Priceless (An Amato Brothers/Rixton Falls crossover)

by Winter Renshaw

  “Doesn’t bother me if it doesn’t bother you.” I shrug, reaching for her hand. “Come on. Don’t let some asshole ex ruin this night for us.”

  Maren redirects her attention my way, her mouth inching into a smile. “Yeah, no. I would never let him ruin this.”

  We climb out of the car, and I take her hand when she makes her way around the hood of the car. Pulling her into me, we all but sprint toward the front door. In a matter of seconds, we’re inside, hands pulling frantically at each other’s clothes, lip-locked, and stumbling backwards as if we’re in some kind of race against time.

  I’ve lived here two nights now, and I’m still not familiar enough to stumble around this house with my eyes closed, so I pull my mouth off Maren’s and take her hand, leading her upstairs to the master suite.

  The left strap of her dress hangs from her shoulder, and her mouth is red where I kissed her against the wall in the foyer a moment ago. She wears a delirious half-smile, just for me, and her dark eyes flash when our gazes meet.

  “Are you sure this is what you want?” I rest my hand on her hip, bringing her body against mine. Lowering my mouth to hers, I lift my other hand to the nape of her neck. Freed satin tendrils fall from the loosening twist in her hair as she rises on her toes. Stepping out of her heels, she presses herself against me, harder this time, lifting her hands to my shoulders.

  “No,” she breathes. “I don’t want this, Dante.”

  My body freezes but my heart still pounds in my chest.

  “I need this,” she adds, lips smirking before they meet mine again.

  “Good god, woman, don’t scare me like that,” I growl, my hands moving to the back of her dress and tugging on the zipper. The fabric pools on the floor at her feet, leaving her in nothing but a pair of lacy black panties.

  Lowering myself to my knees, I slip a finger beneath the waistband of her panties and tug them slowly down her curved thighs. And then I grip her ass, bringing my mouth to her apex, dragging my tongue along her seam, and listening for that sigh . . . the one that tells me she’s letting go. I need her to give herself to me. I want to make her feel things she’s never felt before. I want her to remember this night as long as she lives.

  Every square inch of her is smooth and hairless besides the narrow landing strip above her gorgeous fucking pussy. She spent the better part of this week acting like she didn’t want this, but no woman would’ve gone to all this trouble getting a fresh wax if they didn’t want to get fucked.

  “You taste so good, Maren,” I sigh, blowing a hot breath between her thighs before breathing in her intoxicating arousal.

  Rising, I take her by the wrist and lead her to the bed.

  “Lie down,” I command, my hands working to unfasten my belt.

  I watch her lie back slowly, never taking her eyes off me as I undress before her. Her body is soft and womanly, it curves and dips in all the right places. Swollen breasts that beg to be touched. Thighs that beg to be parted. A generous ass that begs to be groped.

  As soon as I’m completely disrobed, I climb over on top of her, using my knee to separate her thighs. Tracing my hand between her breasts, I move to take a single budded nipple, twisting it gently between my thumb and forefinger before lowering my mouth to taste it.

  Every square inch of her smells like almonds and honey and arousal, and I’m happily drowning in her intoxicating aroma.

  I move between her thighs, settling in and lifting her legs so they’re resting on my shoulders. I watch her stomach bow and cave as she waits, anxiously, for me to finish what I started.

  Separating her folds, I slide a finger inside, aided by her arousal, and circle her clit with my tongue. Her hips buck in response, a sign that she’s fighting a lost cause. I’m in control tonight, and her pleasure belongs to me.

  “Relax,” I breathe against her wet flesh, feeling a quiver in her thighs as I bring my mouth closer again. Fucking her with my fingers, I devour every tender, sensitive part of her, flicking and sucking and swirling until she’s writhing against me.

  I could stay here for days, but I want to feel the deepest part of her with the hardest part of me.

  Pulling myself up, I lower my mouth to hers. “Taste how fucking good you are.”

  She kisses me, hard, and our tongues press against each other’s. I’m sure no one’s ever done this to her before, but she needs to know how sweet and addictive she is.

  I roll off her and swipe my wallet from the floor where it fell out of my dress pants. Taking a condom, I rip the foil packet between my teeth and sheath myself. I’m hard as a fucking rock, and Maren fucking Greene is lying naked on the center of my bed, breathless, and staring at my cock like it’s the scariest thing she’s ever wanted to feel in her life. Her almond-shaped eyes are wide and round, and her hand clutches across her left breast.

  Going to her, I slide behind her, pressing the back of her body against the front of mine. My hand slips beneath her arm and I hold her close, pressing kisses into her hot flesh, at the bend where her neck meets her shoulder.

  Her body alternates between tense and relaxed, and her breathing quickens. Beneath my palms, her skin is covered in goose bumps.

  “It’s okay,” I breathe my words between kisses, my hands sliding down her soft belly and along her thigh. I pull her leg higher and press my cock closer, positioning myself to enter her from behind.

  Her hair is a mess, sticking to her neck and my face, and her hips jut out when she feels the tip of my cock graze her slick seam. Reaching lower, I grip the base of my cock and press myself inside her, moving slow, savoring each inch of her that I fill.

  She sighs the moment I’m completely inside of her.

  “Feel good?” I whisper.

  She nods as my hand slides up the S-shaped curve of her side, moves between her swollen breasts, and stops at her neck, just beneath her jaw. My thumb grazes her lower lip as I take my time, filling her with slow, deep thrusts that elicit sweet, breathless sighs from her full, perfect mouth.

  “Touch yourself.” I take her hand and bring it to her clit, pressing the tips of her fingers to her most sensitive spot.

  Her hair has unraveled, spilling around her shoulders. I gather it in my hand, tugging on it as I thrust harder and faster, loving the way her body feels warm against mine.

  Her lips part, and soft moans grow faster, more desperate. Her fingers coax her to the edge and her thigh wraps around my hip. My cock buries deeper inside her, and my balls tighten the second she screams and her body writhes and hardens.

  “Faster, don’t stop,” she pleads, whispering. “Keep going, keep going . . .”

  I fuck her faster, my forearm pinning her breasts and my hand cupping the base of her neck as I drive myself into her. I feel her come undone in my arms, her body melting against mine as I drive myself into her a final time, exploding with a rush that spans my entire body.

  We collapse, and I linger inside her a few extra seconds, savoring that sweet, fleeting, ecstasy high.

  Pulling myself from her a moment later, I make my way to the bathroom to clean up and return with a warm washcloth for her. I drag the cloth between her thighs and kiss her swollen mouth for the hundredth time tonight.

  “That was amazing.” Her lips curl into a smile, her hands tracing the outline of my biceps. “Good God, that’s what I’ve been missing all these years?”

  I roll to her side, admiring my work. The flush of her cheeks. The way she bites her lower lip. The glint in her dark eyes as it shines against the moonlight that spills in from the window beside us. Her hand smacks her forehead, and she stares up at the ceiling.

  “I actually came, Dante. I came during sex.” She smiles, shaking her head from side to side. “When can we do it again?”

  Resting my hand on her lower belly, I catch a hint of a scar just below her hip bones. It’s faded, but slightly jagged along her smooth skin. I’ve never seen a C-section scar before, but I can’t think of what else that would be.

&nbs
p; She notices me staring and tries to draw her knees up, but I won’t let her. I press her legs flat, sit up, and move my mouth to her lower belly, kissing lower and then lower still, until I find the jagged scar, and then I kiss that too.

  “Every part of you is sexy, Maren,” I say.

  I take my place beside her and bring her into my arms. Her hair spills down her shoulders and over my chest, and her cheek rests against my heart.

  “Can I tell you something?” I ask, staring at the ceiling.

  She nods, and I hear her pull in a breath and hold it.

  “The first time I saw you, at the Hotel Noir, I couldn’t take my eyes off you. You were sexy and confident and you had this contagious laugh, this otherworldly ambience about you, like you’re lit from within,” I say. “I was completely transfixed. And extremely turned on. And when your friend approached me with your number, I had to contact you immediately. That’s not usually my style, Maren. But I couldn’t wait. I didn’t want you to get away. I didn’t want to lose my chance. Calling a week later would’ve been weird, you know? I had to call you right away. And then when you rebuffed me, it only made me want you more.”

  There’s something else I want to tell her, something I feel like she should know, but it’ll have to wait.

  She lifts her head and rolls to face me, her hand pressed on my chest. “You like a girl who plays hard to get, don’t you?”

  I bite my lower lip and smile. “Yeah. I do.”

  “What made you give in? You were pretty dead set on not fucking me for a good while there.”

  “You made me laugh.” Her head tilts and our eyes lock. “And you look at me in a way that no man’s ever looked at me before.”

  Losing myself in her chocolate-brown gaze for an endless moment, I realize I’ve never felt so comfortable with anyone in my life. Being with Maren, in any capacity, is easy.

  “Can I tell you something?” she asks, biting her lower lip.

  “Of course.”

  “I was so nervous today,” she says. “I thought about cancelling our date.”

  “And why would you want to do an insane thing like that?”

  She lifts a shoulder to her ear. “A whole bunch of reasons, really. Mostly doubting your intentions . . . what are your intentions, Dante?”

  I cup her soft jaw in my hand and press my lips against hers, tasting wine and remnants of her arousal.

  “I just want to lose myself in you. Escape the world for a bit,” he states simply, breathing me in. The corners of his mouth pull up as he kisses me once more. “You want to go again?”

  Her hand slips south, gripping my cock as it begins to throb and harden at the thought of feeling her again. My skin burns, feverish everywhere our bodies touch.

  “Yeah,” she says. “I do.”

  The next morning, her hair frames her face in loose, messy waves, the dark strands playing off her caramel complexion. Sex hair in its truest form. She steps into her little black dress and scans the room for her heels.

  “I’d offer you breakfast, but I literally have no food in the house,” I say, watching as she gathers her clothes and shimmies into her dress with quick, fluid tugs and pulls.

  Waving her hand, she stoops down to grab a heel. “Don’t worry about it.”

  I’m not sure why, but I expected this morning to be a little more awkward than it currently is. Instead it’s easy and comfortable.

  When she’s dressed, I slip on a pair of navy sweats and a gray v-neck t-shirt, then grab my wallet and keys to drive her home. On our way out the door, I cup her ass and press her against the wall in the foyer one last time, my lips trailing kisses along her collarbone.

  Maren smiles before pushing me away. “Come on. Let’s go. You should be sick of me by now.”

  That’s where she’s wrong.

  I’m a serial monogamist.

  I’m a one-woman type of man.

  I know what I want, and when I see what I want, I take it. No excuses. No apologies.

  Right now, I want Maren.

  We head toward the driveway where my car still waits. I’m not enthusiastic about leaving my Porsche parked in a driveway overnight, but this is one of the nicest neighborhoods in Seattle, and the parking situation is only temporary until the owner of this rental can clear their storage boxes out of the garage next weekend.

  I press the unlock button on my key fob as Maren’s heels click against the concrete and birds idly chirp in the trees above us.

  “Dante?” There’s one shrill sound I’m not expecting to hear on this lazy Sunday morning. “Are you fucking kidding me?!”

  I glance across the trimmed hedges that separate my rental from Maren’s ex’s house and spot my ex, Lauren Chamberlain, who stands with her hands on her hips, dressed in full jogging gear. Her face is twisted into a scowl, and her gaze darts between Maren and me.

  It was only a matter of time before we ran into each other again. This was bound to happen sooner or later.

  “You two know each other?” Maren asks, pointing back and forth.

  “Yeah,” I say dryly. “She’s my ex-fiancée.”

  Chapter 19

  Maren

  “Get in the car, Maren.” There’s a staunch command in his tone that I dare not disobey as much as I’d love to stand here and gawk at Lauren. I’d seen pictures of her on Facebook before, but she looks so different in person.

  This is the first time I’ve ever come this close to her. She’s taller than I expected. Gaunt. A bag of bones with big, round, silicone breasts that float off her chest. Her hair is thin, hits mid-back in a low ponytail and is bleached into a near-white shade of blonde. Her deep-set eyes are dark as midnight and round. She’s dressed to go jogging, but her face sports at least a half dozen makeup products. I’m willing to wager she’s probably one of those women who work out but never so much as break a sweat.

  I avert my gaze and climb in the passenger side of Dante’s car, trying so hard not to steal one more glance.

  But I’m curious.

  I’m mostly curious why a girl like Lauren would leave a man like Dante and go for a guy like Nathan.

  It doesn’t make sense.

  Most women, especially women like her, tend to upgrade.

  And then I’m curious why a man like Dante would go from a girl like Lauren to a woman like me. We’re polar opposites, me and Lauren, at least on the exterior. I assume our insides are just as contrasting.

  Dante climbs in and slams the door.

  “Small world, huh?” I try to make light of a situation that obviously bugs him. We could either make this hugely awkward or laugh it off because sometimes life tries to be hilarious at all the wrong moments. “What are the odds?”

  He starts up the engine and shifts into reverse, his narrowed gaze lifting to his rearview mirror and his hands wrapping his steering wheel until his knuckles turn white.

  The drive back to my place is as awkward as it is uncomfortable. I don’t say a word. And for a fraction of a second, it occurs to me that maybe he knew all along. Maybe he knew that Nathan was my ex and that Lauren was screwing Nathan, and maybe he wanted to fuck me to get back at Nathan?

  It kind of makes sense, really.

  I mean, why else would some twenty-seven-year-old stud pursue some boring, divorced, single mother of two this relentlessly?

  And what are the odds that he’d move into the house directly beside them?

  Halfway home, I find myself stewing, convinced I’ve figured out exactly what’s going on here. And now I’m confused, because last night was the best sex I’ve had in my entire life, and I want it to be real. I want it to mean something or maybe even to be the beginning of something . . .

  God, I’m an idiot.

  How did I not see this?!

  He orchestrated this perfectly. He set the trap and I walked right into it.

  He turns down my street, and I unbuckle my seatbelt. When he pulls into my driveway, I reach for the handle of my door before he has a chance to shift
into park.

  “Maren,” he says when he hears the click of my door.

  I step out.

  The scuff of my heels along my front walk are joined by the soft treading of his sneakers behind me. His hand finds the small of my back before hooking the bend in my elbow, and he pulls me to face him.

  My arms cross along my chest, head tilting when our eyes meet.

  “I’m sorry,” he says, his hands on my hips. We’re standing on my front porch now, just beneath the roof. “I wasn’t expecting to see her. I promise you. This wasn’t intentional. I haven’t seen her since she left me for someone else.”

  Dante exhales, dragging a hand through his mess of dark waves and staring off to the side. His face winces, as if he’s recalling a painful memory.

  “We’d been together since college,” he says. “We were engaged. I was working a lot, putting in long hours . . . sometimes seventy or eighty-hour weeks just to get my company off the ground. I neglected her, and I guess she found someone else who could give her what she wanted . . . and I guess that someone was your ex.”

  Nathan, though?

  I make a disgusted face.

  It’s like she traded in a Porsche for a Pinto, at least on the outside.

  “There must be something she’s getting out of it,” he says. “Does Nathan have a ninety-foot yacht docked in Puget Sound? A chalet in France?”

  With my jaw tightening and my lips drawing into a smirk, I chuff as it all starts to make sense.

  “He’s loaded,” I say. “His family is extremely wealthy.”

  “Well, then there we have it.”

  “But she won’t see a penny of it. If he ever marries her, he’ll make her sign a pre-nup.”

  “Guess the joke’s on her then.”

  “Anyway.” I pull in a lungful of sweet Sunday morning air and glance up at the man who singlehandedly rocked my world last night. Not once. Twice. And again this morning. I’m sore, but it’s a delicious soreness that I want to savor as long as possible. And the second it leaves, I want it back.

  “How soon can I see you again?” he asks.