No Magic Moment (Secrets of Stone Book 4) (31 page)

The confusion was worth it. She dipped a kiss into me as gentle as a whisper, though scratched the top of my chest hard enough to bust my top button free. “Always more,” she pleaded against my lips, “if it means you’ll stay.”

Before she could move away, I bit her lower lip. As her moan vibrated into me, I squeezed her nipples again. The moan became a scream, undetected by anyone but us since I absorbed it with my mouth. Her shriek subsided the moment I let up on her nipples—though that was far from her flag of surrender. With a sharp jerk, she ripped another button off my shirt—but wasted no time in letting the exposed flesh go pristine. She clamped her nails in again, scratching so hard that I arched and hissed, choice filthy words exploding between my gritted teeth.

When she let up, I looked down.

Her brand on my chest, five distinct lines of red, affected me like five ropes around my cock as well.

“Little fucking vixen,” I grated.

“Huge fucking scoundrel.” She grinned—then popped another button free.

I clamped a hand to the back of her neck. Yanked her down, kissing her brutally. “The scoundrel who worships you.”

She trailed her lips down, sinking teeth into my chin. “The vixen who needs you.”

I clamped my teeth around the edge of her jaw.

She whined, clawing my chest deeper.

I gripped and yanked her hair.

She bit and licked my neck.

I twisted her breast.

She squeezed my nipple.

I swept the T-shirt over her head.

She jerked at another button, bulleting it across the room, allowing my shirt to fall fully open.

We swore and sighed, tasted and scratched, sucked and scraped, kissed and cussed, until I snarled low and flipped her over, one swoop that pinned her under me, wrists beneath my hands, thighs still cradling mine.

Absence made the heart grow fonder?

Screw “fonder.”

I craved her. Was starved for her. Thirsted for her like I’d been stumbling through the desert for three weeks and she was the naked nymph in the oasis, cavorting in a lagoon as lush and green and perfect as her gorgeous eyes.

An
almost
naked nymph.

Another growl curled through me, a mixture of raw lust and tight aggravation, while shoving aside her panties to delve fingers into the core beneath—or, dammit, trying to. How much trouble could a few scraps of satin be? Answer: a hell of a lot, if they got twisted by the friction of two impassioned bodies. I could barely slide one finger past the barrier, let alone the two Margaux always loved.

“Dammit.”

“What?” she demanded. “What is it? Oh God, Michael. Please don’t stop!”

“Not even if a train hit this place, sweetheart.”

I whispered the promise into her neck, shoulder, breasts, then lower, kissing and nipping down her quivering body, lost to the expensive ice cream taste of her skin again. After licking through the curve of her waist, I finally hit the tight string of her lingerie—and bit to secure it between my teeth. With a grunt, I dragged down hard. Leaned back long enough to fully pull the lingerie away.

“
Much
better.”

With her panties gone, I pushed her thighs apart. Once more, spread my hands over the junctures between her hips and thighs—though this time, swept my thumbs across her damp curls.

“Michael,” she begged. “Ohhhh…yessss.”

“Damn.” I rubbed deeper despite the skirmish it started between my cock and fly. “Look at this. I’ve missed this pussy so much. Yeah…just look at all this wet, perfect sweetness.” I growled low as she whimpered high, throwing her arms back, wrapping them around the pillow. “Have you been this wet for three weeks, sugar?”

“Michael!” She bucked. “For the love of fucking—”

I chuckled as she choked into silence. “What? No designer deity to call on, sweetheart?”

“None of them can help me. Nobody can…except you. Please!”

“Hmmm.” I lifted a teasing smirk. “After you’ve answered my question.”

“Wh-what question?”

“You mean…you forgot?”

“I—I can’t remember my own name right now.”

Gently, I parted her labia. The fruity flesh beneath gleamed, soaked in her gorgeous juices. “We were discussing your beautiful cunt. Has it been this wet for three whole weeks?”

She keened as I curled a finger in, teasing the hood of her clit. “Y-yes.
Yes
, goddammit, no thanks to you!”

Victory fired my blood. It had to be wrong, coming at the price of her torment, but I couldn’t wrap my head around that. For the first time in nearly a month, everything felt right. Aligned. Complete. “Wait. You haven’t played with your pussy at all? No fantasies or vibrators or clamps for a little fun?” At my insistence, she’d kept a lot of her naughty single girl toys. Using them on her had been a hell of a lot of fun from time to time, but I’d never harbored illusions that a passionate creature like her would leave them alone in my absence.

Until now.

Until the moment she hiked back up onto her elbows, piercing me with a gaze full of such sharp green pain, I was locked completely in place.

“Have
you
?”

My mischief dissolved. I lunged, cupping the back of her head and smashing a kiss to her twisted lips.

“No.”

It was the truth if there ever was one. Every time I’d walked into the orchard to take care of business, I’d ended back up at our meadow. With the grass turned brown and the flowers slumbering for the season, I’d clung to the only thing that remained the same since that summer day we’d visited. My raging hard-ons.

I sure as fuck regretted that choice now.

Abstinence could be a hard taskmaster. Nothing like firsthand experience to enforce the lesson, especially as she tore at my fly. My eyes flared, though nothing changed about the determined light in Margaux’s. She might not have thought me a monster but she was resolute about unleashing my inner beast, ramming my zipper down with a harsh rasp. Without skipping a beat, she continued her hand in, wrapping fingers around both my balls.

“What if I don’t believe you?” She cupped me, pressing and kneading, yanking primal sounds from deep in my throat. “I know how you like to come, Michael. I know how you need to explode, how hard these balls shake when you do. What if I don’t believe you’ve been denying yourself for three weeks?”

She pushed a couple of fingers into the base of my shaft, and my knees threatened to give out. My thighs burned, battling to hold my body over hers. My ass flexed. Torture was damn near the correct word for this, after all.

“Sugar,” I groaned. “
Shit
! Feel me…do it tighter if you have to.”
Tighter…please
. “Feel me, swelling at you, pulsing for you…needing you.” Maybe the cause required assistance. I locked my elbows and braced my knees, pushing my crotch deeper into her grip. “Do you think this cock has had
one
goddamn orgasm in the last three weeks?”

As my hardness filled her fingers, her mouth popped open. She clenched her teeth, torn between her pride and libido. I groaned, empathetic to the cause. For a guy who’d just declared he wasn’t a monster, every bone, muscle, and blood cell in my body yearned to go completely King Kong on her sweet Fay Wray ass.

“Prove it.”

Her challenge, delivered with chin defiantly hiked, sent a new rush of blood between my thighs—and a fresh fire of challenge to my stare. “Gladly.” I pushed harder against her, relishing the tremble of her inner thighs against mine. “Name your criterion.”

Her gaze glowed like the Northern Lights. I curled up the edges of my mouth.

“Well, nothing beats hands-on analysis.” She demonstrated exactly that by lifting my briefs up, then down, freeing my naked flesh for her eager fingers.

“No.” I treasured the sight of her hungry gaze as my tip surrendered a spurt of pre-come. “Nothing really does.”

As she spread the milky drop, tracing a vein in my dick, her gaze never left my face. “You’re hot and trembling as a virgin, Mr. Pearson.”

I spread my knees, fitting our bodies tighter. “So are you, Miss Asher.”

She licked her lips. “Maybe I need…just a little more proof.”

“Maybe you need a
lot
more.”

“Such as?”

I could’ve bantered back. Played with her a little more. Used my cock in a dozen more forms of foreplay, driving us both to the brink of madness—but why? We were already there. Before Declan had brought his chaos to our front door, spending three
hours
from her was often its own special suffering. And three
weeks
? I’d often gotten through the days by sheer force of will alone.

Fortitude I no longer had—or wanted to have.

A monster I just couldn’t be anymore.

Or maybe…a monster I could no longer ignore.

Fuck.

“Michael! Yes!”

I tensed, struggling to heed the message scrolling across my conscience like a level red terror alert.
This doesn’t fix anything. This doesn’t fix anything. This doesn’t
—

The screen went blank.

The world was nothing but static,

noise,

light,

heat.

Intense. So goddamn intense that my head swam, my senses reeled, and my throat went dry—

As my body fucked.

Deep. Plunging into her tight tunnel of fulfillment. Hard. Punishing myself for succumbing to all of it. Brutal. Greedily grabbing every sensation I’d been numbing myself to, pulling them down like the walls of Jericho, letting them crash my psyche to the point that it bled. I siphoned it all back into the rod between my thighs, stabbing her so hard that she bit my chest to keep her screams from being heard into the next county. She grabbed my ass so hard, I was stunned it didn’t bleed.

She climaxed around me.

Then again.

I didn’t stop. I couldn’t.

Deeper. I needed to be deeper. A part of her, branded from the inside out, just as she’d claimed me from the very start. No matter how hard I lunged or how loud the smack of my balls against her ass, it still didn’t feel like enough.

I pulled out. Flipped her over with a ruthless toss.

Sweat shined on every inch of her skin, pooling in the hollow of her back. She writhed like an animal in heat, sexy-as-fuck sounds emanating from her throat, her ass rising, readying for my invasion.

“No.” I yanked on her ankles, flattening her again. Slicked my hands up to her thighs and spread them apart. “Like this.”

I entered her again, impaling her fully, welcomed again by her soaked, gripping channel. With one hand, I pinned her wrists over her head. With the other, I fisted her hair away from her face. Licked along her cheek and neck, sucking up the salt of tears and the musk of sweat. The air smelled of nothing but our joined arousal, primitive and pure. I soaked in the sound of her, the feel of her, the taste of her, the tightness of her.

“Vixen…mine,” I growled against her ear.

“Yes,” she breathed back.

“Animal…mine.”

“Yes. Yes!”

“Cunt…mine.”

“
Yes
!”

“Climax…mine.
Now
!”

Her body tensed. She grabbed the bedsheet, coiling both hands into it. As the cotton ripped beneath her grip, she screamed into the mattress—

As her sex demanded the explosion of mine.

I poured myself into her, so intent on the mission that my groan was soundless. Wave after orgasmic wave pounded me, squeezing my ass, gripping my thighs, stripping my sanity. When I didn’t think I had anymore to give, her body claimed me all over again. Drained every drop. Exacted every tremor. Confiscated every thought.

Dominated my soul.

I kept it that way until long after we fell apart, still breathing hard, bodies pretzeled. Somewhere in that process she turned again, so we shared a pillow with foreheads together and breaths mingled.

There, tangled in her softness and breathing in her essence, I added one more whopper to my long list of mistakes since walking in here.

I gave in to the deepest, hardest sleep I’d had in weeks.

*

Sometimes, waking up
with every brain cell firing on full was
not
a good thing.

Especially when every one of them confirmed that Margaux hadn’t left for town yet.

Though her bag no longer rested on the dresser and the room only carried traces of her peppery-vanilla perfume, my senses resonated with her nearness. My nerve endings crackled like the old days, when I knew she’d entered the building long before she strutted into the office behind Andrea.

I swung out of bed, trying to gauge the hour by the light through the window. Even from the edge of the bed, I observed the shroud of low clouds over the orchard, meaning it was still early or we were going to have shit weather today. In short, no help there.

I reached for my watch on the nightstand. Six a.m.—not the coolest time to be awake on a Saturday—but I curled a huge smile, anyway. I didn’t remember taking the watch off, meaning Margaux had. She’d done the same so many times back at home, it had become a routine. Poor thing had been bonked a few too many times with the big Tissot, built for beach workouts and days on the farm, not spooning and cuddling. The sight of it there, perfectly positioned where she knew I’d find it, made me ache for our days in the condo again.