by Aliyah Burke
“Coming right up. You want something, just ask.”
That set off a wealth of phrases she clamped her mouth on, knowing they didn’t need to be escaping.”
The kitchen was massive and full of stainless steel appliances. Marble countertops. She whimpered as she trailed her fingers over the neutral hue. “This is beautiful,” she said. “I would love to cook in here.” Her gaze moved over the double oven, multi-burner stovetop, and on to the sink in the middle.
He paused in pouring her a drink. “Enjoy cooking?”
“I do. I don’t do it all that often, not much to do when just cooking for one, but I do enjoy it.” She turned a complete circle, wishing she had this to work with. Perhaps she’d cook more often if she did.
“Here’s your drink.”
She took it from him and drank some, grateful for the familiar burn. “Put me to work,” she said. “What can I do?”
His eyes burned in a manner that made her wonder if his response would have anything to do with cooking dinner.
***
The salmon fell apart in her mouth, and she nearly purred with orgasmic bliss at the flaky seared perfection. “This is amazing,” she said after she’d swallowed her final bite. “You’re one hell of a cook.”
“Thank you.” His gaze held hers without blinking. He’d since finished, and they’d just sat there talking.
She drank some water and laid her fork on the plate. “Where did you learn to cook?”
“My old man. My mom worked three jobs; my father was a man who couldn’t hold down a job to save his life. But he could cook. So, he did and experimented. I would help him when I got back from school.”
She almost offered an apology for his father but merely nodded. “My dad can’t boil water. Have they come here to visit you?”
“They came once.”
“That must have been nice. Is that the grandparents your son is with this weekend?”
“No. He’s with my wife’s parents.”
Wife. The word alone tossed ice water over her, dousing her and reminding her he had been married.
“It’s nice they still get to interact with him.”
He shifted on the seat. “You’re bothered by my mentioning her.”
“I’d be lying if I didn’t say it startled me, but I can hardly hold her passing against you. It wasn’t your fault.”
He shoved back from the table and left the room without a word. For a moment, London sat there before she breathed heavily.
“Of course, I’ve been wrong before,” she muttered, rising slowly and gathering the dishes.
Piers pummeled his heavy bag in his room until the flush of shame and anger left him. Reaching out to hold the swinging bag, he took several deep breaths.
“Damn it! I can’t believe I just left her there.”
He stepped into his bathroom and wiped off the sheen of sweat then made his way back to where he’d left her in the dining room. It was empty. The table, clean.
He heard noise coming from the kitchen and peered in. London was washing dishes. Her earphones were in, and she was dancing to whatever she had on her iPod. He approached slowly, not wanting to scare her, and waited for her to see him in the window’s reflection. And waited.
She was deep in her music and dance. He crossed his arms and moved to the counter at her side. She came to a stuttered stop when she finally noticed him. With a sheepish grin, she rinsed off her hands and pulled out one earbud.
“Sorry.”
“You don’t owe me an apology. I owe you one.”
“No, you don’t.”
“I do. I shouldn’t have stormed off, especially leaving you to think I’d murdered my wife.”
She dried her hands off on the towel and removed her music completely. Then, she walked to stand directly before him. “I don’t think that, at all.”
“I may not have driven her into that guardrail, but I may as well have. She was taking Javier from me because we’d had a fight, and she was going to see her parents.”
Piers reached out to draw London close, grateful she didn’t struggle against him. He wanted to relish the pleasure of her curves along his body. To calm the storm within him. On one hand, it worked; on the other, he had her pressed into him, and it created another brewing storm.
“You can’t take the blame for something that happened when you weren’t there.”
“That’s exactly why I can. I wasn’t there. She was driving without me.”
London leaned back and stared in his face. “You said you had an argument. If you had, chances are you wouldn’t have been driving her anywhere, anyway.”
He kissed her, closing his eyes as her taste sank into his soul. “You’re a unique woman, London.”
“Not really. I just know things happen. Her death is a loss, but you have your son.”
“I don’t usually share about her with anyone.”
She gave him a wry grin. “I have that way about me.”
“I think it’s more than that. Do you want some dessert?”
She moaned slightly and shifted her lower body to brush along his. “Of sorts.”
“God knows I want to fuck you until you can’t see straight, London.”
She whimpered and moved again. “Yes.”
He tipped her chin up so he could stare in her eyes. “But I’m not taking you to bed after we just talked about my dead wife. We’re going to cuddle on the couch and watch a movie.”
“And I get dessert?”
“Yes, you do. Go grab a seat, and I’ll be right there.”
She left, and he gripped the edge of the counter. Breathing deeply, he tried to control his raging emotions. He’d always been a man ruled by emotions. It had served him well in the ring, allowing his anger and rage at the slander his opponent tossed in his direction to dictate his level of attention to the details of how he needed to beat them. This was different. His emotions made him want to open up more to London. Allow her in. He didn’t know how to explain it about this woman.
He’d seen her around town for over a year, and he felt more comfortable with her than he had ever done with his Javier’s mom. Not that he was glad she was dead, but he knew he didn’t mourn her as he should. Because she was the mother of his son, not the love of his life. They were barely friends, putting on a façade for the outside world.
London was different all the way around. Shaking off his emotions, he made some popcorn and grabbed some cookies. He didn’t keep much in the way of dessert around the house.
“Here we go,” he said, walking in the room.
She looked up at him from where she leafed through a book. One of Javier’s, and he bit back his apology for having it left out. There was a smile on her face, and her eyes sparkled when they met his.
“I love this book. All the Magic School Bus books I enjoy.” She placed it back on the table and sat up. “Popcorn?”
“And cookies. Actually, they’re Javier’s, but I’ll get him some more before he gets home.”
“Not much in the way of a dessert eater?”
“Nope. Wasn’t good when I was fighting. Just not in the habit of eating junk.”
“I am,” she said, smiling as she relieved him of the popcorn bowl. “I love junk.”
He sat beside her and pressed the remote, bringing on the large screen television. Handing it to her, he allowed her to pick a movie and just sat beside her, waiting for her decision.
“You don’t have a preference?”
“Whatever makes you happy.”
“Hmmm.” She found one of the Marvel movies and grinned. “This work?”
“Yes.”
She settled against him with a small sigh and began eating some popcorn. “Awesome. I love The Avengers.”
He hadn’t watched it but found himself being drawn in. She insisted keeping the bowl on his lap so when her hand swiped against his cock, he sliced his gaze to her. She wasn’t looking at him but staring at the screen as she popped some kernels in her mouth. His shaft jerked i
n his pants. From this angle, he could see down into her shirt and view the globes of her breasts.
Another brush against him had him snapping his eyes back to her. This time, he saw her touching him. She went for the button on his pants.
“London?” His voice slid from his throat in a croak.
“Shh,” she hushed him. “I’m having my dessert.”
He bit his lower lip and leaned back as she unzipped his jeans with caution. A groan left him when she pulled him out. Time stopped as he waited for her warm mouth to settle over him. Her hand closed around him, and her tongue snuck out for a few licks before she drew him in.
“Fuck,” he uttered.
Her tongue swept around below the crown as she bobbed her head on his length. Up and down, she moved, her hand accompanying her mouth, pumping the part not between her lips. He sank his hand in her hair, holding her to him, hips bucking. She took him in deeper and increased the suction.
He dropped his eyes shut and fisted his other hand at his thigh. Holy shit. Her mouth is incredible.
He hissed in pleasure as she added a graze of teeth. She shifted against him and got more on her knees as she continued to suck him off. Piers cupped her ass with one hand, caressing the firmness beneath his fingers. She wriggled against his touch without lifting her attention from him.
She moaned, the vibration rippling up his shaft and moving along his balls. He shifted against the seat. “God damn, London.” The words fell from his mouth like a prayer, or a curse. He wasn’t sure, but her skill was driving him to distraction.
Piers skimmed his hand between her legs, cupping her pussy. He wanted inside of it. Wanted her slick velvet heat surrounding him, gripping him, milking his cock. She whimpered and rubbed against his touch.
The tingling in his balls slammed him without warning, and he barely got a word out to her about his release before it burst free of his dick. She took it all, not releasing him until no more came from him.
Tightening his hand, he lifted her head to his and captured her mouth. “Strip,” he ordered.
Her tongue swiped her lips, and she placed her hand upon his chest. “You’re giving me the option? And here I thought you’d just bend me over the arm or back of the sofa, rip them down, and fuck me.”
He rose in a single motion. “Sounds like a plan to me.”
Chapter Four
London arched her back as Piers fucked her. Sweat ran down her skin to combine with his own perspiration. The microfiber material pressed against her belly while Piers’ hard body covered her from behind.
His cock, long and thick, filled her with each powerful stroke. His thrusts raised her up on her toes as his fingers dug into the flesh of her hips. Her legs trembled with exhaustion, but her lover showed no sign of slowing.
Air passed her lips in pants and whimpers. Her voice had long since become raw from previous orgasmic screams. Piers had taken her hard and fast the first time. Now, he was working it. And her.
Her legs wobbled again, and she willed more strength in them. He fisted hair, drawing her head back.
“I don’t want to stop fucking you.” His voice, akin to velvety sandpaper, rasped along the skin of her neck.
“Then, don’t,” she gasped, another orgasm teetering near. “Ah, shit.”
He nipped her shoulder. “I’ve got you, baby. Let it go.”
She took his at his word and gave up trying to stave off the roiling orgasm as she allowed the couch and him to support her weight. His cock drove up into her, catapulting her off the precipice and into a swirling mass of pleasure and delight.
He latched his mouth onto the side of her neck, one hand still in her hair, the other cupping her breast, fingers pinching the pebbled nipple. She shuddered with euphoric bliss.
“I could fuck this pussy forever,” he growled against her skin.
She struggled to keep her breathing controlled. A failed operation. He thrust again and again. Sinking in, withdrawing until only the tip remained then slamming back, eliciting another gasp as he came deep. The experience of his pulsating cock wrung out a final orgasm from her.
He released her nipple and wrapped his arm about her waist. Still embedded within her, he walked them to the large dark oak table overlooking a massive yard. Piers withdrew, turned her so they faced one another then spread her legs again.
The wood was cold beneath her ass. He stepped between her legs, and she reached out with one hand, wrapping it around the nape of his neck to encourage him closer. “Table?” Her throat was still raw.
“Couch, table, counter. Rug.” He dominated her mouth. “We’ll make it to bed, eventually.” He grasped his cock and stroked it while pinning his intense gaze on her.
“What the hell?” she muttered before kissing him again. I may as well do what I want here. I’ve already crossed a line. And…he’s…so damn good. “Let’s do this.”
His rumbled response was lost as their mouths mashed together.
***
London stirred then groaned. Aching muscles screamed, and she stilled. I’m sore. Oh, my God, I’m sore. Amazingly sore. And it was well worth it.
She cracked open her eyes, gazing about the massive bedroom. Where is he?
The sun hadn’t risen yet, and the bed retained the warmth from the man it belonged to. Turning her head, she stared at the soft blue digital numbers on the wall. Three minutes after four.
London sat up, holding the sheet to her chest. A low divider separated the room into two sections, his bed on one side while the other had chairs and a fireplace. Plus the rug that gave me the burn on my knees. Low flames flickered in the hearth.
She chewed on her lower lip as she sought her clothing. No luck. Her socks were on the floor, but other than that, nothing. Crap. An article of attire hung over the divider, and she slipped from the smooth sheets. It was Piers’ black button down, and she drew it on, loving how his scent surrounded her as the material fell around her.
After pausing by the fireplace, she padded out of the room and down the carpeted stairs to the first floor. A glow from another fireplace drew her, and she walked in. Piers sat in a large recliner, a drink in his hand.
“Did I wake you?”
“Nope,” she said, walking nearer to his seated form.
He beckoned her closer when she stopped away from him. The moment she reached him, he snaked his arm around her waist.
“I like you in my shirt.”
She gazed askew at him, his tone bothering her being flat and devoid of emotion. “Everything okay?”
He inched up the skin on her thigh, fingertips singeing her where they touched. Without a word, he guided her to straddle him. Shins resting on the cushion, she dragged the back of her hand down his chiseled features. In the firelight, his eyes were darker, and still, they made her belly clench with need.
“I want you to stay.”
She lowered her hand to the hard planes of his chest. “But?”
“My son will be home soon. She has this tendency to bring him early.”
London didn’t want it to end, this time between them. “I’ll get my things.” She wasn’t a clingy woman, and they didn’t exactly have a deep, meaningful relationship going on here. He gripped her hips, keeping her anchored to him.
“London.”
It was the anguish in her name that stopped her from struggling to remove herself from his lap. She held him tightly, arms around his neck and burying her face in the hair on his head. Soft and silky with the scent of freshness. She didn’t ask him to elaborate. Everyone had demons. She was a nurturer, and she couldn’t, wouldn’t, leave him when he wanted her to stay. Even if he didn’t voice those exact words.
***
“Papá!”
Piers snapped up in bed, eyes darting around for London. Damn it! I knew we shouldn’t have come back to bed. I lost track of time, and now, my son is home.
Words that were easier said than done. With her lush body, all he’d wanted to do was savor every incredible inch. The
y’d gone for another marathon of sex until lunch then had fallen asleep. He shook those thoughts away and climbed from the bed.
Where is she?
Pants clearing his hips, he’d just reached for his shirt when Javier ran in the room, his grandmother not far behind. With a hug to his boy, Piers turned to greet his ex-mother-in-law. He pulled on his shirt then picked up his son again.
“Carla.” What is she doing up here? Her dark eyes darted around the room, and he arched an eyebrow. “Looking for something?”
“A bit early to be in bed, isn’t it? It’s barely suppertime.”
Placing his son on the floor, he brushed a hand over his head. “Hungry?”
“Yes.”
“I’ll meet you in the kitchen, then.”
“Okay.” Javier scampered off.
I wish he’d show some of that outgoing attitude away from the house. The moment the boy was gone, Piers glared at the woman there, dressed in expensive clothes and jewels. “Do you have a reason other than being a bitch to come upstairs in my house and act like I am doing something wrong?” He crossed his arms.
“It’s barely six.” Condemnation laced her tone.
“And you said you were keeping him until after supper.” Apparently, London wasn’t downstairs.
Her smile turned venomous. “Did I interrupt your torrid plans by bringing your son home early?”
“Not at all, but you have no reason to come to my room.” Be nice, just for Javier’s sake.
“My grandson misses his mother. He doesn’t need you shoving your whores in his face. It was bad enough you paraded them through when my precious daughter was alive.”
Interesting color, rage. A rich, churning red, much like chum in the water or blood after a shark feeding frenzy.
“I may not be…I wasn’t the best husband,” he said, voice low and dangerous. “I will admit that. However, unlike your daughter, I remained faithful to my vows. You would do well to check your facts before you come into my house accusing me of inappropriate behavior. I’m a widower. If I want a relationship with someone, I’m allowed. I know you want to take Javier, but I refuse to give him up.” His voice dropped lower still. “Keep down this road you’re on, Carla, and you’ll never see him again.”