by Rhona Davis
His breathing is heavy and there’s a possessed intensity in his eyes, the same look he has when he fights professionally.
“Are you my superman?” I playfully ask.
“What are you doing here?”
“Taking pictures, you?”
“Jogging.”
“Yeah right. You live in the Hamptons and you just happen to be strolling around this neighbourhood.”
He looks down at the two muggers who are spread out like gingerbread men on a baking tray. “Good job I was, or who knows what could have happened.”
I check the time on my phone. “Shit.”
“What?”
I feel my body sagging. “I missed the train. Shit.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“Why, got your car parked up somewhere?”
“No. I took the train myself. Anyway, screw it.”
I arch a brow. “Oh yeah, which side of the park bench do you prefer?”
He dangles a pair of keys from his index finger. “I have more than one property, Ms. Chavez. What, you thought we’d take a four hour train ride home this time of night?”
I look down at the cold hard concrete. “What if I don’t want to go with you?”
“Then enjoy that bench, Ms. Chavez.” He walks away.
Stubbornly I stay on the spot, watching his perfect pert bum recede into the night.
The two punch drunk clowns, laid out by my feet, stir . . .
I make a dash for it. “Connor, wait for me!”
“Here,” Connor says, handing me a mug of coffee. “You sure you’re not too shook up from before?”
I crease my nose and shake my head.
He sits down at the far end of sofa, giving me space. He seems introspective.
When I’m sure he’s not looking, I glance at him. His shoulders are rounded and his head down.
“I wasn’t raised in some white picket fence utopia,” I say. “I was born in a rough place myself. Guys like them creeps . . . ? Ha, dime a dozen in my neigborhood.”
His gaze is fixed to the floor. “A regular Miss tough cookie.”
I twist my mouth, containing a smirk.
We say nothing for what seems like an age.
I lean back on the plush suede sofa with my coffee in hand and take in the opulence of his New York penthouse. The place is gorgeous, although maybe a little sparse on décor for my taste. Guess that’s guys for you.
“How many properties do you own exactly?” I say, blowing at the steam from my drink.
“How many? Oh, just this and the mansion in the Hamptons. I could buy more if I wanted, but two is enough.”
“Quite convenient, you having a penthouse apartment ten minutes from your old gym.”
He looks at me with narrow eyes. I detect some hurt behind that beautiful green gaze of his.
“What were you doing here?” he says.
I stare at the cream swirling in my coffee. “I’ve already told you . . . taking pictures.”
“Bullshit. I’ll ask you once more, what were you doing here?”
My voice lowers to a whisper. “I came to see . . .”
His body jerks toward me. “For Christ sake, Sofia, just tell me.”
“I came to see Monty.”
He flings back on the sofa and releases a frustrated sigh.
“Connor, he’s a broken man. You should see him. His gym is closed down.”
“So?”
“So? He spends most of his time in a bar, drinking himself to oblivion.”
Connor rubs at his eyes. “It’s not my problem. Not anymore.”
I lean toward him. “Look . . . I know I don’t know him, or the history you both shared, but I think he’d appreciate seeing you again. I could see the way he glowed when I mentioned your name.”
Connor glares at me like I’ve just danced on his grave.
I look away. “I’m just trying to help. I just want you to be happy.”
Great, another uncomfortable pause.
“Was I good?” he blurts out.
My brow pinches and I glance back at him, thrown by his odd change of subject.
“Well, was I good . . . ? In the alleyway?” His face stretches into the most gorgeous smile I ever thought was possible for a man to possess.
I smile back but try to refrain from stroking his ego. “Your uppercuts need work.”
“Huh?”
My eyes meet his and this time stay there. I catch my bottom lip under my teeth as I study his handsome face. “Connor, thank you.”
He pauses.
Is his mask finally slipping? If it is then I think I like what it reveals: Sincerity, a level of compassion I never thought possible for someone in his lofty position to have.
He breathes out and pushes to his feet. “Right, I’m taking a shower. I think I have some of that punk’s blood on me.”
I lean against the door frame, with one foot crossed over the other, and stare at the luxurious bed in Connor’s master bedroom.
The bathroom door opens and I prepare myself, shifting my attention over and holding my breath. As soon as he sees me, he freezes on the spot.
“You’re wearing my t-shirt,” he says, almost in slow motion.
I look down and play with the bottom of it. The thing hangs off my tiny frame like a nightshirt, drowning me. “Oh, this? Yeah, I had nothing else to wear so I borrowed something of yours. You don’t mind do you?”
He rubs a towel through his wet hair. “Nah, it’s cool. Looks good on you.”
I motion to his bed. “Looks comfy. Do you think I could take this one? I mean, I’m really sore from fighting that creep off. I think I need a good night’s sleep.”
His face twitches. “Fine.”
A smile dances across my lips as I watch his gaze fall away, obviously hiding his nerves.
“I wasn’t sure were you kept the laundry basket, so I left my dirty clothes in a pile by the other room. I hope that’s okay?”
He shrugs, walking over to the open planned kitchen and helping himself to some water.
My smile widens. “I had to take off everything . . . shirt, jeans . . . panties.”
His spits out water.
Doesn’t look so tough now.
I run a finger up and down the length of the doorframe. “So, do you think you can tuck me in tonight and read me a bedtime story? I’m really, really, sleepy.”
God, I’m not bad at this seduction stuff.
“Are you drunk?” he asks, raising a cynical brow.
“What if I am, would it really matter?”
He chews on the inside of his mouth and then smiles. The brash, cocky Connor returns to his face as the nickel finally drops. “You are so dead, Ms. Chavez.”
Launching for me, he lifts me off my feet and into his big strong arms. Without hesitation, his tongue finds its way to my mouth. He kisses me with a raw, animalistic passion that steals my breath away.
Fresh from the shower, his smell is divine; the mint of shower gel, the rugged scent of his warm masculine flesh. I can already feel a swell of lust burn in the pit of my belly and spiral outward. He is an exceptional kisser. Firm, yet tender—the perfect pressure.
Pressing me hard against the door frame, the grooves of it dig into my back. He murmurs as our lips and tongues swirl, massing each other with a frenetic passion we’ve both craved.
Yes, I craved him . . .
Inexplicably, this man has eroded every single rational thought I had when I first took on this job. No longer is he just a story for the paper, but a story for me to open up and fully indulge in: Complicated, exciting, page turning, and totally addictive.
He tries to bind my wrists together with his large hands but I pull them away from his grip and run my fingers through his short, ruffled hair. He follows my lead by gripping tight to the roots of my hair and tugging, making me arch my head back to expose my sleek neck.
His masterful kiss moves from my lips and works down the length of my neck, soon reaching my
collar bone.
I purr with pleasure.
His hot sweet kisses paint my skin, igniting every nerve ending with a dangerous fire.
I direct my hands to his taut, muscular chest. His smooth skin feels like satin wrapped over hard rock. I try to push him back but he fights with me. He’s lost now—drunk with lust. His resistance is as strong as mine is weak.
“Connor . . .” I murmur as his palms find the soft globes of my ripe breasts.
I moan with ecstasy but push him away again.
He shuffles back an inch, an erection clearly visible through his white cotton Calvin’s. His chest heaves up and down. The emerald green of his sexy eyes shine brighter than ever.
I step backward into his room; my gaze locked on his the entire time.
Desperation floods my core.
I can no longer ignore my carnal need.
I need him on me . . .
In me.
I grip the hem of my T-shirt and pull the piece of clothing over my head.
I am exposed now.
Completely naked.
My dark skin drowns in the light of a moon which breaks through the Venetian blinds of his window.
Slowly sauntering in after me, his jaw sets. His face is twisted with erotic anticipation. Giving him permission, I can see his cock violently thrust against the thin material of his briefs. I could tell from day one that I was an object of desire for him. And here I am now, offering it on a plate. The power I wield over him excites me. My heart thrums with a rhythm I couldn’t control even if I tried.
I want him.
My bare legs hit the iron bedframe and my hands find the edge of the bed.
There’s no changing my mind now.
I stare at his body as he edges closer. A rippling wall of abs help craft the perfect V-shape, leading down to the outline of his huge cock. His body is out of this world—muscled and beautifully tattooed. God.
Now standing tall over me, his presence is both commanding and intimidating. I can see in his eyes that he wants to fuck me hard and raw. In fact, I bet he wants to completely destroy me.
My hands quickly find his hot skin again, and I purr inside as my fingers roam the ridges and dents of every bulging muscle he’s gifted with.
My knees weaken and my breathing is staggered.
He cups the back of my head and stares at me. Brushing his thumb along the nape of my neck, he draws me in for a more measured—but just as electrifying as before—kiss.
I moan in his mouth while his other hand runs across the surface of my belly, threating to work down to my exposed pussy. His fingers tease my navel as his kiss becomes firm again.
I shake and pull away from his mouth. His lips are smeared with my fire-red lipstick.
Then—like the shock of diving into a clear icy pool—he hoists me up by my waist and throws me down onto the bed like a ragdoll.
I squeal as I double bounce upon the soft quilted mattress.
“God, you look so beautiful,” he says with a husky tone to his voice.
I take the duvet in both hands and wrap myself up in it. A giggle escapes me.
He shakes his head and tuts.
I stick out my tongue in playful defiance.
He grips the edges of the duvet and rips the thing away—unravelling me so fast that the power in his action has me reeling in shock.
Throwing the blanket to the floor, he crawls up the length of the bed to meet me.
He snakes a hand down his briefs, instantly playing with himself. It makes me jealous. I need my hands to take over.
Just as I reach out for him, he pushes my arms down and sinks below—moving toward my expectant sex with rapid urgency.
My head turns sideways into the pillow, my eyes screwed tight with excitement.
His tongue starts kissing the edge of my hip bone. I moan and buckle on the bed. His breath is just a few inches from my already moist pussy.
If he can do this to me with just a threat, then what can he do when his tongue actually finds my spot?
With my hands now free, I reach down for his mess of hair and pull. This inspires him. I soon feel his fingers trace the line of my slick folds. I bite down hard on my bottom lip, lost in the action of his fingers massaging me.
The world seems to stop.
I feel weightless as I wait for his cock to enter me.
“Oh yes,” I cry.
He pushes two thick digits inside my weeping slit and scoops at my pussy, his thumb making perfect circles on my hot beating clit.
My legs tremble as I pull at his soft hair.
Soon, his tongue joins in with his greedy fingers. He drags his tongue up my slit and murmurs with pleasure.
I start to shake uncontrollably.
My core is already promising the most violent and delicious of orgasms.
He pulls away and hovers over me, his hand still playing with my weeping gash.
“You really want me to fuck you?” he asks.
I slowly open my eyes. “Yes.”
He gently smacks my inner thigh and then tugs at one of my erect nipples.
I moan and twist on the bed.
“Say it,” he says.
“Fuck me.”
“Louder.”
I scream. “Fuck me.”
Then, just when I expect his rigid cock to split me in two, I come crashing back down to earth. Watching him traverse across the room, I bolt upright on the bed. He reaches inside the bedroom closet for a robe.
“What? Wait, where are you going?” I desperately pant.
He smiles. “To bed.”
“What? I—”
“You’re drunk,” he cuts in.
My cheeks burn with rage, replacing the rosy glow of lust which was there before. “You bastard! You teased me!”
“Sofia, I want nothing but to fuck you . . . screw you into the next world. But you’re a little drunk. I want you to get some sleep and then wake up with a clear head.”
“If you don’t take me now then you won’t get another chance,” I warn.
“And I’ve thought about that. Hopefully you’ll still feel the same in the morning, and if you don’t . . . well, I’ll just have to live with that.”
I launch a pillow at him, which just misses his head. “Jerk!”
“Night, Sophie.”
He closes the door.
He actually closes the door and walks away from me; me, naked and willing.
I wait for a few seconds, thinking it must be one of his stupid pranks. But he doesn’t come back.
I jump out of bed to tear a strip off him, but as soon as my feet land on the floor I sway and clutch my head with both hands.
Flopping back down on the bed like a limp piece of pasta, my eyes automatically shut . . .
I feel like shit.
As I listen to my heartbeat calm, my breathing relax, and the spin inside my skull come to a gentle stop, my eyelids become heavy . . .
16
Connor
Last night was a mistake . . .
The first and only time I have ever had turned down sex. I mean, what the fuck was I thinking? If any of the guys at the gym found out, I’d be a laughing stock. Hell, even my blue balls are laughing at me right now.
What is she doing to me?
I creep up to the closed door of Sofia’s room and press my ear against it. I smile. She’s snoring, deep in the cradle of sleep.
After a few moments listening in, I scratch my balls and head to the kitchen.
Breakfast.
Yeah. I’ll show her I can cook breakfast, that I don’t need some fancy chef constantly waiting on me. Maybe that will impress her, make her forget about my stupid one-eighty?
Opening the refrigerator, I study the slim choice of food on offer. All that’s left inside is a bottle of unopened champagne—left over from a party I threw seven months ago—and a small carton of milk, which we picked up on our way over here last night.
Feeling defeated, I turn to kitchen worktop an
d slam my fists down on the marble surface.
My head spins.
I can’t believe I made myself a martyr. I should have grabbed the opportunity while it was there.
Before I wallow into a deep depression, I rush through to my room and pull on a t-shirt and jogging pants. Then, I run back through to the living area and swipe up a set of keys from the coffee table.
Just before I head out to the Deli, a few blocks away, I shuffle over to Sofia’s room and place my ear against the door again.
When I’m sure she’s far from waking up, I quietly leave the apartment.
I just hope I can reverse this mess . . .
She is everything I’ve ever wanted.
“What’s this?”
I turn and see Sofia wiping her eyes and sniffing at the smoke that billows out from the kitchen.
“Morning,” I say, with an exaggerated tone of happiness in my voice. “Sleep well?”
She scowls at me.
Fuck, she remembers.
I shift my focus back to the fried eggs, which are now firmly stuck to the pan. As I concentrate on one thing, another thing on the stove is burning.
She glides over toward me and holds out her hand, motioning to the spatula I’m clutching. I concede defeat and let her take over.
She shakes her head as she frees the eggs from a certain death. “Is this supposed to impress me?”
I shrug. “Can’t blame me for trying.”
I’m sure I catch the beginning of a smile curling her lips.
“Sometimes you have to accept what you can and can’t do,” she says, “even for a champ like you.”
“Sofia, about last night—”
She raises a hand. “Please. Don’t bother. I get it. It’s all just a game.”
“No. No way . . .”
She fixes her eyes on me. “I don’t know what I was thinking. I’m supposed to be a professional. It’s my fault, I’m sorry.” She throws a plate of burnt eggs and bacon down on the worktop. “There. Couldn’t save the yolk I’m afraid.”
I take a stool and begin to eat.
“Sofia, I’m sorry. I didn’t want you to think I was taking advantage.”
“You’re right, I was drunk. Forget it.”