5. Gianna #2
I shattered with his name caught in my throat, my body clenching around his fingers in helpless pulses, waves of pleasure rolling through me until I was boneless in his arms. He worked me through it, slower, dirtier, until I twitched and tried to close my thighs and he wouldn’t let me.
When I could breathe again, he pulled his fingers out and held them up between us, shining.
Then he put them in his mouth and licked them clean, watching me the entire time.
“Come home with me.”
***
His place in Atlanta was ridiculous. A sprawling estate outside the city, nothing like the Texas ranch but impressive in its own right. A place he kept for business trips east.
But the bedroom was what I remembered. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the grounds. Art on the walls that I recognized from textbooks. A bed that seemed to stretch forever, with sheets that felt like water against my skin.
He didn’t rush this time.
He stripped me slowly, reverently, like he was unwrapping something he’d already decided to keep.
The blue silk pooled on the floor. My bra followed.
He hooked his thumbs in my ruined underwear and dragged them down my legs, then tucked them into his jacket pocket without comment, like they belonged to him now.
He stood back and just looked at me for a long moment, still fully dressed in that western-cut suit, his gaze traveling over every inch of my naked body while I stood there flushed and wet and trying not to cover myself.
“You’re beautiful,” he said, and it wasn’t a compliment. It was a statement of fact. “Get on the bed.”
I did.
He loosened his tie. Didn’t take it off. He climbed over me still clothed, the wool of his trousers rough against my bare thighs, and traced a finger down my sternum, between my breasts, down to my navel, stopping just short of where I wanted him.
“I want to learn you first,” he said. “Every sound. Every place that makes you shake. Then I’m going to fuck you until you forget you ever stood in that corner feeling like a backup.”
He spent an hour doing exactly that.
His mouth closed over my nipple and sucked, slow and wet, until it was tight and aching, then the other, then lower.
He bit the soft skin of my hip hard enough to mark.
Kissed the inside of my knee. Spread my thighs with both hands and just looked at me, open and glistening, like he was deciding where to start.
Then his mouth was on me.
He licked a long, filthy stripe through my cunt and groaned like I tasted expensive.
His tongue circled my clit, then flattened, then sucked, and two fingers slid back inside me like they’d never left the coatroom.
I fisted the sheets. My back arched off the bed.
He held my hips down and ate me like he had nowhere else to be, like the city glittering behind him didn’t exist.
Every time I got close, he backed off, licked slower. Kissed my inner thigh. Blew cool air over skin that was throbbing for him. I made a broken, desperate sound and he laughed softly against me, cruel in the best way.
“Not yet. I want you dripping down my chin first.”
He put my legs over his shoulders and went back in.
Deeper, messier. His nose pressed against me, his tongue fucking into me, his fingers stretching, and when he finally sucked my clit into his mouth and held it, I came so hard I saw white.
He didn’t stop. He licked me through it, through the oversensitive shake, through the second wave that ripped out of me before I’d even come down from the first, until I was sobbing his name and trying to twist away and his hands just tightened on my thighs and kept me there.
“One more,” he said against my cunt, voice wrecked. “Give me one more and then I’ll put my cock in you.”
I came again with my heels digging into his back, wrecked and oversensitive and so wet the sheets beneath me were a lost cause.
When he finally undressed, I understood why he’d made me wait.
He was thick. The kind of cock that made my mouth go dry. He wrapped a hand around himself and stroked once, watching me, smearing the wetness at the head, and then he settled between my legs and dragged it through my soaked folds, coating himself, tapping my swollen clit until I whimpered.
“Look at me,” he said as he pushed inside.
I looked into his dark eyes as he filled me, inch by slow, stretching inch, and I thought this man is going to ruin me.
He didn’t stop until he was seated to the hilt, his hips flush to mine, so deep it stole the air from my lungs. He stayed there. Let me feel it. Let me clench around him in helpless little pulses while he watched my face like it was the only thing in the room worth looking at.
“That’s it.” His voice was wrecked. “Take all of it. You feel that? That’s how far I’m going to be inside you every time I want you, Gianna. And I’m going to want you constantly.”
He moved slowly at first, watching my face, adjusting the angle until he found the spot that made my vision blur, then he planted one hand beside my head and the other on my throat, not squeezing, just holding, and fucked me like he’d been thinking about it since the second he walked away from my sister.
Faster. Harder. The wet sound of it filled the room. My breasts bounced with every thrust. He hooked one of my legs higher and drove in deeper, chasing something I could feel building in both of us.
“You’re incredible,” he breathed. “You have no idea how long I’ve been waiting for someone like you. Someone who looks at me like this while I wreck her.”
He pulled out without warning. I made a helpless noise.
He flipped me onto my stomach, dragged my hips up, and pushed back into me from behind in one slide that punched a moan out of me.
His hand fisted in my hair, claiming, turning my face so I could see us in the dark glass of the window.
Me on my knees, him still half in that undone suit, fucking me over his view of the grounds.
“Watch,” he said. “Watch me take you.”
I watched. I couldn’t not. His cock disappearing into me. My mouth open. His hand in my hair. The Rothko glowing behind us like a sunset that didn’t care we were being filthy in front of it.
He reached around and found my clit again, rubbing in tight, mean circles while he slammed into me, and I came so hard, clenching around him, sobbing into the sheets.
He followed moments later, his body shuddering, burying himself to the root and spilling inside me in hot, pulsing waves, my name torn from his throat like it meant something.
He didn’t pull out right away. He stayed in me, breathing hard against the back of my neck, one hand splayed over my stomach like he was holding me together.
Afterward, he held me. Actually held me, his arms wrapped tight around my body, his face buried in my hair, his come leaking out of me onto those ridiculous sheets.
“Stay,” he said.
“I should…”
“Stay. Not just tonight.” He pulled back to look at me, and something in his expression made my chest ache. “I know this is fast. I know you don’t know me. But I want to know you, Gianna. I want to know everything about you.”
I should have been cautious. Should have recognized the intensity as a warning sign. A man who moved this fast, who wanted this much, who consumed whatever caught his interest.
But I was twenty-four and more thoroughly satisfied than I’d ever been in my life, still throbbing, still marked, still tasting him in the back of my throat.
“Okay,” I said.
And I stayed.
***
I woke up gasping, the dream dissolving, Orion’s voice fading from my memory.
For a moment, I didn’t know where I was. The bed was wrong, the light was wrong, everything was…
Pain.
A cramp seized my abdomen, and I curled around it instinctively. Then I felt the wetness spreading beneath me.
No. No no no…
I threw off the covers and looked down at the sheets, at the unmistakable evidence of what was happening.
My water had broken. I was going into labor.
And my husband was ten thousand miles away.
“Daisy!” I screamed, my voice cracking with panic. “DAISY!”
I fumbled for my phone on the nightstand, fingers shaking so badly I could barely grip it. Found Orion’s contact. Hit call.
Ring.
Ring.
Ring.
“Hi, you’ve reached Orion Barnes. Leave a message.”
I tried again. Voicemail.
Daisy burst through the door, wild-eyed and half-dressed, took one look at me, and went pale.
“Oh, shit,” she breathed. “Okay. Okay. Where’s the hospital bag? Where are the keys?”
“He’s not answering.” I was crying, I realized. Tears streaming down my face as another contraction ripped through me. “Daisy, he’s not answering his phone.”
“Forget him. We’ll deal with him later.” She was already moving, grabbing the bag from the closet, finding her keys. “Right now, we’re getting you to the hospital.”
I tried Orion again in the car. Voicemail. Again in the hospital lobby. Voicemail.
In the lobby, Daisy took the phone out of my hand. “Give me your sister’s number.”
“Daisy…”
“She’s with him. She can walk down a hallway and put the phone in his hand.” She dialed. I watched her face while it rang. Watched it change when someone picked up.
“Demi. It’s Daisy. Gianna’s in labor, the baby’s in distress, they’re prepping her for surgery. Get Orion. Now.” A pause. “I don’t care what he’s in the middle of. Get him.” Another pause. “Okay. Thank you.”
She hung up. “She says she’ll get him.”
Then they wheeled me away.
Twelve times I called my husband while I was being examined and prepped and told about the process of a C-section.
Twelve times I got his voicemail.
Hi, you’ve reached Orion Barnes. Leave a message.