More Than Love You

by Shayla Black

  I take her teasing in stride. “How about if I make it up to you when we get home?”

  “Oh?” Harlow raises a brow. “You might be able to suck up to me for my forgiveness. What do you have in mind?”

  My tongue takes a leisurely glide over my lips as I reach over to drag my fingertips up her thigh. “Dessert.”

  “Yes, please.” She gives me an eager smile.

  Now that she’s seemingly happy again, I look for a backdoor angle to ask my question again that won’t raise her defenses. “I’m used to reporters and the ridiculous things they say. I hope it didn’t upset you too much.”

  “Do they usually go after your dates?”

  “They dig enough to find out who she is. Then they try to invent some drama-laden relationship we’ve never had by telling their readers that an ‘anonymous source’ knows all the details. They’re leeches.” I don’t mention that they sometimes dish my date’s dirt, too. Harlow is already on edge. I just want to find out what’s wrong without adding to the problem.

  She gapes at me, then sits back against her seat, arms crossed. “I shouldn’t be surprised. I just… I’m looking for peace right now, and getting press will only stir up the drama I’ve been dealing with.”

  “You mean your parents’ divorce?” Not sure why she thinks anyone will care about that. I doubt they will, but clearly she doesn’t want to deal with the situation at all.

  “Yeah. And some other minor shit. How do you put up with having your life scrutinized?”

  I suspect the “other minor shit” is anything but. There’s a wealth of information in what she’s not saying. “Well, when your final deal in the NFL makes you north of a hundred million dollars, you expect followers and idiots.”

  Her eyes widen. “Yeah, I can believe that.”

  “I don’t pay those people any attention. You shouldn’t, either. Whatever the press says about you will be hot news for less than fifteen minutes. Then some Kardashian will probably do something ridiculous, and they’ll move on. Don’t worry.”

  “I hope you’re right.” But she sounds concerned.

  Everything about the conversation reinforces that she either has something that she doesn’t want to talk about, something to hide—or both.

  The rest of the ride home is silent while I contemplate. I already made the mistake once of assuming her brother was some stalker ex. I need to keep my assumptions in check and stick to facts.

  When we pull behind the electronic gate protecting the estate, I make a mental note to have my rep, Lian, look into hiring a rotation of guards to keep press and nosy people out. But it’s not as important as helping Harlow from the car and chipping away at her facade a bit more until I learn what has crawled under her skin.

  We’ve barely cleared the garage and made it into the shadowy hallway just inside the house when Harlow sidetracks me by turning, dropping to her knees, and attacking my fly.

  I grab her wrists. “Baby?”

  She looks up at me, her eyes bright and desperate in the dark. “You promised me dessert.”

  “No. I planned to make dessert of you.”

  Her breath catches. “After I have mine.” She grabs my hips and drags her lips up the front of my khakis, right over my rigid cock. “I’m hungry now.”

  At the thought of having her lips wrapped around me and sucking deep, I stagger back against the door. “Fuck.”

  “I want to,” she says breathlessly. “So bad.”

  Then she rips into my zipper and shoves my boxers down to my thighs. As my cock springs free, she takes it in her hands. I can’t stop the groan that slips past my lips as she strokes me with slow insistence. Then the tip of her tongue lashes the head. Sizzle zips down my spine. Holy shit.

  With a long groan, my head falls back against the door. I’m a goner and I might as well accept that now. I spent the first half of dinner thinking that I’d rather be doing Harlow than dinner out and I’ve had an erection since. I’m not going to fight the sharp claws of arousal clawing my flesh far under the skin.

  The thought barely clears my head when I feel the hot velvet of her mouth envelop my length. She cups my balls with one hand and wraps the other around my thigh, dragging me closer, taking me deeper.

  If the speech pathologist thing doesn’t work out for her, she could make a ton of cash giving blow jobs. I’ve had hummers from some really practiced mouths, but this? Yeah… On second thought, she can teach other women how to do this to their man. No one with a Y chromosome is getting near her staggeringly hot mouth. The thought of any other guy feeling this bliss from her has me gripping the strands of her long, inky waves in my fist and settling deeper in the back of her throat.

  Mine.

  It’s ridiculous and over the top and I don’t fucking care. It’s how I feel right now. Every time I talk to Harlow our connection is so good that I think we could be really good friends. Then she does something to remind me that we have amazing, blinding, fucking hot sex. Who am I kidding? Everything she does reminds me that she’s mind-blowing in bed. And in the shower. And on the balcony overlooking the ocean. I would know.

  But this… I’m not sure I’ll survive.

  When she hums softly, I grip her harder. “Fuck, baby. You’re undoing me.”

  She doesn’t answer, but I feel her lips curl up. I groan as she sucks harder, her head moving rhythmically up and down my aching dick. Tingles begin brewing. I can’t breathe. I gave up on coherent thought about something other than Harlow two seconds after she put her mouth on me and I don’t regret it one bit.

  The gentle glide of her teeth over the sensitive head makes me shudder. Climax is approaching. I’m racing to get there, groaning with each breath. I swear I can feel every layer of my skin slickening with sweat and every curve of her lips shuttling up and down my cock.

  “If you don’t want me to unload in your mouth, now is the time to stop.” I’m amazed I get the words out and they’re coherent. Everything else is a scramble in my brain.

  Harlow answers by digging her nails into my thighs and sucking me even harder, tongue swirling around my length, teeth skimming up every sensitive inch. The suction is killing me. I’m shuddering as I’m pushing my way along her tongue, against her throat, as if I will the pleasure to overtake me now even while I wish it would go on forever.

  If giving blow jobs were an Olympic sport, she would be a fucking gold medalist.

  Oh, god. I’m not going to last.

  “Harlow…”

  Everything she’s doing is turning me both on and inside out. I know the inevitable end is near. When my blood is churning and racing straight for my cock and I feel the growl of ecstasy screaming straight to the head, I’m seconds away from climax. But she sends me there even sooner when she brushes kisses over my thigh, not like she merely wants me. But like this somehow matters to her.

  Yep, I’m a goner.

  The second she fastens her mouth around me again and lifts her long lashes to stare up at me, I feel my knees buckle and the world implode. A groan tears from my chest as everything dissolves around me until I’m drowning in the kind of satisfaction I swear will leave blisters on my soul.

  I’ll forever measure my life by specific milestones: losing my virginity to a cheerleader two years older than me on a school bus home from the end of a great season, our team winning the state championship my senior year of high school, my first kegger, my first Super Bowl win, my father’s death…and now the moment I’m realizing I might not be able to live without Harlow satisfying my every sexual need. It sounds crazy; I’ve known her twenty-four hours. But there’s something about this woman that gets to me.

  At my feet, she licks her lips, then softly laps at my erection before easing up my length and releasing me into her waiting hand. She presses a lingering kiss to my abs, then lays her cheek against me with a sigh, eyes closed in seeming contentment.

  I could more than get used to this. Hell, I could more than get addicted to this. I could need this more tha
n I know how to handle.

  “Hmm. I knew you’d taste good,” she murmurs.

  I stroke her hair, soaking in her femininity and softness. “Once my knees start working again, I’ll definitely return the favor and then some.”

  “No rush. I’ve been grinning big since last night.”

  Extending a hand to her, I help Harlow to her feet and wrap my arms around her, still wall-hugging the door for support. “If you’re with me and you’re not smiling, I’ve done something wrong.”

  She laughs. “I’ll let you know when I’m in danger of frowning.”

  “So what did you do for fun around here before I arrived, besides lay out by the pool in barely legal bikinis?”

  Her grin turns rueful. “Actually, I discovered that the previous owner left behind a gaming console, so I’ve been testing out a few of the games. I had no idea I could be such a badass, especially with conjuration and destruction spells in Tamriel.”

  I raise a brow at her. “I have no idea what you said. Did you just speak geek to me?”

  “I totally did. Impressed?”

  “Yes, and weirdly turned on. You’ll have to show me what the hell you’re talking about. I’ve got to keep up, you know.”

  “Why don’t I pour a bottle of wine and I’ll introduce you to my kick-ass Nord woman in gilded armor? She’s hot.”

  “Let’s do it.” I like the playful side of Harlow, so I know I’m in for an interesting night.

  Then once she’s comfortable, has forgotten all about our run-in with the press, and I’ve had enough time to recuperate my mojo, I’ll have dessert of my own—and find out what she’s trying so hard to hide.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  At nearly two in the morning, I set down the game controller with a groan. “I give up. You can’t kill a giant.”

  “You can, but you need more stealth and better weapons. And way better armor. You kind of sucked at vampires, too. Get it?” She elbows me. “Suck?”

  I roll my eyes. “I need a garlic necklace to ward off jokes like that.”

  “Ha ha.”

  The truth is I like Harlow’s unexpectedly goofy sense of humor and the admittedly geek side of her I’ve seen tonight. In her defense, Elder Scrolls is a huge game, and I feel as if I’ve barely seen a quarter of the map. With a story centered around a civil war and an ancient legend coming true, I get why she’s been drawn in.

  But now I’ve got something else on my mind.

  I wrap my arm around Harlow and help her to her feet, then I scoop her up against my chest.

  She squeals. “What are you doing?”

  “I never did have my dessert, and I’ve suddenly got a sweet tooth…”

  Even in the room’s low lighting, I see her flush. “I take it you don’t mean a pie I might bake in the oven.”

  “Nope. You know I love to eat your pussy, baby. Let’s grab a few things along the way to make this even sweeter.” I cart her past a stack of towels folded on a table for pool and beach use, then double back to the kitchen. “Open the fridge and grab that champagne. Oh, and that bottle of chocolate sauce.”

  She takes the items cautiously. “What are you going to do?”

  “Feast.” I give her an unrepentant grin as I reach the pantry and search for what I want. “Pick up that jar of maraschino cherries, too.”

  Harlow wraps her hand around it with a halting touch. “This sounds messy.”

  “Yep, not to mention prolonged, sweaty, and dirty as hell.”

  When she’s got everything in her grip, I haul her to the dining room, strip off her shirt and bra, then lay her across the table. She hisses and arches when the cool wood hits her back. I sit at the head, position the foodstuffs nearby, then grab her hips and pull her luscious ass to the edge.

  I lift her skirt. “Panties?” I heave a long-suffering sigh. “I should forbid these.”

  “You can’t do that. My panties are none of your business. What makes you think I’d even listen to you?”

  “Don’t you want to make me happy so I can make you even happier?” I send her a sly grin as I slide the little scrap down her legs and to the floor.

  “Well, when you put it like that…”

  “Glad you see things my way. Now spread your legs, brace your feet on the edge of the table, and lift your hips.” I take hold of the towel.

  “You’re bossy tonight.”

  Despite her complaint, she does it.

  I smile as I slide the towel under her ass. “Occupational hazard. I was the offensive leader of my team, you know. I’m used to taking charge.” I wink her way. “And I know how to score.”

  “Talk about bad jokes…” She gives me a sour expression, but I see her smile peeking through.

  “Yeah, but that’s not why you like me.” I skim my fingertips down the inside of her leg, satisfied when she shudders and her breath skips. I caress her thigh as my gaze latches on to her pussy. My mouth waters. I won’t be able to keep my tongue off of her for long. “What comes next is.”

  With practiced moves, I pop the champagne open and set the cork aside. The bottle fizzles over and splashes bubbly over the rim, down my fingers, then onto her sex. She gasps at the cold. I heat her up by raking my tongue between her lips and into her folds, groaning when her flavor mixes with the sweet effervescence of the champagne. But I stop short of her clit.

  Harlow wriggles. “You were almost to the best spot. Why stop now?”

  “I intend to savor my dessert. Be a good girl, lie back, and let me.”

  Capitulating isn’t her style, and I sense she’s gearing up to mount an argument for argument’s sake. I stop her by latching my mouth on her pussy again, opening as wide as I can to drink her all in at once. Her toes curl. Harlow grips the edge of the table and holds her breath. Her protest becomes a needy whimper.

  God, I love giving her pleasure and having power over her body.

  With a long lick, I ease back and grope for the champagne again and stand, leaning over her to pour a trickle of the chilled liquid into her navel.

  Her stomach contracts and clenches. Her eyes slide shut with a sigh of pleasure. Her beaded nipples and rosy cheeks tell me how aroused she is.

  And I’ve barely started.

  I drink from her skin, relishing the way she writhes under me. Her responses are everything I’ve always wanted and like nothing I’ve experienced. When her fingertips curl around my shoulders, I can actually feel how much she wants this, wants me.

  Swept up in my need, I can’t resist dribbling some bubbly between her breasts and licking the fruity liquid away. I take a swig from the bottle and hold the sparkling wine in my mouth as I capture her nipple against my tongue. When the cold champagne meets her heated flesh, her back twists. Her head thrashes.

  I swallow and repeat the process with the other breast, sucking and tormenting to my heart’s content.

  “Noah…”

  I don’t answer, just curl my tongue around her distended bud and suck deep. It’s swollen from last night. Knowing she’s still sensitive enough to shiver at every lick and nip on her breast turns me on even more.

  Her hips start gyrating against my abdomen, as if her pussy is desperate for stimulation. For climax.

  I wonder if she’s figured out yet that it’s going to be a long time coming…but sooner than I want if I can’t get myself under control. The blow job she gave me a few hours past might as well have been a few decades ago. And her womanly scent is driving my primal urge to get in, sink deep, and fuck hard.

  Easing back, I reach for the bottle of chocolate syrup, give it a shake, and send her a devious smile.

  “You’re not going to drizzle that on my pussy and eat it.” She says the words in warning.

  “Yeah, I am. You’re going to be my perfect sundae. Sweet cream…” I swipe my fingertips through her drenched folds with one hand and open the spout on the plastic bottle with the other. “Chocolate…” I tip the bottle upside down and coat her pretty pink flesh with the liquid cocoa. As
she gasps, the rich scents combine and waft to my nose. I set the bottle aside and reach for the jar at her hip, popping the lid open. “And cherries.”

  “Noah…” She writhes and tosses her head back, throat arching.

  “What, baby?” I fish out one of the candied fruits and let it drip over the jar.

  “Didn’t your mama ever tell you it isn’t polite to keep a girl waiting?”

  I laugh. She’s always got a comeback, and it’s one thing I adore about her.

  “Sure she did. But she meant for a date. We didn’t exactly cover oral sex etiquette. Now lie still and let me enjoy.” I set the jar of cherries on the other side of her thigh, still within reach.

  “But you’re going to torment me.”

  “I am.” And I plan to enjoy every moment…even if I’ll be tormenting myself, as well. Because, no lie, I’d love to strip off my pants and seat myself inside her in the next ten seconds, let my eyes roll back in my head as I lose my sanity to what I already know will be earth-shaking sex. Instead, I hold off. Wait. I want to make this so good for her. Mostly because I want her to want to stay around longer, even if it’s just for the sex.

  If I can make her like me, even better.

  Watching chocolate drip down the pouty flesh of her bare pussy could easily become my new pastime. She’s swollen here, too. Puffy. Perfect. Would she object if I took a picture and hung it on my wall?

  I drag the cherry up the lips of her engorged sex, swiping it through the chocolate and her essence, then settle it between, trailing it up her distended clit. She gasps at the touch, body thrashing. I do it again, slow down the drag, swirl it around the hard, rosy bud. As soon as I lift the candied fruit from her, I follow up with a silken glide of my finger. She bites her lip and wraps her fingers around her breasts, squeezing as if she’s desperate for more.

  I revel in every moment of her sexual agony.

  Using a slow hand, I watch her fall apart by degrees. It’s a lovely sight, and she’s a sensual thing twisting under my touch. I’ve always loved women—the sight, the feel, the softness of them. But Harlow Reed is in a class by herself. I’m captivated by even the littlest things she does, by the way her dark hair gleams on my elegant table, by the way she pants when I touch her, by the way her entire body flushes as she approaches climax.