WMIS 03 Play With Me (21 page)

“Fuck,”
Will whispers.

“Look,
it’s no biggie. It’s not a lot of money. I don’t need it.”

“That’s
not the point. She’s a fucking bully, babe. Tell her to kiss your ass.”

“It’s
just easier this way.” I shrug again and stop him when he tries to argue. “I
don’t want to fight about her. She’s not worth any of our time.”

He
takes a deep breath in frustration and pushes his fingers through his hair.
“Fine.”

“Let’s
go check out one of the above ground cemeteries.” I bounce up and down in
excitement and he can’t help but laugh at me.

“What
is it with you and the dead? And why am I just now learning this about you?”

“It’s
N’Awlins, Will. Don’t be a spoil-sport.”

* * *

“Damn,
you can pack away the food. Where do you put it all?” I ask as we enter our
hotel suite. More accurately, the penthouse of an old, gorgeous hotel. The
furnishings are grand and sturdy and the tapestries are thick and old.

I
feel like we’ve stepped back in time each time we walk inside this vast room.
It’s beautiful, and way more space than we need, but I know that Will wanted to
make this week special.

And
he has.

“Meg,
as a football athlete, I have to consume almost four-thousand calories a day to
maintain enough energy to train the way we do.”

“All
the time?” I ask, stunned.

“During
the season. In the off season, it’s closer to three-thousand.”

“Holy
shit,” I murmur and feel a little bad for constantly tormenting him about the
volume of food he eats.

But
then I look at him and remember how he laughs when I tease him, and I don’t
feel bad anymore. Teasing him is fun.

“There’s
something I want to show you,” he murmurs and pulls me to him.

“I’ve
seen that before, stud muffin.” I grin up at him and glide my hands up and down
his chest as he throws his head back and laughs.

“Not
that. Well, not yet, anyway. Come on.”

He
leads me out of the room and to the elevator, but instead of pushing the button
for the lobby, we go up to the roof. I look up at him in surprise, but he just
smiles smugly down at me.

“What
are we doing?” I ask.

“You’ll
see.”

The
doors open to reveal a beautiful rooftop patio, full of plush furniture, large,
ornate gold planters boasting cut-leaf rhododendrons, Spanish moss falling down
ledges of the balcony, and the tops of banana trees from the courtyard below.
We can see across to similar patios on similar hotels, although it’s small
enough up here, and the foliage is plush enough that it feels private.

White
lights are strung over-head, lanterns are lit on the side of the building, and
on table tops, sending a soft glow over the space in the darkness of evening.

There
is a sign that reads
closed for private party.

“Oh,
we’re not supposed to be up here.” I try to pull him back to the elevator, but
he chuckles and easily pulls me back to his side.

“We
are the private party, sweetheart.”

“Oh.”
I smile ruefully as he leads me to a corner of the patio that has champagne
chilling in a silver bucket and two silver plates covered with silver domes
sitting on a small table before a gorgeous red and gold couch.

“What’s
all this?” I ask, my eyes wide, taking in this beautiful scene.

“Just
dessert on the rooftop,” Will murmurs and shrugs shyly, like it’s no big thing.

But
it is a big thing.

“Thank
you.” I raise on my tip-toes and kiss him. “It’s lovely.”

“You’re
lovely. Here, have a seat.” He leads me to the couch and pours us each a flute
of sparking, gold champagne. “To spontaneous vacations.”

“I’ll
drink to that.” We clink glasses and take a sip, Will’s blue eyes are watching
me over his flute.

“Did
you have fun at the cemetery today?” I ask with a grin.

“It
was interesting. Definitely a new experience.”

“I
thought it was fun. I still think you should let me talk you into the ghost
tour.”

“I
can think of better things to do in the dark,” he replies with a half-grin.

“Really?
Like what?”

“Are
you wearing any underwear under that dress?” he asks instead of answering my
question.

“You
know I’m not.” I tilt my head and study him. “Why do you ask?”

“Just
making sure.” He pours more of the sweet champagne into our flutes and leans
against the back of the couch, watching me. “Would you like some dessert?”

“Sure.
What do we have?”

He
pulls the lids off the plates and reveals little dishes of beautiful crème
brule. “Looks like crème brule.”

“Delish,”
I murmur and grin as he scoops up a spoonful and feeds it to me. “Mmm.”

“Good?”

“Mmm
hmm.” I reach for it, but he pulls it out of my grasp and takes a bite himself.

“Mmm,”
he nods. “Good.” He takes another bite and I frown at him and reach for the
other dessert, but he blocks me. “I got this.”

“Well
then gimme!”

“Impatient
little thing, aren’t you?” he chuckles and feeds me another bite, then takes a
bite himself. I crawl over and climb in his lap, and he feeds both of us,
grabbing the other ramekin when the first one is empty.

“Did
you get enough?” he asks as he pushes the dishes aside and wraps his arms around
me.

“More
than enough. Thank you.”

He
smiles against my hair and kisses me, while running his hands up and down my
back. “You’re welcome, babe.”

His
hand glides down my hip to my thigh and under my dress, and heads back up
again. I grin against his chest as my pulse accelerates and I cup his face in
my hand. “You know, someone could see us out here.”

“They
could,” he mutters and kisses my forehead, that talented hand still exploring
under my dress.

“We
should behave,” I whisper and kiss his lips gently.

“That’s
no fun,” he whispers back, making me giggle.

“What
do you want to do?” I ask as I nibble down his neck.

“You,”
he whispers and I grin again, spread my legs slightly and guide his hand
between them.

“Feel
how wet you make me when you say stuff like that?” I whisper against his lips.
His eyes flare, his fingers find my clit and rub gently, then slip down and
slide easily into my wetness. “Oh, God, honey.”

Finally,
he takes my mouth possessively with his own, kissing me deeply and madly, while
his fingers continue to wreak havoc on my core. Dear God, he makes me crazy
with just two fingers.

Who
am I kidding, he makes me crazy by just looking at me.

“Want
you,” I mutter between kisses and he groans deep in his throat, lifts me to
straddle him, and I reach between us to unfasten his shorts and unleash the
hard cock that has been pressing into my hip.

“God,
I love your hands,” he mutters, looking down at me pumping his length. Finally
I can’t take it anymore, and I raise up and slowly guide him inside me. “Oh
fucking hell, babe.”

His
eyes are clenched shut, jaw tight, hands gripping my hips like vices and I’ve
never felt more sexy.

The
skirt of my dress falls around our laps, so even if someone did see us, it just
looks like I’m sitting on his lap, and I begin to rock. Not fast, and not so
that it really even looks like we’re having sex. I just rock slowly and clench
around him tightly.

“Meg,
you’re gonna make me come like this, sweetheart.”

“That’s
the point, babe,” I lean down and kiss him, bury my hands in his hair and
continue the assault on his cock, clenching and rocking, and as I do, it puts
pressure on my metal, against my clit and I find myself getting close too,
shivering and convulsing around him. “I’m going with you.”

His
eyes open and he watches me with hooded eyes and his mouth open, gasping. He
cups my face in his hands and pulls me down to him, kisses me tenderly and then
whispers, “I love you,” as he surges up and empties himself inside me,
growling. The words, the pressure of his orgasm, what he’s doing to my body,
sends me over with him, but before I can cry out, he covers my mouth with his
to hold the sound down, and I explode in wonder and complete surrender.

I
love you too.

Why
am I so fucking afraid to say it?

Chapter Sixteen

~Will~

I
could lie here all day and watch her sleep. God, she’s so fucking beautiful.
She is all gold skin and auburn hair against crisp white sheets. Her delicate
face is soft in sleep, and little pink lips are slightly parted.

This
week has been the best of my life. Hell, the month or so we’ve been together
has been the best of my life, and that’s saying a lot because I know that I am
one lucky son of a bitch.

But
Meg makes everything incredible. She’s funny and smart and so damn talented.

And
she’s asleep, in this bed, with me. It’s our last morning in New Orleans, and I
must admit I regret that it’s over so quickly. I’ll be sure to take her away
again as soon as the season ends. We’ll go to Europe, or Hawaii.

Fuck,
anywhere she wants.

It’s
been fun to watch her enjoy the amazing music of this city, the sounds and
smells, the uniqueness that is New Orleans.

And
I think it’s effing adorable to watch her eat beignets. Speaking of, I check
the clock. I’m expecting a delivery in about ten minutes.

Meg
stirs in her sleep, raises one arm up over her head, causing the sheet to slide
down her body and expose one perfect breast, the nipple tight from being
exposed to the cool air. Her beautiful auburn and blonde hair is fanned around
her on her white pillow, and one knee is bent, laying against the bed.

Which
means I could slip my hand between her thighs and wake her with my fingers
inside her, but I wait. I want to watch her for a few more minutes.

I
knew that I’d fall in love eventually. That I’d end up meeting a nice girl and
we’d get married and have a few kids and a good life together.

But
I had no idea that I could love someone so much that it absolutely consumes me.
That being away from her for merely hours makes me want to punch someone in the
face and the thought of anyone ever hurting her in any way just makes me
completely nuts.

I
would kill for this woman.

Or
die.

I
wasn’t kidding when I said she’s everything. She is.

At
the light knock on the door I roll out of bed, pull on yesterday’s shorts and
answer the door. I tip the delivery kid from Café Du Monde and carry the big
bag of beignets and carrier of coffee to the bedside table, set it down, strip
out of my shorts and climb back onto the bed.

She
hasn’t moved a muscle.

My
little lazy bones. Funny thing is, she’s the least lazy person I’ve ever known.
She works tirelessly, and is always moving.

I
love it when she’s moving beneath me.

With
this in mind, I lean on my elbow near her head and lean down to kiss her cheek.

“Megan,
wake up,” I croon softly to her and brush little wisps of hair off her neck.

“Hmph,”
she answers with a moan and turns away from me.

“C’mon,
lazy bones, wake up.” I plant little kisses on her bare shoulder and upper arm
and slide my hand over her stomach and up to her breast, cupping it in my hand
while I worry the nipple between my fingers.

I
can’t get enough of her soft skin.

“I’m
sleepy,” she murmurs and turns toward me, burrowing against me and settle in to
sleep with her forehead pressed to my chest.

Fuck,
she’s adorable.

“I
have a surprise for you.”

“You
do?” she asks, not moving.

“Yep,
but you have to wake up to get it.”

“I
don’t want it.”

Stubborn
woman.

“Okay.”
I back away and open the paper bag full of fresh, hot donuts, take one out and
turn back to her. Her eyes are still closed.

I
shake it over her shoulder, dropping powdered sugar on her skin and lean down
and lick it off.

“Mmm,”
I groan. “Good stuff.”

No
response.

So
I shake some more over her neck and dive after it, lapping it up.

She
opens one eye, briefly, then snaps it shut quickly. I grin and pull the sheet
down to her waist, exposing her perfect little body, and shake more sugar over
her breasts.