ve had the police on him. They just called to tell me he left the country a week ago.”
Bolt just continued to frown.
“I’m broke,” she told him flatly.
“You have another phone line? I didn’t hear the phone ring.”
“The call came in on my cell,” she told him.
He nodded stiffly as though holding back a rage of emotions. “You should have told me,” he finally said, tightly. “I’m sorry.”
Miss October Page 8