Manwhore Heir (The Heirs Book 2)

by Brandy Munroe

“This is deja vu,” I declared some time later as Richard sat across from me in his underwear.

  “Should I finish you off, or do you want to concede?” I gloated.

  I wanted him to concede. My heart was racing, having him sitting across from me, nearly naked. His bronzed chest, muscular arms and biceps were taunting me. I was grateful the table hid him below the waist. I was sure I was blushing remembering what he looked like naked.

  It had been a long time since I felt any desire for anyone. Richard had me hungrily feasting on the sight of this beautifully built man.

  “I’m quite comfortable with my physique, and you haven’t won yet. I can still make a comeback,” He needled, grinning ear to ear. “

  You’re blushing, Mac. Are you concerned you might become aroused if you see me naked?”

  That wasn’t exactly what concerned me. I was already aroused. What I might do about it was what had me reeling.

  He was resistant, I needed to clear the way, he needed to concede. “It’s okay, Richard, you aren’t going to hurt my feelings by telling me you prefer to spend the time with your rich friends and your rich toys.”

  Richards face dropped. “Is that you thought all these years?

  Mac, I didn’t come that summer because I was in the hospital. My father never explained it?”

  “I didn’t ask, he got out of his car, talked to my father, and I was waved off. You didn’t get out of the car and I was never told why.”

  Something was off, it looked like he wanted to confess, but to what.

  What happened that summer that put him in the hospital?

  What happened that made him never want to come back?

  Chapter 7

  Richard

  “I suppose it was after that you decided you were too old to hang out with your father and me?” I heard the hurt in her voice. It wasn’t a topic I was comfortable talking about. It was a family secret discreetly accepted.

  What emotions would it invoke if I let it out? I picked up my jeans and put them back on, followed by the shirt. “Can we take this to the cabin?” I requested. “I think for this story, we are both going to need a drink.”

  I looked back; she was still sitting. “Afraid of the can of worms you just opened?” I mockingly remarked, then headed out of the shelter.

  I glanced over my shoulder. Mackenzie was silently picking up the cigars and whisky then followed me.

  She took two mugs from her supplies, opened the liquor and poured us each a good amount. She searched for her matches. “If we’re breaking out the whisky, what would a good cigar hurt?”

  I downed the first helping of whisky. “That’s good,” I hoarsely proclaimed, pounding on my chest while the firefly amber liquid burned. I pushed my mug towards her.

  “Take it easy on this,” Mackenzie ordered, holding up the bottle. “We only have one of these.”

  I chuckled. “Ok, I should do this sober anyway.”

  “I would start with my father had an affair,” her mouth fell open, “but technically, he and my mother were not actually living together when my father slept with his secretary.”

  She filled my cup and passed it back. I chuckled. “Don’t look so shocked, Mac, he wasn’t perfect,” I sneered.

  “My parents were having trouble starting a family, even with medical assistance. My mother felt she failed my father and left him. She wanted him to be able to have an heir.” I took a deep breath and continued, “Son or daughter, it didn’t matter.

  It was a brief separation. My mother found out she was pregnant about a month after she left. She came back and they reconciled. They were the epitome of a happy marriage. The marriage everyone set their standards to.”

  I picked up the bottle and pour myself another shot. “I don’t suppose you brought any beers with you on this trek? Whisky this good should be used for celebrating, not a pity party.”

  “I can always put on some coffee,” she offered.

  “Nah, but you better put this away.” I slid the bottle across the table to her. “This is simply the beginning.

  Mac, please don’t think any less of my father. It took me a while to forgive him. He had his reasons.

  While my mother was away, my father took comfort with his personal secretary, and you already know what came next,” I sourly disclosed.

  ”She found out she was pregnant after my parents reconciled. She decided to leave and not tell anyone. I never met the woman or spoke to her. I never discovered her reason for not telling my father.”

  Mackenzie opened her mouth to speak, I held up my hand to stop her. “It’s hard enough to get out, please let me finish.” I stared into the deep blue ocean of Mackenzie’s eyes.

  “My half-brother was diagnosed with leukaemia. He needed a bone marrow transplant, hence the return of the vanishing secretary. My father was not a match. There was no choice but to explain to my mother his indiscretion.”

  I emptied my mug. “I didn’t make it here that summer because I was saving my brother’s life. After that, I lost respect for my father. The week we spent here each summer, that was our father, son bonding ritual. I hadn’t forgiven him by the next trip, so I didn’t come.

  I did it to punish him, take away that bond. Turns out I only punished myself. I lost that bond with my father and I didn’t know how to explain it to you. I was hurt and embarrassed. The longer I waited to come back, the harder it was to take that step.”

  Mackenzie finally spoke up, “So you decided not to take it, ever?”

  “I decided not to take it, ever,” I repeated. “I found out more details as I got older, which is why I forgave my father.

  I couldn’t understand why my half-brother’s mother did not want him to get to know his family. Once the secret was out, she had no choice. I was fourteen, I was not privy to the arrangements. All I knew was my actions were responsible for someone else's life. Brother or not, I would have done it for a total stranger.” I eyed the bottle, debating on another shot.

  “We have somewhat of a relationship with him now. It took a lot of years and it’s still a work in progress, but we have contact.”

  Mackenzie moved her chair closer, wrapped her arms around me and laid her head on my shoulder. “Did you have anyone you could confide in?”

  “Not at the time. I had a close friend in boarding school, my current business partner. He had enough of his own personal misery to deal with. I didn’t want to saddle him with mine.”

  “You could have confided in me, I would have listened.” She gently kissed me on the cheek, like a friend would, for comfort.

  The kiss ignited a fire. I turned my head to face her. Did the look in my eyes betray me? I was not going to settle for a kiss on the cheek, and neither would she. Both of us were afraid to make the first move. Both afraid not to make any move.

  I leaned to kissed her gently on those naturally pink lips; she met me halfway. I was being cautious with her, I had no intentions of scaring her off or hurting her. Her coming here last night, the anniversary, had me sure she was still mourning her deceased husband.

  Would I be her first since the tragedy? Did I want that responsibility? Her lips were soft and inviting, she was not pulling away, not resisting.

  I had to be sure before moving on. I took her face in my hands, removed my mouth from hers.

  The action cause a pain I had never experienced. A loss I had never felt. As insanely as I wanted my mouth on her, I needed to be sure she was with me.

  As much as I wanted to ravish her that instant, I needed to be sure she wanted it as well.

  “What’s wrong?” she probed. “Did I hurt you?” She panicked, pulling away.

  “No,” I interjected. I could not have her thinking she did anything wrong. I gazed into her blue eyes. They were boring a hole through my soul. I was not going to be able to restrain myself much longer.

  I wanted to be considerate and gentle with her.

  “Are you sure?” I tilted my head towards the bed.

  She gav
e me her answer by placing her hand at the nape of my neck and pulling me to her. She took my mouth with such a force it threw me over the edge. Still, I needed to hear her say it.

  “I need you to tell me what you want, Mac.” I was demanding, almost begging.

  “You’ve never just taken what you wanted?” she asked.

  “Never.” My breathing was shallow, heavy. “Be warned, though, if we start this, I won’t be able to stop. I need to hear you say it.”

  “I want you,” she declared.

  I ran my hand up her shirt, taking hold, and pulled it over her head. She had perfect firm mounds covered in a black lacy bra. I thumbed her nipples through the delicate fabric. The friction caused a pooling of hot liquid heat between her thighs I could smell.

  Her body shuddered at the teasing.

  I tried acquainting myself with all that made her so deliciously female, her curves were subtle. With an incoherent cry, she arched, her hands sliding into my hair and holding me close to her breast.

  I waited until I felt the slight give to her muscles signalling her relaxation and then used my teeth to tug at her nipple again.

  Unable to resist, my hand ran along her back and removed the only obstruction between my mouth and her breasts. She fit perfectly in my mouth.

  I was used to women whose enormous breasts would spill over.

  I remembered a teasing verse that applied to this situation. A mouthful was plentiful, more than a mouthful was wasteful. I enjoyed her plentiful breasts.

  I used my tongue to arouse her nipples, feeling them harden at my tongue lashing, tracing the line between her breasts.

  “You skin is so fucking soft and sweet.”

  She lifted my head long enough to tear my shirt off me. It was her turn to tease, to taunt the firmness of my nipples between her fingers first, then her mouth.

  “Yours is hard and salty, I like it.”

  During this process she had straddled me where I sat. Her moist heat was making contact through our jeans.

  “Tell me what you want me to do, Mac, I need to hear it.”

  She pulled away. “You need, or you want?” her eyes questioning.

  “Both,” I admitted. “I won’t take you unless you tell me. Tell me, Mac, what do you want me to do?”

  She wrapped her arms around my neck, leaned into me, brushing her breasts against my chest and softly spoke into my ear, like she was afraid someone else would hear.

  “I want you to fuck me.” She was direct, to the point.

  I was mesmerized by the deep beckoning of her blue eyes. I lifted her as I stood and carried her to the bed. I was not going to wait to relieve her of the encumbering clothing.

  She had a black lacy boy shorts that matched the bra.

  I smirked. “I was expecting the proverbial granny panties.” She blushed at the remark. It didn’t matter, they would not last long now that her jeans were off.

  I gripped the lacy underwear with my teeth and dragged them down her legs slowly, playing with her, making her wait.

  I crawled my way back up her body, positioning myself with my elbows to hover above her.

  She wrapped her arms around my waist and flipped me on my back.

  “My turn,” she purred as she peeled away my jeans. She slipped her fingers in the waistband and slowly lowered my briefs. She dropped them to the floor and straddled me.

  “My, what big eyes you have,” she taunted, kissing them each on the lid.

  I played along. “The better to see you with, my dear.”

  Then she took my ears in her mouth, nibbled on them and said, “My, what big ears you have.”

  I was enjoying the foreplay, silly, fun. “The better to hear you scream with, my dear.”

  “Promise?” she blushed and giggled.

  She tasted my mouth. Using her tongue, she continued to play with me, rolling it along my hard muscular body. She came up for air, but she wasn't done playing. “Oh my, what big teeth you have.”

  “The better to eat you with,” I replied as I returned the favor and flipped her to her back.

  Unable to abstain, my hands skated downward, tripping across the toned ripple of her abdomen to the joining between her thighs. She opened for me and I cupped her warmth, revelling in skin so soft it defied comparison.

  “You’re so fucking wet, but I want more,” I teased, finding the moist seam that hid the feminine core of her. My tongue penetrated her moist sweetness. She was incandescent in her want, beautiful and determined, more giving than any woman I’d known.

  I made my way to her mouth. I wanted her to taste how sweet she was to me.

  Her hands swept down my chest and she broke the kiss to follow the path of her hands, mimicking all I had done to her earlier. Her breath came hot against my skin, her mouth and teeth avid against my own nipples. All the while her hands were busy, finding the source of my own desire and stroking.

  She teased with her tongue at first. “Like I said, salty and hard.” Her mouth was leading me astray. She took me all the way to the back of her throat. I knew she must have, I could feel her gripping with her teeth, gliding them along my shaft.

  I needed her to stop or I would explode before I was done with her.

  I wanted her opened, wet, ready. I had been previously informed that my engorged cock was more than most women could handle. I did not want to hurt her. I wanted her to enjoy what I was offering.

  I was enthusiastic about taking care of my needs in the process.

  I raised her head to meet my eyes. I found the mounds of her folds, still slick from the foreplay. I penetrated her first with one finger then two. She arched and curved her back like a minx craving to be pet. She was ready and my instinct told me, my own arousal from her previous endeavors would not last forever.

  I placed myself between her thighs. She wrapped her legs around my waist, coercing me inside her as far as she could push me. I thrust once, cautiously entering her as far as I could. I thrust again, on the third I was gone.

  It did not take long for us to find our rhythm, raising together in perfect synchronization, pushing when needed. I gave out a growl. A complicated series of agonized, rising vowels.

  I was pushing into her tight inner sanctum, enjoying the pleasure that came from her matching me. She was greedy taking everything I was offering.

  I was amazed by her stamina.

  My previous encounters would be exhausted at this point. They would let me take the lead and finish them off. Not her, she took me to heights I never knew existed. I was so engorged, so in tune with her body, so equality inept. If I pushed any harder, I feared I would splinter the headboard.

  She let out a high pitched shriek. I paused, fearing I had hurt her.

  “Don’t fucking stop,” she screamed. Eyes locked on each other, I saw she knew what that sardonic grin on my face represented.

  She was not a virgin, but had I found her virgin g-spot? I never believed I would see the day I enjoyed a woman shrieking at me.

  “I see fireworks,” she panted, barely able to breathe.

  “Good” I replied, “because here they come again.”

  I continued to assault her senses the way she was tearing at mine. Her energy unrelenting, her need gaining momentum to mine. I exploded, filling her until she was dripping from my cum.

  Remaining inside her until I could regain my bearings, my composure, I felt her walls tightening around my shaft. All I could think was, here we go again.

  We were like competitors on a wrestling mat. Me on top of her, then her on top of me. The bantering, the foreplay, the touching went on for hours. I had met my match. I was wavering, she was winning, but at what?

  It was the first time I had given all I could and still I could not be sure she had her fill. Each time I erupted inside her cavern, she wailed in indistinguishable delight. I adored the look on her face when I brought her to the brink and we fell over together.

  I laid beside her, justifying my fatigue. The storm had taxed my physical
endurance and I needed rest. That could be the only reason I had exhausted myself to the hilt.

  “Do you want to take a shower while I make up your bed on the floor?” she tormented. “I won at poker, so I get the bed.”

  “No one is sleeping on the floor,” I informed her, “even if that means you won’t get any sleep tonight.”

  I didn’t want to let her go. I could be gone tomorrow.

  When I returned home, would I be able to leave her behind? She broke through my defences. I gave her everything, leaving me with nothing to hide behind.

  Had she fixed a broken man with a connection so profound I would be lost without it, something far beyond sex?

  Would this encounter be the ruin of me?

  The ruin of Rick?

  Chapter 8

  Mackenzie

  The first rays of morning was shining through the back window. I remembered opening the shutters yesterday hoping the light would wake Richard. Like yesterday, I awoke wrapped in warm arms and the unmistakable poke of arousal pressing against my back.

  This morning it did not cause me alarm, it made me smile. I attempted to rise, hoping to get coffee on.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” the masculine voice lying beside me wanted to know.

  “To make coffee.” I slapped his roaming hands and grabbed the top to the pyjamas lying near the bed.

  “You can make coffee later, come back to bed,” he enticed with a come hither look.

  I pointed to the window. “Sun. The fog lifted, the Coast Guard will be able to come for you. I should head to the lighthouse and search for a signal.”

  “They’re coming for me, not you. I’ll go to the lighthouse, you stay here, coffee sounds good.”

  He climbed out of bed and slipped into his jeans as I watched. Who knew something as innocent as putting on his jeans could set my insides burning. Was it possible to find someone sexier with their clothes on, rather than off?

  “Hey, eyes up here,” he instructed. He reached for the hunting jacket. “Strong and black, remember,” he stated with a kiss on his way out.