Accidentally Seduced (The Naked Truth Series Book 3)

by Carmen Falcone

  “Don’t. I get super hard when you blush.”

  “Good.”

  “Back to your pussy… It tastes phenomenal.”

  Quivering, she parted her lips, but no sound came out. Damn it. She had to get better at this. He thrust his fingers into her, in intense motions, inside and out, anticipating what she was sure he’d do later with his cock. She gripped his shoulders, once again a wave of empowerment swept over her. She was butt naked, with a man who was sadly fully dressed.

  A man who cared about giving her pleasure before taking his own, and that made her heart melt just a little.

  Unable to keep from tasting him, she nipped his neck, her teeth grazing over his dark chocolate skin. She started to tremble, the orgasm hitting her, and he held her, quickening the thrusts of his fingers, so that her essence spilled out of her and slicked his hand. She was catching her breath, when he kneeled down and grabbed her between his legs.

  She grasped on his shoulders for support, as he kept her between the wall and his muscled body, his head between her legs. Oh. My. God.

  He licked her, his tongue stroking her folds. Arousal spilled out of her, but he took it all. He traced his fingers over her damp thighs, and sucked her pussy while his deft thumb flicked her poor, overworked, yet exhilarated clit.

  How much more could a girl take?

  Not long.

  Soon, another orgasm hit her, and her body convulsed. She rocked back against the wall. Her vision blurred, her head in a cloud. For a moment, she didn’t weigh a single pound. She was made of dust and wind.

  Chapter Eleven

  Devon stood, and licked the corner of his lips, wishing Elena’s sweet taste would linger. Her breath came out in small pants, and her gorgeous breasts rose up and down in tandem with the rhythm of her breathing. Sexy as fuck.

  She reached out to him, and he grabbed her and kissed her, so she would taste herself on his tongue. She didn’t shy away and meshed her mouth with his, until she withdrew a bit, her forehead touching his. “I wanna drive you crazy too. Do things to you, and not hold back. Show me.”

  He looked around. Never had he screwed in his office. Even when Regina had begged him to do it. He had a strict policy of avoiding getting caught with his pants around his ankles by his staff while at the nightclub. Yet, after dancing with her, he wouldn’t be able to wait until they got home. Hell, he probably wouldn’t make it past the parking lot.

  The woman was out of this world. When she showed up at his club dressed like some Breakfast at Tiffany’s character, it made him want to fuck the good girl out of her.

  “Let’s do things my way.” He removed his jacket, then pulled his shirt over his head and tossed them on the floor. If she sucked him, there was a 98% chance he’d come in her bow shaped mouth, and as much as he entertained that mind-blowing idea, he didn’t want to pursue it just yet. He wanted to be inside her wetness. “Turn around and bend against the table,” he commanded.

  She did and splayed her hands on the dark wood.

  He circled her breasts, the tight nipples begging for his attention. She squirmed, her firm buttocks swaying like they were about to freaking dance. Nudging her thighs open with his hand, he touched her pussy, and it was still soaked, warm, and inviting. Just like he liked it.

  “You wanna get fucked?” he asked.

  “Y-yes,” she said, and he noticed her back stiffening.

  He kneaded her ass, his palm circling her full, pert behind. “Say it.”

  “Do it,” she said, her voice dropping a couple notches.

  He smacked her ass. “That’s not how you say it.”

  “Oh.”

  She glanced at him behind her shoulder. “I want you to fuck me.”

  He gave her buttock one last smack. Damn, it felt awesome not to hold back, and be the perv son of a bitch he usually was when screwing someone. Although…there was something different. As he rolled on the condom and rubbed the tip of his cock against her slick entrance, an electrifying bolt traveled through him. He had enjoyed sex with many women in his lifetime. But Elena was different. In a way he’d rather not think about. Because that would mess with his plan to keep things physical and fun.

  There was only one way to purge himself of the tenderness he felt toward Elena. Fuck her hard. And give her exactly what she’d asked for. Devon plunged into her, and she moaned. He could get used to her sexy little growls. With one hand, he held her waist, while he pulled her hair with the other and tunneled his fingers into her lustrous, silky mane.

  His cock grew even bigger, and his balls got so tight, tingly, full, he thought he’d freaking burst.

  “Yes,” she egged him on, and he didn’t need any more encouragement. After all, she wanted this, and so did he. Despite what the future may bring. He thrust into her, harder. Faster. Deeper. All the way to her sweet spot.

  She began trembling again, her moans louder, and he intensified the pace. Soon, his own pleasure came and everything went dark.

  “Don’t go yet,” he asked, when she motioned to move.

  Never had he imagined that staying entangled with someone after sex could feel this good. They fell to the floor of his office, with clothes scattered and his jacket moonlighting as a sheet—at least to cover his privates—an unusual sensation of peace flooded him.

  “I have to pack. You too, in case you haven’t forgotten.”

  A part of him wanted to go with her for the hell of it. Besides, she knew about Matthew’s divorce even before he told her. If Matthew was feeding her that kind of personal information, what else was he sharing? What exactly did their so-called friendship entail? He clenched his jaw, thinking hard, before he answered her. “No. I haven’t forgotten.”

  “I know we’re just having sex, but I have to ask. Did you ever meet a girl’s family?”

  “Yes,” he said. Regina’s family had been warm and welcoming, but then they didn’t have a clue about what their precious Regina had been doing with him.

  Elena propped herself on her elbows and stared at him. “Good, so you aren’t even a little scared?”

  “Why should I be?”

  “There’s a good chance they won’t like you.”

  “Because I’m black?”

  She shook her head, amused. “Because you’re not Catholic.”

  He ran his finger along her jaw line. “From all the things I’ve ever been judged for, not being Catholic was never one of them. Still not scared.” He shook his head. Why the hell would he be? It would be a weekend with her seemingly overbearing folks in New York City, and then he’d go back to life as usual in Colorado.

  “Are you afraid of anything at all?” she asked, her inquiring gaze pinning him to the spot.

  He swallowed. “Not fond of elevators.”

  She frowned, and rested her chin on her palm. “Really? Why?”

  Propping his head over his crossed arm, he said, “I got stuck in one for a few hours as a child.” His gut clenched, and he glanced around even though he knew they lay on the floor of his nightclub office.

  She ran her fingers along his jaw, with a sympathetic smile on her beautiful face. “Oh no. Hours? That’s bad. Who else was with you?”

  “I was alone. I was seven,” he said, and snippets of that gloomy evening flashed through his mind. The cracks on the elevator wall. The squeaky sound it made whenever it reached a new floor. The look of disgust of his mother, after she had to wash his wet pants. You just had to pee in your pants, didn’t you? Useless kid. Always giving me more work.

  “Poor thing.”

  He looked away, then shifted to a sitting position, his shoulders against his desk. “Don’t poor thing me.”

  She pulled her dress over her naked body, and sat next to him. Lord. Why had he told her? Couldn’t he just think straight whenever she was near him? “What happened?”

  “It’s in the past.”

  “You really wanna play that game? I can be really annoying when you pique my curiosity.”

  “I lived w
ith my mother in Chicago. Every time my father was in town and visited her, she sent me out of the apartment so they could have sex. That day, there was a problem with the elevator and it took her hours to notice my absence,” he said in a steady tone as if he described people he heard about. Hadn’t that been what his childhood was like? He’d heard what it was like having a dad—without having one. And the same went for his mother. Even when he moved to Imani’s house in Colorado, when he was fourteen. Even though she had been much more of a motherly figure than his own mom, Matthew always ensured Devon knew he wasn’t welcome.

  The contours of her face hardened, and she tapped his leg. “Go on.”

  “A neighbor realized the elevator wasn’t working, and called for help. Back then, they really didn’t have phones in elevators as they do today in most places, and apparently the emergency red button was broken. It was a pretty shitty building.”

  “I’m sorry, Devon. No kid deserves to go through that.”

  “I remember I closed my eyes and kept hoping to see colorful balloons when I opened them. Pretty stupid. But I clung to that fantasy to calm myself down.” He drew in a breath. No. No kid deserved to know his mother was a spineless coward who kept having sex with her ex, the bastard who came to screw her but didn’t even give her enough money to raise her son—their son—properly.

  “I like balloons. What happened to your mother?”

  “When I was fourteen, we came to Denver. She left me with a note at Imani’s doorstep and took off,” he said, and wondered if the nonchalance in his tone fooled her. His heart squeezed. He hadn’t experienced the type of mother who prepared snacks or went to teachers’ conferences until he moved in with Imani. And her trying hard to make him feel welcome only pissed off Matthew even more.

  “And your father?”

  “My father, the sperm donor, disappeared with his assistant after stealing a shitload of money from the company. But you already knew that, right?”

  Silence descended upon them, and the peace he had experienced earlier deserted him. Was that what was happening? Was he reliving history, worst of all, his father’s history? No. Because he wasn’t a thief like his father, even if they shared banging the assistant.

  His father had fooled Imani into thinking he was a one-woman kind of guy. Devon promised himself not to ever make that mistake, and be honest upfront. Why would he pretend to be into commitment and happy-ever-afters when he knew it was all a lie and cause pain?

  “Yes, I’ve heard. I’m not stealing from your company, you know. And I’m sure you aren’t either.”

  “How can you be sure?”

  “Why would you? You don’t need it.” She gestured with her index finger. “Just look at this club.”

  “Impressed?”

  She gave him a small smile. “Intimidated. I feel so out of my element. Like the small town Catholic girl who went to a rave. Go Go dancers? An all-female employee team? No wonder your ex was on board with the whole open relationship rule. Otherwise, she’d get an ulcer. I know I would.”

  He chuckled. “I realize how hypocritical this sounds, but I don’t sleep with employees. At the club or the company. And the all-female team doesn’t mean they get to screw me as a bonus.”

  “Those two ladies sure seemed willing.”

  He recalled the pair of brunettes who greeted him with overwhelming enthusiasm before he saw Elena. “That’s the issue. After Regina’s interview, I started to attract the wrong kind of woman. They wanna cash in on my fading fame, or they want an easy lay. It’s not like that. I explained it to you before. I didn’t do threesomes or go to orgies with her. We had an understanding that we weren’t sexually exclusive.”

  She folded her arms over her chest, and crossed her legs. “Did you sleep with other women while you were with her?”

  “A couple times,” he said, and his throat thickened. After having sex two different times with women he lusted over, he hadn’t felt particularly empowered or good about himself. But damn it, at least he was being honest—to Regina, to himself.

  “Of course,” she said in a small voice, and his heart clenched like he just disappointed her. She stared down at the floor, and he could give a thousand pennies for her thought. Maybe not. He doubted she had anything positive to say about his unorthodox lifestyle.

  “Yo. Elena,” he said, nudging her elbow. “I never lied to her, never cheated on her.” Never hurt her.

  With a nod, she shifted to face him. “Didn’t you ever try a monogamous relationship?”

  No. The last thing he wanted was to find a woman who made him an emotional slave, like his mother had been to his father. Someone who didn’t discern right from wrong, and who had no self-esteem. “I’m not good at those.”

  “How do you know?” she asked him in a voice softer than silk. “Does this mean that while you’re teaching me how to up my sex game, if you see someone down the street you like, you’re going to screw her?” She rose to her feet, then started to pick up her dress and shoes from the floor.

  “No. I would never do that to you,” he said, massaging his temples. Tension filled the air. An exasperated sigh left his lips. Why would he waste his time with another woman when the one in front of him occupied his thoughts even when she wasn’t around?

  She avoided looking at him. “Why not? You aren’t into exclusivity.”

  How come the pillow talk got so complicated all of a sudden? “This isn’t a relationship, Elena. This is something temporary. I’m helping you out and you’re helping me out. That’s different,” he said, his words losing energy at the end. Somehow it seemed like he was saying them more to himself than to her, which was ridiculous. He, of all people, knew exactly what they were and weren’t.

  “Of course not,” she said, her voice a notch more cheerful. She slid her feet into her shoes, and flashed him a glance so quickly, it was impossible for him to read the message in her bedroom eyes. Despite whatever attitude she was trying to pull off, he noticed her hands trembled as she smoothed her dress. Shit. “Well, I have to get going. It’s late and I’m exhausted.”

  He stood, and didn’t even bother to cover himself with his jacket anymore. He was about to reach for his shirt and put it on, when he heard her heels clacking toward the door. “Give me a moment. I’ll take you home.”

  “Don’t worry." She clasped the door handle, and he was about to walk to her and kiss her cheeks, when she gave him a tremulous smile and waved him off. “I know the way out.”

  ***

  “Thanks again,” Elena said, before knocking on the door of a beautiful townhouse in Madison Avenue.

  “Anytime,” Devon said, even though he probably wouldn’t meet her family again. A strange emotion welled inside him, and he swallowed hard to push it down.

  Rather than use the company jet, they had flown first class to New York City to avoid suspicion. To his surprise, they chatted about all sorts of subjects, including music, politics, and current events.

  Truth was he enjoyed her company, even on a non-sexual level. Not that that level wasn’t there, lurking beneath casual conversations.

  The door swung open and an older version of Elena filled the frame. The woman whose skin color was a shade darker than Elena’s, had her reddish brown hair up in a bun, and wore a light blue dress, covered by a black apron.

  “Come in, Bambina!” she said, lively, and snatched Elena in a hug. She said something that was either Italian or just above a whisper, because he couldn’t understand. Then, her gaze slid to him, and she smiled.

  “Mom, this is Devon. Devon, this is my mom, Arietta Moretti.”

  “Nice to meet you, Mrs. Moretti.” Devon said, and was about to shake her hand but she enveloped him in a warm hug.

  “Please call me Arietta. So nice to meet you. Come in, come in.” She gestured for them to enter.

  An obscene amount of pictures crowded the beige walls. His mother certainly never wasted any time with such displays of affection, and when he had moved in with Imani, we
ll, she had been kind and warm despite the circumstances that brought him to her door. Especially given the circumstances. But her place was far too refined for that amount of stuff.

  “This is so exciting,” her mother said. “So Devon, do you have any food allergies? Any of this gluten-free nonsense? Almond milk obsession?” She lifted her hand to her chest, and widened her chestnut eyes. “Wait. You’re not vegetarian, are you?” she asked as if accusing him of a hideous crime.

  “Nope. I’ll eat anything.” He bit back a smile, and could see Elena rolling her eyes behind her mother.

  Arietta tapped his arm and smiled. “Well son, whatever you’re eating it’s working. You’re quite a strappy man.”

  He opened his mouth, but no sound came out. Should he thank her? His experience with women was vast, but Arietta’s enthusiasm was something he wasn’t sure how to respond to. Older women hit on him, but never ones that old.

  Elena lifted her hand. “Mom. Enough.”

  “What?” Arietta asked, hands perched at her waist. “I was just giving your friend here a compliment.”

  “Thank you,” he said, and refrained from using one of those “I see where Elena gets her looks from” lines. Maybe later when he got to know her mother better, he would come up with something more original.

  Elena nudged his elbow, and the smile she threw at him was filled with encouragement. And gratitude.

  “Is Papa here? The boys?” Elena asked.

  “They all went to the store to buy some drinks. Should be back anytime soon.”

  “Great. I’ll show Devon his room.”

  Her mother nodded. “You do that.”

  Devon and Elena barely exchanged a word as they took the stairs that led to the second floor. In the hallway, he spotted more family pictures, but he avoided looking at them. Instead, he focused his attention on the gentle, alluring sway of Elena’s hips.

  When she opened the door of a room and gestured for him to enter, he smiled. Maybe coming all the way to New York wasn’t such a bad idea.

  “This is your room. Mine is down the hall.”

  He looked at the stern bedroom. The scent of linen and fresh flowers clung to the air. Wooden nightstands framed a queen-sized bed on either side, and on the moss-green walls he saw some soccer awards and pictures of a dark haired kid with a ball. “Separate rooms? Do your parents know—”