Unmistaken Identity

by Marie Johnston

  He withdrew before he could dwell on the foreign emotion any longer and slammed back into her. She gasped and her fingers dug into his shoulders, but it wasn’t pain in her features.

  “You’re just so…big.” A lazy grin spread across her face.

  He matched it. “Darling, I never tire of hearing that.”

  She let out a laugh, but another thrust turned it into a whimper for more. Pull out. Thrust. Repeat.

  He curled down to cover one nipple with his mouth. Her arms circled his neck as her hips rocked against his. Tension built, energy crackling between them; their heavy breathing and the slap of flesh on flesh filled the room. Closer. He needed to be closer to her.

  He snaked an arm under one of her knees and as he trailed kisses from her chest to her neck. He lifted her leg up and out to the side.

  Yes, that helped. He ground into her.

  “Sam!”

  Fuck! That name. It wasn’t his and it reminded him why he was in her bedroom.

  He reared up to watch himself dominate her body. Did she think she could control a man? I’ll—he pounded harder—show—her walls quavered around his cock—her.

  “Oh— I can’t—” She collapsed back, her arms above her head as he completely took over her body.

  She yelled, moaned, twisted the blankets in her grip, and she came. Hard. It was like a death grip on his cock. Only the lubrication of her orgasm prevented him from being at a standstill.

  His balls tightened. If the sight of her sucking him off was erotic, her climaxing, completely undone from his strokes, was magnificent. He clenched his teeth, a growl starting deep and rumbling out, his thrusts shortened.

  “Mara—” He cut himself off before he could declare you’re mine.

  Throwing his head back, he roared, his shout echoing off the walls and mingling with her cries.

  His climax was the strongest in recent memory. In all memory.

  It went on and on. Jet after jet of come spurted from him. His condom was already at max capacity. He ripped himself out of her before it busted, then collapsed on top of her.

  Her hold immediately encompassed him and she peppered his face with light kisses.

  He blinked. Did she think he needed comforting?

  Oddly enough, it felt like he did because it was soothing. He was reluctant to move. But this was when he was going to jump up and tell her who he really was. Otherwise, why had he let her think she’d seduced him?

  There was another condom in his wallet. And she’d mentioned also having some. It wouldn’t hurt to be Sam a little longer. Besides, his question, why she’d messed with his dad, hadn’t been answered.

  He opened his eyes, but his lids were heavy. He kissed her in return, lingering longer than he expected to before breaking away. “Get under the covers. I’ll be right back.”

  Her satisfied expression couldn’t be missed as she did what he said. Finding her bathroom wasn’t hard in a house this small. The entire bathroom could fit inside his shower. A tub, a dripping sink with six inches of counter space on each side, and a toilet. That was it.

  The condom landed in the trash and he leaned on the sink. Two seconds of looking in the mirror was all he could take. Mussed hair, flushed cheeks, and a chest that was still heaving from the power of coming.

  Why was he standing here? He wasn’t one to linger. He either hopped into bed for round two or left. After the second, sometimes third time, he vamoosed. Didn’t want to give his dates the wrong impression, and work was always waiting for him.

  It was part of the plan. Crawling back into bed with her. Part of his scheme. If he kept telling himself that, it’d excuse the earth-shattering connection he’d felt when they’d climaxed together.

  Chapter Six

  Mara swiveled her hips, and the man under her bared his teeth like a graphic novel bad guy. He filled her, his length knocking on her cervix—near-instant orgasm. But she held all the cards and used her power to bring him to the brink and back off.

  “You’re evil,” he gritted out between clenched teeth.

  Her throaty laugh was so unlike her. She was not a prude, but last night through to this morning, she’d been an unrepentant sex goddess.

  How many times could a woman come in one night?

  A lot, that was how many.

  Sam grasped her hips.

  She shot him a hard look and stilled. “That’s not part of our deal.”

  A brief tightening and he released her to dig his fingers into the edge of the couch.

  She resumed riding him. Dry and sore is how she should feel, but when his cock rose to full glory, her body prepped itself.

  Grabbing the top of the couch brought her chest against his face. He wasted no time. The guy was magic with his tongue. After he’d prowled out of the bathroom and gotten between the covers with her, he’d kept going until his head had settled between her legs.

  A flood rushed to her core at the memory—Sam moving under her comforter, the twin points of her knees tenting the blankets over his head, the thunderous build of another peak. She pumped herself up and down.

  He released her nipple with a pop and spoke with a hoarse voice. “Are you finally going to let me come?”

  “Uh-huh,” she gasped.

  His cock swelled inside her. How could he do that, grow impossibly bigger?

  Fingernails dug into the fabric. She’d have fuzzies to dig out later. Totally worth it. From the way his biceps bulged, veins protruding from gripping the cushions, so would he.

  He thrust his hips up to meet her downward push. “Fuck me, Mara.”

  “Don’t you dare let go.” She didn’t, either, otherwise she’d rake her fingernails down his chest, again.

  Her score marks turned her on more.

  It started. The world closed in until it was just the two of them. The coarse hair on his legs tickled her ass each time she rolled over him.

  She cried out, the force of their movements banging the couch against the wall. God, that angle felt good. She did it again. Her orgasm slammed into her; she pulsed around Sam as he jerked, yelling out his own stream of obscenities as he came.

  Her only coherent thought was how she’d love to feel those hot jets release inside of her, coating her sex like a balm to cool the fire they formed together.

  She shook and gasped as aftershocks set in. With a sigh, she sank into him.

  In the four times they’d had sex, she’d learned this was her favorite part. No uncomfortable so what do we do now? Just post-coital relaxation.

  She smiled even though he couldn’t see. She’d had her way with him. Strung it out as long as possible before she had to face adulting for the day.

  His arms wrapped around her, his head buried in her neck.

  Teeth scraped her skin and she shivered.

  “What are you doing?” He couldn’t be ready for more?

  “I’m hungry.”

  Her eyes flew open. The last time he’d said that, he’d landed between her legs again. Sam had a serious thing for oral sex.

  “I can’t possibly…” She knew she could. Because Sam would get her off.

  The arrogant tilt to his mouth sent tingles to her toes.

  “I want you to stay right”—he lifted her off his cock and boosted her up so he could slide down to the floor—“here.”

  He lowered her to her knees on the cushions, legs spread.

  Sam had reclined against the couch and placed his head between her legs, his greedy gaze licking up her body to meet hers.

  The sheer naughtiness of the position flamed any lingering desire that hadn’t yet dissipated. Would it ever around him? There’d be no choice. He’d leave and she’d have to face reality.

  Real life was waiting for her, but in her string of selfish moves, she wanted this. One more round of Sam carrying her away to a place where the dreaded hospital visits and doctors’ reports couldn’t reach.

  He gripped her thighs and lowered her to his mouth.

  This was totally h
appening! She flinched, her over-sensitized clit shocked at the swipe of his tongue. She bit her lip and forced herself to remain still. Orgasms from Sam were something from a different dimension. She’d have to call them Samgasms.

  She hitched a breath in a giggle, but the scrape of his teeth overrode her squirms and put her in oh yeah territory.

  His blue gaze pierced her, the intensity staggering. Her eyes fluttered closed as a moan left her. Her hands were back to clutching the back of the couch. She would never view this piece of furniture the same way again. It was promoted to the loveseat of ecstasy.

  His hold tightened when she tried to rock her hips.

  “What, is this payback?” She lowered her gaze and found his full of intent. Yes. It was.

  One of his hands loosened and skimmed along the curve of her ass. Another moan escaped. She was going to be hoarse before he finished with her.

  His other hand clamped her to his face, while his roaming fingers circled her sex. She was still slick from minutes ago when she’d come all over him. He pushed two digits in. She wrenched the back of the couch.

  His tongue lapping at her, and the instant fullness, propelled her higher. Ride him, her brain screamed, but his strength outmatched hers.

  He pumped his fingers. She wailed, falling against the cushions, warm from when he’d rested against them.

  No slow build. He attacked her clit, his tongue flicking, his teeth nipping. He wasn’t gentle with his hands. Tremors built, and she tensed her sore abs. She excused herself from exercising for a week after a night with Sam.

  Her toes curled, she clawed at the fabric, and she bore down. Not even he was strong enough to keep her from rocking in time with his thrusts.

  “Oh god, Sam!” When she cried his name during sex, it was like a power boost. He became ruthless.

  Harder nips, more vigor. Nothing in the world mattered but his mouth on her sex, his hand driving her wild.

  “Yes!” The couch rocked. “Yes!” Her forehead almost hit the wall. “Yes!” A muscle pulled in her shoulder.

  She crested the peak and shouted yes over and over again. Nearly choking on her tongue, she shoved at his head to get him to stop. Her heart wouldn’t survive another round. Neither would her poor, old couch.

  Freed, she collapsed to the side, facing the back of the couch and breathing heavily.

  She looked over her shoulder when he moved. Smug. His expression was smug.

  “I’m going to go clean up.” His voice was gruff, almost abrupt.

  When he rose, his cock was hard once again, but he headed toward the bathroom.

  She was in no condition to take care of his erection, but a thread of hurt wove through her. Maybe he knew better than to reuse a condom. Perhaps he had somewhere he needed to be.

  She sighed. The hospital was where she needed to be. Mara checked the time: ten a.m. The doctors either made their rounds really early or pushed their visits later and later into the day, leaving her wondering whether her mom would go home or spend another night.

  Shoving herself up, she was grateful her store was closed on Sundays. She trudged to her bedroom as she heard the shower kick on. A smile tugged at her lips. A hot guy in her shower. She’d dated good-looking guys, but none had had more than two abs or towered over her and blocked out the sun with the width of their shoulders.

  She stopped after flipping on the light in her room. Holy messy bedroom, Batman. Covers draped from the bed to the floor. Clothes scattered everywhere. Her nightstand drawer hung open from when they’d dived into her condom stash.

  If she could fist-bump herself, she would. A girl needed to cut loose with a guy who really did it for her. And Sam really did.

  Her heart sank. And today was probably as far as it would go. Searching her drawers for shorts and a cami, she mulled over what the rest of her day would entail. The hospital. That was it.

  The water turned off. She didn’t need long. If she lingered under the spray, she’d miss time with Sam and get stuck ruminating over her mom and her store.

  Her mom and her store. One couldn’t seem to exist with the other. The portion of her trust she’d used to open Arcadia was all she had. The rest secured her mom’s future and medical bills, like the last two nights. Pilfering more to open in another location wasn’t an option.

  She blinked furiously. Sam couldn’t catch her being the girl who cried after sex. How mortifying.

  The bathroom door opened. Sam stepped out and her insides danced. With his black hair slicked back, his blue eyes were more apparent. Water droplets rolled down his chest to the chartreuse towel slung low on his hips.

  He glanced at the towel and shrugged. “Your Superman towel was too small.”

  He passed her as he walked into the room; she loved the smell of her dollar-store shampoo on him.

  “That’s because it’s a kid’s towel, but I had to have it.” Her smile faded and she pulled at the hem of her shorts. “I’m going to shower. It’ll only take a few minutes.”

  He paused picking up his pants. “A woman only taking a few minutes to get ready?”

  “Ha-ha,” she called as she entered the bathroom. She poked her head back out. “Haven’t you realized I’m low maintenance by now?”

  ***

  Yeah, he had. He glared at the now shut bathroom door. She’d better shower quickly because as slow as her drain was, she’d overflow the tub within minutes.

  Mara had almost talked his dad out of one of his most valuable properties. That old strip mall was in a prime location in Minneapolis. What was her angle? To get a better house? Newer car?

  Everyone had a reason motivating their greed. What was Mara’s?

  If his dad had finalized the paperwork and Mara had become the owner of the building, she could’ve sold it for millions. To Wes, because he’d had big plans for the location. The high-end condos and upscale shopping center could make him millions.

  The water turned on and he imagined Mara’s lithe body under the spray. Blood pooled in his cock and he didn’t need to talk another hard-on down.

  Her coming on his face. Glorious. He could have her for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.

  He shook his head and finished dressing. Sex he liked. A lot. But it didn’t rule him.

  It hadn’t used to rule him. Since meeting Mara, he could lie in bed all day, fucking her. He had, in fact, except it’d been all night, dotted with a couple hours of sleep before he’d woken with a demanding erection.

  His stomach rumbled. As delicious as Mara tasted, she didn’t fill his belly. The kitchen he’d glimpsed was opposite of her living room, through a narrow hallway. He shoved his hands in his pockets and went in search of food.

  And found himself staring at a short row of cupboards in the smallest kitchen he’d ever experienced. Didn’t matter. It’s not like he knew how to cook. His sprawling estate employed landscapers, a housekeeper, and a personal chef. They worked during the day when he wasn’t around, and when he had the day off, they weren’t allowed to show. He liked his privacy.

  Besides, his mom would con them and worm her way into his house. And never leave.

  She’d eat all his food, too, the trays of five-star meals his chef prepared. Then she’d bitch about it.

  Wesley, call your driver to take us to Templeton’s. A place she couldn’t afford to go on her own. This food should be trashed. I wouldn’t even donate it to the homeless. As if she ever donated anything.

  Wesley, I heard of this fabulous new restaurant in New York. You should fly us there for the weekend. Because being stuck in a plane where he couldn’t throw her out was his idea of a fun weekend.

  He heard the shower turn off. Shit, Mara was serious.

  Cupboards teased him. They were tidy but had seen better days. Probably in the seventies. A couple of cupboard doors were stacked against the wall because they’d fallen off entirely.

  Rummaging through her supplies, he decided to give up. Boxes of processed food lined the insides, and cans of sodium-packed w
hatever filled the rest. Switching to the fridge, he scowled. Milk, Jell-O, and, hallelujah, some fruit.

  He pulled out the grapes and milk. Better than nothing and not as toxic as what the cupboards hid. There was a carton of eggs, but hell if he knew what to do with them.

  “Oh hey, help yourself.” Mara breezed in. “I’ll whip up some scrambled eggs. You want any?”

  As long as there were no canned veggies in them. “Sure.”

  He stood, holding the food while he stared at her. She wore black leggings covered in Batman symbols and a yellow top. An outfit that should look immature and ridiculous but didn’t on her.

  Wet tendrils of hair were piled on her shoulders. It looked like she’d done nothing more than rake a comb through it. She didn’t need to do more. With her bangs wet and swept off her face, she radiated youth. No one would guess she was a business owner in her mid-twenties.

  She cracked an egg and it nudged him into action, which was to plop his handful of grapes on her tiny, square table. Glasses. He could get those. Did he need to do anything else for grapes?

  Her butt jiggled delightfully as she whisked the goop in the bowl. “After I eat, I need to get to the hospital. Do you want me to drop you off somewhere?”

  He sat on a chair he wasn’t sure would hold his weight. “We can do the same thing we did the other night. I’ll call my driver.”

  She whipped around to look at him. “You have a driver?”

  He froze, his mind turning. “No, no. The Uber driver.”

  Turning back to her eggs, she chuckled. “I was gonna say, those sales must be good.”

  They were, and it was none of her business. “Tell me about your mom. How’s she really doing?”

  Mara’s shoulders tightened as she stirred the eggs around the skillet. “She has multiple sclerosis.”

  “What’s that exactly?” He’d heard of it, knew it was a disease, probably had seen various fundraising stuff cross his desk for it.

  “An autoimmune disorder that attacks the nervous system. For Mom, it started in her thirties. Weird numbness in her hands and feet, her vision would get wonky. Doctors’ visits. She carted me along; it was just her and I.”