Surprise Package Page 9

  ‘I thought you said you’d given up on the whole escort thing.’ My words are a low rumble because I’d play whore for her, no problem.

  ‘I have. Mostly. But you could totally be one, and I mean that as a compliment.’

  ‘Sure, right,’ I answer in a disparaging tone. It’s a good job she can’t read my mind.

  ‘I absolutely do,’ she protests. ‘Women would pay to date you. Not that I’m suggesting you should go into that line of work. And you might have to play the strong, silent type, you know, on account of how annoying you are.’ She ducks as I throw the wine cork at her, but I’d aimed to miss purposely. ‘Apart from that, you’re smart and kind and charming, and if you put out, you’d be inundated with work.’

  ‘Is that your way of saying I’m a good fuck?’

  ‘I wouldn’t have put it in quite those terms.’ Her cheeks stain pink immediately.

  ‘Thanks for the compliments,’ I answer, ‘but I see a flaw in your plan. I have it on good authority that prostitution is illegal. I think I’d best stick to working with my hands.’

  ‘Maybe that could be a thing,’ she says, giggling again. ‘A male escort who offers only digital relief. You’re good at that, too.’ I sigh as though I’m in pain, even if I am smiling at the absurdity of this conversation. ‘And I could give you a glowing review for your regular website. It could be like your undercover job, and you could use your website as a website within a website. Your business cards passed out among women with secret smiles, the glowing reviews left in cipher.’

  ‘You’re enjoying this a wee bit too much. How would the cipher be decoded?’

  ‘We could go with euphemisms!’ she says, a wee bit too excitedly. I’m hoping it’s the prospect of me getting my hands on her again rather than her offering to work on my business plan. She puts down her glass, then folds her arms under her chest, framing her tits. Scrabble was supposed to take my mind off fucking her again, not make me think of anything but. When she begins to speak, it’s in a voice best saved for commercials, perky and saccharine-sweet. ‘Greg is one cabinet maker you just have to have.’

  ‘Have to have, eh?’ Come and get me then, Isobel.

  ‘If you’re thinking of getting a man in, I urge you to choose Greg. He’s just great with his hands and really knows how to use his tool . . . s. Okay, that one needs a little bit of work,’ she adds with a slight frown, propping her chin on her fist now. ‘How about he absolutely went to town decorating my box—it’ll never be the same again!’

  ‘Are they personal recommendations?’

  ‘What do you think?’ Her voice is husky. Has she laughed a little too hard, or is it the wine? Or has she made peace with the fact that we’ll be fucking again?

  ‘What I think is, you didn’t say anything about how great I was with my tongue. Because when I had my tongue on you, you were plenty vocal. In fact, I think you were maybe speaking in tongues.’

  Her cheeks heat, and she runs her index finger against her bottom lip as though remembering something dirty. I certainly hope so, anyway.

  ‘I think that one’s a little harder to work in code. Give me an hour or so and I’m sure I could come up with something.’

  I put down my own glass, then lean forward. Propping my hand on the other side of the board, I place my lips against hers. It’s a small kiss. Open mouthed, wet but brief.

  ‘Just thinking about fucking you again and I’ve come up with something, too.’ As I pull back, her eyes flash to my crotch and the hand I have curled around my hard cock.

  ‘You’re just trying to distract me from winning,’ she replies saucily, but I can see the desire in her gaze. ‘I believe it’s your turn.’

  I place down my three tiles, not interested in anything but her reaction. CUM.

  ‘Is that the best you have?’

  ‘I didn’t hear any complaints last time.’

  She watches me intently, a half-smile playing on her beautiful lips. She could be waiting for the punchline or for me to make the first move.

  ‘It was an invitation, darlin’,’ I clarify. You know, just in case. ‘An invitation to come on my face.’

  Chapter 12

  IZZY

  The air between us is alive, pulsing in little jolts as his words pound a beat deep inside my pyjama pants. How is it possible to be laughing one minute and so turned on the next? I’ve never known a man to have this kind of effect. But then again, I’ve never known a man like him—he’s so infuriatingly sexy. And God, how he makes me laugh. And when he’s not making me laugh, or annoying the life out of me, he’s sweet and kind. On top of all that, he’s just so lovely to look at.

  His elbow slides from the sofa behind him, his body unfolding from its negligent sprawl. He takes up so much room in this tiny cottage, it’s been impossible not to be aware of him all day long. All day long. That’s hours and hours of wondering if he’ll touch me. Hours and hours of wondering if I’ll have the courage to touch him.

  I watch as he places his glass down an arm’s length away from his body. He turns and leans towards me, placing his hand on my side of the Scrabble board. Then, in a very deliberate action, he sweeps the board away with his other hand.

  I don’t know who makes the next move as the board slides across the room, tiles scattering everywhere. All I know is I’m suddenly under him with the hard ridge of his cock pressed between my legs.

  ‘I want to eat you out.’ His tone is low and sensual in my ear, and the absolute antithesis of his base words, but it so works for me. I whimper as he presses his teeth into the flesh. ‘Was that an objection?’

  ‘No.’ I swallow thickly. ‘Absolutely not. That was an unequivocal green light.’

  My T-shirt comes off first, and next, my long-sleeved top under it, but not before Greg hones in on my nipples. I cry out at the threat of teeth, my hips bucking up into him of their own accord, my whole body crying out to be filled. My top hits the floor next before he slides both pairs of bottoms, plus my knickers, all off together like a magician’s big reveal. And he does look rather pleased with himself. And speaking of reveals, Greg gets to his knees and straddles my hips, then begins to unbutton his jeans.

  ‘You want this,’ he says, smiling sort of devilishly as he lifts himself free from the confines of his boxer shorts. He runs his fingers along the hard length. I nod in answer, mainly because I can’t speak, mesmerised by the stroke of his hand and enthralled by the way he holds himself. God yes, I want it, my insides pulsing from sensory memory.

  ‘I didn’t quite hear. You need to speak up.’

  ‘Yes.’ My answer is a bare breath yet full of need. ‘I’d like to watch you.’ I can’t quite believe I’m managing to put my filthy thoughts into words. The things I’ve imagined. The things I suddenly want to do.

  ‘Yes,’ he hisses, jacking himself slowly in his fist, his body and his cock looming over me. ‘Tell me what you want to watch—tell me more.’

  ‘You have your cock in your hand. You’re in the shower, and you don’t know I’m there, looking through a crack in the door. Your eyes are closed, your head resting on one hand against the glass, the other working hard and fast as the water rains down on you.’

  ‘Keep talkin’.’ His voice deepens, his accent thicker, his eyes dark and languid as he begins to buck into his hand. ‘Jesus, that’s so hot.’

  ‘I open the door and slip in beside you. You don’t even realise I’m there until I kneel on the floor and take you into my mouth.’

  ‘Fuck, fuck!’ He kisses me then, forearm on the floor next to my head, he kisses me hard, feeds me his tongue like he would his cock, one hand grasping my hair at the base of my skull, exposing my neck to his teeth. I strain to touch the hard length of him now pressing against my bare hip, stroking my fingers over his wide crown and pressing my thumb to the slit. All the while, he kisses me harder, deeper, making me desperate as he pins me beneath him

  ‘I’m going to fuck you so hard.’ His deep voice curls around my ear as he tigh
tens his grip on my hair, his lips finding my neck, and as he bites, the base of my skull pounds in time with the beat between my legs. ‘So hard you’ll be feeling me for days.’

  ‘Greg, please!’

  My hands shake desperately as I try to yank the hem of his T-shirt, wanting to feel his skin, when he suddenly sits, pulling it up and off his head. His jeans come next, our clothes strewn like Christmas wrapping paper across the floor. His body over me, Greg licks and laves my nipples until they glisten in the firelight, hard and wet and aching heavenly.

  ‘Please,’ I whisper again, sliding my hands around his neck, pressing him to me harder, needing to feel the sting of him everywhere. He rewards me with his teeth on the fleshy lobe, my hands captured in one of his and pressed tight above my head.

  ‘You’re soaking,’ he rasps, ‘and I haven’t even touched you.’ He places his free hand on my inner thigh, lifting it higher as he spreads me for his view, his nostrils flaring as though anticipating the taste of me.

  ‘Please, please,’ I begin to chant hoarsely, ‘just touch me, please.’

  ‘Look at you.’ And Greg is looking but not at my face. ‘Just fucking look at how ready you are for me,’ he says again right before he pushes his mouth into the very centre of me.

  The decadence of being spread out under him like a feast hits me hard and fast, but despite this not being my first rodeo with him (today), I’m unprepared for the intensity this time—driven breathless as his tongue and mouth works, hoarse from my cries as his dirty promises and growls curl around my ear.

  Unprepared for the intensity that is him.

  Thank you, universe. Thank you for the abundance that is Greg. Especially after throwing those disappointments in my path.

  The man has beautiful lips, perfect teeth, and who knew a dexterous tongue was a thing. It means he’s an amazing kisser, and he takes his time, his mouth working in delicious layers. From sweet and slow to passionate and aggressive. He works his magic on my lips, necks, ears, and breasts. But the most amazing thing Greg brings to the bedroom—floor, kitchen, or wherever he chooses—is that he obviously adores giving oral sex.

  This is no perfunctory lick and no lip service, if you’ll pardon the pun.

  This man has a gift.

  A gift for giving head.

  I’ve never experienced a high like it—never needed the release of orgasm so hard. He tastes me like I’m something to be savoured, licks me like I’m delicious, spreads me wider like he wants to devour.

  I can’t think—can’t focus on anything at all but the white-hot intensity crawling through me, building and gathering under my skin. It’s the best kind of wicked, a torture divine, my insides heating and pulsing as I buck up into him. I’m no longer a woman, but a thing—a thing craving the ecstasy of release.

  ‘I want to drown in you,’ he growls, pushing his fingers into me unexpectedly.

  He said I pay him in screams, and I do, the dual sensations pushing me over the edge, the skin of my back dragging against the floor as a tidal wave of ecstasy threatens to wash me away. I whimper as his kisses travel up my body, every inch of my skin over-sensitive, but as his mouth reaches mine, his tongue steals past my lips, robbing me of my breath.

  ‘I love how you taste,’ he whispers, ‘my little stinging bee.’

  I don’t have an answer or a quip, not as the hairs on his chest tease the hard tips of my nipples, not as I feel the length of him pressed against my belly. I wrap my arms around his neck as we share a hot, wet, and open-mouthed kiss as I rub myself against him like a bitch in heat. He pulls back with a groan, kicking the jeans from his legs, though not before snagging a condom from the pocket and slipping it over the vulgar beauty he holds in his hand.

  ‘You’re so bloody lovely.’ This man and his compliments strip me bare. As our mouths meet again, I dig my teeth into his bottom lip. ‘Ungh. Isobel, you make me so fucking hard.’

  ‘Good,’ I whisper back, ‘because I want it hard.’

  I don’t have to ask twice, not as he hooks his arm under my knee to open me wider, and without another word spoken, he buries himself to the hilt with a harsh grunt. I cry out at the dark stab of pleasure, my body bowing under the pressure and pleasure of his thrust. Before I can process the sensation, he pulls out and thrusts into me again.

  Again and again and again.

  Sharp gasps.

  Skin slapping skin.

  The light from the fire highlighting the sheen on his skin.

  The focus of my world narrows to the punch of him between my thighs and the feel of my hands in his.

  ‘Oh, God. Oh, God.’

  ‘No, not yet,’ he growls, grasping my hips and rolling me onto my front. I suck in a sharp breath of excitement as his body covers mine. ‘You look so pretty on your knees,’ he growls into my ear. ‘I wish you could see what comes next.’

  ‘I hope it’s me,’ I whisper, turning my head over my shoulder to look at him. His eyes glint wickedly, his hair a fucked-up chestnut mess, but he’s still smiling, his dimple peeking out as he brings his hand down on my bum cheek. Firm and fast.

  ‘Ow!’

  ‘You wanted it hard. You just didn’t specify how.’

  ‘I’ll reply when I’ve processed.’ And when my insides have stopped pulsing in time to my stinging backside. Conflicted, I think I like it, at this moment, at least.

  Lifting the hair from the nape of my neck, he kisses me. It’s such a tender motion, it almost takes my breath away. His fingers trail down my spine and farther still as I stretch out beneath him like a contented cat. His fingers slide through my wetness, my back arching in response to his teasing touch. But then, as he replaces his playful fingers with the head of his cock, my body becomes rigid. Because I want this.

  My pulse hammers in several places at once; in my throat, in my ears, but most of all between my legs. I inhale sharply as he breaches my opening, those initial sparks of pleasure making me bow my head.

  ‘You take me so beautifully,’ he rasps, his fingers tightening on my hips as he stretches me with his solid girth.

  My insides begin to pulse and tighten as though I can draw him into me. I want him—want him bucking into me hard and wild.

  ‘More,’ I whisper, pushing back against him, his hands tightening on my hips. ‘I want it. Please.’

  ‘You’re a little cock tease,’ Greg whispers. ‘And you’ll take what I give.’

  The more desperate I grow, the more excruciating his movements become. Shallow jabs and slow slides drive me to the edge until I’m flushed and shaking, every fibre of my being screaming for the power of him. He barely moves, though he speaks, whispering words that make no sense. At least, to me. At least right now.

  My knees begin to ache. My arms, too. But it all changes when Greg’s hands curl around my shoulders, pinning me in place, and with a quick flex of his hips, he enters me hard and fast.

  I cry out in relief as he begins fucking me without restraint, his fingers tight enough on my shoulders to leave a bruise. His hips pump and flex as I spread myself wider, dragging his calloused fingers down my back. It’s a sensation too much and I cry out. Suddenly, he wraps his arm around my waist, jerking me upright like I’m a little ragdoll. He pins my chest to his back while continuing his unyielding pace.

  ‘I can feel you,’ he rasps. ‘Feel you coming around my cock.’

  And I am.

  I fall forward, desperate to grind against him, chanting his name again and again as he rocks against me, giving me what I need.

  Chapter 13

  GREG

  I wake the following morning aching in places I’d forgotten I had muscles. My abs ache, my thighs are stiff, and I’m pretty sure I grazed my left knee during last night’s fuckfest. What a night it was. We’d moved from the living room floor up to the bedroom where she’s straddled my legs and, before I could speak or even sigh, bent at the waist, one hand steadying herself on my thighs. My abs tighten with a twinge as I recall the soft brush of her
hair as, in the darkness, she’d taken me into her mouth, making those sweet, sweet noises while she tongued me like my cock was the best tasting dessert there is. The throb in my balls is like hot pins as I close my eyes and remember her hot lips and her warm grip, and how her tongue had worked the tip. And then, when I could stand it no more, I’d pulled her onto my lap, and in the darkness, she’d rode me to heaven and back.

  Fucking perfect. Perfect fucking.

  We hadn’t closed the drapes last night, which allowed me to study her this morning in the grey morning light. The splay of her dark hair across the pillows, her pink painted fingernails clutching the duvet just under her chin. Her head is almost submerged between a gap in the pillows, her body curled in a ball in the centre of the bed. Meanwhile, I lie almost on the right-hand edge. I’m not complaining because she’d spent half the night with her head nestled between my shoulder and chest, and the other half with my big spoon junk pressed into her little spoon backside, her ample tits held tight in my hands. She’s a snuggler, this one, much like myself. Though I expect I must’ve rolled off to the edge of the mattress overheated at some point. I slept as well in a long time as I have with this woman in my arms.

  When was the last time I actually slept with a woman? I can remember the last time I fucked one before Isobel, casual relationships having become my forte.

  But slept? Maybe the last time was with my ex.

  Has it really been that long?

  I stretch out a little, scratching my heavily bristled cheek as I slide my other arm under my head, not yet ready to relinquish my view of her. I read somewhere once that sex and sleep are two opposing passions. I don’t remember the exact quote, but it was something along the lines of love and sex being mutually exclusive, yet the desire to share a bed with someone is undoubtedly linked to love.

  But I’m pretty certain you can’t fall in love with a woman in two nights. Maybe it’s more the idea of falling in love with love again. Being with someone. Loving the effect of waking in the dark and knowing you’re not alone. Because for three years, I’ve slept alone without thinking about it. Sleep is sleep. So long as I’m getting enough, I’m not dying, and I’m not murdering anyone. But for two nights, I’ve had this woman in my bed, and now I’m projecting how strange it’ll feel when she’s no longer here. When the snow has gone and we’ve each returned to our regular lives, and she’s no longer here to climb into bed with, pressing her frozen feet around mine. When she’s no longer whispering silly things in the darkness right before we fall asleep.