Taking It All (7 page)

This woman is going to be the end of me. But what a fucking way to go!

I have to taste her pussy. Now.

I slide an arm under her knees and sweep her into my arms. Inside, I take her straight to the bedroom and set her on the bed. She looks up at me with wide eyes full of wanting. “I'll make it better, baby,” I promise as I ditch my tie, torn shirt, shoes, and socks. “But I won't take you. Not until you're mine.”

She nods and lays back, allowing me the priceless pleasure of slowly removing her clothes.

Inch by inch her lush body is unwrapped.

Inch by inch, I kiss, nip and taste her.

Until she is writhing beneath me, nude, her long legs spread wide and pleas for relief tumbling from her mouth.

“No baby. I can't take you,” I tell her. “Not yet.”

Her pink pussy is dripping with her honey. Her folds swollen. I part them and dip my tongue into her channel, slurping up every drop of her juices. She tastes so good I can't get enough. I fuck her with my tongue then work my way to her clit. She quivers and trembles and begs for release as I use the tip of my tongue to tease her hard little pearl until she explodes. And once she's cooled off a bit, I push her thighs wider apart and do it all over again, this time fucking her tight little asshole with my finger. When she cums I devour her, lapping up her juices like a starving man. The third time she cums, she cries out my name, bucking against my face. The sight of her losing it shoves me over the edge. Cum blazes down my shaft and spurts into my underwear. I roar in protest and grind my cock against the edge of the mattress until there's nothing left inside me.

At last I'm sated. Though my heart is still drumming in my chest. Knowing this glorious peace will not last long, I crawl onto the bed and pull her quivering body to me. She rests her head on my chest, one hand splayed on my stomach.

She sighs. “Maybe this being-held-hostage thing isn't so bad after all.”

Jordan

I hate men. They're all a bunch of sex-crazed users.

They think with their dicks. Not their heads...

Okay, yeah. I'm lying. I don't hate
all
men.

Just the bad ones. Like...Nick (yes, he has a name, and I can even say it now without feeling like I'm going to throw up). And most of the men I knew growing up. They were all bad.

As far as them being sex-crazed, who am I to judge? I think I'm becoming sex-crazed myself.

For that, I blame Grayson Parker.

Holy shit, what that man does with his tongue should be illegal. I swear I came so hard I almost passed out. Three times! I've never had three orgasms in a row. Hell, I've never had three orgasms in a week.

When he's near I want him to touch me.

And when he touches me, I want sex.

Real sex.

A big-thick-cock-inside-me sex.

Slam-me-against-the-wall-and-make-me-scream sex.

I've never felt this way. I've never begged a guy to fuck me before. It wasn't like this with Nick.

Now that I can see how thrilling and explosive sex can be, I know marrying Nick would have been a mistake. When he cheated on me, he did me a huge favor. Correction: he did both of us a huge favor. We avoided what would have been a disastrous marriage.

But just because Grayson and I share some crazy chemistry does that mean we're made for each other?

He seems to think so.

Me, I'm not so sure. Not yet.

Is he good looking enough?

Ohmygod, yes! He's the sexiest man I have ever met.

He's smart too.

And successful. I wouldn't mind never needing to worry about being homeless again. Or poor. Or lonely. Or the hundredth wife of a guy old enough to be my grandfather.

And, based on that exchange with Ed, he's also kind and generous.

On the surface he appears to be the perfect man. And therein lies the problem.

He's too good to be true.

That's what terrifies me. I'm waiting for the bomb to drop. And until I'm sure I see him for who he truly is, I can't marry him.

I need time.
We
need time.

Though I could accept his proposal...on the condition that we wait to marry for
at least
six months.

Hmmm. Now that's an option.

Yes, I like that idea. A lot.

But I'm not going to give him his answer yet. I'm in no hurry to go home--to the mountain of bills. And the broken down car. And the shitty apartment (that I'm about to lose)...

Yeah, not ready to leave this paradise yet.

My stomach rumbles, reminding me that I haven't eaten dinner.

He sets his hand on my growly stomach. “You're hungry.”

“Yes. Actually, I'm starving. After all, dinner was kind of interrupted...”

“Yes, it was.” He sits upright, his movement forcing me to do the same. I reach for my clothes but he intercepts my hand before I've grabbed the first garment. “No.”

“Really?” He wants me to walk around naked? I never walk around without clothes. Not even in my apartment.

My face burns.

“Your body is beautiful. I want to see it,” he tells me.

“It isn't
all
beautiful,” I inform him.

“Yes, it is. Every inch.”

The man is clearly blind. However, his body, what parts I've seen, is absolutely perfect.

I motion to him. “How is this fair? You're covered neck-to-ankle and I don't get to wear anything? Not even underwear? I say if I have to walk around like this, then so should you.”

He ponders my argument for a moment. I take that as an acquiescence to my sound logic and reach for my skirt.

“No.” He catches my wrist.

“I can't stroll around naked,” I tell him. “What about Ed? He'll see me. And who else do you have working here?”

That does it.

“Shit.” He lets go and, before he changes his mind, I scramble to re-clothe myself.

He scowls when I'm done. “I like you better without all that stuff, but you're right, I don't want anyone to see you. Anyone but me.”

My insides warm at the possessive tone of his voice. Nick hadn't ever acted jealous or possessive. I'd always thought that was a sign that he was confident in my commitment to him. But now I'm seeing it from a whole different perspective.

He had never been possessive. Or jealous. Maybe that wasn't because he knew I wouldn't cheat...

Or maybe it was because he didn't care if I did.

Huh. Maybe there is something reassuring about a man who is possessive? As long as he doesn't go too far and become crazy-jealous and paranoid, like my father.

“I'm sure our dinner is cold by now. I'll make you something else,” Grayson says as he leads me back out to the kitchen. I plop onto a bench at the massive marble-topped island and smooth my hands over the polished stone. This kitchen is gorgeous, straight out of a high-class home décor magazine. Marble subway tile back splash. Gleaming marble counters. Smooth wood floors underneath my bare feet. Pristine white cabinets. And of course top-of-the-line stainless steel appliances.

Overall the room is bright. Cheery. Fresh. And fairly traditional. It's not what I would have expected a man like Grayson Parker to pick. I would have pegged  him for a contemporary guy.

Intrigued, I watch him rummage through the contents of the massive refrigerator. He drops a plastic baggy of something onto the counter and dives in for more. “A sandwich isn't exactly what I had planned for tonight...” He plunks down a jar of mayo and smiles at me. My heart does a triple-flip in my chest. Damn, is he gorgeous. “But the whole evening hasn't gone the way I'd planned.”

He's referring to my non-committal reaction to his wedding proposal. Obviously.

“Yes, well, this evening has been a bit of a surprise to me, too,” I point out.

“Of course it has.” He flicks his gaze my way from time to time as he builds matching (massive) sandwiches and slides one plate in front of me. “Wine?”

Wine sounds good. “Sure. Thanks.”

He pours, sets one glass next to my plate then settles into the stool next to me with his plate and glass. We toast again, this time to surprises, and then I devour my sandwich like a starving, homeless woman (which, technically speaking, I am). When I shift my attention from the crumbs on my plate, I find Grayson looking at me with glittery happy eyes. “I'm glad to see you're not one of those women who refuse to eat.”

“Yeah, no. I like food. Someday it'll probably catch up to me. But for now I don't care. I eat what I like. Which is pretty much everything.” Yet another reason why I'd make a terrible Mormon wife—since we were taught at birth to eat very little so we will stay slim. For our husbands.

He pokes my nose. “And I like you.”

I roll my eyes, which earns me a rumbly guffaw and some heart-stopping twinkle-eyes.

“Come with me.” He offers a hand and I accept. We stroll outside again. This time we clomp, clomp, clomp down the deck stairs and into the lush lakeside garden below, now full of dark shadows and twinkling fireflies. Both barefoot, we follow the pebble path to the cool sand beach and then the water's edge. Before me is an expanse of still, indigo water, around me a lush, green landscape, and above a star-studded sky. “I've forgotten how peaceful this place is,” he says as we meander down the shore, hand-in-hand, the water softly lapping at our feet and ankles.

I inhale, smelling earth and water and life. “I've never been anywhere so beautiful,” I admit. “It's nothing like where I grew up. In Utah. It's so...green. If this were my place, I don't think I'd ever leave.”

“It's yours,” he says.

What a joker. I laugh. “Quit teasing.” I smack his shoulder but he shakes his head.

“I'm not joking.” He sweeps an arm. “You want it? It's yours. The house. The garden. The whole island. Yours.”

I don't know what to say or think.

Would anyone give away something so valuable?

No. Of course not. That would be crazy.

“You're being silly,” I say. “Nobody gives stuff like this away. Houses. Islands.”

“I do,” he says, stopping and turning to face me, “But only to you. It's yours. I'll call my attorney in the morning. He'll take care of everything.”

“No.” Okay, so maybe he's so rich that it's no big deal, giving away a property worth...who knows how much. But I know nothing comes free. There's always a price to pay.

And I know what price he's looking for.

I won't be bought.

His brows scrunch. “No? Why?”

“Nothing's free.”

He lifts his hands. “I swear, I expect nothing in return. Tell me you hate me tomorrow, that I'm the biggest asshole in the world, and this place is still yours. I want you to have it.”

I turn  around and look up at the lights shining from the house. The
big
house. The big,
beautiful
house. The kind I will never be able to buy on my own.

I want to believe him. I want to accept. But I'm terrified.

This is all too much. Too fast. My head is spinning.

“I can't,” I say.

He plants his hands on my upper arms and steers me around until I'm facing the lake. “I won't press you on the marriage thing. But on this, I'm putting my foot down. I won't take no for an answer. It's yours. Sell it if you want. For money. Or keep it. I don't care.”

Holy crap, I can't believe his.

Is he really serious?

No. Can't be.

I glance up at him. He looks serious.

My heart does this little pitter-pattery thing then melts.

Holy crap, he does mean it.

It's...mine?

“That's the most...” A lump clogs my throat. “Nobody has ever done anything so kind. Why?”

“It makes me happy, giving you things.” He cups my cheek. “Seeing you smile makes me the happiest man on earth. I'd give you the whole fucking world for a smile.”

I stare into his eyes and a word slides up my throat.

I was supposed to get married next weekend. I've barely gotten over the broken engagement. The last thing in the world I should be thinking about is marrying someone else. Especially someone else I barely know.

But still. That word sits on my tongue.

I want to say it. I want to make this kind, generous, sexy man happy, too. Just as he has tried to make me.

I'm not rich. So there's only one thing I can give him.

A word. One single word.

How can I not, right?

“Yes,” I tell him. “I'll marry you. On December twenty-sixth.”

He sighs and shakes his head. “The house is yours. You don't have to do anything to earn it--”

“I know,” I interrupt.

“In that case...” He smashes his mouth over mine.