His eyes remain on mine, blazing with pure desire and longing. Shit. He’s going to screw me. Screw me silly. Dammit. I know it’s stupid to have sex with someone you just met, but when your broken heart is half in love with the guy, it’s not that much of a leap.
Mr. Merman leans down and nibbles on my neck and then my ear lobe. His warm hands are placed firmly on my waist. “Do you have protection?”
Shit. Clayton hated condoms, and while I’m on the pill, it isn’t smart to have unprotected sex with a stranger. I rest my forehead on his shoulder and slowly roll my head side to side. “Wasn’t on my packing list.”
He runs his hand over my head and through my hair. “Hey, it’s okay. I have some in my room.” He stands, lifting me off the ground. My legs automatically wrap around his waist.
I cringe inwardly as my wet pussy rubs against him. I bury my head in his shoulder as he walks across the room. Silk material falls over my shoulders, and I open my eyes to see we are in my bathroom. He settles me on the counter, and I slip my arms through my robe. Meanwhile, I’m glued to his beautiful naked body. I groan when he grabs a towel and wraps it around his waist.
Mr. Merman winks at me. “Don’t worry. I’ll take it off once we make it to my room, but if you keep looking at me that way we might not get that far.” He strides up to me and wedges himself between my legs as if permanently claiming the spot as his. “I’d be happy to carry you, or would you prefer to walk?”
“Walk.” I slide down his body until my feet reach the floor.
It’s his turn to groan. He grabs my hand and leads me to the door.
Grinning like fools, we leave my room. He’s definitely going to fuck me. And if the last thirty minutes are anything to go by, it’s going to be hot, sweaty, mind-blowing sex.
Padding down the hall to his room, I recall Clayton referring to condoms as mood killers. I laugh at the stupid thought because Mr. Merman is definitely still in the mood, and so am I. He’s practically running to his room with me close on his heels. Slamming the door shut, he bends, picking me up and carrying me over to the enormous bed. The guest room I’m staying in has a king, but this bed is larger. He puts me down, and I turn to crawl onto the bed but stop. This bed isn’t the normal height. It’s waist height—perfect for him to take me from behind.
He chuckles, and I twist to see he’s palming his very erect cock. Saliva pools in my mouth, and I’m suddenly jealous of his fucking hand.
His smirk tells me he knows exactly what I’m thinking. “Another time, or maybe later.” He juts his chin up towards the center of the bed. “Fair is fair. It’s my turn to get a taste of you.” He playfully smacks my ass and says, “Up you get.”
I’ve only ever had plain vanilla sex. I never really wished for anything else, but the slight sting on my ass from his palm makes me hope to experience more. Oddly, I trust him with my body, and maybe even my heart.
The bed sinks a little, and I peer over my shoulder. He’s right behind me, his towel missing. I scramble to lean back against the pillows and headboard. Mr. Merman sits back on his heels next to me. He reaches out, untying my sash and slipping the robe off my shoulders. He skims over every naked inch of me. I’m already red from the sun, but he makes me turn bright pink in all the spots it missed.
He repositions himself, claiming the spot between my legs. With his mouth slightly parted, the fictitious images of him going down on me are replaced with the real-life vision of him spreading my legs wide enough to accommodate his swimmer’s shoulders and settling his head against my thigh as he trails his forefinger over my slit. He glances up and smiles. That smile banishes every fear he might not be enjoying this as much as me. My heart pounds harder against my ribs. He’s so fucking sexy, and apparently in no rush.
He dips his head, and I see the pink tip of his tongue retrace the path of his finger. I almost squirm, dying for more. He places a hand under me and slides his thumb into me as he circles my clit with his extremely skillful tongue. I bury my fingers in his soft, thick hair. This man isn’t going to go bald anytime soon unless he continues to do whatever the hell he is doing down there that’s making my pussy clench and ache and my hands tug on his hair.
I can’t remember the last time I had a clitoral orgasm, but holy shit, I won’t forget this one. I definitely won’t be forgetting this man whose real name I let settle in my chest. As I suck in more air, my muscles relax. Every inch of my skin craves to be touched, and as if he can read my mind, Damien grazes his hands over my legs as he kisses his way up over my stomach, between my breasts, and along the curve of my neck. The weight of his body following the trail of kisses is oddly comforting instead of smothering. His cock rubs against me, and I wish a condom would magically appear to sheath him so he can slide into me.
I stretch out my arm, reaching for the nightstand.
Damien nuzzles my neck and says, “Not quite yet, Miss Eager. I’ve got more exploring to do.”
And because I’m enjoying him discovering the body I normally like to have covered with a T-shirt, I relax and let his hands, lips, teeth, and tongue travel over every inch of me.
Chapter 12
Damien
I take Irene’s nipple into my mouth, and her back arches off the bed. Her moans are almost lyrical. I wonder what it will take to have sweet Irene swearing like a sailor. Dirty talk has always been a turn-on, and I’m pretty sure she has it in her if I prod her just the right way. A devilish voice urges me to get the deed done, but I need to take my time and learn everything I can about the woman in my arms. Unfortunately, I don’t have a lot of time. Tomorrow is Monday, and I have to leave pretty much right after dinner to prepare for the Farrington merger. How many of Irene’s pleasure zones and kinks can I discover in twenty-four hours?
I can’t have her in every way possible. She’d be too sore. Irene reaches between us and strokes my cock. I’m pretty sure she’s really non-verbally telling me to hurry up and get the damn condom on. The sweet pink blush on her skin confirms it. I reach over and grab the strip of foil packets I found earlier. An insane image of a pregnant Irene standing in my Manhattan kitchen flickers in the shiny packaging. A vision like that would normally make me go limp or have me making up some excuse to leave, not making my dick so hard I’m questioning if the condom will fit. Fuck. I’ve never ever had unprotected sex. I quickly check the expiration date on the package as I tear it open. I release a breath when I see the digits and it registers they are still good for six more months.
I roll on the condom and turn to find Irene cupping her breast and rolling her nipple between two fingers. I’d already guessed she liked nipple stimulation, but watching her touch herself is a fucking wet dream. Peeling back her layers of shyness may take all night, but I’m ready for the challenge. If I encourage her to ride me, maybe she will take control. I roll onto my back and reach for her. A little awkwardly, she straddles me and slowly inches her way down my cock. She’s tight like a virgin or someone who does a million Kegel exercises or hasn’t had sex in a long time. The idea Clayton hadn’t satisfied her in a long while gives me a perverse sense of happiness.
She manages to slide midway down my cock before she stalls and covers her face with her hands. I grab her wrists and place her palms flat on my chest. Sticking two fingers in my mouth, I reach between us to tease her clit. She leans forward to kiss me and begins to rock back, taking more of me in. She feels amazing. I can’t wait. Grabbing her hips, I tilt my own until I’m stretching her. I need to come so badly, but she isn’t anywhere close to her own climax. Circling my hips to modify the pace a little, I pray it will delay my gratification and increase hers.
Lips parted, she cries out, “Fuck, Damien, I’m about to come.”
Sweet little Irene swore, said my real name and not Mr. Merman, and uttered the four words I’m dying to hear. I pump into her pussy four or five more times before I fill the tip of the condom. Irene collapses on top of me. I’d love nothing more than to hug her as she falls asleep, but I have t
o take care of the fucking condom. I ease her to her side, rolling out of bed and heading for the bathroom. When I come back with a damp washcloth, she has the sheets tugged up to her chin. Her hands are tucked under her cheek, her eyes are closed, and she’s snoring. Irene is gorgeous. My heart flips. I want her in every way possible. I’ve never wanted a woman so much in my life.
As I slide in next to her, I can see the slight blue tinge under her eyes. She’s exhausted, probably a tangled mess over Clayton. I’m a terrible friend, but to hell with being friends. I have twenty-four hours with her, and I don’t plan on letting her leave my room now that I have her here.
I can’t stop grinning at her sleeping form. Shoving my hands behind my head to prevent me from reaching for her, I stare at the ceiling. The Farrington meeting is set to start at 1 p.m. If I move it up, I might be able to leave and be back within a day so I can spend more time with Irene. I shift, but she slings an arm around my waist and snuggles closer. Her tits rub against me, and I’m erect in seconds. Fuck—I want her again. I reach for my phone, but it’s not on the nightstand. I must have left it in her room, along with my clothes.
Irene moves her hand lower, and her pinky comes in contact with my hard cock. She peers up at me. “Oh, you’re still here.”
“Where else would I be?” Did she think I’d just fuck her and leave?
Irene shrugs. “On your phone, in your office . . .”
Fucking Clayton. I hate her expectations are so low and she’s been treated like shit. My entire body tenses as she continues to list places I’d definitely wouldn’t have left her for.
“Back at the bungalow . . .” She wraps her hand firmly around my dick and slides her hand up and down with long, even strokes.
Every ounce of anger evaporates. I’m in heaven. I haven’t had a hand job in years. “There is no way I’m leaving you naked and in my bed.”
“Hmm. Don’t you have to help Michael or something?”
I can’t take it anymore. I need to be back in her pussy. “Michael will be fine without me for the day. He might even thank you for keeping me out of his hair.” I grab her wrist and circle the tender side with my thumb. “I have plans for us.”
“Oh, really?”
I shift to roll on top of her, and the tip of my cock settles between her legs right at her entrance. She’s wet and ready. I push forward and enter her. Without foreplay it’s a snug fit, but like two jigsaw-puzzle pieces, we mold perfectly to each other.
Irene digs her fingers into my ass. “Damien, fuck me.”
“I plan to all day.” Rotating my hips, I guide her knee up to her chest so I can bury myself deep in her pussy.
She releases a moan so sexy I have to make her do it again. Increasing the pace, my balls slap against her ass. When her muscles seize around my cock and she’s about to orgasm, I realize I’m not wearing a fucking condom. I freeze.
“What’s wrong?” Propped up on her elbows, Irene searches my face.
“I’m not wearing any protection.”
She flops on to her back. “I’m on the pill. But . . .” She lets out an irritated growl before continuing. “I don’t really know how long Clayton had been cheating on me. Sorry.”
Fuuuck. I hate that she’s apologizing for that asshole’s actions. I’m angry he hurt her and now I’m really fucking mad at the bastard for denying me her sweet pussy bareback. Stretching to grab a condom, I put it on in record time. I plow into her over and over until she moans and reaches her climax. I don’t hold back and come seconds later. Spent, I crush her to the bed and nibble on her ear. “We’re not leaving this bed until we both get some sleep. Deal?”
Smiling, she nods and says, “Deal.”
Wrapped in her robe after another round of sex in the shower, Irene leads me back to her room. I won’t lie, I’m a little disappointed we don’t just go back to my bed. The taste of her pussy would be enough for me, but we skipped lunch, and I’m sure she’s starving.
As soon as we enter her room, she tries to release my hand, but I’m not letting her go. I walk over to the side of the bed where I left my clothes and phone. I twist so I can reach them, but I’m not ambidextrous. My shorts slip from my left hand, and my fucking phone falls out.
Irene laughs. “I promise not to run.”
I’ll need two hands to dress anyway, so I squeeze her hand before I let go. In the hours we spent awake and not fucking, I learned Irene loves small touches of affection. Thanks to my sister and her magazine quizzes, I’m well versed in the five languages of love. Irene’s number-one love language is definitely physical touch, which thankfully is also mine. I’m pretty sure quality time is a very close second for her, although she’d deny it. That scares the fuck out of me, especially since it ranks the lowest on my love-language scale. I’ve always dated women who never demanded more of my time than what I’d been willing to give, which honestly is fuck all most weeks.
I’m buttoning my shorts when Irene comes out of the closet in a sexy red dress. My heart flips, and I consider rescheduling the Farrington merger just to spend more time with her. I shake away the irrational thought and smile. “Whoa. I feel totally underdressed for dinner.”
She does a little twirl, and the skirt lifts just high enough for me to see she’s wearing a matching red thong. I reach out to grab her by the waist.
Irene giggles and sidesteps me. “Oh no, Mr. Merman. We’re having dinner first.” She winks and walks out the door.
I take a deep breath and wait until my dick softens, so it’s not quite as obvious I’m sporting a hard-on.
Finding her laughing at something Eric said, I ball my hands into fists. “What’s so funny?”
“Chef Eric is just sharing a funny story about your freshman year. I didn’t know you went to Stanford for your undergrad.” She turns and cocks her pretty smile in Eric’s direction before saying, “And I never would have guessed you guys met at business school.”
Dammit. Eric is worse than me with sharing personal information. He tells no one about his past, so he must really like Irene. I walk over to stand behind her. “Yeah, fun times, huh, Eric?” I wrap my arms around Irene’s waist and kiss her neck. Eric rolls his eyes at me when Irene turns and kisses me on the cheek.
He waves a knife in my direction. “Keep your hands off her, or the two of you will starve to death. Plus, I have a special surprise for you both.” He points to the terrace doors. “I’ll meet you both at the beach.”
Holding Irene’s hand, I take her down to the shore. I spot the romantic dining setup Eric had arranged—a small, intimate table and two chairs with candles. What the hell? Before I left last night, I’d asked Eric to do something nice for Irene, but to orchestrate an over-the-top romantic dinner is not what I had in mind.
Irene squeezes my hand. “Did you tell Eric to do . . .” Palm up, she swings her hand in a wide arc before continuing, “All this?”
When I spy her broad grin, I wish I could say it was all my fucking idea. But instead, I shake my head and mumble, “Nope, this is all Eric’s doing.”
“Oh good, because for a second, I thought I’d totally misread you.”
“What?”
“Umm . . . you seem more like the practical type, not really so much into the cheesy romantic gesture stuff.”
“Are you into . . . ?” I glance at the candlelit dining table.
“Of course I am. Every woman loves the idea of a romantic dinner. Except in my case, what I consider romantic is way different from what any of my previous boyfriends did.”
I pull out her chair for her and say, “Okay, I’ll bite. What is your idea of a romantic dinner?”
“I’m not sure I’m ready to share that with you.” She stares at me as I slide my chair in. In the candlelight, her eyes glitter and beam with amusement.
“Fine. I’ll figure it out and surprise you.”
A frown appears, and she opens her mouth to say something but then shuts it as Eric appears with our dinner. Salmon on applewood planks, my
favorite roasted vegetable quinoa, and lemon green beans. I prefer garlic Broccolini.
He steps back from the table. “For a change, I served green beans tonight. Enjoy.” He winks at Irene and leaves.
Never having experienced it before, jealousy is a very hard emotion to control. I clench my hand under the table and pound it into the palm of my other hand, imagining it’s Eric’s jaw.
Irene recaptures my attention with a smile.
She moistens her lips and says, “I don’t like surprises. But if you can figure me out before you leave tomorrow, I might have to hunt you down and marry you.”
“Excellent. I love a challenge.” I load up my fork and pop it in my mouth with a grin.
Irene stares at me as if I’ve literally grown a third eye. She might have been joking about the idea of getting married, but that’s exactly my plan. I don’t need to know everything about her right away, but I do know I’m going to be with her forever now that I’ve found her.
Chapter 13
Irene
I can’t tear my gaze from Damien. He brings a fork full of the perfectly cooked pink fish up to his mouth and wraps his lips around the silver utensil. He is sexy as hell. I shouldn’t have dared the man to discover the real me as I knew he wouldn’t back down. He’s proven he’s a man of his word, ensuring I experienced one fantastic orgasm after another all day long.
What have I done?
He isn’t the type to fail, and if I’m right, once he sets his mind to something nothing can stop him.
What should I say to take it back? I take a deep breath—no need to panic. Even if by some miracle Damien figured me out, I would never hunt down a man, let alone propose to him. Fiddling with my fork, I focus on the delicious meal Chef Eric artfully arranged on the plate.
“Is everything okay?” he asks.
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