by Zaires, Anna
“Did you spray on some perfume tonight?” I ask nasally, grabbing a tissue from a box in the back and pressing it to my nose as I move away from Emma. My throat is itching now too, and my eyes are beginning to water; whatever my kitten used is potent stuff.
She looks startled. “Perfume? No, I can’t; my cats go crazy if I use anything with fragrance. I don’t even own perfume, and most of my products are unscented. Why, are you allergic?”
I sneeze again into the tissue. “I must be, at least to certain perfumes. Are you sure you didn’t use anything?” Now that I’m thinking about it, it is the first time I’ve smelled anything on Emma but her natural, delicately sweet scent.
“I’m certain.” Then her eyes go wide. “Oh, but I did hug Janie in the restroom, and she was covered in perfume. Maybe some of it got on me?”
“That must be it,” I say, pressing the button to lower the window. The chilly night air blows in, clearing away the flowery smell and easing the itching in my nose and throat.
“Ugh, I’m so sorry.” Emma scoots as far away from me as the car’s width allows. “Janie never used to wear perfume, claiming she was sensitive to the chemicals, but today, it was like she’d bathed in it.”
“It’s okay. Most women use that stuff. I’m glad you don’t.” In fact, that was one of my wife criteria—one I’d forgotten to tell Victoria about.
Emma smiles ruefully. “I would if I could. My cats don’t allow it. And now also you, I guess.”
“I’m glad your cats and I are on the same page.”
She laughs at my dry response, and I spend the rest of the ride on the other side of the car. Thankfully, the traffic is light at this hour, and it doesn’t take long to get home. Midway, I have to roll up the window to avoid freezing us both to death, and my nose is itching again by the time we roll up to my building.
“I’m going straight into the shower,” Emma says when I sneeze again while helping her out of the car. “Literally, the second we walk through the door. And I won’t wear these clothes again until they’ve been washed.”
“Good idea. I’ll ask Geoffrey to get your coat dry-cleaned too.” I have no idea if the perfume got on it as well, but I’m not about to risk it. Come to think of it, my clothes need to be decontaminated also, since Emma’s flowery-smelling hair was all over my shoulder.
I owe Emma’s cats for teaching her not to use this stuff, I really do.
* * *
All three of the fluffy beasts are waiting by the door when we walk in, and I see what Emma meant by “my cats go crazy.” As soon as we get inside, all three noses go up, sniffing the air, and furry backs start to curve. Cottonball hisses—actually hisses—at us before zooming away, and Mr. Puffs joins him with a furious yowl. Queen Elizabeth is the sole outlier; she stays, though her eyes are wild and her back is in a full arch as she stares at us, as if unsure whether to attack or run for her life.
“I know, I know, I’m sorry,” Emma tells her, taking off her coat and hanging it in the closet. “I’ll be more careful, I promise.”
True to her word, she beelines for the master bedroom shower, and I text Geoffrey the instruction on what to do with our coats when he comes in tomorrow morning—and, since Emma put her contaminated outerwear there before I could warn her, with all the contents of the downstairs closet as well.
By the time I get upstairs, I’m naked, having left all my clothes in the laundry downstairs, just in case.
“It’s almost safe, boys,” I tell Cottonball and Mr. Puffs as I walk by the library, where both cats have taken refuge on the bookshelves. “The noxious odor is about to be contained.”
The cats look distrustful, and I can’t blame them. That perfume really is an assault on one’s senses.
Entering the bedroom, I find Emma’s dress in the laundry bin in my closet, and I take the entire bin downstairs—again, just to be on the safe side. Then I return and open the window to air out the bedroom.
Queen Elizabeth creeps in behind me, nose in the air, and I let her be the canary in the coal mine. After a few long moments, she sits down and starts daintily licking her paw.
Success. Perfume invasion contained.
“All right, now off you go,” I tell the cat as I head to the bathroom, where the shower is running. “I have big plans for tonight.”
Queen Elizabeth continues cleaning herself.
I stop and glare at her. “Seriously, shoo.” Last night, we had the bedroom to ourselves, and I intend for that to continue. Unlike Emma’s place, my penthouse is large enough for every cat to have his or her own room, which means there’s zero reason for the beasties to be present when we’re having sex.
I’m totally anthropomorphizing here, but fucking Emma in front of her pets felt oddly like doing it in front of young children.
The cat gives me a disdainful glare, then stands up and saunters away, looking as regal as the monarch whose name she shares. When she’s over the threshold, I close the bedroom door and lock it for good measure, my heartbeat speeding up as my body tightens with anticipation.
I really do have big plans tonight, and I want zero interference.
32
Emma
I’m almost done rinsing the conditioner out of my hair when Marcus steps into the enormous shower stall with me, a small bottle in his hand and his erection already at full mast.
Blinking the water out of my eyes, I stare at that impressive column of male flesh, then drag my gaze up to Marcus’s face. His eyes are fiercely narrowed, his jaw taut with unmistakable hunger.
I gulp, my heartbeat spiking as I back up a step, moving out of the water spray coming at me from the five rotating showerheads. I’m still a little sore from that intense sex last evening, and I don’t know if I’m up for anything kinky—especially in light of the questions raised by Ashton’s blunder at dinner.
Taking another step back, I sneak a glance at the bottle. “Is that lube?”
“Yes.” Marcus’s voice is low and rough, his intent unmistakable as he sets the bottle down on the ledge where all shampoos live and comes after me. Gripping my hips, he pulls me against his aroused body and bends his head to kiss me.
“Wait.” Ignoring the heat curling in my core, I wedge my hands between our bodies and turn my head away, causing his lips to land on my ear. “I need to talk to you first.”
His chest muscles turn to stone under my palms. “What is it?”
With a push, I twist out of his hold and back up a step. “Emmeline.” I suck in a steadying breath. “Are you—or were you—seeing her?”
He looks neither surprised nor offended by the question. “No.” His tone is even, his gaze unflinching. “It’s as I’ve told you: we only met that one time. We did speak on the phone a couple of times after that, before I decided to seriously pursue you, but that’s all it ever was.”
“Then why—”
“Why did Ashton mistake you for her?” At my nod, he says grimly, “Because I stupidly told him about her when we were on a break. It was after you sent me away, remember?”
My chest constricts. “When you broke down the door?”
“That’s right.” His jaw is like granite. “I was pissed that I couldn’t forget you, and I called her, hoping it would help me move on. Spoiler alert: it didn’t. But during that conversation, we agreed to meet for dinner when she came to New York on a business trip, and later that day, Ashton and I met for a sparring session and went out for drinks afterward. The matchmaker I told you about is his aunt’s friend—Ashton is the reason I hired her in the first place—so he asked whether she had come through for me, and I told him she’d introduced me to Emmeline Sommers who lives in Boston. So that’s how Ashton knows about her. And before you ask, I cancelled that date with Emmeline as soon as you and I got back together. However, I didn’t have a chance to speak to Ashton about any of this again, which is why he got confused. In any case”—Marcus draws in a breath—“all Ashton’s ever heard about Emmeline is her name and where she’s fro
m. You can ask him if you don’t believe me.”
The pressure around my ribcage eases more with every word he speaks. I do believe him. Maybe it’s naïve, but I trust Marcus not to lie to me—which is why I asked him about this rather than stewing, worrying, and covertly snooping around on my own. “Okay.”
“Okay?” His thick eyebrows pull together. “What does that mean, ‘okay?’”
“It means I believe you.” This probably merits a longer discussion, but without the specter of Emmeline throwing cold water on my libido, I’m acutely conscious of the fact that we’re both naked in a steamy shower stall and he’s still partially aroused—and that he brought that bottle of lube with him for some reason.
His frown doesn’t abate. “Just like that?” He advances on me, powerful muscles bunched tight. “You believe me?”
I swallow and back away, retreating instinctively in the face of all that intense male nakedness. “Well, yes.” The rapid beating of my pulse intensifies as my back presses against the glass wall of the stall and he places his palms on either side of me, caging me between his outstretched arms. “Should I not?”
Marcus’s gaze darkens, and he dips his head to my ear. “You should. There are no other women for me, kitten, no one else I’m remotely interested in.” His voice is soft and deep, his breath hot on my wet skin as he licks the outer rim of my ear before grazing the earlobe with his teeth. “You’re all I want, Emma, all I’ve ever wanted—even if I didn’t always know it.”
As he speaks, his right hand leaves the wall and strokes down my body, gliding over my breasts and belly before slipping into the soft nook between my legs. Two of his fingers push into me, and the bolt of need that shoots through me is so intense I can’t suppress a moan. Every muscle inside me clenches, squeezing those big, rough fingers, and I shudder at the delicious friction, even as his words warm me in an entirely different way.
Does he mean it? And if he does, what does it mean for us?
I love you, Marcus. The phrase hovers on the tip of my tongue, like a bird about to dive off a cliff, but I bite it back, too scared to let it fly. As much as I want to trust him with my heart, he’s bruised it once, and it’s still healing. Instead, I reach up and pull his head toward me, telling him with a kiss what I can’t say out loud.
Letting him know that he owns my heart, owns all of me, even though the notion terrifies me.
Our lips touch with tenderness at first, our tongues gently stroking and caressing, but it doesn’t take long for the animal hunger to take over. The kiss turns rougher, more intense, even as his fingers curve inside me, pressing on a spot that makes my toes curl on the wet tile floor. With all five showerheads blasting hot water two feet from us, the air inside the stall is thick and humid, the steam condensing on the tall glass walls, and I feel like I’m in some kind of surreal sex dream, a fantasy straight out of the darkest corners of my mind.
In this forbidden fantasy of mine, I’m at the mercy of a dangerously handsome pirate, a ruthless man I both desire and despise. My body craves his scorching touch, even as my mind fights it. Yet as his free hand cups my backside, lifting me up the glass wall at my back, I have no choice but to submit to him, to his strength and overwhelming need for me… and to my own burning hunger. Moaning, I arch my neck, exposing my throat to his rough, biting kisses, and the knowledge that he won’t stop, won’t relent, is as hot as it is terrifying.
The exhaustion that seized me after dinner adds to the dream-like haze, blurring the line between fantasy and reality, melting away my fears and inhibitions. His fingers penetrate me deeper, his thumb pressing on my clit, and as my legs come up to wrap around his hips, my hands fist in his silky hair, my heart pounding madly with a violent rush of need.
“Mine. You’re all mine,” he breathes, scraping his teeth over the tender skin at the junction of my neck and shoulder, and I dissolve into a being of pure want, with liquid heat thrumming in my core and dark desire coursing through my veins. I have no thoughts, no reason, only this rapidly intensifying need, and as his thumb rubs circles on my clit, I come so hard I almost black out.
I’m still dazed when he lowers me onto my unsteady feet, then guides me toward the bench-like ledge on the other side of the stall. Gently, he arranges me in a kneeling position on the floor, with my breasts and forearms resting on the warm, damp tile of the bench and his large, hard-muscled body cocooning me from the back. My dripping hair falls forward, obscuring my vision as he reaches somewhere, and then a cool, viscous liquid drips onto the crevice between my ass cheeks, followed by a finger gliding over it.
“Kitten… I’m going to fuck your ass tonight.” His voice is low and dark as his free arm wraps around the front of my hips to lift my backside higher. “I’m going to claim this tight, sweet hole of yours, so if you don’t want that, say so now.”
The tip of his finger toys with my opening as he speaks, and I flush both at his dirty words and the sensation of him pressing there. He’s told me in the past that he intends to do this, and I want and dread it in equal measures. So far, he’s used only his finger and his tongue, and both have felt shocking, then shockingly erotic. But his cock is many times bigger. On a different night, I might’ve been too chicken to attempt it, but in this dream-like state, his size and the likely pain it portends seem less of a deterrent.
Tonight, he can do with me as he pleases. I’m at my pirate’s mercy, his prize of war to defile and enjoy.
He must read my silence as compliance because the pressure at my opening intensifies and a startled gasp escapes my lips as his lube-slickened finger slides deep into my ass. Though it’s no longer a totally new sensation, my body still clenches instinctively at the near-painful fullness, at the unsettling feeling of being invaded in this perversely erotic way.
“Shh,” he soothes, and his other hand slides between my legs, finding my swollen clit. “You’re fine, kitten… Just relax for me.” As he speaks, his second finger presses in, pushing past the tight ring of muscle, and I moan at the burning stretch, even as my clit throbs at his skilled manipulation.
“Breathe, my sweet. We’ll go slow and easy.” His voice is softer now, more hypnotic, and despite the growing discomfort, the dream-like haze persists, aided by the pleasurable tension coiling in my core. He intensifies the pressure on my clit, rolling it around in circles, and my hips begin to shimmy, chasing more of the arousal-sharpening sensation, needing to reach the mind-blanking peak. And I’m close, so very, very close… so close I don’t even mind when those invading fingers start to move inside me, fucking my ass with slow, rhythmic thrusts.
“Yes, that’s it. Such a good kitten… Don’t tense up now, stay relaxed.” His deep, soothing voice is like a glass of warm milk and cookies, even as his fingers pick up their marauding pace and his other hand continues to torment my clit, wrenching helpless moans from my throat. The burning from the stretch is lessening with every stroke, but the uncomfortable fullness persists, each thrust opening me anew, adding to the peculiar eroticism of this violation. On my knees, with my peaked nipples rubbing against the slick surface of the bench and my body on the verge of an explosive orgasm, I feel like a human sex doll—his sex doll—and the illusion of being inside my pirate fantasy grows stronger, propelling me closer to that delicious edge.
Moaning, I clench on his fingers, thrusting my hips forward. “Please, Marcus…” The words come out on a shuddering exhale. I’m almost there but not quite, his touch on my clit a shade too light. “Please, just a little more—”
“Not yet,” he murmurs maddeningly, and before I can protest, the pressure on my clit disappears and his fingers pull out of me, leaving me open and strangely empty. A second later, there’s another trickle of cool liquid, and something much bigger presses between my cheeks.
It’s his cock, I realize, my breath catching as the thick, blunt head begins to penetrate me.
Without the preparation with his fingers, this wouldn’t have been possible. Even like this, the stinging str
etch is nearly more than I can bear. My breathing turns shallow, my pulse jumping in panic as my body slowly gives way. For a few moments, it feels like it won’t work at all, but finally, with a dizziness-inducing pop, the thickest part of his cock breaks through the ring of muscle, and he slides deeper into me.
Right away, he stills, and I feel a hand gently stroke my hip, even as the fingers on my clit resume their torment. “Are you okay, kitten?” he asks softly. “Do you want me to stop?”
I drag a breath into my deflated lungs, trying to think, but I’m too overwhelmed by the cacophony of sensations in my body. I thought I was full before, but it’s nothing compared to the feel of him inside me. He’s not even all the way in, and I’m bursting at the seams, completely overtaken. My heartbeat is a frantic drumroll in my chest, my body stretched beyond its limits, yet somehow, the throbbing ache of arousal is still there, stoked by his skillful manipulation of my clit and the dark fantasy playing out in my mind.
“Don’t stop.” My voice is a ragged whisper. “I want to… want to feel it.” I want to know what it’s like to have him possess me in this way.
Marcus’s voice roughens, his fingers pressing harder on my clit. “Oh, you will, kitten. You will.” And gripping my hip with his other hand, he slowly works himself into me, letting me adjust to the extreme fullness inch by inch. When he’s all the way inside me, he pauses again, letting me get used to the sensation as he continues playing with my clit. Then, slowly and with great care, he begins to move, fucking my ass with a gradually intensifying rhythm.
“Oh God.” My hands knot into fists, my forehead dropping to the slick surface of the bench as my chest heaves with unsteady breathing. The push-and-pull of his thrusts is unlike anything I’ve known, both pain and a darker kind of pleasure. With my body so thoroughly invaded, I am his helpless sex doll, a slave to the agony-edged pleasure he’s evoking in my overwhelmed nerve endings. My insides feel like they’re being dragged back and forth with every stroke, yet a dizzying, electrifying tension is growing and coiling in my core. I can feel my pulse throbbing in my temples, smell the musk of sweat from our joined bodies, and as he leans over me, pinching my clit between his thumb and forefinger, I explode in the most intense orgasm of my life, the ecstasy blasting through me like a shockwave.