by Melody Grace
I shudder, feeling the tension build. Oh god.
“You like that, huh?” Will sees every gasp, every clench. “You want me to talk dirty to you, sweetheart? Because I can do it all day long. How my cock’s going to own every inch of you, fill that sweet pussy until you don’t think you can take it anymore. But you will, baby, believe me,” he swears, stroking me faster, with devastating accuracy. I feel it, the low shiver starting deep in my spine, circling higher. “You’ll be begging by the time I’m through. But I won’t give it to you easy,” Will murmurs. “No, I’m going to fuck you my way,” he swears. “Hard and deep, so you know how it feels to let a man in, all the way. Every inch, every last moment.
“You’re going to be mine.”
Pleasure slams through me. The world implodes in a rush of sweet release, and I fall against him, gasping as the orgasm races through my veins. Will holds me up, kissing me through the storm, until finally I surface, shaking under the hot spray.
Oh. My. God.
I don’t think I’ve ever come so hard in my life before. My whole body is singing with a wild pleasure, and the room barely stops spinning enough for me to see straight.
Holy mother of epic orgasms, how the hell did he do that?
And when can I get more?
Will sets me back on my feet again. “You alive in there?” his voice comes, sounding amused.
“Barely.” I take a deep breath, and lift my head, seeing the boyish look of triumph on his face. “Don’t look so smug,” I warn him, laughing. I push him playfully, and Will laughs.
“Is it so bad for a man to take pride in his handiwork?”
I shake my head, unable to keep the smile from my face. “Men. You think giving one tiny orgasm means you’ve scaled Everest.”
“Tiny?” Will catches my hand, and yanks me hard against him. “Admit it,” he says, his eyes flashing with dark lust. “You just came so hard you saw God.”
I laugh, dancing away from him, but I don’t deny it. “We need to get out of here before I turn into a shriveled prune,” I say instead, shutting off the water. I step out into the unfinished bathroom and shiver. “You got any towels in this place?”
“Bedroom, down the hall,” Will answers, so I walk barefoot, naked, and dripping wet, until find his bedroom: the windows wide open to the hazy evening heat, a simple king-sized bed in the middle of the room dressed in crisp navy linens that look so soft and inviting, I could snuggle in deep and never get out. I find the towels hanging from the closet door and blot one against my wet hair, tossing the other to Will as he arrives in the doorway.
He wraps it around his waist, and his stomach lets out a rumble I can hear from across the room. “Dinner?” he suggests, smiling. “I have leftover pizza in the fridge.”
“Fancy.”
“If you’re lucky, I might scrounge up a couple of paper plates.”
“You know how to treat a woman,” I tease, and Will laughs, pulling me into his arms.
“Damn straight I do.” He kisses me, slow and easy, the kind of kiss that could last all night—until his stomach sounds again.
I laugh and pull back. “Time to feed the beast.”
“Is that a promise?” There’s a glint in Will’s eye. He crosses to the dresser and pulls out a fresh pair of jeans, tugging them on while I enjoy the view. Then he digs out a button-down shirt, and some drawstring jogging pants for me. “Not exactly your size, I know . . .”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
Will heads downstairs, and I dry off and get dressed. I’m swimming in his pants, but I tie the drawstring tight and roll up the sleeves on his shirt to make them fit, toweling off my hair and twisting it up in a wet braid. I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror above the bureau: my cheeks flushed pink, and my eyes bright and shining. I look like I’ve just had the best sex of my life—but I haven’t, not even close.
Not yet.
The sun is just starting to sink over the woods when I find Will shirtless out on the back deck, nuking a plate of pizza in a dangerous-looking microwave. “You weren’t kidding about the paper plates,” I say, looking at the haphazard collection of plastic takeout utensils and condiments he’s got set up on a folding table. “Don’t tell me this is your kitchen?”
“Until I get the gas line checked, I’m afraid so.” Will pulls a couple of beers from the cooler and offers me one. “But on the plus side, there’s no clean-up required.”
“It’s like being back in college,” I laugh, taking a bottle and toasting it against his. I take a sip, relishing the cold buzz, but I can’t help looking around again at the shabby work-in-progress. “You know, it’s not too late to change your mind,” I suggest. “I could find someone to take this off your hands, set you up somewhere with an actual working range.”
“Don’t you worry about me.” Will moves closer, and slides a hand around my waist. “You’re off the clock. Relax.”
“I might relax right through that hole in the porch.” I eye it cautiously.
“I’ll catch you.” Will hooks one finger over the waistband on my pants, yanking me against him. I laugh and melt into his arms, reaching up to claim a kiss, savoring the warmth of his bare chest, and how I seem to fit in the nook of his shoulder, just right.
Deeper, hotter, we’ve barely had our hands off each other all afternoon, but still, I want more. Will backs me up against the porch railing, ignoring the “ding” of the microwave as we feast on each other, instead. His hands slide up under the hem of my shirt, tracing wildfire across my naked skin. “The food . . .” I say breathlessly, already arching against him, offering myself to his wandering hands.
“I’m not so hungry anymore.” Will bends his head and drags a trail of smoldering kisses down my neck, flicking his tongue over the delicate hollow of my throat. “Besides, I made you a promise, and you know, I’m a man of my word.”
I shiver. He is, and not just when it comes to my pleasure.
“You’ll be mine.”
I pull back. “I forgot!” I exclaim. “I have a movie date with Lottie and Kit tonight. I’m running late already.”
Will’s hands slide lower, teasing the waistband of my pants. “Sure you can’t cancel?”
His mouth grazes my neck again, pushing my shirt off one bare shoulder. My body is melting towards him, already caught up in the magic of his sinful touch, but I force myself to step away and yank my clothes back into place. “Sorry, she’s been kind of lonely since her sister left,” I explain quickly. “I think she just needs some girl time, you know?”
I feel guilty, but it’s only half a lie. Lottie did want me to hang tonight, and I know she’ll be happy to see me. Still, I feel a stab of regret as Will smiles at me. “I get it,” he says. “But just know, you’re missing out on all of this.” He points to himself, and the reheated leftovers, and I laugh.
“Next time.”
Will puts on a shirt, and gives me a ride back to where I left my car by the creek. I get out, and look at the water regretfully. I can still see part of Harold the boat sticking out of the water, stuck in the mud of the shallows. “I guess I should find someone to haul him out.”
Will gives me an apologetic look. “I’m sorry I broke your boat.”
“It’s not your fault,” I sigh. I head over to my car, and Will opens the door for me.
“I’ll call you,” he says, and I nod, trying to ignore the unsettled feeling in my stomach.
“Bye.” I lean up on tiptoes and drop a quick kiss on the corner of his lips, but Will catches me around the waist and kisses me deeper, leaning me back against the car and claiming my mouth so thoroughly, I’m left reeling and dizzy, and breathless in his arms. God, this man can kiss: his hands sliding hotly over the curve of my hips, his tongue stroking me slowly, intoxicating. A promise of so much more.
He releases me, breathing heavy. “Next time,” he tells me with a wink. I nod, half-falling back into the driver’s seat. I manage to fumble the keys into the ignition, and I drive
away, watching him recede in the rearview mirror. It already feels wrong to be leaving him there, when I could be wrapped up in his arms; naked in his bed. Just a taste isn’t enough. I need all of him.
And I’ve never needed anyone before.
I turn back to the road. This is why I made the excuse about Lottie, why I need a moment to catch my breath. Just as fast as the pleasure took over, now I feel something else spinning through me, off-balance, too close to the edge. I want him, god, I want him so bad, but a part of me is still holding fast to keep control.
I’ve known from the start that he’s different from all the other guys. Nobody’s ever pursued me like this, and nobody’s ever treated me this way either—looked past all the flirty quips and careless teasing, and seen the part of me I never show.
He wants to know me. Not just for a brief fling, or a couple of crazy nights of fun. He’s never asked for more, but I saw it in his eyes today: that fierce possession, a heat that could take us both down in flames.
“You’re going to be mine.”
Ten.
I show up on Lottie’s doorstep with a takeout pizza, a bag of chips, and one condition: no talking about William Wyatt Montgomery.
Lottie seems puzzled, but she keeps her word, and we spend the rest of the evening curled up on the couch, watching old Julia Roberts movies with Kit snoozing, sound asleep between us. I let out a yawn as the final credits roll—which quickly turns into a sneeze. Lottie reacts like she’s heard a gunshot go off.
“No!” she whispers loudly, scooping Kit into her arms and turning to shield him. “No germs, we just got done with that flu last month!”
“I’m fine.” I sniffle, grabbing a tissue.
“Hmmm.” Lottie gives me a dubious look. She gets up and retreats a safe distance with Kit still in her arms. “You don’t look so hot. You should take some Emergen-C or something.”
I roll my eyes. “I don’t get sick,” I tell her proudly. “I haven’t had so much as a cold in years—ATCHEWW.” I sneeze again, and then twice more until my eyes are streaming.
Lottie points to the door. “I love you, babe, but you haven’t stayed up half the night feeding this guy cough syrup. Out! Call me when you’re not contagious.”
“I’m not—ATCHEW.”
“Out!”
I get my stuff and head back across town. Now that I think about it, my throat feels kind of scratchy, but it’s probably nothing. Like I told Lottie, I don’t get sick. I haven’t taken a day off in years, and I don’t plan on starting now.
I’m just unlocking the door when my phone buzzes: a text from Will.
How’s girls’ night going?
Fun, I text back. Back home now.
Want someone to come tuck you in?
My stomach curls. Lust comes rushing back to me in an instant, but the hesitation I felt before hasn’t gone anywhere. It’s still lurking, uneasy in the back of my mind.
I’m not ready to take this step with him.
Rain check? I type instead. I’m beat.
Sweet dreams xo
When I see my reflection in the hall mirror, I know I’ve made the right call: my eyes are streaming, and my nose could give Rudolph a run for his money. I dig out a couple of vitamin bottles from the kitchen drawer and down a handful before I go to bed, certain that whatever it is, I’ll feel better in the morning.
I’m wrong. My bulletproof immune system must have been shot by spending half the afternoon splashing around in running water, because I wake up sick. Really sick. Burning eyes and raw throat and streaming nose and pounding headache kind of sick. All I want to do is bury myself back under the covers and never come out again, but I have viewing appointments booked with a client all morning; they’re driving in from the city and I can’t just bail on them, and besides, with Marcie gone now, I’m the only one who can do it.
The show must go on.
I stumble out of bed and get dressed, sneezing every other breath. I look like death warmed over, but I manage to slap on some concealer and make myself look halfway human before heading to the door.
The hallway starts spinning. I cling to the wall.
No. Not today. Mind over matter, I tell myself, that’s all that counts. For a moment, I wish I was a kid again, tucked in my pajamas while Mom brings me hot tea, but I’m an adult, and adulting means downing two shots of Emergen-C and three multi-vitamins and giving myself an epic pep talk while I try not to cough up a lung.
Repeat after me: you’re a goddamn rock star, you can beat a mild fever any day.
Rock star or not, by noon, fever is whipping my ass. “And look at all these windows,” I surreptitiously blow my nose, guiding Liv Sullivan and her sister, Annie, through the next house. They’re the tip I got the other week: in her sixties and recently widowed, Annie wants to move to Oak Harbor to be closer to her sister and family. We’ve been looking at small, low-maintenance properties for her all morning, but this cute craftsman cottage is definitely the best of the bunch. “South-facing, so you get the sea breezes. And the light is incredible—”I sneeze again. “Excuse me.”
Annie fishes a tissue from her bag. “Are you sure you’re OK, sweetie?” she looks concerned.
“I’m fine! Just, hayfever allergies, that’s all,” I cover, ushering them through to the cute, farmhouse-style kitchen that opens up to a small, flower-filled garden. “Isn’t this just adorable? You said you had a green thumb, didn’t you?”
“Oh, look at that courtyard!” Liv exclaims. “Can’t you just imagine having a nice cup of coffee out there, with all the pretty flowers?”
Annie looks around, starting to smile. She’s been quiet and hard to read all morning, but finally, I recognize the look in her eyes. That’s the look my clients get when they find The One: when they can imagine themselves living somewhere for real, cooking dinner at the range and unpacking their books on the hallway shelves.
“You two go wander, soak it up,” I tell them. “I’ll have a chat with the broker, see what the situation is.”
Annie glances around. There are at least three other people looking around right now, some couples, and a family with kids in tow, who are loudly talking about how perfect it is, and how they need to make an offer right away. “I don’t want to get in a bidding war,” Annie whispers, looking worried. “The budget’s already tight.”
“Don’t worry,” I reassure her. “Let me figure that out.”
The women head outside, and I can see them talking—Liv enthusiastic, but Annie is already worried she’s going to lose out before this new life is even hers.
“Great property, isn’t it?” I look up. The selling agent has come into the room, a smug smile on his face. Ron Parsons, a broker from up the coast, heavyset in a lime-green polo shirt and chinos. “We’re getting a lot of interest.”
“Hmmm.” I smile, non-committal. “That’s great.”
“If your buyers are interested in making an offer, I’ll tell you now, you should probably go full ask, or even a little more,” he adds, as if he’s doing me a favor. “Like I said, this won’t last long.”
I hide a smile. Ron has a reputation for bidding up the value of a house with some underhand tricks, and I’m pretty sure that loud, enthusiastic family has been at every one of his open houses for the past year. So either they’re really, really picky, or Ron here has roped in his extended family to show up and try to pressure other buyers into putting in high bids.
“Do you actually have any offers?” I ask sweetly.
“Not right now,” Ron admits, clearing his throat. “But they’re coming soon.”
“Right. Well, we have a bunch of other places to look at, so I’m not sure this one will rate.” I look around with an exaggerated sigh. “These older houses, you never know the problems lurking.” I wrinkle my nose. “Is that . . . mold?” Right on cue, I sneeze, only this time, it’s actually helpful: Ron’s eyes widen with horror.
“Mold? No!”
“Huh, OK then.” I casually stuff the fl
yer in my bag. “We’ll let you know.”
Ron walks off, anxiously sniffing at the air. I smile. This place will be perfect for Annie, but I’m not going to let her spend a dollar more than she’s comfortable paying. I’ll let Ron hang for another few days, then make a low opening offer, and see where we can wind up.
My phone rings. It’s Will calling, and I answer with a sneeze. “Sorry,” I sniffle, making a mental note to pick up more vitamins. “Hi.”
“You OK?” he asks. “You don’t sound too hot.”
“Ugh, I’m not,” I admit. “I think I caught a chill yesterday.”
“Poor baby.” Will sounds sympathetic. “You need me to bring anything?”
“No, I’ll be fine,” I insist. “But I think I better take a rain check on hanging out, at least until I’m feeling better.”
“Sounds good. Let me know how you’re doing.”
I hang up, fighting guilt. Blowing off Will isn’t an excuse, I tell myself. I am sick, and lord knows I wouldn’t want to be around me right now.
I go meet Annie and Liv in the garden. “Ready to make a move?” I ask.
Annie smiles happily, looking around. “I could sit here all day. That’s a good sign, isn’t it?”
“Very good. But you should sleep on it,” I tell her gently. “Take your time, and think it through. We’re in no hurry.”
“See?” Liv interrupts. “I told you she wouldn’t push you into something just to make the sale.”
I sneeze again. “I should put that on my business cards.”
Annie tuts at me. “You need to get back to bed.”
“But we have another place to view. I’ll be fine,” I promise again, but she just guides me out the door.
“No offence, my dear, but you’re in no state to be working. Besides, I don’t need to see anywhere else. You go take it easy, and we’ll talk tomorrow about making an offer.”
I’m in no state to disagree. I say my goodbyes to Annie and Liv, and make it back home, my head pounding worse than ever. Every step takes Herculean effort, and all I want to do is crawl into bed, but I manage to change into sweatpants and my slubbiest shirt. I’m just making tea when the doorbell rings.