Cherish Hard
Page 50
The untamed eroticism of him took her to the edge. “Anything you want,” she said, her chest rising and falling in a ragged rhythm. “Slow, deep, fast, I don’t care. Just keep going. I love how thick and hard you feel inside me.”
“You are going to kill me,” he said with a groan before pressing the pad of his thumb against the taut bud of her clitoris.
Ísa’s body spasmed in an intense pulse that would’ve had her falling to her back if Sailor hadn’t hauled her against him.
“Next time,” he gasped in her ear as he pumped into her with relentless force, “we have to remember to move the cactus.”
Ísa’s shoulders shook even as her body clamped ever tighter around him. She’d never thought she’d laugh during an orgasm, but she did and it was glorious. Especially when she lifted her head and saw that Sailor was grinning.
Limbs lazy in the aftermath of the orgasm, Ísa decided to even the playing field. Leaning forward, she scraped her teeth down the flat nub of his nipple.
His groan of completion was harsh, his fingers digging into her thigh.
28
Lovefests, Face Slapping, and Strawberry Chocolates
THE REST OF THE WEEK passed by at the speed of light for Sailor as he dove into the Fast Organic project in earnest. He barely took a break and Ísa didn’t have time to come by the site, but they met in the dark hours of night, loved each other into exhaustion. Yet no matter how fiercely he stroked her, claimed her, he knew she didn’t yet trust him. Not the way he needed her to trust him.
It was as if she were mist he was trying to capture.
Well, if she was, he thought with a scowl as he shoved a spade into the earth, he’d build a better mist trap. He was not going to give up on the best thing in his life.
Come Friday and he’d managed to pull enough hours through the week that the weekend was his—and he intended to spend that time coaxing his skittish redhead into his arms for more than a night at a time. Sailor wanted Ísa to be his, the need a bone-deep one. Some things a man knew. And Sailor knew Ísa was meant to be his.
He also knew he was fighting a lifetime of pain inflicted on her by the very people who were meant to love her. If Sailor could strangle her parents, he would. Since he couldn’t, he’d just have to love her so well that she’d risk her heart. Risk trusting a man who had demons that would drive him for years yet.
Sailor knew he wasn’t a dream man. He was scarred inside in ways that didn’t show, was haunted by a childhood that had been softened by what had come after, but nothing could erase the anguish of the five-year-old child he’d once been. Nothing could wipe away the primal determination threaded through his psyche.
He was no perfect Prince Charming.
But he was a man who would love Ísa forever if she just gave him the chance.
Because she was it for him. For now and always.
After cleaning up that night, he drove to the Crafty Corners HQ, his intention to talk Ísa into that long-delayed cookie-bar date. Her car was still in the lot. He’d parked his truck and was about to get out when he spotted her leaving by the front door. His entire body smiled.
Jumping out, he called her name as he jogged toward her.
Her head jerked up, but that sometimes sweet, sometimes sinful, always dangerous smile of hers was nowhere in evidence. “Do you like strawberry chocolates?” she asked when he reached her, a mulish expression on her face.
“Not really my thing, but my mom’s into fruit chocolates.” Sailor took in the lines of strain around her lush mouth, the tension in her shoulders. “I used to buy her a box as a teen when I was in trouble.” He still got them for his mom, but now it was just to make her happy.
“Here.” Ísa shoved a flat box at his chest. “Please, take it. I hope your mom enjoys them.”
Sailor closed his hand around the box, took a quick glance at the black label with gold-foil writing. “Why would a box of fancy chocolates make you mad?” He scowled. “Is some guy stalking you? Aside from me, I mean.”
Her lips twitched just enough to ease the fist that had closed around his heart. He didn’t like it when she was sad. “I hate strawberries,” she muttered. “Always have. Fresh ones, the flavor, everything.”
“Ah.” Since they’d reached her blue compact, he put the box on the roof so he could focus on her. “Someone should’ve known that and they didn’t?” he guessed, because no corporate gift would incite this kind of fury.
“Yes.” She unlocked her car using the remote. “Though honestly, I don’t know why I’m surprised. My father still thinks I love going to his weddings when I’d rather chew nails.”
“Hold up. Weddings? Plural?”
“Number eight is coming up later this year.” A frown. “No wait, it’s number nine. I keep forgetting the one-month lovefest that ended in a face-slapping breakup in the middle of a charity ball attended by royalty.”
Feeling like a country bumpkin he was so shocked, Sailor nonetheless jerked a thumb back at the box on the roof of the car. His curiosity about Ísa’s father could wait; Ísa came first. “Were the chocolates for a special occasion?”
“My birthday,” she said, grumpily opening her car door and thrusting her satchel inside. “I don’t know what possessed him to send me a gift. He usually just throws shares at me. Probably his new fiancée’s influence. He always listens to them at the start.”
Sailor only heard part of that. “It’s your birthday?” he asked, stunned. Despite the nights they’d spent together, she hadn’t so much as hinted at it. “Happy birthday, redhead-who-drives-me-crazy.”
“Thank you.” Appearing oddly embarrassed, she said, “It’s not a big deal.”
Sailor wasn’t the most intuitive guy—he preferred the practical—but he had an instant of crystal clear understanding right then. What were the chances that two people as self-absorbed as Ísa’s parents had thrown their baby girl a birthday party or made any kind of a fuss over her?
The likely answer made him want to strangle them all over again.
“It’s a big deal to me.” Deciding he’d damn well make a fuss, he put his hands on her hips. “It’s the first birthday we’ve had together.” Stealing a kiss, keeping it sweet and romantic until she softened against him, he said, “How was the rest of your day?”
She fiddled with the top button of his shirt. “I snuck out for brunch with Nayna, and Harlow and Catie and I are going out for a belated birthday dinner in the new year.” Her smile lit up her eyes. “Do you know what those two got me for a present? One of those dancing hula dolls that you put on your desk. It’s incredibly tacky, and I know it’ll drive Jacqueline crazy.”
“Let me guess, you put it right at the front of your desk?”
Laughing, Ísa nodded. “I can’t wait to see her face the first time she spots it.”
No mention of Jacqueline in connection with any kind of a birthday wish, but then, that was hardly surprising. “How about we have a party for two tonight?” Sailor wanted to cuddle her in his lap and kiss her silly. “We can go to the cookie bar and have a birthday cookie cake.”
Bristling like the cacti he kept sending her—he was now up to four—she poked him in the chest. “You’re exhausted. You’re going home, having dinner, and getting to bed. I’m going to do the same.”
“You are going to kill me,” he said with a groan before pressing the pad of his thumb against the taut bud of her clitoris.
Ísa’s body spasmed in an intense pulse that would’ve had her falling to her back if Sailor hadn’t hauled her against him.
“Next time,” he gasped in her ear as he pumped into her with relentless force, “we have to remember to move the cactus.”
Ísa’s shoulders shook even as her body clamped ever tighter around him. She’d never thought she’d laugh during an orgasm, but she did and it was glorious. Especially when she lifted her head and saw that Sailor was grinning.
Limbs lazy in the aftermath of the orgasm, Ísa decided to even the playing field. Leaning forward, she scraped her teeth down the flat nub of his nipple.
His groan of completion was harsh, his fingers digging into her thigh.
28
Lovefests, Face Slapping, and Strawberry Chocolates
THE REST OF THE WEEK passed by at the speed of light for Sailor as he dove into the Fast Organic project in earnest. He barely took a break and Ísa didn’t have time to come by the site, but they met in the dark hours of night, loved each other into exhaustion. Yet no matter how fiercely he stroked her, claimed her, he knew she didn’t yet trust him. Not the way he needed her to trust him.
It was as if she were mist he was trying to capture.
Well, if she was, he thought with a scowl as he shoved a spade into the earth, he’d build a better mist trap. He was not going to give up on the best thing in his life.
Come Friday and he’d managed to pull enough hours through the week that the weekend was his—and he intended to spend that time coaxing his skittish redhead into his arms for more than a night at a time. Sailor wanted Ísa to be his, the need a bone-deep one. Some things a man knew. And Sailor knew Ísa was meant to be his.
He also knew he was fighting a lifetime of pain inflicted on her by the very people who were meant to love her. If Sailor could strangle her parents, he would. Since he couldn’t, he’d just have to love her so well that she’d risk her heart. Risk trusting a man who had demons that would drive him for years yet.
Sailor knew he wasn’t a dream man. He was scarred inside in ways that didn’t show, was haunted by a childhood that had been softened by what had come after, but nothing could erase the anguish of the five-year-old child he’d once been. Nothing could wipe away the primal determination threaded through his psyche.
He was no perfect Prince Charming.
But he was a man who would love Ísa forever if she just gave him the chance.
Because she was it for him. For now and always.
After cleaning up that night, he drove to the Crafty Corners HQ, his intention to talk Ísa into that long-delayed cookie-bar date. Her car was still in the lot. He’d parked his truck and was about to get out when he spotted her leaving by the front door. His entire body smiled.
Jumping out, he called her name as he jogged toward her.
Her head jerked up, but that sometimes sweet, sometimes sinful, always dangerous smile of hers was nowhere in evidence. “Do you like strawberry chocolates?” she asked when he reached her, a mulish expression on her face.
“Not really my thing, but my mom’s into fruit chocolates.” Sailor took in the lines of strain around her lush mouth, the tension in her shoulders. “I used to buy her a box as a teen when I was in trouble.” He still got them for his mom, but now it was just to make her happy.
“Here.” Ísa shoved a flat box at his chest. “Please, take it. I hope your mom enjoys them.”
Sailor closed his hand around the box, took a quick glance at the black label with gold-foil writing. “Why would a box of fancy chocolates make you mad?” He scowled. “Is some guy stalking you? Aside from me, I mean.”
Her lips twitched just enough to ease the fist that had closed around his heart. He didn’t like it when she was sad. “I hate strawberries,” she muttered. “Always have. Fresh ones, the flavor, everything.”
“Ah.” Since they’d reached her blue compact, he put the box on the roof so he could focus on her. “Someone should’ve known that and they didn’t?” he guessed, because no corporate gift would incite this kind of fury.
“Yes.” She unlocked her car using the remote. “Though honestly, I don’t know why I’m surprised. My father still thinks I love going to his weddings when I’d rather chew nails.”
“Hold up. Weddings? Plural?”
“Number eight is coming up later this year.” A frown. “No wait, it’s number nine. I keep forgetting the one-month lovefest that ended in a face-slapping breakup in the middle of a charity ball attended by royalty.”
Feeling like a country bumpkin he was so shocked, Sailor nonetheless jerked a thumb back at the box on the roof of the car. His curiosity about Ísa’s father could wait; Ísa came first. “Were the chocolates for a special occasion?”
“My birthday,” she said, grumpily opening her car door and thrusting her satchel inside. “I don’t know what possessed him to send me a gift. He usually just throws shares at me. Probably his new fiancée’s influence. He always listens to them at the start.”
Sailor only heard part of that. “It’s your birthday?” he asked, stunned. Despite the nights they’d spent together, she hadn’t so much as hinted at it. “Happy birthday, redhead-who-drives-me-crazy.”
“Thank you.” Appearing oddly embarrassed, she said, “It’s not a big deal.”
Sailor wasn’t the most intuitive guy—he preferred the practical—but he had an instant of crystal clear understanding right then. What were the chances that two people as self-absorbed as Ísa’s parents had thrown their baby girl a birthday party or made any kind of a fuss over her?
The likely answer made him want to strangle them all over again.
“It’s a big deal to me.” Deciding he’d damn well make a fuss, he put his hands on her hips. “It’s the first birthday we’ve had together.” Stealing a kiss, keeping it sweet and romantic until she softened against him, he said, “How was the rest of your day?”
She fiddled with the top button of his shirt. “I snuck out for brunch with Nayna, and Harlow and Catie and I are going out for a belated birthday dinner in the new year.” Her smile lit up her eyes. “Do you know what those two got me for a present? One of those dancing hula dolls that you put on your desk. It’s incredibly tacky, and I know it’ll drive Jacqueline crazy.”
“Let me guess, you put it right at the front of your desk?”
Laughing, Ísa nodded. “I can’t wait to see her face the first time she spots it.”
No mention of Jacqueline in connection with any kind of a birthday wish, but then, that was hardly surprising. “How about we have a party for two tonight?” Sailor wanted to cuddle her in his lap and kiss her silly. “We can go to the cookie bar and have a birthday cookie cake.”
Bristling like the cacti he kept sending her—he was now up to four—she poked him in the chest. “You’re exhausted. You’re going home, having dinner, and getting to bed. I’m going to do the same.”
