Deliciously Obedient (6 page)

He’d
left her to hang out to dry, hadn’t he? Never his intent—sending
her to Iceland was a hasty move, and one he now regretted. The
undoing of the European operations setup meant that her position was
tenuous at best, and he’d done as much as he could to help her, but
now he’d been completely untethered from technology for over a
week, enjoying going back in time to a childlike state in some ways.
Still a man, he had only that which was in front of him—a newspaper
and the ocean—and now, as he walked steadily toward the shore, he
would hop into a sea kayak and roam the shore for hours, powered only
by his own arms, by his core, by all of the small muscles that made
up the push of his body over the water, of his own volition.

The
brush of a man’s unshaven face startled her, the movement so
unexpected between her thighs that she felt a flush begin not in her
face, nor across her breasts, but in the skin just above her mons,
spreading down and across her hipbones, the feeling illicit and
exhilarating, a moan coming forth from her mouth as the sandpapery
feel of his chin against her lips morphed into a very different feel,
tongue stroking her sensitive, wet self in such a sensual motion she
couldn’t do anything but moan.

Two
strong hands slid under her ass, grasping flesh as if savoring it,
and then—the heat of another body, this one against her chest, two
hands taking in her breasts, a second mouth against her earlobe,
teeth nipping, coarse skin making her shiver as hot breath whispered
her name.

The
tongue on her clit took its time, as if it were lazy and indulgent,
in no hurry to finish its work, choosing instead to linger and love.
An orgasm accelerated from a dull fire to a flaming pillar inside
her, core superheated and body bucking against his mouth.

And
then—one muscled cock inside her, sliding against her slickness as
he plunged in, the room tilting as pleasure exploded through her, the
timing so perfect she tightened and couldn’t ever imagine letting
go as he pumped into her, Lydia suddenly in his lap and controlling
the movement as another body stroked her clit from behind, making a
trail of her juices up to each nipple, using her own wetness to add
the right amount of pinched pain to make her clamp down even more on
the other man’s hardness, her body all rhythm and flow as four
hands claimed her, the man behind her unseen yet known.

Looking
down, her breath hitched with each thrust, the man’s eyes closed,
features blurred and unfocused. And then he opened his eyes.

China
blue.

Turning
sharply, she sought to see the man behind her, the room a faded,
misty, glowing orb around them. No scent but their combined musk, no
sound but their fevered breath, no touch but the clarity of each hand
on her mons, her clit, her ass, her breasts, one hand now holding her
hair over her shoulder, creating a curtain around the man she impaled
herself against, the other man—those eyes.

Sapphires.

Mike
and Mike? Warmth poured over her as wave after tight wave of climax
hit her, waking her—

Waking
her.

Before
she even opened her eyes, the sounds outside told her exactly where
she was: tucked away in one of the guest cabins that her mother had
likely scrambled to set aside for her when she let them know that she
was coming. Keeping her eyes closed, she reached across the rough
sheets, her hip aching on the lumpy mattress. A ray of sunshine shot
through the tiny little window as if aimed directly at her face, and
she turned, squinting one eye, flinching in pain. A deep breath, and
she felt the crisp autumn chill. These cabins were barely heated, and
she and Jeremy, in the passion of the night, had forgotten to turn on
the small ceramic heater that would have fought the elements
valiantly and still lost. Fortunately, the down comforter—she
looked carefully—the
two
down comforters that Sandy had left
for them sufficed through the night. That and body heat, and, of
course, her dream.

With
a start, she began to sit up, then froze. A man’s arms, sprinkled
liberally with dark brown hair, encased her. The air was freezing,
but her body was warm, nether regions throbbing with need.

At
least I’m not sleepsturbating
, she thought, the faintest hint
of a chuckle rumbling in her chest and throat. Jeremy’s steady
breath faltered briefly when she made the silent, self-deprecating
sound. She stilled. He settled back into sleep.

In
future months Lydia would wonder if that dream were a premonition of
sorts, as if her subconscious had been screaming, waving runway
lights and flashing red signals in a desperate effort to get her to
realize what was coming.

Or,
maybe, she just desperately wanted Mike.

The
truth would be found somewhere in between. Kind of like Lydia
herself.

Between
two men.

One
of those men, though, was here. Blissfully here and all male, hot
skin wrapped around her, strong legs pressed against her softer
thighs, chest against her back, her ass sliding against a very stiff
symbol of how he affected her.

Both
subconsciously and very, very consciously.

Lydia
rolled over to face Jeremy, who always looked so rumpled and sweet
every morning. His eyes were closed, long lashes residing against his
cheeks, face serious and contemplative. Careful to keep every spare
inch of skin under the thick down comforter, she slid one arm under
his neck, slinging one leg over his hips.

“
Well,
good morning,” he murmured against her cheek as she peppered his
jawline with kisses. “That’s one hell of a wake-up call. I rather
like this hotel.”

“
Wait
until I pull out the maid uniform,” she whispered, reaching down to
stroke him.

His
groan was a victory she didn’t realize she needed. The force of his
kiss shocked her. How could he go from asleep to on top of her, mouth
bruising hers, tongue exploring without mercy, so quickly?

Don’t
question it
, she told herself.

Enjoy
it.

As
his palm trailed its way to find her wet and wanting, his mouth moved
into a grin of delight, her eyes closed, her lips noting the change
in him.

“
You’re
wet.”

“
You’re
perceptive.”

“
You’re
ready?”

“
You’re
slow.” With that, she altered her leg’s position and centered
herself on his tip, curling her hips out to let him enter her—just
an inch. Not enough.

Never
enough.

Without
breaking their connection, Jeremy hovered over her, the fluidity of
their acting in concert a lover’s dance she knew innately. It
worked, and soon she was filled with him, his arms on either side of
her, biceps bulging with effort that made her swell and moan, knowing
it was all for her.

Her.

The
orgasm was right there, waiting impatiently, tapping its feet and
eager to begin the festivities. Last night their lovemaking had been
slow and generous, sleeping and explorative, with as much time as
they liked and a reconnection from being torn apart by obligations
and her dad’s need to steal Jeremy away and put him through various
litmus tests.

Now?
Now she just wanted to get fucked, and fucked well, and for Jeremy to
drive the dream out of her via cockhammer.

“
You
feel so good,” he rasped; Lydia’s ears perked for the telltale
sign all men release before they come. Their couplings had been so
few since getting together (though copious for such a short time
period), yet this eluded her. She needed more time, more lovemaking,
more—

More.

Unable
to catch his tell, her own climax slammed into her by surprise,
transporting her to ecstasy via first-class upgrade, the sweetness of
this orgasm in this moment so pure and eternal she could love in this
state forever, Jeremy whispering her name until he tensed and poured
into her, friction and passion and adrenaline most welcome
cabinmates.

A
blast of cold air cut her pleasure short as Jeremy arched his back
up, still in her though fading, and planted one kiss on each of her
achingly pert nipples, the peach nubs fused into near steel by the
cold.

“
Are
you crazy?” she squealed, hopelessly flailing to find the cover’s
edge with hands too short to reach. A smack on that beautifully
rock-solid ass was her only defense.

“
Crazy
about you.” With a simple twist and grab he pulled the covers over
them, a shiver that made him fall out of her taking over that
never-ending body, so male and tall and relaxed—a mixed message of
humanity she enjoyed getting to know.

Cuddling
under the covers, they sat in silence, Jeremy blowing puffs of air
that turned to translucent white clouds.

“
Holy
shit. I didn’t realize it was that cold.”

“
October
in Maine. It could snow.” A light punch on the shoulder made him
laugh.

“
If
it snows, does this cabin have a fireplace?”

“
Wood
stove.”

“
Coffee
maker?”

Lydia
pointed to the tiny “kitchen,” a table with a mini-fridge,
microwave and a coffee maker. “Yep. Mom put them in a few years
ago.”

“
Coffee?”
His hopeful tone made her laugh.

“
Something
from the grocery store. I’m sure she stocked a small can.”

“
Then
I have everything I need.” A light kiss on her nose made her heart
swell.

“
No
beer.”

He
pretended to clutch his heart. “Dealbreaker! I’d have to go out
in the snow, then.”

“
You
have to go anyhow. Talent show, remember?”

Propping
up on one elbow, he turned to her, a half-smile stretching his face
from amused to perplexed. “Your dad is really gunning for me to be
in this thing.”

She
couldn’t help it—the laughter came. “He does that to everyone.
Don’t take it personally.”

“
Why
does he want me to eat marshmallows shot out of someone’s nose?”

“
It’s
a litmus test.”

He
cocked one eyebrow.

“
If
it’s too gross, then don’t—”

Jeremy
snorted. “I’ve eaten way worse in Southeast Asia.”

“
Then
a snot-covered marshmallow shouldn’t be too bad.”

“
Will
your brothers promise not to beat me up if I do it?”

“
My
brothers? You’re afraid of them?” she scoffed.

“
Not
afraid, but that Miles…”

“
Miles
is a big baby.”

“
Emphasis
on
big
.”

“
He’s
your size!”

“
That’s
big to me. Iceland freaked me out. You live most of your life
avoiding eye contact on general principle and find it easy because
everyone’s shorter than you. And now you throw not one, but
two
men my size my way…”

“
Wuss.”

“
I
punched a guy out for you! How can I be a wuss?”

He
had her there.

Another
cold blast. Geez, the guy didn’t understand Maine weather. Who
wasted perfectly good body heat like that?

A
guy who’d spent the better part of ten years in the tropics.