by Stacey Mills
She smiled as she chewed and chewed and chewed before swallowing.
"How are they?" he asked eagerly. He shoveled in some and spat it out. "Oh. Wow. That's just…"
Megan lifted another forkful. "I can't remember the last time someone cooked for me."
He lowered her hand. "Please, don't force yourself to eat it."
Her stomach churned. While she didn't want to eat the food, but she also didn't want to waste it. Eggs were expensive. Hell, the price of milk was crazy now. Every time she went to the grocery store, she winced at the bill. Cooking for one didn't help to lower that expense.
Lucca's sigh cut through her thoughts. "I never made eggs before. I thought it would be easy enough but…" He shrugged.
She maneuvered her arm so his hand fell into hers. "You should've left it to the professional."
Her joke had him relaxing. "I just wanted to—"
"The thought's been noted." She gathered their plates and brought them to the counter. "Why don't you clean those while I whip up a fresh batch?"
Megan grabbed the carton of eggs, spinach, milk, and cheese from the fridge. She turned the heat on low and used a fresh pan since the one he'd been using was beyond dirty with clumps of overcooked eggs mixed with undercooked chunks still in it.
As she started to scramble the eggs with a fork, careful not to overscramble and to capture air so they'd be light and fluffy, she realized she had an audience.
"Go away." She swatted him with the spatula.
"Can't I watch you make your magic?"
"And sell my secrets? No. Go." She waited until he walked over to the table to resume her work.
He eyed her still, and she tried not to be embarrassed. She wasn't used to having someone hover over her shoulder. It kinda reminded her of her mama, who always harped at her to make things the "right" way without adding any flair or substitutions. She had always been experimenting with food, ever since middle school. Her mama thought that it was unnatural. "Guys like their girls thick but not too thick. Curves but not rolls. You keep eating all the time and you'll blow up to a balloon and who will want you then? No one, that's who."
It made her so mad to think about that now. She'd almost started down the road to an eating disorder because of her mama's spiteful words. Yes, she enjoyed her food, but why shouldn't she enjoy the fruits of her labor? Besides, she was at a healthy weight.
It took her longer to cook their omelets than Lucca had spent on his, and her stomach was rumbling by the time they were done. She brought them over, and Lucca didn't even wait for her to sit down before he dug in.
His eyes widened and then closed as he swallowed. "Now that is good." His grin died, and his lower lip protruded.
"What is it?" She hesitated to take her first bite, waiting for his answer.
"I guess you won't be willing to teach me how to make them because of your secrets." He ate with a good appetite, but he also was taking his time. Like he did with her last night.
She crossed her legs, moisture pooling between them. "I might be willing to teach you a few things," she offered. Her gaze ever so slightly shifted toward her bedroom.
His crooked grin had her heart rate racing. "I'm a quick learner."
"Good."
They rushed their meal, eager to get back to it. Who was this Lucca? To try to make her breakfast even if he had failed was so sweet and tender, but he had been controlling and dominating and wild in the bedroom. She enjoyed both sides thoroughly.
Then again, her thief boyfriend had seemed sweet too. When it came to men, she had a losing record. The guy before that, the first guy she had slept with ever and her high school boyfriend, had lied to her. If there was anything worse than stealing, it was lying. Betraying trust wasn't something she could forgive.
Which was why she had wanted to learn more about this Lucca. Already she was growing close to him, and since she knew next to nothing about him, that really scared her.
But for right now, she was willing to be the teacher in the bedroom. She could show him a few tricks, she was sure. Later on, there would be time to get to know the real Lucca.
As soon as they scraped the last of their omelets onto their forks and swallowed the final bite, she held out her hand and led him back to her bedroom.
Chapter Seven: The Student
It wasn't often that Lucca gave up control. Even with his father's business, he was so high up the ladder that most everyone had to obey him. In the bedroom, the women he invited fell over themselves to do whatever he wanted. For my money, he thought bitterly.
Giving over control to Megan, though, that he didn't seem to mind so much. Maybe it was because she was still a mystery, a puzzle he had to solve, an unknown he found intriguing. Regardless, he found himself growing very hard as she led him to her bed.
She popped in a CD—no iPod for her, he noticed—and Janet Jackson started to croon about any time, any place. Swaying her hips, Megan made her way over to him as he sat on the edge of her bed. Along the way, she grabbed his shirt from the floor. Her right knee she placed by his left leg on the bed, and she stretched her body down over his, forcing him to lie back. With his shirt still in her grasp, she coaxed his arms above his head, and using his shirt as rope, she tied his wrists together. Nice and tight. He tested it immediately.
"Now, now." Megan wagged a finger at him. "Don't try that again."
"Or?" he asked with a grin, his arm muscles tightening. He wanted to defy her just to see what she would do.
"Sh." Her finger touched his lips.
He couldn't help himself. He parted his lips and licked her finger.
The slap was sharp and unexpected, on the side of his ass. A jolt flew straight to his cock.
Her eyebrows arched. "Liked that, did you?" Her smile grew positively wicked.
His cock was throbbing by now, but she didn't seem to care. In time to the sensual beat of the song, she licked, twisted, kissed, bit, and sucked his nipples. Each touch, with either her tongue, fingers, lips, or teeth, only made him want her all the more. He couldn't stop himself from gyrating slightly.
Another slap. His balls tightened in response, and a moan was ripped from his lips.
"You're a bad boy, I can tell." She spread his legs and sat on his cock, not with him in her, oh no, but she rolled her hips, grinding him, giving him a lap dance except he was lying flat on his back instead of sitting up.
Megan lifted her hair from her neck, bouncing up and down, and her breasts shook and jiggled, and he was growing near the edge. Already. Without even being in her. Astonishing. She looked like a model. So perfect. So devastating. So crazy.
He loved what she was doing and hoped she wouldn't ever stop.
The song ended, and the second one started, this one much faster pace. Without missing a beat, Megan picked up speed. Her wet folds slicked and slid along his cock, her black curls tickling him, and drops of precum squirted out. Her grin was devious as she fingered his tip, spreading the wetness around. When she put that finger wet with his precum in her mouth, he lost control. Hot cum spewed out from his cock onto his belly. She continued to grind against him, forcing his cock to continue pulsing and twitching and emptying every last drop from him.
"How…" He moved to sit up. He never came that quickly. Never. He was almost disappointed in himself.
Her hand slapped his upper torso, driving him back down. "I'm not done."
His cock had started to grow limp, but when she leaned down and licked up the mess she created, he began to harden again. She twisted around so her fine ass was in his face, her tongue still licking, her one hand stroking his growing length, the other toying with his balls.
No way would he be able to come again, but it still felt incredible. Lying back like this, being the recipient of so much pleasure… That should be every guy's dream come true, but all he wanted was to give back, to hear her moan, make her shout his name, have her feel as good as she was making him feel.
But he didn't want to be slapped aga
in. It had felt strange to take pleasure from pain, so instead of just doing what he wanted to do to her, he felt compelled to say, "I'm still hungry."
In answer, she shoved her pussy toward his face, and he proceeded to eat her out. The taste of her drove him wild, but when her lips and tongue moved from his stomach to his cock, he was in a near frenzy. They were both moaning around the other's sex, fighting to get the other off first. Being bound forced him to only use his lips and tongue, and he alternated between giving attention to her clit and to her pussy. With every second, she grew wetter and wetter until she screamed out, "Lucca!" and he knew she was his.
Before he could even feel the cold air from her mouth leaving his cock from when she shouted his name, she was right back to sucking. His hips jerked up and down, and unbelievably, he knew he was on the brink, as impossible as that was. Her teeth ever so slightly grazed his tip, and he orgasmed again. No ejaculation this time, or only very little, but he still felt waves of pleasure.
She rolled off of him, her head by his knees, and her ankles by his face. It was impossible to tell who was breathing more heavily.
"You are…"
Megan sat up slightly, leaning on her forearms. "Taught you something new, huh?"
"I…" Lucca shook his head. He had been able to orgasm twice in one night before, but not so close together. An aftershock pulsed through his cock, and he groaned.
I'll take that as a yes." Giggling, she closed her eyes. "I'm ready to go back to sleep."
"Me too."
She opened her eyes in time to see him lifting his eyebrows suggestively. Her laughter washed over him, her smile amazing. Maybe she wasn't a classic beauty, but she was still breathtaking. Her smile did something to him, her laugh even more. He found himself wanting to make her laugh again.
"I can't though." She stretched, and his gaze roved over her body. Such dark nipples, they looked so hard yet. Her hair, her wild eyes, her breathlessness—everything suggested she had just had a good romp in the hay.
"You should think about quitting," he said.
Megan pursed her lips. "So I can spend the rest of the day in bed with you?" Her laugh this time wasn't quite so freeing.
"Yes and because you should quit," he said more seriously.
Some of the light in her chocolate eyes dimmed. "Can't even think about that until I have another job lined up."
He couldn't fathom what it was like to work a new job. Since he had turned twelve, he had started to intern at his father's company—unpaid until he turned sixteen. The business was all he knew.
And if he didn't marry before his birthday, she wouldn't be the only one trying to find a new place of employment. The thought unsettled him, and he frowned.
"Hey, you tried my cooking. It's good, right? Maybe not five-star quality, but I'm learning every day. Give me a bunch of random ingredients, and I'll be able to whip something up."
Her confidence was sexy. Maybe others guys would be put off, not thinking they would be man enough for an assertive woman, but he was willing to give her a shot. So far, he had no reason at all to think she was like the other fake women he had dated. Well, fucked a bunch of times would be more accurate. He didn't really date.
"I don't know," he said slowly. "That omelet…"
Her eyes flashed darkly, her hands on her wide hips. Child-bearing hips.
Where had that come from? Marriage was one thing. Kids another.
"What about that omelet?" She tilted her head to the side.
He licked his lips. "Tasted five-star quality to me."
She swatted his shoulder. "As if you would know."
For a second, he froze. Then he burst out laughing. "I do have an imagination."
"Hm. Good to know." She picked up his jeans—she must've brought them in here—and her hand rifled through a pocket.
His wallet. His phone. Two means for her to learn who he was.
But he didn't need to have worried. She tossed him his phone. "My number is…"
"Wait." He rushed to unlock it. "Go ahead."
She dictated her number almost too fast for him to catch.
Lucca grinned. "I'll send you a text so you have mine."
"Oh, I don't have a texting plan."
"You don't?"
Megan winced, and he wanted to slap himself. "That's not a cell number. It's my landline. I had a pay as you go phone for a while, but I'm not even sure where it is or the last time I used it."
There he went, making assumptions. "Sorry."
She laughed and waved his words away. "How many New Yorkers do you think don't have cell phones?" Megan held up a long finger and then pointed to herself. "Now, this one has to get ready for work." Biting her lip, she hesitated. "Could you… let yourself out?"
He stood and dressed quickly, glad she watched although her thoughts seemed to be far away. "When can I see you again?"
Her eyebrows rose. "Aren't you afraid of getting sick of me?"
"No," he said honestly.
"Since I don't have your number, guess the ball's in your court." Her grin devastated him.
Lucca stepped toward her for a hug, but she darted away. A moment later, he heard the water running. Not wanting to be the reason for her to be late for work and be given even more grief from her asshole of a boss, he left.
Outside, he removed his cell and eyed her number before realizing he had two missed calls—one from Paul and one from the lawyer. He called back Mr. Valet. His secretary explained that he was in a meeting and said she'd be sure to have him return his call.
Next he dialed Paul as he raised his hand to hail a cab. One pulled up as soon as Paul answered. He dictated his address to the driver then said into his phone, "What's up, Paul?"
"Don't you know it's rude to talk to someone else when you're on the phone?"
"I do know. I just thought you'd give me some slack."
There was a slight pause. "You sound different."
"Well rested?" Lucca supplied. The seats weren't the most cushioned, but he didn't mind.
"No, that's not it."
He snorted. He hadn't gotten much sleep at all, truth be told.
"You… you sound… you're happy?" Paul sounded incredulous.
Lucca held still. The taxi driver hung a left to avoid traffic, and he held onto the door so he wouldn't fall over. Was he happy? Maybe. Why didn't he feel guilty over feeling happiness so soon after his father's death?
Because maybe he understood another reason why his father had the stipulation. Father wants me to be happy. The thought came as a shock.
"Lucca? Are you still there?"
"Yes. What do you want?" He could hardly focus on his friend.
"I met these awesome women last night. I think you'd really hit it off with one of them. Hell, with both of them. They're gorgeous with killer legs and flawless skin and…"
His friend droned on, but Lucca wasn't listening. Knowing Paul, these women would be just like the others. Paul came from money himself, had hardly worked for it. He wasn't the kind of guy to marry for love. He'd date—screw—around until he found one woman who drove him wild in bed. They'd get married, he'd get bored, and they'd get divorced. It happened once already with a redhead called Ursula and then with Danielle.
"Listen, I have to go," Lucca said abruptly.
"That's fine, but which one do you want to take to my Labor Day party?"
"Neither."
"Lucca, you only have—"
"I know how long I have. Don't worry. I'll be there," he promised.
"With a date?" Paul pressed.
"Yes." Lucca hung up.
The only woman he wanted to bring along was Megan, but how could he do that when she didn't know who he was or how wealthy he was?
Maybe they were too different. Certainly he felt connected to her physically and sexually, but love meant more than just sex, didn't it? For Lucca, relationships had always been about the sex. Now that he wanted more, would he even recognize love when he felt it?
&
nbsp; Chapter Eight: Working Girl
Despite her hectic morning, Megan managed to make it to work on time. For the next two hours, she worked nonstop. Every step sent a pleasant ache throughout her body, reminding her of why she was so sore. Lucca. Would he call her? When? Maybe she should've taken his number. A girl could call a guy nowadays without looking too forward.
She giggled to herself. No way could she be more forward with him than she already had.
"What's so funny?" a nasally voice asked. "Table two is still waiting for their appetizers."
Megan exhaled slowly. "Table two already has their appetizers and their salads," she informed her boss, careful to keep her tone light and even.
"Always slacking, running off at the mouth, not listening to your superiors…" Dave's upper lip curled back into a sneer. "You think you're all high and mighty, but you're nothing special. I could replace you easily."
"So why don't you?" She turned her back to him to add a tray of various meats to the oven.
"Who says I haven't been calling around and making inquiries?"
Maybe he was bluffing. Maybe not. It was impossible to tell. Dave Fremount's arrogance was only exceeded by his overinflated sense of self-worth.
"Just fire me already then," she said wearily. At least then she'd have a small severance package, although finding another job before rent was due might prove impossible. The thought churned her stomach. Maybe she ate too many eggs this morning. Normally, she only grabbed some toast in the morning before work, preferring to keep her stomach mostly empty. The more appetizing the smell of her cooking, the better she knew her dishes to be. The hungrier she was, the sharper her nose, for whatever reason. It worked for her. A secret I can't share with Lucca because he'd think I'm crazy. Maybe I am a little. I just want to race home and see if he's left me a message yet. Probably hasn't. If he does read those magazines, he'll make me wait a week or even longer before calling so he doesn't look desperate.
"I'm not firing you. Yet." Dave stalked away as fast as his girth would allow.