by Anne, Melody
“Ohh, that’s so good. Please . . . more,” she moaned, leaning her head against the shower wall.
Moving his manhood up and down over her swollen nub a few times more, he waited until he was coated in her juices, then he poised himself for entry.
“Open your eyes,” he commanded her.
She opened them just a little, and, after pulling her up, he slid all the way inside her tight heat.
Her mouth opened in a gasp and he took the opportunity to thrust his tongue inside in perfect rhythm with the way he was plunging into her body, all while gripping her delectable derrière.
The sound of their wet bodies slapping against each other was driving Cooper wild. He sped up and almost poured his seed into her when she tightened around him again. She gave another long and impassioned cry.
He stopped thrusting and held her as she shuddered in ecstasy, and he gently caressed her mouth and squeezed her buttocks. When she slumped against him again, he pulled from her. An act of amazing willpower.
“I’m so worn out,” she said, leaning her head against his shoulder.
“It’s not over, beautiful, not yet,” he whispered into her ear.
“I can’t do any more,” she told him.
“Oh, yes, yes, you can,” he assured her.
Her eyes flew up, and he smiled at her before he turned her around and pressed his arousal against the exquisite cushion of her ass.
“Grip the edge of the bench,” he told her as he pushed against her upper back.
She leaned down, leaving her derrière up in the air. Dropping to his knees, he bit each of those cheeks in turn before soothing the red spots with his tongue, and then he stood again and rested his pulsing erection in the valley she was presenting to him, enjoying how perfect the deep red looked against her light skin.
With his foot, he pushed her legs apart—wider—wider—even wider. When she was fully opened up to him, he reached around and found her still-swollen nub, which he stroked a few times, making her twitch against him.
With his other hand he guided himself down the middle of her ass until he reached her core, and then he thrust back inside her. Now it was time for them both to feel pleasure.
She groaned as he moved his hand between her folds, up her belly to her tender nipples, and then back again. He continued caressing her with one hand while gripping her hip with the other, thrusting and thrusting.
“Come for me one more time, baby,” he told her as he felt his release drawing nearer.
He flicked his fingers against her bud and she screamed as she convulsed around him so intensely that he almost reached orgasm without any movement at all. But he had to move. Pushing deep inside her, he released a hot stream of pleasure, pulsing over and over again until he was entirely drained.
When he could finally take a step back, Cooper felt lost pulling away from her heat. And she nearly collapsed before him, but he was able to catch her.
“That was . . . it was . . . I don’t even know how . . .” She was clearly at a loss for words.
“It was perfect,” he told her as he lifted her in his arms and then stepped from the shower. He grabbed a couple of towels before carrying her back to his room.
He dried her off before laying her down gently on the bed, and he quickly dried himself. Then he joined her, pulling her back into his arms. He wasn’t willing to let her go just yet. Or anytime soon, for that matter.
He’d be careful, he assured himself. This was only sex—just really, really good sex. The thought didn’t appease him like it should have as he finally closed his eyes and fell into an exhausted slumber.
CHAPTER FOUR
Never before had Stormy had to do the walk of shame, but as she grabbed her tiny handbag and slowly crept away from Green Eyes’ bedroom, she glanced back over her shoulder and took in a deep breath.
Dang, the man was good-looking—beyond good-looking, actually, especially now, with stubble on his strong jawline and his muscled arm thrown up above his head, the blankets resting very low on his beautiful hips. Just a few more inches . . .
No, she didn’t need to entertain that thought. This was a man she would never see again. Their only connection was the Anderson wedding—a wedding she’d crashed. Her one night of debauchery couldn’t cause any repercussions.
When she was on the upper deck of his boat, she peeked out to see whether anyone was around. How paranoid was that? It was about eight in the morning and the wedding reception had gone on long into the night. Everyone was most likely asleep and cruising for a champagne bruising.
Still, she was going to have to trek back up the trail they’d come down the night before, sneak out to the front gate—which had seemed to be a mile from the Anderson castle—and then pray that it was open. The last thing she wanted to do was trudge back to the house and beg someone to let her out.
They’d know exactly what she’d been doing. And even though they had no idea who she was and she would never see them again, her embarrassment would be incalculable. She knew it shouldn’t matter, but she cared about what people thought of her.
Stormy made it to the top of the trail and then peered out at the house, surprised to see activity in the backyard. Trucks were there hauling things away and the yard was almost back to normal, or what she assumed was normal, after that enormous party. Wow! These Anderson people moved really fast.
Putting her head down, she walked as quickly as her body-hugging little red dress would allow. She made no eye contact with anyone as she hurried along.
“Hello there!”
The boisterous voice startled her so much, she dropped her purse and jumped into the air. As she came back down, off balance, the heel on her shoe snapped, and after wobbling for a moment, she landed hard on her rear end.
“I’m so sorry, darling,” the man said—a freaking giant.
He approached quickly, moving far faster than she would think a man his age could. Bending down, he reached for her hand and easily tugged her back to her feet, where she teetered on the broken shoe.
She had no doubt that this was the famous Joseph Anderson, and she fully understood his reputation as a man to whom no one could ever say no.
“Don’t worry about it. I was in my own world,” she said, looking way up at his concerned expression. He had to be many,many inches over six feet. She only stood five feet six—in heels, and she was now short one of those. His silver hair only made him more distinguished in her opinion, and the twinkle in his surprisingly sharp blue eyes made her instantly inclined to trust him.
“Come on inside and we’ll get you fixed up,” he insisted as he pulled her toward the house. She stumbled behind him.
Uh-oh, maybe she could imagine telling him no after all. She wasn’t going into his house. Not a chance. She had to get away before Green Eyes awoke.
“Oh, no. I was just getting ready to leave,” she said, trying without success to tug against the beast of a man.
“I can’t send you off without making sure you’re all right, not after causing you to fall,” Joseph said.
“I promise you, I’m okay. I really just want to get going now,” she said as she continued to stumble along after him.
He stopped and looked at her, and Stormy’s cheeks flushed at what he must be thinking. He had to know she’d just walked away from someone’s bed. He must be wondering which guy it had been. Maybe he was worried about it being one of his kin. For all she knew, Green Eyes was related to Joseph. The man had sported a really nice boat that was docked on the Anderson pier.
“I’m Joseph Anderson, by the way,” he said, releasing his protective grip on her hand. It seemed as though he expected her to now introduce herself. Something she absolutely didn’t want to do.
“It’s very nice to meet you, Mr. Anderson. As I said, I’m doing just fine, so I’ll be on my way,” she said as she retreated. The firs
t thing she did was remove her shoes and grip them tightly in one hand.
“Where’s your car parked, Miss . . . ?” He trailed off, obviously waiting for her to give her name again.
“I rode here with a friend. I’ve called a cab, and it’s picking me up at the gate, so I’d best hurry,” she said. She hadn’t yet called the damned cab, but she was planning to as soon as she escaped from the intimidating Anderson patriarch.
“Then I’ll walk you to the gate,” Joseph said.
This walk of shame just kept on getting worse and worse. Now the man was going to catch her in a lie. Her humiliation was complete.
“Well, I haven’t actually called the cab yet. I was just getting ready to when I ran into you. So I had best get going and do that. By the time I get to the gate, the cab will be waiting for me,” she said with a sheepish laugh.
“Nonsense, young lady. If you were a guest at the party, I insist on having my driver give you a ride home,” Joseph said, once again tugging on her arm.
Stormy gasped. “I couldn’t have you do that.”
“I won’t take no for an answer.”
And that was why the man always got his way, she decided.
Within a minute, a black car pulled up; a man emerged from the driver’s side and opened the back door for her. Stormy found herself practically pushed into the car, and the only relief she felt was when the car pulled away from the Anderson mansion.
She didn’t look back to see Joseph reach down and pick up the locket that had dropped from her neck, or the smile he wore as he held it.
All fairy tales must come to an end, and when she got home and walked inside, she was cruelly thrust back into the real world—her carriage was now a pumpkin again, and her glass slipper left behind . . .
Turbulent Intentions is now available. Click HERE to purchase!
About the Author
Melody Anne is a New York Times and USA Today bestselling author who has written a number of popular series, including Billionaire Bachelors, Surrender, Baby for the Billionaire, and Billionaire Aviators Series. Along with romance and young adult novels, Melody has also recently collaborated with fellow authors J.S. Scott and Ruth Cardello for Taken by a Trillionaire.
A country girl at heart, Melody loves the small town and strong community she lives in. When she’s not writing, she enjoys spending time with her family, friends, and beloved pets. Most of all, she loves being able to do what makes her happiest . . . living in a fantasy world (for at least 95 percent of the time).
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