She felt him unclasp her bra and fling it across the room. He gazed at her exposed breasts in the moonlight, heavy and erect, and took them into his firm, massaging hands.
Maribel sighed and tried hard not to consider what could be next. There had been so few men who she had dared to let touch her the way he was touching her now—his hand sliding under her skirt to invade the soft pouch of her knit stockings. So few men who were willing to seduce her the way that he was seducing her tonight. She didn’t know what to believe more—her own insecurities about his intentions or his fingertips probing her crotch, making her relinquish all her inhibitions and preparing her for his next request.
“I want to undress you fully…” he whispered.
Without waiting for her consent, he unzipped the back of her skirt. He already knew he had it. His hands towed it down over her hips. He massaged her backside and exhaled against the nape of her neck. She attempted to unfasten the final buttons of his shirt, slipping her hands inside to free it from his chest. Even in the darkness and shadows, she could see his bare muscles and feel the strength of his flexing biceps as he whisked her into his arms and slid her across her bed. Rosebud sheets, she suddenly thought. She remembered buying them on sale in the department store, thinking to herself that the obnoxious pattern didn’t matter because she would be the only one who would ever see them. Now, he spread her out like a five-point star and peeled off her tights, stopping only to release the straps of her shoes before liberating everything from her waist and legs—except her black lace panties, ruby pendant and ruby earrings.
“You’re so incredibly gorgeous, Maribel Martinez,” he said, gazing down upon her. She closed her eyes and savored how he said her full name. Maribel Martinez. When she opened them again, she saw his masculine body looming over her in the darkness. He wasn’t staring at her bare breasts or her jewelry. He was gazing into her eyes. The absence of his warmth against her body pricked her skin and nipples with anticipation. He circled his hot breath and sharp chin over her belly before whispering his lips upwards along her breast bone and over her tits. Then, she felt his hand glide down along her inner thigh and stopped over her panties.
“I want to feel inside you, I want to feel deep inside you.”
Maribel heard him clearly, but her mind replayed it in a daze. It had been so long since she had accepted any man into her body, but now she wasn’t sure she could deny him—or herself. He slowly took hold of her panties with his teeth and stripped them down off her legs. Maribel exhaled—an attempt to relax as he spread her naked legs wider for him. His fingertips probed her black pouch and she tingled with every caress of his invading touch. It had been years since she had been stimulated by someone other than herself. Cautiously, he massaged her deeper and deeper with beating strokes. Maribel exhaled again. God how she wanted this…
She was gushing now, his confident fingers fondling her G-spot and priming her for more. He suddenly kicked off his shoes and unzipped his pants, then removed his boxers—he was sleek, hard, and gleaming like a chiseled Carrara marble statue.
“I want to be inside you.” It wasn’t a request, it was a plea.
She nodded, closing her eyes and giving in to him.
Her tiny mattress forced him to mount her, smothering her body with the dominating force of his own. He replaced his fingers with the tip of his cock and tongued her with powerful, consuming kisses before penetrating her wetness. She released a sigh, heavy and unbridled. God, it had been so long—she had waited for so long to be wanted like this… She wrapped her arms around his strong shoulders and arched her back, shifting him deeper inside her. With a hungry mouth and craving heart, she inhaled his breaths as he thrust forward, grinding his pelvic bone against her clit and heaving with an exhale. Abruptly, he paused to restrain himself, his hard chest hovered over her breasts and his burning cock lingered between her legs. Brushing back her hair, he glanced into her eyes and confirmed what they both wanted from each other. Then, he accelerated his rhythm, pushing himself inside her—again and again—seeking out a way to melt all the barriers between them. He was no longer a billionaire; she was no longer a shop girl. He was no longer a wealthy aristocrat who barely knew her. They were simply two people who had chosen to spend Valentine’s Day together—rather than alone—and now they had chosen to indulge in their carnal need for the other. Miles pressed the full weight of his body against Maribel’s chest. She felt the ruby pendant dig into her skin with pain and pleasure. Maribel throbbed and released, throbbed and released. Vibrations swept through her body as he accelerated towards his final climax, burying his mouth between her breasts and suffocating her inner core with his need to capture her heart. But it was too late—he had already captured it hours and hours ago—and now, it was only a matter of when and how he would release it.
Chapter Six
She awoke to the sound of rushing water and the smell of smoldering coffee grinds.
Her apartment was a vintage studio—one room with a kitchen sink, refrigerator, and gas stove along one wall, her full mattress and box spring in the corner, a used couch along the courtyard windows, a large walk-in closet, and a small square bathroom—so it was impossible to do anything inconspicuously. Maribel stretched across the bed, naked and alone, half-covered by the thin rosebud sheets. The obnoxious pattern glared back at her—even more obnoxious in the full glory of the morning light. She spotted his leather dress shoes and dismembered suit and tie, strewn across the floor and entangled with her own disheveled sweater, skirt, and tights. Maribel fell back under her obnoxious rosebud sheets and heaved a sigh of relief. Her night with him wasn’t just a faded fantasy; it was a reality. And it wasn’t just a one-night stand; he hadn’t left without saying goodbye. He was still there, and still willing to at least spend the morning with her.
The shower, she thought, noting the sound of spraying water.
Maribel quickly dressed. Normally, she would throw on her favorite flannel pajama pants, vintage Madonna T-shirt, and hooded sweat shirt. But that was when she was alone, not when she was with a strong, sophisticated man with whom she had just had the most amazing sex of her life. Maribel scrounged through her closet for her yoga pants and leotard spandex top. Bra? No bra? Bra? No bra? She wasn’t sure…
“Hello out there…?” His masculine voice boomed off her shower tiles. “Is that Cupid’s little helper?”
“Maybe? Who wants to know?” she slipped open the bathroom door and called back over the rushing water.
Miles peered out from above the shower curtain rod. Maribel saw his wet black hair and sparkling blue eyes. “Someone who wants to be hit with another arrow,” he said, mischievously.
She rolled her eyes. He chuckled and turned back into the steamy shower. “I made us some coffee.”
Maribel moved into the kitchen and checked the wafting coffee pot. He had forgotten to add in the water as well as a fresh filter with fresh grounds. Clearly, it had been awhile since Miles had made his own coffee. Maribel dumped out everything and lay in a new filter with fresh grounds, then poured in two cups of water and started up the machine. Next, she considered breakfast. She popped two pieces of bread into her toaster and set out a fresh stick of butter onto a plate. She searched her refrigerator for something other than eggs, but came up empty. It had been days since she had had a chance to go grocery shopping. Scrambled eggs and oatmeal cookies, she considered, wondering how much longer Miles would be in the shower.
“Roxanne,” he suddenly belted out, “You don’t have to put on the red light/Those days are over/You don’t have to sell your body to the night.”
Maribel smiled. At least for a few more refrains.
Suddenly, she heard Miles’ phone ringing with a low muffled chime, and it took her several seconds to realize that it was still in her purse, where she had forced him to deposit it the previous afternoon.
“Miles, your phone’s ringing,” she called to him.
“Roxanne…” he sang out, “You don’t have to we
ar that dress tonight/Walk the streets for money/You don’t care if it’s wrong or right.”
Maribel smiled. He either didn’t hear her or he didn’t care because he was enjoying his alternate reality in which he was truly Sting, the lead singer of the Police. She rushed to her purse and fumbled to secure his phone, planning to bring the phone to him. Abruptly, she heard the sharp raspy voice of another woman, questioning her on the other end. “Brax? Brax?”
Accidentally, Maribel had touched its screen and answered the call. Maribel fretted and considered hanging up until she heard the woman’s demanding voice: “Are you fucking kidding me, Brax? You don’t even have the balls to say ‘hello’?”
Maribel answered with an official air. “Receiving calls for Mr. Miles Braxton-Worth, how may I assist you?”
It worked. The woman fell silent, then hostile. “Oh, precious… he has a personal assistant answering his business calls, does he? Well, you tell Mr. Miles Braxton-Worth that Ms. Gillian Cartwright needs to speak with him today about our multi-million dollar deal, or else my clients are going to sign a deal with his competition at the Amory Building. Did you get all that, cupcake?”
The woman said ‘cupcake’ like she was slapping Maribel through the phone.
Slowly, calmly, Maribel counted to ten and restrained the urge to verbally slap her back. Her years of working in retail had trained her well. “I will be sure to tell him,” Maribel answered, curtly. She wanted to hang up the phone immediately, but knew she had to wait until bitch-queen hung up first.
Gillian. Maribel remembered that name and Miles’ reaction to her call during their brunch. She shivered and set down the phone on the kitchen counter. No wonder Miles was avoiding her. Multi-million dollar deal or not.
Maribel suddenly felt the warm tickle of kisses fluttering down her neck.
“Good morning, good morning,” Miles said between nibbles. “Whatcha makin’?” he asked, peering over her shoulder. He was naked, dripping wet, and wrapped from the waist down in her powered blue bath towel.
“Toast, scrambled eggs, and oatmeal cookies,” she said, popping the butter and brown sugar together in her mixer. The mixer had been a gift from her mother, and she always loved making something fresh and homemade with it on Sunday mornings.
“Really? Yum, yum… Deeeelish.”
Maribel smiled and shrugged off his prickly chin from her shoulder, and searched her cabinets for the oatmeal. She eyed Miles as he stretched his long, strong arms into the air and heaved an exhale—the promise of a good day. In the obscure shadows of the night, she had been consumed, devoured, and dominated by the strength and masculinity of his hard, naked body. Now, in the honesty of the sunlight, Maribel finally had a chance to take in the full scope of his athletic form, smooth chest, and tapered waist. Beads of water clung to the muscular arch of his sloping bare back. He fell onto her bed, a gesture of relaxation. Every muscle was sculpted and defined, every movement was deliberate and determined, and he watched her—watching him—with a complete lack of inhibition. He was impossibly handsome, she thought, but it was his uncompromising confidence that was the sexiest part about him.
“In all my years as a man, I never realized the way into a woman’s heart was through her rosebud sheets…” he joked, and spread his palms across her mattress.
“Who said you’ve gotten into anybody’s heart?” Maribel sassed back.
He rolled onto his elbow and gazed at her. “Touché,” he said, assessing the challenge.
His searing blue eyes were inescapable. Maribel finally broke away to pour them two cups of coffee. Then, she glanced over at his phone on the kitchen counter. Gillian, she thought. It was a thorn that threatened to pop each bubbly exchange between them. He was in such a good mood; she didn’t have the heart to disrupt it.
When she turned around, she saw him sitting at her kitchenette table, legs crossed at the knee and dressed in a tight marathon training shirt and matching athletic pants.
“What’s that?” she suddenly asked.
“My pajamas,” he wagged his foot, and watched her carefully.
“No,” she said slowly, stopping the whirling blades of her mixer. Her eyes acknowledged the familiar mint blue box that he had placed in the center of the table.
“Why don’t you come over here and find out.”
“Miles—” she said, exasperated, and set down the coffee mugs.
He smirked and sipped from his cup. Maribel peered down at the box—it was long and rectangular. Clearly, it was not something small and inexpensive.
“Don’t look at me like that,” he added, noting the concern in her face.
Maribel silenced her protests, and tried hard not to seem ungrateful. But she wasn’t certain she wanted him to buy her any more expensive gifts. What he had already given her was enough. More than enough.
“I knew I wasn’t going to win with the earrings,” he finally said, noting she was wearing her original cubic zirconia studs again. Maribel touched her ear lobes. In the middle of the night, she had awoken to use the bathroom and replace his ruby tear-drop earrings with her diamond studs.
“It’s nothing against the earrings, Miles,” she explained. “I loved them… but it’s just that…”
“They’re sentimental,” he repeated her words from yesterday. “I know,” he added, “a gift from your mother.”
Maribel narrowed her eyes and leaned back against the kitchen counter. She thought carefully about their conversation yesterday.
“A high school graduation gift—” she clarified, but Miles stared at her and finished her own thoughts.
“Your mother bought them early for you because she was certain that you would finish school, even though she knew she wouldn’t be there to celebrate it with you when you did.”
Maribel gazed at him, searching to understand how he could possibly know the details about one of the most important relationships in her life. His eyes revealed nothing, other than a calm persuasion that he could be trusted. Maribel settled into an internal moment of silence and waited before acknowledging that she wanted to understand more.
“I have another confession to make…” Miles said, judging the moment with care. It was as if he was reading her, waiting and watching until the connection between them signaled he could move forward. “I used to hear stories about you—stories about you and your mother.”
Maribel sat down at the table and processed his words. “How?” she asked like a reflex.
“From my aunt, Mrs. Strauss.”
“Mrs. Strauss, from the department store?” Maribel repeated with shock. “Your aunt was Mrs. Strauss?”
Miles nodded. “Towards the end, they were both being treated at the same dialysis clinic. I used to pick up my aunt every other day and she used to tell me stories of who she saw there and who she had spoken with that day. She often told me stories about your mother, and her stories about you.”
Maribel looked away. At the same clinic. God, how she had hated those days at the clinic, where the only hope for her mother was a new kidney, but the new kidney never came. She hated the smell of decay and chronic illness. She hated the flickering florescent lights and the droning murmurs of the TVs. And she hated witnessing her normally vibrant mother withering into a sodden, listless ragdoll, barely kept alive by machines that cleaned her blood.
“I went there, too—every other afternoon after school,” Maribel confirmed. “Then later, when I started working part-time at the department store, I went there after work...”
Maribel suddenly brushed tears from her eyes, reflecting on the past while trying to keep her nostalgia from overwhelming her. She had never spoken with anyone about that time in her life because she tried so hard not to remember anything about those days. Those were impossibly long, exhausting, hopeless days—going to high school in the morning and early afternoon, and rushing to catch the “L” downtown to arrive early for her part-time position at the department store before doubling back to pick up her mother from the c
linic. When all her friends were worrying about buying their homecoming dresses and passing their driver’s “ed” tests, Maribel was fitting in work, school, laundry, grocery shopping, cooking, caring for her mother, and sleeping during every free moment she had to spare. She worked every day—evenings and weekends—just to afford to live on her own as an independent sixteen year-old, caring for her sick mother rather than be swept into the dysfunctional entanglement of the foster care system.
“Yes, I remember seeing you at the clinic,” Miles confirmed, “you were just a high school student then….me, on the other hand—I was a ridiculously self-absorbed, newly-minted millionaire who at least had the good sense to take care of his favorite aunt when she needed it most. But I remember seeing you, picking up your mother, and later, I remember noticing you when you came to work at the department store.”
“I remember going to the interview and thinking it was a complete waste of time,” Maribel confessed, regaining her composure. “I was only sixteen and I knew nothing about working in retail.”
“Yes, I know. I was the one who set-up the interview for you.”
Maribel peered up at him. “You?” she whispered. She had always believed that it was her mother who had secured her the interview through her relationship with Mrs. Strauss. She knew her mom had met Mrs. Strauss at the clinic. She had heard Mrs. Strauss was a life-long Marshall Fields sales clerk who was being forced to retire due to her chronic illness. Her mother was so relieved when Maribel had gotten the job. Part-time work for teenagers usually included slaving behind a fast food counter, not behind the upscale sales counters of Chicago’s most beloved department store. And it paid handsomely—a decent hourly wage plus sales commission. They both knew with her mother’s savings plus Maribel’s new job that Maribel would have a chance to make it through high school on her own, even if her mother couldn’t be there to help her.
Priceless: Contemporary Billionaire Romance Novel Page 6