Bringing Home a Bachelor. Karen Kendall

sucked, and he took his hand from between her legs, placing it instead on her other breast. He didn’t want her coming too early.

      She made a sound of protest but quieted as he slid his cock against her, teasing and exploring. She tried to guide him inside her, but he took her hands away. “This is for you,” he said. “I want this to be all about you.”

      There were dozens of questions in her eyes, but he ignored them. He kissed her, tasting the champagne on her lips along with something sweet that was pure Mel. He wanted more of it. He slid his tongue into her mouth to explore, and denied his body’s insistence on doing the same further south.

      He kept teasing her there, though, and moved his mouth to her nipples again, abrading them lightly, sucking until she wrapped her legs around him and whispered, “Please …”

      He wasn’t ready to indulge her yet. “Say this aloud, Mel. Say, ‘I’m beautiful.’ I want to hear you.”

      “Pete, come on,” she muttered, the blush beginning to reappear.

      “Come on, what? I want you to say it.”

      “I’m not saying that.” She reached for his cock and wrapped her fingers around it.

      Yeah, oh yeah, his body said.

      “No, Mel, you can’t have it yet,” his mouth said.

      Dumb ass, said his body.

      “Tell me you’re beautiful.”

      She let go of him and lay her head back on the pillow, clearly frustrated. “I’m not playing this game with you, Pete.”

      “It’s not a game,” he said, stung.

      “I’m not trading cheesy affirmations for … for—”

      “Cheesy affirmations? Melinda, I just wanted you to acknowledge something which happens to be true.” He stared down at her.

      “It’s not true, and we both know it!” she snapped.

      “Yeah, darlin,’ it is. Clearly you haven’t been looking in any mirrors lately.”

      “Spare me. Really. Spare me the bad lines, Mr. Customer Service.” She sat up, clearly with the intent of getting out of bed.

      Pete had never been naked, fully erect and this instantly angry before in his life. Maybe it was the years of smiling in the face of hotel-guest abuse, or maybe it was having his kindness thrown back into his face. Maybe it was this particular woman.

      He grabbed her by the shoulders and pushed her back down on the mattress, ignoring the shock in her eyes as she struggled against him.

      “Listen to me, Melinda. You can have a complex about your weight if you want to. You can be self-conscious and awkward—that’s your choice. But what you cannot do is call me a liar. Understand?”

      She just stared up at him, wide-eyed.

      “Does this—” he gestured bitterly at his raging erection “—does this look like customer service to you?”

      She opened her mouth but only a squeak came out.

      “Well, does it?” he roared.

      “No,” she said in a small voice.

      “Okay, then.” He nodded. “Now, do you think I get this way around women I think are ugly?”

      After a small hesitation, she shook her head.

      “Then I think you owe me an apology.” Pete released her and rolled off the bed, stalking to the window. How in the hell had this gone so wrong? He took stock of himself with vague surprise: rigid muscles, heavy breathing, big scowl. Who was this guy? It certainly wasn’t Peter S. Dale, Senior Account Manager. How had he gotten this pissed off?

      A pair of soft, warm arms slipped around him from behind. “I’m sorry, Pete,” Melinda said. “I’m sorry.”

      He could feel those spectacular breasts up against his back, and her legs brushing his. Her hands moved from his stomach up to his chest, her fingers combing through the hair and then tracing his nipples, which hardened immediately under her touch.

      He closed his eyes as she smoothed her way down his belly again, to the springy hair just south of it. And bit back a curse as she took his cock into her hands and worked her woman voodoo on it until he felt like he could smash through stone walls with the thing. He was so hard it hurt.

      Before he knew it, Mel had dropped to her knees in front of him and taken it into her mouth. Nothing had ever felt so good …

      He stood there for a moment, lost in the sensations of it. Warm and wet, her tongue sliding along him, her hand wrapped tightly at the base. Ahh.

      But he wasn’t going to let her apologize this way. He slid his hands over her head, tunneled his fingers into her hair, and destroyed what was left of her updo. Then he took her by the shoulders and pulled her gently to her feet. “Come here, Mel.”

      “Did I do something wrong?”

      “No, honey. You do everything right.” He kissed her, loving the way her hair now tumbled free around her shoulders. He palmed her breasts possessively.

      And she kissed him back without hesitation. “Then why …”

      “Because,” Pete said, “I want to make love to you.” He took her by the hand and led her to the bed again. “If that’s all right by you.”

      She nodded shyly and sat down.

      He went into the bathroom and got a condom from out of his toiletries kit. He ripped open the packet, took it out and she helped him roll it on, her touch a sweet kind of torture.

      “Now, where were we?” Pete asked ruefully.

      Mel scooted to the middle of the bed, lay down and opened her legs. “Right here?”

      “Yeah, right about there.” He winked at her. “And the view is to die for.”

      MEL’S PULSE SKITTERED crazily when he looked at her that way, as if she were truly some kind of knockout. But men just got excited in the face of the female anatomy, didn’t they? A centerfold in the privacy of the bathroom would probably produce that same glazed expression.

      Then Pete launched himself at her like some kind of animal, and she didn’t have time to be cynical. Because … dear God … his face was between her legs and his mouth was right there, and his big hands cupped her bottom, and her heels were hanging over his broad shoulders.

      His hands pushed her thighs even further apart to give him better access, and she thought she’d split in two.

      The tension in every muscle built until her insides went molten and poured towards where his clever, teasing tongue was. She was barely aware of thrashing against him, her body trying to celebrate and escape simultaneously.

      She heard herself scream, felt the rumble in his chest as he chuckled in satisfaction, registered the exultation on his wet face, framed by her thighs.

      Then he moved over her, slid himself into her a couple of inches, and closed his eyes at the evident pleasure of it. Maybe he was trying to hold himself back. He opened his eyes again as if to ask permission to be rough.

      “Yes,” she whispered.

      He drove into her with such force that she could almost feel him in her throat, making a sound that could have expressed either ecstasy or pain. “Melinda,” he said. “I’m sorry. I can’t help it.”

      “It’s okay … I like it.”

      He pulled out and drove in again, and a tension coiled low in her belly at the sweet friction of it. She clutched helplessly at his shoulders, his neck—he was slick with perspiration and need. He smelled of sweat and man and her own essence.

      She met him stroke for stroke, echoing his rhythm. When he bent his head to her nipples again,