Hitched (Imperfect Love Book 2) (7 page)

Noah is a confusing, sexy jerk-face. However, as much as I hate to give him any points, he’s right about one thing—I can’t deny that last night was amazing. And the longer I think about it, the less sense it makes to even try denying it, and the more I wonder . . .

Why am I fighting this?

The only man I’ve ever slept with was Brad, and those encounters were always boring at best and horrible at worst. Poking at my insides with his little stick while I tried to climax and failed miserably. Maybe my bad experiences have made me more skittish than it’s reasonable to be.

If last night was anything to go by, Noah is clearly determined to get me off. And he knows exactly what he’s doing in the bedroom.
If he’s that good with his mouth, I can only imagine . . .
Just the memory makes me feel a little too warm. Noah can easily make up for all my years of no sex and bad sex, frustration and inexperience.

And we’re stuck with each other for the foreseeable future. At the very least, we’ll have to keep up this marriage charade long enough to get the company back on stable footing and turn it profitable again, which will be no small feat. It can take months. Long, grueling hours, incredible pressure, exhaustion, and stress. Why not take advantage of the fact that we’re in this situation together? Why shouldn’t I have a treat to look forward to at the end of the workday?

Sex has been on the horizon from the beginning. We’ve already experimented with making out, and that went pretty great. I won’t even have to swallow my pride—not too much, anyway—since Noah’s bet about seducing me in four days has long since expired.

So, what exactly am I waiting for? What’s the point of a “trial period” that never graduates into the real thing? And when have I ever gotten anywhere in life by hanging back? Sure, I’m hardly a daredevil like Noah, but there’s a difference between reasonable caution and paranoia. If I always play everything so safe, nothing will ever change. I’ll just be stuck in neutral forever. I need to take the plunge. Toss off my big-girl panties and just say
screw it
for once.

I give myself a decisive nod to cement my resolve. So . . . that’s that. I’m going to start fucking my husband. There, I said it. I’m going to enjoy some marital sex. I’m a mature, responsible woman—I can totally handle this. And I can always call the whole thing off if I try it and I don’t like where it’s going.

Someday, I still want my soul mate and my happily-ever-after romance. But that true love story isn’t going to happen anytime soon. Right here, right now, what I have is Noah. And that’s nothing to sneeze at. He’s one of the hottest men I’ve ever met, and more importantly, he’s good to me. Our friendship is solid; I trust him to show me a fun time and never hurt me.

What’s the worst that can happen?
With that thought in mind, I set out for Noah’s office, my heart beating fast and hard.

He’s left his door wide open. When I peek in to see him sitting at his desk, he glances at me over the top of his computer screen.

“You need something?” he asks.

I come inside, closing the door behind me. This is definitely going to be the strangest proposal I’ve ever made at work. Taking a deep breath, I face Noah with as much cool confidence as I can muster.

“So,” I say casually, “I’ve been thinking. Maybe that orgasm wasn’t so bad after all . . .”

Noah

Barely an hour after she tore me a new asshole and stormed off, Olivia is standing in front of my desk. And underneath her nervousness is a mischievous glint in her eye.

“No?” I tease her, pretending to be surprised. “I thought you said it was just a little O earlier.”

She shakes her head. There’s a tiny crease between her brows, and I know that whatever she’s about to propose, she’s given it a lot of thought.

I rise to my feet and come around the desk so we’re standing facing each other. I can’t help pushing her buttons a little more. “Excellent, because there’s plenty more where that came from.” I love when she blushes. She looks beautiful when she’s fully relaxed and carefree. This is my favorite version of her.

“That’s good, because I’ve been thinking. Maybe this whole husband arrangement might come in handy,” Olivia says.

“Indeed it can. I have a big dick and I know how to use it. We’ve proven that even you, Snowflake, like orgasms. We have six hours between when we get off work and bedtime . . . that’s more than enough time to make you scream my name.”

“God, you’re crude.” Her cheeks flush even pinker.

Bingo.

“How would you prefer I behave, Olivia? Like your little lapdog from accounting, polite and well-mannered and hanging on your every word? You’ll have to neuter me first.”

She raises her chin. She didn’t think I noticed that shriveled prick sniffing around, but I did.

“Sorry, Snowflake, but I’m a man. A speak-my-mind, fight-for-what-I-believe, bleed-for-my-country, red-meat-eating man. I don’t bow down to anyone. You want to fuck around and blow off some steam? Fine. It’ll be fun. But I’m not handing my balls over to you.”

She rolls her eyes. “Just don’t talk and we’ll be fine.”

I chuckle. It’s so fun to see her flustered.

“No, seriously, don’t speak.”

Nodding, I make a show of tightening my lips and zipping them shut.

Even I’m smart enough to know when to stay quiet. And when sex with Olivia is on the line, I’m more than willing to play along. All this teasing banter is melting my little snowflake, slowly but surely . . . just according to plan.

• • •

“What is all of this? I’m pretty much a sure bet. You understand that, right?” Olivia’s tone is amused, maybe even a little chastising. But there’s a huge smile on her face.

I asked her on an official date tonight. I’ve filled our penthouse with pale pink peonies from floor to ceiling—every counter and table topped with a crystal vase or a small water bowl of fragrant blossoms. I’ve even drawn her a bath with petals floating on the warm water.

“We’re not really dating. You didn’t have to do this,” she says, her tone teasing. “It’s just business. And sex. That’s it.”

I won’t admit it, but I’m a little hurt. If I did all this for any other woman, she’d be impressed and dazzled. But winning over Olivia is a challenge unlike any other.

“Go get ready. We have a seven-thirty reservation.” I give her ass a playful swat.

“Yes, sir,” she murmurs, sauntering past me.

Damn . . .
I’m sure she only meant that sarcastically, but I like hearing those words more than I ever imagined.

Olivia heads into the master bath, and I hear her soft groan when she sinks into the water.

Knowing she’s undressed on just the other side of that door is sweet torture. But she’s told me she’s ready for sex, and that means I need to do the right thing—tell her about the heir clause in the contract.

While she bathes, primps, and dresses, I wait in the living room, trying to get my thoughts in order. Tonight might be the most important conversation I’ve ever had. The future of Tate & Cane depends on how carefully I can break this news to her.

But then she steps out from the bedroom and I forget how to breathe, let alone form coherent sentences.

“Wow. You look . . .”

“Is this okay?” She spins, treating me to the 360-degree view.

The knee-length dress is modestly cut in the front, not showing too much leg, or really any cleavage. But the back plunges all the way down to just above her ass. And the deep wine color contrasts with her milky skin beautifully.

Sweet Jesus.

“You look edible,” I stammer out.

A sly grin spreads across her berry-stained lips. “Edible?”

So much for being smooth and playing it cool. “They’ll be plenty of time for that later,” I say, recovering only slightly from the sight of her. “Are you ready?”

“Yes, but you still haven’t told me where we’re going.”

My cell phone chimes and I check the notification. “The car’s here. Come on. I’ll tell you on the way.”

I take her hand and guide her to the door, where she picks up a little silver purse and a tube of lipstick.

When we reach the street in front of the penthouse, Olivia pauses on the sidewalk. “You got a limo?”

I open the door to the sleek black town car and nod. “It’s a special occasion.” Olivia slips inside and I lean down to meet her eyes. “Plus I’ll be able to feel you up without crashing the car.” I grin.

Olivia chuckles, warm and deep, and the sound goes straight to my head. I love putting a smile on her face. Honestly though, not driving means I can focus one hundred percent on Olivia.

Tonight will be more than just the first time we have sex. Tonight is the first time I’m going to be intimate with my wife.
My wife.
Shit, I’m still not used to that—both the idea of having a wife and the idea that it’s Olivia. But I take this shit seriously. Tonight means much more than just some random hookup. I really like Olivia. I want us to work. Plus, I haven’t fucked anyone in months. My body is more than ready for this.

She slips inside the car and I climb in behind her. Since I’ve already given the driver tonight’s agenda, he whisks us away without a word.

After dinner at a nice seafood restaurant where we enjoyed lobster and wine and shared the lemon cheesecake for dessert, Olivia and I visit one of the city’s best jazz clubs, seated at a tiny round table for two with a perfect view of the stage.

She reaches over and squeezes my hand while the band warms up. “Thank you. I can’t believe you planned all this.”

I shrug. “It’s nothing.”

She frowns. “It’s not
nothing
. Believe me when I say that no man has ever planned a date this extravagant.”

Never? That simultaneously relieves me and pisses me off a little. I’m glad that she’s impressed, but it’s a damn tragedy that she’s never been romanced properly. Of course Olivia deserves all this—and more.

“Well, you’re stuck with me now, babe.”

She chews on her lower lip, and for the briefest flash of a moment, I read the hesitation on her features. I might not have been who she’d choose as a husband, but that didn’t change the outcome. Whatever happens next, wherever we go in life, I will always be her first husband. Part of me hopes I’ll be her one-and-only husband, as crazy as that sounds.

During dinner, the conversation flowed well. True, we did talk mostly about work, but it was the type of gossipy small talk that kept us both laughing. And now, we’re each on our third glass of wine, and the soft jazz music floating through the air has created an undeniably romantic atmosphere.

Olivia has a subtle smile painted across her lips as she looks out over the stage. But despite the perfect evening, I can’t escape the thoughts that have lingered in the back of my head all evening. The guilt stewing inside me has reached a boiling point. As much as I want to just enjoy our date, I can’t put it off any longer. I need to tell Olivia about the baby-making that’s supposed to happen. Like, now.

“Olivia, I . . .”

She reaches over and touches my hand. “Dance with me?” Her eyes are filled with a hopeful longing that I never thought I’d see her direct at me. I find myself nodding and rising to my feet.

Then we’re swaying on the dance floor—her fingertips on the back of my neck, her sweet honeysuckle scent surrounding me, my hands molded to the curve of her hips like they were made to fit there. And I . . . just can’t. Not right now. This moment is too perfect to ruin.

It seems like she’s finally starting to warm to me, to the idea of us. I promise myself that I’ll tell her as soon as we get home. For now, I push the words I need to say down my throat, and I just hold her.

• • •

The instant the penthouse door closes behind us, Olivia’s lips are on my throat and her hand is on my cock.

Hello there, instant hard-on.

“Whoa. Slow down, baby. We have all night.” I grip her wrist, drawing her hand away from my cock.
Plus, we still need to talk. We have to.

“Fuck going slow. I’ve gone slow my entire life. I overthink every decision to death. I haven’t had sex in . . .” She pauses and looks down. “Years.”

“Years?” I don’t mean to blurt it with such force, but holy hell.
Seriously?

She frowns. “Don’t make fun.”

I touch her cheek softly. “I’m not.” Then I lean in for a chaste kiss. “I just want to make this good for you.”

“You will.” She kisses me back. “I have no doubts about that.”

And then her hands are on my dick again, and I couldn’t stop her even if I wanted to. She’s unbuckling my belt, tugging down my zipper, shoving her hands inside my boxers to palm my erection. Her hands are so delicate, so warm, and it’s the first time she’s touched me.

“Christ, Olivia.” I grunt, pushing my pants down my hips so she can stroke me freely.

Is marital sex hotter than hookup sex? The answer to that question seems to be a big fucking
YES
. Because just the thought of banging my wife has me harder than ever before. So hard that my cock is leaking pre-cum from the tip, something Olivia seems to have noticed. She rubs her thumb along the head, smearing the warm fluid against my sensitive skin, making me groan.

I look down between us to where Olivia’s gaze is glued as well. Her hand moves up and down my shaft with a firm, yet tender grip.

“You’re so big, so sexy,” she murmurs.

“That’s right, baby. Now stroke that big cock.”

I take her mouth in a hungry kiss, our tongues dueling as her hands slide up and down. Oh God, I can’t think, but I need to stop this. Man up and push her off. Tell her what’s on my mind.

Instead, what do I do? I pet her cheek with my thumb and say, “Get down on your knees and put your mouth on me, baby.” I’ve fantasized about Olivia’s sassy mouth wrapped around my cock for so long, this is sure to be a dream come true.

Without a trace of the hesitation I expected, she drops to her knees before me and grips my base with both hands.

I don’t ask her to suck it, because unless she’s secretly a blow job expert—or she can unhinge her jaw—I doubt I’ll fit in her mouth. So instead I stroke her hair, and caress her cheek, and watch her lick me like a lollipop and swirl her tongue around the tip. Her efforts are cute. And the languid, wet kiss she leaves on the crown feels incredible. She murmurs little enticing noises as I pet her hair. She fits the tip of me in her mouth and suckles lightly, making me groan.

Hauling her up to her feet, I kiss her one more time. “Let’s take this to the bedroom.”

She nods eagerly and turns to walk ahead of me, swinging her hips in that backless dress.

I can’t believe she’s mine. Can’t believe that she’s about to give herself to me. A flash of pride tinged with guilt whips through me, and I give chase.

In the bedroom, Olivia watches me as she lets the straps of her dress fall down her shoulders, until the whole thing is just a puddle of fabric at her feet. Having forgone a bra, she’s left standing in a lacy black thong and her black stiletto heels.

“So fucking sexy.” I groan, stopping in front of her to kiss her lips and then her neck.

My pants are still open in the front, and Olivia reaches inside to take me in her hands again.

“Christ, woman.” I’m putty in her hands. Whatever she wants to do, I’m game. But I can’t give her all the control. “On the bed,” I growl, taking a step back.

Olivia obeys, stepping out of her heels and moving to lie down in the center of the bed.
Our
bed. Shit, that’s going to take some getting used to. It should make me nervous that this woman will be here when I wake up, that this isn’t just another one-night stand. If I fuck this up, if things change and get weird after, there will be no escaping Olivia.

Strangely, though, that isn’t what’s making me nervous.

It’s the sweetly hopeful way Olivia’s wide blue eyes are watching me. She wants this erotic experience with me, wants to experience all the pleasure I can show her. But what if this encounter goes the way it’s supposed to and she ends up pregnant? What then? Are we ready for a baby? Are we even cut out to be parents? Will she hate me?

But the time to talk has passed. I blew all my chances to talk about the heir clause tonight; I’ll just have to tell her tomorrow. Because right now Olivia is waiting for me, and I’ve never left a woman in need.