Sweet Surrender (10 page)

“Marc, please,” she implored when he let her up for air. “I need you.”

He lifted his head, searching her eyes. “We’re not only about sex, Jessie. You understand that now, don’t you?”

“God, yes! But if you don’t do something about the fire you’ve created, I think I might combust. Six weeks is plenty of time to prove we’re not only about sex, I swear.”

He buried his face in her neck, inhaling deeply. “How I love your sweet scent.” Then he stood with her enveloped in his strong arms. As he moved across the room, her legs encircled his waist. It was patently unnecessary with the firm grip of his powerful hands beneath her butt; even so, she coiled around him, enjoying the friction as their bodies rubbed together with each step. When he hit the stairs, the bulge of his zipper bumped against her mound with each tread. It was almost too much to bear as she cried aloud, the initial desperate sound followed by whimpers of frustration.

“Stay with me, baby, we’re almost there.”

Next, her feet found the floor and he spun her around, unzipping her skirt, the last barrier to her nakedness. Standing before him, quivering in anticipation, his fingers tugged the narrow skirt over her hips and down her thighs. She kicked it away when it hit her ankles. Now she stood before him as bare as the day she was born.

“Damn, you’re gorgeous.” His hands returned and slid up her back, easing her down onto the mattress. Kneeling above her, he stripped off his shirt and then worked on his belt. She reached for him, her impatience making her tremble, but he moved to the side of the bed to deal with his shoes. Two heavy thuds were followed by a clink and a whoosh, as his clothes—shoes, belt, trousers, boxer briefs—hit the floor in succession, then he was on top of her.

Full length, they touched skin to skin. It was amazing. Jessie’s hands found his shoulders and ran over the muscles there, down his sculpted biceps and back up to sweep down his sinewy back.

“You’re the gorgeous one,” she whispered, lifting her head to run her lips along his corded neck. He smelled clean, fresh like soap and man, and she loved it.

Sitting back on his heels, he gazed down at her, following his hands as he traced over her curves and hollows. She couldn’t keep from staring, returning his perusal, hungrily sweeping down his belly and dipping lower until she locked onto the hard, substantial length of him. Aroused, the head of his cock reached nearly to his navel. He was quite impressive and more than a little intimidating in size and scope. Her face must have showed her concern.

“We’ll fit perfectly. I promise.”

She stared in fascination as he sheathed himself in latex. Despite his daunting size, she was more than ready for him. As his hips settled between her thighs, she welcomed his weight spreading her legs farther apart. Her arms encircled his shoulders as he guided the head of his cock into position and dipped inside.

“I’m afraid this might go faster than I’d like.” His face was tense, his jaw clenched. Perspiration dotted his forehead as he held back, fighting for control. “I’ve wanted you too long.”

“I want you too. Please don’t wait any longer.”

“I don’t intend to.” With a few short thrusts, he filled her, his path made easy by the liquid heat of her desire. His long, drawn-out groan expressed his pleasure as he bottomed out, his balls meeting her still warm and tingling cheeks with a light slap. His hands guided her legs around his waist. “Hold me, baby. I want to be buried deep, feeling you surrounding me when you come.”

The new angle had her stretched wider and filled fuller, making her pulse with sensation. There was also an uncontrollable need to move. Arching her hips, she pressed upward, yearning for a firm bump on her clit with every thrust of his hips. The contact when it came elicited a guttural moan that seemed to rise from deep inside. Never had she felt anything like this before. As he moved within her, she met his thrusts eagerly, building toward something spectacular.

Before she reached the pinnacle, he changed up the tempo. After surging into her fast, his retreat was unimaginably slow, almost leaving her before plunging back inside, tunneling even deeper. How that was possible, she didn’t know, but she could feel his possession low in her belly and she still wanted more. Each time he reared back, before the last incredible centimeter slipped free, he drove back inside, up to the hilt, the top of his thighs smacking her still tender cheeks. While he tortured her unpredictably, her inner muscles spasmed, clinging to him, reluctant to let him go. Greedily, her pussy hugged his cock as her arms and legs clasped his body, holding on tight as he moved.

“That’s it,
cara, w
rap me up, inside and out.” His mouth found hers and his tongue demanded entrance. Commanding possession of her entirely, he settled into a rhythm, stroking the flames higher while he plunged relentlessly.

With one more determined stroke, her head bowed backward and her eyes closed tight as he sent her hurling out of control, flying beyond her earthly bonds like a skyrocket, exploding in the blackness with a shower of silvery sparkles. As she soared in pure ecstasy, she heard his answering roar, signaling he had found the same bliss that she had.

Chapter Seven

The smell of freshly baked garlic bread wafting over her made her mouth water as she opened the door. Raffaele’s had the best garlic bread sticks and antipasto in town. As usual, Jessie was running late. Cursing the slow traffic on Telegraph hadn’t helped and she arrived ten minutes late to meet Stacy.

She paused a moment, allowing her eyes adjust to the dark interior of the cozy restaurant before scanning for Stacy’s bright blond head. Jessie looked forward to her weekly lunch or dinner dates with Stacy. They had so much in common: they were the same age and came from similar working-class neighborhoods. She remembered how they’d laughed when they’d discovered they shared the same middle name. Now they had something else in common and she couldn’t wait to discuss it with her.

Unable to locate Stacy, the hostess took her name before showing Jessie to a table for two. After the waitress left with her order for a diet soda, Jessie smiled smugly. Her friend was going to hear about her tardiness. Once too often, she’d been on the receiving end of Stacy’s litany of complaints over Jessie’s habitual lateness. It was nice to have the shoe on the other foot for a change and to know Stacy wasn’t perfect.

While she waited, she scanned the menu. It was a waste of time since she always got the same thing: chicken Marsala with roasted garlic and portabella mushrooms over penne. Folding the trifold menu, she set it aside, her fingers drumming impatiently on the tabletop. She dug in her purse for her iPhone and checked the time. Only five minutes past seven; she’d been much later. She scrolled through her messages; finding nothing from Stacy, she tucked the phone back in the outside pocket of her purse where it was intended to go. Leaning back with a sigh, she scanned the dining room.

Her eyes immediately landed on a table with three women, all of whom were staring in her direction. She immediately recognized Marc’s eldest sister Giada. Determinedly keeping a grimace from her face, she could only manage a tight smile and a nod in greeting. When all that was returned was an icy stare, even her small smile faded. Feeling awkward sitting there alone, she picked up the menu and pretended to read it, while silently imploring Stacy to hurry the heck up. Her eyes traced over every word on the three-page menu, hoping Giada and her minions would ignore her and go on with their lunch. When a shadow fell over her table, she knew she wasn’t that lucky.

If Jessie didn’t have bad luck, she had no luck. It had been that way since… well… always. She couldn’t ignore the woman standing by her table any longer. Plastering on a fake smile, she tipped her head up and promptly lied through her teeth.

“Giada, so nice to see you.”

“And you, Jasmine. I see you are alone. Won’t you join us? We have only just ordered.”

“It’s Jessie,” she replied stiffly, somehow keeping her fake smile in place. Either the woman was suffering from some kind of memory loss, or she was a bitch, purposely calling her by the wrong name. Her charitable nature assumed it was the former; gut instinct told her it was definitely the latter. “Thanks for the offer, but I’m meeting a friend. She’s running a few minutes late.”

“Oh, that’s a shame, maybe another time. You’ll come let me introduce you to my sisters, won’t you?”

How could she refuse? She followed Giada across the busy restaurant to where the other two women waited, both surveying her intently as she approached. Marc’s younger sisters, Renata and Annalisa, both had the same vivid coloring of their elder sister with dark hair and eyes, glossy red lips, and slender figures. Jessie cast her eyes around the table and saw salads, no bread, and either water or clear soda, which she suspected was diet. She envied their willpower over Raffaele’s bread.

Through fake smiles, she could feel their enmity and she wondered if it was directed at her specifically, or if they were protective sisters who would feel this way toward any woman their only brother dated? Fortunately, she didn’t have to stay long and find out because Stacy arrived. She rushed up to Jessie making her excuses, benignly flashing the evil trio a stunning smile before walking with her to their table. Jessie went with her calmly, ignoring the three sets of twin daggers that were searing into her back.

As Stacy slipped off her sweater, Jessie whispered low, “Quick, look at my back. Am I bleeding?”

Puzzled, Stacy froze for a second. “What?”

“Those ladies were Marc’s sisters, and I use the term ‘ladies’ only because we are in a public place.” She said this in a soft whisper, although in the crowded restaurant there was little chance of being overheard.

Stacy glanced their way as she slung her bag into their booth and shuddered. “Hecate, Circe, and Medusa, I gather?”

Jessie’s nervous giggle grew into a full-blown laugh as relief swept through her. Bless Stacy, she could always cheer her up. “You guessed it. If his mother were here, I’d need an amulet to ward off ‘the power of four.’

“That bad, huh?”

“Yes, and I’ve never actually met his mother.” She shook her head. “I don’t know if it’s me or all the women he dates.”

“He’s the only son and brother, so I’m guessing it’s not you, sugar.” She opened her menu and kept right on talking. “They’ll warm up to you once they get to know you, and if they don’t, forget ‘em, ‘cause they obviously don’t know dipshit from apple butter.”

Laughing, and with The Witches of Trent nearly forgotten, Jessie sat back and enjoyed all that was Stacy.

She came up with the funniest expressions for everyday things, courtesy of the Georgia relatives she was always quoting. When they met, she’d said if her daddy and nana knew she’d turned Yankee, they’d be spinning in their graves. Especially nana, who had once told her that Yankees were like hemorrhoids, pains in the butt when they come down and a relief when they went back up. She had tons of priceless nana gems.

“Your dad or your nana?” Jessie couldn’t resist asking.

“That expression, hon, is pure me!” Stacy gave her a smile and a wink as the waitress walked up to take their order.

After the waitress left, Jessie leaned in with her elbows on the table, her chin in her hands. “Enough about the three witches of Bloomfield Hills; tell me what’s happening with you and Jared Baker. Can you believe best friends are dating best friends? It’s weird, huh?”

It was more than weird; it was eerie.

Stacy grinned. “Who’d have thought a chance encounter with Marc and Jared two years ago would lead to me working in their clinic, right beneath their very noses, then meeting you and becoming best friends before you even came to St. Joe’s, then Jared literally running into me, knocking me down and nearly blowing out my knee, and me telling you about that opening at St. Joe’s, which brought you into Marc’s lair where he stalked you and trapped you like a spider does a fly.”

“Not a pleasant analogy, but I get it. You’re leaving out the best part though.”

“Oh, you mean where you start dating Marc and I start dating Jared and none of the four of us know it until we all show up one day for a ride on Marc Trent millionaire’s freakin’ yacht?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, well, I was getting to that.”

“Actually, it gets even weirder than that. Evidently, a few months back, Jared and Marc were eating at the diner where my mother works, she waited on them, I was at the counter eating dinner and you came in for take-out. The only ones who saw all of us were Marc and my mother.”

“It must be fate!”

“Or some wicked force messing with us.” Jessie couldn’t keep from glancing at Marc’s evil sisters. When she looked away, Stacy was watching her with big eyes.

“Do you think?”

They stared at each other for a moment, then said at the same time, “Nah.”

“If they were going to cast a love spell on Marc, it would be for a tall, slender, dark-haired Italian beauty with class and money, not a short curvy redhead from the hood.”

“True. I can’t get over Marc owning a yacht,” Stacy gushed. “Did you know he was loaded? I mean being a surgeon and owning the clinic, I expected him to be well off, but a yacht?”

“He’s more than loaded. His family owns one of the biggest plastics manufacturing plants in the country.” She should have known when she agreed to a day of ‘boating’ with Marc it wouldn’t be on a puny skiff or a dinghy. When she’d pulled up to the marina and found the right numbered slip, the fifty-foot sailing yacht had blown her away. It was like a mansion on the water, with three luxurious staterooms, a full service galley, and a huge lounge with plush furnishings and a seventy-inch retractable flat screen TV. Her entire apartment could fit into the living quarters below deck. To Stacy, she groaned, “I’m trying not to think about it. He’s so out of my league, Stace.”

“You don’t think I’ve thought the same about me and Jared? He’s fine wine and caviar, and I’m beer and pretzels. He’s loaded and I’m a lower-middle-class country girl with student loans out the wazoo. I couldn’t jump a nickel to save a dime. I shop at consignment shops and thrift stores and his suits are tailor-made. I finally told myself, so what. Enjoy it. Don’t you think after all the years living as poor as church mice, we deserve a little luxury?”