I started to say, “Of course I am,” but held myself back at the last minute. Fortunately, Hope did it for me, just as she’d done with my dad. “Of course he is,” she said. “He’s your secondary authority figure. And his sexual politics are pretty much on target, from everything I’ve ever seen. Sad but true. If you want a good guy, you have to be picky. He has to know you’re picky. Then, whatever you choose to do or not do, and however long it lasts, you’re left with your self-respect and pride intact, because it was a hundred percent your choice.”
I wasn’t sure I liked the sound of “secondary,” but it didn’t seem that I got a vote. “You could ask Tane,” I suggested. “He’s got sons, and a daughter as well. Bet he’ll say the same, and he’s not nearly as much of a caveman as I am, or so I hear.”
“Yeah, right,” Karen said, opening the car door. “That’s a conversation I’ll be having.”
She went into the house, and Hope looked at me, and I looked back at her. “Well,” she finally said, “at least they have a ping-pong table. Would you like to rethink your decision to be involved with either of us?”
I couldn’t help smiling. I reached over, put a gentle hand behind her head and another on her shoulder, pulled her into me, felt her body yielding to me, and finally kissed her the way I’d wanted to ever since I’d seen her again. Slow and deep and the way I needed it, taking her mouth hard enough that she’d feel it, making it mine. Until she was making some noises, those little whimpers that drove me wild. Until she was clutching at my shoulder, hanging on, and I had my hand in her hair, tugging her head gently back in the way I loved most, and everything about her response was telling me that she wanted me to lay her down then and there.
And when I took that gorgeously full lower lip between my teeth and gave it a nip? She gasped, her whole body jerked, and I finally did the other thing I’d been longing to do. I slid my hand into the low neckline of that snug tee, straight inside her bra, palmed her breast, and bit her lip again. And felt her squirm. Hard.
I let go of her, sat back, and said, “No. On consideration, I think I’m going to have to insist on keeping you.”
She was lying back against the seat, her color up, an audible hitch in her breath, and all she could say was, “Hemi.”
She wanted to hear it all, so I gave her what she needed. But then, giving Hope what she needed was the greatest pleasure of my life.
“Yeh,” I told her. “I have that work to do. And then I’d like to make an appointment to remind you who you’ll be waiting for, and what he expects from you. You may hold my feet to the fire, but I can hold yours, too. I can do more than that. I can hold your ankles, and I can hold your knees, and tonight, I’m going to do it. We’ll have another chat about your independence when I’ve taken all your clothes off, you’re on your back in my bed, I’ve got my hands on your pretty thighs, and I’m holding them apart while you squirm to get loose. When I’ve got my mouth on you, and I’m reminding you what my tongue is for and exactly how much you need it. We can have another chat about it when my hands are on the backs of your legs, when I’ve got them shoved up so you’re spread wide open for me, and all you want is more. When you find out just how long I’m willing to play with you, and just how far you’re willing to go.”
Hope
Maybe you can see why distance was necessary to maintain my self-control during my regrouping period.
What did he do after that? Did he kiss me again? No, he did not. He got out of the car, then came around and opened my door like the gentleman he most definitely wasn’t.
I looked at him with narrowed eyes and said, “What I told Karen is true. It’s still a hundred percent my choice.”
“Now, sweetheart,” he said, only the barest movement at the corner of his mouth betraying his real feelings, “when did I ever say it wasn’t? It’s my job to make you want it. It’s your job to decide whether you do.”
“Yeah, well,” I muttered, “you’re too good at your job.” And this time, his smile might have escaped.
He was setting me up for later, that was all. Too bad he was the master at that. Or lucky for me that he was. One or the other, because it sure had worked. I was a quivering, tingling bundle of arousal right now, and he still looked as cool as ever.
Except that I knew he wasn’t, because if he knew my dirty secrets? I knew his, too.
I didn’t know what we were doing tonight. Going out, or staying in. The only thing I knew for sure was that Hemi knew which it was going to be, and what was going to happen.
Well, I might have a plan, too. I hung up my suit and towel, then took off all my clothes and took my time rubbing wildflower-scented body butter into my skin. I applied just enough makeup to look like I wasn’t wearing any and fixed my hair in a tousled bedhead look before changing into soft black cotton leggings and a long, stretchy white shirt with a low crossover neckline, a gathered front, and a hem barely long enough for decency. A tiny gold heart on a chain around my neck, and Hemi’s ring on my finger. All soft and clinging and innocently, sweetly seductive, like I didn’t know what I was doing.
I almost hadn’t packed this shirt. I was glad now that I had. Hemi was going to try his best to knock my socks off tonight, but he was going to be facing some competition. If he knew how to push my buttons? I knew how to push his, too.
I’d never been much good at sports, but there was a game or two I was good at playing all the same. I’d been a late bloomer, but I had what Hemi needed. Of that, I was sure.
He was at the dining room table, working on his laptop with his usual focus, when I came in with my own computer. I set up at right angles to him, then wriggled around some, pulled my hem down, which also had the effect of exposing my newly acquired cleavage, and shoved a foot under myself so I was curled into the chair, angled a tiny bit toward him.
Did he look up? Yes, he did. And then he kept looking.
I didn’t pay any attention. I found my document, propped an elbow on the table, shoved my hand into my hair, messing it up some more, bit my lower lip, and sighed. And he watched that, too.
He went back to work, eventually, without a comment, and I smiled a little inside and kept my own focus on applying for the working holiday visa I’d need to get a job here, then did some more research on everything I’d need to know and everything I’d need to do. Hemi sat still, his face intent, his fingers flying, and if he looked at me from time to time? Maybe I did my best to distract him.
Tomorrow, he’d be leaving, back to his fourteen-hour days, back to running his empire and managing his crises without distraction. Tonight, though, he was mine.
It was almost six when Tane’s oldest, sixteen-year-old Nikau, showed up at the door. Karen, who’d come into the living room at the sound of the doorbell, said, “I could just have walked up the hill, you know. I mean, it’s nice of you to come get me and all, but unless I’m going to be attacked by a wild pig or something, I think I was pretty safe.”
“Karen . . .” I began.
Nikau, already almost as tall as his father, looked startled, then grinned. “Yeh, nah, maybe you’re not all that, eh. I came to deliver some fish to Uncle Hemi as well.” He handed Hemi a squashy parcel in a plastic carrier bag and said, “Dad said you’d be expecting it, Uncle. We caught it this morning.”
“Cheers,” he said.
Karen said, “Whoops. I guess I blew it, huh?” And I thought, You think?
“Nah,” Nikau said. “Just don’t say something like that to Dad, and you’re all good.”
“Oh,” she said. “Is that some kind of New Zealand thing about respect for your elders?”
“Some kind of Maori thing,” Hemi said as Nikau looked startled again. “Could be you’ll learn something.”
She laughed. Oh, man. I really had to teach her some better manners. Then she picked up her backpack and said, “I’ll see you guys tomorrow morning, then. Or tonight, if they kick me out for being rude.”
“At least you get that,” I said. “For
heaven’s sake, Karen.”
“Won’t be happening,” Hemi said. “Hospitality’s another Maori thing. See you in the morning.”
Once he closed the door on them, he hefted the plastic packet, looked at me for a long moment, and headed into the kitchen.
Oh, I thought. Refrigerator. In another second, I heard it shutting, and Hemi came back out to join me.
He wasn’t wearing jeans tonight. I’d already noticed that. He’d changed after the pool, too, while I’d been in the bathroom. Now, he had on black trousers in a fine wool, together with one of his white dress shirts with the sleeves rolled up to show the lowest few inches of his swirling tattoo, not to mention the forearms I never got tired of looking at, with their thick bands of muscle under the bronzed skin.
When I’d emerged from the locker room with Karen that afternoon and had slid into the pool next to him, I’d wanted to stare. It was easy to forget, after a couple weeks, exactly how spectacular that body was. The slabs of pectorals, the bulk of shoulders and arms, and, best of all, that wonderful V-shape as shoulders tapered into broad chest and then on down to his trim waist.
It wasn’t all visible right then, of course. You couldn’t, for example, see the thin, dark line of hair running from his navel into the top of his swim trunks or the strength of his thighs. But you could imagine them. And the sight of those muscles, that skin, that blue-black tattoo, and the close-cropped dark head, all of it glistening with water? It was pretty special. In fact, there was a group of older ladies doing some kind of water aerobics in the next lane who I could swear weren’t exercising nearly as much as they ought to have been.
I’d ignored him then, too. I’d been sassy, and he’d loved it. I’d left him wanting more. He might act like he had all the power, but we both knew it wasn’t true.
Now, with Karen gone, I sat back down in front of my computer, but he slid it out from under my hands, closed it, and said, “Oh, no.”
“Excuse me?” I tossed my head and frowned at him. “Do you get to say that?’
“Yeh. I do.” He closed his own, then, and set them both on a low table near the front door. “How hungry are you? Need me to fix you a snack?”
“Um . . .” I did a little more nibbling on my bottom lip, because he liked to watch it. “Not too bad. I’m good for another hour. Are we going out?”
“Now, Hope,” he said, coming toward me, picking me bodily up out of my chair and setting me on my feet. “You know I’m making you snapper tonight. But not yet. Seems I’ve got some feet to hold to the fire first.”
I expected him to take me into the bedroom, but he didn’t. He flipped a switch at the wall so the only illumination came from a table lamp, pulled blinds closed all around the room, then picked up his phone and pushed buttons until the room was filled with music. Low and dark, soft and sweet, but with an urgent, sensual edge. A male voice, singing about desire and longing and getting what you needed most from a woman.
“That’s better,” Hemi said. “You’ve been teasing me all afternoon. Time for me to tease you.”
Hemi
When Hope had disappeared into the bedroom after our outing with a saucy glance back at me, I’d had all I could do not to follow her in there.
Karen had still been with us, though, so I couldn’t. The two hours that passed until she left were some of the longest I’d ever spent. Especially with all Hope’s little sighs, the wriggles and readjustments, her index finger tracing her lower lip as she stared at her screen in a fascination I’d known she was pretending.
Now, Karen was gone, the music and the lights were both low, and Hope was on the couch, her hair tumbled around her shoulders, one edge of that stretchy shirt slipping over to one side, showing a thin pink ribbon of bra strap. All she had to do was lie back and look at me with those eyes, her pretty mouth a little parted, and I was halfway gone.
“Hope,” I said, and this time, it was my finger tracing her lips, forcing her mouth to open more for me, “do you want me to take off your clothes?”
Her eyes widened even more, and I could swear she was breathing harder already. “Yes.”
I smiled and felt the dark satisfaction of it all the way down my body. “But they’re so pretty, and you wore them just for me. So I think I’m going to have to explore a little first. Besides—I need to kiss you, and you need to be kissed.”
I had weeks to make up for, so I took my time. I started out by sucking that passionate, plump lower lip into my mouth as I stroked my thumb down the side of her neck, trailed the backs of my fingers over her bare shoulder, and shoved her shirt a little farther to one side. I traced the pretty pink strap of her bra down, then followed the low V-neck around and down, touching the delicate skin between her breasts with a thumbnail, letting it rasp down into my favorite valley as I took her gasp into my mouth. I did all of that, until I needed more, until I was laying her back against the cushions and getting my arm around her, my hand holding the back of her neck firmly enough that she’d know she was mine.
I was going to be careful, but I was going to be possessive. She might not like that in all aspects of our life together, but she liked it here, and she needed it. And so did I.
I was right, because just like that, she was shuddering and saying, “Hemi.”
I smiled inside, but I didn’t answer her. Instead, I held the back of her neck a little harder, then trailed my lips across her cheek to her ear and felt her start to tremble. I took my time nibbling on the lobe, then moved to her throat. When I began to kiss her there, she was already moaning, and we’d barely started. And when I did it better, when I took a gentle bite at the spot where her neck met her shoulder and then kissed and bit my slow way back up, she started to squirm.
I couldn’t feel the silky skin of her legs under my hands, though, and I needed to. I needed to wind her up, to make it good for her, to make it last, and to do that? I needed her legs. I sat up, got both hands under her stretchy white top, and pulled the leggings down, taking her socks with them.
“Oh, yeh,” I said when my hands were running up her calves, pushing her knees gently apart. “That’s better.” My hands drifted over her thighs, and she sucked in a breath and held it.
“How badly do you need an orgasm, sweetheart?” I asked her. My thumbs were moving higher, then higher still. They were nearly there, and she was whimpering.
“So . . .” she managed to say. “So badly. Hemi. Please.”
“Open your eyes,” I told her. Her head was back, her eyes closed, her mouth open. I watched her lids fluttering open, and I smiled.
“Normally,” I said, “I’d tease you more first. Normally, I’d make you wait. I’d make you beg. But I think, tonight . . . you’ve missed me too much.”
When I shoved her top up to her waist and exposed the pink thong with the black lace overlay, the one I’d bought her in Paris, I thought I was the one who’d missed her too much. I got my hands under the straps and pulled the tiny scrap of material down her legs, and she said, “Ah . . .” and started to close her eyes again.
“No,” I said. “Watch me.” And she did. She watched while I pulled her hips to the edge of the couch, and while I sank to my knees in front of her. And she watched while I did what I’d promised. I had a hand on each knee, and I was positioning her for me, and then I was opening her with one hand while I explored her with the other. Not one bit quickly. She might be embarrassed, but I didn’t care. She was mine, and I needed to see her, and touch her, and taste her, and feel her. Absolutely everywhere.
She’d changed here, too. She was pinker, softer, fuller. More delicious, more swollen, and if I’d thought Hope was responsive before? Now, I could hardly hold her down. I’d barely begun to kiss her, to suck her into my mouth, and she was already writhing, calling out. I could feel her back arching, and her hands were in my hair, hanging on desperately. And when I slipped a careful finger inside her, then another one, and found the spot? I thought she was going to explode.
It felt like seco
nds. I knew it wasn’t nearly long enough before she was bucking, moaning, and calling my name. She was coming into my mouth, then climbing again, over and over. And all I could do was keep going. All I could give her was more.
Hope
He’d promised me he wouldn’t be rough, and he wasn’t. He wasn’t one bit rough, and he didn’t make me work for it. He just gave it to me again and again like he didn’t know what “done” was, like all he wanted was to take my pleasure into his mouth, and then to give me more. He showed me exactly why he was the only man who could ever satisfy me. And when I was limp and shaking, wrung out and used up, he stood, picked me up, carried me into the bedroom, laid me down on the bed, turned on the light beside it, and stood over me like the conquering warrior he was.
“I’m going to fuck you so carefully tonight,” he told me, and I shuddered again. I was so satisfied, but I wasn’t one bit done. I was still so aroused, in fact, that my entire body felt like one aching need. “I’m going to get you where I want you, and then I’m going to make you come over and over for me. You need it, and I need to do it to you.”
He was drawing my shirt over my head, unfastening the clasp of my bra. I was sprawled across his bed, my legs parted, all of me exposed for him, wearing only that tiny golden heart and his ring. And he still had all his clothes on.
“I should . . .” I said. I rose on my elbows, and he pushed me back down with a gentle hand on my shoulder.
“No,” he said. “There’s no ‘should’ tonight. You don’t have to do anything. I’m going to do it all.”
His hand was on my lower belly, tracing gently over the little bit of swelling there, and he said, “This is nice. This is so pretty.”
Found (Not Quite a Billionaire Book 3) Page 8