FIFTEEN
FUCKING HER IN the traditional sense meant abandoning the tightest, hottest hole in the world, and he wasn’t willing to do that right away. He went at her for another minute with his fingers, keeping his pace deliberate, relishing the squish when he thrust all the way inside of her. She stiffened every time, slurping in breath and groaning. Her fingers curled over his wrists, scratching at his hand where he held her. Her toes dug into the carpet while her head thrashed back and forth.
She was gorgeous and she was totally at his mercy.
He liked that. A lot.
He liked the idea of her coming around his cock better.
Carefully, and with no small amount of regret, he pulled from her, immediately reaching for her arms. This time it was to pull them from above her head, his hands rubbing along her forearms so the rush of blood wouldn’t hurt. Her eyes fluttered open, peering at him, and he leaned in to kiss her again because he couldn’t help himself, not faced with that swollen rosebud of a mouth.
“Pull me out,” he said against her lips. “Pull out my cock.”
Her hands trembled as she unbuckled his belt. He was hard, ready, and when she reached into his boxers to give him a squeeze, he humped at her hand. It emboldened her; she wrapped her fingers around him and stroked, from pre-cum-kissed tip all the way to his base and back again. He throbbed already, as eager as he was, and he rocked against her hand again as his mouth moved to place kisses all over the pale column of her throat.
“Put me in,” he ordered. “In your cunt. I want to feel you.”
Good God. Who is this talking?
Me. It’s me because she makes me like this. Half crazed.
I need her right now. Need this.
The heat between them was primal, beyond reason, and he hissed as she pulled him free of his pants and angled him at her pussy. His cock tip nestled against soft, molten invitation, and he drove home, stuffing her full, his inches forcing her tender walls to yield. It was perfect—she was perfect—and he gritted his teeth at the absolute pleasure of possessing her body a second time.
“Oh. Oh aye. Yes. Yes, yes, yes,” she crooned, her head thwacking back against the wall, her eyes rolling up in her head. It was all he needed to hear. He reached for her wrists again, his hands manacling them and pinning them to the wall as he fucked up into her, pushing her body up upon impact. She practically bounced on top of him, yet he was doing all the work, shoving at her, lifting her with his thrusts. Every fuck into her was echoed by the jangle of his dangling belt, his own ragged breathing, and her wanton moans.
“Like this?” he demanded. “Is this how you want it?”
“Fuck, yes. Harder. Own me, love. Own me.”
Gladly.
He released her so he could grab her plush ass, hefting her and driving right back into her. Her arms circled his neck, her cunt clenched on him. Her second leg joined the first, locking around his waist and clinging. He was supporting all of her weight, but he was big and strong and could handle it, especially with the wall for purchase. He pounded her again and again, his face buried in her shoulder. He could smell her, not just her clean skin and sweat, but her desire, too, and all he wanted to do was come, to fill her up again and again. The reptilian part of his brain relished the idea of her dripping in his spunk, creamy white against her wet pink, and he whimpered aloud at the illicit thought.
“G-going to come. I’m going to come, love. Fuck. Yes,” she promised.
He was close, too, too close for comfort because she needed to go first. He growled and skimmed his lips along her jaw, finding her mouth and searing her with another kiss, their tongues dancing—lancing, sliding, receding. His cock thrust into her pussy once, twice, and he shifted his grip on her so he could pull away from the wall. He walked her to the bed with its rumpled sheets and blankets and deposited her onto the mattress not quite as gently as perhaps he ought to have, but by the small mewl she made and the way her fingers raked over his back, she didn’t mind.
He hauled her to the edge of the bed, him still standing, so he could drive them both to their finishes. His hands roamed over her remaining clothes, touching her belly, her chest, her shoulders. He ended back in that red hair, and he leaned forward, cradling her skull, so he could watch her face while he pumped at her. Smiles. Pursed lips. The creases in her brow that sometimes went smooth. The opening and closing of her eyes. Flushed skin and sweat sparkling along her hairline.
It was glorious. She was glorious.
Her hands dove beneath his shirt to skim over his bare back. He liked how that felt. He also liked how she spread her legs into a wide V so he could fill her to the hilt again and again. There was nothing respectable about their fuck. It was sloppy and wet and frantic. He could hear himself withdrawing from her body only to smack back into her with the next thrust.
He touched his brow to hers and closed his eyes. The throbbing in his cock would have to wait another min—
“Fuck!”
She screamed it so loud it hurt his ears, but feeling that sopping hole clench down on him, gripping him as she peaked, he didn’t care. He didn’t care about anything other than letting himself go, to join her. She bucked beneath him, a wild thing, the veins in her throat standing against her skin as her back bowed. He shoved into her once, twice, thrice. Seconds after her orgasm, his hit. Each pulse made him shudder. Each of her moans was met by one of his as he emptied his balls into her.
He collapsed on top of her, his face in her chest, his fists tangled in her red, silky hair, and for a moment, everything in Alex DuMont’s world was right.
He would have been content to snuggle with the beautiful woman beside him forever—they’d both moved to a more proper bed position with their heads on the pillows and a blanket wrapped around their waists—but his phone rang with a distinct ringtone he didn’t want to ignore. He glanced at Theresa. She was out like a light, not even hearing the music, so he rolled away from her, awkwardly fumbling with his pants while also groping for his cell phone and ducking into the bathroom.
“So what do you call a hen looking at lettuce?” the voice on the other end of the line said.
Alex smiled. “Hello, Darren.”
“A chicken Caesar salad!”
It was always like that with Darren, because Darren made it his goal in life to get everyone to hate-laugh at his dad jokes. That’s what Alex called it, anyway, hate-laughing; any respectable adult should loathe the fact that they were actually enjoying jokes written for six-year-olds.
“That’s awful. I see Maddy hasn’t beaten that out of you yet.”
“It’s loving flagellation, thank you very much.”
“I hope you’re kidding.” Darren had taken up with Sol’s fabulous ex-wife, Maddy. Maddy was in no particular order an heiress, a celebrity, and a renowned kinkstress with enough BDSM accoutrements to open her own dungeon. Alex didn’t like to think about that last thing too much for two reasons: one, that was her private business, even if she was more than eager to share it, and two, he couldn’t separate Maddy’s life from his brother’s. The last thing Alex wanted or needed was to think about Sol’s more sordid antics.
But don’t think I didn’t notice the collar on the fiancée, Sol.
“She does tours, you know,” Darren chimed in. “Of the dick gallery on the Capulet. We could head out to the dock after the wedding. It’s pretty fantastic. Did you know she has a Catherine the Great cock chair? I told her I wanted a toilet like that one day.”
“Darren—” Alex started.
“We’re downstairs, by the way, waiting for you,” Darren interrupted. “Before you launch into saving my soul or doing that weird sniff thing you do whenever you’re uncomfortable.”
“What weird sniff thing?” Alex said, nostrils flaring as he sucked in a deep breath.
Oh, that sniff thing.
Fuck you, Darren.
“Yeah, that one. Come downstairs and say hi. I’ve missed you, man.”
“I’ve missed you, too. Be down in a few minutes.”
Alex didn’t remember until after he’d hung up that he’d fucked Theresa not a half hour ago in the very same pants he was wearing. That warranted a shower and a fresh change of clothes at the very least, but he’d promised his friend he’d be down imminently, and imminent he’d be. They’d probably traveled awhile and wouldn’t check in until he made his appearance.
The wash of shame was something he hadn’t practiced since his misspent youth in college, but there he was, scrubbing himself down in Theresa’s bathroom sink with some floral soap he hoped no one smelled because he wasn’t a roses type of guy. He checked his pants for unseemly stains, and finding none, redressed himself, smoothing his clothes as best he could before heading for the elevator.
Halfway down the hall, he had the thought.
They came in on the Capulet.
The Capulet has a function room . . .
Why hadn’t Sol remembered? Hell, he’d been married to Maddy when she’d bought the damned boat, but maybe aquatic ballrooms hadn’t occurred to him yet. He’d been calling around to all the restaurants in the city, but as far as Alex knew, he hadn’t made a single call to any ships. It was possible kitten—
Even I think of her that way now.
—got seasick, but on the off chance she didn’t, it was certainly worth bringing up. Maddy was easygoing and always glad to help her loved ones, and Sol, for all that their marriage fell apart, was her best friend. She’d get Sol out of the pickle if she could.
Just like she’s gotten him out of half of his pickles before, but that’s a conversation for another day.
Alex was so excited by the prospect of a solution he skipped waiting for the elevator and took the stairs two at a time to get to the foyer. Maddy and Darren lounged on one of the tufted velvet couches before the faux fireplace, Darren’s arm wrapped around Maddy’s waist, Maddy snuggled in close to his shoulder. They looked like that postcard picture you got on vacation brochures—two fabulously beautiful people gazing at each other with enough warmth they’d have melted chocolate. All they needed were tiki drinks with colorful umbrellas and they’d be perfect for a Sandals ad. Maddy wore her signature red lipstick, her black hair tied back in a glossy ponytail that was so long it touched her elbow. Diamond studs the size of Alex’s thumb sparkled in her ears, with one on a platinum chain hanging from her neck. Her curvy body was hugged close by a royal blue dress that was no doubt fresh from a Paris runway, while matching sandals with rhinestone straps dazzled on her feet.
Darren was just as pretty as his counterpart, if not more so. Even straight-as-an-arrow Alex could concede that his best friend was beyond handsome with his auburn hair, chiseled jaw, and hazel eyes. He was enormously tall, six and a half feet if Alex recalled correctly, and muscular, like a calendar boy. He didn’t overstate it, though, dressed as he was in a tight-fitting T-shirt, jeans, and cowboy boots that had seen better days.
Thankfully there was no cowboy hat to be seen. Whenever it made an appearance, there was a threat of flooding from the male-appreciating female sect. Women went crazy for him. Unfortunately for them, those women weren’t Maddy; Darren was obviously smitten, so much so he was too busy peppering her nose tip with little kisses to notice Alex’s arrival.
Maddy caught a glimpse of him, though, and pulled away from her beau to stand up, hustling Alex’s way with surprising grace considering the ridiculous heels on her sandals. “Dove! You look fantastic! Much better when Darren hasn’t just been shot.”
“Oh. Right. That.” One of the last times Alex had seen Maddy in person was after Darren’s ex-girlfriend had hired a teenager to shoot him. Darren had walked away mostly unscathed, with only a flesh wound, but the whole thing had been traumatizing for everyone involved. “You look beautiful, as always.”
“Thank you, darling!”
Alex was pulled into Maddy’s tight, perfumed embrace. As soon as she freed him, he was pulled into an equally-as-tight and yet far more awkward bro-hug from Darren. Whereas one of the couple smelled like herbs and flowers, the other smelled like . . .
Ketchup?
“Ugh. Why do you smell like tomatoes?” Alex demanded.
“Because we did drive-through about twenty minutes ago. I got three quarter pounders with cheese. Wore the last one for a couple of seconds, but you know, no pain no gain. Linty cheeseburgers are still delicious.”
Alex frowned. “That stuff will kill you, you know. It’s not even food.”
“Yeah, so will most fun things, but you know, after eating Tobin’s healthy food for a couple of months, some greasy regrets with a side of fries sounded perfect. If I eat one more avocado and chicken anything, I’ll scream.”
“Psht. You love his bacon-avocado wraps, you big whiner.” Maddy winked at Alex. “He’s gotten spoiled.”
“I guess so.” Darren’s trauma postshooting had resulted in his essentially handing his business over to his foreman, Bob, who’d been in construction for longer than Darren had been alive. Darren still did all the paperwork and negotiated deals for the company on their bigger jobs, but he and Maddy had fallen into keeping company so well following his attack, he just . . . hadn’t wanted to leave her behind.
He especially wasn’t going to leave now. Maddy had bought a house on Dauphine she’d fallen in love with back when she’d been married to Sol, and Darren had spearheaded the restorations on it. As soon as the house was done, they’d be shacking up in the Crescent City awhile. Alex was glad for both of them, of course, but he wasn’t too proud to admit he’d miss having Darren living in Dallas.
“Did Sol fill you in on what happened?” Alex asked.
“Mmm. The poor things. If that wedding planner hadn’t already been hit by a bus, I’d have hired a bus to run her over.” Maddy paused and glanced up at Darren. “Too soon?”
“Yeah, babe. Too soon. I get where you were going with it, murder aside, though. You’ve got a good heart.” He kissed the top of her head.
“Is the Capulet docked in the city?” Alex asked. “I’m just asking because I think I recall it having a ballroom.”
Maddy’s brows lifted with delight. “Of course! I figured Sol would ask if he wanted it, but he never said a peep. You know what’s mine is yours, though. We’re family. Me fucking your brother kind of makes me your sister in a way.”
Alex ignored her because that’s what he had to do to keep his sanity around Madeline. “Max capacity on the ballroom?”
“Three hundred.”
“Or one tiger,” Darren said. “Richter likes to play fetch with Cappy in there. And by play fetch I mean throw things and watch her lie down, because she’s too fat and lazy to chase anything other than a steak, which I kind of respect, no lie.”
Alex would have liked to have tossed some smart reply or another, but he was too busy doing the guest list math in his head and, liking his conclusion, excused himself so he could run down the hall of The Seaside to Sol’s office.