by Taryn Quinn
Right. No wonder he was buddies with her dad. They were probably golfing together tomorrow, as they often did. Somehow she had a feeling this evening’s activities wouldn’t come up in their topics of conversation.
They wouldn’t be discussing what had happened between her and Sterling, but that didn’t mean she had to remain quiet. She had always been one to tackle things head-on.
She threw her legs over the side of the bed. Tonight she would tackle Sterling. Metaphorically.
Gathering her nerve, she smoothed a hand over her wet hair and padded barefoot down the hallway to the front of the house. He hadn’t given her a tour, so she had to guess the layout of his home included a front-facing master bedroom. There were so many doors branching off the long hallway, all of them closed. As much as she wanted to investigate them, she concentrated on the door at the end of the hall. He was probably immersed in work. As usual. Well, too bad. She needed to talk this out or she’d never get to sleep.
She knocked and waited. Knocked and waited again. Pressing her ear to the door, she strained to make out the faint sound she heard. Rushing water. God, he was in the shower. Naked. Soapy. She sucked in a breath and quietly opened the door, peeking inside like a spy. Her gaze went right to the ginormous bed, draped in deep red sheets. Red was not a color she would have associated with Sterling. The navy pillows and throw, yes. The huge, masculine bed frame constructed from what looked to be knotty pine, absolutely. But those inviting, silky, red sheets threw the whole thing off.
The rest of the room matched that color scheme, though red served as more of an occasional accent color. A rich Chinese-design carpet done in reds and blues and blacks caught her eye first before her attention wandered to the fancy rolltop desk and its equally expensive, sleek laptop. A swirl of color filled the screen, the splash page to some website.
Since the water was still on in the bathroom, she tossed up a silent apology in Sterling’s direction and crept closer to his computer. She couldn’t help being nosy. It was basically an occupational hazard. She’d become interested in engineering for a number of reasons, not the least of which was that she liked to figure out how things were built.
Now she wanted to figure out how he was built. If she had to snoop a little to get a running start, she damn well would.
She crouched to read the screen, wishing she’d thought to bring her reading glasses. Sexy nerd, Pete had called her when she wore them. Pfft.
Her eyes narrowed on Sterling’s computer. Wait a sweet second. Sole Mate? Meet your one true mate through precision scoring. She read the screen twice more, certain she was seeing things. Sterling couldn’t be on a dating site. He couldn’t have a chat window tucked off to the side, minimized but still visible.
Ang glanced at the cracked bathroom door, noted the water was still going—damn, he liked long showers—and opened up the chat window. He’d been talking to a woman named Dizzyduck. She read the last two lines of their conversation.
Dizzyduck: Oh, S, you’re getting me too churned up. I hate to leave you this way.
S-quared: That’s okay. I need to cool down myself.
So that was why he was in the shower for a fucking lifetime. He’d been on the verge—or past it—of masturbating to dirty words on a screen. Words that wouldn’t appear in the chat window no matter how many times she hit the up button on his mouse.
Up, dammit, up!
Ah, to hell with it. She didn’t really want to know what they’d said to each other. He could have his duck. She didn’t even care. Tomorrow morning, she’d take her still-packed bags down to her car and go—
A muffled groan hit her ears. Then another. She followed the sound to the bathroom door almost without thinking. She must’ve misheard. Just like she’d misread his chat conversation. She bit her lip and leaned into the doorway, hoping like hell he wasn’t looking. Hoping even more she’d get a free peep show for her trouble.
The smoky shower glass disguised almost nothing. He was beautifully, blissfully naked. The ropey muscles in his thighs and ass snagged her attention first, and she swallowed. He had no visible ink, just gorgeous, golden skin. He bent forward slightly, hunching over himself while he propped one muscled arm against the tiled wall over his head.
See, maybe he just stubbed his…okay, that wasn’t his toe he was holding. Oh my God.
He was well-endowed. So thick that he’d rub every part of a woman just right. Long enough to make her mouth go dry and another part of her get really wet.
Then again, that might’ve been left over from earlier, when he’d gunned her engine and she’d been forced to stall out for her own sanity. Witnessing this would not help on that score.
His arm muscles bunched, and she knew he was caressing his dick even if she couldn’t see the exact motions. His ass clenched and he dropped back his head, offering her a glimpse of his throat, each cord standing out in sharp relief. Every part of him appeared honed to maximum efficiency. Even that column in his fist, trapped under the waterfall of water. He leaned over to grab a bottle and squeezed it, the movement unleashing a few scented bubbles along with the pale purple liquid that poured over his cock. A familiar scent flowed over her, heightened by the warm water, and she barely suppressed a gasp.
He was using her shampoo to touch himself. To make himself come. Soaking himself in her scent.
She shuddered and gripped the doorframe. She shouldn’t watch. Shouldn’t violate his privacy that way. But she couldn’t make herself leave. Especially not now.
If he wouldn’t give her himself willingly, just this once she would take.
Sterling stroked his cock in long, even pulls, gritting his teeth against the rush of pressure in his balls. This wouldn’t take long at all. It had been months since he’d given in to the need for physical relief. Tonight, he couldn’t have held back if someone had pointed a gun at his head.
Either of them.
Christ, how had things gone so wrong? One moment he’d been laughing with Ang, sure that she’d ease off on the ridiculous sex talk once they were inside. He would’ve agreed to anything to make sure she had a safe place to stay. And yes, he did have a healthy appreciation for getting his way. His father had amassed a fortune by not playing by the rules—and, sometimes, by not abiding by the law—but Sterling had never operated outside the lines of fairness. His one and only tattoo on his chest served as a tangible reminder of his desire never to break his own code, no matter the cost.
Yet today, he had. He’d been determined to do the right thing for Ang, even if she didn’t fully agree with his idea of what that was. But that didn’t excuse his lie about his ex. Or that he’d bent her over a bed and pushed his fingers inside her so that he didn’t have to see the reflection of his own need shining back from her eyes. He hadn’t wanted to unfairly take advantage, so he’d done…that?
He’d become so aroused from those moments with her that he’d talked to another woman online in a far more suggestive manner than he’d ever done before. At least they’d ended the conversation while it was still in safe territory. It wasn’t right for him to talk to anyone in a flirtatious manner while his head was still full of Ang. While her scent still burned in his brain.
Already he feared nothing would ever drive her out of his head again.
He’d been forced to take a drastic step. He hadn’t intended to borrow the travel-sized bottle of her shampoo from the bag he’d carted to her room, but it had been tucked in the outside pocket and he’d been weak. So fucking weak. That heady raspberry and vanilla scent mixed with her arousal had driven him crazy, causing him to do things like this. To drown himself in a pathetic substitute for the wetness that had coated his fingers, to pour the thick, foamy liquid that brought her to vivid life behind his eyes over his stiff length again and again. Wasting it down the drain. Helpless to stop.
Worse, so much worse, to squeeze his balls and come in a hot, unrepentant rush that didn’t begin to lessen his hunger.
So he kept stroking, kept pulling o
n the sensitive sac beneath his cock. Apparently his many months of self-denial had led to him storing up a lot of frustration. Unless Ang and her slick, sweet core had unleashed something inside him he’d never experienced before. His sex drive operated at a steady simmer—except when he actively decided to ignore it, as he had recently—but this went far beyond that. His cock was hard again. Forget recovery time. All he had to do was breathe in deeply of that fragrant fruit and remember those tentative pulses around his fingers and he shot close to the edge all over again.
Tentative. Weak. All at once he remembered how her cries had turned high and thin, that the words she’d used seemed false. He’d been in such a hurry to get out of that room before he did something he would regret—like taking a pregnant woman against a wall—that he’d ignored the instant of intuition that now clubbed him over the head. But it didn’t stop him from dragging his hand up and down his cock faster. The anger and, yes, embarrassment beginning to brew in his gut drove him on. Making his grip that much more brutal as he dropped the empty bottle of shampoo and pressed his fist against the wall.
She’d lied to him. Faked her orgasm so he would stop. So he would go away and leave her be.
A growl worked its way free from his throat and he turned under the spray, his fingers still working his length. A glimpse of blue from the partially open door caught his eye, and he squinted through the streaming water, slicking his hair back with his other hand. Since he didn’t have pets, he had a good idea of who had been spying on him.
It helped that he swore her bare toes still peeked beyond the doorjamb. Bare toes bearing something sparkly. Polish or rings. Maybe both.
That same embarrassment tried to take over again, but he fought it down. She wanted to watch, did she? Well, he’d be happy to oblige. If she smelled her shampoo and heard his groans and figured out that at least one of them had been pushed to the breaking point, perhaps she’d endure the same restless sleep he knew he would face.
Either way, he was going to come again. And the Peeping Tomess would get to witness every moment.
He tugged harder on his erection, pulling it upward in uninterrupted strokes. It curved against his abdomen and glistened under the water. Every vein stood out in vivid relief, and his flesh had turned a deep, violent red from the friction he craved with each breath.
Blue flashed in the corner of his eye but he didn’t stop to look. Instead he threw his head back against the tile, pumping hard. Giving himself over to the torrential waves of pleasure that crashed through him as his balls drew up, throbbing between his legs. He squeezed tight, tighter. Making an inescapable vise. Her voice taunted him, those cries she’d made him believe now becoming his salvation. So close. She’d take him there again, unwittingly. Whether she chose to or not.
The memory of her moans shot him hurtling into the abyss, and he groaned with the force of his release. Long, ropey strings of liquid flew from his cock, disappearing into the water. Vanishing as quickly as the need that left him shaking and spent.
When he looked up again, chest heaving, the doorway was empty.
Ang woke up the next morning after a fruitful night’s sleep with only one thought on her mind.
He’d seen her. He knew she’d seen him. And he hadn’t stopped. He’d continued to masturbate for her enjoyment—and astonishment. Because somehow, some way, she still couldn’t reconcile the Sterling Vance she’d known all her life with the man she’d become acquainted with yesterday.
All the hesitancy he’d shown in touching her hadn’t existed when he’d gripped his own flesh. He’d owned it, mastering it with relentless strokes that had nearly made her come just from witnessing their power. Through the glass wall and the streaming water, she’d glimpsed how skilled a lover he could be, even if he’d demonstrated that knowledge on himself.
He’d been holding back on her, because of her. Why? If he truly didn’t want her, why had he gone after her shampoo? Unless he’d been running low and berries turned him on. Something had. Either what had happened between them or his little online chat had flipped his switch.
She’d had no choice but to return to her room and touch herself in his guest bed, as quietly as a thief on a quest for stolen pleasure. She’d borrowed his, even if it had looked a hell of a lot like pain at the end.
It wasn’t her nature to avoid the hard conversations—recent events with her pregnancy aside—but she really did not want to talk to Sterling about what had occurred between them last night. They’d had such an easy, drama-free relationship for the entire time they’d known each other that she still couldn’t quite understand where it had veered off course.
Blame your big mouth. You had to argue with his generosity, didn’t you?
She threw off the sheets and climbed out of bed, shaking off the last dregs of her fatigue. She might be hiding from her parents, most of her old friends and Pete, but she wouldn’t hide from Sterling. The very idea seemed untenable for reasons she preferred not to explore. It wasn’t just that he’d offered her kindness when her well had been running dangerously low. He was a decent guy. She didn’t feel like she knew much at the moment, but she knew that. The way he’d acted last night hadn’t made sense on a couple of levels, and she needed to find out why, no matter how awkward it might be.
After freshening up in the bathroom, she dressed in a pair of shorts and one of her loosest T-shirts. She didn’t want him to think she was trying to get him back in bed. Not that they’d been in bed to begin with. God.
She gathered her nerve and flung open the door, only to stop dead at the full-sized bottle of her fancy black raspberry and vanilla shampoo sitting innocuously on the hardwood floor. She picked it up and swallowed hard, helpless against the urge to pop the top and sniff the fruity fragrance. She’d never smell it again without remembering how Sterling had looked in his shower, arm muscles tensed and unforgiving, his hard length trapped in his punishing grip…
No. The goal was to have a reasonable conversation with him, not imagine him naked. He was her daddy’s friend. That made him sanctioned by the parents, which was supposed to make him dull and boring in her eyes. Though she was pretty damn sure her parents wouldn’t be thrilled about them living together, despite the fact that it was temporary. Even them dating without the added benefit of cohabitation would probably vex her mom and dad, although she figured they’d get over it way quicker than they would her being impregnated by Pete. Sterling was older than she was, yes, but he was all man. She’d had her fill of boys for a lifetime.
Perhaps that was why she was acting sloppy-stupid over the guy. So he’d been nice to her. Was that all it took to get her hormones firing?
Apparently, since Pete had asked her out and the next thing she knew, she’d been in a convenient alley sans clothes.
She made a face and set aside the shampoo. Now wasn’t the time to dwell on past failures. She would handle Sterling. Verbally.
Just verbally.
She jogged downstairs, noting the lack of dust on the rail—some housekeeper he must have—and headed straight into the kitchen. Sterling seemed like an early riser, and she wanted to catch him before he left. That it was Sunday probably didn’t make a difference. She’d bet he had a full schedule in any case, and that was after he met her dad for a round of golf at the club.
Unsurprisingly, he stood at the wide, granite-topped counter, the morning paper spread out in front of him and a halfway-peeled banana lifted to his lush mouth. That part of his face seemed at odds with his patrician features. Even his pale-blue eyes turned wintry and shrewd on a dime. But that mouth, so full and utterly bitable, had no purpose but sex.
She stopped in the doorway, suddenly shy. Okay, there was nothing sudden about it. She’d felt shy around him since last night when she’d sent that dopey text. Forget spellcheck—she needed a sanity check before she took action.
“Good morning.” Sterling didn’t turn or acknowledge her in any way other than the pleasant greeting delivered in his smooth, cultured voi
ce. It lacked all inflection, so she couldn’t get any kind of reading on his mood. “I trust you slept well?”
It couldn’t be a shot. He wasn’t the kind of man who threw out conversational darts. “Yes. I did. Thank you.”
“The bedroom saw to your needs?”
She frowned. The bedroom did, but you sure didn’t. “Yes. It’s lovely. Thanks.”
Maybe if she kept thanking him, she wouldn’t feel so…useless. Even her sexual wiles were no longer in working order. Hell, Sterling had rejected the full-service aisle in favor of the self-serve one. That stung.
“And the shower accommodated you? Perhaps you’d prefer to take a bath in the future. There’s a claw-foot tub in the master bathroom if you need—”
“I’m not quite big enough to overflow the shower yet, so it was fine.” She couldn’t suppress her icy tone. “I didn’t see a tub last night,” she added pointedly, unwilling to keep tap dancing around this particular elephant anymore.
He flushed. Actually flushed. Damn if it didn’t make him even more attractive. It also made that newly activated nurturing instinct she’d developed surge to the forefront.
“It’s behind the door. I assure you, there is one.”
“I don’t doubt it. Your home seems equipped with every amenity.” Except lube, she finished silently, walking to the refrigerator. “Do you have juice?”
“Yes. On the door.”
She filled a glass with ice from the machine, then opened the fridge and removed the carafe, pouring the sweet-smelling orange juice over the rocks. After she put the bottle away, she took a long, gratifying sip, only to find him studying her, lips quirked. “You said to make myself at home.”
“So I did. Do you want something to eat? There’s cereal, and Hilda put together a quiche before she left. It could be reheated if you’d like. It’s vegetarian.”