Fool For You (Made for Love Book 4) (5 page)

Cierra.

Fuck!

I’m pulled from my sleep by the glorious sensation of a hot, wet tongue licking my balls. She sucks one deep into her mouth before moving on to the other. When she tastes the pre-cum on the head of my dick with a hum of satisfaction, I trap my bottom lip between my teeth, willing myself to be still for just another moment. I look down at her, her face hidden by her generous amount of wildly curly hair, her gorgeous, brown body curled between my legs.

Cierra.

I keep her number for this
exact
reason.

She always wakes up hungry for more.

When she takes me into her mouth, my eyes droop closed. I tuck one hand behind my head, reaching to tangle my fingers in her hair with the other. Now fully aware that I’m awake, she sucks me harder, taking me deeper. A moan crawls its way out of the back of my throat as my head hits the back of hers.

“Good god, Cierra—fuck, just like that.”

She touches me with her hands, her fingers grazing the skin of my inner thigh, tracing the muscled curve of my hips. I don’t know how the fuck she does it, but she makes the seemingly insignificant touch feel so damn good. When I feel my balls start to tighten, my grip tightens in her hair as my need for control takes over. I thrust my hips, pumping my dick in and out of her mouth with purpose. I clench my jaw and groan when I swell just before spilling my release into her mouth.

After I let her go, she looks up and smirks at me before climbing out of bed. The bitch doesn’t swallow. Sometimes, I don’t know why I put up with that shit—but when I look down at my sated dick, I accept the fact that it could be worse.

She returns from the bathroom a minute later, straddling my waist. Knowing good and well that I’m a fair and generous lover, she doesn’t hesitate when I tap my finger against my mouth. With a giggle, she crawls up my body, spreading her legs on either side of my head. I know before I even part my lips that her pussy is soaked with her arousal. I can smell it.

I fuck her good and rough—licking, sucking, and biting until she’s a trembling mess above me. When I whisper my permission for her to come, she cries out immediately, screaming my name as I devour her release. She’s not the best I’ve ever tasted, but I won’t complain.

She flops onto her back beside me as she works to catch her breath, her feet at my shoulder and her head near my ankles. “Thank you,” she murmurs.

I chuckle, looking down at her. “I aim to please.”

She hums a laugh before propping herself up on her elbows. “What are you doing today? I’m free if you just want to stay naked and have sex.”

I raise an eyebrow at her, silently expressing that she should know better. “I’m a busy man, Cierra. I can’t entertain you all day. In fact, I should probably get up.” I look to the clock on my nightstand and see that it’s almost nine. “It’s getting late.”

“Ah, I see. This is the part where you kick me out.”

“I’m not, nor will I ever,
kick
you out of my home,” I say, stepping out of bed. I pick up the scrap of fabric she calls a dress from the floor and toss it on the bed. I then lean down over her, my lips a breath away from hers. “But you aren’t staying, either.” I press my mouth against hers in a fast, hard kiss before heading for the bathroom. I take a piss and brush my teeth. By the time I return, she’s gone.

The fact that she left without a goodbye means she’s probably pissed, but I’m not worried about it. She knows the drill. Perhaps she thought today would be the day she inched her way closer to something less
casual
between us. Some women are idealistic fools, thinking that somehow
sex
can eventually evolve into something akin to romance, which would ultimately grow into love.

Love.

I know first hand that
love
is overrated.

Though, to fuck—to fuck is divine.

I strip the bed of last night’s sheets and put on a fresh pair before donning my gym shorts and tennis shoes. I then make my way down to the basement, which houses my fully furnished at-home gym. I flip on the large, flat screen television, positioned so I can see it from almost anywhere in the open space—either dead on, or in the reflection of the floor to ceiling mirrors around the room—and then I grab a bottle of water and a towel. ESPN plays in the background for the next hour as I exercise, trying my muscles until I’m sufficiently worn out.

I take a quick shower, dress in a pair of khakis and a button-down shirt, leaving it untucked, and then head to the kitchen. I’m not in the mood to cook, my mind already drifting toward my current design project, so I grab a protein bar and a piece of fruit to take to my office. Before I power up my computer and dive into work, I decide to call my brother.

“Hey,” he answers softly on the fourth ring. “Hold on a minute, okay?”

“Okay,” I mutter suspiciously. I can’t understand why he would be whispering to me right now.

“Sorry about that. What’s up?”

“Did I catch you at a bad time?” I ask, leaning back in my desk chair, propping my ankle on my knee.

“No. No—I’m not alone. She’s still sleeping and—”

A grin spreads across my face as I fight to stifle a chuckle. “Why, Benjamin, do you mean to tell me you have a woman in your bed?”

“Don’t be an ass,” he says with a laugh. “Yes. There’s a woman in my bed. And before you get crass,
no
, I did not have sex with her.”

I sigh, a little disappointed but not at all surprised. Ben has always been the kind of guy who takes things slow, saving sex for when he feels it’s
right
. He’s a fool who falls in love. In spite of the multiple relationships that have fallen apart since he started dating as an adolescent, he still maintains that there is one woman out there whose heart belongs to him. My brother is a romantic. A fool—but my brother, just the same. I love him, regardless.

“So, you stayed up all night
talking
?”

“We went out for dinner, she came over for a few drinks, it got late, I invited her to stay. I don’t know if you are aware of this, but sometimes it’s fun to stay up all night laughing and getting to know a woman without complicating things by getting
naked
.”

“Trust me—my sexual encounters are
not
complicated.”

“Right,” he says with a sigh. “I know you didn’t call me to talk about this. So, what’s up?”

“Well, it’s been a few weeks since we’ve gotten together. Aunt Eddalyn wanted to try and arrange a game of golf. Maybe you could come up for a day.”

“Yeah. Sure—that sounds great. I’ll have to double check my schedule, but I actually think I might be free next weekend.”

“Take a look. Let me know. Maybe after we golf, you can take me to dinner—tell me about this
woman
you spent all night
talking
to.”

“All right, asshole. I’ll get back to you by tomorrow,” he says, amusement coloring his tone.

“Sounds good.”

“She’s up. I have to go.”

“Say no more.”

“Bye, Jude.”

“Bye.”

I pull my phone away from my ear and stare at it for a moment, shaking my head at my brother. For his sake, I hope his never ending quest to find the woman of his dreams works out. I, for one, don’t believe in such fairy tales. Love breeds pain. Lies. Betrayal. I never intend to walk down that road again.

M
onday morning sneaks up on me, but I welcome it just the same. After the work I put in yesterday afternoon, I’m ready to meet with my team, connect with our client, and set things in motion. This project has been a bit of a challenge, a characteristic I usually welcome. However, in this case, the issue is the client. He’s a real pain in my ass. He’s both picky and cheap, a combination of things I could live with if his personality wasn’t so horrendous.

I discard my dislike for the man as I finish my early morning workout and go about preparing for the day. After a quick breakfast, a long shower, and a shave, I head to the kitchen to make myself a cup of coffee. It’s just finished brewing when I hear the front door open and close. I note the time,
seven o’clock on the dot
, and a small smile curls my lips when I hear her footfalls as she makes her way up the stairs.

“Good morning, Mr. Jude.”

“Good morning, Marta,” I say, dipping my head in greeting.

“You know I coming, Mr. Jude, and no pants?” she mutters, shaking her head at me as she sets her things on the floor beside the dining room table.

I chuckle, taking a sip of my coffee as I make my way to the stairs. “I’ll be out of your hair in no time.”

I pause, turning to face her once more. She’s a heavy set woman with long, dark hair she always pulls back into a braid. Her accent is thick, constantly making me regret having never taken Spanish, and her countenance makes her one of the only women in my life that I like having around for reasons
other
than sex.

Well—her countenance and her excellent level of housekeeping.

“Marta, how was your weekend?”

“Very good. My Clara turned fifteen. We had very big party.”

“Send my best wishes to the birthday girl,” I say, lifting my mug in cheers.

“And your weekend?” she asks, lifting an eyebrow at me.

A lopsided grin tugs on my lips, knowing exactly what she means by her question. “I already stripped the sheets, Marta. They just need to be washed.”

“One pair?” She folds her arms across her chest as she waits for my answer.

“Two,” I mutter, turning my back as I continue toward the stairs.

“
Dios! Un día—
one day, Mr. Jude, Mrs. St. Michaels will be the only woman in your bed, no?”

I bite back my laugher, amused that the mother in her is constantly seeking to correct me, and touched that she feels bold enough to speak her thoughts aloud. “Unlikely, Marta,” I say, descending the steps. “Very unlikely.”

She mutters something in Spanish that I do not understand as I make my way to my bedroom and then into my closet. With the forecast projecting a high of ninety degrees today, I opt for a two-piece, light grey suit, pairing it with a white shirt and a cream colored neck tie. I match my belt with my shoes, slip on my watch, pocket my billfold and my phone, and then grab the remains of my coffee before heading back to the kitchen. Marta is already working on the floors, so she instructs me to leave my mug on the counter before she shoos me away.

Happy to do as she says, I bid her farewell and head for the garage. I’m in my Porsche and on the road without delay, arriving at the office only fifteen minutes later. I’m the first of our eight-man team to arrive, just the way I like it. The others will trickle in slowly, everyone accounted for by nine a.m. I’d wager a guess that either Rick, our resident architect, or Logan, one of our senior design associates, will be in next. Aunt Eddalyn usually comes in right at eight thirty, and Kent, our business affairs manager, soon after. Kim and Miranda are always here at least ten minutes before the top of the hour, and Brittany—she won’t arrive a second before eight-fifty-nine.

I’ve learned she likes to live a little on the wild side, pushing her limits—and sometimes mine.

Some days, I swear she makes me want to bend her over my desk and fuck her until she can hardly breathe. I know it’s what she wants. She’s been flaunting that ass of hers like a goddamn invitation with neon lights since the moment I transferred here. If I wasn’t afraid she’d get attached, jeopardizing our professional relationship, I’d indulge her. But I don’t trust her.

I’m pulled from my thoughts when a familiar, decadent scent wafts into my office. I look up just as Logan sits herself in the seat in front of my desk with a huff. She’s irritated about something; I can tell by the little wrinkle in her brow. For a second, I don’t speak. I just stare. I still find her incredibly beautiful, even when she’s upset.

Logan is a lot of things. She’s intelligent, well-spoken, talented, and driven. She’s got an eye for detail, a mind that’s always anxious to acquire more knowledge, and a small obsession with decorative light fixtures. She’s one of my best associates and, admittedly, my star pupil. But she’s also one of the only women who has ever told me
no
.