Strung Out (9 page)

He’d headed around the hood of the car to open Talia’s door when she took care of that chore herself. “I was going to be a gentleman.”

“I’m not the patient type.”

Erik offered her his arm. “Not the damsel-in-distress type, either.”

“You got that right.” She looked up at the brick building. “All the way to Davis Square for breakfast?”

“This is my favorite place to eat on a Sunday morning.”

Her eyebrows drew together. “It looks deserted. Aren’t we a bit early for brunch?”

He pulled open the door and stepped into the softly lit restaurant. “I pulled a few strings. They don’t really open up until ten thirty. And there’s no way I can wait that long for food.”

“Poor Erik; did I wear you out?”

Her honest ribbing was refreshing. No games, no subterfuge. “I have to keep my strength up for round two.”

“More like round I lost track. Who’s counting anyway?”

“Mr. Erik! Welcome! Your usual table is ready for you.”

“Thanks, Damon. I hope we didn’t put you out.”

“Not at all. Better now than later on with the crush of brunchers who’d rather kill you than wait a few extra minutes for their food.”

Erik followed Damon to his preferred spot in a shadowy alcove of the restaurant. The soft lighting and well-spaced tables were ideal for conversation and privacy. That and the selection of unique and tasty food was why Erik came here. Of course, he usually arrived with either a business associate or Desiree in tow. This was his first experience with a morning-after-breakfast, but he knew he could count on Damon not to mention anything.

Talia took the chair Damon offered and settled in. “So, is this where you bring all your one-night stands?”

He looked across the table at the woman who had spent no more than ten minutes brushing her hair into a ponytail, washing her face, and pulling on a pair of jeans and a sweatshirt. How could one woman be so different from all the others? “I think the definition of one-night stand sort of cancels out the possibility of breakfast. Wouldn’t that fall under weekend fling?”

She appeared to think it over. “I like that one. It sounds more adventurous. Although this
is
Sunday. So should we really be wasting time on breakfast?”

“Do you have something you’d rather do?” The scorching look in her blue eyes was enough to harden his cock on the spot. Erik began to wish his favorite table was a booth along the wall.

Her expression shifted, and she dropped her eyes. “I’m not usually like this. Although I’m sure you hear that from everyone.”

“No, I don’t.”

Damon and another white shirt-clad server appeared at that moment. Their arms were loaded down with plates. The aroma of pancakes, fresh home fries, eggs, sausage, and his favorite grilled pound cake slathered in blackberries and cinnamon syrup made Erik’s stomach rumble appreciatively.

When the table was crowded with loaded plates of food, Damon deposited a carafe of orange juice and quietly left them to eat. Thinking mostly of his empty stomach, Erik began to load his plate with his favorites.

“Most people order their food.”

Something in the tone of her voice made him momentarily forget he was starving. “I always order the same thing.”

She looked at the steaming plates on the starched white tablecloth. “You always order this much?”

He wondered where this was going. “I like a little bit of everything.”

She carefully selected a pancake, some home fries, and a portion of scrambled eggs to fill her plate. “That explains a lot.”

Now completely distracted from the earlier goal of filling his belly, Erik wanted to understand what she was trying to insinuate with this line of conversation. “Explains what?”

A strand of silky hair had come loose from her ponytail, and she brushed it back, tucking it behind her ear. In the soft light her blue eyes were warm and inviting. She pulled her lower lip between her teeth, obviously trying to decide how much she could say.

“Come on; just tell me what you’re thinking.”

“That it must be nice to have everyone cater to you.”

He sat back in his chair, mulling the thought over in his head. In his experience, notoriety was worth as much grief as it was benefit. But he could definitely see how someone who hadn’t walked a mile in his shoes could feel as she did. People did cater to him.

“I’m sorry. That was probably way out of line.”

“No.” He gave her a warm smile. “I asked you to tell me what you were thinking.”

She grinned and speared a few home fries with her fork. “I love these. At least you’ve got good taste in breakfast food.”

“Glad I did something right.” He watched her eat, still struck by her earlier statement. A plan was forming in his head. A possibility that might just allow him to keep Courteney and her father happy without losing this incredible woman who’d become so vitally important in such a short period of time.

* * *

Erik steered the tiny car down a narrow drive. He seemed relaxed. His left hand remained carelessly on the wheel, but his right hand continually drifted across the miniscule space inside the car to hold her hand when he wasn’t shifting gears.

His mood had changed drastically during breakfast. When they’d argued in her apartment, there had been a sense of helplessness. Talia knew a man like Erik was unaccustomed to things outside his control. But now, it was as if he’d gotten past it.

The last of the fall leaves gleamed crimson and gold against the red and brown brick row houses. The drive kinked abruptly left between the tall homes and opened into a tiny parking lot. Two empty spaces crouched between a hybrid and a minivan.

He parked the Porsche and turned it off. “I’ve got two spots, but only the one car.”

“So there’s plenty of room for my SUV when I get it.” Her lame joke didn’t alleviate the butterflies that suddenly invaded her stomach. And his chuckle didn’t tell her why he’d brought her to what was obviously his home in Beacon Hill. Carefully opening the door, she stepped out of the low-slung car and looked around.

Everything was gorgeous. But it was what you’d expect in a neighborhood where the typical home price was over two million dollars. Garbage cans stowed away securely in their places, carefully tended shrubbery, and no clutter strewn about.

A set of keys jingled as he swung them around his index finger. “C’mon in.”

She followed him up a short, steep flight of steps to the back door. Her mind lingered on the idea that once upon a time these homes had belonged to Boston’s upper crust and this had likely been the servant’s entrance.

“So how long have you lived here?” She asked the question to break the uncomfortable silence.

“I’ve owned this place for four or five years. I couldn’t stand living with Mother in Brookline anymore.”

“Isn’t there a time in every little boy’s life when he has to move out?”

He unlocked the door and swung it open. “He can try. But a sister like Desiree is almost impossible to get rid of.”

Talia forgot what she was going to say as soon as she stepped inside the kitchen. Granite countertops, cherry cabinetry, an old-world fireplace, center island, and top-of-the-line appliances covered every wall. It was a dream come true for someone who’d been making do with a temperamental range and a microwave. She could almost see two kids sitting on the bar stools, having an afternoon snack after getting home from school.

She turned away, forcing back the fantasy that would probably never happen. “You can’t tell me you actually use all of these kitchen gadgets?”

“Actually, I can.” He grinned, his green eyes glinting with mischief. “I love to cook. Although I can’t report one hundred percent success with all of my kitchen experiments.”

“And here I thought guys like you were a myth.”

“Only some parts of me are mythic.” He took her hand and tugged her through the kitchen, through a dining room furnished with a gorgeous antique table, delicately tooled chairs, and a matching china cabinet, and into the living room.

She stopped seeing furniture. It just didn’t matter. It was obvious there was no family living here just yet. But the house was begging for the life and laughter one would bring.

“You know, I would have figured you for the loft sort.”

He continued tugging her toward the stairs. “You mean one of those minimalist, modern spaces where you can’t tell the furniture from the art hanging on the walls?”

“Yeah, that.” The staircase was narrow, elegantly curving its way toward the second floor.

“That sort of thing doesn’t appeal to me. I have an office downtown. I’d rather live in something that looks like a house.”

She stopped, resisting his pull on her hand and giving him a look to say she didn’t buy it.

“All right, so other than the kitchen, I’d probably have a bed with a milk crate for a nightstand. And maybe a couch.”

“No electronics?”

His grin turned sheepish. “In a room upstairs.”

“So where did all this other stuff come from?”

“I told you, Desiree isn’t the type of sister you can get rid of. She stays here off and on when she gets sick and tired of our mother.” The warm smile on his face said he didn’t really care. “Or when Neiman Marcus is having a three-day sale.”

Talia gazed around at the soft earth tones, warm fabrics, and inviting decor. Erik’s sister had fantastic taste. Of course it was probably a lot simpler to make your space inviting when you had limitless funds at your disposal.

He pulled her toward the stairs. “Come upstairs. I want to show you something.”

Erik had put his personal, masculine touch on the second floor. A flat-screen television dominated the living space. The couches were overstuffed black leather, and a full bar stretched the length of the only wall that wasn’t covered in Celtics, Red Sox, and Patriots paraphernalia.

“Apparently you like sports.”

“I was born and bred in Boston. It’s a requirement.”

“You’ll have to explain that phenomenon to me.”

“Later.” He left off tugging her arm and swept her off her feet. “Forget the tour. I can’t wait any longer to have your pussy for dessert.”

Chapter Nine

Erik was certain a psychologist somewhere had come up with a term for the all-consuming frenzy of lust that overcame a man when he saw
his
woman, naked, in
his
bed. That same psychologist would probably also have a scientific name for the possessive inclination that would cause Erik to decide Talia was his to begin with.

Shoving the doubts to the back of his mind, he focused on the woman lying on her belly before him. Her ass was perfect, rising smooth and full before flaring into ample hips. Tangled hair rested against her back, and her arms were tucked beneath her head, giving him an enticing view of the pale, sensitive skin at the sides of her breasts.

“Would you quit staring? You’re making me self-conscious.” Her voice was muffled by the pillows.

He’d been standing in the doorway. Now he closed the distance between them and stretched out alongside her warm body.

“Did you find your phone and order food?” She lifted her head, giving him an expression of woe. “I’m going to die of starvation.”

He ran the palm of his hand from her shoulder blades to the cleft of her ass. “You could quit burning calories.”

She wrapped one hand around his cock. “Are you sure about that?”

Heat lanced through his body. She squeezed gently, pumping his shaft. Blood rushed to his groin, an erection rising into her grip. After the entire day spent fucking this incredible woman, Erik was impressed he hadn’t passed out yet. “I changed my mind. I’ll feed you, but since the food isn’t here yet…” He left his statement hanging.

“Guess I’ll have to find something else to satisfy my oral fixation.”

Her hot mouth sank down on his cock. His body snapped, the muscles in his legs going rigid and his toes pointing while his hands wrapped in the bedsheets to keep from grabbing her head and fucking himself to a quick finish.

The wet heat of her tongue swirled around his head, finding and probing the hole at its tip before making a long stroke as she swallowed him to the back of her throat. He clenched his teeth, knowing he’d have spilled his load into her mouth in that moment had he not already come multiple times in her pussy.

Her throat caressed his length briefly before she retreated, skimming her teeth lightly along his sensitive skin, catching on the flange and nipping lightly. She pressed kisses along his shaft, her saliva lubricating his skin and intensifying her erotic touch.

One hand reached up and cupped his balls, kneading their tight sac. The pad of her index finger found a point just behind, pressing gently and sending his body into overdrive.

“I know you’re there, Erik,” she murmured. “I want to taste you when you come.”

Her words sent him over the edge. Scorching heat burned its way through his cock. She squeezed hard on his shaft with her other hand while her mouth suckled his head. The pressure built behind the dam she’d created until he thought he might explode.

“Talia!”

She released her hold as he cried her name, and his ejaculate poured from his cock into her waiting mouth. Muscles in her throat undulated against him as she swallowed, and his body was flooded in an alien mixture of release and tenderness.

Her gaze sought and held his. “I’m still hungry.”

He shifted, pushing the bedclothes out of the way and stretching out beside her. A knot of something strange formed low in his belly, intensifying as he watched a shy smile touch her lips. With a delicate hand, she reached up and cupped the side of his face, her thumb skating across his lower lip.

Erik laid the palm of his hand on her belly, enjoying the sight of her eyes widening at the touch. Her breath hitched when he slid lower, his fingers grazing her mound.

“I’m going to touch you.”

Her lips parted, and her tongue slipped across their surface.

“You’re already wet. But I’m going to make you come.”

Her brow furrowed, and her hips bucked reflexively.

“And I’m going to watch your face when you do.”