Strung Out Page 7

  “Erik!”

  She chanted his name like a mantra, only half realizing she was doing so. His face left her pussy, and he rose gracefully, his cock bobbing against his stomach as he stood.

  Her hands reached greedily toward his hard length, longing to touch the incredibly soft skin. But he wordlessly pushed her away. Instead, he turned her around to face the window. Her hands found purchase on either side of the sill only a moment before he bent her at the waist and impaled her pussy with his rigid cock.

  The sudden invasion tore a low moan from her throat. She was ready, her creamy juices slick around him as he backed out and penetrated her again. Her breasts bounced in the cool air, her nipples hardening into tiny points. Every stroke was agony and ecstasy wrapped into one endless sensation.

  Heavy balls bounced against her, punctuating each thrust. His hands gripped her hips, pulling her into his body and claiming her as his.

  “Come for me, Talia.”

  Her body responded to the naked, masculine authority in his husky voice. Her pussy tingled, and she arched her back. Suddenly each long stroke of his shaft skated directly across the swollen tip of her clit. Her body shuddered into orgasm, muscles lost to intense spasms that left her gasping for air as Erik increased his rhythm.

  A wet slapping noise filled the apartment as he pounded her body with each thrust of his cock. The whole world seemed to pause, and then he slammed home one last time, pushing hard as his cock pulsed into the depths of her body.

  “Are you all right?”

  The concern in his voice touched her in places that should have been too strong and independent to care. Her throat swelled closed with emotion, and Talia could do nothing but nod.

  “Come and lie down.” Erik gathered her into his arms and deposited her back onto the bed. Nestling in beside her, he pulled the sheet and blanket up over their bodies. “I’m sorry if I was rough. I’m not usually like that.”

  Had she ever felt so cherished? It was bizarre, really, that this near stranger could evoke such powerful feelings. Why oh why did he have to be determined to sell himself to someone else?

  “Talia, say something.”

  She cleared her throat. “We totally had sex in front of a window with the blinds open.”

  His chuckle shook the mattress and sent zingers straight to her heart. “If anybody is forced to be awake at this ungodly hour on a Sunday morning, they deserve a show like that.”

  “So you don’t care at all that the whole city might’ve seen you naked?”

  “No.”

  She twisted her head around to see the unapologetic and frankly devilish grin on his face. She couldn’t help but smile back. After all, if she looked as incredible in the buff as Erik did, she’d be shameless too. “You’re so bad.”

  His face sobered. “Did I hurt you?”

  “I’m not some porcelain doll that’s going to crack if you take me out of the box, Erik.”

  The thought of porcelain led to other thoughts about blonde ice princesses. How could she lie here and giggle and joke when she’d just had sex with the man Courteney Colton intended to marry? Again. In fact, she couldn’t seem to stop having sex with Erik.

  “I recognize that look.” He brushed his lips across hers. “C’mon, get up. I have the perfect remedy to all that thinking you’re doing.”

  She was intrigued. “What’s that?”

  “Breakfast.”

  Chapter Eight

  Erik had once claimed that the phrase “money can’t buy everything” was a crock of shit.

  Now he wasn’t so certain. In his whole life, he had yet to find a situation he could not manipulate in some way to his advantage. It was one of the things that made him so lethal in a boardroom.

  But sometimes what worked in corporate life was woefully inadequate to handle the dilemmas in his personal life. Or at least that was what he was discovering.

  “What kind of car is this?”

  He glanced at the passenger seat and tried to suppress the enormous smile that kept threatening to overtake his face. Talia was giving the interior of his sports car a very thorough going-over.

  She poked at the headliner. “Is that suede on the ceiling?”

  “Yeah. The entire interior is leather. Pretty standard on a Porsche.”

  “What a pain in the ass to clean.”

  Erik whistled. “Man, you’re just chopping away at my ego. First my job, now my car.”

  A pretty blush colored her cheeks, and she ducked her head. “I’m sorry. That was rude. I’ve just always wanted a car. So I tend to obsess over details when I get in one.”

  The idea that she’d never in her life owned a car rendered him speechless. But why would she have owned a car? The Massachusetts public transit system was well developed. Why deal with the expense of owning the car, let alone trying to find a place to park the damn thing while you weren’t driving it. If his place in Beacon Hill didn’t come complete with parking, he would leave his cars in Brookline.

  Talia was still mulling over the car topic. “I think I’d rather have something bigger though.”

  “Why?”

  “Do you have any idea how large a cello case is? If you got it in this car, you’d never get it out.”

  He shrugged. “Put the top down.”

  “I swear. Men have solutions for everything.”

  Not everything.

  Erik pulled up to the curb at his favorite Sunday morning brunch spot. Before he’d exited the vehicle, a young man appeared at the curb. Instead of a typical valet’s uniform, he looked like a dishwasher. Which he was.

  “Morning, Mr. Erik.”

  “Hey, Sam, good to see you.” Erik handed the kid a fifty. Valet wasn’t really on the menu, but he and Sam had a long-standing arrangement that ended with his Porsche parked in the tiny employee lot out back.

  Erik looked around at the sparse Sunday morning traffic around the square. It was the first real cold snap of the season, and people had obviously decided to stay in bed. The damp, frosty air promised another of Boston’s frigid winters lay just around the corner.

  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, was
hing 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 le
ather, 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.