by Cathryn Fox
Table of Contents
Dedication
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Also by Cathryn Fox Learning Curves
Hands On
Body Contact
Full Exposure
Hold Me Down Hard
Tie Me Down Tight
Slow Ride
Wild Ride
Sweet Ride
Engaging the Bachelor
Betting on the Wrong Brother
If you love erotica, one-click these hot Scorched releases… Hooked
Ruthless
The List
The Devil’s Submission
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
Copyright © 2017 by Cathryn Fox. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.
Entangled Publishing, LLC
2614 South Timberline Road
Suite 109
Fort Collins, CO 80525
Visit our website at www.entangledpublishing.com.
Scorched is an imprint of Entangled Publishing, LLC.
Edited by Candace Havens
Cover design by Letitia Hasser
Cover art from HotDamnStock
ISBN 978-1-63375-844-5
Manufactured in the United States of America
First Edition March 2017
To Joanna D, for being such a great friend and inspiration.
Chapter One
Olivia
Why, again, am I doing this?
Oh right, because of that long-ago stupid New Years Eve party where I, along with a group of my best friends, decided to celebrate the second half of our twenties in an epic way.
Just how epic, you ask?
Oh, let’s just say we’re to go on an adventure and not come home until we’ve had legendary sex—delicious, salacious, rough and dirty, “bang me against the wall and leave me bruised” sex. Well, that’s the kind I want anyway. But sadly, I see no glimmer of anything quite so wicked in my dull future.
That fateful night two years ago, our friend Harper, the most adventurous and imaginative of us, decided we should all put our names in a hat then draw one out, keeping it a secret. On the month of your twenty-fifth birthday, whoever pulled your name would send you a dossier detailing an entire destination adventure designed specifically for you.
A half a bottle of champagne later—okay, three-quarters of a bottle and four Jell-O shots—putting my name in a hat for a sexy endeavor seemed like a good idea, a fun thing to do. Then again, so did all those shots of Patron. Until I woke up half dead with a damn headache, bloodshot eyes, and my bed as cold as the liquor I’d consumed.
Why is it I feel like I’m going to wake up the same way after this journey?
“You okay back there?” the cabbie asks in a thick Italian accent.
Shit, when had the vehicle stopped? “Yeah, thanks.” I look at the meter, do a quick mental conversion, and hand over a hundred euros. Tote bag and purse in hand, I open the door and breathe in the fragrant county air as I exit.
On a white wooden swing at the side of the sprawling Tuscan villa that looks like a castle, an elderly couple sips wine and waves to me as I fully commit to this adventure. Go me! Near them, another older couple slowly walks the shrub-lined path toward what looks to be a wine tasting area. I scan the bar and see nothing but a sea of silver hair. Dammit, the place looks more like a retirement home than a hot spot for a hook-up.
I turn when my driver pulls my suitcase from the trunk and sets it beside my Jimmy Choos. The shoes are a secret indulgence, one I can’t really afford on the salary of the entry-level marketing job where I seem to be stuck, thanks to the boys’ club mentality at Resolve Solutions. What a way to put my hard earned business degree to use. When I get home, I seriously have to start looking for something else, despite my affection for a steady paycheck, no matter how small it is. A disgruntled groan rises in my throat. Like finding another marketing job in an overcrowded workforce is such an easy task.
Late summer sunshine spills over me as the cabbie slides into the front seat and drives away. Dust kicks up behind the vehicle, and I push those depressing thoughts out of my head for the time being, choosing instead to admire the gorgeous vineyard estate sprawled before me—calm, tranquil, historic…absolutely breathtaking.
So why, again, am I here for a three-week countryside getaway—in a place clearly populated with geriatrics—when the girl sponsoring my trip could have sent me to a London strip joint with hot, naked, young men? Le sigh. My older brother Sean often goes to London on business, and from some of his stories, I so want to go someday.
Maybe I’ll send Kennedy to a club next month when I prepare her dossier. I’d been saving for months now, determined to give her something spectacular. I don’t care if she’s shy and introverted. At least one of us girls should have a hot guy gyrating on her at some point in her life, right? I’m sure, in the end, she’ll thank me for it.
My sponsor, however… I’m 100 percent certain I won’t be thanking her for anything. Seriously, though, did she expect me to hook up with some grandpa? I’ll be twenty-five this month, not ninety. Clearly, I need a new friend, one who knows me and understands what I want.
You never tell anyone what you want.
Yeah, yeah, whatever.
I exhale an exaggerated breath, pick up my suitcase and make my way along the path leading to the hotel. I shade my eyes from the afternoon sun and look off into the distance, my heels clicking on the walkway as I take in the rows of grapes lining the hillside. A sweet, citrusy smell reaches my nose, and I breathe it in. Then I nearly jump out of my heels when a cannon sounds off, not too far from where I’m standing. What the hell! A frightened flock of birds takes flight, and understanding dawns. The noise protects the fruit from unwanted inhabitants. Good. The more grapes for the vintner, the more wine for me. Since it’s highly unlikely I’ll be able to have the kind of sex I crave while on a trip that can only be described as a snooze fest, at least there’ll be plenty to drink.
From the corner of my eye I catch movement and angle my head to see a hot guy with longish hair, dressed in ripped jeans and a snug T-shirt, walking around the side of the building. A hot young guy. Well then, perhaps I’d been too judgy of the place. Mr. Hottie is looking around, glancing over his shoulder, and scoping out the vineyard like he’s up to no good.
Interesting. If I weren’t so damn exhausted, I’d follow him, but four hundred hours of flying has pretty much done me in. That doesn’t mean after a good night’s sleep I won’t seek him out, see what kind of trouble he’s up to—see what kind we can get in together.
Damned if this trip isn’t starting to look up.
Feeling a little happier with this whole set up, I step into the warm lobby of the main castle, now converted to a hotel. The sun beams in the windows, heating the place up to a bazillion degrees. I take note of the elderly gentleman with gray hair behind the check-in counter. I’m kind of tired after the long flight from Seattle, so I’m really hoping my room is ready. Then again, it’s not like the place is bustling. I spin around and catalog the empty lobby. When I turn back to the man behind the counter and meet Mediterranean-blue eyes, my hea
rt gives a little jolt, and I can’t help but think of him.
The guy I still love.
The guy I never, ever want to see again.
The guy I’d do anything to see again.
I shake my head to clear my thoughts.
Nope, not thinking about my ex—ever again.
“Olivia Fraser,” I say, stepping up to the smiling man behind the counter.
“Welcome. We’ve been expecting you.” The man pulls a sheet of paper from a manila folder, and an arthritic hand slides it across the countertop to me. “Please fill in your information and sign in here.”
I do as he asks, and he hands me a key. Not the electronic kind used in the states. No, this metal key is vintage, and as big as my hand. While I love modern amenities, like air conditioning, I kind of dig the rustic charm of the key. Despite all my complaining, the place does hold a certain appeal. If they kept it old school and added a few modern touches, they might be able to draw a younger crowd. I smile as I envision the changes I’d make to appeal to my generation, then shake my head. If only Revolve Solutions would give me a chance to prove myself, let me show them what I can do.
“We put you in the private cottage at the base of Abrusco.”
“Abrusco?”
His smile is gentle and warm as he waves toward the window showcasing his beautiful countryside. “There are many different grapes grown here, and your accommodation is at the base of where the Abrusco variety are grown. They’re coming on ripe, so feel free to taste a few before they’re harvested.” The man comes around the counter to help me with my bag, but I hold my hand up to stop him.
“I got it,” I say, partly because I’m an independent woman, and partly because the guy is fifty years past retirement age.
He nods and hands me a map of the vineyard and buildings, and points to the location of my room. I head back outside and hoof it to the other side of the villa, my over packed bag difficult to maneuver on the old cobblestone walkways. A yawn pulls at me when I finally make it to my cottage, and I jiggle the key into the lock and step into the room. First impression: nice, clean, simple. My gaze moves over the dresser, dinette table, kitchenette, and small bathroom on the main level, then slides up to take in the double bed in the upstairs loft, along with a balcony. I snort. With my luck, I’ll probably drink too much wine and end up falling down the damn stairs and breaking my neck on the way to the bathroom.
I drop my luggage, drag my tired ass up the five steps, and peel open the curtains to reveal a spectacular view of the vineyards. It really is remarkable. I crack the door and breathe in the fresh country air, but I go still when I hear two male voices below my window. Gruff. Angry. Incensed. My body tightens. Are they fighting? Nosey girl that I am, I push the door open a bit more and quietly step out, but what I see has my breath catching and heat exploding inside me.
No. Frigging. Way.
As the two men grab at each other—their hands tugging, groping; their lips crashing, devouring—I stand there immobilized, unable to move, breathe, or think with any sort of clarity.
Oh. My. God. This has to be the hottest, sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.
Knees locked, I stare, mesmerized by the way they clutch at each other. So needy. So damn hungry. I recognize Mr. Hottie from earlier, but the other guy has on a hat that masks his features. It’s emblazed with the Italian flag, and Gil Azzurri, which represents the national soccer federation. I only know that because my ex was a fan, and I’d watched a few games with him years ago.
The hat’s bill covers the man’s face, and his voice is so deep and gruff with arousal it’s hard to make out what he’s saying. But the way he’s gripping his lover’s hair, angling his head for a deeper kiss as he thrusts his tongue inside, is the hottest freaking thing I’ve ever witnessed. Holy hell, the way they want each other, grabbing and tugging to get closer, the raw neediness of it all, just about has me orgasming. I grip the metal rail as heat charges to my sex, my nipples puckering so hard they poke through my lace bra, demanding attention.
Blue Hat breaks the kiss. “Down on your knees,” he demands, shoving hard on Mr. Hottie’s shoulder. The man sinks to his knees obediently, his face inches from the guy’s bulging crotch.
My entire body breaks out in a sweat, and I quiver from the top of my head to the tips of my toes. I sip air quietly, my heart crashing, my eyelids fluttering, unable to believe what I’ve stumbled upon. What I’m doing is wrong and I should go inside to give them the privacy they deserve, and are clearly seeking, but I can’t seem to tear my gaze away. Who knew I was such a voyeur?
Blue Hat rips into his jeans, popping the button and drawing the zipper down. The sound cuts through the quiet of the mountainside, but I’m breathing so hard by this point I’m worried they’re going to hear me. As I squeeze my legs, my swollen clit rubs against my panties and I want to touch myself, to get off as I watch them get each other off.
Blue Hat grips the other man’s chin. “Open that pretty mouth of yours,” he commands. His hat tilts, angles to the side like he’s questioning something. “You do want to suck my cock, don’t you?”
Dimples flash on Mr. Hottie’s face. “Yes,” he murmurs, then he widens his mouth, inviting his friend in.
“That’s so fucking nice,” Blue Hat says, brushing his thumb over the man’s bottom lip. “Tell you what. You suck me real good, show me how much you want my cock, and then maybe I’ll bend you over and fuck you like those brown eyes are begging me to.”
Mr. Hottie groans as Blue Hat shackles one of his wrists and brings his hand to his cock. He keeps his hand locked on the guy’s arm and follows the motion as he jerks him off. Pre-cum glistens on his crown, and Mr. Hottie leans in, licking the salty treat from the man’s gorgeous, bulbous head, sliding his tongue along the slit to get every last drop. Blue Hat growls and jerks forward, shoving his cock to the back of Mr. Hottie’s throat. The guy chokes. No freaking wonder.
“Open your throat. Take it deeper,” he orders, his hands fisting in the man’s hair, and urging him on. “Yeah, that’s it. Show me how much you want me to fuck that sweet hole of yours.”
My sex is throbbing, my clit demanding attention. Unable to help myself, I slip my hand into my jeans, and touch myself. I bite my bottom lip to stifle a cry of pleasure. Never having been so turned on in my life, I rub furiously, and my muscles clench. Dammit, I need to slow down, or I’m going to shatter into a million pieces, and I’m just not ready for this to be over. I use a softer touch, wanting to draw out every second, and rock my hips in much the same manner as Blue Hat.
“Look at you. Such a greedy bastard. Taking me so deep because you want your ass fucked.”
I whimper then clamp my hand over my mouth. Shit. I feel a quick flash of panic, but the two guys are so lost in each other, they don’t hear me. Thank God. If they stop now, I might just die.
Blue Hat pumps his cock. For some reason, I find it incredibly hot that he doesn’t even bother to push his pants down. Zipper open at the front, his jeans hug his perfect ass in the back as he fucks his friend’s mouth. My throat dries, dying for a taste, dying for him to make demands of me like that while I’m on my knees.
While I’m happy for the two guys, and I really am, I’m also kind of jealous. That’s the kind of passion I want to experience, the way I want to be talked to. Just once in my life, I want a man to devour me like that, to unleash himself on me…to demand I do things.
“That’s enough,” Blue Hat grunts, his rough voice low, nothing more than a whisper that drifts up to my ears in the quiet countryside. “Let me into that tight hole of yours.”
Mr. Hottie goes back on his heels, and the man’s huge cock slips from his mouth. With the back of his big hand, he wipes away the wet evidence glistening on his face and smiles up at the man he clearly adores. He unzips his pants, and shoves them to his knees, to expose his own big cock.
“Turn around,” Blue Hat growls.
I can feel Mr. Hottie’s excitement as he turns and goe
s down on all fours. Blue Hat wets his finger and slips it in his backside.
“Fuck yeah,” Mr. Hottie says loudly, and Blue Hat slaps his ass.
“Jesus Christ, Luca. Do you want the fucking world to know what we’re doing?”
Luca.
“Just fuck me already, then.”
“Aww, what’s the matter?” he asks as he spits on his finger and works another in, stretching the man and preparing him for his girth. “You’ve been hurting for my cock?” His voice is so low and deep I have to strain to hear.
“You know I have.” He grunts and shifts on his knees. “You’ve been so busy we don’t get a fucking minute alone anymore.”
A bird flies overhead and slows, like it, too, wants a piece of the action. I give it a brief glance then concentrate on the act below, not wanting to miss a damn thing. Blue Hat finishes with the foreplay, grabs his cock in his big hand and grunts as he strokes it, once, twice, three times. On his knees, Mr. Hottie is working his own cock while the man about to ram home rips into a condom, sheathes himself and positions his crown at the opening. His ass clenches as he eases forward, offering only an inch at a time, and both men moan in bliss.
“Please,” Mr. Hottie begs.
“You need me, Luca?”
“Yes,” he murmurs and rears back, trying to get the man in deeper.
Blue Hat groans and presses down on Mr. Hottie’s back to prevent him from moving. “Stay still,” he commands through gritted teeth, letting the other man know exactly who’s in charge of the depth and penetration.
And that is some very hot shit.
I lean farther over the rail and tremble from head to toe as the men fuck, coveting each other with a ferocity I’ve never seen before, but have always wanted. Blue Hat runs his hands through the other man’s hair, fisting it and pulling his head back as he angles his body to get his cock in deeper. He seats himself high inside then pulls almost all the way out, only to slam back in again. Grunts and groans echo in my ears, and his hips jerk faster, with hard, blunt strokes that reach a maddening pace.
I’m dying. Seriously dying of lust overload here. Honest to God, I’m going to have to start watching man on man porn. The genuine way these guys want each other…well, that’s seriously inspiring, and totally mind blowing.