1. Chapter 1
Chapter 1
If vaginas had emotions, mine would currently be… disappointed.
Attempting to find a better angle, I pulled my knees back and shifted my hips upward. Almost… if he would just…
“That’s it, Lehra. You like Dwight’s big man stick in your lady hole, don’t you?”
And that’s when I lost it.
For the record, I don’t mean I lost it in terms of falling over the cliff of pure bliss and directly into a pool filled with orgasms and twitching thighs. No, as an off-key Tom Cruise once crooned, I lost that lovin’ feeling.
Because my boyfriend was officially the worst dirty talker in the history of sex. Sigh.
He tried; he really did. But since I’d told him a few months ago that I wanted him to talk dirty to me during intimate times, he’d taken that to mean I wanted him to discover more and more creative ways of referring to his manhood.
Gone was all the cock and dick talk I’d hoped for, only to be replaced with things like man stick, trouser snake, and my personal favorite: skin flute.
Yeah.
And don’t even get me started on the whole talking in third person situation. I’m not sure how I expected to get off when he moaned things like, Dwight loves poking his pepperoni peen into your beaver box.
In case you were wondering, my beaver box was not all aflutter the night he said that.
Rotating my hips in little circles to get the stimulation I craved, I buried my fingers in Dwight’s blond hair. “Baby, do you like how my pussy feels around your cock?” I purred, hoping that would give him some inspiration as to the kind of naughty things I wanted to hear.
“Shit. Yes,” he groaned, speeding up the pumping of his hips.
“Tell me how much you love stretching my pussy with that big dick of yours.”
His eyes closed, and his jaw clenched hard. “You know I do,” he panted out.
“Dwight, can you…”
“Yeah, baby. I can come for you.”
Not what I was going to say, but the familiar jerk of his man stick—er, cock—inside me told me he’d found his release. I inwardly sighed as Dwight slowed his movements and eventually stopped.
With a grunt, he rolled off me and flopped onto his back with one arm flung over his dark-blue eyes. “Wow, babe. That was awesome.”
Was it, Dwight? Really? For everyone involved in the proceedings?
Then he turned his handsome face toward me with that sweet smile of his and said softly, “I love you so much, Lehra.”
My heart melted. “I love you too, Dwight.”
After tossing the condom in the trash, he wrapped an arm around me and pulled me against him. I rested my cheek on his chest, and his heart tha-thumped rapidly against my ear, gradually slowing as his hand on my waist fell away and plunked softly onto the bed.
With a quiet kiss against his chest, I extricated myself from his hold and slipped from the bed and into his en suite. While the shower warmed, I pulled my curls on top of my head with one of the alligator clips Dwight kept here for me and stepped inside the glassed-in space.
After wetting myself beneath the slanted spray, my eyes fell on my very best friend: the Seventh Heaven Attachment Head. And yes, you heard those capital letters correctly. And no, that’s not the actual name of it, though it damn well should be.
The Seventh Heaven Attachment Head—or SHAH for short—was smart enough to remove heavy metals, chlorine, and any other contaminants from the water, leaving your hair and skin glowing, but that wasn’t the best thing about it. My absolute favorite feature was dial setting number three—and yes, I whispered that reverently in my head.
With two simple twists of my wrist, the Holy Grail of showers was in my hand. I had no doubt in my mind that setting three had been developed by a woman. Perhaps by a woman whose boyfriend called his penis a love snozzle and couldn’t quite seem to master the precise amount of pressure her clitoris needed to orgasm.
The central stream of water on this setting was round, less than an inch in diameter, and powerful without being harsh. Approximately a million needle-thin jets surrounded it in concentric circles and were somehow the most gentle streams of water I’d ever experienced. They delivered soft caresses against needy flesh, and the combination was absolutely phenomenal.
“Come to mama,” I whispered, and in my brain, SHAH whispered back, “You’re the one that’s going to be coming, baby.”
One of my fantasies—and there were many—took shape in my mind. A large beast of a man stood before me, a brawny version of Johnny Depp. His skin was darkened by years at sea, and he was finally home to see the woman he’d left behind but had never forgotten.
And the big pirate couldn’t wait one more second to plunder that woman— which is me, if that wasn’t obvious.
“Turn around,” he grunted.
I did, of course, and he immediately raised my simple tunic to find me wearing no undergarments. I was going for medieval era slut vibes in my fantasy, and I seemed to have hit the mark because in the next moment, I was being bent in half and entered from behind.
Bringing the silver head of the shower head between my legs, I bit back a groan of pure rapture when the center found its target. “God yes,” I whispered. My hand found the slightly transparent wall as the fantasy continued in my head.
My pirate plundered me like it was the last time he’d ever fuck. He was hard. Rough. A goddamn beast in leather as he railed me.
The streams of water between my legs hit me in all the right places and then trickled down my thighs as my orgasm approached. It never took long with SHAH.
One hand tightened on my hip and the other fisted in my hair as the fucking turned almost brutal. I welcomed it. No, I reveled in it.
As his hips slapped against my ass, the pirate leaned over my back and whispered rough, guttural words in my ear. In contrast to the ferocity with which he took me, his utterances were sweet and possessive.
He’d missed me. He loved me. I was his woman .
With the softest of cries, I came, my fingers curling against the shower wall. “Holy fuck,” I mumbled, my breaths leaving my gaping mouth in brisk pants as I pressed my forehead against the damp coolness.
I jiggled SHAH a little, extending the orgasm as long as I could as warm fingers of water stroked my swollen flesh. When I was finally done, I thanked the shower head for her service and replaced her back in the holder.
My eyes roamed around the luxurious shower space, but there was no pirate in there with me. For some reason, it always surprised me because these little scenes came to life so vividly while they were going on.
Turning off the shower spray, I stepped out and dried off before going back to Dwight’s bed.
“Nice shower, baby?” he asked sleepily as he pulled my freshly sated body against him. He usually woke up after my showers, and I was sure he thought I was some kind of clean freak or something, though he was too polite to ever say anything about it.
“Very nice,” I murmured.
I’d felt guilty the first time I got myself off after being with Dwight, but goddamn, I’d been needy that night. Now I viewed it as a necessary evil. Women deserved satisfaction just like men did, and I’d come to grips with the fact that the man I loved wasn’t able to get me there. And that was okay. Setting aside the sex, Dwight was everything I needed in my life. Kind. Loyal. Honest.
I tried not to feel remorseful about my fantasies. Everyone had them, right? And it was something I enjoyed. Though I have always wished I could find a guy that was into the same things.
But I’d learned that those things were better enjoyed in private.
After all, no one wanted to indulge in my silly little role playing games.
“I’ll miss you, honey,” Dwight said, holding my face and kissing me in the middle of Detroit Metropolitan Airport. He always insisted on parking and coming inside with me. I protested each time, letting him know I didn’t mind being dropped off at the curb, but I secretly loved that he wanted to spend those last few minutes with me.
“I’ll miss you too,” I replied. We hugged for a long while, and I inhaled the scent of his woodsy cologne. “But I’ll see you next month.”
“As soon as I make my flight arrangements, I’ll send them to you.” We reluctantly separated, and Dwight held both my hands. “I’m still working on getting transferred to the New York office, but it’s going to be a while. There are a lot of projects I’m involved in here.”
“I know,” I assured him with a watery smile. “I’d better go so I don’t miss my flight.” Grasping the handle of my tiny suitcase, I blew him one more kiss and headed toward security.
As soon as I reached my gate, my cell phone rang, and I looked down at the display before answering. “Hey, Tony! You’re up early.” It’s five in the damn morning. Doesn’t he ever sleep?
“Hello, lovely Lehra. I have a surprise for you.”
“Ooh, is it Captain America?”
Tony Moschella’s laugh was warm and deep. I loved this guy. He was the personal assistant to Auburn Bouvier, the CEO of one of the largest fashion companies in New York City, and I was the downstairs receptionist in the Bouvier building.
“Unfortunately, no, but I think you’ll be pleased. Bouvier is driving himself today, so I texted his driver to pick you up from the airport.”
“Are you serious? Screw Captain America. You, Tony, are the real hero here. That will save me a fortune in Uber fees.”
“I know, dear, and I enjoy taking care of you. You’re like my surrogate daughter since my Gianna lives in Texas.”
My heart went out to him. Tony talked about his daughter all the time, and I knew he missed her terribly. “Maybe she’ll come to visit soon,” I consoled.
“She’s got to finish school first,” he insisted. “She’s so smart, Lehra. Did I tell you she’s working on her master’s in accounting?”
I laughed and teased him a bit. “I think you may have mentioned it. About forty times.”
“Right,” he said, and I could hear the chagrined amusement in his voice. “Well, have a good flight, and I’ll look forward to seeing your smiling face in a couple hours.”
“Thanks, Tony, and tell Smithson I’ll meet him outside Terminal B.”
“Terminal B, got it. Oh, and remember, Smithson is retired as of Friday. The new guy has been helping out and learning the ropes the past few months, but he just took over full-time. I don’t think you’ve met Cruz yet.”
“Apt name for a driver,” I quipped. “Thanks again, Tony.”
“No problem, dear.”
That man is a saint, I thought as soon as we hung up. I wasn’t sure how he put up with Auburn Bouvier on a daily basis.
Walking out of the terminal, I glanced around for the black Bentley and spotted it a couple dozen steps away. The wheels of my suitcase made a clacking sound as they bumped over the cracks in the sidewalk when I headed in that direction.
That’s when I noticed the man standing beside the fancy car, and my feet faltered to a stop. Dear god in heaven!
He was around six foot three, in my estimation, and built like a brick shithouse with a chest that could only be described as expansive . Well, and maybe delicious wouldn’t be a bad descriptor.
The driver was standing ramrod straight in a black Bouvier suit with a crisp white shirt and black tie. One thick finger reached up and tugged at his collar, and I got the feeling he wasn’t accustomed to wearing a suit.
His skin was deeply tanned, like maybe he was Italian or Latino. He sported coal-black hair that was cut short, but I could tell it would curl if he let it grow out. To top off the look, he had absolutely the most perfect mouth I’d ever seen on a man. A well-defined Cupid’s bow topped lips so full I wondered if he’d had lip injections. Do guys get lip filler? I mused. I didn’t see why not.
The man I assumed was Cruz lowered the tugging hand to clasp its mate in front of his crotch, and if he wasn’t wearing a custom-tailored suit jacket, I knew the fabric would have bunched over those broad shoulders. I couldn’t see his eyes because they were covered by classic Ray-Ban Clubmaster sunglasses, but based on his appearance, I assumed they were brown.
As soon as I talked my feet into walking, his head swiveled instantly in my direction. “Hi,” I said as I approached. “Are you Cruz?”
“I am, and are you, um, Leer-a? Did I say that correctly?”
“Close. It rhymes with Sara.”
He pronounced it again, correctly this time, and the sound of his voice reminded me of s’mores. Sweet marshmallow and warm chocolate melting onto a crisp graham cracker.
Oh jeez. Poetic much, you weirdo?
“I’m Cruz Estrada.” He held out a hand, and I placed mine in it, instantly feeling like a child shaking an adult’s hand. Then he smiled and pushed his sunglasses up, giving me his eyes and showing off his… dammit, dimples .
Well, that was just too damn much. Someone stop the Earth’s rotation and let me climb off because it’s not fair that I should have to live on the same planet with a man who possessed so many gorgeous features. The audacity of him!
A current of something hot and indistinct pulsed between us as our gazes held. His eyes were blue, not brown like I expected; a thick ring of navy surrounding a shocking azure toward the middle.
Stop staring at the pretty man’s eyes, Lehra. Abort! Abort!
To distract myself, I looked back down at his lips. “Do you get lip injections?” I heard someone ask and glanced around to see who had asked such a presumptuous question.
Yeah, it turned out that was me.
Someone. Anyone. Please. Stick a dirty, dirty sock in my mouth to shut me the hell up.
For fuck’s sake.