“I know.”
“And I wasn’t a hero.”
“You were to me.”
Something shifts in his expression at that. Not pride. Not arrogance. He almost looks pained. His fingers brush my cheek as I tilt my face towards his. “I’m not perfect,” he murmurs. “I’m not the man you built up in your head.”
“I don’t want perfect,” I whisper. “I want you.”
For a split second, doubt flickers through me again—fear that I’m about to shatter an illusion I’ve held for so long. Then he kisses me. Slow and intentional. His lips move against mine like he’s memorizing me, not conquering me. The nervous thoughts dissolve under the heat. My hands slide up his chest, feeling the solid reality of him. This isn’t a fantasy or a memory. This is real.
When he pulls back, his forehead rests against mine, our breaths tangled together.
“Are you certain this is what you want?” he asks softly.
And for the first time since I stepped through that door, I know without any doubt that this is exactly what I want and need.
“I want you,” I repeat, as I slide my hands inside his kutte so I can push it off his shoulders. Instead of letting it fall, I place it gently on the dresser. I may not know everything about his world, but I know his kutte is important. When I tug on his shirt, he stops my hands, and for a minute, I think he’s going to reject me, but he smiles.
“My turn,” he says as he unbuttons my blouse. He doesn’t take his eyes off my face until I feel the silk sliding off my shoulders. When he glances at my chest, he sucks in a breath before whispering. “Gorgeous.”
Before I can reach for his shirt again, he reaches behind my back to unfasten my bra. Using his thumbs, he removes my it, then tosses it onto my shirt. “Perfection,” he says before lowering his mouth to take my right nipple into his mouth. His tongue and hot mouth send sparks of pleasure through my system. But when he sucks, I feel my body bending to his will.My legs become unsteady as he relentlessly works my nipple into a peak. He releases it with a pop, but instead of moving to the other side. He bites my hardened nipple. The bite of pain ramps up my desire.
I paw at his shirt, but he only chuckles at my feeble attempt. Rather than help me, he shifts his focus to my left nipple and starts the process all over. If not for his firm grip on my hips, I’d have melted into a puddle at his feet.
I hear a mewling sound when he releases my nipple. It takes me a moment to realize it’s coming from me. Bush chuckles as he slides his hands into the waistband of my slacks. I don’t remember him unfastening them, but they slide to the floor so that I can step out of them. I stand naked before him while he’s still fully clothed.
“You grew into a stunning woman, Zara,” Bush murmurs as he guides me to the bed.
Once I’m seated, he treats me to the glory that is his body as he strips in front of me. First to go is his shirt. I gape at the muscles now on display. The man is chiseled perfection. I want to lean forward and trace his abs with my tongue. However, before I can move, his fingers shift to the button of his jeans, freezing me in place.
My mouth goes dry as I study the growing bulge in his jeans as he lowers the zipper. There is no doubt he’s packing. When the jeans drop to the floor, I take a long look at the magnificent man before me. I’ve had the pleasure of seeing prime examples of the male specimen, but nothing compares to the god standing before me. He’s a masterpiece, and I’m a very lucky girl.
“Like what you see, baby girl?” Bush growls as he strokes his dick. I tear my eyes from the drop of pre-cum on the tip to stare into his face.
I let my smile grow as the possibilities for the night wash over me. “Very much,” I reply, my voice husky with desire.
Sliding to my knees, I place my hands on his muscled thighs and breathe deep. His scent is intoxicating. Somehow it reminds me of home. I lash out my tongue and lick the tip of his cock, tasting his essence. My body shudders with pleasure when I hear him suck in a breath. Emboldened, I wrap my lips around his cock and take him in. He hits the back of my throat, and I’m frustrated because I can’t take all of him. Wrapping my fingers around his shaft, I lose myself in the feel of him in my mouth and the taste of him on my tongue. Bush fucks my mouth. I’m prepared to swallow his cum, but he pulls out before he shoots his load. I whimper and glare up at him, causing him to chuckle.
“My turn, greedy one,” he chides before lifting me by my armpits and tossing me on the bed. Grabbing hold of my legs, he spreads them and dives in like a man lost in the desert coming across an oasis. He lights up my nerve endings as his tongue explores my seams and crevices. When his finger plunders my slit and finds my G-spot, I buck with pleasure. I’ve never had a man send me over the edge so quickly. It’s almost as if he knows my body better than I do.
After he laps up my juices, he reaches over to the nightstand and opens the drawer. From it, he pulls out a strip of condoms, rips one off, and tosses the others on the bed. “Those are for later,” he explains with a devilish grin as he tears open the foil in his hand. He rolls on the condom and positions himself at my slit. Before penetrating, he leans forward to kiss me. The taste of me on his lips is amazing. “I hope you weren’t planning on sleeping tonight, because once won’t be enough.”
I groan at his promise and the feel of his cock stretching me wide. Not only will I not be getting any sleep, but I know I’ll be walking funny in the morning. All I can think is ‘bring it.’
CHAPTER 19: BUSH
I wake up slowly and take stock. The room is quiet, gray morning light slipping in through the crack in the curtains. The clubhouse is still mostly asleep. No engines revving. No shouting. No chaos.
And there’s warmth pressed against my side.
Zara is curled into me as if she belongs there. One arm draped across my stomach. Her cheek tucked against my chest. Silky, blonde hair spills over my chest, the soft strands brushing my jaw every time she breathes.
I go still. I’ve never woken up with a woman in my bed before. Not once.
Women don’t sleep here. That’s my rule. We have our fun, we get what we need, and then I send them on their way. No lingering. No morning-after smiles. No chances for them to wake up thinking it means something more.
In short, I don’t do sleepovers.
