The Perfect Plans Series [Box Set] (33 page)

Turning me to face him, he absently runs his hands up and down my arms. I look up into his serious gaze, searching his expression for an indication of what he’s thinking. I’m far from a sadist, however his moroseness lifts my spirits slightly with the thought that he’ll miss me as much as I’ll miss him. Again, it’s simply shocking that
Alexander Tate
is as into me as he is.

“Want to have a sleepover?” I try to lighten our mood.

“I thought you’d never ask,” he replies, donning a smile. I’m overjoyed that I was the one to put it there. “I have to get through four lonely nights in L.A. without you this week, I want nothing more than to have you all night long before I go,” he adds, his eyes laced with desire as he reaches for my nape, tilting my head to take me in a sensual kiss.

He took my breath away with his words, their casual sexy tone rolling off his tongue—the tongue now reawakening the heated quivers in my sex as I attack his glorious pecs through his shirt.

Halting my touch, he grips my hands at his chest before pulling his lips from mine. His eyes close on a deep breath, opening in resigned mischief above a sexy grin, “Four nights in one, Miss Ryan, let’s get you settled and energized.” Releasing me, he continues in oblivion to the state of mush he just left me in, “The fridge is stocked. I asked Amira to arrange it before she left. So, that means you’re cooking, sweetheart.” He smacks my butt lightly, making his way to retrieve my bags.

Laughing at his playfulness, I attempt to regain the strength in my weakened knees before following him up the stairs. I make my way towards the refrigerator to scope out our lunch possibilities while he takes my bags to the bedroom. He wasn’t kidding when he said the fridge was stocked. “Whoa, Alex! How much food did you ask Amira to buy? I’m just one person you know,” I yell so that he can hear me. Holding the double doors open, I peer over my shoulder as he joins me in the kitchen, “I mean, really, I’ll never eat this much food.”

“Well, you won’t have to. I plan on being here enough that you can feed
both
of us,” he drawls, donning his boyish mega-watt smile.

Closing the doors, I turn, leaning back against the stainless steel. I want nothing more than to know he plans to be here often, and his confirmation of intent is warming me from the inside out. Catching a glimpse of the island, I’m instantly laced with desire at the sudden flashback of that teasing text, filled with sexual insinuation of its ‘aptness,’ care of Stacey. I wanted to kill her that day. Today, however, I feel nothing but gratitude. Gratitude
and
heated fervor at the entire notion.

My eyes dart to Alex, now staring at the woodblock-covered structure having followed my gaze. The thought that we’re sharing the same memory hitches my breath, before his beautiful lips curl up into a slow smirk stealing it completely, his striking blue eyes meeting mine.

God, those LIPS.
What I want to do with them. I unconsciously bite down on my own, spellbound by the sudden tingles coursing through me. I’m lost between those perfect fuck-me lips and sexy-as-shit eyes. It’s sinful what this man can do to me from across a room with just a look, no words required.

Like a doll on a string, I’m at his side in an instant, staring up into those insatiable baby-blues. Placing myself between him and the island, I teasingly run the palm of my hand over the surface as if to suggest the questioning of its suitability for what our shared memory entails. “I was thinking,” I purr in my mindless hand-slide, “ . . . before we decide what to cook for lunch, I imagine we should thoroughly inspect the kitchen’s capabilities. I wouldn’t want to spoil a respectable meal because I was unsure if the kitchen comes up to scratch,” I look impishly into his eyes.

“No, we wouldn’t want that,” he adds, simpering at my clear innuendo.

“It would be highly irresponsible of us,” I quip, provoking him as I lean forward over the top, my breasts coming in contact with its hard, cold surface.

“I concur with your avid assessment, Ms. Ryan, and I do believe I’m up for the task,” he pulls my hand off the counter, gliding it along his hardened erection.

With gentle force, he tugs me to face him, his firm hands gripping my hips as he leans down to tease my neck with his luscious kisses. Breathless, I angle my head to give him better access. “Yes, you certainly are
up,
” I whisper, continuing to massage him through his jeans.

In one swift move, his hands are at the back of my thighs, his strong arms lifting me with ease to set me atop the island. His perfect lips never cease their incessant kisses along my jaw and down my neck.

Positioning himself between my widespread legs, he forcefully pulls me against him, the hardness of his erection pushing against my pulsing sex, eliciting a moan from my parted lips. Grabbing my nape with firm, yet gentle hands, he generously works his magic, sifting his fingers through my hair and down my back. Every gliding touch sends intense shivers down my spine.

My hands match his in zealousness, ceaselessly touching him, my fingers tightening around the wavy locks at his nape, sliding over his broad shoulders before returning to run along his neck. Reaching his stubble-covered jaw, he pulls away, leaning back to look at me.

I lose my breath at both the intimacy of our shared stare and the absolutely indescribable look of gentle longing emanating from his eyes. I love that this man wants me, his need written all over his face. Time could stand still in this moment. To see him look at me this way, with so much desire and care at the same time, it rocks me to my core.

My God, I could so easily fall in love with this man. If I haven’t already—a fact I’m not quite ready to admit to myself just yet. But who would blame me? How could I not fall in love with the man with so very many checks off my list? The man who wholeheartedly matches the one my inner dreamer has been wishing for. The man who makes me tingly and wet with just one look.

As if on cue, our lips meet, tongues dueling, curling, lavishing. My heartbeat matches the fast-paced rhythm of my rapidly pulsing sex. I want him inside me. And I give way to making that crystal clear as my hands find their way back to the front of his jeans, frantically tearing open the button closure. I gasp at the feel his engorged erection beneath his boxers, his lips quirking in a sensual smirk against mine, inciting a devilish incentive to caress his length.

On a husky groan, he glides his hands down my thighs to the hem of my skirt, slowly sliding it upwards, lifting my ass with one hand to discard the obstructing fabric. He follows suit in the opposite direction, swiftly removing my panties in the same rapid motion.

I tug at the front of his boxers, relishing in the hard grown object of my desire. Wrapping my fingers around his width, I pull in want before rimming the tip, sliding the drop of pre-cum around its crown. His kiss deepens with my sensual massage, his hands sliding between my legs, brushing my clit before plunging two fingers inside. They glide in with welcome ease, in and out, slowly, sensually, his thumb swiping across my sensitive bud.

Moaning, my hips grind into his rhythm as I massage his dewy cock, savoring the steady build of my pending orgasm, the inevitable explosive reply to his fingers. My head falls back as I scream his name, my pussy convulsing around his master-magician digits.

Lost in my lingering ecstasy, I gasp as he pulls his fingers from my quaking sex—the motion tantalizing, leaving an empty yearning in its wake. With dominant haste, he grasps his hardness, shifting me to the edge of the island before plunging inside, unleashing my breathy cry. The fullness of him intertwined with the pulsing remnants of my orgasm drives me wild. Grabbing him, I attack his lips, dueling my tongue with his, clawing at him in desperation.

His rhythm is steady, his cock slowly sliding out of my quivering core, the large crown enticing a delicious electrified ring of clenched want at my folds before he slides in deep once more. My legs wrap tighter around him, pulling him against me in my need to be fucked harder.

Gripping my thighs to brace his momentum, his thrusts deepen, his pace quickens. I moan into our frenzied kiss, my body jolting against the pounding thrashes of his cock, his breath gusting hard and fast against my lips.

“Yes!” I scream, my body stilling against my impending plummet. My orgasm explodes through me, my body jerking with every pulse of pleasure. Releasing a guttural groan, he falls with me, his shooting blasts tantalizing my explosive eruption.

“HOW’S YOUR BLT?” I look towards Alex across the bistro table, enveloped in the warmth of the afternoon sun.

“It’s good. I’m starving,” he confesses, between bites.

“Worked up an appetite did you?” I tease, relishing in our island test drive.

Forgoing his next bite, he stares at me intently. “Keep it up, sweetheart, and I’ll be forced to assess the suitability of the terrace,” his serious expression gives me pause. I’m not sure I can handle any more orgasms for a while. The man has seriously worn me out.

Biting my lip through a mental recap of our thorough
christening
of the kitchen—a delicious visual of Alex taking me from behind, my fingers grasping the island’s surface where he’d just treated me to two fantastic orgasms moments before—I have to wonder if my body can survive his insatiable appetite. I need to rein it in a bit, give my body a much-needed rest. “Hold your horses there, big guy. I need a break,” I throw a potato chip at him.

Efficient as ever, he catches it, popping it into this mouth, donning a dashing smile.

“I wish you didn’t have to leave tomorrow,” I state, hoping to deter his suggestion of a terrace christening.

“Me too. Luckily, these postproduction meetings should only take a few days. I’ll be back before you know it,” he smiles reassuringly.

Our otherworldly week together had sheltered me from the realities of his career. Well, with the exception of the mob of fans we’ve endured to date. However, after spending every waking moment with him, it makes his return to his own normal routine—a.k.a. the travelling actor—a bigger pill to suddenly swallow. “I’ll miss you.”

“I would hope so, Ms. Ryan. What do you plan to do while I’m gone?”

Now that’s a good question. What
will
I do with myself? Read? Cry myself to sleep each night in my lonely bed? The depressing thoughts instantly send me into a reality-check tailspin. This isn’t good.
I can’t be dependent on him after such a short time, unable to survive in his absence. Or worse, have that vulnerability apparent. “Well . . . I
should
better acquaint myself with the neighborhood. You know, get settled. Maybe do some shopping,” I ramble in hopes of sounding independent and strong—though as an immediate reminder of
our
shopping trip flashes through my mind, along with the subsequent ice cream experience afterwards, my breath hitches involuntarily.

Quick to notice, Alex grins at me in awareness, “Such a shame I’ll miss a secondary shopping excursion with you. Perhaps I can make up for the loss now.”

I stare transfixed at his lustful gaze, his predatory stance making its way towards me.
Oh God!

I’M SULKING. WAKING up alone was an excruciating double whammy—day one post playing-house with Alex, and my first morning intro to learning to accept the travelling aspect of his career. Unable to reflect on his stunning form, as has become a magnificent morning ritual, I brooded under the sheets engrossed in my miniscule depression.

Of course, my change in demeanor was instant the moment I heard from him.
I’m pathetically hooked.
Reaching for my phone on the coffee table, I open his text, leaning back on the sofa to read it for the umpteenth time like some lovesick fool.

Subject: Miss you already

Boarding shortly. Think about me . . .

Alex x

Absently, I brush my thumb across the screen.
Think about you?
That’s all I ever seem to do
—my inner dreamer lets out a blissful love-puppy sigh.
As much as I relish my gloriously fulfilling thoughts of Alex, I do realize that I have to attempt to find other ways to pass the time. I have four full days without him ahead of me. At this rate, this week will stretch on forever.