Hitched (Imperfect Love Book 2) (9 page)

Chapter Nine

Noah

 

The conversation with Olivia at work today is still ringing through my ears when I make it home just before five. I skipped out on my last meeting, asking my assistant to cover for me, because I know Olivia will be expecting sex tonight. And I know I need to figure out a way to tell her everything. The contract. The bouncing baby we’re supposed to make.

She thought I was scared of having sex because I was worried about feeling something for her. But she’s wrong. I already feel a lot for her. I always have.

She was adamant.
Tonight. Sex. Period.
Even picked up some condoms. What the fuck am I going to do? Fake a latex allergy? No way in hell will she buy that. It’s such a stupid idea; I can’t even believe I’m thinking it. I’m so rattled, so panicked, all sorts of crazy shit is pouring through my head.

I kick off my shoes and stow them in the small entry closet. Loosening my tie, I head into the bathroom, where I stare at my reflection.

When I signed those papers, it seemed like the right thing to do. Save the company?
Check
. Get a shot with the woman I’ve always dreamed about?
Check
. And make a baby? No problem, right? But now that this is all happening, it’s become
real
, and I’m fucking losing it. Losing my edge.

Just over a week into our marriage and I’m already the world’s worst husband. Rosita was right about the dark circles under my eyes. I look like hell. I splash some cool water on my cheeks, hoping it might help. No such luck. I still look confused and tired and scared.

Well, fuck that. I straighten my shoulders. That’s not me. I’m not some wimpy little boy who’s too afraid to take care of his woman. And that’s what this is, isn’t it? Olivia has needs. And I’m supposed to be the one to take care of those needs.

I have two choices when Olivia gets home tonight. I can come clean with everything, tell her about the heir clause, show her the section in the contract she missed. Or . . . I can keep my fucking trap shut and go along with what she wants. No-strings sex.

We’re just beginning to click. She’s just beginning to trust me. If I fuck her tonight and she enjoys herself—which I have no doubts she will—that’s a big step toward bringing us closer as a couple. And isn’t that what we need if we really are to parent together? I think that’s what Rosita was trying to say today, that Olivia and I need to enjoy ourselves. We’re in our honeymoon stage of marriage, after all. Baby-making can come later. After our relationship is strong enough that the heir discussion won’t bring it crashing down around us.

If safe sex is what she wants, with condoms galore, I’ll do it. If I don’t, I’ll arouse her suspicions. What choice do I have? The only thing I can do for now is buy more time to think. I just need to shut up and do my husbandly duty until I can figure out the best way to broach the topic of babies with her.

Glancing one last time in the mirror, I exhale a deep breath.
Just go with it, man.
This can be good for both of us. It can be the start of something real. For now, my wife wants to be fuck buddies, and I’m sure as hell not turning my nose up at
that
opportunity.

I head into the kitchen and start pulling ingredients out of the fridge to make dinner. I don’t know how to make many dishes, but there are still a few Mum taught me that I remember.

Now that I’m in the kitchen, with the soft sizzle of the sauté pan to keep me company, my deception doesn’t seem quite the earth-shattering catastrophe I thought it was going to be. I’m not a coward, not really
lying
. I’m just being thoughtful—taking care to choose the right moment to bring up a sensitive topic.

I work efficiently, chopping and dicing as I wait for my wife to get home from work. It all feels so normal, so utterly mundane.

My phone chimes, and I see there’s a new text from Olivia.

 

Olivia
: I’m on my way home. Everything still on plan for tonight? Because we’re totally going to fuck. Right, Mr. Tate?

 

Reading her dirty words sends a little thrill racing through me. With my heart kicking up speed, I reply.

 

Noah
: Absolutely. I’m down if you are.

Olivia
: It’s time to put up or shut up. Time to get with the program. And from what I can tell, it’s a big program. ;)

Noah
: See you soon, wifey.

 

I chuckle and set the phone aside to finish dinner.

What the hell was I freaking out about?

This is going to be fun.

Chapter Ten

Olivia

 

The smell of fish, lemon, and fresh green herbs greets me when I come home. Stepping into the apartment, I inhale deeply and my stomach growls. I quickly take off my work flats so I can check out the kitchen.

I walk in just in time to see Noah bending over to pull a pan of roasted salmon filet and asparagus out of the oven. When he looks over his shoulder at the sound of my footsteps, I try to pretend that I was staring at the food and not his ass.

“Hey, Snowflake, great timing.”

“That looks amazing.” I swear I just mean the dinner when I say that. “I didn’t know you could cook.”

With a chuckle, Noah sets the full pan on the counter and turns to pull plates from the cupboard. “Wait until you taste it before you get too excited. I learned how to make baked fish from Mum, and the vegetables and rice from the Internet.” He points at a glass dish full of steaming pilaf that I hadn’t noticed before.

“Well, it looks good,” I chirp, then immediately remember I already said that. Goddammit. I might be freaking out a tiny little bit. I want this, I really do . . . but it’s still nerve-racking.

And my butterflies only get worse when Noah glances at me with a catlike half smile, full of sinful promise. “I thought we should ease into things before . . .” He lets his words trail off.

My mind jumps ahead to where he’ll be “easing into” later tonight. My stomach jumps with it, and almost without realizing, I wet my lips. Then I yank my eyes away from his.

“I, um, I guess I’ll get the drinks,” I stammer, sweeping past him with more bustle than strictly necessary.

I find a bottle of chardonnay chilling in the fridge, pour two glasses full, and get the silverware while Noah plates the food. Once the table is set, we take our first bites . . . and a quiet moan of pleasure escapes me.

Our dinner is just as delicious as it looked and smelled. The salmon filets and asparagus are fresh, fork-tender, and lightly seasoned with salt, pepper, and olive oil. The lemon-herb rice perfectly rounds out the meal with its fragrant fluffiness.

“I take it I’ve earned your seal of approval,” Noah teases. “I hope I can hear that sound again later tonight.”

I flush slightly, but I’m in too good a mood to tell him to shut up. Teasing him back, however, is something I can manage. “What was with all your false modesty earlier? ‘Oh, it might suck, just bear with me . . .’”

He laughs. “I never said it like that. For your information, I
do
like to cook—I just don’t usually take the time. And I haven’t mastered many recipes. A real man accepts his limitations.”

“Evidently a real man also talks in third person.” I grin at him. Then my tone sobers. “So, you’re still feeling okay? Not sick at all?”

What I’m really asking is
are you ready for sex?
Just without actually having to say that big S-word. And maybe I’m also apologizing for acting like a bitch earlier today, without actually having to say the other big S-word.

He pauses, then gives me a firm nod. “Never better. So I’m still on if you are.”

Did his smile slip a tiny bit, or am I just imagining things? I knock back a mouthful of wine to stop myself from overthinking. Tonight is for my body, not my mind.
If he says he’s ready to go . . .
I chase the butterflies in my stomach with another bite of rich salmon.

When our plates are empty, Noah suggests, “How about we have another glass of wine?”

So I guess we’re not jumping straight into bed
. I’m torn between relief and impatience. “S-sure, that sounds nice,” I reply.

We refill our glasses and move to the living room. But when we sit down on the couch, Noah doesn’t touch his drink. He sets it on the coffee table—and rests his hand on mine. I look up to see his expression has turned predatory.

And just like that, everything changes. The atmosphere, already flirtatious before, darkens and thickens like the air before a thunderstorm.

“Did I ever tell you how hot you look in your office clothes?” he purrs. “Well, really, you look hot in everything . . . and I’m sure you’ll look even better in nothing at all.” He gives me a lustful smirk. “But we’ll get around to that soon enough. Anyway, as I was saying, those clothes are so prim and proper that seeing you at work always gives me . . . ideas.”

Fuck, that voice should be illegal. I swallow hard and put down my wineglass before I spill it all over the carpet.

“L-like what?”

“Like kneeling under your desk, my face between your legs, doing my best to distract you while you’re on an important phone call.” His finger traces over the back of my hand, following the path his tongue would take in his fantasy. “And then, when you make it through the whole call without blowing our cover, you get your reward. I pick you up and fuck you on your desk. Skirt rucked up around your hips, panties pulled aside, blouse open so I can feel your luscious tits pressed against my chest . . .”

I’m speechless. By how hot my face feels, I’m probably also red as a tomato.

Noah continues. “People say only women are attracted to power. That’s bullshit. Men are too . . . most of them are just scared of powerful women. But not me.” He tightens his grip on my hand and pulls it down to cup his huge, hard bulge, showing me how true his words are. “Rest assured, Snowflake, I’m not going to stop tonight. Not until you’re satisfied.”

My reply dissolves into a moan as he kisses me hard.

His hand cradles my head, his fingers tangled in my hair, gripping firmly, guiding me where he wants. Where we both want. His other hand caresses me, stroking a long line from my jaw down my neck and then back again. A slow, firm petting that’s meant to relax me, open me up to his touches. And it works. Soon I’m melting into him.

As if he can sense the exact moment I’m ready, his fingers drift down to undo my blouse. One button after the other slips free, the pace so leisurely I almost start to squirm. Not wanting him to break our kiss, even just a pause, even to undress me, I wriggle out of my blouse myself. I feel his mouth curve into a small, smug smile against my lips.

His touches transform from soothing into stimulating—teasing the sensitive spot just under my ear, tracing the dip of my spine all the way from my nape to the small of my back. My breath hitches in anticipation every time his fingers bump over the clasp of my bra, wondering if
now
is when he’ll undo it. But only when I arch against him does he finally move.

With a single deft movement of his fingers, my band goes slack. My cheeks flush hot and I suppress a tiny squeak of surprise.
Jeez . . . I know he’s had a lot of practice with undressing women, but even I can’t take off my bra one-handed.

Noah pulls back to draw the straps down my shoulders, drinking in the sight of my breasts as they’re slowly revealed. I shiver, feeling his eyes on me like a physical caress. I’m still wearing my skirt and pantyhose, but Noah’s hungry gaze makes me feel so exposed. In a strangely good way, though—not vulnerable or weak. Like he’s seeing the real me, undisguised, and I’m the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. The only woman in his world.

Almost worshipfully, he bends his head to kiss my nipple. I suck in my breath; even that light touch zips through me like a static shock. Encouraged, he mouths it again, wetter this time, his lips sliding over the stiffening nub, shooting sparks straight to my clit. I let out a soft, husky moan when he starts sucking and licking—then another when he cups my other breast in one large hand and pinches the nipple.

“W-wait, time out,” I gasp. “You’re still . . . shirt . . . not fair . . .” It’s damn near impossible to string together a sentence under this onslaught.

Smirking, Noah backs off. I take the opportunity to catch my breath while he pulls his shirt over his head and drops it on the floor next to mine.

“You want to take this to the bedroom?” he asks.

I nod emphatically, glad that he saved me the effort of saying it out loud. I want him so badly, my whole body is thrumming.

He takes my hand and leads me down the hall. He sits on the bed, with me standing between his knees, and leans forward to wrap his arms around my waist. As his hands work on unzipping my pencil skirt, his mouth resumes its assault on my breasts. I breathe hard, clutching at his shoulders to keep my balance.

At last the black twill pools on the floor and I step out of it, further into his embrace. Noah’s erection brushes my lower thigh. Feeling bold, I push my knee forward to rub against it, and I’m rewarded with a stifled groan. Then it’s my turn to groan when Noah cups my crotch firmly.

“Damn,” he growls, “you’ve soaked right through your panties, Snowflake. I could probably get you off right now, just like this.”

Suddenly I’m flipped onto my back on the bed, Noah looming over me. “But I won’t,” he continues. “Because we both know what tonight is about. Some good old-fashioned
fucking
.” One finger trails from my collarbone between my breasts, all the way down my body, leaving goosebumps in its wake. I bite my lip as his fingertip ghosts over my pussy lips through the damp fabric of my panties.

He grins like a wolf. “However, we do need to get you nice and wet first.”

And with that, before I can say anything, Noah pulls off my panties and dives in. A wild keening cry bursts from my throat. His tongue writhes against my swollen clit and I can barely catch my breath, let alone keep quiet. Jesus, the boy eats pussy like he’s dying of thirst. His long, thick finger pushes inside me and curls up and
holy shit, do that again!
My fingers tighten in his hair, shoving his face against my pussy until he probably can’t breathe, but I don’t care, I can’t stop, it’s too much and my muscles have locked all on their own.

His finger withdraws, only to return with reinforcements. Little desperate noises escape me as Noah licks my clit and scissors his index and middle fingers deep inside me. I’m actually trembling, and it’s not just from the overpowering sensation. I know why he’s putting so much effort into preparing me. I’ve seen his enormous cock before—and it’s been a long damn time since I’ve had anything at all inside me. So I’m going to need all the lubrication and stretching I can get.

A thrill runs down my spine, one part nervousness to ten parts excitement. My stomach clenches with anticipation. I’m so ready for this, for
him
, I feel like I’m on fire. Panting aloud, I quiver and clench around his fingers.
Almost there, almost . . .

Until the son of a bitch pulls back. “Not yet,” he teases.

I almost give him a dirty look for stopping. But I know what’s next, and I want to come with him inside me. I nod at him in speechless eagerness as he quickly sheds his pants and boxers, then takes a condom from his nightstand drawer and rolls it on.

Wait, this picture seems wrong. I try to gather my lust-fogged thoughts. He had condoms all along—last night too? Then why did he stop when I mentioned them? And why did I have to go to the drugstore this morning?

But my thoughts dissolve as he starts easing his cock into me. My breath hitches; he’s so thick and it’s been such a long time, even the first inch stings a little.

“Wait,” I gasp, and he immediately freezes.

“You okay there?”

“Y-yeah,” I reply. “Keep going. Just . . . go slow.” No way in hell do I want him to stop now. I don’t care where the condoms came from, so long as we can just
fuck
already.

Bit by bit, he works his way inside me, pausing whenever I tense up. “Good girl. You’re doing so good,” he murmurs.

His voice is strained; I’m sure from holding himself back. He looks incredibly sexy poised over me, with his lips parted and those veins standing out in his tensed forearms.

Just when I feel like I can’t take any more, at last he bottoms out. I’m already damp with sweat. The feeling of fullness is breathtaking, a slightly burning stretch that balances on a knife edge between pleasure and pain.

He starts withdrawing again, then pushes back in, just as slowly as before. But I’m ready for the real thing now. I dig my heels into his lower back to urge him on.

His eyes light up. “Oh, that’s how it is?”

I moan in response, because forming actual words when he’s so deep inside me just isn’t possible.

“You’re ready to be fucked hard now?” He slowly pulls out, almost all the way—then snaps his hips forward.

My mouth falls open in a silent cry. He rocks back and slams in again and again, finally fucking me in earnest. Bliss crashes through me with every sharp thrust, each wave coming right on the heels of the last, keeping me afloat, drowned, overwhelmed. I’m dizzy with pleasure. It’s so intense I can’t think or breathe or do anything but whimper.

“Damn, baby, you feel amazing,” Noah groans. “I’ve wanted this for so long. I used to jerk off every night thinking about you . . . wanted to bury my cock in you, make you scream my name. You made me come so fucking hard.”

His voice is ragged with need. I feel a thrill at the idea that I’ve driven him so wild, made him lose all his control. Noah Tate, the man who can have any woman he wants, has waited years just for me.

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