“Still not satisfied after last night?” she asks, a smirk on her face.
“Hmm. No, actually.” I tilt my chin up to rest on her chest and grin up at her. “Oddly, as satisfying as last night was, I don’t think I’ll ever be satisfied with my fill of you.”
The words hang in their air between us for a moment, full of other unspoken things. Comments I know she must be tempted to make, such as ones about the business side of our situation, or complications.
But to my surprise, she doesn’t voice any of those this time. She just reaches down with both hands to pull me back up over her, until I’m above her, our noses touching, face-to-face. “I know that feeling,” she whispers. Then our mouths collide, and I run my hands down her sides to those curvy hips of hers that I love, running my hands around the edges to grip her ass beneath me, and we both forget what we were just talking about, because fuck that feels good.
I can’t resist her any longer. I spread her legs with one hand and find her already wet and wanting, arching up against my hand like the hungry, greedy girl she is, and that drives me wild. But as I start to stroke along her slit, something catches my eye. A glint from the side table.
I cast a sideways glance at it, and feel a grin spread across my face. With a nod toward the table, I catch her eye. “Put your ring on, Mrs. Quint.”
She stills beneath me, but only for a second. From the way her breath hitches, I can tell she likes the idea as much as I do, even if she doesn’t want to admit it. She hesitates a moment, then reaches across beneath me, her movement making her thighs brush against my bare cock, and sending an aching thrill through my body. She catches the ring, and slides it onto her left hand. “You mean this ring, Mr. Quint?”
“The one I gave you when I asked you to be my wife, yes.” I trace my cock along her inner thigh, up one side and down the other, my hand still working along her slit, spreading her pussy lips, exploring her. Savoring the slickness of the juices that spill out, showing that she’s just as eager for me as I am for her.
“Does that get you hard, Mr. Quint?” She arches a brow, then reaches down to grasp my cock between both hands, stroking my length, her hands tightening just enough to make me groan between my teeth. “Do you like thinking about making me your wife?”
I gaze down at her from beneath hooded eyes. “I like thinking about claiming you for my own, wife. I like knowing you belong to me.” I catch her hands, and gently draw them off my cock. It takes effort to stop her, because her stroking felt good, really fucking good, but I want to guide this one. So I draw her hands up over her head and gently lean forward until she’s pinned beneath me, hands above her head, body stretched out long and lithe and waiting for me to do whatever I want to her.
And I want to do so damn much.
I switch hands, so I’m holding both of hers in one of mine—her wrists are so small that even with both her hands clasped in mine, she’s easy to pin in place. I grin down at her, and she smiles right back, white-hot lust in her eyes. I love the look she gets when she’s like this—just as hungry for me as I am for her.
“Do you belong to me, Mrs. Quint?” At this, I stroke my finger up to her clit and circle it lightly with my thumb, pressing just hard enough to elicit a gasp of satisfaction from her.
“I do.” Her eyes catch mine, full of spark, full of mischief. “Do you belong to me, Mr. Quint?” she asks, and she arches her back, then, writhes beneath me as I continue to circle her clit, bringing her closer and closer to her climax. At the same time, she lifts her hips off the bed, makes sure that those long, smooth thighs of hers graze along my bare cock, teasing, taunting.
I groan in the back of my throat, a guttural sound, hidden behind clenched teeth. “Oh, I do, Mrs. Quint. I really do.” I lean down then to kiss her neck, taste the sweat that pools against her clavicle, as I stroke my thumb faster, and slide my middle finger inside her soaking wet pussy at the same time. I stroke her from the inside and out, pinching her, just hard enough to drive her wild. Only when I’m good and ready do I lean back and smile down at her, prepared for the show.
“You can come for me now, Mrs. Quint,” I whisper, and she doesn’t waste any time.
Her voice rises in gasps as she lifts her hips, twists and moans beneath me. She calls out my name when her climax hits, but I keep my finger inside her, add a second one, continue to stroke her until she’s right there at the edge again, gasping “Don’t stop, don’t ever stop.”
I lean down to catch her mouth in mine for her second orgasm, and she moans into my mouth as I kiss her, hard and long and deep, tasting her desire, savoring the feel of her body shivering with pleasure underneath mine.
Finally, when she’s soaked and breathing hard, I reach past her with my free hand to grab a condom, tearing it from the foil and rolling it down my cock in a single, practiced motion.
“Fuck me, Mr. Quint,” she gasps, spreading her knees wide. “Fuck me now.” I lie between them, and she wraps her legs around my waist, granting me easy access to her.
I press the tip of my cock against the entrance of her pussy and smile down at her, gaze hooded. “Ask me nicely, Mrs. Quint.” I circle the tip of my cock around her, sliding back and forth along her slit, coating myself in her juices, driving her wild.
She twists beneath me, impatient, and I’m loving it. Loving that I drive her as crazy as she drives me. “Please,” she finally breathes, voice low and breathy. “Please fuck me.”
I smile a little. Press my tip into her, just half an inch, just enough to make her cry out again, louder.
“Please fuck me, Mr. Quint.”
This time I really drive myself home, pressing into her fully in one thrust, and her head falls back, her neck arching as she groans.
I fucking love her pussy. The way she tightens around me like a glove, squeezing me so hard. And yet when I draw back, I glide easily within her, because she’s so fucking wet for me. “Your pussy is fucking perfect, do you know that, Mrs. Quint?” I slide out to the very edge of her, and then thrust forward again, until the spongy tip of my cock hits home within her, filling her completely, stuffing her full of my thick cock. Not all women have been able to handle me—sometimes I have to tread carefully, lightly. But not Dee.
She drives me as well as she drives my cars.
“I love watching you writhe on my big cock.” I pull back, thrust again, and she drives her hips up to meet mine, pushing me more fully home. “I love feeling how full I make you.”
“So fucking full.” Her eyelids flutter, almost close, as I start to rock faster, build up a rhythm. “Fuck, Jasper, don’t stop, fill me up, fucking fill me up.”
I pull her legs up, push them up over my shoulders so she’s spread beneath me on the bed, and grasp her hips in both hands, powering home into her with each drive. I tilt my hips to drag my cock along the front wall of her pussy, my tip pressing into her with each thrust. She’s already sensitive from me stroking her to orgasm twice, and it doesn’t take long before another starts to build in her.
She cries aloud when it hits, and I cannot get enough of this sight.
That’s the woman I’m going to marry, a hazy, sex-dazed part of my brain thinks as I gaze down at her, prone before me, breasts shaking each time I thrust inside her, my balls slapping against her ass. She’s mine.
Of course it’s all for show. All play-acting. Just a game that makes it hotter than hell when we fuck. But a little part of my brain starts to think, would it be so bad if this weren’t for show after all?
Because as much as I love watching her eyes flutter half-closed and her lips part and her face flush with heat and lust as she comes for me, comes on my big thick cock, her pussy clenching around me like a hand fisting my cock, as much as I love the sex… I also fucking love that diamond flashing on her finger, and the way she was looking at me from beneath those lowered eyelashes of hers.
Husband and wife. It has a fucking hot ring to it, doesn’t it?
I’ve never felt that way befo
re. Not about a woman I’ve fucked, not about any woman I’ve dated. But with her, I can start to really, truly picture it for the first time.
I finish inside her with a growl, and we both collapse to the bed, sweaty, the sheets tangled around us, slick from sex and desire and wanting. I pull her to me for another long, deep kiss, and all I want to do is stay in this bed all day. Keep fucking her, keep driving her wild. I never want to get back in the car that’s waiting for us downstairs. I never want to go home. Not without her.
I am so fucking screwed.
8
Dee
We were supposed to arrive back from our weekend getaway early on Sunday morning. Originally we’d planned to come back in the afternoon and swing by the office, in case anybody was still around over the weekend working late hours who might be able to play witness to our rendezvous.
But then Saturday night happened. And then Sunday morning happened. And then neither of us wanted to get out of bed, much less drive all the way back just to go to work and pretend we’re pretending to be a couple, when in reality… I think maybe something else is happening.
I don’t know. All I know is we ordered room service again Sunday, ate brunch naked on the bed, with several platters of room service between us, polishing off waffles with decadent piles of cream and strawberries in between taking plentiful helpings of that cream and those strawberries and spreading them across each other’s bodies. Then eating the strawberries, one by one, him sometimes foregoing the strawberries altogether to concentrate on trailing his tongue around my nipples instead, making them hard as rocks before he finally relents with a grin.
He knows exactly how wild he drives me, damn him.
By the time the front desk called to remind us of the checkout time, we were so distracted by that Jasper told them to book us for another night.
“But—” I started to protest, thinking about work, but he shushed me.
“We’ll head back first thing in the morning. You’ll be there in time to meet with the other interns.”
The other interns. The other interns who spent all last week casting side-eye at me and whispering about how I skipped orientation for a private tour with Jasper Quint instead. The ones who didn’t bother to hide their slack-jawed shock when I left the office with Jasper just after noon on Friday, after he wrote to my supervisor to notify her of a business need.
Not going to lie, I’m a little nervous about returning now, like this, in the same clothes I left work in on Friday, speeding up to the door with Jasper in his father’s vintage car.
Not to mention, I have about a million unread messages from Melissa on my phone.
So, did it happen? was the first one on the docket. The whole lead-up to this weekend getaway, she’d teased me that Jasper wanted to get in my pants. I kept denying it, kept saying we were keeping things strictly business. Now…
My stomach churns.
“You okay?” Jasper casts me a sideways look from his side of the car. He’s driving this morning, so I can apply a little bit of makeup, at least enough to look semi-presentable in an attempt to pretend I have a real job here.
I want to work hard in this internship. I want to be taken seriously. But I didn’t really think about that side of things when I signed on for this extra position—the Mrs. One: I didn’t think about what the other people at the company would say or think about me, the new girl who rolled into the office and straight into Jasper’s bed.
And normally I’d be able to brush it off, since this is all for show anyway, all pretend, the wedding, all of it…
Except now I’m not so sure it is, anymore.
I mean, the wedding is fake. The ring is fake. Our engagement, that side of things, fake. But Saturday night? Sunday morning? Hell, even this morning, when Jasper caught me in the shower and pinned me against the wall, kneeling between my legs to eat me out one last time, soapy water cascading down my body as my cries of pleasure echoed in the marble tiled bathroom?
That was real. Sharing a bad was real. And I’m worried that there might be more to this thing than just sex. Because—don’t get me wrong, the sex is fucking phenomenal, and I regret none of it… But the way he stared into my eyes this morning, like a man lost at sea. The way I stared back, like a woman reaching out to him for a lifeline…
He scares me. This scares me. I didn’t expect it, didn’t see it coming. Never in a million years would I have guessed I could form a connection this deep with somebody, let alone somebody like Jasper. But we stayed up late into the night last talking about our families—I shared stories about my parents, and for once, telling those stories didn’t make me sad or send me right back into the depression I first fell into when they passed. Instead it made me happy, because it made Jasper so obviously happy to hear those stories.
And he shared right back. He told me about his and his father’s close relationship, about how much he loves working with his dad at the company. He talked about his cousins, the huge family that awaits us at the reunion in Greece. He lit up when he talked about how many cousins he has, and about how many little kids in the extended family her gets to spoil. He has no nieces and nephews, since he has no siblings, but his cousins are like siblings to him, from the sound of it, and he treats their children the same way I’d spoil any nieces or nephews if I had some.
“I’m fine,” I tell him now, gaze fixed out the window of the car.
His mouth tightens into a thin line, like he doesn’t believe me. But to his credit, he doesn’t press me. He just stares out the window ahead and steers us up toward the work lot.
I watch the building approach, apprehension growing in my stomach. The glares and sideways mutters I heard spoken about me last week were already bad. I can’t imagine how much worse they’ll be now, when I walk in with this rock on my finger. I didn’t think about this—we need our relationship to be visible so his father can see it, so Jasper’s plan to win his inheritance can play out. But other people will see it too. And those people will be judging my part in this, not just Jasper’s.
I suck in a deep breath, at the same moment that Jasper asks, “Are you ready for this?”
I let out my breath in a gust of laughter. “I was just about to ask you the same thing.” I glance at him, then hold up the rock between us. It flashes in the sunlight. It’s gaudier than the other ring I liked, way over the top. But then again, this is Jasper Quint we’re talking about. Of course he went for the over-the-top ring. “How much of a bomb am I going to set off when I walk into the building wearing this today?” I ask.
“Well, Caroline might try to claw your eyes out,” he admits, mouth twisted in a wry expression.
“You heart-breaker,” I tease.
He sighs. “I was upfront at the start that there would be no hearts involved.”
“I know how that goes.” I lean back in my seat, twisting the belt in one hand.
“Yes, I’d imagine little Ms. I’ve Never Fallen in Love has broken her fair share of hearts in time. No?”
Now it’s my turn to blush, and turn my head away. “Only one.” Way back when. A classmate who I wanted as a friend with benefits. Turns out he wanted more, but I couldn’t offer it. “Like you said. I was upfront at the start. But sometimes people think they’ll be okay with an idea, and then the reality turns out to be very different.”
“I can imagine how that happens with you.” When I turn back to him, as he glides into a parking lot out behind the office, his eyes have gone dark and serious once more. “I’ll bet nobody’s quite able to forget about you, Dee. Not if they really get to know you well.”
My head is still spinning from those words, and his expression as he says them, when he steps out of the car. I reach for my own door handle, but before I can get to it, he’s beaten me to it, pulling open the door for me like he’s his own valet. I smirk at him as I climb from the car. “I thought you said we wealthy people were supposed to let valets do that,” I point out, recalling his lesson at the hotel.
He laughs. “Just teasing you, Dee. I’m not that pompous.”
I hear a scoff, a little ways off, and turn just in time to catch a drift of blonde hair passing into the office from the rear doors, near the parking lot. The receptionist he just mentioned. Caroline.
Damn.
I shake my head and try to forget about her as I grab my luggage from Jasper and wheel it after him into the building. We stash it in his office for now, and then, in the middle of the lobby, he pauses to wrap one arm around my waist and give me a very long, very public parting kiss, before I head for the start of my day.
My cheeks are flushed, my head ringing, and I catch Caroline glaring at me over the top of her computer monitor, eyes narrowed into pinpricks.
I try to catch my breath, but between racing to the staff meeting, arriving late, and being faced with another round of glares upon entry, it’s hard to do. I sit in the back of the room, heart still racing, and listen to what the supervisor is saying. Or try to, anyway. Last week, we spent most of our time learning the ropes—what papers to file where, who’d need help with which projects. This week, though, we’ll be expected to take a little more initiative in deciding where we want to work for the first couple weeks of the internship. The supervisor asks us who wants to help out in the design room.
My hand shoots into the air at once. Unfortunately, so do about five other people’s in the room.
And the supervisor passes me over, pointing them out one after the other.
I lower my hand into my lap, disappointment stinging a little bit, but I ignore it and wait for another opportunity. The next shift is handed out—some people sent to assist engineering, others to the test track. Finally, only me and three other girls are left in the room, alone with the supervisor who peers over his clipboard and glances at me, then the others, then back to his assignments. “You four are going to head down to accounting for this rotation.”