by Angel Payne
A wry chuff tumbles from me. “And you’re still the one I’d want doing the ordering, Princess Purple Pants.”
She lifts her head enough to clobber the spot she’d just warmed with her tender words. “Just take care of her right, and we’ll have no problems.”
“That’s the intention.” I state it with every speck of intensity and sincerity I can muster. “Today. Forever. Always.”
I don’t get another drubbing for that—at least not physically. ’Dia’s violent jerk back, along with her wrinkled nose, communicate damn near the same intention. “Gawd, I hope Sawyer has something for mush-talk overload. Our fantasy football grid, maybe. Or a nice Halestorm track or two.”
Emma takes a second to wrinkle her nose. “Since when are you into Halestorm?”
Lydia cocks a flippant grin. “Since I found out how good they are with rope and cuffs.”
Emma folds her arms. “There’s this fun little expression, Dee Dee. TMI?”
“Oh, I love that one. He and I are best buds.” Lydia winks at her sister. “And now you and I are even.”
“For now.” Emma has to shout it out since her sister is already halfway through the door.
In ’Dia’s absence, Emma and I are left in a vacuum of sound—which, apparently, has sucked all my sexual suavity from the atmosphere, as well. As I set the pillow back against the couch’s armrest, I’m conscious of my heartbeat taking residence in my stomach and my coordination turning in its request for instant vacation time. I’m literally so nervous, I plump the pillow five times—but on the sixth, I end up incinerating a hole in the middle of it.
“What the living hell?” I growl, answered at once by Emmaline’s musical giggle. Thankfully, there’s a skittish edge to her burst, as well.
“Guess we’ll have the ranch add that to the bill.”
Though I’m weirdly relieved by the up-and-down husks in her voice, it does nothing to soothe my jacked nerves. “Then it’s a good thing I prepaid for three days, plus incidentals.” I jam my hands into my pockets, rocking back and forth on my feet. “Though that’s not…an incidental, yeah?” I whip one of my hands out and jab it into my hair. “Says the guy who owns a bunch of luxury hotels. Fuck.”
The word does double duty. It’s both castigation and exhilaration, marking the second I figure out I’m as dumb as a tack right now, and also the reason why. I haven’t been this nervous since that first night I ever laid eyes on this woman, when she compounded the thrill of meeting her to the joy of watching her approach across my penthouse, a sweet smile on her lush lips and those wicked stilettos on her gorgeous feet. She steals my breath just as thoroughly—no; she fucking confiscates it—padding over in her adorable Keds with an adoring smile, her eyes alive with turquoise fire and a diamond band agleam on her left ring finger.
My diamond band.
Jesus H. Christ with a thousand lightning bolts.
She’s really mine.
I should be celebrating that truth with elation in a bedroom ten feet off the Monterey Coast, not here, ten feet from where she demolished some poor plants in her misery and frustration. But Emma’s clearly not dwelling on that—and, if the golden heat across her face is any indication, she’s set a mission to make sure I’m not either. She flows her body next to mine with a satisfied sigh, and I answer her with a guttural groan even as I encircle my arms all the way around her graceful curves.
I breathe her in, so much sunshine and honey and heat.
I soak her up, so much energy and need and connection.
I rejoice because of her here, close and tight and safe.
But for how much longer?
And that, shitty as it is, wins the prize for the only thought I am certain of today. The sole surety that thrums through the head I lower to nuzzle her neck, using every tool in my primal arsenal to keep her settled right here, feeling so good and smelling so good and being simply right. Being my more.
I let out a breath nearly in tandem with hers, which emerges as a happy-sounding sigh. Thank fuck she feels it too: that we need just one second to remember we’re supposed to be totally giddy and climbing all over each other by this point of the day, not counting every minute that stretches by without even a signal flare from Faline.
And that officially marks too many damn times the woman’s name has invaded my mind in the last twenty-four hours. Hell, in the last four hours. I part my lips, murmuring the only name I should even be thinking of chanting right now. The name that should have been there already.
“Emmalina. Emmalina Paisley Richards.”
She lets me rock her head back so I can suckle at the front of her throat as well. “Hmmmm.” There’s a dreamy mist in her voice and graceful adoration in her fingers, which she uses to grip my biceps. “I don’t think that’ll ever get tired, Mr. Reece Andrew Richards.”
“Well, you’ll need to let me know if it does.” I nip into the small valley at the other side of her neck, savoring how her breath snags as soon as I get to the sensitive skin just below her ear. “Your satisfaction is our goal at Richards Resorts.”
She trickles out a laugh while pulling herself up by a few inches—just enough to wrap one hand against the back of my head. “My complete satisfaction?”
At first, all I do is groan. Along with the hand at my scalp, she anchors one of my ass cheeks with her ankle. Finally I’m able to growl, “Yes, ma’am. Completely complete.”
“Even if that entails me getting to fuck the boss?”
And just like that, the control I’ve been dictating to my cock is history.
“Completely complete.” I echo it because I don’t have to think about anything else. Because I can’t think about anything else.
“Well, Mr. Richards.” Her tone is as sultry as her touch, as she travels her hand into the crevice between my neck and shirt collar—and then tugs up her knee, urging the center of my body to fit tighter with hers. “I may have to do some market testing on this…guarantee of yours.”
She finishes on a gasp as my crotch tightens and grows, pulsing inexorably at the center of hers. Her all-over shiver brings on the sensation I’m holding a masterpiece in the making, a stunning sculpture still captured in clay. But as deeply as I crave to mold her, I know she’s dictating my evolution too—and I’m beyond welcoming of it.
We both need this. We both are this.
Clay and creator. Paint and artist. Servant and master. Surrender and desire.
The exchange that makes us whole.
The connection that makes us strong.
That will make us even stronger, even if we selfishly indulge this consummation. Yes, even in the midst of the chaos Faline has rained on us. No. Because of it.
I’m so drenched by that truth, I drag up so Emma can see it in the burning boldness of my gaze, fed by the certainty of my soul. At once, I’m glad I’ve made the move. Her face is nothing short of captivating. Her high, creamy cheeks are teased by a thousand white-gold strands fallen free from her braids, and enough of her sparkly, rose-colored makeup is still left to lend her the glamour of a sexy woodland fairy, especially with the hem of her gown now dipped in forest shades.
Her dress.
As much I love the thing, I direct a pointed glower down at it. “What happened to you getting out of this thing?”
She colors enough that her cheeks match her pretty eye shadow—before she swings her chin up again. “Maybe part of my satisfaction package is Reece Richards taking it off me.”
I’m damn glad I put an inch of extra room between us. As soon as the words leave her mouth, my cock pulses and takes up the space—and then even more, as soon as my fly taps at the filmy layers of her dress. “Ahhh,” I murmur. “I see. Well, my apologies, Mrs. Richards. I guess I didn’t read the fine print of your package…details.”
My purposeful pause between the last two words, along with my lingering gaze over her mouth, renders the exact effect I’ve intended. With her pupils dilating and her chest pumping, the woman presses back t
oward me with the urgency of a tide to its shore. Just as quickly, I shift away, but she has her own hidden weapon in this game.
Her fingers.
Those tapered, talented, beautiful, incredible digits…
Closing around my crotch with an exquisite mix of pressure and softness…
“Jesus fuck.” I spill it on a groan, weathering the mixture of elation and aggravation from the depths of my balls, grabbed like pouches of fine diamonds. It’s agony. It’s ecstasy. She’s captured the very core of me. Okay, in more ways than one, that goes without saying—but at this second, the one that dominates my attention the most is the pressurized zone beneath those knowing, feeling fingers…
“As you can tell, Mr. Richards, I’m all about the package.”
I drag my stare from her mouth to her eyes—as I let my head answer the pull of her entrancing beauty. “Well, then. I’ll have to be more attentive about the details.”
Details I’m all too happy to catalogue as I sweep my mouth atop hers in a crushing, consuming connection.
The succulent fruit of her lips, spreading at once beneath my commanding stab.
The addicting grotto of her mouth, as her tongue welcomes mine in a torrid tangle.
The spellbinding pliability of her body, absorbing my passion without question or hesitation or resistance.
And yes, even after I pull my lips back: the complete spell of her gorgeous face, flooded but afire at the same time, her blinks slow but her breaths fast…
Waiting.
Waiting for me.
Ready for me.
And holy fuck, am I ready for her.
“Turn around,” I husk, using my hands at her hips to help her. As soon as I have her body spun, with her proud shoulders and lithe back and entrancing heart of an ass facing me, I twist the tiny hook at the center of her nape, leaning in to lick at even that tiny piece of newly exposed skin. She hums in new arousal. I growl in fresh desire.
“Oh!” she rasps the second I tug at the zipper that’ll guide my hand down to the middle of her delectable ass.
“You’re delicious,” I grate into her skin, continuing to taste and bite along her spine, savoring the tropical blends of her unique taste mingled with the tart tang of her perspiration. Yeah, even that flavor is pure ambrosia on my tongue. The perfect blend of spicy and sweet, so satisfying and yet whetting my hunger for more.
So much more…
“Oh…”
The word tumbles from Emma as five syllables instead of one, each interspersed with a new tremble of her whole form as I push the zipper lower…and keep following with the tip of my tongue and the edges of my teeth…
“Oh!”
Only one syllable this time, scissoring the air with sharp shock and new lust, as the dress drops into a puddle at her feet and I dip down to bite firmly into the tops of her buttocks. This flesh is even more mouthwatering than what I’ve already feasted on, and I tell her so with an extended moan as I follow the direction of her gown and land on my knees with a thud on the thick area carpet between the couch and fireplace.
“Fuck me to hell and back.” The snarl feels damn good to indulge as I grip harder into her perfect, rounded flesh—and then lower a greedy bite into that perfect cream. “And everyone says bunnies taste gamey.”
It makes her spurt an adorable laugh, meaning other parts are surely gushing as well. I inhale deeply, confirming that. The air is potent with the heady perfume of her soaring sensuality, causing me to suck in another long breath. I’m not even close to being a satisfied diner tonight.
“Reece,” she begs atop a gasp as I bend in and lap my way to the crease between her crotch and thigh.
With a brief growl of frustration, I stop for just a second to jerk down her lace panties. They plummet atop of her gown, and I nod briefly in caveman satisfaction.
“Oh, Reece,” she exclaims as I stroke up the insides of her thighs with lusty languor. Finally, I arrive at the triangle between them. I focus in, my world becoming her exposed pussy: the world made for me to be lost in. The beautiful scent of her. The rich colors of her. The silken grip of her, folding in around my delving fingers… “Oh, God!”
I caress in again, stretching my middle fingers until they find her tight, luscious opening, surrounded by the fragrant fruit of her sex. The peachy flesh is already drenched for me, and her intimate walls pulse with steady rhythm, begging for my deeper invasion.
“Get up here.” I release one hand long enough to smack the couch’s leather seat. “Both knees on the cushions, Bunny. Then rest your head against the back and show me all the pulp of your pretty fruit.”
With aching little whimpers, she complies. I’ve never seen anything so damn sexy in my life. Fleetingly, I think about getting up to lock the door, but my libido screams its denial of the request. Could have something to do with my crappy-but-flawless timing. As soon as I worry about the door, Emma stretches her legs apart to gain more of her balance—resulting in the perfect lift and sway of her ass and the further unfolding of her fucking gorgeous flower.
So yeah: crappy.
But hell yeah: flawless.
Especially as she adjusts her balance by just one more inch…
Enough to spread herself even more for me…
“Dear fuck.” For long seconds, it’s the only thing I’m capable of spouting. Or thinking. And sure as hell am obsessed with doing. My instinct screams with it. My balls, still throbbing from her sexy fondling, are aching for it. My dick has all but become an actual lightsaber, threatening to slice right through my pants to have it. To have her. Stretch her. Consume her. To be totally, rapturously, surrounded by her…
But only after I’ve had my mouth on her.
Have tasted every layer of her pink and red dessert. Have made her tremor beneath my tongue and felt her quiver to the depths of her core. Have grabbed her hips even tighter to keep her locked as I ravish her some more…
Just like I dip in and begin doing now.
And groan as she bucks against me, all of her tissues pulsing at my eager, hungry lips.
And growl as her juices become a tangy river flooding along the length of my tongue.
And hum in complete command, finally flicking aside her soaked hood and taunting the erect button below until she’s panting and sobbing and twisting at the back of the couch so hard, the leather squeaks beneath her grip.
“Reece. Reece. Goddamnit!”
I remove my mouth from her by barely an inch, releasing a hum of feigned disapproval. “Now, is that any way to address someone dedicated to the quality of your ‘package,’ Mrs. Richards?”
She laughs again, though the sound is a wobbly string of oh-hell-he-really-did-not. But as soon as she recognizes that hell yes, I certainly did, she blurts, “Mr.—Mr. Richards. P-P-Please. Oh, please. I-I need—”
“You need…” I draw out the verb, blatantly goading her—all the while continuing to simply tap at her clit every few seconds, reveling in the resultant vibrations throughout her body, strung as taut as an electric line across a lake. And holy shit, how I love being her lake.
“I-I need…”
“Tell me, Mrs. Richards.” One more tongue tap on her erect little nub. “I’m here to serve. I want to know exactly what you need. Exactly what I can do to make this beautiful bloom of a cunt become a happy, orgasmic little flower.”
“Oh, God.”
“No. ‘Mr. Richards’ is just fine.” One of the hottest goddamn things she’s said to me from the start—and that’ll never get old, even as we do.
If we get the damn chance to grow old.
If we get the damn chance to see next week…
Thoughts that are banished at once with my obstinate grunt. That doomsday isn’t permitted in this reality. That poisoned needle gets nowhere near the shining bubble of our bliss.
You can’t take this away from me, I silently snarl at fate. Not time to pop the bubble, you bastard.
“It’s…it’s so good. Just…just please�
�I need…”
“Uh-uh.” I enforce it by shifting my mouth by an inch, sliding the flat of my tongue along the succulent cushions of her labia. “Ask nicely, like a good little bunny.” And then nibble into her inner thigh, loving how her firm flesh pebbles beneath my mouth. “‘Mr. Richards, will you please give me…’”
“Mr. Richards,” she rasps at once but makes the mistake of celebrating with a deep breath. That’s my cue to trail my lips back in, exploring even more of her soft and quivering flesh…and turning her voice into a matching cadence. “W-W-Will you p-p-please…give me…oh!”
She cries out as I circle her glistening entrance with the tip of my tongue. I pull back just enough to stare, enraptured, as her muscles knead the air in their quest for fulfillment. I go back in, using a fingertip this time. Tease at her, working the penetration at different angles, studying what movements make her gasp the hardest, tremble the most, flow with the most fresh arousal. I’m so captivated, I could seriously do this for the next few hours. Hours we don’t have, damn it.
How the hell have I bedded so many women and not taken the time to study the beauty of an aroused pussy? And there’s an all too easy and instant answer. None of those blooms belonged to this woman. This creature I want to know everything about, from top to bottom, from outside to in…
Which is why I twist my wrist with slow purpose, penetrating her deeper with my thrusting, pulsing finger.
And, once again, look on in fascination as she welcomes me into the tight, hot clutch of her most intimate core.
And join my groan to her gasp as I flow more electricity into my digit, zapping her walls with a bright-blue burst of sexual energy.
And then smile as her flesh answers mine with an equally brilliant glow.