As she tries to recover, I reach into the back pocket of my jeans and pull a condom from my wallet. Then, I rip off my pants and boxers.
She looks up at me with flushed cheeks and hooded eyes. “Are you going to fuck me now?”
I rake my teeth along my bottom lip. “Not yet, Doll Face,” I whisper in a gravelly tone. “I want to watch you fuck yourself.”
Her lips part and she heaves an aroused sigh. “You want me to…”
“Touch yourself, Faith.” My cock strains as the words leave my mouth. It feels like I’ve waited forever to utter those words to her. I’ve tortured myself for long enough with the image of her pleasuring herself. Right now, I want to witness it up close and personal.
I climb off of the bed and move to the dresser pushed against the wall. I perch on the edge and I watch as she slowly sits up, her eyes on me the whole time. There’s something shy and tentative about the way she’s watching me, like she’s ashamed to share herself like this with me. But I want it. I need it so much.
“Show me, Faith…”
She licks her lips nervously as her fingers trail up the inside of her thigh. Her eyes blink closed and her legs snap shut at the first graze of her fingertips over her swollen flesh. She swallows back a sigh of pleasure as her hips circle against her hand.
My fist wraps around my engorged shaft and I give it a hard stroke, trying to temper my need for her. “Open your eyes,” I croak. “And spread those legs.”
Her legs fall open and her irises latch onto mine as she rubs herself faster and faster.
This is fucking beauty.
“I’m so wet,” she pants quietly as she nears climax. “You watching me like that, it’s making me so wet. I might just soak through the mattress.”
I laugh at the pretty little minx in my bed. “Do it, baby.”
Her body tenses as her fingers enter her pussy and pull her orgasm to the surface. When she collapses against the headboard with a satisfied smile on her lips, I quickly roll the condom over my rock hard cock and approach the bed.
Without a word, she lies down, spreading herself out for me. I climb on top of her and press my mouth to hers. "You’re a filthy pervert. You know that?" I growl against her lips as I slide the tip of my cock through her folds.
Her eyes flutter at the sensation and she shudders. "You fucking love it," she purrs.
I pull the pad of my thumb through her slickness, circling her clit tenderly and a torrent of wetness rushes out onto my fingers. “Fuck, Doll Face. You were serious about soaking the mattress.”
She nods with a soft laugh that quickly trails off into a moan when I flick her little nub again. “I’m ready, Maxwell…Please…”
A rumble builds in my chest as I position myself at her entrance. I push inside greedily and she welcomes me by clamping me tightly with her rippling walls. “Fuck…”
I rock my pelvis against her and she whispers my name over and over. The sound drives me crazy. I try to restrain the ferocious desire struggling against my self-control but she goads me on, meeting my hips thrust for thrust. It causes me to snap.
I pin her hips to the mattress, pounding her without mercy, without relenting. God – I fuck her hard enough to break her. She doesn’t ask me to slow down. Instead, her legs wrap tighter around me and she digs her fingers into my ribs, keening and arching into me.
“God, yes,” she cries as she rides me from below.
I nibble at her neck and chest. “You’re so close, Faith. You’re gonna come so hard.” My pulse pounds in every part of my body as every part of hers clenches in ecstasy.
And now, she’s coming. And shaking. Clawing at the sheets around her.
“That’s it, Faith. Come for me. Let me hear you, Doll Face.” My thumb brushes her clit back and forth as I continue to drive my cock into her as deep as it will go. I see her crack open and the sounds of her orgasm spill out of her.
It’s such a beautiful thing.
I hover above her, cradling her cheek in my palm. Her smooth body lies before me like a sweeping landscape. The stiff peaks of her breasts, the dramatic dip of her waist, the smooth slope of her hip. Every inch of her flushed and shuddering.
She’ll need a minute to recover. But this is far from over. “We’re not done yet, Faith,” I rasp against her ear.
She chuckles. “Oh, I know.” She shoves me hard – well as hard as she can – and I fall willingly to the mattress. She climbs on top of me, positioning her pussy over my cock.
“I’m in control now,” she says in a threatening tone. “I tend to get a bit bossy so buckle up.”
I laugh, running my slick thumb along her bottom lip, spreading her juices there. "Shut up, Faith, " I growl. " Shut up and ride me."
She sucks that lip into her mouth, holding my gaze as she moves her body. She starts slow, taking her time to find a tempo. Before long, she’s losing control, grinding her body into mine, screaming my name.
My hands slide up and down the length of her smooth torso and her gorgeous tits jump with each thrust. When I feel the orgasm building in me, I brace her hips and pummel that sweet pussy. She tucks her chin into her chest and her eyes fall shut before her body goes tense.
I feel the ripples in her cunt as she climaxes again. My body twitches as the orgasm pounds through my veins and I lose all sense of restraint. I come, groaning her name.
When I collapse onto the mattress next to her, we lie facing each other, smiling and panting as we regain sanity. Then, I do something completely out of character for me – I pull her in close and kiss the top of her head.
She sighs contentedly then she curls up next to me, laying her head on my chest with complete abandon. Within minutes, she’s snoring softly against my chest. My arms wrap around her and an overwhelming sense of possessiveness seizes my gut, confusing the hell out of me.
Mine, mine, mine.
That's the only thought pulsing through my brain.
Chapter 17
Faith
When I wake up on Christmas morning Maxwell is gone. The sunshine bleeding in through the spaces in the blackout curtains illuminates the note that he left next to me on the bed.
Gone to practice. I’ll be back by 11:00.
I smile to myself, thinking about him at the gym, sweating from exertion, making those sexy faces he makes when he’s hovering above me. I like the visual. Very much.
I grab my phone off of the bedside table and check the time. 10:13 a.m. I roll onto my side and I’m intensely aware of the aches and pain points all over my body. My pussy is still sensitive from last night. My neck and chest feel tender from his bites. My limbs are deliciously sore. But despite my discomfort, I crave him inside me again.
How the hell did this happen?
When I left Reyfield, this is the last thing that I’d expected. But I can’t say that I regret it. I’m enjoying my time with Maxwell. Maybe too much. The possibility of getting hurt when this is all over looms on the periphery of my mind, but I don’t want to think about it. I don’t want to ruin this temporary escape with worries about the future. I know that this will end. Soon. But for now, I just want to enjoy it.
Since I’ve already broken out my phone, I decide to check Facebook. And wow – I’d been hoping that our impromptu toy drive at the church last night would get some attention but the thing is actually trending in my newsfeed. The story has been shared and commented on thousands of times and a few local TV stations even picked it up. This response is even better than I could have imagined. All-in-all, it was a success and the Boomerangs are sure to hear about it. Let’s just hope it’s enough to save Maxwell’s career.
I hear ruckus in the kitchen. He must be back from the gym. I bounce excitedly out of bed and pull on one of his shirts, eager to show him how well our little PR campaign is doing. The door of the huge stainless steel fridge is open, pouring light into the dark room. The blinds are still drawn shut.
“I’m a fucking genius, you know that, Maxwell Masters?” I say as I sa
unter toward the kitchen, my bare feet slapping the wooden floors.
The door closes slowly and now I’m face-to-face with a very confused-looking blonde in an apron and house slippers. “And you are?”
Umm…what the hell is going on here?
Chapter 18
Maxwell
The smell of fruitcake wafts out to greet me as soon as I step off of the elevator. My stomach rumbles immediately at the thought of Faith in my kitchen, cooking in the nude for me. My cock ‘rumbles’, too.
I feel excitement swelling in my chest as I grab my keys from my pocket and unlock the door. She looks up from the stove as I step in and she smiles at me. Her blonde hair is tied high on her head, an apron circles her waist (I didn’t even know I had an apron), her cat eyes glint happily.
The thought of coming home to this every day flashes through my mind. And it’s not terrifying. It’s actually kind of appealing.
“Now, the only thing that would make this moment even more perfect is if you were already on top of the counter and covered in chocolate sauce and cake frosting.” I drop my gym bag by the door and pad over to her.
Her eyes widen with a cautionary expression just as the bathroom door swings open. “What did you just say about cake frosting?”
My head swivels toward the sound of my mother’s voice. “Mom!” I’m sure my eyes are as wide as Faith’s, doing nothing to conceal my surprise. “What are you doing here?”
“I could say that I just came to spend Christmas with my youngest son,” she muses as she comes over with her arms spread wide, “but the truth is I came searching for signs of life. I haven’t heard from you in…how long?”
I laugh as I wrap my arms around her and press her head to my chest. “It hasn’t been that long.”
My mother is a tiny, little thing with strands of gray at the roots of her buttery blonde waves. Her pale blue irises mirror the exact shade of mine and my brother’s. And she’s pretty. My mom has always been so pretty in my eyes. Not just on the outside, but on the inside, too. She’s been through some tough shit. Mostly because of my father. But she’s kept a smile and her good humor through it all. If I were the type of guy who was interested in relationships, I’d be looking for someone as great as my mom. Maybe that makes me a momma’s boy but I don’t give a fuck ‘cause Jane Caldwell-Masters rocks.
“I told your mother that you ‘lost’ your phone,” Faith interjects, drawing air-quotes around the word. I chuckle over my mother’s shoulder. She can’t see the knowing glance that Faith and I exchange.
“Yeah, gotta get a new one. But it probably won’t be until after the Holidays because I’m not man enough to brave the Boxing Week madness at the Beverly Centre.” We all laugh. I push my mother back slightly and hold her at arm’s length. “God, it’s good to see you, ma.”
“It’s good to see you, too, Max,” she says patting my cheek. “I’ve missed you.” Then, she glances back at Faith. “I’m just sorry that I came when you have a guest. I hope I’m not intruding.”
I shake my head. “Of course not,” I insist. My mom has never met any woman that I’ve been involved with. I’ve never had a relationship serious enough to warrant the whole meet-the-family thing. And what Faith and I have going on is so far removed from a relationship that it couldn’t be characterized as anything more than a hook-up. But for some reason, the thought of her hanging out with my mom feels good. Really, really good.
Regardless, I can’t leave things hanging in the air. I need to clarify the situation because I don’t want my mom getting the wrong idea.
“Faith and I don’t have any plans. She’s a friend of Keeland’s. She’s stranded in L.A. for a while so she’s staying here.”
“See, I told you, Jane. He’s taken me in off the streets. Nothing going on between us,” Faith chimes in forcing a smile. I see melancholy skirting the edges of her expression and I’m not sure why.
My mother pushes past me and grabs a spoon to stir a pot on the stove. “That’s a shame,” she says under her breath. Faith and I exchange looks. We both heard my mom’s comment but neither of us will push the conversation further. That would just be awkward.
I slide onto a stool at the kitchen island and take a seat. “So, I guess the Masters Family Christmas Dinner is about to go down. What’s on the menu?”
My mother leans against the counter and looks at me, counting off the items on her fingers. “Turkey with roasted vegetables and mashed potatoes. Corn pudding, of course. Macaroni and cheese casserole.”
“Sounds delicious. Do you need help with anything?” I ask as I peep over Faith’s shoulder to where she’s just finished grating a mountain of cheese.
My mom taps her forefinger to the corner of her mouth. “How about you peel the carrots while I run down to my car? I think I left my measuring cups in there.”
I grab the vegetable peeler and assume my position over the sink with the five-pound bag of carrots. My mother shrugs into her sweater and hurries out the door, leaving Faith and me to hold down the fort.
Faith watches me as she stirs the pot of macaroni. “Your mother is freaking awesome, you know that? And gorgeous, too.”
“She really is,” I say proudly.
“Gotta say we were off to an awkward start, though,” Faith snorts through her nose. “She let herself in and I came out of the bedroom wearing nothing but your shirt. I thought she was your wife or something. I nearly pissed myself.”
“Shit, I’m sorry,” I groan. “She usually doesn’t show up unannounced. I guess she was just worried when she wasn’t able to reach me. She knows that I have a tendency to get myself in trouble.”
Faith is rinsing a bowl of salad greens now. “Well, at first she looked at me like I was trouble incarnate but then I charmed her by offering to help with the cooking.”
I shrug one shoulder. “Nah, you’re good people. I’m sure she could tell that just by looking at you.”
“Well, I also had to explain to her that I’m not a gold-digging tramp who convinced you to marry me so I can get my hands on your money.” She tips her head back and laughs.
My brows dart up. “Wait – she knows that we’re ‘engaged’?”
She waves me off with the flick of a wrist. “She saw it on Facebook. But don’t worry. I explained to her that it’s all a PR stunt. She actually thinks it’s funny.”
“Ah, God…” I scratch the side of my head. My poor mother probably got close to suffering a heart attack when she heard about this. No wonder she came over today. She must have been worried sick.
Faith is silent for a while and then she says. “Okay, so you’ve questioned my motives for avoiding my family at this time of the year. What’s yours? Your mom is awesome and you two seem close, so why is it that you didn’t go out to spend Christmas with her? She was probably lonely out in that big, old house she said you bought her in San Diego.”
I sigh. “You know, that’s a good question.”
“What? Did the fame get to your head? Made you forget about your momma?”
She’s only joking but sadly, she’s not really that far off from the truth. “I’m ashamed to say this, but maybe some of my success did go to my head. Becoming famous has a way of fucking with your priorities.”
A solemn look comes to her face. “Oh,” she says quietly.
I lean a hip against the counter and stare blankly out the massive window. “But also, it got hard seeing my mom after my brother went to jail. She was hurting really bad. I didn’t know how to deal with it. He was always the one who kept our family from falling apart and when he suddenly wasn’t around anymore, I didn’t know how to handle it. So, I turned my back on my mom, I guess.” My gaze drops to the floor. I can’t stand to see the judgment in Faith’s eyes. God – I’m an asshole.
“Sometimes running’s easier…” she whispers softly, almost to herself. I look over at her. She’s fidgeting with her hands.
“What’s your story, Faith? What’s the Monroe family like?”
> “Crazy!” she laughs bitterly. “I’m really close with my sister, Grace, but that’s about it. Our family’s from a small town near Philadelphia. Our parents divorced when I was three. As I told you, my dad randomly got my kindergarten teacher pregnant. Last I heard, he’d had three more kids by two different women before moving to Vietnam to teach English as a second language.” She heaves a breath. “As for my mom, she married this really old, rich guy. I think she just wanted to feel secure for once in her life. But Grace and I never liked the mean bastard. We spent most of our childhood feeling like he just wished we’d go away. So, as soon as Gracie could get out of there, she did. And I followed suit when I turned 18. That’s how I ended up in New York. You know the rest of the story from there.”
Dirty Player (The Dirty Suburbs Book 2) Page 12