Wild Child

Total darkness shrouded the room, the whisper of breathing the only audible noise. Matt smiled. After stripping his trousers and boxer shorts off and placing them beside the bed, he tugged back the covers and crawled into bed. Marisa lay on her side, facing away from him. He slid closer, smoothing his hand across her shoulder. Leaning down, he pressed a kiss to her bare back. She smelled of flowers—carnations to be exact. Nice. Different from Marisa’s usual spicy perfume. He liked this one much better.

When he nuzzled behind her ear, she stirred with a sleepy sigh. Smiling, he pressed a kiss to the smooth skin and stroked his hand down her arm and across her hip. She murmured again, starting to rouse. Good, ‘cause he was definitely beginning to stir, his cock pressing insistently against her curvy backside. Time to rev up this interlude. He slipped a finger into the valley between her butt cheeks and traced a path to her pussy. Her warm flesh parted. She sighed and spread her legs a fraction, just enough for him to graze his finger across her clitoris. She moved again, pressing her luscious ass against his swollen cock.

Marisa had put on a bit of weight. He liked it. With soft, gentle strokes, he massaged her clit until the tiny bud swelled. Marisa stirred again and froze. Then, she let out a shriek loud enough to wake the dead in the local cemetery and leapt from the bed.

“Keep away from me.” The note of fear told him she wasn’t playing games.

“I’ll get the light.”

“No! Just go, and I won’t tell anyone.”

He froze in the act of reaching for the light, his gut churning with acute apprehension. He knew that voice. Suddenly, all the new things he’d noticed about Marisa made sense.

With a sick, sinking sensation in his stomach, he fumbled with the bedside lamp. Soft light
bathed his room. He swore, low with feeling. “What are you doing here, Zoë?”

Instead of answering, she stared at him with big, brown eyes. When her gaze dropped, he cursed again and reached for his trousers, rapidly stepping into them and forcing the zipper over his erection.

“Put on some clothes.” There was a distinct snap in his voice. Self-loathing sat heavily in the bottom of his gut. His mother and John would die of shock if they found out. They weren’t going to find out. He sure as hell wasn’t going to confess to his monumental cock-up.

“I’ll make coffee.” He strode from the room but couldn’t resist a last look at her. She caught him in the act, and he jerked as if touched with a hot poker. Matt swore. Her curvy image was seared on his retinas for life.

Instead of making coffee, Matt padded across the terracotta tiles and headed straight for his liquor cupboard in the ultra-modern kitchen. He opened the door and pulled out the first bottle that came to hand. Whiskey. Unscrewing the cap, he drank straight from the bottle. The peaty flavor cut across his taste buds. He closed his eyes and swallowed. Mistake. Zoë’s sexy shape flashed in front of his eyes. He’d—Matt shuddered, still able to feel the warm, clinging flesh of her pussy.

“Do you grope every woman you find in your bed?”

“It’s my bed,” he snapped, his eyes flicking open. She wore his robe belted around her trim waist. Shit, he wasn’t the one in the wrong here. He was the innocent victim in this…debacle. “You were naked.”

“Because the airline lost my luggage.” She folded her arms across her chest. His eyes followed the move, noting that in the years since he’d last studied her closely, she’d filled out in a spectacular fashion. His cock jerked, reminding Matt he required satisfaction. But that wasn’t going to happen. Not with this woman at any rate.