Hitched: Volume Three Page 9

  “Let me undress you,” he says, his voice already a little husky.

  Swallowing hard, I nod.

  With a slowness that seems part reverence and part just teasing me with anticipation, he strips me out of my office clothes. First my blouse, button by button, then my skirt, unzipped and slid down my legs. He kisses me as he reaches around my back to unclasp my bra. My panties are the last to go.

  Finally, I stand naked before him. Tonight, with Noah, I can take a break from being a high-powered executive. Right now I’m just Olivia—a woman ready and waiting for her husband’s touch.

  He nudges me back to lie down on the bed, then sits beside me and knots his necktie around my head to cover my eyes. All I can see is a thin sliver of light at the bottom of my makeshift blindfold. I feel the bed dip as he kneels over me, bracing himself on his hands so that our only point of contact is the occasional brush of his cotton dress slacks on my legs.

  For a moment, there’s only the faint hush of our breathing. Then Noah’s mouth ghosts over the shell of my ear and I sigh aloud.

  He starts kissing down my body, taking his time with every sensitive area as if he’s savoring my taste. Not being able to predict his movements makes every touch a delightful surprise. Not being able to watch him work is a different kind of sweet torture—I wish I could see his full lips on my skin, his eyes lit up with fiery desire.

  I make up for it with my hands. I bury my fingers in his messy hair, enjoying its texture and the way his breath hitches whenever I tug a little too hard in my excitement. I stroke his shoulders and back just to feel his skin and the firm muscles moving under it. I want to learn every inch of him. Maybe we should do this again sometime, but with him wearing the blindfold . . .

  Teeth scrape gently over the spot on my neck that always turns my knees to jelly. Soft, full lips brush my collarbone, my upper chest, then the very top of my breast, inching lower, lower. My stomach flutters with eagerness. His touch is traveling down so slowly, I feel like I might explode from sheer anticipation. Jesus, is he planning on keeping up this pace all night?

  Heat throbs straight to my clit when he finally seals his mouth over one nipple, licking and sucking hard, pinching and rolling my other nipple between his thumb and finger.

  “Noah,” I say on a moan, pleading. My hips lift in rhythm with the writhing of his tongue. I’m so wet already; I can feel the slickness between my legs every time I squirm. And if I raise my knee, I can feel him too, a steel bar straining against the zipper of his dress slacks. I rub my knee against his hardness and smirk when I hear a groan.

  “Tonight’s supposed to be about you.” He sounds a lot more turned on than annoyed.

  I reach out and hear him suck in his breath when my fingers close around his erection. “But this is for me, isn’t it? So, what’s the problem?”

  “Naughty girl,” he growls. “Do I have to stop and tie you up? Or can you be good?”

  I shake my head. “I don’t know about good, but I’ll be patient, if that’s what you want.” For at least a little longer, anyway. I don’t know how much more of this teasing I can take.

  “But I’m not going to stop touching my husband’s big, sexy cock, so don’t even ask.” I grin, unable to help myself.

  He kisses the smile right off my lips. “You can touch me anywhere you want, after you come for me.”

  After? I like the sound of that . . . but damn, how long will I have to wait?

  Without more dialogue on the subject, he switches breasts—his fingers slipping and sliding over the nipple he was licking before, his lips and tongue and teeth almost too intense on the one that his fingers pinched into turgid stiffness. Then he resumes his journey south. My belly jumps ticklishly with every kiss.

  I gasp and twitch in anticipation at a sudden puff of air on my center. Fabric rasps quietly—he’s scooting down over the sheets. Then I feel his lips brush my ankle.

  “Y-you suck.” I giggle helplessly. He’s really skipping over the main attraction? After starting at my ears and working all the way down, he’s going to start over again at my feet and work up too? Geez . . .

  “It’ll all be worth it, I promise,” he purrs, his hot breath fanning over my calf.

  I try to force myself to hold still as his mouth travels slowly up my legs. But a ragged moan bursts from my throat when he starts sucking and biting at my inner thighs. I’d never let Noah hear the end of it if he ever left a hickey on my neck, but nobody else will ever see these marks. They’re private, intimate, their sensual meaning reserved for us and us alone. And the idea that Noah is claiming me as his own . . . it makes me shiver almost as much as the sensation of his love bites themselves.

  His large, warm hands grip my thighs and spread them. I shudder at the feel of his breath ghosting over my wet pussy again. Why isn’t he moving?

  “W-what are you doing?” I groan.

  “Just pausing to admire you.”

  My cheeks heat up. I’m not ashamed of my body, but he’s talking about my lady parts like he’s looking at a work of art or something.

  “Is it really that—?”

  “Beautiful, yes.”

  The urge to clamp my thighs together flares up, but I fight internally with myself to let him admire me.

  “Hot.” He kisses the very top of my mound once. “Tight.” His mouth moves lower, an innocent kiss placed a fraction lower. “Sweet.” Another kiss, another tiny, maddening step closer to where I want him. “Wet.”

  I almost scream when his tongue finally, finally slides over my clit.

  “Mine,” he growls.

  Noah licks and sucks with the same maddening leisure as when he worshiped my body. He doggedly ignores my fingers tangling in his hair and yanking his face into my core, trying to get him to hurry the fuck up already. But he’s in no hurry to make me come. It’s as if he has all day.

  His hot, wet, agile tongue keeps flicking from side to side like a lazy swish of a cat’s tail. It’s exactly the sensation that gets me off best—if it were only a little bit faster. The blissful heat builds steadily, but goddammit, so slowly. I can feel the edge approaching, yet I can’t quite reach it. All I can do is be patient and wait for Noah to take me there. This snail’s pace is driving me crazy. Closer, closer, inch by inch . . .

  Until he groans against my wet flesh and pushes a rigid finger into me. My climax finally breaks, flooding my body like an ocean of warm light, and it goes on and on and on, fuck . . .

  I hear whimpering and realize it’s me. His tongue keeps lashing over my clit, letting me ride out my orgasm to the very end, through the very last drops of pleasure.

  I melt bonelessly into the sheets. As I drift down from my high, still loopy from the intensity, I let out a giggle. Everything about this day—triumph for our families’ company, peace and love in our marriage—has been such a long time coming. I guess it’s only fitting that my orgasm would be an exercise in patience too.

  The bed dips again as his weight and body heat leave me for a moment. The rattle of a drawer sliding open, followed by a crinkle of plastic, tells me he’s putting on a condom.

  I want to rip off the blindfold, see his dilated pupils, his swollen lips, his rock-hard, dripping cock. But then he moves over me and kisses me hard as the blunt head of his cock nudges my pussy lips.

  I suck in my breath when he begins to enter me—so slowly, pulls out, and pushes back in, letting me adjust to his size again. Even though I’m slick from my orgasm, it’s still a tight fit. It probably always will be. To marrying well, indeed.

  With everything that’s been on my plate lately, we haven’t had sex in almost a week—and that’s a week too long, as far as I’m concerned. I’m so damn ready for this.

  I rock my hips up, panting, “Please, Noah, fuck me.”

  He makes a quiet, rough noise of desire. “Jesus, Snowflake, how could any man say no to that?”

  A deep moan of relief escapes me as he starts thrusting in earnest. Every stroke pounds straight i
nto my G-spot, sending shock waves of pleasure through my entire body, still oversensitive from my last orgasm. Sex while blindfolded is a totally different experience. I’m hyper-attuned to his every rough breath, every thrust of his hips, every rigid vein and ridge in his large cock.

  I grope around the sheets for Noah’s hand, find it, and squeeze tight after he laces our fingers together—an anchor in the sea of sensation that rocks me. His lips press against mine and I open hungrily to his kiss. My tongue reaches out for his and intertwines, a sweet, hot dance that echoes the movements of our bodies. We only break apart to gasp for breath, dizzy with exertion and each other.

  “I thought I was going to lose you,” Noah groans into my ear.

  I arch my hips up and tighten my legs around his waist, needing him deeper, needing to hold him close. “You’ve got me now,” I pant. “I love you, Noah . . . so much.”

  And I want more. We move together almost frantically, rushing to meet each other, pleasure building with every rocking thrust.

  When it comes, my second orgasm doesn’t wash over me like a gentle sea. It shudders through me as violently as an earthquake, a lightning strike, locking my muscles and pulling a tight cry from my throat. Somewhere in the maelstrom of pleasure, I feel Noah shudder around me, inside me, moaning my name like a prayer.

  I fall limp, my legs still draped around his waist. Our harsh panting and the smell of sweat and sex hang heavy in the air. When he eases out of me, I feel a little empty, but mostly just exhausted and satisfied. I hear the sound of latex unpeeling from skin, followed by the rustle of a plastic trash bag as Noah throws away the condom.

  His muscled arms reach out and pull me against his hot chest, still damp with sweat. With a quiet murmur, I turn on my side to pillow my head on his firm bicep. Gingerly, I stretch out my tired legs. My muscles will definitely be sore tomorrow, but damn, this is so worth it.

  Light floods back into my world as Noah removes my blindfold. I squeeze my eyes shut, both because the sudden brightness stings and because I want to hold on to this moment for just a little longer.

  “How was that?” he asks. “From all the noise you made, it sounded like it felt good.”

  “Amazing.” I sigh, already slipping into drowsiness. I’m too wiped out to worry about my honesty overinflating his ego.

  But Noah doesn’t brag or tease me. He just kisses my forehead in soft affection. “I’m glad you liked it. And by the way, I love you more.”

  I curve my arm around his trim waist. Cuddled close, we rest in each other’s embrace, bathed in a warm glow of contentment.

  I can hardly believe things are going so well. Just a few weeks ago, our relationship teetered on the brink. Now we’re stronger than ever. A real couple. I couldn’t be happier, and if tonight was any indication, he feels the same way.

  Chapter Twelve

  Noah

  At the flurry of noise and people rushing past my office door, I stand up to peek out into the hall. I’ve had my head down most of the morning, reviewing the pitch campaigns created by the marketing team for all our new accounts. It’s good to be busy again with the influx of so many new clients.

  I stop at my assistant’s desk. “What’s going on?”

  Her gaze follows the crowd to where they stand, necks craned, watching the flat-screen perched on the wall in the break room just down the hall. “Have you seen the news?” she asks.

  I give my head a shake, and she taps her computer monitor with one long, lacquered fingernail. “It’s Daniels Multimedia, one of the companies who wanted to buy us out. The heir to the company, Bradford Daniels . . . he’s all they’re talking about today.”

  “That pencil dick,” I utter under my breath. “What’s he done now?”

  Margot blushes at my vulgar language. She’s sixty-eight and retiring in two weeks. I don’t know what I’m going to do without her. I’ve brought in dozens of applicants, and so far there hasn’t been even one I’d consider.

  I need someone capable, trustworthy, and according to my wife, someone who isn’t interested in fucking me. Olivia’s vetoed nearly every candidate.

  Margot opens her browser and the CNN headline reads Junior Executive Exposed in Sex, Money Scandal!

  I lean over her shoulder, skimming the article to discover that mega-douche Brad got caught with his pants down. He was blackmailing his assistant, a single mom and longtime faithful employee. When she discovered he was embezzling funds and hiding the money in an offshore account, he made her an offer. He promised her a promotion as long as she didn’t say anything. But she couldn’t live with that and told his father what he was doing. Apparently, the stolen money was used to pay for his Internet porn addiction, among other things. The assistant reported that she’d walked in on him masturbating in his office several times.

  Hallelujah. I love it when bad things happen to bad people. Especially since any lawyer worth their salt will find a way to tack on sexual harassment and creating a hostile work environment in addition to blackmail and embezzlement. The bastard will be looking at serious jail time.

  Grabbing my phone, I dial Olivia.

  But I can’t even get past hello before she blurts, “Did you hear?” Her voice is almost giddy with disbelief.

  “Yeah. This is just not his month.”

  “Oh, trust me, he deserves every bit of this.”

  Nodding, I head toward her office. When I arrive in front of her door, she looks up and stifles a giggle before hanging up the phone.

  “Lunch?” I ask.

  Her gaze lowers to the clock. It’s before noon, but now that I’ve taken a break, I don’t want to go back to my desk.

  “Sure.” She smiles at me again and rises from her desk.

  I love that Brad has fallen from grace, but even more, I love how it’s merely a blip on our radar. We’ve moved on, as individuals and as a couple, and his presence in our lives is insignificant. That’s not to say we won’t enjoy hearing the news once in a while, but it won’t absorb us. This is our story, and it’s one he has no part in anymore.

  “Let’s order in,” I suggest, sinking into the plush seat across from her. “I’ve got another interview coming in at one today.”

  Olivia rolls her eyes. “I don’t want to talk about that right now. I don’t want to fight.”

  It’s becoming a sore subject between us, which is unexpected. My wife is usually so self-confident; it’s taken me by surprise that she has such an interest in who I hire to be my right hand.

  My lips quirk. Maybe nobody will ever be good enough for her. Maybe this is how she shows her love—by splashing her control-freakery all over me.

  She cocks her head. “Something funny?”

  I quickly school my features. “Just some dumb joke Sterling forwarded me this morning. I agree; let’s have a nice lunch and not talk about business.”

  “What are you in the mood for?” she asks, pulling out a file folder containing paper menus from all the local eateries. Her dedication to organization no longer surprises me.

  “You choose,” I say with the wave of a hand. “Surprise me.”

  A surprise. That’s it.

  As Olivia pores over the various menus, I slide my phone out of my pocket and send a text to Camryn.

  Noah: Meet me for an early happy hour today. I need your help.

  Camryn responds almost immediately.

  Camryn: You buying?

  Noah: Sure. 4 p.m. at Woody’s Stiff Pickle.

  Camryn: Sure thing, boss man.

  Her message ends with a thumbs-up emoji.

  I put my phone away again, hiding my smirk. I know just what I need to do tonight to make sure Olivia never has to worry about this assistant business ever again.

  • • •

  “What’s going on?” Camryn asks, taking a sip from her strawberry margarita.

  We’re seated at the bar. Woody’s is a casual place, a sports bar with little ambience. But it’s close to work, and more importantly, it’s not somewhere O
livia would ever willingly set foot. So we’re safe from being discovered.

  “I need your help.”

  “Trouble in paradise? Again?” Camryn smirks at me. “You’re pretty efficient at fucking up; I’ll give you that.”

  “Eh . . .” I tilt my hand from side to side. “It’s not like that. Everything’s actually going pretty well.”

  For a certain definition of the word, anyway. In itself, the assistant thing isn’t a big deal; I know I’ll figure it out eventually. But there’s a lot going on in our world. Olivia’s father’s failing health, the idea of us maybe, someday having a baby, and of course, our new commitment to each other in this marriage.

  “Everything’s actually going well. I just . . . I want a do-over with Olivia.”

  “A do-over?” She drums her fingers on the bar. “What does that mean, exactly?”

  “You’re the one who told me Olivia was a closet romantic who’d always dreamed of a big, beautiful wedding.”

  “Well, yes.” Camryn nods, her brunette waves bouncing. “That’s true.”

  I almost cringe, thinking back on our wedding. If you can even call that half-assed, clinical meeting a “wedding.” We need a fresh start. I need to show Olivia everything she means to me. And a real wedding is going to be the first step toward doing that.

  “So I need to plan one of those. A blow-out wedding like she’s always wanted.”

  Camryn’s lips quirk up. “Since you’re already married, I’m guessing you mean a vow renewal.”

  “Sure. Doesn’t matter what it’s called. I need Olivia in a big poofy dress, a massive cake, our friends and families, great food, a band, and dancing under the stars.”

  Camryn’s smile has bloomed into a full-on grin. “That’s cute. You should totally do that. Can I be a bridesmaid?”

  Now I’m the one smirking at her. “You said it’s not a wedding. Do vow renewals even have a wedding party?”

  “They do when you plan them.”