by KB Winters
“I can live with that.” And I could because I knew we’d be naked and sweaty very soon. I poured the glasses and handed her one, smiling at the way she sucked in a breath when our hands brushed. Yeah, she was as affected as me.
“Lift your glasses in the air ladies and gentlemen,” she spoke loudly like it wasn’t just us two in the house.
“Ladies and gentlemen?”
She narrowed her gaze, lips struggling not to smile. “Lift your glasses I said, to celebrate the interview that made America fall in love with Ethan Mahoney.” Her smile, so full of heat and affection, pride and something else, something softer and indescribable but I could sense it was addictive.
“I don’t know about falling in love with me, but thank you. I couldn’t have done it without you, hippie chick.” We tapped the edges of our glasses together and she took the whole shot and promptly began to cough up a lung. “You okay?”
“That shit is strong!”
I couldn’t help but laugh at the shocked expression she wore. “That’s why you’re supposed to sip it.”
Right on cue, pink bloomed on her cheeks and chest. “Oh. Now I know. Hit me again.”
“You sure?”
She tilted the glass side to side in front of me. “I want to see if it tastes differently if you do it slow.”
I stared at her for a long time, wondering if she was fucking with me or if she didn’t hear how dirty that sounded.
“Hmm, now I do wonder,” she said in a voice too deep, too low and filled with sex for me to do anything but cover her body with mine and press my mouth to hers, the glasses falling to the rug as reckless as we kissed.
I didn’t wait for permission, the way she clung to me was permission enough. Instead I dived right in, claiming her mouth starting at the wet, hot depths and working my way out. Her tongue tasted like the sweet earthiness of the anise flavor of the Ouzo and when her tongue moved against mine, there was an explosion of sensations, crackling between us because it could no longer be contained. Misha held my face close to hers, trying to take over the kiss but I had to control it. Needed to because the way she shifted her hips and locked her ankles behind my back drew my cock in close contact with her sweet heat. Just a thin strap of fabric kept me from her and I was damned eager to remove it.
Inch by inch, I slid the dress up her smooth, sun freckled legs until it pooled at her waist, showing off a pair of sheer green panties that gave me a perfect view of the triangle of hair pointing right to where I wanted to be. “I’ll take these.” I gathered the fabric in my fist and yanked, enjoying the surprised moan she let out.
“You’re ripping all of my underwear, Mr. Mahoney.”
My gaze darkened at the prissy way she said those words and her lips curved in satisfaction. The little minx knew exactly what she was doing to me. “I’ll buy you enough to rip a pair off you every day,” I told her, inhaling the hot honey scent of her arousal.
“In that case, rip away. I have an affection for lingerie,” she told me breathlessly.
“And believe me, I really appreciate it.”
She laughed and I needed to capture it, hold it for myself and savor it for a long, hot moment while her fingers moved quickly down my chest to open my shirt to her perusal. “Just as you have given me a deep appreciation for exercise.”
I laughed, hissing out a breath at the reverent way she slid her fingertips down my abs, her gaze so dark and hot my cock twitched in my pants. One nail scraped against my nipple, drawing a shudder from me and her hips moved just enough to be noticed. My hips pressed her down onto the couch, making sure she felt just how hard I was for her. “Misha,” I called her name as I slid one finger into her wet, hot pussy.
She responded on a long, breathy moan, back arched giving me perfect access to taste those plump tits. Her rosy nipples making my mouth water. “Yes, Ethan. Oh, yes!”
I backed up and pulled her with me so she was on my lap, bare pussy sliding against my jeans and making her moan in pleasure. “Look at that,” I told her and pointed to a dark spot on my jeans. “That’s how wet you are for me, Misha. Me.”
“Only you,” she panted and rocked again. “But you’re wearing too many clothes.” She slid down my legs, pulling the tab on my jeans and sliding them down my legs, including my boxer briefs too. The heat she aimed at my cock made him twitch, growing so fucking hard, he stood straight and tall. “I always forget how perfect your cock is.” She licked her lips and then she licked me, from my balls to the head of my cock, all around until I vibrated with needing her. “It does taste different when you do it slow.”
I grabbed her hips and lifted her up. “No more talking, Misha.”
She fisted my cock, defiant gaze set on me with a challenge. “But I like to talk,” she tugged my cock twice. “Talking is very stimulating,” she moaned when she slid my cock between her soaked pussy lips, coating me in her juices.
I thrust my hips up, hard and fast so she gripped my arms when she cried out, her pussy clenched tight around me. “So is my cock. Or did you forget?”
I gritted my teeth when she tightened again, on purpose. “Didn’t forget. Couldn’t forget. You feel so good buried deep inside me like this, filling me up. You feel that, Ethan?” She squeezed again and laughed in delight. “It’s the feel of my pussy salivating at how good you feel.”
“Misha?”
“Yeah,” she moaned as her hips made a slow figure-eight swirl, pulling me even deeper inside her heat.
“No more talking.” I thrust again hard and froze. I repeated the move, again and again, enjoying the shocked gasps she couldn’t contain, the lust rolling through her body, already past the point of no return.
She didn’t stop talking but I didn’t mind when she said things like, “oh yeah, just like that,” or “harder, Ethan!” Hell, I was a man and when a woman is giving out directions on how to get here there, then I’d follow them like my life depended on it. She was a wildcat, gorgeous tits bouncing as she took her pleasure, offering me up plenty in return. Her hands wrapped around the back of the sofa, feet planted on either side of my hips for an indescribable glide against her slick walls. So much fucking friction and I couldn’t take it. She bounced on my cock, hard and fast, painting my name as my greedy tongue circled her nipples.
“Oh fuck, Ethan. Yeah, oh yeah! Fuck me. Harder!”
“If you insist,” I panted.
“I do. Please, Ethan. Hard and fast. Don’t hold back.”
Music to my fucking ears. I grabbed her hips like the cord on a parachute, hard and tight and I didn’t let go as I pounded up into her just as she asked, hard and fast, while her body clung to mine, hands slick with sweat, gliding over my chest. “Fuck, Misha!”
“Yeah, So good, babe. So. Good.” She was there, I felt the tiny quivers inside get larger and faster, pulsing around me, sucking me in until it wrenched my own orgasm from me with a loud roar. My body shook and vibrated, Misha’s deep voice so thick with desire, panting in my ear. “Ethan.”
That was it, just my name as she waited for her breathing to slow down, body quivering around me. My hips couldn’t stop moving and hers began to move again. “I know what you need,” I told her, because I did. Misha liked to come back to back, her body wouldn’t allow anything more.
“You always do,” she moaned, screaming when my fingers took her clit and rubbed it between two fingers. “Oh, Ethan! Just like that.” She threw her head back and arched her back, offering me a perfect breast once again. “Harder,” she demanded when I nibbled her breast and I was happy to oblige, adding more pressure until once again her pussy convulsed around me and she came again, shouting my name.
“You’re a greedy woman, Misha.”
“Only for you.”
Now that was a promise a man could get used to hearing.
If he were open to those kind of emotions.
Which I wasn’t.
Not at all.
Right?
***
“I don’t know w
hat smells better, you or that bacon.” She gasped at my nearness as I wrapped my arms around her. I woke up turned on and Misha hadn’t been beside me like she was the last time we reached for one each other as the sun rose. I had to come looking for her and the sight that said good morning was Misha in one of my muscle shirts, smooth curves of boob peeking through the sides. Legs and feet bare while she produced wonderful scents in the kitchen.
It felt damn good when she turned in my arms, twining her fingers in my hair with a sultry smile. “Bacon? You make Fake-on!” She rolled her eyes and pressed a soft but too short kiss to the side of my mouth. “But damn they do a good job of making it smell like the real thing.”
“Give it try and I’ll make it worth your while.”
When she looked at me, her head tilted to the side as a smile ghosted her lips. “Deal. Eat a piece of my fried chicken and I’ll make it worth your while.”
Damn I loved it when she got dirty right back. Using that sweet, lush mouth to say or imply dirty things always got me hard. Fast. “Yeah? How?” My eyes grew wide when she stepped closer, drawing up on her toes to whisper one of my dirtier fantasies in my ear. “I’ll eat a whole breast for that,” I told her with a pout, “but I feel compelled to tell you how much fat you absorb by deep frying. Luckily all of my oils are heart healthy, though in small quantities, of course.”
She glared up at me and poked me in the chest. “I didn’t deep fry it but even if I had, I like deep fried chicken.”
“But you didn’t make it.” I grabbed her finger and backed her up against the counter.
Her eyes flared with desire, instantly darkening as she wrapped her legs around my waist. “Because I didn’t want another lecture about my eating habits.”
She looked annoyed but her tone was affectionate and I blinked at the change. It was so fast, just a flash, I could be convinced I’d imagined it. I could, but I know I didn’t imagine my reaction to it. The warmth that spread from my chest out and the lightness that took over my heart. “It’s not a lecture, Misha.”
“I know,” she whispered, licking the curve of my ear until I groaned. “But it tastes good and we’ve got all natural, organic maple syrup. Lots of it. And Ethan? I love maple syrup.”
After breakfast she spent nearly an hour showing me just how big a fan she was of maple syrup and I had never felt so fucking loose-limbed in my life. She’d licked every inch of my body, paying extra special attention to my cock and wrung two more orgasms than I thought possible, from me. “I can’t believe I let you do that.”
“You didn’t’ like it?”
I frowned up at her. “Are you insane? I fucking loved it but I should be the one pleasing you.” I liked blow jobs as much as the next man and an expertly given blow job was an art form. But it didn’t sit right with me to just lie there and let Misha pleasure me.
“But you did please me. Look how wet I am from licking you all over.” She grabbed my hand and slid two fingers through her folds and deep inside her body. “So wet. The taste of you…,” she drifted off as my fingers began to move the way she liked it, with a bit of force and plenty of teeth.
“Tasting my cock did that to you?”
Her hips bucked against my hand, riding in search of her own pleasure. “You tell me.”
That was so fucking hot, she was half way there just from getting me off. “I’d like to see that for myself.”
“You want to see me get wet while I suck you off?” Desire flared when my cock twitched in her hand.
“I do, come on up here and bring that pretty pussy right here,” I told her and flicked my tongue out crudely.
“Since you asked so nicely.”
I couldn’t get enough of this girl. It wasn’t just that she was great outside the bed room with her quirky disposition, intelligence and her overall happiness, but in bed we were combustible. It just got better and better and no amount was ever enough. Arms wrapped around her waist, I held her to my mouth and licked and loved her until she begged me to stop. Three times.
“I don’t think I can feel my legs.”
I grabbed her thighs, pressing lightly up and down the length of her legs. “I feel them just fine for the both of us.”
“Very funny.”
I flipped her onto her back and she crawled up to nestle in the crook of my neck. “I think I’m in a sex coma,” she purred lazily.
“Good because we still have more syrup.”
Her eyes sparkled with delight. “I hear it’s even organic.”
It was nearly dinner time when we finally came up for food, both of our bodies wrung out and our emotions uncertain.
Sixteen
Misha
Based on what I knew of Petey Pamplona I was more than certain that Ethan’s interview would be a hit. The man was a very outspoken advocate for his own charity and the cause in general, of getting homeless teens off drugs and off the streets. And just as I predicted, it had gone as well as it possibly could have. I stood way, way off stage and watched from a monitor, sensing a distance between us that I just couldn’t understand. Not that it was so unheard of, in fact it happened often with my clients. They knew the end was near, so they began to pull back in anticipation of our separation. I knew it well. Hell, I encouraged it.
This time it hurt and it was my own damn fault. Sleeping with him, though incredibly passionate and earth shattering, was a mistake. Falling in love with him was an even bigger mistake.
I watched the interview with a detached interest and prepared myself for the impending hurt. As a professional, I could admire how much progress Ethan had made. He was more open than when I first met him and his smile came easily. That haunted look in his blue eyes was gone and I knew that regardless of what came next, I could think of Ethan with a sense of accomplishment. Achievement.
Not just loss.
But this wasn’t about me so I turned my attention back to the monitor, just as Petey went in for ratings gold. “I don’t know about those other hosts Ethan, but I get it. The first year I forgot my mom’s birthday it ate at me so much, I went on a weeklong binge of sorrow and booze that nearly broke me emotionally.” The audience ‘awwww’d’ just like he’d meant them to and even Ethan offered up a sympathetic look that some producer had them zoom in on for added effect. “We may not all have lives worthy of the scrutiny of Sam Stevens, but I think anyone who has ever lost someone could understand your pain and your reaction. Compassion is hashtag rare, people!”
“Thank you for that, Petey.”
“No, thank you for being brave and sharing your very private story with us Ethan.” Petey turned to the audience as he rattled off the name and web address for his charity and signed off. Surprisingly he kept the mega-watt smile on his face as he shook hands with Ethan and spoke to him for a few minutes. They did that half-hug, half-handshake thing men tend to do before Ethan strolled towards me and Petey went to chat with his adoring fans.
“That went well,” I told Ethan quietly but he kept walking without even glancing my way. “Okay then,” I whispered to myself and turned to follow him back to the waiting limo. I really wished he’d just tell me to go away, it was better than what the hell was happening now. This silence hurt. Freezing me out wasn’t fair when I’d done everything I could do to help.
He didn’t say anything the entire ride home as tension filled the limo. I kept my gaze on the cars we passed, legs crossed away from him like a shield, because clearly, I’d done a piss poor job protecting myself.
It would be a lie to say I hadn’t wondered what goodbye to Ethan would look like, but I’d never thought it would go down with such cold precision. He hadn’t said a word but his body language told me that whatever had been happening between us, was now over. Somehow between morning sex and the Petey Pamplona interview, we had imploded.
By the time we made it back to Malibu and the limo pulled into his driveway, the tension was at maximum capacity and I couldn’t wait to get out into the fresh air, to put some physical distance be
tween us. I sucked in a lungful of chilly ocean air and turned to Ethan. He wore sunglasses that hid his eyes which meant I couldn’t see what he was thinking, but his body language told me all I needed to know. Still, I reached for him because I needed him to say it clearly. He shrugged off my touch and we both took a few steps back.
Message received.
“Right.” I turned away from Ethan and got into my car, driving away from the beach house for what was likely the last time. I needed to get away from him, from the pain and the humiliation of rejection but I wasn’t ready to go home yet. So, I turned left instead of right on the PCH and drove. And drove. If the chime on my car hadn’t reminded me that cars needed gas, I probably would have driven all night. I finally turned around and drove back to my apartment where I had fitful sleep.
The next day, I woke up early, my heart heavy, and took care of all the things I’d neglected to spend days and nights with Ethan. It took all day to do laundry but since I knew I wouldn’t hear from him, I did it all, only leaving to stock up at the grocery store before coming back. By the end of day one, my entire house was cleaned—scrubbed, really—and all of my clothes were clean and put away.
Day two I checked my email, plowing through dozens of them until I was caught up. Several new people reached out to me for contracts but I couldn’t confirm anything until my contract with Ethan officially ended. After that, I planned to take one month for myself, do some traveling and decompress. Now I could add heal a broken heart to the list, so maybe six weeks.
I was certain Ethan wouldn’t call on day three so I got up early and went for a long, cleansing surf. It felt good to get back on the water again, alone. I stared at the horizon for a long while, watching as the sun inched higher in the sky, wondering what in the hell was wrong with me. Sleeping with a client was a fast way to ruin my reputation and my business in one fell swoop.
I tried to remind myself that he’d done us both a favor by icing me out. If word got out that I had sex with a client, women would no longer trust their high-profile husbands to my care—and worse—the rich and depraved might see me as some sort of high priced hooker. Yeah, a favor. That’s what he’d done. I should have been grateful, happy even. And I would be.