The Best Laid Plans

THE BEST LAID PLANS

Tamara Mataya

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The author makes no claims to, but instead acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction.

The publisher recommends this book to readers who are over age seventeen due to mature content, language and explicit sexual content.

Copyright © 2013 by Tamara Mataya.

The Best Laid Plans by Tamara Mataya

All rights reserved. Published in the United States of America by Swoon Romance. Swoon Romance and its related logo are registered trademarks of Georgia McBride Books, LLC.

No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

Edited by Georgia McBride

Published by Swoon Romance

Cover designed by Genn Albin

Cover art licensed by iStockphoto

Cover Art Copyright by Tamara Mataya

“
I have a Book Hangover! I <3 this book so freaking hard. The writing is beautiful, intelligent, so witty, and tight
.” – Angela

“
I HEART THIS BOOK SO HARD. I felt like I was falling in love with both MC’s as I was reading
.” – Amber

“
This is one hot story!
” – Elizabeth

“One of the hottest couples I’ve ever read
.” – Bethany

Malcolm tracked the smoking hot redhead from the moment she strolled into the room looking like she owned the place. Bold, confident, and so familiar. Had they slept together? No. He’d remember curves like that. Standing with her back to the stage, she tilted her head and looked at the man next to her, and Malcolm’s fingers almost snapped the neck of his guitar. The angle gave him the perfect view of the crescent-shaped birthmark on her neck. He’d know that mark anywhere – he’d spent hours looking at it from afar in high school.

Jane Griffin.

It had been an unfulfilled fantasy, to run into one of his tormentors after all these years, while he looked fucking epic and she looked dingy and lame. But she looked like a goddamn fox now, when she’d been more like the hound in high school – though he’d crushed on her even then. Was it really her? She turned and smiled. It was definitely her.

The new red hair suited her, maybe more than her real blonde color did, making her seem sassier, more sophisticated. She had been athletic in middle school, gone to skinny in high school, but now she ran more to curvy. Long shapely legs, squeezable ass, and hips that he could spend an hour or so getting to know better. Malcolm watched her all night, never missing a note on his guitar, seeing the way all the men practically threw themselves at her. Seeing the women laugh with her, then watch her with envious eyes when she turned away.

And she’d winked at him! Just walked right past and winked a big blue eye at him like they hadn’t known each other. Like she hadn’t been the instigator of the worst tormenting he’d ever received as a teenager. He was equal parts angry and proud. He’d changed so much that she hadn’t recognized him.

But he remembered her. It didn’t matter that he’d become a successful studio musician. It didn’t matter that he was in the best shape of his life and drowned in choice pussy. It didn’t matter that it had been over ten years since they’d seen each other. It might as well have been yesterday.

He grabbed one of her business cards – he’d seen her hand it to someone who discarded it on a table. She called herself Jayne now. He tossed the card to the table.

She went home with some rich douchebag. Malcolm knew women like her. Beautiful, ambitious, insecure, egotistical. Making up for the years no one would look at them in high school.

He knew. He was exactly the same way.

***

The blonde bobbing up and down on his lap put on quite the show – eyes closed, face a mask of ecstasy, hands rubbing her own breasts, and gently moving to her head as though she couldn’t quite believe how hot it all was.

The adorable little faker. Malcolm had made enough women come that he could spot a fake orgasm a mile away. Bless her little heart. He saw it far too often – women ready to rock, and then ended up putting on a show. Were men so hopeless in bed? Were women so used to faking it that it became their default even when they didn’t have to?

He tightly wrapped his arms around her, stopping her frantic movements. She shivered as he ran gentle fingers across her lower back, feathery pressure mirrored by his lips sweeping down her neck, down her collarbone. He took a nipple in his mouth and sucked, slid a hand down to her clit. She was wet, and hot, and he softly stroked her, and smiled when he felt her pussy tighten around him.

Now we’re getting somewhere.
When her hips started following his hand movements, he pressed a little harder, and moved his hand a little faster. She made little mewling noises, hugged him closer, and even though his hard length already reached deep inside her, he pressed up harder. The gasp and shudder that ran through her pliable body showed her readiness. But instead of fucking her, he pressed his dick deeper into her, letting her feel the fullness inside, and rubbed her clit faster and faster.

She was so wet. He didn’t want to wait, but her orgasm had to come first. A sudden tightening, as her hot wetness clenched around him let him know, better than any porn-style screaming, that she’d just come. Hard too, by the look of the blush creeping up her chest and staining her cheeks. Now.

He laid her on the bed and spread her legs wide with a few nudges of his thighs. Her entire body relaxed and went pliant; all except for the muscles still rhythmically spasming around his dick. So delicious. If men only knew how a woman tightened when she came, they’d make the female orgasm Priority One.

Kneading one breast then the other, he thrust in and out, slowly at first, then faster when her hips and gasps told him she wanted more. He pushed up as he pushed in, rubbing the tip of his cock against that sweet spot that made her bite her lip and throw her head back. Harder, and harder, faster and faster, until she started to grow impossibly tight and began to tense, bracing against the orgasm that built deep inside.

Her nails running down his back sharpened the haze of his desire, made it possible for him to hold on and come a moment after she did. This time she screamed as the pleasure overtook her. He kissed her neck and cheek and forehead, saving her mouth for last. He could see in her eyes. In this moment she was vulnerable, and open, and utterly his.

They’d met only two hours ago.

He craved this moment of validation more than any orgasm. The scrawny band geek he’d been screamed victory from deep inside his ego. Capable of rendering women defenceless with pleasure beneath his hands, seeing in their eyes that they would be his if only he asked … He never would ask. But it didn’t stop him from making them
want
to be his.

But something felt different. He wasn’t satisfied tonight.

But why? She fucked like a champ when she wasn’t trying to put on a show. What was it?

He turned to the woman in his bed. She was beautiful, but she wasn’t … what?

Jane.

He clenched his fist in frustration. He wouldn’t feel satisfied until he had Jane, or rather,
Jayne,
beneath him. Until he buried deep inside her, making her writhe and scream, and lose her mind with pleasure. He wouldn’t be happy until he made her fall in love with him so he could break her heart and undo her, the way she’d undone him all those years ago.

***

“Now I know how a teabag feels!” Jayne gasped, the air on the street almost painfully cool after the sauna inside the studio.

“Yeah, like you’ve never teabagged before,” Amber cackled.

“This! This is why I love you and you can never ever quit.”

“I know. I’m awesome. And you’re the only one at work who doesn’t put me to sleep. Just because we work in the financial sector doesn’t mean we have to be stiff and boring.”

“I’ll drink to that!” Jayne tapped her water bottle against Amber’s and took a big swig. And then another. It was her first, and last, time trying hot yoga. Jayne did yoga and hit the gym twice a week. She’d never heard of the hot version before, but when Amber had discovered that they were both doing yoga on their lunch hours, she insisted Jayne accompany her to the hot class she swore by.