Taking It All (5 page)

Jordan

Am I making another huge mistake?

This guy has loads of money.

He's good looking.

He's powerful.

I'm sure he meets beautiful women every day. Women who would give
anything
to be his wife. Or girlfriend. Or even just his lover. So why should I trust him? Why should he be anything more than a rebound screw?

Because I don't do rebound sex, for one.

Heck, I don't do casual sex at all. That is so not me.

And because there's something about him that makes me believe what he said. That he was poor. That he wanted to get out of the horrific rut of poverty.

In that respect, we are similar. I know how it is to feel helpless, too. To look toward the future and see nothing but struggle. And pain.

But does that make him trustworthy, just because he didn't go to some fancy boarding school?

Or inherit a huge trust fund?

Or spend his childhood taking for granted the many privileges the rich in the US enjoy?

I wish I knew.

After all, Butthead didn't have those things either. And look at how he turned out. Granted, he'd been raised by a father with ten wives. I guess I was an idiot for thinking (hoping) he wouldn't want a harem of wives for himself, too.

“None of us do,” Grayson says. “We don't want to believe the worst. Because we want to carry on. To believe the fantasy.” He looks so earnest right now. So trustworthy. But I'm terrified of making another mistake. Of having my heart...

Okay, so I'm not exactly heartbroken about my ex. Not like I thought I'd be. No, I'm not hurt. I'm angry.

At Asshole, for being a liar. He should have told me he wanted plural marriage from the start.

And I'm angry at myself for turning a blind eye to the many clues that had been in front of my face.

Gosh, maybe it isn't men I don't trust.

Maybe it's me?

We want to believe the fantasy. That's what Grayson just said. Yep, that's me. To a tee. I want to believe the fantasy.

I nod.

I'm kind of blown away. This man knows more about me than Jerkoff knew after dating (secretly) for three years. How is that possible?

Because he wants to know me?

Because, unlike He Who Has No Name, he genuinely cares?

It would be nice if that were true.

My heart flutters.

I want to fall in love. More than anything.

No, I take that back. I want a man to fall in love with me.

Hard.

Head-over-heels.

Dipshit never did. Could Grayson Parker?

Maybe, judging by the way he looks me in the eye as we talk. The way he listens, paying careful attention to my every word.

It's possible.

My heart does this little pitter-pattery thing again.

Oh God, I'm falling for this guy. Already.

“Where are your parents now?” I ask, changing the subject. Things have gotten quiet. It's making me feel fidgety.

“I set them up with a nice place in Florida. Dad's a Mexican immigrant, so he loves the hot weather. Mom, not so much. But they love it down there. I visit them as often as I can, to make sure they're doing okay.”

This impresses me, that this man is taking care of his parents. Dickhead didn't do that. Granted, he couldn't. Not after we left Utah. He's a lost boy. Unwelcome in Gibeon, Utah.

But still, I respect Grayson for providing such a wonderful retirement for his parents. I have no doubt they deserve it.

“That's very sweet of you,” I tell him.

“After all they've sacrificed for me, I couldn't do anything less.” He smiles. “Maybe someday you'll meet my folks. I think they'd like you.”

Hold up! He's talking about me meeting his parents? Already? What does this mean?

It couldn't...After all, we haven't...

Does he think we're...?

I feel my face warming. “Maybe,” I say. Just as I'm about to say something else, the plane takes a sudden dip. My stomach does a flip. I smack my hands on top of the armrests and clamp my fingers around them.

We just freaking fell!

I don't know how far we fell. A hundred feet? A thousand? But we fell.

Will happen again?
Oh God, don't let it happen again!
“What's wrong?” I snap, sucking in air. My heart is banging like a freaking gong in my chest. Chills burn up my back. “Are we going to crash?”

“It's just turbulence,” he says in a soothing voice. “It's okay. Nothing's wrong.” He pries my fingers off the armrests again, holding my hands in his. “It won't be much longer. I'm sorry. I didn't know you haven't flown before.”

I concentrate on slowing my breathing. But it isn't easy. Not when I'm thousands of feet above the earth.

And staring into this man's eyes.

And touching him.

“Come here,” he commands, tugging. I don't fight him, briefly standing then plunking down onto his lap. One of his arms loop around my waist. His other hand palms my cheek. “I know one way to make this flight easier. Distraction. Works every time...” He uses the slightest pressure to bring my head down, my mouth to his.

Ohhhhh, what a mouth it is.

Soft.

Gentle.

His tongue traces the seam of my mouth and I part my lips. He tastes scrumptious. Like champagne. Expensive champagne. His tongue caresses mine and a ripple of heat spreads through me. My head starts spinning as the kiss deepens. More heat throbs. Nerves tingle. Muscles tighten.

The hand that had been holding my cheek moves higher, strong fingers tangling in my hair. He curls them, fisting the smooth strands, tugging every so slightly.

Thrilled by the subtle show of dominance, I gasp.

He breaks the kiss, pulls my head to the side and tickles the length of my neck with his tongue. “You're so beautiful,” he murmurs, nipping me after each word. Goose bumps burn my chest, my arm, my shoulder.

Quivering, I close my eyes and let him guide me. That mouth and tongue explore the swell of my breasts. My nipples harden. And thoughts about flying, and planes, and falling...

Poof! Gone.

I'm swamped with need.

Throbbing need.

Aching need.

Burning, overwhelming need.

Need much, much stronger than anything I ever felt before.

The hand at my waist is on the move now too. It glides over my hip, around to my lower stomach. Down over my skirt...

And up my thigh...

I whimper.

While licking and biting the parts of my breasts that are exposed, his hand cups my mound through my panties and presses.

I know I shouldn't be doing this but oh, God, the pressure feels good against my throbbing center. I want to spread my legs but I can't. My skirt restricts my movement. My stomach clenches. So does my empty, burning insides.

I've never had sex. I've never had anything inside me. But that's what my body needs.

My pussy quivers and I writhe.

Something big and hard pokes my bottom. I know what that big, hard thing is. It's his cock. And it's hard.

For me.

Just like I'm wet for him. Very wet.

I dig my fingers into his shoulders, and he pulls my top up, bunching it under my chin. A fingertip traces over one of my hard nipples and little sharp blades of need pierce  me.

“You are so fucking responsive,” he growls, scooping a breast out of my bra and thumbing my nipple.

Holy crap! My nipple has never been so freaking sensitive before. It's as if there's a nerve connecting it straight to my pussy. My spine tightens, arching.

How can I help being responsive when he does things like this? I'm dying. I swear. It's wrong and probably stupid of me, but he has to touch me
down there
. He has to.

I try to say something but all that comes out of my mouth is a strangled mewling sound.

He hooks a finger in the crotch of my panties and jerks. The fabric tears away, leaving me bare. A fingertip presses against my clit and I almost die from the pleasure. He flicks that finger, sending blades of heat shooting through my body. Up and down. To my center.

My
empty
center.

His fingertip moves lower, tracing the seam of my nether lips and I try to spread my thighs. They won't open. Frantic, I claw at my skirt but it won't move. My weight is holding it in place.

“Easy, baby.” Steadying me at the waist, he lifts, helping me stand. I yank my skirt up, turn and, legs straddling his hips, sit on his thighs, facing him. “Oh, yes. That's better.”

It is. Because now that hard ridge is
right there
, where I can grind against it. But within seconds, that's not enough. I'm so wet the fabric of his pants feels cold against my burning girl parts.

He gathers my hair in his fist again and pulls my mouth to his. His tongue ravages my mouth while I rock my hips forward and back like a hussy. The friction, combined with the wicked things he's doing to  my mouth, makes my body burn even hotter.

I can't stand it. I want more. Need more.

More, more, more.

Whimpering, I claw at his shoulders.

“Easy, baby. I want to take my time. Enjoy every minute of this torture,” he soothes. Even as he says that, he stands, cupping my ass so I don't fall. I loop my arms around his neck, my legs around his waist. Somehow he walks with me wrapped around him like a monkey through a narrow doorway, into a bedroom, and lowers me onto the bed.

Did I know there'd be a bedroom on this plane? No.

Should I be worried that, despite his talk about my meeting his parents, he brought me up here just so he could have sex with me?

No. This is what I want.

Sex.

Tear-off-your-clothes-and-bang-like-animals rebound sex.

Yes, that's what I want. And to hell with the consequences.

My pussy pulses as he lowers me to the bed.

I'm ready. More ready than I've ever been.

One knee on the bed, one foot planted on the floor, he leans over me. Strong arms flex.

I want to see him. All of him. Without having seen his body, I know there's a beautiful physique hiding under those clothes..

I pluck at his buttons while he kisses me. Within seconds, though, I become impatient and rip the two sides apart, sending little buttons flying.

Underneath is smooth, white cotton. I shove that up and find heaven.

Satiny skin with a small crop of crisp hair.

Hard, defined muscle.

A stomach that would make a Calvin Klein underwear model green with envy.

Gasping, dizzy, almost dying from need, I fumble with his pants fly. I have to get at that big lump in his pants. But he catches my wrists and pins them to the mattress.

“What's your hurry, princess?” He pulls a nipple into his mouth and my spine arches off the bed.

“Isn't it obvious?” I wheeze.

Holy crap. I never knew I could be so desperate for sex. This man's mouth is wicked. His kiss intoxicating. His touches tormenting.

Want, want, want.

Need, need, need.

I'm desperate.

Releasing my wrists, he unfastens the side zipper of my skirt and pulls it down. I lift my ass up so he can get it off. The ripped up remains of my panties go next.

It feels so good to be able to spread my legs.

A fingertip teases my slit.

“Mmmm. You're so wet,” he murmurs, sounding pleased.

I nod and writhe.

I'm wet. I'm ready.

Now would he freaking get to business and stop teasing me?

That finger pushes into my entry. It's a shallow invasion but I nearly cum. My stomach clenches so tight my muscles cramp. I suck in air like a marathon runner sprinting the whole twenty-something miles. My head spins. Colors swirl behind my closed eyelids.

I'm bare from the waist down. In front of a man I barely know. And I don't give a damn. Fuck waiting for marriage. Look where that's gotten me.

I want this. I want it so badly I'm ready to beg.

He parts my nether lips with his fingers, exposing my clit. His tongue laps at it and I sail to the freaking stars. It's like my fantasy, only better. Whoosh, a blast of nuclear energy blazes through me, igniting every nerve in my body. My pussy spasms. Practically my whole body spasms. In the midst of the powerful orgasm, I feel his finger slide into my clenching channel. It hits the barrier of my innocence then immediately slips out.

“Baby girl. What's this?” he asks.

Oh no
. “Um, there's something I need to tell you. About my past.”