by S. Ann Cole
“We flew seven hours together and only parted at noon.”
But, God, did I miss him, too.
“I know.” Taking my hand, he starts inside the restaurant.
I struggle to match his strides. “We’re having dinner?”
I’m not hungry. Kavon cooked and I ate to the gills because I thought Jaxon was taking me on another job.
Inside, the restaurant is abuzz with chatter and clinking cutlery, sizzles from the kitchen, an amalgam of aromas wafting on the air, the pop! of another champagne bottle, and classical music floating in the background.
But instead of weaving deeper into the restaurant, he takes an abrupt turn to the left. To a red door that requires a card swipe.
Producing a card from his jacket pocket, he swipes it and lets us through. Beyond the door, a lift is straight ahead, and off to the right is a set of stairs. He moves toward the lift.
“Where are we going?” I ask once we’re inside and on the ascent.
He looks down at me, then does that taming my bangs thing. “You’ve got such big, curious eyes. They’re my favorite.”
“They are not curious.” My chin lifts in offense. “They are astute.”
He smiles. “That’s my favorite, too.”
The doors part, and he tugs me out and down a short hall with only two doors. He stops at one and swipes his key card again to grant us entry.
We enter, and I don’t know if I’m disappointed or excited to discover it’s a luxury studio apartment, all dark wood floors, boxy furniture, and stainless-steel appliances. Floor-to-ceiling windows offer a twinkling vista of the city.
It’s a stunning, sumptuous studio, but it’s the bedroom area that has me staring in bewilderment.
White sheer curtains are draped decoratively over the wall the enormous, round bed is up against. White rose petals are scattered, well, everywhere. Large standing vases of white roses run in clustered groups along the wall. And sprinkled over the all-white bed are red rose petals.
Gorgeous. So stunningly gorgeous.
This is exactly what I imagine a honeymoon suite would look like.
I’m not certain what this is all about, but something about it tugs…tugs…tugs at the tight strings of my heart.
He walks across the vast space, gesturing to the explosion of roses and sheer gorgeousness all around. “Tried to be cheesy tonight. Not sure…” He pauses, as if uncertain. “You like cheesy, right?”
A dry laugh escapes me as I move farther into the room. “I-I don’t know. I don’t know what’s cheesy and what’s not cheesy.”
I only know I like you.
His mouth quirks, and he seems to think for minute. “How does all this”—he waves his arm around the room—“make you feel?”
Biting my lip, I take it all in again—delightfully so. “Um, soft. And warm. And beautiful. And happy.”
He looks relieved. With a firm nod, he says, “You definitely like cheesy.”
Hmm. I do, huh? “So, what’s non-cheesy?”
He shrugs out of his jacket. “You know, Christian Grey?”
“Who?”
“Good. Keep it that way.”
Huh? I jot down a mental reminder to Google Christian Grey. Then my mind goes blank because Jaxon is taking his shirt off.
That’s when it begins to dawn on me.
My mouth goes dry, and my heartbeat quickens. All of sudden, I can hear the rose petals whispering the word to me in a seductive chant…
Deflower… Deflower… Deflower.
My God, I’m so inexperienced it’s embarrassing!
There’s no way I can let him know that I didn’t know why we’re here or why he’s being cheesy.
He’s setting the tone. He’s romancing me. He wants to make it memorable.
Now what’s my lame arse supposed to do? Stand around like the oblivious virgin I am and wait for him to spell out the rest of the night for me?
No way in hell.
As he is laying his shirt and tie over the arm of the couch, I drop my overnight bag to hardwood floor, kick off my flats, and half-run across the room.
He’s caught off guard when I lurch myself at him, the couch shifting from the collision of our bodies.
“Whoa,” he says through a laugh before I attack his mouth, kissing him as if my world depends on it.
Because…maybe it does.
I reach down between us and tug his undershirt out of his trousers. But as I attempt to pull it up and off him, he breaks away.
“I planned on ordering up something to eat first,” he says.
“I’m not hungry,” I say, moving in to kiss him again. “Kav cooked.”
He lets me, for a minute, before he breaks off again. His mouth opens, but he seems to decide against speaking as he bites down on his lip and hauls his undershirt off the rest of the way, tossing it aside.
Without warning, he lifts me off the ground, wrapping my legs around his waist.
Kissing me, he moves across to the bed and lays me on my back, his body stretched above mine. He kisses me hard, and deep, and starved, and I’m hoping I’m enough to satisfy his crazed hunger.
I want to do this. I want to do this with him. I don’t want to wait anymore.
Especially because I don’t have time to wait. Like Cinderella, all I’ve got is tonight.
With a nip at my lip, he whispers, “Random facts time.” He kisses the side of my mouth. “Did you know I think about you every second of every minute of every hour?” He peppers kisses along my jaw. “Did you know I get nervous…for liking you too much?”
My heart swells so big I could tie a string to it and set it free.
Nervous for liking me? Wow. I never, and probably never ever, would’ve picked up on that. He’s usually so sparing and careful with his emotions that his confession surprises me.
I don’t know what to do with it, so I respond with, “I shaved my legs for you.”
He lifts his head, gazing down at me with a half grin. After a kiss to my nose, he begins moving south. “How smooth are we talking?”
“Um, baby’s arse smooth?”
He tries to stifle a chuckle and fails, as his hands snakes under my skirt for my stockings, pulling them off.
And then my knickers.
Instinctively, my legs start to snap shut, but it’s as if he’s anticipating that. He blocks the action, keeping them apart.
“Timber?”
“Yes?”
“Is it mine?”
I don’t even hesitate. “It’s yours.”
“Then don’t try to hide it from me.”
He smooths his hands down my legs, then up beneath my skirt again.
Every coiling flame in my stomach produces a new slick of arousal over my folds. His touch ignites me, revs me like an engine. And his tongue, when he dips his head and licks my sex, whirls me dizzily until the flames eat through my belly and engulf me.
In a lust-twisting fever, I reach down and yank my skirt up so I can see his head, his tongue, his finger that’s now sliding inside me.
“Jaxon—”
He answers by sucking on me.
My back arches up off the bed, and I curl my fingers into his hair. God, I love this. I love when he does this. I love, love, love it so, so much. I won’t ever get tired of—
A scream rips up my throat, and my legs snap inward to clamp his head as violent trembles overtake me.
Mind. Blown.
I’m high up in the clouds for so long that by the time I descend into consciousness, my skirt is off, my blouse is unbuttoned, and his teeth are nipping my nipples through the mesh of my bra.
I reach down to run my fingers through his hair, and he glances up. “You’re back.”
I giggle. Uh-huh, I giggle, because I’m feeling so giddy.
He reaches around to unhook my bra and tugs it off along with my blouse, flinging them aside. Then his hands are on my breasts, squeezing them together, kissing, suckling, tasting.
After taking hi
s fill of them, he drifts the tips of his fingers down my sides, over my hips, down my legs, and backs right off the bed.
I follow him with my gaze. I’m naked and spread-eagled before him.
Sated, yet greedily craving more.
“Fact time,” he says as he unbuckles his belt. “Your body is…perfect.”
“Actually, one of my areolas is bigger than the other. And I have an outie navel. So, no. Also—”
“Timber?”
“Hmm?”
His trousers hit the floor. “Shut up.”
“Well, that’s awfully rude.” I snap my legs shut. “Ma told me never to give my cookies to rude boys.”
His boxers are the next to fall. His stiff, venous member arrows at me.
I shut up.
And swallow.
I’d like to think I’m on familiar terms with Vein Man, here. He’s been experimented with by my hands, by my mouth, by my hands, by my hands, by my hands, and by my mouth again. We’ve had quite a bit of fun playing “How Many Times Can I Make You Squirt White Stuff Before Sundown.”
We’ve grown real familiar.
That said, judging by the way he’s pointing at me with that one glaring eye, I’m starting to understand that it’s about to be a tit for tat thing. Yesterday, I was allowed to have my fun with him, but now it’s his turn. I can hear him loud and clear.
He’s going to be the one familiarizing with and experimenting on me today.
With his eyes focused on me, Jaxon rips a condom open and puts it onto himself with smooth aplomb.
Bending his knee onto the bed, he arches an eyebrow at my closed legs.
A delicious shiver sweeps over me as I slowly, slowly spread them apart.
“Then again,” I manage, “Ma married a rude boy, so…that was a bit hypocritical, right?”
“Right.”
He grabs my legs and throws them apart, eliciting a gasp from me. He crawls up and settles between them, his palms pressed to the mattress on either side of my head. He hovers, gazing down at me.
After a long moment, he lowers his lips to mine with a sweet, tender kiss. “It’s gonna hurt at first.”
My heart skips a beat as I suck in a breath. “I figured as much.”
“And you’re ready?”
This time, I do see the anxiety in his eyes. He’s nervous.
Reaching up, I cup his face in my hands. “I’ve never cared about sex or boys or my virginity. It’s not sacred to me. I didn’t hold on to it for the right one, or a special time, or anything of that sort. I just…never thought about it. Then I met you and I started to feel things. I became aware of things. I started to want things. I want you. And I’ll take whatever you’re willing to give. Whether it’s kisses, or going down, or sex. As long as it’s with you. Because it’s not the kisses or the sex I’m addicted to. It’s you. Even if all you’re doing is standing ten feet away from me. I’m addicted to you, the man.”
He turns his head aside and hesitates for a moment. Then his hand shifts down between us, and he positions his cock at my entrance. He plants a kiss to the corner of my mouth. “It’s still gonna hurt.”
And then he pushes in.
Some.
This time, it’s me who turns my head, my eyes squeezed shut as I fight my body not to react. But it’s impossible. The pain I feel is nothing like I’ve experienced before. Tears leak from my eyes.
It’s a burn, a sting, and a stab, all at once.
His hand comes to my cheek, urging my face back to him. “Open your eyes, Timber.” When I don’t move, he adds, “Please.”
I reluctantly open my eyes, and he uses his thumb to wipe away my tears. “It’s gonna get better after this, I promise. For now, I want you to kiss me and focus only on kissing me, not the pain. Once it subsides, I want you to squeeze my arm. Okay?”
Exhaling a shuddering breath, I nod.
As he touches his lips to mine, I lock my arms around his neck and begin kissing him, kissing him with all of me, focusing only on kissing him, even as he pushes in the rest of the way and the pain feels as if it’s splitting me in two.
Focus. On. Him.
Because what I said is true—it’s the man I’m addicted to. And when I focus on him, everything else fades away.
Smooth and steady, he moves in and out of me, and with the constant, fluid motion, my body acclimatizes and the pain begins to fade.
With each outward glide, the pain goes, and with each inward glide, pleasure comes. Before long, I’m feeling nothing but sweet stings on a bed of pleasure. So much so, that I forget to squeeze his arm.
My non-agonizing moans must tip him off, because he pauses mid-stroke, breaks my kiss, and looks down at me. “Thanks for the heads-up.”
“Sorry,” I squeak, sheepish.
“How do you feel?” he gently asks.
“Like, you know, you should keep going.”
With a bite to his lip and a shake to his head, he unlocks my hands from around his neck and stretches them above my head. Then he rocks into me.
In, and out. Rocking. Rocking. His rhythm slowly increasing. And this… Damn. This is even better. I’m consumed by the pleasure. Exploding, skyrocketing, fireball bursts of pleasure.
I rock up. I meet him halfway. I match his pace. I have sex.
Rivulets of sweat trickle down his forehead while my heart batters around in my chest, noises of bliss escaping me as our pleasure heightens.
Above my head, he holds both my wrists with one hand and reaches down with the other to massage my clit.
That does it. I’m blown to smithereens.
My eyes slam shut, my back arches up, my head presses back, and I orgasm, and orgasm hard.
Life is good. Sex is good. Life is so good. Orgasms are life and everything. I like living. I really like living. Because I get to have orgasms. Oh, yes, man, life is good.
He lets go of my wrists and locks my face between his palms, then slams his mouth down on mine as he drives possessively into me, going deeper each time.
He kisses me with abandon, losing himself, his pace and rhythm falling apart as he groans into my mouth.
With one last deep, relentless slam, he abruptly rips his mouth from mine and buries his face in my neck, letting out a rough growl before his body stills.
I can feel his heart trying to beat its way out of his chest and into mine.
After long moments of raging heartbeats and choppy breaths, he pushes up on his elbows, rests his forehead against mine with a satiated sigh, and whispers, “I lost control. I’m sorry. If I hurt you—”
“You didn’t,” I assure him. “And I love that you lost control. It was…beautiful.”
A smile touches his lips, and his head cants to the side. “Something tells me you’re gonna be a fiend once you get a hang of this.”
“Is that a bad thing?”
“Nope.” He rolls over, taking me with him, so he’s on his back and I’m draped on top of him. “As long as you’re being a fiend with only me.”
“Selfish much?” I’m giggling again. What is it with these giggles?
“Be sure to remember that. Always. Your man is very selfish.” As he starts to smooth a hand down my back, it comes to a stop and plucks something from my skin, and then another, and another. “You’re covered in petals.”
His hand comes up and around to press one of the petals to my nose.
“That’s it then, huh?” I say with the widest smile ever. “I’m officially deflowered.”
Chapter Thirty-Seven
I wake to his gaze.
A gaze as hot and penetrating as a ray of morning sunlight.
As my head lolls off his shoulder, I realize I’m still draped across him. In the same position we fell asleep in last night.
I’d wanted more, but he’d been tired from the exertions of his day, so he was asleep and snoring—he never snores—before I could even beg for a second go, his arms locked around me, keeping me on top of him.
I’d lain there fo
r a long time, listening to the even beat of his heart, and for the first time in never, maybe because I was locked so safely in his arms, I fell asleep in silence.
Our gazes tangle for an indeterminable moment. Finally, he mumbles, “Sorry for falling asleep on you last night.” He sighs. “My day was…long.”
Idly, I trail a lazy finger up and down a crooked vein in his neck. “Can I ask you a question?”
“Maybe.”
Meaning, I can ask but he might not answer…or he might lie.
“Do you have another flat somewhere?” I hope he chooses not to lie. “I ask because I notice that most times you leave in one outfit but return in another. Yesterday morning, for instance, you left in a T-shirt and jeans, but when I saw you later in the evening, you were wearing a suit.”
“Something like that.” His hand cruises down to rub over my bum. “Can’t always make it back home to change if I’ve got somewhere to be.”
I push up on an elbow, my hair tumbling to one side. “Where?”
His hand gropes my bum, and my greedy body reacts. “Don’t worry about it.”
“Are you living some kind of double life, or something?”
He barks out a laugh. “Is that a serious question? Everyone on the team is living a double life.”
“Yes, I know that,” I grit out, annoyed that he’s laughing at me. “But it feels like you’re living a double double life.”
With guarded eyes and a quasi-authentic smile, he gently swats my bum and sits up so I’m straddling his lap. “Stop thinking so hard. You’ll hurt your brain.”
“What about this place?” I push. “Is it yours?”
“No. It’s a guesthouse. I wanted a night alone with you.”
“So you could murder my innocence with no witnesses?”
“Speaking of which…” He glances down between us where there’s dried blood on my thighs and smudging his. The sight should disgust me, disgust us both, but all it does it make my stomach twist with need as I remember how it felt to have him moving inside of me.
“We should get rid of the evidence,” he says.
I mock a gasp. “How dare you ask me to aid in covering up this brutal act.”
He presses a kiss to my nose, scoots to edge of the bed with me, and stands. My legs lock around him.