Hitched (Imperfect Love Book 1) (10 page)

“And I’d do just about anything to get my hands on your amazing body,” he continues mercilessly. “I’ve never seen a more perfect woman . . . every inch of you, tight ass and luscious tits and legs just made to wrap around my back. Kissing you the other night wasn’t nearly enough. I’d love to watch your expression change as I pound into you. Watch you give up control, turn off your brain and just feel.”

“Y-you don’t play fair,” I finally manage to stutter.

“Hey, that’s not how this works. Compliments, not insults. Believe me, I already have a pretty good idea of what you think my bad points are.”

“Uh . . .” I swallow. “You’re pretty cool too, but in a different way. Good with people and words and stuff, instead of numbers and strategy.”

“Is that why you’re blushing right now?”

In a way, yes.
But his sculpted jaw, full lips, and piercing dark eyes are what make his words truly intoxicating. And the fact that he still hasn’t let go of my hands.

“You take charge, and sometimes I hate that, but sometimes . . . it’s nice to have a break.”

His smile turns mischievous. “Oh? I’ll be sure to make a note of that. Anything else?”

I retreat to safe, familiar ground. Harsh words, something I can deny later as
just a joke
. “Are you just trying to get me to admit you have a nice ass?”

But when his only response is a silky, dark chuckle, I realize my mistake. He wasn’t fooled at all—
why did I ever think he would be?
—and now I’ve backed myself into a corner. Literally and figuratively. As I talked, Noah slowly leaned closer, bit by bit, until I can just barely feel the tickle of his breath.

Suddenly, acutely aware of the rising temperature between us, I cut myself off. “Shouldn’t we get back? It’s rude to keep Miss Osbourne waiting.”

Noah’s stare is too intense for me to look away. “The only woman I’m interested in entertaining right now is you.”

I shift a fraction, needing to leave but wanting to stay, and I realize that my panties are soaking wet. Everything I never let myself feel or think about Noah rushes to the surface. My body doesn’t care that he’s a juvenile jerk. I hate that my libido is so totally out of my control. I hate that I’ve always had such a wicked crush on Noah.
Fate must be laughing her ass off at me right now.

Noah leans even closer, stopping just short of contact. I can almost feel the brush of his lips against mine, and my stomach clenches with desire.

“Still only first base?” he whispers against my skin. “Or do you want more?”

I don’t answer. I’m not even sure I can speak. I just wet my lips.

That one tiny move is like loosening a coiled spring. Noah lunges forward to devour my mouth. My knees weaken with his expert onslaught. His strong arms wrap around me and his hands are everywhere, igniting my nerves, fingertips grazing what feels like every inch of bare skin. I feel a flash of frustration that my dress is so modest; I want his touch all over me, unrestrained.

He yanks our hips together and I feel his erection press into my belly. Something wild shoots through me, a fierce, territorial satisfaction. That hardness is all for me. Not Estelle, not any of his past conquests. I’m the one who’s making him feel this way right now. Such powerful, primal need aimed squarely at me and only me.

He’s all mine
. The unbidden thought strikes deep into an animal part of me I never realized I had.

On fire, I cup his bulge through his pants, wanting to assert control and show off my sexual power. But that was a big mistake . . . emphasis on
big
. Feeling just how impressive and steely hard he is only makes me even more desperate. I groan and squeeze him in my palm.

“If you don’t stop, we’re going to have a problem,” he growls out.

I giggle, feeling almost tipsy with lust. “You sure it’s
our
problem and not just yours?”

He abruptly draws back, pulling an involuntary noise of disappointment from my throat. But my fervor spikes again when he takes my hand and hurries me toward the nearby restroom. He pulls me inside and locks the door. I drop my purse in the corner just as he shoves me up against the wall.

Our mouths crash together again, lips and tongue moving like they were made for this. Our making out intensifies as his fingers fumble at the back of my dress. He finds the zipper, tugs it halfway down, then abandons it to push my sleeves down past my shoulders, trapping my upper arms.

I squeal in shock—then quickly clap my hand over my mouth—when he kneels to swirl his tongue around one nipple and pinch the other . . . hard.

“No bra tonight?” he murmurs between licks and suckles and gentle bites. “Naughty girl.”

I want to explain that this dress doesn’t work with a bra. I want to tell him to shut up and fuck me. But all I can do is tremble at the sparks of sensation shooting from my breasts straight to my clit.

“God, these are beautiful,” he says on a groan, taking my nipple in his mouth.

I can only watch, desperate, as he kisses my breasts, and let out helpless moans.

“And so sensitive.” He moves to the other, giving it a wet kiss that ends with an audible sucking sound. He hikes up my skirt and runs his fingers along the center of my panties. “Just as I thought,” he murmurs. “Nice and wet for me.”

I open my mouth to argue, but Noah chooses that moment to kiss me again.

Then he lifts the side of my panties and his fingers slide in. No fumbling at all now, no fooling around, no teasing—he knows exactly what I’m dying for. One long finger parts me, petting me, putting just the right amount of pressure on that swollen bud. I mumble some unintelligible groan. Noah’s tongue continues working against mine. Then two deft fingers crook deep inside me and the heel of his hand rubs my aching, swollen clit. Heat surges through my core and I choke out a cry of relief.
Yes . . .

Noah growls with possessive satisfaction. “That’s what I like to hear, baby. This pussy is mine now, and we both know it. I’m going to take damn good care of my
wife
. . .”

His dirty talk pisses me off and sets my body on fire all at the same time. I don’t know what to feel. I can’t think at all. I just hang on to Noah, struggling to keep standing while the white-hot pleasure coils tighter and tighter. I bite my lip hard to muffle my moans.

“Fuck . . . Noah . . .” I moan, rolling my hips hard against his hand. I’m so agonizingly close. Just a few more seconds . . .

Someone knocks at the door.

We both freeze in place, me topless and clutching Noah’s shoulders, Noah with his hand up my skirt. The absurdity of the picture suddenly strikes me. I might have laughed if I weren’t so terror-stricken—and teetering on the edge of a mind-blowing climax. Even with the fear of getting caught washing ice through my veins, I’m still burning up.

“If you move your fingers, I’ll kill you,” I whisper frantically to Noah. No way would I be able to keep this orgasm quiet. It’s been six long months in the making. And I want it more than I want my next breath.

“Hello? Is anyone in there?”

Oh my God. That’s Estelle’s voice. Our client is standing less than three feet away, and my stupid sexy boyfriend’s hand is
still down my panties
.

“It’s Noah and Olivia,” Noah calls, pulling off a perfect casual voice. “We just had a few things to talk about.”

“In the bathroom?” she asks with obvious skepticism.

Is she suspicious or just confused? Damn it, I should just throw myself out the window right now.

“Private family matters, you understand. We’ll just be another minute.”

After a heart-stopping pause, I finally hear her footsteps move away.

“Stop touching me,” I hiss under my breath.

Noah gives me a
hey, not fair
look. “You told me not to move my—”

“You know what I meant, smartass! Now get out of my panties!”

Chuckling, he withdraws. “I think that’s the first time a woman’s ever said that to me.”

“If you want to hear worse, that can be arranged. Now, zip me up.”

After Noah helps me yank my clothes back into place, I check the mirror over the sink. Jesus, I look like a train wreck. Lipstick smeared everywhere, hair rumpled. My appearance practically screams
I just humped a guy in the bathroom!
What a great bargain . . . all the public embarrassment of sex with none of the “actually getting to have an orgasm” part.

I retrieve my purse from the corner, pull my travel brush through my hair a few times, then start scrubbing at my lips. As I apply a fresh coat of lipstick, I notice that Noah hasn’t moved from his spot. He’s straightened his tie and rebuttoned his jacket, but other than that, he’s just been waiting patiently for me.

He could at least have the decency to look ashamed about tempting me into this mess . . .

“Aren’t you going to wash your hands?” I snap at him. One of them was just buried in my you-know-what, after all.

With a wicked grin, he lifts that hand to his nose and makes a show of smelling his fingers, inhaling my scent, and my face flares bright red.

“No way,” he says simply.

I tear my hungry eyes away and huff, “Whatever. Let’s just get back to the table and hope we haven’t already ruined this deal.”

“Uh, sweetheart . . .”

I glance back at him. “What?”

He releases a deep breath slowly through his nose. “If I go back out there like this, I’ll be arrested for indecency.”

I follow his gaze, which has dropped to the front of his slacks.

Holy hell.
It looks like he’s smuggling a pineapple in his underwear.

“Get that thing under control.”

He squeezes his eyes closed and takes another deep breath. When his eyes open again, he looks slightly more composed. “Let’s roll.”

As we leave the bathroom, I try to pull myself together. With Estelle in my sights again, I get my head back in work mode.

Sure, Noah may be unfairly attractive—and now I know he’s good with his hands too, on top of being a skilled kisser—but I still need to stay frosty here. He’s an arrogant, cocky, immature playboy who doesn’t take business seriously enough.

So, keep your head in the game, Olivia
, I remind myself.

But the unsatisfied ache between my thighs is almost too much to bear. This dinner will definitely qualify as the longest evening of my life.

Noah

“Well, that went well,” I say as I maneuver my sleek black Tesla out of the parking garage. I give the gas pedal a modest tap and we fly off down the street.

I feel ten feet tall, as smug as can be, and I don’t give a shit right now. Not even the way my cock is aching like a motherfucker can ruin my mood.

Olivia shoots me a questioning glare, and I know she’s wondering what I’m referring to—the business meeting with the new client that we’ll probably land, or my favorite part, almost getting her off in the bathroom. My body is still primed and ready to deliver.

“I can’t believe you didn’t wash your hands,” she snaps.

“I may never wash this hand again.” I smile and make a lewd gesture with my fingers.

She turns away from me with a huff and looks out her window in silence the rest of the way home.

When we arrive, the penthouse is dark and quiet and my hormones are still raging. Olivia sets her purse and cell phone down on the entry table, then turns, putting her back toward me.

“Will you unzip me?”

I drag her zipper down her back, letting my fingers graze her skin, appreciating the twin dimples in the small of her back and the very top of her lacy thong.

Torture
. This is pure torture.

Taking a chance, I lean forward and place a soft kiss against the back of her neck. “We could finish what we started at the restaurant.”

Her breathing has grown shallow and I can practically smell her arousal. I know her panties are still soaked. The idea of touching her again has me nearly overcome with desire.

“It’s probably not a good idea. We should keep this strictly professional from now on. We need to focus on the business, don’t you think?”

But she sounds the slightest bit unsure, and that’s all I need. It tells me that it’s only a matter of time until I get what I want. And what I want is her tight cunt wrapped around my cock, where I can pound away for hours. Days, even.

“You were so close back there. I could feel your pussy gripping my fingers, that swollen little clit pulsing in time with every heartbeat. You were about to come,” I whisper.

The heat of my breath sends a rash of goose bumps racing down the back of her neck. I know a woman’s body well, how to read all the signs and signals, and everything about Olivia is blaring that she needs to be fucked. Stripped down, laid on the bed, and worshiped like the goddess she is.

“Noah . . .” Her voice is almost a groan, and my cock hardens instantly.

“What do you do for fun, Snowflake? Everything can’t be about work. Sometimes blowing off some steam is a good thing.”

“For everything there is a season.” She straightens her posture. “And this is our season to buckle down and focus on business, not play grab-ass games. I’m sure that’s a foreign concept to you, but—”

“Believe me, I’m dead serious about Tate & Cane. But business is for the workday. After hours is for playtime. And in case you failed to notice . . .” I trail one fingertip down her spine, lingering at the waistband to her panties. “It’s dark outside. And we’re two consenting adults.”

“Two? Try counting again.”

The ice princess takes a step away from me and heads toward the bedroom, where I drink in one last glimpse of her bared back and hips before she shuts the door. I can just imagine her letting the dress slip down her long legs, the fabric pooling around her still-heeled feet, her firm ass covered only with a scrap of lace . . .

God. Fucking. Damn it.

I rake my fingers through my hair and blow out a frustrated sigh. For a second, I don’t know if I’m frustrated because I’m horny and insanely attracted to her, or because she’s making it impossible to win our bet.

No.
Fuck that. It’s just because I want her. I want to take her in my arms and understand that we could really have something here. She’s just so damn stubborn. And her secret dream of a romantic wedding—I may not be her first pick, but I want to at least meet her halfway, as more than friends. I’ll just have to find a way to pull this off and keep everyone happy.

For now, I go into the bathroom and close the door behind me. I don’t lock it . . . just in case there’s a sliver of a chance Olivia changes her mind. I undo my belt and tug down my dress pants just enough to free my aching cock. Then I squirt some of her scented lotion into my palm and begin to stroke myself.

Her light, feminine scent surrounds me, and the sensations tingling along my spine mean this won’t take long. For the second time this week, I work my big hand up and down my cock, wishing it were her small, delicate hand instead.

Memories of tonight in the restaurant restroom flash through my mind like an erotic dream. God, she was so ready after just a few minutes of banter and kissing. Her rosy nipples were tightened into little buds, and when I sucked and licked, they pebbled against my tongue. She tasted so sweet and made the best little grunting whimpers I’ve ever heard.

And then when I slipped my fingers into her panties—I half expected her to tell me to stop, only she didn’t. Instead, she stepped her heeled feet further apart. The tiniest possible movement, but I was so attuned to her, I noticed. She
wanted
me to touch her. Craved it just as badly as I did. She was warm and wet, sweet, silky perfection. And when I slipped two fingers inside, I almost came right then. Her cunt was so tight, it gripped my fingers and sucked at them, greedy for me to fuck her.

I shudder at the memory. So perfect. Beautiful. Intelligent. Sexual. She’s the total package.

A few more long pulls and I come hard with a grunt.

• • •

“Are you sure about this?” Olivia asks.

Her gaze wanders over to the couple dozen partygoers scattered across Rosita’s lawn. People are laughing and chatting in small groups, and upbeat Mexican pop plays from a boom box on the patio. The chain-link fence separates her yard from an auto shop behind her house. A single tree stands tall in the center with a festive piñata hanging from a branch.

“Of course. This is going to be great. Come on.” I tug her toward Rosita and the birthday girl, Maria.

I drop down to one knee in front of her. “Wow. Thirty-six today, huh?”

She shakes her head, her braided pigtails bobbing wildly. “No. I’m seven!” she boasts.

“Ah, seven. Well, happy birthday.” I give her a wink and she wrinkles her nose. She’s definitely still at the age where boys are gross. “That’s a very pretty dress you have on today.”

She looks down at her hot-pink dress with decorative tangerine stitching. “Thank you. My mommy made it.” She smiles up at Rosita.

When I rise to my feet, I give Rosita a hug. “Everything looks great. Thank you for inviting us.”

“Of course,
mi amor
. Thank you for coming,” she says to both me and Olivia. It was a one-hour drive to Jersey, but well worth it.

“Of course,” Olivia echoes, her smile only a little guarded. She’s obviously out of her element here, but trying her best to cope.

“Please, enjoy yourselves. There’s plenty to eat, and drinks are inside.”

I survey the picnic table that’s so overloaded, not an inch of tabletop is showing. Empanadas, carne asada, arroz con pollo, a bunch of things I don’t recognize but am game to try, and a beautiful tres leches cake in the center of it all.

“You made enough to feed an army,” I say with a chuckle.

“My family has big appetites.” Rosita grins wryly at me.

I hand my gift bag to Rosita. It has a couple of Spanish chapter books for Maria. I know that keeping her family’s culture alive and ensuring her kids are bilingual is important to Rosita. It’s something she and I have talked about before, and I think it’s damn smart. Anyone who knows two languages will have a leg up in the business world when the time comes.

“Oh, you didn’t have to bring a gift. Your presence here is enough.”

I shake my head. “Of course I brought a gift. What birthday party is complete without a big pile of presents?”

Rosita’s smile falls slightly. “Things are a little tight right now. I made Maria’s gifts myself this year.”

Oh shit
. I meant to make a playful idle comment, not call attention to the small gift pile.

“Is everything okay?”

Rosita nods. “With all the uncertainty at work right now, I’m trying to stretch our budget and put something away for savings. Just in case.”

Her gaze darts between Olivia and me as if she’s looking for answers. With her having six kids, I know her budget didn’t have much wiggle room to begin with.

I take Rosita’s hands in mine and give them a squeeze. “Everything will be okay, I promise. I’m going to make sure of it.”

Olivia shifts uncomfortably next to me. Even with all the sexual tension buzzing between us, we still have a job to do. And that’s never been more evident than now.

“Enough about all that,” Rosita says, strengthening her smile again. “You two go have fun.” She wanders away, heading toward her cousin, who I met at last year’s Christmas party.

“Are you hungry?” I ask Olivia. The food smells incredible, and Rosita is an amazing cook. I plan on sampling every dish on the table. Maybe twice.

She nods. “Starving, actually, but I’m not sure.” Her brow creases as she looks over the colorful dishes of steaming food.

“What’s wrong?”

She glances around. “I’m just looking for a knife and fork.”

I realize that she’s wary of spilling food on her expensive blouse.

“Come on, I’ll help you out. The first time I came here, I bit into a burrito and launched its contents everywhere. It looked like a baby had taken a crap all over my Armani shirt. We couldn’t stop laughing.”

She looks at me skeptically.

“Rosita taught me the proper way to fold my burrito. There’s a trick to it. I’ll show you.”

She nods and follows me to the table.

We fill our plates with marinated meats, grilled onions, rice, beans, and tortillas. Then we go back for seconds of our favorite dishes. Olivia impresses me with her healthy appetite and adventurous spirit.

After lunch, we mingle and talk with Rosita’s family and friends. Even though Olivia says she’s enjoying the party—and I believe her—she stays locked by my side all afternoon, attempting polite conversation and smiling nervously. Of all the amazing things she is, “social butterfly” isn’t one of them.

I can tell she feels out of place in her six-hundred-dollar sandals, silk blouse, and diamond-encrusted wristwatch. I’m still not sure why she didn’t wear something less formal. Or is this the most casual outfit she has in her closet? Maybe she’s just incapable of dressing down; she’s always manicured from head to toe, the epitome of sophisticated beauty. I certainly won’t complain.

She and I didn’t grow up like this, with casual backyard parties and paper plates and cans of Sauza beer. The high life definitely has its perks, but given the choice between drinking the best Scotch alone and drinking cheap beer amid friendly laughter, I’ll choose this warm sense of family every time.

Later, when the dancing breaks out, I guide Olivia toward the house.

“Now we need some Cuba libres.” I head inside, keeping one hand on her lower back to reassure her that I won’t leave her to fend for herself.

“Isn’t that just rum and Coke?” she asks, skeptical.

“Yes, but it’s Mexican Coke, made with real sugar, not that fake corn syrup shit, and the rum . . . Hell, wait until you taste this.”

I fill two cups with ice and then the rum-and-Coke mixture Rosita has premixed in a large pitcher.

“Mmm.” Olivia moans as she swallows her first fizzy sip.

“Cheers.” I gaze down at her and touch the rim of my glass to hers.

“To?” she asks.

“Us,” I say, my eyes lingering on hers.

“Noah . . .” She chews on her lower lip. “You know this might not even work, right?” Her tone is somber.

“Like hell it won’t. In fact, we really need to get engaged soon.”

Maybe it’s because I’m feeling jovial and slightly buzzed, but I stand my ground, my eyes still lingering on hers. I’ve wondered what kind of proposal I’ll plan—just a matter-of-fact business meeting where we agree on the terms, or a romantic down-on-one-knee affair where I promise to make this the best I can for her.

Olivia looks down at the floor. “I’m just not ready for that yet.”

“I sensed that . . . but you could try.” I lean even closer, letting her feel the heat from my body, my height towering over her.

“Try?”

“Yes,
try
.”

“And how would you propose I do that?” She’s trying her best to sound confident, but her tone has gone shaky.

Feeling bold, I grin at her. “You pulled away last night. You could kiss me, touch me, open up to me, make love to me.”

“What, right here?” Her voice rises and her brows pinch together.

“I’d settle for a kiss.”

“I’ve done that before, or have you forgotten?”