For the first time since arriving at the luxurious five-star hotel with its over-the-top decor, Achilles was thankful for the arrangements his father’s estate had made. While he still cringed at the floor-to-ceiling windows that had him itching to yank the drapes closed against the Boston skyline and terrible feeling of exposure, Mycah no doubt appreciated the panoramic view.
What would she think of his cabin? Or the mountains that surrounded it? Would she appreciate the beauty there? Or would the silence, the solitude, the lack of amenities bore her inside a couple of days?
He mentally shook his head. Why was he even entertaining those questions? They were pointless because this—Mycah in his hotel room, the sex that would happen—wouldn’t go past tonight.
But they did have tonight.
And from the moment she’d stood up from that stool, confirming every fantasy about her body, he’d been exceedingly grateful to deities both Christian and pagan for tonight.
As she glided across the sunken living area into the dining room, the lights from the crystal chandelier hitting her tight, raw-honey curls, his hungry gaze dropped to the sensual sway of her round hips. To the tight perfection of her full ass. The thickness of her thighs. And when she peeled off her suit jacket, laying it over the back of a dining room chair, his fascinated stare rose to the pull of material across her breasts. His fingers curled, straightened. He didn’t even have to close his eyes to imagine the feel of her undoubtedly firm yet tender flesh.
Unbidden, like an animal scenting its mate—there he went again with the fanciful shit—he followed her. But not to touch her, even though the need to do so rode him hard. Like a child with sticky fingers and his face pressed against a candy store window, he enjoyed looking at her. Because no matter how much he wished it didn’t, her beauty captivated him. Dark brown, heavily lashed eyes that seemed full of secrets yet brimming with a vulnerable truth. Arrogant cheekbones, a patrician nose, stubborn but delicate jaw and chin, and a carnal mouth that he couldn’t stop staring at. Couldn’t stop picturing working him over until he trembled and begged...
“Do you want me to get rid of my clothes so they don’t remind you of who I am? Would that make this easier for you?” she asked, turning away from the wall of glass, her fingers fiddling with the top button of her nearly sheer shirt.
A teasing note infiltrated her voice, but he caught the hint of stiffness beneath. The...insecurity. And he’d put it there with his words, his personal hang-ups. It was his responsibility to erase that doubt. It didn’t belong between them. Not here. Not tonight.
“Is that what you think?” He edged closer, cocked his head. Pinching a curl, he tugged it and watched as heat flared bright in those chocolate eyes and her carnal lips parted on a soft gasp. “That you can just strip off that suit, slip out of those shoes and I won’t be reminded of, what? How soft and delicate this skin is?” He rubbed the back of his finger down the satin of her cheek. “Of how cultured and sexy this voice is?”
He lowered his hand to her throat, necklacing the slim column. If she’d stiffened or shoved at him—protested the hold in any way—he would’ve released her. But she didn’t. No, Mycah’s lashes fluttered, and she slightly leaned into his palm, as if relishing the show of dominance. His cock jerked behind his zipper, blood roaring south to fill his flesh in a flood that left him almost light-headed. He ground his teeth against the lust that scalded him.
Inhaling, he dipped his head, dragged his nose up the tendon that ran along the side of her neck. “What? You think taking off your clothes will somehow erase this scent that’s grace, woman...sex?” He shook his head, brushing his lips over the line of her jaw and nearly growling at the skin-to-skin contact. “No, Mycah. Stripping can’t make me forget who you are. And it for damn sure wouldn’t make things easier for me. Just. Fucking. Harder.”
“Achilles.”
“Yeah?” He grazed another caress over her jaw, her chin, unable to help himself. Not sure he wanted to.
“Kiss me. Please.”
So demanding.
So polite.
And both had him crushing his mouth to hers in a greedy onslaught.
That first taste. It crashed into him like a meteor set on a collision course with Earth. Hot. Cataclysmic. Fatalistic.
She opened for him without hesitation, and he dived deep, taking immediate advantage. The kiss was...carnage. It left him wrecked, wide open and damn near shaking. He sent mental orders to his hands to be gentle on her hair, to not fist the strands so tight, to not pull so hard. But they didn’t listen. They didn’t loosen. Thank God Mycah didn’t seem to mind. No, the opposite. From the hot, tiny whimpers that he swallowed directly from her greedy tongue, she appeared to want it...crave more of it.
So he gave it to her.
He tugged on those rough silk curls, hauling her head back, angling it and diving deeper. Consuming more. Leaving nothing untouched, undiscovered. Every lick, every suck, every lap stoked a need that crackled and raged. But he wasn’t satisfied with burning in those flames. He wanted to be devoured by them.
Untangling one hand from her hair, he lowered it to her throat again, feeling the mad thrum of her pulse under his palm. Reveling in the rush of it. Because it was for him. He sent blood pumping through her, excitement and lust rushing through her. Him.
The knowledge lit up his veins, and he snatched his mouth from hers, ignoring her small cry of disappointment to latch on to that thin patch of skin. He tongued it, tasting the richness of her scent, grunting at the bite of her nails in his shoulders. His hips punched forward at that hint of pain, mating with the pleasure twisting and bucking inside him. He ground his cock against the soft swell of her belly, growling like an animal. His gut clenched, lust a vise clamping tighter. And tighter.
“Fuck,” he muttered against her damp skin.
Lifting his head, he captured her mouth once more, unable not to. He needed... God, he hated saying that word even in his head. Hated that it was true. But he did. He ached for her taste on his lips. Hurt for the cushion of her flesh against his throbbing dick. Hungered for the almost plaintive sounds that escaped her—that let him know he wasn’t in this struggle by himself.
Though it cost him, he levered back and away from her. But just for a moment. Long enough to reach behind him, grab a fistful of his shirt and pull it over his head. Lips swollen and eyes hooded, Mycah watched him. And as he dropped the bunched cotton to the floor, she lifted her hands to the top of her own shirt, but he stopped her with a hard shake of his head.
“Let me.” With fingers that suddenly felt too big, too clumsy, he plucked at the little pearl buttons, pushing them through the corresponding holes.
His heart kicked against his rib cage in steel-toe boots as he revealed smooth brown flesh encased in light purple lace. All moisture fled his mouth, and he didn’t stop until he skated his palms over her shoulders, sliding her shirt down her arms and to the floor.
“Fucking beautiful.” The last word scratched against his vocal cords as he traced a path along the pretty edge where lace met skin.
Gooseflesh broke out where his fingertip tread, and he jerked his gaze up to her face, amazement sparking inside his chest. Yes, she’d allowed him to strip her of her shirt, let him touch these gorgeous breasts, but still... Part of him still couldn’t believe it. Still wondered when she’d change her mind.
“Whatever you do tonight,” she said, grasping his larger hand in her smaller, more delicate one and pressing it harder to her flesh, “don’t treat me like I’ll break. I can take it, take you. Give me all of you, Achilles. Don’t hold back on me.”
“You don’t know what you’re asking, Mycah, telling a man like me not to hold back.”
As...ominous as that sounded, he’d gone into that bar to forget about his dead sperm donor, about brothers he hadn’t known existed, about being forced into a world he wanted nothing to do with.
About being rejected, scorned by that world—again.
So yeah, he’d gone there seeking nothing more than to lose himself in oblivion—alcohol and sex. And that didn’t lend itself toward control or setting limitations on himself. And once he got his mouth on that dusky valley between her breasts or that dip where her torso and thigh connected—or her dark, wet sex... Yeah, control would be a pipe dream.
Mycah shifted closer and lifted her arms, burrowing her hands into his hair, her nails scraping over his scalp.
“Do your worst.”
He shuddered, at her words and at her touch. Pleasure streaked through him. Groaning, he gripped her hips and, hiking her in the air, nudged the chairs out of the way and set her on top of the dining room table. Her soft, startled gasp segued into a sharp cry as he bent over her and sucked a diamond-hard, lace-covered nipple between his lips.
His own low moan almost drowned her out, his mouth insistent, impatient. Ravenous. He pulled on the beaded tip, drawing on her. The pinpricks dancing across his scalp from her restless fingers only stirred him, encouraged him. With his free hand, he unsnapped the front clasp of her bra and quickly removed it, cursing as he cupped her flesh.
“Achilles,” she whispered, twisting against him, thrusting her breasts into his mouth. “Please.”
There was no way he could deny such a pretty plea. Switching to the other mound, he nuzzled the neglected nipple, then plied it with licks and sensual laps. By the time he finished, skimming his lips down her damp torso, her chest heaved, her stomach going concave under his tongue. But he didn’t pause, couldn’t. Not when passion and need swept him up in an undertow so fierce, he was powerless against it. Not when lust clawed and howled inside him like a voracious beast that demanded to be satisfied.
Not when he doubted he could ever be satisfied.
Even as the sacrilegious thought skipped through his head and his heart thudded in protest, he pressed a hand to her chest, gently urging her to lie back on the table. She watched him, a wary expression flashing across her face.
“Trust me?” Why he asked that, he didn’t know. He didn’t need her trust; that’s not what tonight was about. But he didn’t try to retract the question. Partly because, though it didn’t make sense, he wanted it. He wanted her assent.
After a moment, she slowly dipped her head, sending relief coursing through him. “In this—” her gaze flicked down her bare torso to where his fingers lightly gripped the tab at her waist “—yes. I trust you.”
It was enough.
In quick work, he freed her of the pants, taking her panties with them, pausing only to remove the heels from her slender feet. Placing fleeting kisses along her instep, he trailed a worshipful path back up her inner thighs. He closed his eyes, inhaling her earthy musk, savoring it. Craving it on his tongue.
“Achilles.” Mycah cupped his head, her beautiful legs tightening around him. Preventing him from moving. “I haven’t... I’ve never... I don’t—Hell.”
He stopped, settling into one of the dining room chairs as if having a woman spread out before him like a delicious buffet was a common occurrence. No, not a woman. Mycah. And there was nothing common about her. Trying not to stare at her trembling breasts with their beaded, dark nipples or the lush beauty of her thighs or the soaked, swollen folds of her sex was a struggle that defied human strength and veered into something out of mythological trials.
“You haven’t what, Mycah? Had a man’s mouth on you? Do you want me stop?” Jesus Christ, it might kill him—especially when he could see the evidence of how much she wanted him on her flesh—but he would. Cold anger pulsed inside him for the selfish pricks who hadn’t given her this.
“No, of course I’ve...had a man’s mouth on me. I can’t believe I’m having this conversation with you while you’re literally sitting between my legs,” she muttered, pressing the heel of her palm over her eyes. She propped herself up on her elbows, curls wild around her face and shoulders, her face an adorable mixture of confusion and surprise.
“Do you want me to stop?” he asked again. Because to him—and his dick—that was the most important issue here.
“No,” she whispered, her eyes glazing over.
“Then what have you never done, Mycah?”
“This.” She waved a hand down her body, encompassing him. “On a table. With the lights so...bright,” she finished, her voice containing a tinge of embarrassment. “Could we possibly go to the, I don’t know, couch or bed, where I don’t feel so...exposed? I mean, people eat on this table.”
“No.”
She stared at him. Blinked. “No?”
“No.” He shifted to the edge of the chair, simultaneously gripping her hips and tugging her closer to the end of the table. “You told me not to treat you like you’re fragile, like you’ll break. Light won’t break you. Pushing you out of a comfort zone won’t break you.” He pushed his face into the fragrant space where her torso and thigh met. Inhaled. Growled. “Like you said, people eat on this table. Well, so will I.”
He dived into her.
Palming her thighs, he spread her wide and feasted on her. He dragged his tongue through her folds, losing himself in the sweet, spiced taste of her. Taking his time to lick and nibble. To explore and discover what made her legs tremble, that little bud of flesh flinch. What drew whimper after whimper. He became a connoisseur in everything Mycah.
Though his dick ached, he could stay here, his mouth buried against her, pleasuring her. An inane thought crept in his mind, there and gone before he could banish it: purpose. I’ve found my purpose. Giving this woman ecstasy.
“Achilles.” Once more her fingers had found their way to his hair, tangling and pulling, holding him close. Her hips bucked, rocked, demanded. There existed no ambiguity about what she needed from him. “Please. I need...” A sound between a whimper and a cry escaped her but the abrupt flex of her ass telegraphed her request. “Please,” she whispered.
Before, he’d thought her pleas pretty. This time, they shredded him. And that primal part of him that desired—hell, was obligated—to provide what she asked of him. Sucking the bundle of nerves that crested her sex, he thrust two fingers inside her. Deep. Hard.
She screamed.
She clamped down on him and, between his mouth and fingers, he gave her every measure of the orgasm, not stopping until she fell limp on the table. Her pants lanced the quiet of the room, and his harsh breaths underscored hers.
Fuck. Lust strung him tight, and if he didn’t get inside her, he was going to snap.
He shot to his feet, the chair beneath him falling backward. With his body moving before his mind could fully deliver the order, he scooped Mycah up in his arms, cradling her. He calculated the distance to the bedroom, but his cock determined the couch was closer, and he headed there. Mycah didn’t open her eyes as he gently deposited her on the sofa that was easily double the size of his at home. But he didn’t remove his gaze from her while he quickly stripped his remaining clothes and boots, pausing only long enough to remove a condom from his wallet.
“Hey.” He knelt beside the couch, cupping her face and tilting it, sweeping his thumb over her cheekbone. “Look at me.”
Her lashes fluttered, then lifted. Satisfaction punched him in the chest when her pleasure-glazed brown eyes met his. Because he’d put that look there. The feeling was primitive. It was arrogant. But fuck if he didn’t own it.
“You good? You still with me?”
She blinked, the haze clearing. Her gaze roamed over his face then lower, down his shoulders, chest and lower still, taking in his dick that stood at rock-hard attention. He didn’t try to hide from her, fisting his erection, stroking it. Letting her see just what she did to him.
“Yes, I’m still with you.” She reached for him, covering his hand with hers. Replacing his hands with hers.
A full-body shiver racked him as her delicate fingers wrapped around him, squeezed him. His head bowed, palms flattened on his thighs. And he watched her—watched her touch him. Undo him.
“Enough, baby,” he ground out, gently sweeping aside her devastating fists. “I want to finish inside of you.”
Picking up the protection, he ripped it open, swiftly sheathed himself and then climbed onto the couch. He crouched over her, one knee separating her thighs, the other planted on the floor. The head of his dick kissed the wet, tiny opening of her sex, and he shook from that barely there caress, yet he paused.
As much as it cost him, he gripped the arm of the couch and pressed his forehead to hers, carefully crushed his mouth to hers...and breathed Mycah in. As he parted his lips, slowly slid his tongue into her, he mimicked the action with his cock.
Thrust.
Penetrated.
Buried deep.
Heat. A liquid heat that scalded and had him drowning at the same time.
He clenched his jaw, his fingers curling around the couch’s arm so tight they pulsed in protest. His muscles howled with the need to move, but the stranglehold she had on his dick... Too tight. Almost painfully tight. And too fucking perfect. He didn’t want to break it.
Tearing his mouth from hers, he scattered hard kisses to the corners of her mouth, chin, cheekbones, temples, forehead.
“Talk to me, Mycah.” He studied her, searching her face for any sign of discomfort. Her sex fluttered around his dick, as if acclimating to his width, his length. And he granted her that time. Still, before he did anything else, he wanted those words to move. “You okay? Tell me what you need from me.”
Her tongue wet her full lips, and she met his gaze. “Don’t hold back with me.”
Groaning, he hooked a hand underneath her leg, and withdrawing until only the tip of him remained notched inside her, he thrust home. Their twin groans saturated the room, snapping his control. Her nails bit into his waist, and that added a flare of pain to the sensory overload that catapulted him into this erotic storm.
He didn’t fight it. Didn’t want to. No, he willingly became a part of it. He let go, sweeping Mycah up with him, riding her, fucking her with an abandon that should’ve alarmed him. And if he’d cared enough to slow down, to analyze why this woman affected him in a way no other did, he might’ve been scared. But he didn’t slow. Didn’t analyze. Didn’t care.
Flipping them over together, he buried his hands in her curls, dragging her head down and fusing their mouths together as he slammed up inside her, urging her to take him even as he did the taking. And she obeyed that unspoken command. Her hips crashed into his over and over, she rose and lowered, doing a lewd dance that threatened to send them into the sweetest, dirtiest oblivion.
Mycah trembled, her sex quivering around him, and heeding that signal of a looming release, Achilles reached between them and circled that slick, swollen button between her feminine folds. Circled, rubbed. Pinched.
With a high, hoarse scream, she came.
And a couple of strokes later, he went with her.
Even as he hurled over that edge, he knew one truth...
Once wouldn’t be enough.