Chapter Four
Sitting at the table, I finish the last of the chicken and sigh. The pan-seared breast smothered in a thick, savory sauce was the perfect choice to fill my belly without feeling stuffed.
Herby sourdough soaked up the last vestiges of the alcohol, and the rest energized my mind. I’ve ditched Wick’s jacket, but it smells like him, so I’ve left it wrapped around the dining chair’s back.
With nothing else to do, I wander into the adjacent rooms. I cross through the fanciest kitchenette I’ve ever seen, tucked into a pantry, and make my way into a large seating area.
Couches form a “U” shape around a large coffee table and a television lowered from the ceiling barking the news.
Wick is there, sitting on the damask striped couch and frowning at a laptop screen. His suspenders are off his shoulders, but the shirt hides very little of his broad chest. The outline of an undershirt peaks through. He rolled the sleeves up to the elbow, and platinum cufflinks rest on the coffee table.
“Everything okay?” I ask.
He glances up, and a slow smile spreads on his face.
“Better now. How was dinner?”
“Lonely.”
“I’m sorry. I got wrapped up in something.”
I take the laptop from his legs and set it on the coffee table. Standing in front of him, I bend a knee so the slit rides up to the junction of my thigh then nudge his shoulder so he’ll lean back.
With his knees so forward, he’s half-way reclined on the soft couch. Looking down at him, I tilt my head and give him a sly smile.
“Why, Mr. Barrett, are you in need of relaxation?”
He gives me this lazy smile that makes my muscles tighten in anticipation.
“What are you offering, gorgeous?”
The material of the dress is soft while I gather it from my legs. I straddle him on the couch, the dress bunched up and the slit now to my waist.
“Do you have any idea how stunning you are?” he hums.
“Yes, but tell me anyway.”
He chuckles while I unhook the halter clasp at the nape of my neck. I hold the fabric up with my hand to tease him.
“The way this dress hugs every inch of you is fucking divine,” he tells me.
Wick spreads wide palms over my thick thighs and hooks his fingers around my legs securely. He tugs, and it slides my knees far enough forward that my core meets the hard bulge in his pants.
Wickham squeezes my thighs then takes great handfuls of my backside.
“I love your ass. The things you make me want to do to you. I can’t wait to grip it while I fuck you from behind. Watch you shake while I take you deep.”
He uses his grip to grind me against him, and I reward him by dropping the top of my dress.
He focuses on my breasts, on the way my nipples peak under his attention and how I lean into him, and for a solid moment it seems like he never wants it to end.
My skin tingles and electric shocks pop between my legs. I arch my back to tease him a little more.
That is, of course, until he kicks a knee up to knock me forward.
I fall onto him and kiss him, his lips every bit as eager as mine. The press is an indulgent competition. I’m on top, but he’s demanding.
Strong, firm fingers roam over my skin, gripping and exploring the planes and slopes of my body. Wick slips a hand under the fabric to knead my lower back and rubs his thumb over the round edge of my belly.
He growls, his mouth pulling away from mine. He sinks his face between my breasts and then seeks out a nipple.
The gorgeous man beneath me sucks the hard bud into his mouth, his teeth sinking into the delicate skin.
“ Fuck, Grace ,” he groans as he stands with me in his arms. I have a moment of panic, but he never wavers. He never loses his balance.
No, instead, Wick charges through the hotel room and kicks open the double doors to a luxurious bedroom.
See? Heft. Heft or he gets left.
He throws me onto a king bed with soft, sateen sheets. Windows overlook the city and display a view that stretches unobscured to the suburbs on the outskirts of Tavers City.
“This is coming off,” he mutters and wrestles the dress down and off my feet.
Bending my knees, I twist and arch my back to create a nice curve and splay my hair out so that the color will contrast with the stark white sheets.
“Absolutely perfect,” he tells me and kneels on the bed at my feet. Wick skims his hand from my toes, up my calf, and along my thigh until his hand finds my center. He rubs two fingers over my core, soaking my panties with my wetness and playing with me.
Before I can object, he hooks those two fingers into the crotch and tears them off my legs.
I’m in a bed with a million-thread count sheets, naked, while the hottest guy I’ve ever met calls me “perfect.”
Heaven. I don’t know what I did to deserve it, but I have secured heaven.
His hand returns, his thick fingers massaging my opening but not pressing in.
“Condom?” I ask before I’m too far gone to know better.
He grits his teeth but doesn’t object. Instead, he withdraws and disappears into the next room.
When he returns, he holds up the square package with a flourish.
Instead of undressing and rolling it on, though, he kneels, plants broad shoulders between my legs, and sinks his face between my thighs.
Wick’s tongue is sheer magic. He licks my pussy as if it’s more for him than for me. He’s every bit as assertive as before, forcing my legs wider to make space for his broad shoulders and playing with the crease where my ass meets my thighs.
I’ve never been with a man this dedicated to satisfying me.
Most men are hesitant. They don’t know how to ask me what I like. They think I want whatever they’re doing.
Wick seems to know, all on his own.
As each second passes by, I can tell he’s focused wholly on me, my responses, and my body. It should probably make me feel uncomfortable. With anyone else, I’d be self-conscious.
But with Wick?
His eyes flare with desire and his breath is hot on bare skin.
There is no hesitation. No pause. No contemplation.
Just raw, fiery need.
When I can’t stand it anymore, I grip his thick hair at the root and jerk his head upward.
Bold, golden-green eyes narrow on me, daring me to challenge his claim over me and demanding that I let him take what he wants.
It sets off an inferno in my bloodstream.
I want this man every bit as much as he wants me.
“Fuck me now,” I demand.
He grins, and before I can question it, he’s withdrawn to stand at the edge of the bed. He unbuttons the white business shirt and removes it. A plain undershirt conceals the rest of his body from me, but he doesn’t take it off. Instead, he crisply folds the button-down longways and sets it on the dresser.
Wick makes adamant eye contact with me while he unbuckles his belt, unhooks the clasp on his waistband, and lowers the zipper on his slacks. They fall to the floor and find the same fate as the shirt, quickly folded and abandoned on the dresser.
“You’re still too dressed,” I chastise.
He tilts his head sideways and lowers the band on his boxer briefs. He strokes his thick, hard cock for me to see.
“Is this what you want?” he asks.
“Absolutely.”
“Ask me nicely.”
“Fuck me now or I’ll find someone who will.”
Wick growls and snatches at my ankle. He yanks my leg and pulls me to the edge of the bed. Plastic crinkles, but I’m too busy giggling at his manhandling.
He plants one knee on the bed under my open legs.
“Touch yourself for me, Grace,” he instructs.
My skin is soft, but my hand still shakes while I slide it between my legs. Wick watches me for a moment and revels in the view.
“I could watch you do this every day and never get tired of it,” he says.
The thought of him watching me masturbate in non-salacious circumstances boils my blood and sets my nerves on fire.
He positions himself at my opening and slowly pushes his cock into me.
The stretch is uncomfortable, and my fingers fly to convince my body to adjust.
He’s a lot bigger than Trent. Like, a lot .
I’m not used to it. He’s going to destroy me and he doesn’t even know it.
I consider saying something, but I don’t want him to know my ex was such a letdown and yet I stayed.
Wickham Barrett is the type to re-write all of that. Being with him is a major hike in standards. I make a little promise to myself to never backslide on this again. I’m tired of kissing small-dicked frogs.
He slides into me, my pussy soaked from his tongue and the building anticipation. He grins like an idiot while watching us join.
“Wick,” I moan. “Stop teasing me.”
He grabs my legs and plants an ankle on his shoulder. I press against it, and it makes my whole lower body tense from my abdomen down to my calves.
And I can squeeze his cock with every thrust if I pulse it right.
We work like that for a solid minute, with Wick taking measured thrusts while I tense to encourage him to go harder.
Muscles quake, and the vision of him pumping into me with finite control leaves me both breathless and frustrated.
It’s fun to have him inside me, but I don’t want a metered response. I don’t want him locked down.
I want him feral . Desperate.
It’s what I feel for him.
My nails sink into the sheets and grip them hard enough to tear.
“Not good enough,” I say to goad him.
His eyes narrow, but the challenge has been set so I can’t take it back now. “I’m trying to go easy on you, at least for the first round.”
“Fuck easy. I’m not made of glass.”
Wick grins again, and his teeth seem sharper, his face longer. With almost no effort at all, he tosses me by the arms farther up the bed.
He falls on me, his strong body trapping me against the mattress.
Before he can gain the advantage, though, I hook a leg around his hip and twist us so that I’m straddling him.
My knees sink into the cushy bed, and I get ready to ride him for all I’m worth.
It’s empowering to sit atop this strong, powerful man who has the world at his fingertips but is staring up at me like I’m the center of his life.
I’ll be giving him an amazing show.
Wick positions himself, and I sink home. We both breathe a sigh of relief and relish the moment.
I ride him hard, my thighs clenching and my ass sore from the repetitive activity. He’s so big, so deep from this angle, and it fans the flames in my belly impossibly hotter.
He rests his hand on my thigh and rubs his thumb over my clit, and I nearly lose it right then.
He smirks and plays with me, as if he can convince me to come first.
No chance in hell.
I will be rocking Wickham Barrett’s world, because I know that I can and it’s an achievement I want.
His chest heaves as he watches me bounce on his lap. Even with him below me, he peers up at me in a confusing mix of adoration and pride. He probably let me top him, but right now I don’t give a fuck.
At some point, his legs shake, and his grip on my body tightens to the point that it feels like nails gently dig into my skin.
He never stops, though. Never asks for a break.
No, instead, he sits up. He cradles me in his arms and uses his own thighs as a counterpoint to mine so that we’re embraced and he still impales me.
Our breathing matches, and the rhythm follows naturally until I can sense his body is at its end.
“Come for me, gorgeous,” he murmurs in my ear, and it’s the last piece in the puzzle.
I tense around him, the climax a slow-boiling bubble that simmers and overflows. Heat blows through my body in a spray of electric static that makes my mind hazy and my body lax.
He kisses me hard and maneuvers us so we’re laying sideways with him spooning me.
And there are claw marks on the bed.
After a long moment, with Wick behind me leaving pecks on my bare shoulder while I trace the muscles on his forearm, I find the confidence to ask again.
“What are you?”
“Dragon.”
Shit. Dragons are possessive. Territorial. They see something they like and they hold onto it.
They never let go.
The way he watched me shifts in my mind. It’s no longer sexy and thrilling; now, it’s panic inducing.
It takes every bit of effort I have not to freeze and to act like it doesn’t faze me.
I’m grateful twice over that Violet put a fake name in the app.
I need to go. Now. Before he gets more attached.
“I should leave,” I tell him. “Thank you for the amazing night.”
But he holds me tight to him.
“Not yet. Two orgasms , Grace. I still owe you one.”
I don’t know whether to kill Violet or kiss her.
It’s not until four a.m., with Wick snoring softly beside me, that I stoke the courage to slip out of his grasp. I dress hastily and pause one last time at the door to the bedroom.
He really is beautiful. A square jaw and angular cheekbones to frame large, sleeping eyes. Thick dark hair I loved sinking my fingers into. Muscled arms and the perfect barrel chest for snuggling him like a man-sized teddy bear.
I commit the moment to memory, because I need this to last.
My fantasy one night stand may be complete, but he’s going to live in my thoughts for a good long time.