“Fuck you!” She stopped playing with herself and whipped off her camisole, briefly placated by the way his jaw dropped at the sight of her bare breasts. Hands on hips, she let him look his fill. “I’m a woman. Not a little girl. And I make my own decisions about who I sleep with and who I don’t.” She lay back on the bed, leaning on her elbows, her hair streaming behind her, and spread her legs slightly. “And I’m not afraid of a good, hard fuck when I’m asking for it.”
Okay, that was it. No more Mr. Nice Guy. He was a law enforcement agent, but he wasn’t a fucking eunuch.
The push he gave against the bureau as he straightened shoved it against the wall with a thud and he was at the bed, on top of her, a millisecond later. Exactly where he wanted to be. He held nothing back as he kissed her, shoving his tongue practically down her throat and palming those suddenly naked tits he’d been dying to see this whole time. He climbed between her open legs, spreading them farther with his knees as she kissed him back, her hands wandering around to his ass to shove his shorts down. He kicked them off impatiently and then leaned over to take one fresh, ripe breast in his mouth. God, she tasted like sweet, fresh, hot sunlight. Like something he was starving for.
His shorts off, she took his cock in hand, stroking firmly, and without further ado—which was a damn good thing given how much she had teased him and the fact he hadn’t been laid in a year—she brought him to the entrance of her wet pussy, so hot and tight he bit down on one nipple reflexively and she moaned.
Pulling his head away, he concentrated on the sight of his overtaxed cock sliding into her wet crotch. And she was wet. Incredibly so. But still so tight that he had to go slower than he would have liked, pushing in an inch at a time, wincing at the strange combination of pleasure and restraint.
“How old are you?” he bit out.
“Almost twenty-three.” Her eyes were heavy and excited as she watched as well.
Christ, she was just a baby. He was such a shit. He plunged his cock into her, all the way, and she sort of squealed, hugging him tightly to her.
“Did I hurt you?” he murmured anxiously, keeping perfectly still inside her, clutched so tightly by her inner muscles that the urge to move was almost unbearable. But he bore it. He needed to make sure she was okay, given how tight she was.
She took a deep breath. “Yes, you’re just bigger than I’m used to.”
He kissed her, softly at first and then with more intent, unable to keep his hunger from his kiss. She sucked his tongue lightly and he pulled his head away sharply.
“Don’t you like that?” she whispered.
“Uh, yeah. But I need to, uh…”
Her hips tilted up, cradling him deeper and he groaned.
“Need to what?” she prompted, running her hands down his back and then over his bare ass.
“Move,” he got out, flexing inside her almost involuntarily before he clamped down on the impulse. “Are you okay for me to move?”
“I was about to demand it.”
With a groan, he pulled out of her a little and then thrust back in. Oh Christ, that felt so good. Her sweet little body sucked him in, as if it wouldn’t let him go, and the friction of moving in and out of her was so unbelievably pleasurable. As the rhythm seized him, he pushed her legs open farther, wider, and with one hand cupped her ass to bring her even closer as he thrust.
The little mewling sounds she made drove him to give it to her faster, harder, until she flung her head back and cried out.
“That’s right,” he urged, burying his face in her neck. “Give it to me, come on, come for me.” And she did, squeezing him so tightly with her inner muscles as she climaxed that he almost came as well.
But he wanted more, longer. He let her catch her breath, staying still within her, and then he started to thrust again.
Vik had never considered himself a ladies’ man. Like most guys, he liked to fuck and he found it better, more enjoyable, when the woman was really into it as well. But he didn’t go cultivating his bed skills or anything. He just did what came naturally and followed whatever subtle cues she gave and that seemed to work out all right. He had more important things to contend with than whether he satisfied some chick or not. Though he’d never heard any complaints.
But with this girl—her lithe body heaving beneath him, the tangy taste of her on his lips as he ran them down the skin of her neck—with this girl, he wanted nothing more than to have her crying out in ecstasy, clinging to him as she came again and again.
He bent his head to run his tongue along one smooth silky breast, making his way to the nipple, rosy red and waiting for him like some fucking cherry. He sucked at it as he continued to thrust in her and she wrapped her legs around him, holding his head to her breast as she came again and though he wanted to keep going his long-starved body needed its release as well. He poured into her, arching back, savoring the feel of her wringing him dry as she whimpered beneath him.
After a minute, panting, he rolled off her and stared at the ceiling.
He could hear her panting too. That had probably not been the smartest thing he’d ever done. He brought one hand to his temple.
“I meant to do that.” Her calm voice cut through the sound of his own slowing breath.
“God, I hope so,” he muttered.
“You probably think I’m a total slut.”
He dropped his hand and stared sideways at her, surprised.
“But I was feeling very powerless, very scared, and sleeping with you made me sort of feel, ah, powerful, at least as a woman. Can you understand that?”
He hesitated. “Yeah. I guess so.” Smiling, he rolled over on his side, facing her. “You sure as hell had a lot of power over me.”
“Thanks,” she said contentedly. “That’s what I was trying for.”
What a nutty girl. So why did he find her so appealing?
“We should have used a condom, though.”
“Next time,” she said with a smile.
Christ.
She’d just slept with a criminal. God, she really did have crappy judgment when it came to men. Because it felt so much as though he was a good guy. In her gut, he felt like a good guy to her. How could that be?
He ran his hand down the curve of her bare hip as he looked down at her, his head balanced on his other hand. “You’re really very beautiful.”
“I guess. It’s because my mother was beautiful. She’s dead now. But all my father’s wives were beautiful.”
He arched an eyebrow. “I wasn’t talking about your mother. I was talking about you.”
“Do you have parents?” she asked.
“Everybody has parents.” His fingers traced her hipbone. “I just never knew mine.”
“You were an orphan?”
He shrugged. “I suppose. As I said, I never knew.”
“Who raised you?”
“A very wise woman.”
“Not your mother, though?”
“She was like a mother to me.”
“Does she know what you do?”
“She died when I was about eleven.”
“Who raised you after that?”
He leaned forward and dropped a kiss on her belly. “I raised myself.” Flipping onto his back, he nudged her on top of him. “Do you want to feel powerful again?” he whispered.
She straddled his narrow hips, his phallus rising up straight and hard between them, and she did feel powerful. She bent to kiss his cheek, stubbly with the beginnings of a beard. “Yes. I do.”
Not taking him into her yet, she kissed along the strong line of his jaw and then his throat, her fingers tangling in dark brown hair that felt silky. His eyes had dropped shut and she noticed how very long and black his eyelashes were. And then she kissed them as well. With each light touch of her mouth to his skin, she could feel his cock twitch between them.
“Do you have a condom, Samantha?” he asked hoarsely.
She kissed his lips, light, no tongue. “What if I said no?”
>
He smiled, eyes still closed, and his hands came to her bottom, rubbing in slow, mesmerizing circles.
“I’d say we’d have to find other ways to play. Once was risky enough.”
She nestled closer, flattening her body more against him, the silky hot length of him against her skin. From behind, his hand came between her thighs and swirled around with two fingers in the moisture there.
He thrust them inside her and she arched into his hand, opening her mouth on his now and plunging her tongue in to meet his.
As they kissed, she rubbed against his hard cock, spurred on by those naughty fingers doing their work inside her.
“Do you?” he prompted with a heavy jab of his fingers.
“Do I what?”
“Have a condom?”
As much as she hated to stop those fingers from their work, she knew how much better it would be to have his penis inside her. So she slid off him, feeling his eyes on her, and went into the bathroom. Rummaging around in the cabinet, she extracted the condoms she had brought on board once when she had faint hopes of ditching her father and whooping it up on shore.
As she brought the string of condoms back to the bed, she was mighty happy that adventure had never materialized.
Without commenting, he took the packets from her and after a rip and one smooth move, he donned one. Then pulled her atop him. He went in easier this second time and she marveled at how satisfying the fullness was. He was looking up at her as she balanced her hands on his chest, sitting up.
Experimentally, she moved a little. His sharp intake of breath pleased her and she did it again. His hands went to her hips and he lifted her body a little and then brought her down hard. She gasped.
His hands fell away.
“You’re in charge,” he said. “Fuck me. I’m all yours.”
The sensation as she took him up on his offer was empowering all right. She rode him—something she realized she’d barely ever done with a man. With the men she usually targeted, sex wasn’t an important part of the mixture. Alienating her father was—whether by choosing to be with a poet or a slacker or a flamboyant bisexual.
She moved faster, feeling her way through the rhythm, until his hands came up to her ass, flipping her over. He pounded away at her until they both came together, panting.
After a minute, he said, “I’m not very good at giving up control I guess. Let me try that again?”
She smiled.
The pink light of dawn was upon them as she snuggled in his arms, the faint sound of the water lapping against the bow of the yacht lulling.
“Do you like it when a woman goes down on you?” she asked.
“Is that a trick question?”
She frowned and he laughed. “Yes. Of course I do. There’s not a guy alive who doesn’t.”
“Oh.” Her hand wandered down to his sleeping cock and she stroked lightly.
Okay, that was enough to wake it up.
“Do you stay hard the whole time a woman is, uh…”
“Sucking my cock?”
She nodded.
“That would be a yes.” He tried to figure out where she was going with this. His cock, lengthening and hardening, hoped it knew. “Why would you ask that?”
“Oh, no reason. It’s just whenever I’ve, ah, tried that with a boyfriend, I don’t know, he seems to get distracted or something.”
“It is pretty distracting to have a woman’s mouth on your cock, but, like, in an incredibly good way.”
“I must not have been doing it right,” she said in a little voice.
Well, if that wasn’t an opening, he didn’t know what was.
He laughed. It was just too easy. “Would you like to, uh, try it on me?”
“Could I?”
Okay, now he was feeling kind of ridiculous. Sure, gorgeous lady, you can give me head if you’re really, really nice about it.
He scoffed.
“Well, we don’t have to if you don’t want to.”
“Fuck.” He pushed her gently down and she sort of sidled up to his cock. “Go ahead,” he urged.
She licked at it with short, torturous flicks of her tongue until he instructed, “Put it in your mouth.”
She complied with what looked like enthusiasm all right, sliding the head into her warm, wet mouth. He tangled his hands in her hair as she ran her mouth up and down his length, taking more of it each time.
With low, hoarse murmurs he encouraged her as best he could, considering his brain was barely functioning, the pleasure center overriding everything else.
“Oh look,” she said, taking her mouth away, startling him. “You’re still really hard.”
Christ, he’d have to question the sexual orientation, or maybe testosterone level, of any guy who could lose his erection with her tending to it with that soft, pink mouth. “Hmmm,” was all he could manage as he pushed her back to his crotch, pig that he was.
When he came a few minutes of mind-numbing licks and sucks later, he was careful to pull out first, coming on the sheets instead. She beamed down at him. “Look, I did it.”
Christ, what to do with this girl?
When he woke up, sunlight flooded the room and Samantha wasn’t beside him. That was the first thing he noticed.
He popped up in bed, unsettled by the fact, but then heard the shower going. Excellent. Stretching, he got up to join her, surprised when the bathroom door wouldn’t open. He shook the knob for a second before accepting it was locked.
Okay. Fine. She wanted some privacy. He was cool with that. He rubbed his eyes and then flopped back down in bed. He hoped she wasn’t getting up yet, though.
When she emerged a few minutes later, she was buttoned-up. That was the word that immediately came to mind. She had on some sleeveless cotton dress down to her ankles, with buttons all the way down it. And they were all fastened. Right up to her jaw practically.
He sat up slowly in bed.
Her hair was up too. With the dark heavy strands of it wound into some kind of bun at the base of her neck, she looked like a librarian. A wildly sexy, hot librarian, but a librarian all the same.
The look she flashed him had nothing of the sex kitten from the previous night, or, for that matter, the scared, sullen girl from before that. She looked well rested, confident, but definitely…untouchable.
“Oh, you’re up,” she said.
“Yeah.” He tried a smile. “I was kind of sorry I couldn’t join you in the shower.”
“Well, about that.”
God, that was a phrase a man hated to hear out of the mouth of the woman he had just slept with, several times especially.
“I appreciate what you did for me last night.”
“Fucking you?” he asked, hoping the crudeness of it would fluster a little of the librarian out of her.
But no such luck.
“Yes,” she said calmly. “Thank you. It was just what I needed.”
“Glad to oblige.” The sarcasm did not register with her, or if it did, she didn’t let on.
“Yes. But I meant for it to be a one-time thing.”
“You forgot to mention that.”
“Yes.”
“And it wasn’t one-time anyway, it was—I guess I lost count. Are you including the blowjob?”
“Yes, well, whatever. My point is it accomplished what I needed and there’s no need for it to continue.”
He stared at her, speechless. After teasing him senseless until he abandoned all of his ethics and slept with her and then fucking his brains out so thoroughly he couldn’t even tell you what his mission even was anymore, now she was giving him the brush-off? Dismissing him, just as she undoubtedly did with her legion of servants and sycophants and pussy-waxers?
The spoiled little bitch.
He got out of bed. “There was no need for it to have even started, babe. That was all you if you recall.”
“Of course I recall,” she said testily. “And I suppose now you’re going to try to hurt my feelings by i
mplying I’m a slut or something.”
“Well, I’d hate like hell to hurt your feelings, Miss High and Mighty. But don’t worry about it. I don’t really think you’re a slut. Your pussy was so tight, you couldn’t possibly have had many men before. Oh,” he paused as if it had just occurred to him, “unless of course they’d all had really tiny pricks and so couldn’t stretch you out much yet.”
She scoffed.
“But in any case, no big deal. You wore me out. I can do without it if you can.” He headed to the bathroom. “But don’t forget we still got to put on a show for our pals out there. So unbutton a few of your buttons, babe, and show a little of those gorgeous tits.”
He slammed the bathroom door on her scowl.
Samantha glanced around at the yacht’s galley as if she’d never seen it before.
“If it’s not too much trouble,” Santiago muttered, “can your new toy at least make us some coffee or pancakes or something? I’m sick of eating corn chips for breakfast.”
Vik nodded. “Yeah. Sure. Go check on our course and get me an ETA. She’ll put something on the table.”
When the other man was gone, Samantha turned her huge brown eyes on him. “Coffee?” she asked, as if he had demanded she levitate in the air.
Vik nodded, pointing at the espresso machine. “Yeah. Coffee. The fancy kind there if you’re up to it.”
“I don’t know how to use that.” Again, as if he’d asked her to complete some impossible, out-of-the-question task.
He looked around, rummaging through the state-of-the-art cupboards, finding an ordinary coffeemaker. “Okay, just use this instead.”
Again with the big eyes. Then, “I don’t know how to make coffee.”
He shook his head, muttering, “Incredible.”
“What? I’ve never had to make coffee.”
“How do you get coffee in the morning?”
“Someone brings it to me.”
He rubbed his eyes.
“What?” she demanded. She snatched the coffeemaker away, almost unsettling the glass carafe at its base, which he grabbed at the last minute and set on the counter. “Give me that. I’m sure it’s not too difficult.”
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