Sweet Talker Read online

  “So, after Vegas I don’t open another restaurant for a while. It’s not as if I have to. I’d rather spend my free time on something new.”

  She thinks on that before saying, “I do like this plan of yours; however, a child isn’t something you play with and then discard when the newness wears off. Or leave when things get too hard or too real. Rylee just lost the most important man in her life and if I introduce you two, it has to be done slowly and at her level of comfort.”

  “When you introduce us, I promise to go at her pace.”

  “You have to be 100 percent sure.”

  “I am.” I cup her cheek in my hand. “Nothing ventured, nothing gained, and you’ve always been my greatest adventure.”

  She leans into my palm. “Okay.”

  Okay. She said okay! “How much longer do I have you for this morning?”

  “I don’t know. An hour or so.”

  “I can work with that.” I take her hand in mine and lead her upstairs to my bedroom. That she doesn’t protest or say anything tells me I’ve got the green light to keep going. I close the door behind us then give her a moment to take in the space and make sure she really wants to be here. Natural light fills the room through the uncovered windows and hinged glass patio door.

  She looks around the large open space minimally decorated in shades of blue and gray. Framed black-and-white photographs of architecture are on the walls, a king-size platform bed takes up one side of the room. She takes a seat at the foot of it and my heart rate kicks up a notch.

  “I need a quick shower. Feel free to make yourself comfortable.”

  She smiles up at me.

  It’s sexy and cute and I almost ditch the shower but I’ve got sand in my shoes and I sweated some while on the beach. I leave the door to the bathroom slightly ajar, toss my clothes in the laundry basket in the corner, and turn on the water in the shower. It heats up instantly. I’m soaping up my body when I hear a noise outside the enclosure.

  I turn as the glass door opens and Callie steps in.

  Holy hell.

  I don’t know where to look first. I settle on her face, trying to be a gentleman, but then I realize there is nothing decent about her entering my shower—and zeroing in on my dick—so I drop my gaze first to her round, generous tits. Her nipples are rigid and pointing right at me and I can’t wait to have them in my mouth.

  Continuing south, her stomach is flat with slight definition. The landing strip between her legs is a shade darker than the chestnut hair on her head.

  She stands just inside the closed door and watches the soap slide down my body. (I have a big-ass shower and a good four feet separates us.) I love the feel of her eyes on me. She knows this because a certain part of me is on the rise. She grins. At it. Not me.

  The years since I’ve seen her naked have been good to her body. I lusted after her nubile nineteen-year-old curves, and while she’s leaner and more muscular now, I’m still inundated with desire that burns.

  “I thought I’d join you,” she says.

  “I can see that.”

  “Want me to wash your back?”

  I want to drive my cock into her, but she took the initiative here so I’ll see where this goes. Pascale is a planner. She doesn’t do anything without thinking a step ahead. I hand her the soap then give her my back.

  Much to my dismay, she rubs the bar across my skin, rather than use her hands. She’s methodical, gliding the bar left to right, back and forth, from the top of my back to my waistline. When she dips a little lower to the top of my ass, I shiver.

  “Oops.” The soap slips out of her hand and lands on the tiled floor.

  I smile.

  Soap-free, her palms finally coast over my body, covering my entire back before resting on my waist to turn me around. She drops to her knees.

  I brace myself for impact, that step ahead I mentioned about to reveal itself.

  Her breath feathers over my aching flesh, increasing the temperature in here by a million degrees. She places painstakingly soft and slow kisses just below my navel, and follows the happy trail lower. When she gets to the base of my cock where there’s a bit more hair, she tugs slightly with her teeth. The sensation is mind-boggling.

  “Jesus,” I say, slamming one hand on the shower wall to keep my balance. “Don’t stop.”

  She doesn’t even pause, not for a second. She strokes up and down my shaft while torturing me with her lips and teeth. I’m in danger of blowing before I even get inside her mouth. “Callie,” I groan, curving my free hand around the back of her head to help guide her where I need her most.

  The first touch of her tongue to my dick is electric. In tandem with her hand it’s even more so. She flicks her tongue along the underside of the tip, drops kisses, flicks. Kisses. She’s in no rush for this to end and that in itself has me closer to the finish line.

  “I love how hard you are,” she says.

  “Me, too.”

  “How big. I should find out how well you’ll fit.” She hollows out her cheeks, and just like that sucks me deep. Slides from base to tip, up, down, up down. Jesus. Her mouth is warm. Wet. She works me over while her hands wander from my inner thighs to my ass, to my balls. I can’t pinpoint one place, I feel sensations everywhere at once.

  I do my best to remain well mannered, but I can’t stop my hips from thrusting against her chin. Pressure builds at the base of my spine. My blood is pumping. I give her fair warning but she doesn’t let up. One more pump and I empty inside her mouth. She swallows every last drop before releasing me with a pop and leaning back on her haunches.

  She looks up at me with a simper of satisfaction.

  It takes me a minute to catch my breath, but when I do I say, “Your turn.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  In His Kiss

  Pascale

  Ethan is hotter than a three-alarm fire in the Mojave Desert in the middle of July. In case you were wondering.

  Naked and wet and hard as steel was a sight to be seen.

  But watching him kiss his way up my naked body, his eyes on mine and sparkling like rare shining jewels, is next-level. My elbows give out and I drop back onto his bed with a ridiculous grin pointed at the vaulted ceiling.

  He kisses behind my knee. “We’re going to count down my favorite spots,” he says. “This is number nine.”

  I giggle. “You’re starting with nine?”

  “Ten was the top of your foot, but I forgot to tell you.”

  “Oh, okay.” Consider me all smiles from here on out. To be in this position with Ethan this morning is so much more than I imagined when I left my house earlier.

  His mouth tracks up the inside of my thigh. “This beauty mark right here is number eight.” He kisses the mole I’ve had since I was a little girl. Stubble lines his jaw and circles his noticeable lips, and the slight abrasion is a sweet sting in combination with the gentle brushes from his mouth.

  He lifts up on his elbows so I can see his face from my position. His eyes rake over the juncture between my legs before sliding over to my hip. “This is number seven.” He kisses the crease where my thigh meets my torso. “The place where your long legs meet your strong upper body.”

  I’m tingly and melty and have no idea how I’m going to survive this countdown without begging him to come inside me.

  “Right here is number six.” He kisses the curve of my waist. It tickles so I wiggle, earning me dimples that somehow make my nipples even harder than they already are. He notices. “Number five is definitely these beauties.” He takes my nipple between his teeth and tugs.

  I press my hands into the bed and arch my back.

  He devotes himself to my boobs, alternating between them, using his tongue and lips and fingers. His erection rubs against my thigh and I part my legs, hoping to feel him against my core. I ache all over when he lifts his mouth away.

  “By the way, these are in no particular order,” he says.

  “Thank you for clarifying.”

/>   “Next on the list is this spot here.” He nuzzles the side of my neck.

  I turn my head to give him full access and close my eyes. Pleasure sparks down my spine. We were always good at foreplay when we wanted to be. There were times when I urgently needed him inside me, my thoughts on him all day while I worked my shift at the restaurant. But other times we’d relish the anticipation, like we are right now. I’m happy to see that hasn’t changed.

  “Number three is…” He hovers over my mouth then pitches to his left. “Behind your right ear.” He kisses the back of my earlobe and I feel it between my legs.

  I’m beyond primed for the main event.

  Beyond ready for Ethan to sink inside me and bury the years we’ve spent apart. “Ethan,” I whisper-plea.

  “I think you’re going to love number two,” he says, sliding back down my body and putting his mouth where I’m wet and needy.

  “I do,” I croon as I buck against his face. I cradle the back of his head and practically pull his hair to keep him firmly in place. His tongue is fast and loose then slow and steady. I’m on the edge the entire time he tastes me like I’m his favorite food. He makes me feel unbelievably good and sexy and unguarded. I spread my legs wider and dig my heels into the mattress.

  “God, Ethan,” I murmur. “Right there. Right there. Right there!” And that’s it. I come so hard I see twinkling lights behind my eyelids, but Ethan doesn’t let up. He licks and sucks and pulls another orgasm out of me. My heart pounds in my ears. From head to toe, my body quivers.

  I’m vaguely aware of a packet being ripped open as I float back down to Earth.

  “Number one,” Ethan whispers, his body now lined up with mine as he braces himself on one elbow while his other arm reaches between us. “Is your sexy, smart, passionate mouth.” He claims said mouth at the same time his fingers part me and with one thrust he slides home.

  I taste myself on his tongue.

  I feel every inch of his length and width with brilliant pressure.

  We move together, our hips and our mouths in perfect sync. The smell of sex fills the room. Ethan lifts my leg, bending it at the knee. He drives deeper. Kisses harder. Our lovemaking isn’t gentle. It’s intense and fiery. It’s rescuing the love we once shared and bringing it into this room now. To exploit or extinguish, I’m not sure, but I am sure I’m falling for him all over again.

  He lavishes kisses on my neck and behind my ear. I not-so-softly rake my fingernails down his back.

  “You feel so good,” he murmurs.

  “You, too.”

  “My memory didn’t do it justice,” he adds before he kisses me again. Nibbles on my bottom lip, licks the roof of my mouth, basically makes me forget every other kiss before this one. When my lips feel impossibly swollen from his attention, he lifts his head.

  Our eyes connect.

  The affection in those blue depths of his, combined with the vigorous way he rocks against me is too much and my lids flutter shut as I experience my third orgasm, this one more intense than the other two. I pant through my release, Ethan wringing every last tremor from me with the way he drives in and out of my body.

  I open my eyes. For several intense seconds our gazes stay locked on one another. He breaks the connection when his orgasm hits, squeezing his eyes shut and pumping into me one more time before his body stills.

  We hold the position until he collapses beside me. “Don’t move,” he says.

  Moving seems impossible at the moment, so no problem there. I watch his very fine backside as he walks to the bathroom. I watch his very fine frontside on the return. He lies on his back, tucks me under his arm, and brings me close. I lay my head on his shoulder, drape my arm over his stomach. I wish we could stay like this all day.

  “Best Monday morning ever,” he says.

  “Ehh,” I reply.

  He tickles my side. “Want to try that again?”

  “Ehh,” I say through giggles. His tickling intensifies and I full-on laugh before getting out, “Okay, okay, best Monday ever.”

  Appeased, he kisses the top of my head. These glimpses at Ethan’s vulnerable side have my heart stretching for his.

  “I’m sorry,” I say with sincerity. The apology is out of the blue, but long overdue.

  “For what?”

  “For leaving Maui without saying goodbye.”

  His body stiffens ever so slightly. Someone without my training in body language probably wouldn’t have noticed.

  “I’ve never apologized for the way I took off and I truly am sorry I hurt you. It wasn’t my intention.”

  “Apology accepted. You’re not telling me this now because you plan to walk out my door and never come back are you?”

  “No.”

  “Good. Because I’m not letting you walk away again, and it would be bad form to hold you against your will,” he teases.

  Only a part of me thinks he’s joking.

  Oh, boy.

  *

  The last time I played at the park was with Rylee almost a year ago. She’s my park girl. My little daredevil in a blue dress and leggings who thinks the monkey bars are for hanging upside down and the swings are for flying off of. Today, the SoCal sun is shining and a slight breeze has sent the clouds away. The scent of saltwater and fresh-cut grass hangs in the air.

  We slide down the side-by-side slides for the fifth time. “Again!” she says, running to the stairs to climb up the play structure. I follow behind, we cross over the bridge, and then sit on our bottoms at the tops of the slides. “Ready, set, go!” she shouts and once again we slide to the bottom.

  She doesn’t demand more this time, instead stopping to watch a young boy playing in the sand with toy trucks. Rylee looks over her shoulder at me. Back to the boy. Back to me. “Go ahead,” I tell her, urging her to say hello. Before, back in Seattle, she had no trouble making friends and loved to play with other kids.

  Rylee sits down beside the boy. She doesn’t say anything; she just waits. After a minute, the boy pushes one of his trucks toward her. I look around and see a woman sitting on a bench watching them. I assume it’s his mom and give a little wave in acknowledgment. She waves back.

  Behind the woman, walking with purpose toward me, is Ethan. In charcoal dress slacks and a light blue button-down, he makes my heart pitter-patter. I glance at my watch. He’s right on time.

  Excitement mingles with hope as I meet him halfway. We picked neutral ground for me to introduce him to Rylee for the first time.

  “Hi,” I say.

  “Hi.” He wraps an arm around my waist and kisses me soundly on the lips.

  I quickly pull back. “Ethan.”

  “What? Forty-eight hours is too long to go without that mouth.”

  God, he makes it hard to complain about anything he does. I glance over at Rylee. I’m not surprised she’s watching us. As much as I keep my eyes on her, she does the same to me. “I’m not sure how to introduce you to Rylee yet, and I don’t want her worried about not having my attention.”

  “Got it. But it seems to me if we start out being affectionate with each other then she’ll understand that’s how it is. I’m not here to take you away. But I am here to show her that you matter to me.”

  Sigh. “Point taken.” The truth is I’m grateful to have his support. I don’t have much of a head start on my relationship with Rylee and I promised myself I’d be honest with her about everything. That includes my personal life, doesn’t it? Even if that life comes with a certain gorgeous six-foot-one risk.

  “Hey,” he says, taking my chin between his thumb and finger. “I’m not here to stress you out so I’ll do my best to rein in this insatiable desire to kiss you.”

  “Thank you. Come on, let’s sit.” We park ourselves on a bench close to where Rylee is playing. I think it’s best if she comes to us when she’s ready rather than me bring Ethan to her the minute he gets here. “That’s her there,” I tell him nodding in her direction.

  “The adorable curly-haire
d girl who’s eyeing me up and down like I’m Big Bird?”

  “I’d peg you more as Cookie Monster.”

  “No way.”

  “Big Bird might be the most recognizable, but who doesn’t lo—like cookies?”

  He turns his head so we’re practically nose-to-nose. “So, everyone likes me, huh? I’d say we’ve got this in the bag then.”

  “Pascallie?”

  At the sound of Rylee’s sweet, soft voice, I quickly twist to face her. “Hi, sweetie.” I lift her onto my lap. She’s a tiny little thing, but bravely faces Ethan as she wiggles her bottom into a comfortable position.

  “Hi, Rylee. I’m Ethan.”

  Rylee just stares at him, her forehead creased in concentration. She’s definitely still sizing him up.

  “It’s very nice to meet you,” he says. “Pascale has told me a lot about you.”

  She continues to give him nothing. To his credit his expression remains warm and friendly. All while my heart sinks to my knees.

  A man riding a bicycle cart with a red striped umbrella peddles by us on the bike path. He rings some bells, drawing Rylee’s attention. On the side of his cart are different pictures of ice cream.

  “Do you like ice cream?” she asks Ethan.

  “I do,” he says.

  Oh my God, she’s good. Angling for Ethan to buy her an ice cream before she’s even given him the courtesy of a hello. We’re going to need to work on that.

  “Should we flag him down?” Ethan asks. “If it’s okay with Pascale, I’d love to buy you an ice cream.”

  “Is it okay?” She raises her eyebrows.

  It’s not even lunchtime yet, but if this gets her and Ethan over this awkward first-meet hump, then I’m all for it. “Sure.”

  Rylee scrambles off my lap and runs to the man and his ice cream cart with a wave of her arm to stop him.

  “I think she just played me,” Ethan says as we follow close behind.

  “She totally did.”

  “What’s the best one?” Rylee is asking the traveling peddler when Ethan and I reach her.

  The older man gives her some suggestions. She does the cutest thing and puts her hand under her chin like she’s deep in thought. I completely understand. Picking only one type of ice cream is a difficult decision. A wave of nostalgia hits me. I remember being young and running down the street to catch the ice cream truck before it left our neighborhood. I could never decide between a Push-Up Pop and a Chocolate Crunch Bar.