Chapter 19
LENA
Igasped, the sound quickly turning into a moan of pleasure. “Oh…oh, shit.”
“Too hot?” Weston asked, his smile turning devilish as my eyes fluttered open. His room was bathed in warm light that spilled between the long drapes, sunset painting him in beautiful golden hues.
“No,” I whispered huskily, running my hands over the defined muscles in his shoulders.
“It’s just right. It’s…Mm-hmm.” I shook my head back and forth against the pillow as he dribbled another line of warm chocolate and caramel across my bare stomach.
He followed that with his tongue, his breath hot as he licked the decadent sweetness from my skin.
After removing Bonnie from the property and cleaning himself up, he’d promptly brought his newly warmed-up millionaire’s shortbread to bed. I’d had no idea that Weston’s plan for his treat involved eating it off me, but I wasn’t mad about it.
In fact, I’d never loved dessert more.
“Good,” Weston growled against my belly. “Because when I’m done eating this, I’m going to eat you out until you forget your own name.”
I moaned in approval, lifting my hand to brush my fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck.
“Do you want that?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“I can’t hear you,” he teased, dribbling chocolate over one of my breasts.
He sucked that nipple in his mouth while toying with my other one until they were two stiff peaks under his ministrations.
Sensation shot through me, swirling in my belly, and all I could think about was how good I knew he was going to make me feel. “Tell me what you want.”
“You.” I swallowed hard. He dragged his tongue between the valley of my breasts, chasing chocolate. “More of that.” I wanted him. I wanted everything. Mostly, I wanted to exist in a moment of white-hot bliss, where nothing else mattered. Just pleasure.
I pressed my head further into the pillow as he trailed chocolate up the side of my neck, his lips nibbling and sucking, quickly turning my thoughts inside out as I squirmed. His hand shifted, accidentally trailing chocolate and caramel across the bed sheets.
“Weston,” I mumbled, realizing what a mess we were making. I squeezed his shoulder, trying to get his attention as he trailed back down my body.
“Can’t hear you,” he mumbled. “I’m enjoying my favorite dessert.”
I writhed beneath him as he brushed chocolate across my hip and down my thigh before cleaning me off with his tongue.
We shifted, tangling ourselves in the sheets, smearing sticky caramel across them.
Weston cradled my hips, licking and sucking at my skin like he’d never tasted anything better, like he was trying to savor every second, and my heart crashed against my ribs.
My clit throbbed in response, desperate for its own attention. I whined, the sound so needy it broke Weston from his task. He stared up at me, dark hair falling across his forehead, those green eyes shining as they took me in.
“We’re making a mess,” I said as his fingers slid between my thighs, toying with my clit at last. The motions were so soft, so teasing it was almost painful.
Weston grinned against my thigh. “I haven’t made nearly enough of a mess of you yet.” He stroked my clit, and I jerked against him. “Trust me.”
“There’s chocolate all over the bedding,” I murmured. It was on the sheets and the comforter and the pillow. All over him. All over me.
“Who cares?” Weston said.
“Maybe we should…Ah! Maybe we should take this to the shower.”
“I think you should be more concerned about what I’m doing here,” he said, fluttering his fingers against my clit. “Making sure you get exactly what you want.”
“Weston,” I growled, the word cutting off as I caught a gasp behind my fist.
“I’ll throw the bedding out and buy new ones when we’re done. Hell, woman, I’ll buy a whole bedding factory if it means getting to fuck you like this.”
He applied firmer pressure to my clit, and I moaned. “Oh,” I said, my back arching as I clenched my eyes. “Yes. Mmm, God.”
He was right. Who the hell cared?
He could dip me in chocolate and fuck me all over this damn castle as long as he kept doing that with his fingers.
He stroked me, making slow, deliberate circles.
The pressure was too slow, too light to bring me true relief, and I gripped his shoulders, trying to get leverage, trying to grind against him. He pulled back, and I whined.
“Weston!”
“Weston, what?” he said. From the sound of his voice, I knew he was wearing his favorite shit-eating grin. The one he liked to tease me with. The one that secretly drove me wild.
Need pulsed through me. “Don’t stop.”
“Or what?” he asked. “What are you going to do about it?”
I was going to combust, that’s what. But not in the way I wanted. Not in the way I needed.
I reached down my body, sliding past the sticky, chocolatey mess he’d left behind on my belly to get to my clit. If he wouldn’t touch me, then I’d touch myself.
But before I could reach that ache between my thighs, he caught my hand, holding it out of reach. Then he caught my other hand, pinning them both above my head.
I squirmed in protest, pouting as he lowered his head to press a kiss to my lips. He tasted like shortbread, his breath sweet, his tongue sugary.
“I need you,” I said, the words almost a sob as I attempted to rock my hips against his leg. The pressure was enough to keep me on edge, but not enough to push me over. I groaned as his hard cock pressed against my hip. “Please. Please.”
“That’s it,” he said. “I like it when you beg.” He released me long enough to dig a condom from the drawer in the nightstand. He rolled onto his side, tearing open the wrapper with his teeth before rolling the condom onto his cock.
I reached for him, half dazed, wrapping my hand around his girth, feeling the weight in my hand as I squeezed.
Weston grunted, rolling back over me, lining up the tip of his cock at my entrance. My hips parted, my breath coming in short pants as I anticipated the delicious stretch. “Yes,” I said as he teased me, barely slipping inside. “God, please.”
“Beg for it,” he whispered into my ear, his accent rolling in a way that made me dizzy.
I wanted him to whisper sweet nothings to me like that all day.
Every day. “Beg for your release.” He hovered over me, biceps bulging as he balanced his weight.
I clung to his shoulders, staring down between us as his hips jerked, inching his cock forward.
My head spun. “Yes, Weston!”
“Tell me what you want,” he said, seating himself a little deeper. I wanted more. I wanted him to move.
“Fuck me,” I pleaded.
“Louder, Lena.”
“Jesus, Weston!” I couldn’t take it anymore. “I need you to fuck me!” I shouted it, refusing to be embarrassed about anyone misfortunate enough to walk by his door.
He lowered to his forearms, his grin turning cocky as he pressed his mouth to my cheek, snapping his hips forward, burying himself in that space between my legs.
“Yes,” I hissed. The pressure was so good, and all I could do was moan and beg him not to stop.
Harder.
Faster.
I wanted him deeper.
“That’s it,” he said, shifting to rub my clit. “Take what you want.”
My thoughts grew fuzzy, focused only on my pleasure as I ground myself against him, meeting him thrust for thrust.
“Take it,” he said again, wrapping his free hand around my hip and squeezing my ass, encouraging me to rock against the pressure of his fingers.
I chased the sensation like a woman possessed.
My entire body tightened in anticipation, and I released a throaty groan as he seated himself deep.
That combined with the pressure on my clit finally tipped me into my orgasm.
My head filled with fuzzy pleasure as I jerked beneath him, lost to a wave I never wanted to end.
Weston’s breathing grew ragged, his hand shifting to grip my hip, his fingers digging into my ass.
But even the sting of pain felt incredible, and I moaned loudly as he thrust into me, chasing the ripples of my orgasm with his own.
My head was still swimming when he finally cried out, collapsing onto me like a weighted blanket.
His post-orgasm weight was comforting, warm, and I clutched him against my chest, content to float in the cloud of bliss we’d created. My eyes closed, drifting into a post-coital nap.
When the hazy sex fog lifted, I opened my eyes to find that the sunlight in the room had faded from golden to pink, the last of the sunset clinging to the walls.
“Hiya, gorgeous,” Weston whispered, tracing a hand down my arm.
“Gorgeous? I don’t know about that,” I laughed, staring down at my body. “I think I look a little like a swamp goblin. I definitely need a shower.”
“You’re beautiful,” he insisted, pressing a kiss to my forehead before licking at the side of my neck. “And delicious.”
“You also need a shower,” I pointed out. “We are not fit for human company currently.”
“Excellent. I propose more of that shower sharing.” He smirked. “I’m very good at prioritizing the environment.”
My lips twitched as I stared at him, marveling at how amazing he’d just made me feel, and at how content I was, here in his arms. This was the Weston I couldn’t get enough of, the one that was sexy and charming and silly.
The man beneath the business suits. The one who could make me feel like the only person in a crowded room with just a look.
The one who made sex fun and playful and satisfying like nothing I’d ever known. I laughed unexpectedly at the thought.
“What is it?” he asked, stroking my cheek.
“Nothing,” I lied, not sure how I’d explain it all anyway. “Just…this was a first for me. I’ve never had food sex before.”
He gasped in mock offense. “Who were these men you were sleeping with before me? They’ve truly let you down on all the delightfully naughty ways to use food.”
I knew he was teasing, but his words drove home just how limited my experience really was and how expansive his was. “Actually…Well, you’re only the third man I’ve ever slept with. So there wasn’t exactly a whole lot of experimenting going on.”
He blinked at me, his eyebrows furrowed in surprise. “Really?”
I shrugged. “I had that one long-term relationship in high school,” he nodded, his jaw ticking, perhaps remembering my comment about how and why we broke up, “and then another one in college, and now you. That’s it.”
He nodded slowly. “Sorry, I’m just surprised, that’s all. I mean, you’re…well, frankly, amazing. I know I’ve kept you busy these past seven years, but I find it hard to believe men wouldn’t have been knocking down your door.”
I smiled at that. “You have kept me busy, but it’s not like I haven’t dated at all. I’ve just…I’ve been on several dates since graduating from college, but none of those relationships developed to the point where I slept with any of them.”
I wasn’t great at casual flings, so one-night stands weren’t really my thing.
But long term came with commitment, and that commitment came with expectations.
Something I’d become good at bringing up during the initial dating process.
It still surprised me the number of guys my age who were expecting to marry and have children.
Once I realized it, I put a halt to the relationship—often taking the easy way out and claiming I didn’t have enough time to date right now, and it wasn’t fair to him.
It was hard enough knowing that had been taken away from me before I had a chance to decide whether I wanted to have children; I didn’t need to be humiliated when the guy broke up with me over it.
Been there, have the emotional scars to show for it.
With Weston, things were different. There was already history between us built on years of working together.
Whatever this was, it couldn’t be called casual.
But it also had an end date. Six months—well five months and change at this point—and then divorce.
That’s what we’d agreed on. We were existing in this strange in-between space where what we had was real but fleeting. Maybe that’s why it worked for now.
He bussed his lips against my temple, and for a beat I worried that he’d dig further into the relationships, that he’d ask me why they ended.
“Well, all those men missed out. And it’s your exes’ loss for not realizing what a good thing they had while they had it,” he said instead, his words warming a space in my chest. “You deserve the world, Lena. And they were both clearly idiots because you’re perfect.”
I shook my head, laughing lightly, awkwardly, trying my best to hold onto my smile. I didn’t want to talk about this. Not about my exes, and not about how very far from perfect I was.
“And you’re excellent at messy food sex,” he said teasingly.
“That’s high praise,” I said, wrapping my hand around his neck as I dragged him into another kiss, grateful for the subject change.
I pulled back, staring into his eyes and telling myself to enjoy these moments.
Further down the road, reality was marching in, waving the divorce flag, getting ready to tear it all away.
All we had was now—so we needed to make the most of it.
I cleared my throat. “What culinary delight should we tackle next?”
He hummed, holding me close, letting his hands drift down my back. “I was actually thinking about introducing you to the joys of whipped cream.”
“Well, as long as you’re not trying to roll me in haggis.”
Weston threw his head back and laughed.