by Naima Simone
“I need…” You. But he bit back the word that would reveal too much. “I need to be inside you, Gwen. Let me in.”
She nodded and pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Yes.”
Such a simple word yet it rocked his world, his soul. Leaning all his weight on one hand, he opened the other and offered the condom to her. “Put it on, baby.”
With another nod, she ripped the package open and slid the latex free. Xavier studied her slim fingers with rapt fascination as she gripped the wide stalk and rolled the condom down his length. He growled as her touch grazed the sensitive, stretched skin. And when she released his cock, he almost demanded she return her hand to his flesh. It was that damn good.
His fingers circled the base of his erection and she sank her teeth into her bottom lip. The gesture struck him as anxious. As if she were nervous…
“How long has it been?”
She flicked her eyes up to him and her tongue peeked out to wet her lips. “Seven years.”
Seven years. Shit. That would mean she’d been celibate since Joshua’s death. No. His brother had been dead six years. So that meant… Surprise shot through him, followed by curiosity. But with his dick throbbing a primitive, hungry rhythm answers to his questions could wait. Fuck first. Answers second.
Shit. She’d reduced him to a caveman.
He inhaled a deep breath then released it through his nose. Right now he needed patience that had expired about the time she’d stripped out of her clothes. Somehow he had to find it, because getting inside her small pussy would require every ounce.
“Baby, you’re very tight,” he said. “We’ll go slow and easy.”
He rose and settled back on his heels. Heart speeding like a runaway train, he arrowed his cock toward her entrance. He palmed her slim thighs then eased them wider apart. His cock head parted her folds and penetrated her. Wet heat sizzled on his skin and he hissed. The sound almost covered her sharp intake of breath…almost.
Gwendolyn stared down her body to the point where they joined. Tension lined her face and her fists twisted the bedcovers. Her sex was like a tight rubber band squeezing the cock head so he could imagine how his dick stretched her. He splayed his fingers wide on the inside of her thighs. Gently, he smoothed his thumbs up and down the dark lips. God, how pretty they looked surrounding his cock. The visual conjured images of her mouth parted, sucking him in.
“Relax for me, baby,” he coaxed and didn’t try to contain the lust racing through him and thickening his voice. He pressed into her and gently massaged. “Your pussy feels so good,” he murmured. “I want to sink into you, fuck you so hard and deep that my cock leaves an imprint.”
Inch by inch, thrust by thrust, he settled his dick into her sex. He whispered praises each time her core stretched and accepted more of him, took him deeper. By the time he was fully seated inside her, sweat poured off them both. Xavier clenched his teeth against the burning pleasure. Her pussy hugged his cock like shrink-wrap, so snug…so damn right.
Gwendolyn writhed beneath him, her head bearing down on the pillow hard enough to cause an indentation. Back arched, hips rolling, she epitomized lust, arousal…need. The tiny muscles in her sex spasmed around his flesh, goading him to move. To fuck. Leaning forward, he planted a palm next to her head and clamped the back of one thigh, then shoved it back and high. It opened her pussy another impossible increment and his cock took immediate advantage, burrowing deeper.
“Talk to me, Gwen.” He closed his eyes, locking his jaw. Fuck. Root to tip, she swallowed him. His balls pressed against the stretched opening and the pressure to the sac elicited a grunt of hunger. When he lifted his lashes, he met her fevered gaze. “C’mon, baby. Are you okay?”
“Yes.” She clutched his arms in a desperate grip. “God, yes. Please move.”
With a greedy rumble, he withdrew and surged into her hot sheath. Over and over he buried his cock in her pussy, riding like a man possessed—or obsessed. Gwendolyn met him thrust for thrust, stroke for stroke. Her long legs wrapped around his waist and held him in their tight embrace.
Enfolded in her arms and legs, both his palms next to her head, he succumbed to the animalistic lust tearing a hole in his gut and rushing up his cock. The headboard bounced against the wall, the clatter matching the tempo of each plunge. He reached between their bodies and brushed a caress over her clit before circling the engorged nub with hard, tight motions.
Gwendolyn stiffened, gasped then let out a broken cry as she shuddered in orgasm. Her pussy seized his cock seconds before convulsing in rhythmic quivers. The steady ripple of her muscles around his dick, the scrape of hard nipples against his chest and her scream of release echoing in his ears shoved him over the edge of oblivion. He plummeted into the fiery abyss like a phoenix, reborn in the flames of consuming passion.
The ecstasy lasted forever, but ended too soon. Before he was ready to return to sanity, he descended back to the bed, to the dim room. To…peace.
He opened eyes he didn’t remember shutting. This woman, who’d given her flesh and passion so willingly, had gifted him with pleasure and precious forgetfulness. A soft sigh escaped his lips and, as Gwendolyn’s eyes closed and she drifted to sleep, he placed a gentle kiss on her forehead.
In this moment, he was just a man with his woman.
He pressed his face in the haven between her throat and shoulder.
And felt…normal.
Chapter Six
“You are very obliging,” answered Beauty, “I own I am pleased with your kindness and, when I consider that, your deformity scarce appears.”—Beauty and the Beast
“According to Mark Twain kindness is a language the deaf can hear and the blind can see…so is being a jackass.”—Gwendolyn Sinclair
“Good morning.”
Xavier turned at her greeting. Sunlight poured through the huge picture window of the breakfast room and bathed him in its glow like a halo. She almost snorted at the absurd thought. No angelic being contained the carnal knowledge Xavier had exhibited last night.
Oh damn.
Heat streamed up her neck and rushed to her face. Hell. There was no way the intent stare he fixed on her could miss the fiery telltale sign indicating where her thoughts had detoured. And now that the floodgates had opened, she couldn’t dam the memories. Her sex softened and a dull ache took up residence at his remembered possession. Oh God, how he’d possessed her. He’d taken control of her body until she hadn’t recognized the person she’d become—one focused solely on ecstasy and the man gifting it to her.
She’d twisted under him, begged and cried out for him. A shiver raced over her skin and tingled in her clit. She’d come twice—once on his hands and in his mouth, and then on his cock. She blew out a slow, measured breath even as her heart pounded.
Given his reputation, she hadn’t been shocked by his knowledge of a woman’s body. The man wore sexuality like most men did a suit or jacket. No, that wasn’t accurate. His sensuality couldn’t be peeled off as easily as a shirt and tie. It was innate, as much a part of him as his green eyes. So no, his skill hadn’t been a surprise. But the tenderness, unselfishness and patience had been. The terms of their bargain dictated she spend seven days at his mercy, for his gratification. Yet he’d placed her pleasure first time and time again.
She stared at his beautiful features and warmth surged into her chest. The thick honey-brown hair drawn into its customary tail only served to enhance the patrician bone structure, the jeweled eyes and carnal curve of his mouth. The reason behind her presence in his home sucked, but maybe, just maybe, they could part friends.
Friends. Her mind scoffed. As if that’s all you want from him. A woman didn’t stop having sex with her fiancé because of friendship. Her stomach clenched and she cringed over her inadvertent admission the night before. Under ordinary circumstances—like when not dazed from a mind-blowing orgasm—she wouldn’t have confessed the truth about her self-imposed celibacy with Josh. It invited questions…ques
tions she’d rather not answer.
In a world where pumpkins changed into horse-drawn carriages and beasts transformed into princes, Xavier would admire her, his gaze reflecting the love she harbored deep in her heart. But that existence was relegated to Disney films and fairy tales. In the real world, perhaps they could part with her faith in the sensitive, kind, selfless man she’d once known restored. Last night, his passion and gentleness nurtured her dream.
“Good morning, Gwendolyn,” he murmured and slid his hands in the front pockets of his gray slacks.
Unease tickled her stomach. Once again, she was Gwendolyn instead of Gwen. Last night, as well as during her bath, he’d called her by the nickname he’d used years ago. With a mental shrug, she shook the disquiet off. Maybe he’d slipped back to formality out of habit.
She moved farther into the room. Cutlery had already been arranged around pristine white plates and steaming platters of food occupied the middle of the table. As she approached the chair Xavier held out for her, she smothered a snicker. Since she’d woken Monday, delicious meals had been prepared for them and the house retained the sparkling clean scent of lemon Pledge, yet she hadn’t glimpsed a single employee. Maybe he retained invisible servants like in Eros and Psyche.
That was it. Clash of the Titans was going to the community center’s video library just as soon as she returned home. A week ago she’d compared him to Odysseus and now the star-crossed lovers. No more Greek mythology.
“Thank you.” She lowered into the chair and scooted forward. He pulled out the seat next to her at the head of the table and sank into it with a fluid motion she envied and admired. Hell. Even the way he sat in a chair was sexy.
The next few moments passed in silence as they selected their breakfast from the platters. Her stomach growled at the mouth-watering scents rising off the variety of sausages, bacon, pancakes and cinnamon rolls. Mortified, she shot a glance at Xavier. But if he heard, he didn’t react. Instead he continued to doctor his pancakes with syrup.
The sliver of foreboding made another appearance. His aloof mask and reserved manner wasn’t her imagination. She frowned. What had happened between last night and this morning?
“I noticed your stables as I drove up Saturday,” she said with deliberate casualness, hoping to draw him into conversation. Anything would be better than the heavy silence. “Do you breed them or are they for pleasure?”
“They’re for me.”
“Your home is beautiful.” She continued even though his short answer and long stare didn’t invite chitchat. “I don’t remember hearing you talk about this place, though.”
He leaned back in his chair and studied her with the same impassive stare. “I bought it a year ago.”
Well. Damn.
She dropped her gaze to the plate of food, her fragile hope for a new start with Xavier absconding with her appetite. It didn’t require the awesome deduction powers of Sherlock Holmes to figure out the accident and this home in beautiful but remote Great Barrington were connected. A haven with only horses to keep him company. After all, animals responded to kindness, not appearance.
Her heart ached for him in spite of his distant behavior. This man should be at the heart of parties, surrounded by people hanging on his every word. Not relegated to the outskirts, tolerated when he couldn’t be avoided. As if he were to blame for a tragedy beyond his control. Reviled for a mark that displayed his strength and iron will in the face of suffering others would have broken under.
“What are you thinking?”
The low, quiet voice sounded so much like the tone he’d used with her the night before, it startled her into answering honestly.
“You’re beautiful,” she blurted.
His face hardened, but not before a spasm of pain disappeared under the forbidding mask. Eyes that had been cold a moment ago were now glacial—two jagged pieces of ice to pierce her soul.
“The nature of our bargain eliminates the need for empty flattery. Especially when we both know it’s a lie.” He lashed out, leaving bleeding lacerations. “But if it makes you feel better to indulge in fantasy, come sit on this side of me.” He patted the table with his right hand. “The view’s better.”
Raw bitterness and anger seethed beneath the callous remark. The resentment and fury concealed behind the reserve he showed the world festered in places so deep, Gwendolyn couldn’t reach them. Grief tore through her as if someone had died. And she supposed someone had—the loving, compassionate man who no longer existed. In his place sat this embittered stranger, the scars he carried on his soul more devastating than the one marring the left side of his face.
“Is this how it’s going to be between us for the next five days?” she asked quietly. “Where we can’t even talk?”
“I thought I made it clear what you’re here for, Gwendolyn. And it’s not talking.”
She shoved back her chair and rose to her feet. Anger and an overwhelming sorrow encompassed her. She’d believed Xavier had chosen to live. That had been a façade too. He existed with rage and hostility as faithful companions, leaving room for no one else.
“That’s right,” she said. Silently, she cursed the tears stinging her eyes and tilted her chin up as if the gesture could prevent them from spilling. “As you take such great delight in reminding me. Why don’t you leave money on the nightstand? That would show me. Consider it a tip.” Her voice thickened and she hated herself for the sign of weakness. Hated him. “Or better yet, just subtract it off the top of the money I’m spreading my legs for.”
“Stop it!”
The harsh order didn’t penetrate the hurt—the blinding hurt and fury that ate a hole in her heart. Stupid! God, she was so stupid for believing one night of sex could soften his feelings toward her. Could soften him.
“Stop what? I’m just repeating what you’ve been drilling into my head since I agreed to this damn deal.”
“Gwendolyn,” he growled over the scrape of his chair as he shot to his feet.
“Just—” Her voice broke. She whirled and stalked toward the door. Dammit, she refused to let him see one fucking tear fall. Not. One. “Just go to hell.”
Chapter Seven
“Among mankind,” says Beauty, “there are many that deserve that name more than you, and I prefer you, just as you are, to those who under a human form hide a treacherous, corrupt and ungrateful heart.”—Beauty and the Beast
“Beauty is only skin deep… That’s some bullshit.”—Xavier St. James
Why don’t you leave money on the nightstand? That would show me. Consider it a tip. Or better yet, just subtract it off the top of the money I’m spreading my legs for.
You’re beautiful.
Gwendolyn’s words from the morning echoed in his head like a CD stuck on replay. He gazed out the dark dining room window, his reflection like a condemning finger pointing back at him. His fists tightened at his sides. God, her words had hurt. Both her accusation about him treating her like a whore and the lie about his beauty. It was a toss-up which stabbed deepest.
Xavier closed his eyes and for once it wasn’t to shut out the sight of his ruined face. He could no longer bear the sight of the entire man.
When had he become such a cowardly bastard?
His gutlessness shamed him. He’d considered himself strong. Losing his brother had devastated him, but he’d endured. Then years later, the sudden loss of his father followed by Evelyn’s abandonment had nearly brought him to his knees. He almost hadn’t recovered from the blow of losing the man he’d admired above all others. But he had survived. Then Evelyn had walked out.
Her desertion had almost broken him. The signs had been there—her refusal to look him directly in the face, her reluctance to be seen with him in public because of the stares. Yet he still hadn’t expected her betrayal because he’d believed they were in love. Or that he’d loved her.
No, Evelyn hadn’t broken him. But she’d damn well shattered something inside him.
When she left, sh
e’d broken the last tenuous link to his life before the accident. The charmed years filled with family, friends and joy were irrevocably gone, leaving him no clue how to deal with the new existence fate had dealt him. His family would never be whole again. Those he’d called friends had turned their backs on him and he was alone. So fucking alone.
Enter Gwendolyn.
He sucked in a breath and opened his eyes. Instead of his likeness, he viewed flashes of the previous night in the darkened glass. His stomach tightened with arousal and his cock swelled at the remembered slick grip of her pussy. Of her skin pressed to his. Of her arms wrapped around him, holding him close. Locked in her embrace, the loneliness had vanished.
And its absence had scared the shit out of him.
After she’d drifted to sleep, he’d curled up behind her and dreams—impossible dreams—had stirred in his heart. Love. A woman who wanted him in spite of his imperfections. A family of his own. Fear had spurred him out of the warm bed and tangled sheets. As he’d jerked on his clothes, he shut down the faint, burgeoning longings of love, acceptance and happiness. And he’d refused himself one last look at the sleeping woman.
There were no happily ever afters for him.
He would be a fool to become attached to Gwendolyn. The only reason she slumbered in his bed was due to fucking blackmail. If not for the community center, he would be as alone as he’d been for the past year.
He and Gwendolyn had a business contract.
Nothing more.
But his determination to set their relationship back on the agreed-upon terms didn’t excuse the hurt in her eyes this morning. Hurt he’d inflicted. They could make love—no, damn it, have sex. They could have sex and maintain the distance needed to walk away without wounding each other.