by Maisey Yates
At least, he could if he remembered correctly.
“Good thing I brought about three boxes of condoms.”
“For two days? You did have high hopes for the weekend.”
“Ten years,” she reiterated.
“Point taken.”
He moved his hands down, slowly working at his belt. The way that she licked her lips as her eyes followed his every movement ratcheting up his arousal another impossible notch.
Everything felt too sharp, too clear, every rasp of fabric over his skin, every downward flick of her eyes, every small, near-imperceptible gasp on her lips.
He hadn’t been in a bedroom alone with a woman in a long damn time. And it was all catching up with him now.
Shutting down, being a mean bastard who didn’t let anyone close? That was easy enough. It made it easy to forget. He shut the world out, stripped everything away. Reverted back to the way he had been just after his parents had died and it had been too difficult to feel anything more than his grief.
That was what he had done in the past five years. That was what he had done with his new, impossible loss that never should have happened. Wouldn’t have if he’d had a shred of self-control and decency.
And now, tonight, he was proving that he probably still didn’t have any at all. Oh well, just as well. Because he was going to do this.
He was going to do her.
He pushed his jeans down his lean hips, showing her the extent of his desire for her, reveling in the way her eyes widened when he revealed his body completely to her hungry gaze.
“I have never seen one that big before,” she said.
He laughed. “Are you just saying that because it’s what you think men need to hear?”
“No, I’m saying that because it’s the biggest I’ve ever seen. And I want it.”
“Baby,” he said, “you can have it.”
Maddy turned over onto her stomach and crawled across the bed on all fours in a move that damn near gave him a heart attack. Then she moved to the edge of the mattress, straightening up, raking her nails down over his torso before she leaned in, flicking her tongue over the head of his arousal.
He jerked beneath her touch, his length twitching as her tongue traced it from base to tip, just before she engulfed him completely in the warm heat of her mouth. She hummed, the vibration moving through his body, drawing his balls up tight. He really was going to lose it. Here and now like a green teenage boy if he didn’t get a grip on himself. Or a grip on her.
He settled for the second option.
He reached back, grabbing hold of her hair and jerking her lips away from him. “You keep doing that and it really will end.”
The color was high in her cheeks, her eyes glittering. “I’ve never, ever enjoyed it like that before.”
She was so good for his ego. Way better than a man like him deserved. But damned if he wasn’t going to take it.
“Well, you can enjoy more of that. Later. Right now? I need to be inside you.”
“Technically,” she said, her tone one of protest, “you were inside me.”
“And as much as I like being in that pretty mouth of yours, that isn’t what I want right now.” He gritted his teeth, looking around the room. “The condoms.”
She scrambled off the bed and shimmied out of her jeans and panties as she made her way across the room and toward her suitcase. She flipped it open, dug through it frantically and produced the two packets he had seen earlier.
All things considered, he felt a little bit triumphant to be the one getting these condoms. He didn’t know Christopher, but that sad sack was sitting at home with a hard-on, and Sam was having his woman. He was going to go ahead and enjoy the hell out of that.
Madison turned to face him, the sight of that enticing, pale triangle at the apex of her thighs sending a shot straight down to his gut. She kept her eyes on his as she moved nearer, holding one of the condoms like it was a reward he was about to receive.
She tore it open and settled back onto the bed, then leaned forward and rolled it over his length. Then she took her position back up against the pillows, her thighs parting, her heavily lidded gaze averted from his now that she was in that vulnerable position.
“Okay,” she said, “I’m ready.”
She wasn’t. Not by a long shot.
Ten years.
And he had been ready to thrust into her with absolutely no finesse. A woman who’d been celibate for ten years deserved more than that. She deserved more than one orgasm. Hell, she deserved more than two.
He had never been the biggest fan of Madison West, but tonight they were allies. Allies in pleasure. And he was going to hold up his end of the bargain so well that if she was celibate after this, it really would be because she was waiting for her legs to work again.
“Not quite yet, Maddy,” he said, kneeling down at the end of the bed, reaching forward and grabbing hold of her hips, dragging her down toward his face. He brought her up against his mouth, her legs thrown over his shoulders, that place where she was warm and wet for him right there, ready for him to taste her.
“Sam!” Maddy squeaked.
“There is no way you’re a prude, Maddy,” he said. “I’ve had too many conversations with you to believe that.”
“I’ve never... No one has ever...”
“Then it’s time somebody did.”
He lowered his head, tasting her in long, slow passes, like she was an ice-cream cone that he just had to take the time to savor. Like she was a delicacy he couldn’t get enough of.
Because she was.
She was all warmth and sweet female, better than he had ever remembered a woman being. Or maybe she was just better. It was hard to say. He didn’t really care which. It didn’t matter. All that mattered was this.
If he could lose himself in any moment, in any time, it would be this one.
It sure as hell wouldn’t be pounding iron, trying to hammer the guilt out of his body. Certainly wouldn’t be in his damn sculptures, trying to figure out what to make next, trying to figure out how to satisfy the customer. This deeply personal thing that had started being given to the rest of the world, when he wasn’t sure he wanted the rest of the world to see what was inside him.
Hell, he didn’t want to see what was inside him.
He made a hell of a lot of money, carving himself out, making it into a product people could buy. And he sure as hell liked the money, but that didn’t make it a pleasant experience.
No, none of that mattered. Not now. Not when there was Maddy. And that sweet sugar-whiskey taste.
He tasted her until she screamed, and then he thrust his fingers inside her, fast and rough, until he felt her pulse around him, until her orgasm swept through them both.
Then he moved up, his lips almost touching hers. “Now,” he said, his voice husky, “now you’re ready.”
Four
Maddy was shaking from head to toe, and she honestly didn’t know if she could take any more. She had never—not in her entire life—had an orgasm like that. It was still echoing through her body, creating little waves of sensation that shivered through her with each and every breath she took.
And there was still more. They weren’t done. She was glad about that. She didn’t want to be done. But at the same time she wasn’t sure if she could handle the rest. But there he was, above her, over her, so hot and hard and male that she didn’t think she could deny him. She didn’t want to deny him.
She looked at him, at the broad expanse of his shoulders and chest, the way it tapered down to his narrow waist, those flat washboard abs that she could probably actually wash her clothes on.
He was everything a man should be. If the perfect fantasy man had been pulled straight out of her deepest fantasies, he would look like this. It hit her then that Christopher had not even been close to be
ing a fantasy man. And that was maybe why he had been so safe. It was why Sam had always been so threatening.
Because Christopher had the power to make a ripple. Sam McCormack possessed the power to engulf her in a tidal wave.
She had no desire to be swept out to sea by any man. But in this instance she had a life preserver. And that was her general dislike of him. The fact that their time together was going to be contained to only this weekend. So what did it matter if she allowed herself to get a little bit storm tossed. It didn’t. She was free. Free to enjoy this as much as she wanted.
And she wanted. Wanted with an endless hunger that seemed to growl inside her like a feral beast.
He possessed the equipment to satisfy it. She let her eyes drift lower than just his abs, taking in the heart, the unequivocal evidence, of his maleness. She had not been lying when she said it was the biggest one she’d ever seen. It made her feel a little bit intimidated. Especially since she had been celibate for so very long. But she had a few days to acclimate.
The thought made her giddy.
“Now,” she said, not entirely certain that she was totally prepared for him now but also unable to wait for him.
“You sure you’re ready for me?” He leaned forward, bracing his hand on the headboard, poised over her like the very embodiment of carnal temptation. Just out of reach, close enough that she did easily inhale his masculine scent. Far enough away that he wasn’t giving her what she needed. Not yet.
She felt hollow. Aching. And that, she realized, was how she knew she was going to take all of him whether or not it seemed possible. Because the only other option was remaining like this. Hollowed out and empty. And she couldn’t stand that either. Not for one more second.
“Please,” she said, not caring that she sounded plaintive. Not caring that she was begging. Begging Sam, the man she had spent the past several years harassing every time he came around her ranch.
No, she didn’t care. She would make a fool out of herself if she had to, would lower herself as far down as she needed to go, if only she could get the kind of satisfaction that his body promised to deliver.
He moved his other hand up to the headboard, gripping it tight. Then he flexed his hips forward, the blunt head of his arousal teasing the slick entrance to her body. She reached up, bracing her palms flat against his chest, a shiver running through her as he teased her with near penetration.
She cursed. The sound quivering, weak in the near silence of the room. She had no idea where hard-ass Maddy had gone. That tough, flippant girl who knew how to keep everyone at a distance with her words. Who knew how to play off every situation as if it weren’t a big deal.
This was a big deal. How could she pretend that it wasn’t? She was breaking apart from the inside out; how could she act as though she weren’t?
“Please,” she repeated.
He let go of the headboard with one hand and pressed his hand down next to her face, then repeated the motion with the other as he rocked his hips forward more fully, entering her slowly, inch by tantalizing inch. She gasped when he filled her all the way, the intense stretching sensation a pleasure more than it was a pain.
She slid her hands up to his shoulders, down his back, holding on to him tightly there before locking her legs around his lean hips and urging him even deeper.
“Yes,” she breathed, a wave of satisfaction rolling over her, chased on the heels by a sense that she was still incomplete. That this wasn’t enough. That it would never be enough.
Then he began to move. Ratcheting up the tension between them. Taking her need, her arousal, to greater heights than she had ever imagined possible. He was measured at first, taking care to establish a rhythm that helped her move closer to completion. But she didn’t need the help. She didn’t want it. She just wanted to ride the storm.
She tilted her head to the side, scraping her teeth along the tendon in his neck that stood out as a testament to his hard-won self-control.
And that did it.
He growled low in his throat. Then his movements became hard, harsh. Following no particular rhythm but his own. She loved it. Gloried in it. He grabbed hold of her hips, tugging her up against him every time he thrust down, making it rougher, making it deeper. Making it hurt. She felt full with it, full with him. This was exactly what she needed, and she hadn’t even realized it. To be utterly and completely overwhelmed. To have this man consume her every sensation, her every breath.
She fused her lips to his, kissing him frantically as he continued to move inside her and she held on to him tighter, her nails digging into his skin. But she knew he didn’t mind the pain. She knew it just as she didn’t mind it. Knew it because he began to move harder, faster, reaching the edge of his own control as he pushed her nearer to the edge of hers.
Suddenly, it gripped her fiercely, down low inside her, a force of pleasure that she couldn’t deny or control. She froze, stiffening against him, the scream that lodged itself in her throat the very opposite of who she usually was. It wasn’t calculated; it wasn’t pretty; it wasn’t designed to do anything. It simply was. An expression of what she felt. Beyond her reach, beyond her completely.
She was racked with her desire for him, with the intensity of the orgasm that swept through her. And then, just as she was beginning to find a way to breathe again, he found his own release, his hardness pulsing deep inside her as he gave himself up to it.
His release—the intensity of it—sent another shattering wave through her. And she clung to him even more tightly, needing him to anchor her to the bed, to the earth, or she would lose herself completely.
And then in the aftermath, she was left there, clinging to a stranger, having just shown the deepest, most hidden parts of herself to him. Having just lost her control with him in a way she never would have done with someone she knew better. Perhaps this was the only way she could have ever experienced this kind of freedom. The only way she could have ever let her guard down enough. What did she have to lose with Sam? His opinion of her was already low. So if he thought that she was a sex-hungry maniac after this, what did it matter?
He moved away from her and she threw her arm over her face, letting her head fall back, the sound of her fractured breathing echoing in the room.
After she had gulped in a few gasps of air, she removed her arm, opened her eyes and realized that Sam wasn’t in the room anymore. Probably off to the bathroom to deal with necessities. Good. She needed some space. She needed a moment. At least a few breaths.
He returned a little bit quicker than she had hoped he might, all long lean muscle and satisfied male. It was the expression on his face that began to ease the tension in her chest. He didn’t look angry. He didn’t look like he was judging her. And he didn’t look like he was in love with her or was about to start making promises that she didn’t want him to make.
No, he just looked satisfied. A bone-deep satisfaction that she felt too.
“Holy hell,” he said, coming to lie on the bed next to her, drawing her naked body up against his. She felt a smile curve her lips. “I think you about blew my head off.”
“You’re so romantic,” she said, smiling even wider. Because this was perfect. Absolutely perfect.
“You don’t want me to be romantic,” he returned.
“No,” she said, feeling happy, buoyant even. “I sure as hell don’t.”
“You want me to be bad, and dirty, and to be your every fantasy of slumming it with a man who is so very beneath you.”
That, she took affront to a little bit. “I don’t think you’re beneath me, Sam,” she said. Then he grabbed hold of her hips and lifted her up off the mattress before bringing her down over his body. A wicked smile crossed his face.
“I am now.”
“You’re insatiable. And terrible.”
“For a weekend fling, honey, that’s all you really need.”
<
br /> “Oh, dammit,” she said, “what if the roads open up, and Christopher tries to come up?”
“I’m not really into threesomes.” He tightened his grip on her. “And I’m not into sharing.”
“No worries. I don’t have any desire to broaden my experience by testing him out.”
“Have I ruined you for him?”
The cocky bastard. She wanted to tell him no, but she had a feeling that denting the masculine ego when a man was underneath you wasn’t the best idea if you wanted to have sex with said man again.
“Ruined me completely,” she responded. “In fact, I should leave a message for him.”
Sam snagged the phone on the nightstand and thrust it at her. “You can leave him a message now.”
“Okay,” she said, grimacing slightly.
She picked up the phone and dialed Christopher’s number quickly. Praying that she got his voice mail and not his actual voice.
Of course, if she did, that meant he’d gone out. Which meant that maybe he was trying to find sex to replace the sex that he’d lost. Which she had done; she couldn’t really be annoyed about that. But she had baggage.
“Come on,” she muttered as the phone rang endlessly. Then she breathed a sigh of relief when she got his voice mail. “Hi, Christopher, it’s Madison. Don’t worry about coming up here if the roads clear up. If that happens, I’m probably just going to go back to Copper Ridge. The weekend is kind of ruined. And...and maybe you should just wait for me to call you?” She looked up at Sam, who was nearly vibrating with forcibly contained laughter. She rolled her eyes. “Anyway, sorry that this didn’t work out. Bye.”
“That was terrible,” he said. “But I think you made it pretty clear that you don’t want to hear from him.”
“I said I would call him,” she said in protestation.
“Are you going to?”
“Hell no.”
Sam chuckled, rolling her back underneath him, kissing her deep, hard. “Good thing I only want a weekend.”
“Why is that?”