Cherished (31 page)

He turned suddenly, hauling her close for a kiss.

With his hands on her, when he was so sure and hard and in charge, everything inside her seemed to swell up, close to exploding. It was so very much. She’d never felt this way with anyone.

The kiss tasted of her, she thought as he pulled back. His pupils seemed to swallow his eye color, his expression was intense as his gaze slid to her breasts.

“I love that you’re pierced.”

She was sure glad of it.

“Can I take your pants off?” She didn’t quite know why she asked, only that it felt like she should. So she did.

Then he slid a hand into her hair, freeing the last of it from all the pins she’d had holding it up. It fell around her shoulders and then he pulled her close again. By the hair. It sent a freight train of sensation straight to her nipples, which brushed against his chest, the slightly wiry hair abrading them just right.

“Yes. And then I want you on your knees, my cock in that hot mouth of yours.”

Why yes, thank you very much! Her body seemed to electrify at that suggestion.

She slid her hands down his forearms before he let go so she
could get at his pants. Pausing, she angled his arm to see the tattoo on the inside. Something she’d missed because everything else about his body had snagged her attention.

History is written by the victors.

“I like that.”

He kissed her shoulder, tracing his fingertips down her shoulder and down her back as she got his pants unzipped and went to her knees to get them and his boxers down and off. She stood again, folding and placing them on the chair with his shirt before turning back to take him in.

“Your back is beautiful,” he murmured as she walked to him.

They could talk tattoos after.

She smiled her thanks and went to her knees but he stopped her. “Wait.”

Moments later he sat on the other chair in the room and placed a pillow on the floor in front of himself. “It won’t be as hard on your knees.”

How such a thing could disarm her, she didn’t know. But it did and she went with it, adjusting herself to tuck the pillow beneath her knees. It brought her up a little higher as well. High enough to kiss along his flat belly, down over rock hard thighs, behind first one knee and the other. She caressed every part of him she could touch as she did.

But his cock was the main attraction. Meaty and thick and so hard it tapped his belly until she licked up the stalk and then grasped him at the root, angling to better take as much of him as she could.

He groaned when she slid her lips around the head and then down, slowly, breathing through her nose as she did.

He stroked over her hair as she began to suck him off.

“Yes, that’s right. Keep my cock wet. Suck it hard. That’s how I like it.”

So she did it. Because she wanted to please him. Wanted the
hand caressing over her hair to continue that sweet and yet white-hot petting.

She reached down to her pussy to get her fingers nice and wet and then brought them to that place just behind his balls, pressing and then sliding down again to his asshole. He grunted but widened his thighs so she kept on, stroking over the hole and slightly inside as she sucked his cock.

He began to flex and thrust his hips, fucking her mouth as she found his prostate and pressed while she stroked a circle against it. The surface of his cock seemed to harden in response; nearly electric, the energy seemed to hum from him.

“I’m going to come in your mouth, Daisy. And then we’ll have a cocktail. Then I’m going to fuck you.”

She nodded around a mouthful of his cock and took him deep, wanting to make him feel good, wanting to bring him pleasure in a way no one else could.

It must have worked because he growled, his fingers in her hair tightening as he held her to him, fucking himself into her, and then came.

Chapter 7

He hoped the cocktail would soothe his nerves. God knew he needed something to. Because Daisy Huerta got right inside his defenses and had curled herself around him.

And he didn’t have the strength or will to push her out.

The woman in question padded through his kitchen, making him a drink. She’d volunteered, telling him she’d make him something he’d enjoy. And who was he to refuse?

“Where’d you learn how to make drinks?” He considered getting one of his robes for her. Totally naked, in the full light of the room she was even more stunning and clearly comfortable with her state of undress.

She smiled, handing him a glass. “I have a friend who owns a bar. Sometimes he needs extra staffing so I pop in when that happens. And my parents are cocktail-hour people so I just grew up around that. My mother is one of those people who’s good at everything. This is her recipe actually. It’s a twist on a sidecar.”

He sipped and approved. Hearty. Perfect for a cool evening.

“Are you cold? I have robes if you like.” He took her hand and she grabbed her glass, following him into the living room.

“I have post-sex warmth still. Unless you’d prefer it.”

He barked a laugh and when he sat, she sat at his feet, her head resting against his knee. He sucked in a breath, unable to resist a caress over her hair, dark and so soft. “It’s safe to say I’m more than fine with you being naked. I just didn’t want you to get a chill.”

Turning her head, she looked him up and down. “Thank you. I think you should know that I find shirtless men in worn jeans and bare feet to be one of the sexiest things ever.”

That warmed him. “Thank you. So tell me about your ink.”

“My dad’s family, my grandmother and grandfather, were first-generation Americans. But when I was a kid we went to Mexico a few times every year to visit extended family. Anyway, some of my very first memories were of the colors in my great-aunt’s house. Reds and yellows, blues and greens. Bright and vivid. It’s part of who I am.” She brushed her fingers over the ink on her shoulder and upper arm.

“The woman on your shoulder reminds me of Frida Kahlo.”

“It’s actually based on a painting my grandmother did.” The tattoo was of a dark-haired woman, a flower tucked behind her ear. Her face was made up like a sugar skull. Flowers and other bits and bobs, all Mexican folk art, surrounded her, flowing to her back in a spill of big red roses.

“When it’s totally finished, the back will be a side view of a woman, praying hands, flowing hair, with a sugar skull face like the one on my arm.”

“It’s beautiful work.”

“Thank you. The big piece on my back is being done by the brother of a friend. He owns a tattoo shop in Seattle. I’m hoping to have it all done by the end of next year. What about your ink?” As far as she could tell he only had the one on his forearm.

“Sometimes something happens and you were there, but everyone tells it differently and you begin to wonder what the fuck is true anymore. And the version most people think is real is not always the truth, but it doesn’t matter.”

“The importance is in the lesson?”

He nodded and she wondered what it was he meant. What had happened to him that made him mark himself as a reminder.

“I think,” he said, placing his glass on a nearby table, “you should ride my cock.”

She grinned. “I think that’s a really good idea.”

He pulled a condom from his pocket. Thank goodness he had one nearby. She had them in her bag of course, but now she wouldn’t have to move to get it.

“Why don’t you stand so I can get those off?” She slid her hands up his denim-covered legs.

“Out here?” He looked around.

“Unless you have other ideas.”

He looked to the bank of windows.

“Are you worried people will see? Or do you hope they will?”

His pupils swallowed the color in his eyes again as he visibly got himself in check. She couldn’t deny loving how it felt to affect him that way.

He stood and she unbuttoned his jeans, pulling them down so he could step from them. But he didn’t sit right away. He moved to the fireplace and hit two switches. One turned the overhead lights off and the other turned the fireplace on, sending warm, golden light through the room. He did that for her.

“Your body is amazing.” She twisted her nipple bar, noting the way his gaze went to her fingers, noting the way he straightened and headed to her, his face very intent.

“Thank you. Coming from you that’s quite a compliment. Does that feel good?” He sat in a different chair, this one a chaise of sorts.

“Yes.”

“Is your pussy wet?”

She nodded.

“Good. Come over here.”

She smiled and did it, grabbing the condom and ripping it open. Kneeling between his legs, she rolled it over his fully revived cock. He had awesome recovery time, she’d give him that.

Straddling him, she reached back and angled his cock, slowly sinking down.

She had to go slow because he was so fucking thick. He filled her fully as she circled her hips to take him. Bit by bit until he was in all the way and she had to pause to catch her breath.

“This is very, very good.” His slow smile made her nipples harden to nearly aching.

It was.

He might have been a very experienced, very skilled man, but she had a few tricks up her sleeve too. Being a dancer meant she was pretty damned flexible and in shape. So she’d show him.

Her hands braced on his upper arms, she began to ride, sliding her pussy down and then back and forth as she undulated, moving her hips rhythmically.

“Christ!” he hissed, watching the way she moved on him.

His cock was deep inside her supertight cunt as she moved. Her head tipped back, her fingers digging into his biceps. Whatever the hell she was doing on him was a miracle. Her inner muscles hugged him, caressing the length of his cock as she surrounded him with all that hot, wet, undulating flesh.

“I took belly dancing for three years. I might be young, but I know a few things.”

He laughed. “Thank God for it. Now when you kill me it’ll be me going out happy.”

She angled her head to look at him, a smile on her lips. “Death
by fucking? Whatever would the papers say? I think I’ll keep you around. For next time.”

Again. Yes, it had to happen again. No doubt about that.

He pulled and tugged her nipples, unable not to look at those piercings. Sexy. He’d seen women with pierced nipples in porn, but not up close. Not while the owner of said tits was riding his cock.

And then he was collaring her. Her throat under his palm, her pulse beating strong.

She gasped, her pussy fluttering around him and he knew she loved it as much as he did. Which allowed him to relax a little and enjoy it, enjoy this moment, with this woman.

“I want your gaze.” He said it without having planned to say it. He panicked a moment when she opened her eyes and obeyed. So much intimacy in that, in watching as you fucked someone, seeing every one of their emotions flit over their features.

It meant he gave that to her as well.

Meant he let her see right into his head where she had lodged herself from the first moment he’d seen her.

Her nails dug in to his flesh, reminding him she was there, demanding, pleasing, yes, but needing to be pleased in turn.

He brought his fingers to her mouth and she sucked them in, licking them, getting them wet. He was so damned close. But when he brought those slick fingers to her clit she whimpered and then groaned, her clit hardening under his touch, cunt clutching him nearly to the point of pain. But the best kind of pain.

She sped her movements, clearly getting close as well. She caught her bottom lip between her teeth but when he squeezed her clit gently between his slippery fingers she sucked in air on a cry and began to come. So hard her pussy rippled around him, pushing him right over with her. The both of them coming at once, gazes locked until he let go of her throat and she fell forward, panting for air.

Chapter 8

She walked up toward the house from the yard, having just spent the last nearly twelve hours doing two different jobs. Her muscles ached, but it was a good ache. She had enough for rent and supplies and some left over to add to her savings after that afternoon.

She loved her savings account. Every time she looked at the numbers she was assured that she could continue to do her art, even in a lean time. It was her freedom.

She actually didn’t need all the extra jobs by this point. The time was coming, she knew, to consider giving up several jobs. But it was hard to say no when her friends needed her.

That’s when she noticed the note on her door and headed up to the big house to see her parents.

“Hey there, cutie pie.” Her father gave her a big hug. “These came for you today.” He indicated a large box and two dozen red roses. She had a guess as to who they were from.

“Who’s sending you flowers? What’s in the box?” Her grandmother wandered in and took a sniff of the roses.

Daisy kissed her cheek and handed her a rose. “I just walked
in. Let me see.” She opened the tiny envelope. Just an
L
. Enough to know her suspicion was right.

“They’re from Levi.”

“Ah, him. I should have figured. He’s a little old for you isn’t he?” Her grandmother didn’t say it in a judgmental fashion.

“How old is he? Is it serious?” Her father wasn’t as enlightened as his mother on such issues, Daisy knew.

“Not serious. We’ve only been on two dates and had some phone calls. He’s a nice man.” She evaded the age question, but her father wasn’t having it and he repeated his question.

“He’s forty.” She didn’t want to open the box in front of them, but there was no way around it. Both her father and her grandmother stood, waiting.

She peeked and couldn’t help a gasp as she pulled the lid off entirely to reveal the contents. A bright red cashmere wrap. Cripes. She picked it up, bringing it to her face. So soft. When she did, she pocketed the card that had been nestled in the wrap, wanting to read it in private. Hoping it said more than
L
.

“Well, he’s got good taste.” Her grandmother winked at her.

“Hello. Of course he does. He’s dating me, isn’t he?”