Chapter 9
Guy
The beat of my feet against the snow is the only rhythm I follow. I pull in cold air, my muscles burn, but I keep pushing myself, determined to run this fire out of my system.
A fire lit by Monty fucking Reid.
I lay in bed last night with a hard dick and a racing mind. All I wanted to do was go into her room and finish what we started, but we drew a line and I had to respect it.
She was still sleeping when I got up for my run, and thank fuck for that.
There’s something incredibly sexy about Monty at all times, but in the morning when she’s a little bit dreamy-eyed, her smile small, she feels more approachable.
I’m hoping she’ll be up, alert, and ready to annoy me for the day by the time I get home.
I finish my run, and once I’m letting myself into the house, I’m greeted by the sounds of the television. Monty is sprawled on the couch in my T-shirt, her foot elevated on a cushion.
“Morning Chief,” she says, stretching her arms above her head, my T-shirt riding far too fucking high. I can just about see her red panties. “You don’t look very sweaty. Did you push yourself hard enough?”
Reaching back, I grip the collar of my damp T-shirt and pull it off before chucking it at her. She laughs and tosses it onto the floor. “You’re disgusting!” But her gaze drifts down my body, her bottom lip tucked firmly between her teeth.
“I’m gonna shower,” I say. “Do you need anything?”
She sighs, gazing at my body. “Many things too dangerous to name, Chief.”
God fucking dammit.
I take the stairs three at a time, tearing off the rest of my clothes before stepping under the heated spray of the shower. Closing my eyes, I rest my hands against the tiled wall, and I don’t even fight the images in my mind.
Monty on the couch. Naked, this time. Nipples peaked. Cheeks flushed. Legs spread.
Begging for me.
“God save me,” I mumble, reaching down to squeeze my already solid cock.
This is why we shouldn’t have kissed. It’s not the regret, it’s a stepping stone to wanting more.
My cock is aching for more than just my hand, and as I glide my fist up and down my length, I imagine it’s Monty’s mouth.
I picture her clear green eyes gazing up at me, pretty lips taking my cock deep, her fingernails pressing into my thighs.
“You’ll swallow everything I give you.” In my mind, she nods, moving faster, saliva and shower water coating my dick.
I grip her hair, and her eyes roll back as she shifts forward, eager to take more of me.
“You’re my good girl, aren’t you? Desperate for a belly full of my cum.
” She moves faster, lips firm around me, and I’m close, so fucking close.
“Tongue out, Monty.” She pulls off me and does as I ask, mouth wide and eager to take my load.
My orgasm shudders through me, heavy waves of pleasure pulling moans free from me.
I coat her tongue, her lips, and she laps it up, so fucking perfect—
I open my eyes, the fantasy gone, my cum on the tiles. I rinse myself and the wall clean, switching off the shower and climbing out. The condensation on the mirror hides my shame, but not enough.
“What the fuck is wrong with me?” I whisper to my warped reflection.
I’m a grown man. I can resist a woman, especially someone like her.
I need to act my fucking age.
Dressing quickly in sweats and a t-shirt, I head back downstairs, where Monty is still watching television, completely innocent to what I just did to her in my mind.
Her gaze cuts to mine, and she gives me a knowing smirk.
Shit.
Could she hear me?
No, definitely not.
I hope.
“Coffee?” I turn from her, the flames inside me that I thought I’d dampened roaring back to life.
“Sure.”
I grab two mugs from the cabinet and place them by the coffee machine. A small slip of paper is by the sugar, and I pick it up.
IOU another kiss
I face Monty again, and her smile is small, but wicked.
“I did a little workout of my own,” she says, gliding her hands up her legs. I watch from a distance, my blood rushing to my dick again as she hooks her fingers into her panties and pushes them down her legs. Balling them up, she tosses them at me, and I promptly catch them. “Three times.”
Holy fucking God.
I knead the material in my hands, stepping dangerously close to a line I want to sprint over. A kiss is one thing, but this? This is me trusting myself not to bury myself in her.
And I don’t trust myself at all.
Especially when she parts her knees, revealing her pink, glistening pussy.
“Fuck me,” I growl, my jaw almost locked together as I remain in place, determined to show some kind of control.
She gets comfortable, slipping her fingers through her wetness. “Do you want to watch, Chief?” I track the movement of her fingers as she delves them into herself, moaning softly. “Or do you want to be a gentleman and take over?”
Fuck it.
I stride over to her, dropping my knee onto the sofa. I seize her hand and sink her cum-soaked fingers into my mouth, circling my tongue around her digits, savoring how fucking delicious she is. Monty watches, lips parted, eyes wide, and I remove her fingers.
“I’m going to be a lot of things right now, Monty.” I lean down. “A gentleman isn’t one of them.” Our lips crash together and she wraps her legs around my waist, pulling my stomach against her wet pussy.
That familiar sweet cherry taste covers her tongue. Her fingers run through my hair, and she grinds against me, a relentless roll of her hips. It’s heaven—her sounds, her hands on me, her body against mine.
I pin her down, rubbing my hard cock against her warmth, and she whimpers.
Only my sweats separate us, and I lace my fingers through hers, pinning her hands above her head as I continue grinding my cock against her bare pussy.
Her pants quicken, and her moans become broken, soft sounds.
I watch every expression, her eyes squeezed closed as she must get closer to her climax, until she finally looks at me, jade-green eyes wide and fixed on mine, piercing into me so deeply that I’m sure I can feel her pleasure building through that look alone.
“Do you like that? My cock grinding against your clit?”
Her lips tremble as they part, and she nods. “Yes.”
I thrust and she cries out. “You want more?”
“Yes, Chief. Please, make me come—”
The words send vibrations through my skin, and I capture her mouth with mine again. I’m out of control, a man possessed by her, and she could ask anything of me right now and I’d give it. Pleasure builds, a tingling tightness that soars up my spine.
“Chief—” Monty cries out, and I thrust one final time as we both come. Her fingernails press into my skin, and I bury my face in her neck, gasping against her.
My heart rate slows. Our breathing becomes less labored.
Reality creeps up on me, but I shove it away. Locked away in this house, with no one to remind us that we’re fucking up, maybe we can just enjoy this time. A few days of each other, of not answering to anyone but us.
If I’m gonna regret it, it can be later.
“At least I don’t taste like onions this time,” she says, and I laugh. Pushing myself up, I look down at her. Her cheeks are flushed, her lips pink, light hair fanned across the pillow.
She’s so beautiful.
But the deadliest things always are.
For the next few days, I learn more about Monty Reid. Each time, she drops the fact at a random point of the day, so I find myself hanging onto every word to avoid missing it.
So far, I’ve learned the following:
Her birthday is July first.
Her first kiss was when she was fourteen, and she threw up in his mouth.
She’s left-handed.
She was born in Bath, England.
Her favorite fruits are cherries.
But the things I love most are the facts she lets slip without even realizing it.
She tells me little stories about her parents, how they met and what they loved most about each other.
She sings in the shower, and when I comment on how nice her voice is, she says when she was younger, she wanted to be a performer.
I tell her things, too. About Ella, about work, about playing football in college. She introduces me to some awful British bands, and I tell her American rock will never be beat. We watch movies. We try to cook and fail.
And she leaves me IOUs.
For kisses, for cuddling on the couch, for back rubs and hand holding.
Every IOU used ends in orgasms ground out through dry humping, and I’m fucking desperate to sink into her.
We almost did once when we bumped into each other in the hall in the middle of the night.
I’d pinned her against the wall, and she’d kissed me until we were breathless, and I begged her to go back to bed before we went too far.
She did, and I had to take a cold shower before returning to bed.
And soon, it’s the night before she’s due to leave, and I don’t want her to go. She tells me she wants snacks for her flight, and since her ankle is better, we go to the grocery store, and as we enter, she slips her hand into mine.
“Just in case Vivien is here,” she says, avoiding my eye.
I should pull away, but before I can find the strength to do it, I’m interlocking our fingers.
It’s been a long time since I held hands with someone. I’ve never been much for public displays of affection, but I find myself easing into the feeling, enjoying the warmth of her hand in mine.
As we pluck things off shelves, if our hands ever detach, we quickly come back to each other.
At one point, she rests her head against my bicep as we push the cart, and I release her fingers, only to slide my arm around her waist. My heart races as I do it, and I worry it might be too far, but she leans into me.
How has this happened? This woman turned up on my doorstep with murder in her smile, but she seems to have dropped the mask for me. It could be a lie. All of it could be a fabrication, but for what? What does she gain?