Steady and determined, he coaxed her to arch her back and to rub her clit against its thick, palpitating tip. It was so much more masculine and sophisticated than the vibrator she used on herself, and for a moment, she thought she might prematurely climax when he invaded her wetness and arced upwards against her G-spot, sparking a surge of spasms inside her. But he would not let her come—not yet—not until he guided it deeper, deeper than she ever thought possible, and synchronized its mechanical thrum with the rhythmic motions of his penetrations.
Oh…de-e-a-a-r-r…G-G-G-o-d-d. So very deep.
She gasped. He held her—tight, forcing her to endure it. So many times she had simply given up when she reached a safe plateau, reducing the speed on her own vibrator and simmering into a dependable, dignified orgasm rather than going full-throttle into a wild shrieking banshee release. But there was nothing dignified about the way he oiled her from behind, letting the warm honey-scented syrup cascade down her ass and between her legs, or the way his deviant tongue slid between her slit, stealing a taste of her riches. And there was nothing dependable about the way he gripped her bare ass from behind and replaced the cold, mechanical vibrator with the primal warmth of his cock. A rush of adrenaline shot through her sex. He intended on climaxing inside her.
With one uncompromising lunge, he heaved fully inside her, securing her stance to accept his unyielding thrust. She cried out with a fluttering string of notes before tremoring with uncontrollable shudders.
“There you are—” he exhaled, pinning her in place and coaxing her acceptance of the full-length of his cock. “Tell me how much you love it deep.”
A guttural groan escaped her as the thick trunk of his shaft breached the last barrier of resistance. Deeper than she ever thought possible. His cock grinded against her clit clip as he rocked back and forth inside her. God, how he conquered her with every merciless inch.
With quivering knees, she lowered her head, attempting not to faint. He hadn’t asked for permission and she hadn’t granted it, and yet, it was the only thing she wanted in the world—his fingers digging into her flesh, his thighs slapping against her backside, his cock striking against her G-spot, over and over while driving toward its ascent, seamlessly bringing her to the brink with his unforgiving pace, and then…soaring her beyond.
Beyond.
Seized with pulsating rush of pleasure, she trembled with a velocity that set free the loudest, most frenetic scream she had ever produced in her life, climaxing into a soprano pitch that harmonized chords of rapture throughout her entire body. Nothing about tonight had conformed to her expectations, and yet, everything about tonight exceeded them. He had kept his promise, making her come not two separate times, but in endless, multiplying succession—one orgasm after another after another—like a raging tsunami swirling and whirling over open waters before crashing against the depths of her quaking inner core.
After he withdrew his cock and rolled away the condom, brimming with his own cum, he lifted her into his arms and submerged them both into the steaming, frothy hot tub of bubbling water. The consoling blend of his compassion and strength relaxed her into his care. Spreading her arms across the smooth edge of the bath’s tiled ledge, he encouraged her to support her own languishing weight. Later, when she reflected on the surreal reality of everything that had happened, she barely could remember the moment his nimble fingertips liberated her nipples and clit from its constraining jewelry, or the way he removed her blindfold, trusting her to maintain their unspoken agreement of his anonymity. But like a sacred secret guarded within the privacy of her mind, she vowed never to forget the massaging sensation of the streaming jets, deliberately positioned against her breasts and sex, lulling her into a state of eternal bliss—and the tenderness of his kisses, feathering her cheek, earlobes, and neckline, until she fell fast asleep.
Chapter Fourteen
“You are in sooooooooo much trouble.”
Harvey fished out a peppermint candy from the porcelain bowl and lobbed it at Conchita, who was organizing gingerbread men along a decorative display tray.
“Well, hello to you, too.” She glanced down at the mint, wedged between the crease of cleavage, accentuated by her padded fuchsia pushup bra. “It’s not every day I get pelted with peppermints by a hot man in tight jeans. Prrrrrrr…”
Conchita tossed the peppermint back and Harvey caught it with his mouth. “Bullseye!” she cried out with a boisterous bob up and down.
“Okay, babe. Enough fun and games. I’m here about something serious that’s all your fault.”
“Really? You make it sound like I’m actually productive and useful.” Conchita lifted a gingerbread man and bit off his leg. Harvey noticed that half of the men on the tray were missing limbs.
“Oh, you’re very productive when it comes to meddling in other people’s business. Useful is another question.”
“Is this about me finding you and Alma in the elevator together, almost having sex? Because that was all your doing. I was just trying to have a pee break.”
“No, it’s about setting us up.”
Conchita fell unusually quiet and fluttered her fake eyelashes. “What do you mean?”
“You know exactly what I mean,” he asserted. “Giving me the telephone number of your ‘friend’ who just got a divorce and wasn’t looking for anything serious? Just some sexy texts?”
“Ohhhhhhhhh, right,” Conchita feigned a cloudy memory. “So whatever happened with that?”
“We met last night.”
“Oh, my effing God!” Conchita cried out, covering her own scream with her glittering acrylic fingertips. “You’re RomeroLuvsItSlow?”
“In a word, yes…except there was nothing about last night that was slow.”
“You mean you guys...actually…?”
Harvey answered with a visual. Taking the icing pouch from Conchita, he squirted out two D-cup flowers on the gingerbread man’s chest before stealing away a gingerbread man with phallic chocolate chip genitals and sandwiching it over the feminine one. “All because of you.”
Conchita looked down at the fornicating gingerbread. “Well, what the hell are you complaining about?” She clapped her hands and spun around in celebration. “This! Is! Awesome!!!! You two have been miserable wrecks since the day you split up and I’ve been miserable having to mediate your misery. So now you both have finally figured out that you belong together, which can only mean one thing—I’m going to get to be an auntie!”
Crushing her misplaced cheer, he overrode her. “Except she doesn’t know it was me.”
Conchita halted in mid-twirl and scrunched her plump face into a frown. “What do you mean she doesn’t know it was you?”
“She. Doesn’t. Know. It. Was. Me,” he punctuated, pointing out their respective roles in his gingerbread diagram. “She was blindfolded the entire time.”
“Oh come on,” Conchita squawked, as if she was used to him pulling her leg. “The entire time?”
Harvey squirted a band of icing across the face of the feminine one, and adjusted the gingerbread man behind her.
Gazing down at his artwork, she considered the possibility that he was not pulling her leg. “Wow…really, Harvey? Kinky.”
“Dumb. Stupid. And completely selfish.”
“Oh, I dunno know.” Conchita shrugged, taking up the icing pouch and decorating more of her gingerbread men with blindfolds. “Sounds like it was what you both wanted. And maybe a little something extra.” She swiped icing tongues onto their mouths and repositioned the male’s head at the base of the female’s legs.
“She’s never going to forgive me.”
“She’s probably going to come back for more, Romero.”
“Even if she does, I can’t let this happen again. And I can’t tell her the truth. So what am I supposed to do now?”
“Honestly, I’m still in shock that you two didn’t find out you were the ones sexting each other this entire time. I mean...how does that happen in this day and age? D
on’t people sext photos of their genitals anymore? Or am I showing my age?”
“Really, Conchita. I’m in trouble here and so are you. When Alma finds out that you’re the one who encouraged the swapping of our phone numbers, she’s going to want to flambé the both of us.”
“Hmm, that’s true,” she acknowledged, unwrapping a long swirled lollipop and pensively sucking on it. “But then again, I’m not the one who had sex with her as Romero.”
“Ughhhh.” Harvey bowed his head against the glass and heaved out his desperation. “I am so screwed.”
“Well, figuratively, probably not again…unless you fess up and hope she sees the positive side to all of this.”
“What’s the positive side?”
“Give me a few minutes and maybe I’ll come up with something.”
“Ughhhh,” he groaned again, flopping his forehead into the peppermint basket, wallowing in self-pity.
“For God’s sake, Harvey,” Conchita exclaimed in exasperation. “How can you be one of the richest, sexiest men alive and still be so clueless about the secrets of a woman’s heart? What about the make-up sex? That’s positive, right?”
“I’m pretty sure we’re never getting back together so I doubt there’s any chance of us having make-up sex. Alma hates my greedy selfish billionaire guts.”
“That’s exactly my point. Sex with your ex is never about getting back together. It’s about releasing all the animosity and bitterness you’ve been carrying around since breaking up and channeling it into hot, unbridled make-up sex. It’s like a mutual truce to stop hating each other’s guts and start moving forward with your lives. Plus, there are soooooo many added benefits of having sex with your ex. No awkward discussions about latex allergies. No judgement about cellulite. And no weird surprises like anal fingering by someone who doesn’t realize it’s not cool on a first date. All that matters is the chance to fuck each other’s brains out, and then afterwards, maybe she’ll remember how good everything was when you were together and when you used to love her like your best friend. Or in your case, your best friend with kinky benefits.”
“Not a best friend,” he corrected her solemnly. “A soul mate.”
Conchita handed over her sucker to him like a consolation prize.
He took a bite and pondered his predicament with a crunch. “She’s still the only woman who knows me better than I know myself and there’s nothing about being separated from her that feels right. So I don’t want just make-up sex or kinky blindfold sex. I want her back in my bed, every day, for the rest of my life.”
“Then just give her whatever she wants, Harvey, and watch her fall in love with you all over again.”
“I’m not certain I can do that.”
“Sounds to me like you figured it out last night.” She lifted a gingerbread man and nipped off his chocolate chip.
“In a fantasy world,” Harvey stressed, gnawing the sucker to the stick and tossing it into the trashcan. “An illusion constructed to escape from reality because in the real world, I’m not the kind of man that Alma wants anymore. And maybe I’m not even the kind of man she deserves.”
“Because you’ve become a self-centered, self-serving capitalist pig billionaire?”
“Well, yeah…basically.”
“Well, la dee dah, boo-fucking-hoo!” Conchita threw up her hands and returned all the gingerbread men on her tray. “Really, Harvey. What good is all that money if you can’t have the one thing you want most in your life?”
Harvey stared at her face, noting the uncanny resemblance to Alma, searing her words into his heart.
“Just give her want she wants and move onto the make-up sex, so then after that, you can move onto the relationship sex, and the wedding sex, and the honeymoon sex, and the babies, which will give me what I want, which is to be a favorite auntie someday before I’m old and crusty and suffering from diabetes.”
Conchita stuffed her mouth with the gingerbread men that they had decorated with bras and blindfolds before replacing the tray back in the display.
Slipping his handkerchief out of his pocket, he fished out a fifty-dollar bill and tossed it on the counter. “You’re still not off the hook, you know that, right?” he said, taking the largest box of chocolates under his arm.
“Yeah, well…you can’t blame me for trying. She’s your soulmate.”
“You’re right.” He nodded and snatched a swirled lollipop from the elaborate sucker display. “I definitely can’t blame you.”
Chapter Fifteen
I can’t get you off my mind.
The text pinged her phone like a magical chime answering her most sacred wish.
The whole afternoon, she had waited calmly, patiently, for his communication. Earlier that morning, when she was roused from her deep sleep by the first rays of dawn streaming across her plush hotel bed, everything still seemed like a dream. Expecting to feel his masculine body lying next to her, she rubbed her eyes and stretched out her hands and feet. She didn’t remember being carried onto the bed, but she did remember the security of his smooth chest spooning against her the entire night. It was this absence of warmth that startled her awake, raising her from the cocoon of the billowy white bed, searching out the silence within the suite before flopping back in disappointment when she realized he was gone.
Completely gone.
Covering her face with her pillow, she whimpered in her shame.
A one night stand. Of course, it was. How could she be so naïve?
It wasn’t until she flipped the pillow off her head and looked down onto the bed that she noticed the white box, resting atop the adjacent pillow. She quickly opened it and fingered through everything she had worn last night—the ruby anklet, the chandelier nipple rings, the diamond clit clip, and the gold satin blindfold. Touching it to her lips, she felt the slow rise of her heartbeat as she spotted the handwritten note scrolled across a cocktail napkin beneath the mementos of their fantasy night.
The Palmer House Lobby. Tonight. This time…without the blindfold.
She hurriedly dressed, tucking the velvet jewelry box into her purse, and left the penthouse suite the same way she had entered it—through the elevator. With only a few hours to return to her own condo, shower, and change into her regular clothes, she barely had a chance to process the implications of meeting him again. She only considered how the harsh daylight revealed her life as a bland, ordinary routine, convincing her that everything extraordinary she remembered about last night couldn’t possibly have happened at all. But it had happened, and every time she doubted it, she removed the napkin—hidden like a lover’s locket in the front pocket of her overalls—and silently indulged in its existence. She repeated this ritual over and over until his message finally pinged her phone that afternoon.
I can’t get you off my mind.
Finally, she thought, strangling her phone. Thank freaking God. She had waited for hours to hear from him, quelling her desperate urge to ping him first. He hadn’t disappointed her.
The shop bell rang, announcing the entrance of a visitor, but she ignored it. Her attention remained fixed on those seven simple words—I can’t get you off my mind—confirming his need for her.
“Alma!” Her father’s muffled voice hollered up to her from the basement. “I think we have a visitor…”
“Knock, knock,” Harvey quipped, lurking directly over her shoulder, waiting politely outside an imaginary door.
She rose from her workbench, supremely annoyed by his interruption and deposited her phone back into her pocket.
“I’ve come bearing gifts.” He presented her a blooming bouquet of pink Gerber daisies and a ginormous box of chocolates. Dark chocolate truffles. Your favorite.”
“Why?” Completely skeptical of his motivations, she scrutinized his gifts through the lenses of her glasses.
“Because I want to make up for last night.” He wagged the box and flowers, coaxing her to accept them.
“Why?” she repeated, crossing he
r arms and arching her eyebrow, just to make sure he knew she wasn’t buying it.
“Because it was rude of me to leave you at the bar by yourself. I should have at least stayed and met your date.”
She snorted out her cynicism. “You mean so you could have embarrassed me in front of him for your own entertainment?”
“Well…” Harvey sighed, like he couldn’t quite admit she was totally wrong. “I would have at least told him to mind his manners and have you home before midnight.”
“Harvey!” Enrique called out as he plodded up the wooden staircase. “Qué tal, mi hijo? What are you doing here?” He held out his hand in greeting.
“Visiting your daughter,” Harvey answered, as if it was the most natural thing in the world.
“Well, that is a very pleasant surprise.” Enrique surveyed the bouquet of flowers and the box of chocolates and narrowed his glare, silently ordering her to be gracious. But she stood her ground and refused.
“Yeah, well…she had a big date last night and I was just checking in to see how everything went.”
“Really, Alma? I did not know that...” Her father’s voice trailed off as he took the gifts from Harvey and set them on the counter. “But it was very nice of Harvey to stop by.”
Alma shot Harvey a death glare. He smirked, absorbing her fiery gaze like a demon who enjoyed it.
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