Drive Me Wild Read online

  “Fuck yes,” I said, my jaw clenched tight. I watched my cock moving in and out of her mouth and felt heat and power surge through my limbs, and suddenly I was driving in faster, harder, deeper, hitting the back of her throat with every savage thrust. The sounds she made grew louder and more desperate, but I didn’t stop.

  With my hands in her hair, I fucked her mouth like the cruel and vicious villain I was pretending to be—selfishly, ferociously, mercilessly—until my legs seized up and a snarl ripped from my throat and pleasure was unfurling in me and pouring into her in a hot, pulsing stream.

  When I was depleted, I yanked my dick from her mouth and she sat back on her heels, gasping for air. Her face was wet and her mouth was red and raw. Her eyes were closed. For a moment, I thought maybe she was angry. I knew I should have given a warning, but I’d lost control.

  “Are you okay?” I asked.

  At first she said nothing. Then her lips curved into a slow, sensual smile. Her eyes opened. “Now what?”

  Relieved, I helped her to her feet. “Now I’m going to make you come until you don’t even remember that fucking gentleman prince on his white stallion.”

  “You’re going to give me something better to ride?”

  “Exactly.” Backing her against the wall once more, I kissed her hard and deep, sliding my tongue between her lips, stroking hers in a preview of what was ahead. “Now spread your legs, princess. Let me taste you.”

  Dropping to my knees in front of her, I lifted the bottom of her dress, which was surprisingly heavy. To my delight, she wore nothing beneath it. The sight of her bare thighs parted for me fired up my engine all over again.

  Pinning the dress up by her hips, I stroked her with my tongue—long, leisurely sweeps up the center of her pussy that made her writhe and wriggle above me. I lingered at the top, using the tip of my tongue on her hot little button, paying attention to her sighs and moans, learning what she liked best, letting her give me the cue to go faster, to slow down, to flick harder, to lick softer.

  She tasted every bit as good as I’d fantasized—and I made it clear that my appetite for her would not be easily sated.

  At one point, I reached between her thighs and slung a leg over my shoulder, using the new angle to penetrate deeper with my tongue before sucking her swollen clit into my mouth. Her moans grew louder, and she struggled against the restraint on her wrists. Her legs trembled.

  I slipped two fingers inside her, working them the way I knew she liked while devouring her with my mouth.

  “Oh God,” she panted, rocking her hips over my face, “you’re going to make me come. You evil, wicked, terrible, gorgeous—oh!”

  The leg she stood on buckled and I supported her with my shoulder and hand, her back flat against the wall as her core muscles clenched my fingers and her orgasm beat against my tongue. My name fell from her lips, and the caveman urge to get inside her again overtook me.

  Before she could even take a breath, I jumped up, grabbed her by the hips, and swung her toward the bed. Then I spun her around, wrapped an arm around her waist and pushed her forward so her cheek was pressed into the mattress. Her tiara toppled onto the sheets, but her arms were still tied in place, her crossed wrists resting on her back. “Don’t. Move.”

  She stayed still while I grabbed a condom and put it on. Her breath was coming as fast and hard as mine was as I bent down to grab the bottom of her dress.

  That’s when I spotted the other glove. Snatching it off the floor, I decided to put it to good use.

  “Put your feet together,” I told her.

  She brought one foot in next to the other, and I used the second glove to bind them. Then I gathered the dress and lifted it to her hips. Pausing for a moment, I took a little time to appreciate the sight before me—her heels set primly side by side, her legs straight and pale, her perfect round ass like two scoops of vanilla ice cream waiting to be devoured.

  My entire body tensed with anticipation.

  She was here. She was mine. She was perfect.

  She was completely at my mercy.

  And I wanted her more than I’d ever wanted anyone.

  Holding my breath, I slid inside her, battling for control. On her lower back, her fingers flexed repeatedly. Her legs quivered. I wrapped my hands around her hips and held her steady while I set a rhythm against her—slow and deep.

  Her body was hot and tight and wet around my cock, and it took every ounce of strength I had not to slam into her like a wild animal. My fingers dug into her skin. Watching my cock move in and out of her body made every nerve ending in my body feel like a live wire.

  When instinct threatened to take over and tear my self-control to shreds, I reached around and slipped my fingers between her legs. Summoning every last bit of command over my body, I focused on her—holding my cock deep within her while I worked her back into a frenzy with my hand. “Come again for me,” I whispered.

  “No! I won’t let you make me,” she panted.

  I smiled at her determination. “You’re not in control of anything here. Not even your own orgasm.”

  “You’ve already had your way with me. Untie me this minute!”

  “No.” Bracing my other hand on the mattress, I pulled out of her slightly and leaned forward, speaking low in her ear. “You’re going to keep your legs together like a good girl should. You’re going to admit that you want this.”

  “I don’t,” she whimpered, but I could feel her pushing her hips back against me.

  “Tell me you want this, princess. Tell me you love my cock inside you. Tell me you’re going to come because of the way I’m fucking you.”

  She groaned in agony, as if torn between her body and her will. “I hate you for this,” she hissed as I worked my fingers a little faster, eased my cock in deeper, “but fuck, I love your cock inside me.”

  “And?”

  “And I want this.”

  I could feel her body tensing around me. “And?”

  “Sorry, I forgot the other thing,” she whispered, coming out of character. “You have me all—I can’t—oh my God—”

  “You’re going to come because of the way I’m fucking you.” I could barely get the words out myself.

  “Yes!” she shouted, burying her face in the mattress as she tried to buck her hips and take what she wanted. It was the fucking hottest thing I’d ever seen. “Yes . . . yes . . . yes.”

  I couldn’t hold back any longer. With her body still in the throes of climax, I gave in to the instinct to move hard and fast, gripping her hips once more and driving into her with deep, powerful strokes that made her cry out into the bedding. The orgasm tore through my body, making every single muscle clench and shudder with release.

  Afterward, I braced myself on two hands beside her, lowering my forehead to her back.

  “This is where I beg for mercy,” she whispered.

  I felt exactly the same.

  While Blair slept, I lay on my back, hands behind my head, listening to her breathe, her scent still filling my head. I tried to imagine getting up and leaving right now, which is what I’d normally do at this point in the night, and I couldn’t. I tried to imagine letting her get up and leave, and I couldn’t. I wanted to be right next to her, even if all we did was sleep.

  It was really fucking weird.

  For me, sex was always about the release, about letting off steam. It was about working off my frustration with life in a physical way, and it had a definite finish line. It involved someone else’s pleasure, but it was never about the other person. The sex and the person were separate—even I felt removed from it.

  But this thing with Blair was different.

  It was impossible to think about what we’d done and separate it from her, or how I felt about her. It was about physical release, yes, but it was also about wanting to be with her. Share something with her. Give something to her.

  And rather than craving distance when it was over, each encounter left me craving more.

 
I hadn’t been with the same woman two nights in a row since Kayla and I had split.

  Another rule broken.

  And I wasn’t about to suggest she start spending the night anywhere else. But I also knew that this was all I could offer. A temporary break from my rules while she was here. A little relief from the loneliness. A good time.

  But it wasn’t like I was using Blair—I genuinely liked her. She was adorable and funny and smart. She was creative and organized, and completely determined to amp up my business. She really cared. She could talk to anybody, and she lured customers into the shop like a siren lured a sailor. She was irresistible—not just to me, to everyone.

  And maybe for her, I was part of the rebellious streak she was on. Part of the break from her old life—from guys who wore fancy watches and designer suits, guys who had money in the bank, but didn’t have a clue how to please a woman. Maybe this thing with me was what she needed to feel different about herself.

  Or maybe for her it was like fucking the help . . . who knew?

  Besides, it didn’t really matter. In a few weeks, she’d be gone, and things would go back to normal. And as long as she and I were on the same page about what this was, what was the harm in enjoying one another in the meantime?

  She rolled over to face me, tossing an arm and a leg over my body. If it had been any other woman, any other night, I’d have felt uncomfortable and desperate to leave. But because it was Blair, I gathered her in closer, glad when she lifted her head onto my chest.

  It felt right—for now.

  Twelve

  Blair

  I woke up with the sun the next morning. Griffin was still asleep, so I moved as quietly as possible. I managed to slide out of bed, tiptoe to the bathroom and dress without waking him, but before I left the bedroom I couldn’t resist studying him for a moment as he slept.

  He lay on his back, one arm thrown up above his head, the other on his stomach. The blanket was at his waist, revealing his tattooed chest, which never failed to cause a stir inside me. I let my eyes travel the length of him, feeling a secret thrill as I recalled everything from last night.

  Leaning over him, I pressed a light kiss to his jaw. As I straightened up to go, he grabbed my arm. “Trying to escape, princess?”

  I giggled. “Never. I just want to get the scones and shortbread going.”

  “Oh, right. It’s a work day.”

  “Yes. But don’t forget our plans tonight.”

  His brow furrowed. “What plans?”

  “You’re going to take me for a ride in the old truck, remember?”

  “Oh, yeah. I remember now.”

  I smiled at him. “Good. Okay, you have to let go of my arm now, because I have to go bake.”

  “Don’t you want to come back to bed?”

  “Yes, but I can’t. I have to get to work, and you do too.”

  He frowned. “I liked it better when you were trapped in the tower.”

  Laughing, I patted his shoulder. “You can rescue me again later. This morning, we work.”

  It was the perfect day.

  I spent the early morning in a sunlit kitchen, listening to music, chattering away to Bisou in French, and baking one tray of scones and two pans of lemon lavender shortbread.

  Once again, the baked goods were a hit, and a steady stream of people wandered in through the open door to sample a treat, introduce themselves to me, make appointments for maintenance or repairs, and confide that even though they’d tried Swifty Auto last time, it was really just about curiosity and they much preferred to support a local family business. Many of them told stories about Griffin’s dad and grandfather, and it gave me an idea.

  “Hey, do you have any old photos of your dad and grandfather working on cars? Or of you working alongside them?” I asked Griffin over lunch.

  “I’m sure my mom has some. Why?”

  “I think we should blow them up, frame them, and put them on the walls in the lobby. They’ll be a great visual reminder of your family’s history and the garage’s place in the community. And they’re fun to look at,” I said. “People like a glimpse into your personal life.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Tell me about it. How many people congratulated you on our marriage today?”

  “Just a couple,” I said with a laugh. “But don’t worry, I set them straight.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yes. I told them we’re living in sin for now, but you’ve promised to make an honest woman of me sooner or later.”

  He threw a potato chip at me. “Smartass.”

  While we were eating, Cheyenne messaged me contact information for Frannie MacAllister, and I called her right away and left a message, explaining who I was and inquiring if there was any possibility she was hiring at her shop. I left my number with her, and hung up, my heart pounding.

  “I hope she calls me back today,” I said.

  Griffin smiled. “I hope so too. Let me know if you need a letter of recommendation.”

  “From you? What would it say?”

  “Hmm. Organized team player with excellent interpersonal skills. Also an unbelievable fuck.”

  I gasped and threw a chip back at him. “Jerk.”

  But secretly I was glad for the compliment.

  I spent the afternoon scouring Pinterest for lobby makeover ideas, and by four o’clock, I’d ordered new chairs, a rug, two small side tables, and one coffee table. I also called Andy’s girlfriend Lola and chatted with her about a redo of the garage’s website with a new logo, and also asked her if she might be willing to set up some social media accounts.

  “It will be best if they’re all branded the same, and they’ll need good graphics,” I said. “Although finding someone to keep them updated around here might be a chore.”

  “You know, Andy would be great for that,” Lola said. “He’s really good with a camera. Photography is a hobby of his. I bet he could come up with content.”

  “Really?”

  “Sure. If you want, I’ll talk to him about it.”

  “That’s perfect. Thanks!”

  Lola said she’d get back to me within a week, and we hung up. Sitting there studying the walls for a moment, I decided the grungy pale green color had to go, so after securing Griffin’s permission to wander away from the desk, I walked over to the hardware store I’d seen on my way to the market. Turned out the store was owned by the Frankel family, and Charlie Frankel was delighted to help me.

  “I was at work this morning, otherwise I’d have come in for breakfast again,” he said, smoothing the wayward tufts of white hair on his head. “I retired years ago, but now that I’m widowed, I’ve got a little too much time on my hands. My sons run the place, but I like to come in a few times a week and make sure they’re doing things right.”

  I smiled. “Well, I’m very glad to see you, and I bet you’ll be able to help me. I’m going to repaint the lobby at the garage, but I have no idea what I’ll need.”

  He nodded enthusiastically. “Sure, sure. I can get you all set up. What color?”

  “I was thinking about a nice clean white.”

  “No problem,” he said. “Are you enjoying life in Bellamy Creek?”

  “I really am.”

  “My family has been here for six generations.”

  “That’s incredible,” I said.

  “My great-great-grandfather built a log cabin here back in the 1830s and started a sawmill. And my grandfather built one of the first homes on Center Avenue in what’s now the Historic District. Have you been over there yet?”

  “No, I haven’t had a chance, but now you’ve piqued my interest.”

  “Number 910. That’s our house.” The happy expression on his face turned a little wistful. “Betty and I had a lot of good years there. Raised four boys.”

  “I’ll definitely check it out. I love old homes.”

  “Terrific! Would you like to come for iced tea sometime? After I retired, Betty and I used to have tea and apple pie on the porch eve
ry afternoon. I sometimes have it alone now, but it’s not the same without someone to talk with. My kids and grandkids visit, but they’re all so busy . . .” His voice trailed off, his smile fading.

  My heart went out to him. “I’d love to come visit. And I’ll bring you an apple pie.”

  He took my arm. “You’re a good girl. Now let’s get you some paint.”

  With Mr. Frankel’s help, I chose a shade called White Dove, then I called Griffin to ask what other supplies we’d need to get the job done this weekend. I didn’t want to purchase anything he already had.

  “We’re repainting the lobby this weekend?” he asked, clearly surprised.

  “Yes. Do you have painter’s tape?” I inquired, looking at the shelves in front of me.

  “Yes. And brushes, trays and rollers somewhere. But grab a couple liners and also some caulk.”

  “Caulk? I don’t know what that is, but okay.”

  Griffin laughed. “Frankel will know. And tell him to put it on my tab.”

  “Okay.”

  “How are you going to get everything back here?” Griffin asked. “Should I come get you?”

  “He was going to have it all delivered.”

  “I’ll come get you. Sit tight, I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

  “Perfect.” I smiled. “Oh, by the way, Mr. Frankel says he’ll give us a ten percent discount as a wedding gift.”

  Griffin exhaled audibly. “I give up. Tell him thanks.”

  We unloaded the paint and supplies in the lobby and locked the front door. Griffin said he still had some things to do, so while he finished up work, I walked over to the Maple Street Market and bought groceries for the picnic I was planning for tonight.

  I had just unpacked the bags when my cell phone rang—it was Frannie MacAllister.

  Saying a quick prayer, I answered it. “Hello?”

  “Hi, is this Blair?”