Sinfully Mastered: Naughty Nookie Page 5

  Two, he has an IQ of one-forty-eight. Even the ranch foreman has to abide by the same principal rules of the commune and sit for an IQ test, before they could be hired. Getting a guy with that high of an intelligence quotient to man a ranch was like turning pebbles into gold. He sat for the exam without complaint and passed it with flying colors.

  Even when uncle Sam bitched about not needing a nursemaid, he hadn’t been able to say a damned thing about Nate’s IQ.

  Three, he didn’t mind living in the middle of nowhere, while being that aforementioned nursemaid to a loopy uncle, as he oversaw those four-thousand head of cattle and a three-hundred strong commune of erratic, capricious, and unpredictable geniuses.

  Four, he is a hunk.

  An honest-to-God, drool-making machine.

  He has that whole blond thing going on. I don’t normally like blond men, but his hair has so many streaks, I thought he visited a hairstylist. Gold, amber, white, sandy…the word tawny in no way describes the color. I only know he doesn’t dye it; because every time, it’s pretty much the same. Only the season changes it. It darkens in winter and lightens in summer.

  His skin is bronzed by the sun. That day, at his interview, after he sat for the IQ test uncle Sam had given him, I flew down to see if the guy was one of those geniuses who had leaped off the deep end for wanting to work at Blue Ridge as a foreman. His coloring made me sit and stare for a moment. His tan made me wonder if there were any white lines on his body.

  Tiny golden flecks marred the bronzed perfection of his flesh. He was by no means hairy, but they were visible, glinting in the sun.

  Tall, muscled but not heavily so, enough that his limbs had some delineation, visible when his shirt and jacket tightened against his body. He wasn’t stacked, just normal. But very strong. And damned tall. Taller than I am, something I did and still appreciate in a man.

  He wore a pair of slacks and matching sports jacket, the dark brown enhanced his coloring, a cream, open-collared shirt, and a pair of brown leather loafers. He dressed for the city, but that hadn’t bothered me. In fact, my city-slicker sensibilities were appreciative, where my uncle had denigrated him for it.

  The instant my eyes clashed with those moss-green orbs of his, Nathan Conroy had the job. Light gold striations washed out the vibrant green with a color that can only be described as being similar to lightly brewed chamomile tea. Cat’s eyes. He pinned me on the spot that day, and I left the interview wishing he’d pinned me to the table and…

  At the memory, my lips twitch and unsurprisingly, I don’t feel cooler. Turning the air conditioner down another few degrees, I walk the length of the room. I pass a low cabinet sheltering the scavenged mini bar—hey, a girl has to have a midnight feast every now and then— and one of those annoying metal clothes frames as well as a TV suspended on a bracket. Every time I stride past, the closed curtains swish and let in slivers of light.

  I’m in a weird mood. I can’t deny it. Thoughts of returning to a place I’ve avoided don’t help. Plus, the anticipation of seeing Nathan soon is making me edgy.

  It’s hard, but I make myself go to the bed and sit down. Maybe a nap will take this uneasiness away? Or maybe only Nathan can do that?

  * * *

  The instant I awaken, I know he’s here. The concierge must have given him the key like I requested.

  Something inside me sighs with relief to know he’s more than just in the same city as me; he’s actually in the same bed.

  A part of me wants to wake him up, chide him for not awakening me the instant he arrived, but he’s that kind of guy. How he hasn’t been snapped up is beyond me. I guess it could be his disability, but any woman who sees that before acknowledging the rest of the man…well, she deserves to miss out. Nate is so much more than a label.

  Things are different now, because the IQ Commune developed a bionic hand for him to wear that gives him a huge chunk of his motility back. Prior to the development of the unique prosthetic, something that’s about to rake in millions for the genius farm, he only ever wore the false limb in the city.

  Out on the range, he never wears one. Yet I’ve never seen him without the false limb during our stays in Chicago. Before the bionic hand, he never wore one with me in private either. And I think that’s telling. He realizes I’m not freaked out by his disability, and he can be himself, be comfortable. At ease.

  I like that. Nate is a hard man to pin down. I mean that figuratively and literally. A grin stretches my lips apart, and I turn my mouth to brush his bicep as I curl into him and wrap an arm around his waist.

  He’s difficult to control, even if I’m on top, riding cowgirl, he never lets me stay there for long.

  But my actual point, of pinning Nathan Conroy down, revolves around the emotional sense. I never really know what he’s thinking but I do know he likes his freedom, which is fortunate, because I like mine too.

  That being said, I consider myself in a relationship with him. I’m faithful to him, and I know Nate is to me. The distance separating us doesn’t mean our relationship is any different to a regular couple. It just means the sex is hotter.

  My grin makes another appearance; but this time, it doesn’t go unnoticed. With a yawn mangling the words, Nate mutters, “What are you smiling about?”

  “I’ll let you know once you wake up.”

  His body tenses, the muscles jolting in reaction to my words. My grin disappears to be replaced with a smug twitch of my lips and my hand, with a life of its own, wanders down the naked expanse of taut belly toward his deliciously sinewed hips. I’ve always been a sucker for obliques, those delicious muscles that form a delineated ‘V’ towards a man’s cock, and they’re like ridges on Nate’s lower abdomen. My own belly clenches at the thought, and I stay the path of my hand. Within seconds, I’m on my knees, pushing the thin sheet out of the way and I’m astride Nate’s lower thighs.

  “Turn on the light,” I order, wanting to see him spread out, like a feast, just for me.

  I hear him fumble about with the bedside table, then the faint click before the lights blare on. The pair of us blink at the brightness, then, as our eyes focus, we shoot dopey smiles at each other. Mine is a mirror reflection of his, and I reach for his left hand, tightening my fingers around his.

  “Hi.” My whispered greeting has those gorgeous green eyes of his softening, and he knots our fingers together. “It’s good to see you.” The inane comment in no way describes how relieved I am he’s here.

  I’ve never felt this way before, but then, I guess I’ve never felt insecure about any part of my life. That sounds mega arrogant, and I’m only just starting to realize how intolerable I must have been all these years. So sure of myself, of my actions. So certain I knew what was best. Yet now, I’m in the shit. My arrogance didn’t protect me, didn’t keep me from danger.

  I guess it’s pathetic to want to rely on a man for security. It’s so not the way I was taught. At school, on the commune, we were taught everything from the theory of relativity to self-defense. I can shoot a rifle, but I’m a crack shot with my Granddaddy’s old service revolver. I can actually speak Russian. So if the bastards come after me, I can bore them to death while explaining E = MC² in russkij jazyk a.k.a their mother tongue, while making them spew in the aftermath of a Butterfly Kick to the gut and clutching their hearts after a perfectly aimed shot to the chest. But come after my friends? People who are like family to me? I’m screwed and feel totally useless.

  His top lip quirks up. “I thought I’d let you rest. I got in a few hours ago, and you were asleep —in the middle of the afternoon. So you must have needed the down time.”

  “You’ve no idea.”

  He frowns at me. His eyes literally glow with his concern and despite myself, I’m really touched. I don’t know why. He should be concerned. If he came to me with a problem, I would be. But still, to see that someone gives a damn, a guy like Nate too, it just makes me feel warm and cozy inside. And I’m not a warm and cozy kind of girl.
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br />   “What’s wrong?”

  I wave a hand, trying to seem blasé, when in truth I’m really concerned. “It doesn’t matter.”

  It does, but this first night with Nate is always special, and I don’t want to ruin it with news of how I’ve fucked up my life.

  There’s time tomorrow to tell him the truth and to ask him advice.

  I just want to be with the man and to enjoy him.

  “Of course it matters. Tell me.”

  I rock my hips, enticing myself more than him, if truth be told. The crotch of my short shorts has buried itself between my pussy lips and the slight friction against my clit has tingles rushing up and down my spine.

  “Don’t worry about it.”

  “Hey.” His voice is almost a bark. “What matters to you, matters to me.”

  I don’t want to think what those words do to me. How important they are.

  At this moment, with my life in shambles, I can’t think. I just need him. I grab his hand and shove it between my legs, but he stops me, his fingers tightening about my own. This time, his voice is definitely a bark. “Stop it. Talk to me, I’m not a fuck doll.”

  The bitch in me could laugh aloud at that comment. But that’s only because he’s denying me what I want. His gaze is knife-sharp, and he cuts into me a little, forcing me to be serious.

  “I don’t want you to feel that way,” I mumble, feeling a little ashamed.

  “Well, then. Talk to me. We’re more than just fuck buddies, Marina. I care about you.”

  For a moment, I’m stunned by his honesty. In truth, it staggers me. I can do no less than offer the same to him. Even though I hadn’t meant to. But those four words have changed things. Unexpected, granted. But they have.

  Swallowing back my nerves, I whisper, “I’m ready to go home.”

  If he’d shocked me, I think that in no way compares to how surprised Nate is. He jerks with the force of it. His brow lowers and more than anything, any questions or whatever, he looks concerned. When he untangles our fingers and raises his good hand to cup my chin in an attempt to force me to look at him, I don’t seek to evade him. Our eyes connect and his voice is low as he murmurs, “You’ll tell me in the morning, right? Tell me what’s going on?”

  I nod and tilt my head so I can nuzzle into his hand all the more. The sensation of those rough calluses against the tender flesh of my jaw has my skin tingling. The physical evidence of hard, manual labor stirs me in a way I can’t describe. My business was sex, the selling thereof; but with this man, sex is so much more than an act. It’s a union of myself and him…and I’ve never felt so poetical about it before.

  And considering I loved my husband that says a lot.

  But now isn’t the time to think about Jimmy. There’s never a good time, but this sure as hell isn’t it.

  He’s shocked at the affectionate gesture, of my face turning deeper into his gentle caress. I’m not that sort of woman, I guess and for a moment, I mourn the fact I’m not. What am I but an empty shell who lost her soul to her high school sweetheart? Genetics, breeding, teachings…they all taught me to be self-assured and self-aware, but Jimmy’s death isolated me. Wrapped me in a case of ice with such a depth, I was sure it would never thaw.

  I guess I’m surprised Nate might be the guy to do it.

  I couldn’t even suffer the prospect of returning to Blue Ridge if he wasn’t there. I’d do anything; go anywhere to not return home. As long as Nate’s at my side, however, I can go back. So long as he deems it safe for me and the commune to do so.

  For five years, we’ve been together. The first of those five, as fuck buddies, then afterward, in this weird long-distance relationship with him. It’s only as I sit astride him, my face tucked into his large, warm paw that I realize how deep we are. Thousands of miles separate us on a daily basis, but we’re still connected. With our eyes bridged, I realize he’s been waiting for me to make that realization.

  I guess it’s do or die time.

  And Jimmy, bless his seventeen-year-old soul, wouldn’t have wanted me to be his widow for the rest of my life. The time to say goodbye will be back at Blue Ridge, but without even meaning to, I’ve taken that first step.

  I guess, for that, I should thank the Russians.

  Yeah.

  Maybe not.

  Chapter Four

  “You’re looking at me weirdly.”

  With his tawny hair against the crisp white cotton pillowcases, Nate looks all the more golden. All the more delicious.

  “Since when does a guy equate weird with horny?”

  His grin widens, displaying white teeth. Not dentist-white. Natural white. And the difference is even sexier. Nate is one-hundred percent pure male. Not doctored or gone under the knife. His eyes crinkle with crow lines that are more visible thanks to the contrast of his tanned skin. Smile lines border his mouth, and his jaw has faint creases running down his cheeks from too many grins.

  He’s a happy man. His face paints that picture.

  Really, he’s the opposite of me. I’m not renowned for an uplifted frame of mind.

  “I never thought Ms. Denison would ever say that word.”

  I shrug, and if the movement has one of the straps of my camisole top falling down, and if my hair happens to swirl about my shoulders, then that’s no fault of mine. Right?

  “Truth’s the truth.”

  “What if I can’t handle the truth?”

  I grin. “Oh, you can handle it.”

  That faint challenge knocks any and all thoughts out of my brain. This is no time for seriousness, but for play. I’ve waited a long time for it, and screw the consequences of taking this one night, before dealing with the bare facts of the way I’ve fucked up my life and the lives of people close to me.

  Selfish, maybe. But sometimes, you’ve got to live a little.

  What are a few hours among friends?

  With the sheet gathered behind me, he’s bare from the neck to his groin. Those obliques of his make their silent call, and I have to lick my lips at the sight of them. My toes twist and cross underneath the weight of my body, burrowing into the mattress as I force myself away from the thought of nibbling the flesh with my teeth. I want to tease and torment. I want him to beg for me.

  Sucking in a slow breath so he doesn’t realize I’m a little nervous, I smile at him.

  “Oh, Christ, now I know I should be scared.”

  His teasing soothes me like nothing else could.

  My confidence returns and with a bang. I lean down and press my mouth to his. The instant our lips connect, quicksilver pours down my veins and supercharges my senses.

  Our tongues brush, a faint flutter as the sensitive flesh tingles in reaction. My breath catches in my throat, making it hard to breathe and my hands flutter, the fingers spreading and opening as they knead the air. Within seconds, I concede defeat and wrap them about his upper arms.

  The instant my skin touches his, a shiver quakes down my spine and I bring a halt to the play of lips and tongue, the tug-of-war that has me panting like I’ve just run a marathon.

  The only way I can separate myself from him is to rip my mouth away from his. A part of me wants to launch myself at him again, but I withhold the urge and fling myself upright. Christ, the momentum should have been enough to give me whiplash. But I’m saved by the thick, work-roughened fingers of his left hand as they dig into my butt cheek.

  I settle myself against him, so that his cock is in the deep ‘V’ between my legs. The instant the heat from his shaft settles against my clothed pussy, my toes curl again, and of its own volition, my head tilts backwards as ecstasy pours through me. All of a sudden, my sensitivity levels shoot through the roof, and that point of contact feels almost as painful as being branded. Okay, slight exaggeration, but you tell me what it feels like after three months of no sex while existing in a sexually charged environment for a living.

  I’m fucking desperate to be fucked.

  Breathing is hard, too hard and I suck i
n air like I’ve never inhaled before. And what caused such need of oxygen? The sight of his cock, lying flat against his belly, just above where I’ve seated myself.

  His cock isn’t the largest I’ve seen. In my line of work, I’ve seen many. Even if it was through a peephole. But Nate’s seven-incher is in no way average. It’s thick. I’m talking as ‘thick as his wrist’ thick. I’m talking every time he sticks it in me, I feel like a virgin. I wonder if I can take it all. If it will even fit. My body panics. My pussy rebels and then, he forges deep inside, pushing the mouth of my sex wide open, and it all makes sense.

  That memory is the one that sticks with me through the months separating us.

  I’ll masturbate to it. Fuck myself with a finger and wish it was him. In a way, Nate’s cock has ruined me for any other. Nobody else can fill me the way he does. Nobody else can fuck me the way he can. He’s the best lover I’ve ever had.

  Okay, he’s the fourth guy I’ve ever slept with. Mona and Eddie have this idea I’m promiscuous. That I have all the ‘sexual’ answers. Well, yeah. You work in a brothel, and you’re pretty with it where sex is concerned. Hell, it’s my industry. My job is to know what the clients want and provide it. Or should I say it was.

  I refuse to feel depressed when the cock of my dreams is before me, literally pulsing with arousal. My mouth waters and I reach for it like I’ve been fasting for thirty days and someone has just pushed a one-hundred pound éclair my way.

  I want to lean down and suck it. Swallow it. Massage it with my tongue. But I’ve been taking lessons from Jenna, and I want to try it out.

  With both hands, I cup his dick at the base and press down tightly until his hips ripple a little, his abs flexing, forcing a hiss from his mouth. Then, with my thumbs on the underside of his shaft, I slide my hand upwards until I reach the tip and the mushroom head with its thick, corrugated line of tissue.