by Naima Simone
Though his footfalls were soundless, she sensed the moment he entered the room. The air seemed to shift, change, become more charged. Lifting her lashes, she stared, silent, as he tossed a foil packet on the bed, and a couple more on the bedside table.
Holy. Shit.
Her breath stuttered in her lungs. That boded incredibly well for her. Like a switch had been thrown, her body went from languid to needy as fuck. As if just moments ago he hadn’t wrecked her in a cataclysmic orgasm.
Quickly and without the slightest hint of modesty, he removed his clothes. In seconds, he stood, bared to her greedy gaze. Damn, the man was…beautiful, stunning, perfect… All of those descriptions seemed so inadequate to describe the muscles delineated in stark relief under taut skin. His wide shoulders and chest narrowed to a ridged abdomen, and good Lord, did he rock that delicious V-hip thing that only the truly in-shape men sported. Strong, tightly toned thighs and legs supported him, and between those thighs… She swallowed, and a twinge of feminine excitement mixed with just a hint of anxiety throbbed low in her belly. She’d felt his cock. Hell, had ridden and ground against it. But… He was huge. Blessed. Packing. Either and all of those. A thick stalk of flesh rose proudly from a nest of dense hair like a marble column. Thin but visible veins pulsing with life crisscrossed his length like a road map, all leading to the wide, ruddy cap. A cap that glistened with pearly drops of pre-cum. Alex fisted his flesh, gave it two slow, healthy pumps that had her mouth watering for a taste.
She was staring; God knew she was staring. And it was probably rude. But damn if she could snatch her gaze away. The man had her cock-tranced. If that was a thing.
Before she started penning odes to his erection, she closed her eyes, but a second later, she opened them, unable to waste one moment not taking him in. With that rock-hard body, pagan god-dick, and those dark tattoos, he seemed like some primal warrior ready to conquer and pillage. And she was the territory he had his sights on.
He picked up the condom, ripped open the package, and donned the protection with the same economical movements he’d used to strip. She couldn’t move as he climbed onto the bed, his big body crouched over her. Unable to help herself, she trailed a finger down his column where it swung heavily between his legs. It flexed under her touch, the heat of him reaching out to her even through the latex. All that power. And soon it would be driving right into her.
Oh God, yes, please.
He came down over her, and she spread her legs, granting him easy and ready access to her. But he didn’t take fast advantage. No, he studied her with the laser-sharp intensity that she usually met head-on, but now, naked and vulnerable underneath him, she avoided. Here, now, with need transforming her into a sensual creature that she’d never been introduced to before tonight, that scrutiny proved too much.
Instead, she reared up and captured his mouth in a kiss that only ratcheted the heat inside her from blazing to inferno. She ached for him, hungered for him. Needed him burrowing inside her, taking her.
“Fuck me, pumpkin,” she whispered in his ear, nipping the lobe.
A hard shudder worked through his body. From her words or the tiny bite, she couldn’t tell, but it didn’t matter when he gripped his cock and nudged her entrance with the flared tip. Digging her fingernails into the dense muscles of his shoulders, she held on, knowing what awaited her. And she craved it.
He pressed forward, the cap penetrating her, followed by the first few inches of him. The air in her lungs stalled out like a sputtering car. Okay, in theory she’d known what awaited her. But reality… He filled her, stretched her sex so her muscles worked overtime to accommodate him, quivering and spasming, burning. She forced her body to relax even as she took more of him. And more. Her fingernails bit harder into him as she clung to him, her only solid purchase in this erotic storm he’d tossed her into.
Finally, his hips met hers, his entire length buried inside her so deep, she couldn’t even tell where he ended. And yet, he touched—branded—her, not leaving even one inch unclaimed.
She trembled. Alex was inside her. Alex. That knowledge whispered through her, making this different. More. She shook her head, as if trying to dislodge the traitorous thought from her mind.
Sex. This was just hot, mind-blowing sex. Nothing deeper or more meaningful than that…
“Am I hurting you?” Alex asked, stilling above her, obviously taking her gesture of denial as a sign of pain. “Morgan? Talk to me, baby.” He smoothed strands of damp hair back from her face, skating the pad of his thumb over her cheek. She turned into the caress like a kitten, and he cradled her face in his big palm. “You okay?”
“Yes,” she whispered, kissing his skin. Giving a small, experimental flex of her hips, she moaned. With her folds spread, her exposed clit rubbed right against his pelvis, and… She moaned again. “Please.”
Shifting his hand to the nape of her neck, he withdrew until only the tip of his cock remained just inside her entrance. Then, with a roll of his hips, he surged back in, his thick length dragging over nerve endings that had lain dormant until this moment. No man had ever sent her senses snapping and sizzling. Maybe because of his almost-too-much size. Maybe because he worked her flesh like it was his job. Or maybe because it was Alex. Whatever the reason, he turned sex into an art, a song perfectly played, a canvas beautifully painted.
Sliding a hand down her thigh, he opened her wider, pushed her leg higher, burying deeper when she’d thought it an impossibly. She writhed beneath him as he rode her, at first slowly, then gaining speed and strength with every plunge, every thrust. Fierce, hard, fast, he fucked her. An endless stream of cries spilled from her lips—pleas for more, harder, deeper, don’t stop. And he acquiesced to every entreaty. The wet smacks of perspiration-damp skin meeting skin and the suction of his cock pistoning into her sex should’ve embarrassed her. But she relished every sound. Inhaled the sex-soaked air, and loved it because they’d created that scent together.
She gave him all she had, meeting him thrust for thrust, stroke for stroke. And when electrical sparks lit her up, sizzling to her lower belly then racing down to the soles of her feet, for a moment, she fought the sensation, not wanting the primal, carnal act they inadequately labeled sex to end. But, as the orgasm closed in on her, tightening her body, shortening her breath, she couldn’t fight it. Instead leaped into it, let it claim her.
Became a part of it. And as she detonated into shards of ecstasy, she hoped there would be enough of her left to reassemble into herself again.
…
Dawn crept into the room like a stealthy intruder through the slits in the closed drapes of Morgan’s hotel bedroom. Alex witnessed its gradual change from a pearlescent grey to the pinks and oranges that heralded a new day. The light didn’t reflect the cloud of doubt, regret, and fuck yes, panic swirling in his chest like a Midwestern twister.
What the fuck had he done?
The delicious presence of Morgan curled against his side answered the question, and his morning wood tenting the bedcovers volunteered to do it again. He was so tempted. The weight of her breast pressed to his side, all he had to do was reach under her arm and palm the sleep-warm weight and graze his thumb over the nipple. He had no doubt it would bead for him. And if he curled his tongue around it and sucked, he knew Morgan wouldn’t push him away. No, she’d slowly waken and push herself into his mouth, offer him a place to settle by spreading those gorgeous legs for him. She’d done it several times during the night. Welcomed him into her arms, her body. The two extra condoms he’d brought with him had been put to good use.
But that had been last night. The dark hours where the loss of control and reason were easier to ignore. Where lust and need were not just wanted but necessary. Getting inside Morgan had damn sure seemed vital. In the cold light of dawn, though, that kind of urgency and thinking struck him as dramatic…and horny. But his cock disagreed. Especially since just the thought of how she’d wrapped around him had his dick throbbing for a repeat.
It couldn’t happen. Once had been a slip-up. An aberration. Just as his confessing his past about his mother and Kim on the balcony had been. The entire night had been a monumental deviation and mistake that he couldn’t allow to occur again. He’d allowed their very cut-and-dried business deal to be muddied by sex.
This wasn’t him. Sex—no matter how good—had never clouded his judgment. Granted, he’d never encountered or experienced the clawing lust that Morgan aroused in him. And he’d had good sex, dirty sex, and even awesome sex. But never mind-bending, I’ll-give-you-my-left-nut-if-you-just-let-me-fuck-you sex. He’d learned from early on the cost of losing control. The price of letting his emotions dictate his actions. Last night, he’d chosen to forget…or not give a damn. He honestly couldn’t say which one was accurate. Not that either mattered. He just couldn’t let it happen again.
And the first step to not slipping again was distance.
Carefully, he slid from the bed. From the temptation to climb back under the covers with her and wrap himself around her body. He couldn’t stop himself from staring at her though. The gold hair streamed over the pillows and her shoulders, partially concealing her face. His fingers itched to stroke the thick strands, to fist them again. She’d liked when he tugged on her hair, directing her, guiding her. He’d caught her soft gasps and the flutters of her lashes. Damn, she’d been so responsive. She was every man’s wet dream.
Becoming distracted by her would be too easy.
He could see himself letting desire and sex blur the lines of what had brought them together—a business deal. Their arrangement was temporary, finite. In no more than a few months—if that long—she would exit stage left; she would have Phoenix House, and he would be the CEO of Bishop Enterprises. They would end this as they’d started it—walking away from each other.
If he allowed himself to overlook that, or worse, believe hot sex could lead to something more, he would still end it the same. Alone.
Love, commitment, fidelity—they were nice ideals for romance movies, starry-eyed teenagers, and greeting cards, but they didn’t survive cold, hard reality.
They didn’t survive people.
People changed their minds, grew bitter, fell out of love.
People left.
Jerking on his pants and swiping up his shirt, he padded barefoot from the room, closing the door softly behind him. Forty-five minutes later, he emerged from his bedroom, showered and dressed. And his determination fortified.
Morgan’s bedroom door opened, and she appeared, sleep flushed, hair rumpled from hours of his fingers tunneling through it, lips swollen from his kisses. She’d donned the robe he’d stripped from her the previous night, and the silk clung to the curves he’d caressed, licked, and sucked. His fingers tightened on the cuff he’d been in the process of straightening.
Lust, thick and hot, slid through him, deepening his breaths, hardening his cock. Though his body urged him to cross the floor and usher her back into the bedroom, he didn’t move. If he didn’t set this back on firm footing right now, he would trip. Let his dick control him whenever she entered a room.
And long for her when she wasn’t.
“You’re up early,” Morgan said, on the tail end of a yawn. “Is everything okay?”
“Yes.” He strode toward the table laid out with a carafe, fruit, croissants, and scones. He poured two cups of coffee, and picking them up, he handed one to her. “I have some work to go over before we leave for the airport in a couple of hours. I ordered some breakfast items for you, but if you want something else, feel free to call room service.”
“Okay,” she murmured, studying him over the rim of her mug. “Thank you. I’ll just take this in the room and get ready, then.”
She paused, as if about to say something, but with a nod, she pivoted and returned to the bedroom. Long after the door closed, he stared at it.
Damn. Regret was really fucked-up and lonely company.
Chapter Ten
Alex stepped out of his car and stared up at the three-story brick building in the middle of the Roxbury block. Studying it with an objective eye, he understood why there had been a bidding war over the property. Close to Dudley Square, a thriving shopping district, and minutes from downtown Boston, it was a prime location. The building could’ve been for residential or commercial use. He nodded as he climbed the front steps. Good choice. As a nonprofit organization servicing women and children in need, Phoenix House having the Boys & Girls Club, the library, and easy access to public transportation nearby was smart and probably a huge help and source of support.
He pressed the doorbell, and while he waited, wondered what the hell he was doing. And not for the first, or hundredth, time since they’d returned from New York two weeks earlier. He and Morgan had been to several business dinners and social events—including a Thanksgiving dinner with her family and twenty of her mother’s closest friends. They’d been on a social whirlwind solidifying the image of a happily engaged couple. But they hadn’t been intimate since New York. He’d purposefully kept her at a distance, limiting touching her silken skin to the occasions when they were perpetrating their charade. And though his body railed at him every night that he could be balls-deep inside of her instead of his fist, he maintained that distance. Which relegated his presence here at Phoenix House in the middle of the afternoon when he should be at the office to the realm of “You’re a Goddamn Idiot.”
Curiosity. He could pass off his arrival here as curiosity about the place Morgan was willing to put a whole year of her life on hold for to protect. And part of it would be true. What about this organization inspired such commitment and passion? He had sacrificed for Bishop Enterprises, but it’d been his family’s business for generations and his legacy. While many socialites claimed nonprofits as their pet projects, he couldn’t imagine many went to the lengths Morgan had to ensure its survival. So yes, he had to understand the nature of the people that garnered that kind of loyalty.
And the other part… He clenched his jaw as a security guard unlocked the door and pushed it open. The other part he could barely admit to himself.
He missed her.
Yes, he’d spent time with her in the last couple of weeks, but the Morgan he’d come to know—the quirky, unpredictable, free with her wicked smiles Morgan—had been missing. Oh her act as his fiancée was flawless. But in private, she’d erected a shield around herself that she didn’t allow him to breach. A shield it seemed she’d started building the morning in the hotel suite. It was his fault. The woman who’d curled up against him had disappeared, and he was to blame. And though he shouldn’t—though it made no sense—he wanted that woman back. At least for the duration of their limited time together.
The terms of their arrangement had changed; after his dad signed the contract turning over controlling shares in Bishop Enterprises to him, they would return to their separate lives. He didn’t do commitment or relationships.
If he kept that foremost in his mind, he could justify this visit. At least to himself.
“Can I help you, sir?” the grey-haired security guard asked, moving behind a scarred desk where a log book and telephone sat.
“Yes. I’m here to see Morgan Lett. Alexander Bishop.”
The older man nodded and, picking up the receiver, dialed a number. “Hi, Ms. Lett. There’s an Alexander Bishop to see you in the lobby.” He paused. “Yes, ma’am.” Hanging up, he smiled at Alex. “She’ll be right out.”
A couple of minutes later, Morgan pushed through another door, and they stood facing each other. Silent. Assessing.
Christ, she was gorgeous.
Whether clothed in couture gowns or a sweater, tight jeans, and knee-high boots as she wore today, Morgan never failed to strike him like a fist to the chest. He easily remembered the texture and thickness of her hair, and staring at the ponytail she’d drawn it into, he hungered to have those strands wrapped around his fingers again. Craved to smudge that flawless red lipstick painting her
mouth. Watch those pretty blue eyes darken with arousal that he stirred inside her. He hadn’t forgotten how she looked so flushed, damp, and needy in that hotel room. Damp for and from him.
“Hello, Alex,” she greeted, cocking her head to the side. “Did we have something planned for this afternoon?” She narrowed her eyes, tapping the corner of her mouth. “If I can recall correctly, there wasn’t anything on the schedule you sent me.” If not for the slight emphasis on “schedule” and the glint in her eyes, he might have believed her civil and a tad confused tone.
Hell. He managed not to wince. When he’d emailed the social schedule listing their upcoming engagements, he hadn’t needed Kim calling him a socially stunted asshole to know his decision might not be the wisest. But schedules were a part of all his business associations. And that included Morgan.
Perhaps when she’d replied to his email with a curt, “Sir, yes, sir,” that should’ve been a clue that she’d been insulted.
“No,” he said. “I just dropped by.”
“Spontaneously?” She blinked. Then scowled. “Who are you, and what have you done with the real Alex Bishop?”
He sighed. “Are you going to let me come in or not, Morgan?”
She turned, and he thought he heard a muttered, “We tried that, remember?” But before he could question her, she opened the door and led him through.
They entered a large lobby, and the immediate change in atmosphere from the sterile outer vestibule to this colorful, lively place took him aback. Public service announcements and notices were tucked among childlike artwork, photos of women and children, and festive Christmas decorations, including an at least seven-foot tree in the corner, its branches heavy with homemade ornaments as well as store-bought decorations. The hum of voices and laughter emanated from closed doors as well as a community area where it appeared an arts and craft class was in progress. And from somewhere, the delicious scent of food permeated the air.