Hard Wood (Hard n' Dirty Book 3)

by Tara Crescent

  I moan into his cock. Blood pounds in my head, and I bob faster on Dom’s dick, alternating delicate licks with harder suction.

  “Stop.” His growl takes me by surprise. Once again, I find myself on my back, my legs spread. “You’re going to make me lose control, kitty cat.”

  “That was sort of the point.”

  He laughs at me, and then he pushes my breasts together, and nips them, each bite sending a sharp burst of lust through me.

  My pussy drips. I squirm helplessly, spreading my legs open. “Good girl,” he breathes. “You want me to taste you, Cat? You want me to lap up your juices?” He moves his hand lower, and I hold my breath. His fingers graze my folds, his touch feather-light. “Because that’s exactly what I’m going to.”

  He kisses me as he speaks, on my neck, on my throat, on my erect nipples. With each kiss, his stubble scratches my skin, generating more heat, until I’m half-crazed with desire, squirming and desperate for more.

  “Please,” I beg, my voice catching on a sob. I need something. His mouth, his fingers, his cock. Anything.

  “I’ve got you, baby.”

  I spread my legs wider, making room for him between my legs. I’m shameless in my search for pleasure, and from the appreciative look on Dom’s face, he likes it. “Yes,” he grinds out. “Tell me what you want.”

  “I want your mouth on my pussy.”

  “Bossy girl.” He slides down my body, sending delicious friction sparkling through every nerve ending. His hands hold my thighs open, and he breathes on my pussy. Goosebumps rise on my skin and I shiver with anticipation.

  He pushes a finger into me. “You’re so fucking wet,” he marvels. “So fucking hot.” He removes his finger, and before I can whimper in protest, his tongue trails a slow path down my pussy.

  Pleasure shoots through me. When he reaches my clitoris, he sucks it in between his lips. My breath catches. “Dom,” I groan, gripping the sheets tightly as he does it again. “Oh God. So good.”

  My words come out in gasps. My thoughts in fragments. My mind is enveloped in a cloud of lust. I ache everywhere.

  Dom keeps licking me, slow and steady. His tongue circles my clitoris, and his fingers pump in and out of my pussy. My muscles start to clench as I get closer to the edge. Dom feels me, and grunts with approval. “Yes,” he says, his voice muffled. “I want to feel you. Come for me, little spitfire.”

  As if his words have a direct connection to my clit, the dam bursts. My orgasm thunders through me, powerful, intense, overwhelming. I cling onto Dom, my hands fisting in his hair, as wave after wave of desire wash over me.

  The second my grip on him slackens, he lifts himself up, his expression clenched with need. “Do you need a moment?”

  I reach for his cock. “I need you inside me. Now.”

  “Condom.” He grabs one from the side table and rolls it on.

  I watch with hungry eyes. “Faster,” I urge. I don’t know what it is about Dom, but I can be every bit as needy and impatient and demanding as I want to be, without worrying about his judgment. It’s a powerfully liberating feeling. I don’t have to pretend to be coy or bashful or shyly virginal. I can just be.

  He laughs and lowers himself between my legs. “So impatient,” he says, his eyes heated. His head nudges inside, and I stop breathing. I wait with bated breath as he slides inside me, inch by inch. As wet as I am, he’s thick enough that I feel him stretch my walls as he thrusts, his face clenched. “The way you feel…” he breathes against my neck. “Hot and tight. You’re fucking gripping me.”

  He’s still not fully inside me. I grab his hips and urge him forward, and with a wicked grin, he pulls out. Before I can whine, he slams inside me in one fluid thrust.

  I see stars. His thick length fills me completely. Every nerve ending in my body comes alive as he starts thrusting, each stroke deep and measured.

  A couple of strokes in, I can already tell. Best sex of my life.

  He puts his hands underneath my hips and adjusts his angle. He’s driving deeper now, each thrust stimulating my g-spot. His mouth moves from one nipple to the other, licking and sucking. I arch toward him, my hips moving in response to his thrusts.

  “Yes,” he growls, as I clench the muscles in my pussy around his cock. “Fuck yes.”

  He drives into me, hard and fast. I feel him deep in my core. His mouth finds mine and his tongue slides into me, hot and insistent. At the same time, he pounds into me, over and over again, his breathing harsh and uneven.

  With each thrust, my insides tighten. I’ve already come once, and I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve orgasmed twice in one night. Today’s my lucky day, I guess, because I can feel the familiar spiral build up in me. When his fingers move between our slick bodies and find my clit, I whimper, overwhelmed. My desire is spiking to dangerous levels. Each thrust takes me higher, closer to the edge.

  I can’t hold it back anymore. I want to prolong this feeling, but I can’t. His fingers are skilled, and my clit is sensitive, and it’s all too much. I feel myself unraveling, coming apart with pleasure. My fingers dig into Dom’s hips, and I shatter, my body flailing and my thighs clenching.

  “Fuck,” Dom swears, his voice tight and urgent. He sounds close to his own release. His strokes increase in frequency as he nears his climax. I hold on for dear life as he pounds into me, his iron control finally faltering.

  Then I hear him utter a muffled curse. His hands grip my hips, and he slams into me in release. He slumps on top of me, sated. I wrap my arms around his waist and hold him.

  Eventually, I move. I stretch lazily, long-unused muscles protesting in response. “We should probably get out of bed. Do something productive.”

  The curtains are drawn, and I can’t see how much snow has fallen overnight. If the roads are passable, I should probably try to get my car out of Sandra’s driveway. I don’t have a lot to do in the brewery today—it is Saturday, and God knows I’ve earned a day off—but I do have to go in for a couple of hours and check the tanks.

  “Being productive is overrated.” He’s lying on his back next to me, his eyes closed. “I promised you slow, remember? Give me a few minutes to recover, and we’ll go again.”

  “A few minutes?” I tease him.

  He guides my hand to his dick. Shockingly, he’s half erect again. “Wow, that’s impressive.”

  “It’s all you, kitty cat.” He brushes my nipples with his fingers.

  I’m ready to forget about work and embrace the idea of another round when my stomach growls loudly. I blush with mortification.

  “Or we could get breakfast first. To keep our strength up.” He kisses my lips. “Have you been to Fannie’s?”

  “The all-day-breakfast place?”

  He slides off the bed, his eyes still closed. “First coffee so I can wake up properly. Then breakfast. Then more sex. How’s that for a plan?”

  It sounds hedonistic. Self-indulgent. Wonderful. “I have to go into the brewpub for an hour or two.” I take a deep breath. “I know what you said last night, but I can’t really stay here.”

  “Why not?” he asks bluntly.

  I’m not used to such directness. The real answer is that I don’t want him to feel forced into having sex with me. “I don’t want to intrude.”

  “You’re not an intrusion, kitty cat.” His dark eyes rest on me. “I’d really like you to stay.”

  The longer you stay, the harder it is going to be when it’s time to leave.

  But today, I’ve already decided to be foolish. “If you’re sure?”

  “I’m absolutely positive.”

  18

  Dom

  According to the weather people, the storm is supposed to last all weekend, possibly even until Monday or Tuesday.

  Four days. I’ve never shared a space with a woman that long. I don’t even like overnight stays. I’m not a dick; I don’t kick women out in the middle of the night. I make them breakfast the next day. I was raised well, and if my
mother or sister ever found out I disrespected a woman in any way, they’d kick my ass, and rightly so.

  But every time a woman is in my space, I’m always restless and twitchy. I like my place to myself. I like to keep my boundaries clean.

  Yet for some reason, I’m letting Cat in, and I have no problem doing so. I don’t even really understand it.

  We drink coffee. We eat breakfast. We get back to my apartment, and she insists on giving me a blowjob. Insists isn’t really the right word, to be honest. It’s not as if I put up much of a protest.

  Her mouth is perfection. This is going to sound crude, but I mean it with complete sincerity. Her mouth is made for my cock. I tell her that after we’re done, and she giggles. “That’s a charming line,” she teases. “Do women fall for these pick-up lines? Wait, don’t answer that. I don’t want to know.” She swings off the bed. “I need to check my secondary tanks. And if I’m going to stay here for a couple of days, I need some stuff from the cabin.”

  I get up as well. “I’ll give you a ride.”

  She puts up her hand to stop me. “The brewpub is less than five minutes from here,” she says. “It’ll take you longer to brush the snow off your truck than it’ll take me to walk.”

  “Fair enough.” I watch her get dressed and follow her out of my bedroom. She reaches for her jacket, and I frown. The wind is gusting outside. Snow is blowing all over the place, and her coat doesn’t look warm enough. “That’s your winter jacket?”

  “No,” she says ruefully. “I didn’t really expect a bout of winter weather in April. I left my heavy down coat back in Toronto. Don’t worry. I’ll be fine.”

  I shake my head and hand her one of my jackets. “It’s too large for you, but at least you’ll stay warm.” I kiss her on the lips, strangely reluctant to let her go. “You want me to walk with you?”

  She rolls her eyes but returns my kiss with one of her own. I fight the desire to drag her back to the bedroom, strip her naked, and plunge into her soft heat. Fuck me. She’s like a drug that I cannot get enough of.

  “Of course not,” she says. “I know last night wasn’t the greatest example of it, but I can take care of myself.”

  It’s a bit of a sore point with her, and given what she told me last night, I can understand why. I back down. “Fair enough. Why don’t you head back here when you’re done at the brewpub, and I’ll give you a ride to your place?” Hopefully, my mother’s too busy with her artist friends to bust my chops about Cat.

  She smiles gratefully. “Thank you, Dom. I’d really appreciate that.”

  Over the next four days, Cat and I make love more than a dozen times. But between bouts of amazingly hot sex, we do other things. We wake up at the same time every morning, and we eat breakfast together before we rush off to work. In the evenings, we cook meals together, and we manage not to get in each other’s way in my kitchen.

  We talk about our work and our lives. I show her the design of the bondage bed I’m building for Zach and Penny. Tell her how much progress Gino’s making. Cat lets me taste prototypes of the beers she’s brewing. She tells me she’s worried that Vicki’s not taking the brewpub as seriously as she should.

  We watch TV and realize our political views line up pretty well. We both fall into the ‘Live and let live’ camp. “I might be crazy and uptight,” Cat quips. “But I don’t expect everyone to be.”

  She might call herself uptight, but she’s anything but. Yes, she’s detail-oriented, but that’s only to be expected, given how much she has going on. She might be a little too attached to her to-do list, but she’s not humorless about it. She can mock herself, and she often does.

  Her toothbrush is on my counter. Her hand cream lives in the drawer next to my bed, and yes, we’ve done some pretty naughty things with it. Her cherry-red coat hangs next to my more sober gray one. Her rainbow woolen scarf rests cheek-to-cheek with my black toque.

  One of my recurring nightmares is that a woman has moved into my apartment without me having any recollection of how it happened. I’ve always woken up from that particular dream, my palms sweating and my pulse racing.

  You’d think that Cat’s presence in my apartment would trigger my nightmare, but it doesn’t. I don’t know how to explain it, but I’m having fun. It’s nice. Intimate. Special.

  Admit it, Dom. You like having Cat Milnick here.

  “I cannot believe you haven’t seen Ferris Bueller’s Day Off. It’s the seminal high school movie of a generation.”

  She chuckles. “Yes, but not ours. This movie came out before either of us was born, didn’t it?”

  “You’re missing the point, kitty cat.” I remove the bag of popcorn from the microwave and empty it into a bowl. “Sit down and prepare to be entertained.”

  I dim the lights and press ‘Play.’ The opening credits start to roll. Matthew Broderick pretends to be sick. His parents fall for it, while Jennifer Grey cannot believe that anyone would believe Ferris.

  Cat’s soon absorbed by the movie. Her eyes are glued to the screen, and her fingers absently reach for the popcorn, or for the pint glass of beer at her side.

  She watches the movie, but I watch her.

  Today’s Tuesday. The storm died down completely yesterday. The snow’s almost melted. Soon, most likely tomorrow, Cat’s going to move back into my mother’s cabin. The thought of her leaving should fill me with relief, but it doesn’t.

  I’m going to miss having her around. I’m going to miss waking up every morning with her draped all over me, her head on my shoulder, her leg splayed out across my hips.

  This was supposed to be casual. But somewhere along the way, in the last few days, I’ve developed feelings.

  There’s a part of me that wants to run. That wants to do something stupid, like pushing Cat away. Anxiety buzzes through me like a swarm of angry wasps. What if we’re not on the same page? What if she’s not interested in something more serious? What if I’m just a distraction for Cat Milnick?

  Cat gasps in shock. “What is he doing? He’s destroying the car.”

  I look up. On the screen, Cameron is kicking his stepfather’s Ferrari hard enough that it shatters the garage window and falls into the ravine below. “They built a replica for that,” I tell her with a laugh. “You don’t appreciate Alan Ruck’s teenage angst?”

  “Are you kidding me?” She sits up, indignant. On the screen, Ferris and Sloane are looking wide-eyed at the carnage. “That was a beautiful car.”

  I put my arm around her, and we finish out the rest of the movie. She chews on her lip thoughtfully when it’s done. “Do I remind you of Cameron?” she blurts out.

  “In the movie?”

  She nods. “Ferris reminded me of you,” she says. “Going through life with perfect charm. Nothing’s hard for Dom Wilde, is it? The entire town adores you.”

  “You think I’m charming?”

  She punches me on the bicep. “That’s what you’re focusing on?” she asks, shaking her head wryly. “I feel like Cameron. Keeping everything bottled up inside. I’m afraid that one day, I’m just going to explode.”

  “Don’t destroy my truck when that happens,” I tease her, kissing her forehead. “To answer your question, my little spitfire, I don’t think you’re like Cameron at all.”

  “I still haven’t told Vicki I’m mad at her.” She takes a sip of her beer with a sigh. “We spent two hours on the phone on Saturday, and I didn’t say a damn thing. I don’t understand it. I can talk to you, you know? I can tell you everything. But, even though I’ve known Vicki all my life, I can’t tell her what I think. Why is that?”

  Warmth builds in my chest. She feels it too. Things are easy between us. In many ways, it’s like I’ve known Cat forever. She just fits.

  “You want some unsolicited advice from me?”

  “It’s not unsolicited when I’m asking you for your opinion.”

  My lips twitch. “Okay, my little thesaurus. I think it’s hard for you to confront Vicki precisely because she
’s your friend, and you don’t want to damage your friendship. But because you’re avoiding the truth, you’re getting resentful.” I squeeze her shoulder. “If you don’t think she’s pulling her weight, tell her. She’s your friend. You owe her honesty. And, long-term, it’s better for your business if you can communicate openly with your partner.”

  “When did you get so wise?” She makes a face. “You’re right, I know you are. I’ll talk to her soon. Part of me wants to put it off, but the truth is, I can’t afford to go full-Cameron.” She shifts her position and cuddles into me like a kitten. My sweet kitty cat. “If the brewpub fails,” she whispers into my chest. “I don’t know what I’ll do. We’ll have to sell the building. I’ll be out a ton of money, and I’ll have to apply for assistant brewer jobs.” Her voice sours. “Will’s head brewer now at the Red Herring. I’ll have to ask him for a reference.”

  “The same Will who stole your recipes.”

  “Yup. I wouldn’t put it past him to bad-mouth me all over Toronto.”

  Toronto. Of course. I don’t know why I didn’t see it. Maybe because I’ve been burying my head in the sand, avoiding facing my feelings for Cat. Because I’ve been afraid of acknowledging how important she’s become to me.

  If Cat’s brewpub fails, she can’t stay in Madison. The town doesn’t have any craft breweries she could work at. She’ll have to move back.

  She’ll move away from me.

  At that moment, it hits me like a bolt of lightning. I’m all in. I don’t want her to leave. Hell, I don’t even want her moving out of my apartment.

  I want Cat Milnick in my arms, in my bed, in my life. And if that means that I’ve got to bust ass so her brewpub becomes a success, then that’s what I’m going to do.

  19

  Cat

  Wednesday morning, I pack my stuff, ignoring Dom’s muttered protests about the cabin not being safe.