A Million Dirty Secrets (18 page)

Her head snapped around again. “You bastard! If you think for one minute that I’m going to sit around while you’re out fucking every woman you come across, just so that you can carry some freakish disease back to me, you’ve got another thing coming! I will hightail it out of that house so fast it’ll make your head spin!”

“And then I’ll sue you for breach of contract,” I stated matter-of-factly. “However, we don’t need to worry about that because I don’t plan on sleeping with anyone else, for the next two years anyway. You are the only woman I want to fuck,
Delaine. Now, will you please stop throwing these childish tantrums so that I can enjoy you?”

The expression on her face softened minutely to a pout, but she still held her defensive posture as she looked away from me again. I took her lack of a response to mean she was reluctantly agreeing to my request.

“Good. Now for your punishment for acting out in front of a good friend of mine and embarrassing me,” I started. She looked back at me again and was about to say something, but I cut her off before she could. “I was trying to buy you some nice lingerie, but now you will be required to be panty-less for me at all times.” I smiled smugly at the way she opened and closed her mouth. “I should probably thank you for not being able to control your temper, because that actually works out better for me. So thank you, Delaine.”

“Oh … you … ugh!” she huffed, and then turned away again.

The rest of the drive was spent in silence. She refused to look at me, but I couldn’t take my eyes off her. I was disappointed that I hadn’t gotten to see her model the lingerie for me in the shop, but I had a possessive streak as well, so I guess I could understand why Delaine was upset. She had been throwing herself at me all morning, and with the exception of the little gift I’d given her in the hot tub, I had been rejecting her attempts to do something for me in turn. I had to admit I would’ve been a bit miffed if I’d been in her position, too. But where I was used to her reluctance to let me have my wicked way with her, she wasn’t used to mine.

What she didn’t understand was that I was trying to be
gentle with her. For now, anyway. But all that was going to change as soon as that pretty little kitty of hers had had time to recuperate. After the beating I was planning on putting on her, I was sure she’d be begging me to go “get my freak on” with an old girlfriend.

Noah left me alone after the epic fail of a trip we’d made to the lingerie shop.

I wasn’t jealous. I swear. It was the Cooch. She was royally pissed and throwing up picket signs all over the damn place. The Wonder Peen was going to have to kiss some major ass to win her over again. He might have been able to get away with another one of those spankings, but I couldn’t say for sure.

I went to bed before Noah, but I was only faking sleep when he crawled under the covers. My feelings were a tad bit hurt that he kept his back to me and an insane amount of space between us. No naked spooning or forking, no gropage, nothing.

The next morning, I woke before he did. He was still sleeping when I got out of my shower, and that was even after I made as much noise as I could to purposely wake him. Don’t ask me why I did it, because I really didn’t know. I might have sort of missed the bastard.

I even strolled into the bedroom naked, rummaged around
in his closet for something to wear, accidentally on purpose knocked a couple of pairs of his shoes to the floor (and left them there), and then closed the door harder than necessary. Nothing. So I had to check the man’s pulse, right? I mean, who could possibly sleep through all that?

But then my stomach made this noise that signaled feeding time, and I distinctly remembered having seen a box of Frosted Flakes in the pantry, so Noah whoremongering Crawford’s well-being was quickly forgotten.

I had just slurped down the last of the sweetened milk from my cereal and put the bowl in the sink when Noah finally emerged. God help me, he was standing there with towel-dried wet hair, a pair of distressed low-rise jeans, and absolutely nothing else—except the little black band of his Calvin Kleins underneath. So let me say this: naked Noah was glorious, but half-naked Noah, in nothing but a pair of blue jeans … thud.

The little trail of hair that led from his belly button to the wonders beneath? Totally lickable. And by wonders, I meant his morning woody was apparently still in full effect, because that was one gargantuan bulge beneath that denim.

The Cooch crossed her arms defiantly and turned her back on him. She refused to look at or even acknowledge the Wonder Peen’s presence.

“Good morning, Delaine,” he said as he ran his porntastic fingers through his hair.

“Good morning, Wonder Peen. Um, I mean, Noah.”

Noah arched an eyebrow at me and then shuffled his bare feet in my direction. The closer he got, the further I backed away, until I was all the way up against the sink. He placed his
hands on the counter and caged me in before he dipped his head and gave me a toe-curling kiss.

Double Agent Coochie turned to look over her shoulder and then quickly turned back around, remembering that she was still pissed at him.

He tasted minty fresh and I seriously considered sucking on his tongue, but that would give him the impression that I wanted his attention. And although I knew that was true, he didn’t, and I saw no reason to clue him in.

He rounded out the kiss with a suckle to my bottom lip and then dived straight in on my neck as he leaned his body into mine. The gargantuan bulge pressed into my girly region, and the Cooch’s resistance wavered. Strong arms wrapped around my waist, and Noah held me to him as he continued to wantonly knead my flesh. His neck was on display in front of my lips, the tendons taut and alluring. I couldn’t help myself. I had to taste him.

I leaned in and sucked on the skin between his neck and shoulder, and he moaned into my ear. I sucked as hard as I could, because for some unknown reason I was still pissed about the day before and feeling a little possessive.

“Are you trying to mark me, Delaine?” his husky voice asked against my ear.

I ignored his quiet chuckle and bit into his flesh to aid in my attempt. He apparently liked that because he pressed harder into me until there was no space left between our bodies. His head fell back and to the side, exposing more of that gorgeous flesh. I wasted no time in devouring his offering with my wet and demanding mouth. My hands curled through the longer
locks of hair on top of his head and gave a none-too-gentle tug. I could taste the coppery flavor of his blood as it rose to the surface of his skin, and it set off a feeding frenzy inside me. Mindlessly I dug my nails into his scalp, scratching at the tender flesh. Harder and harder I sucked, reveling in the saltiness of his skin. And still I wanted more. I swear I must have been a vamp chick in my past life, because I could visualize my teeth sinking into his flesh and losing myself in his very essence.

“Enough!” he finally barked in a commanding tone, and yanked his neck away before quickly stepping out of my embrace.

Both of us were panting hard, and I could still taste him in my mouth. I’m not ashamed to admit that I whimpered a little bit. I had been denied the chance to live out one of my naughty vamp fantasies. But then my eyes locked onto his neck and Double Agent Coochie giggled in glee.

Noah Crawford had the mother of all hickeys.

The skin on his neck was already turning a beautiful shade of dark crimson, and a welt was beginning to rise, marring his perfect skin.

One side of his mouth turned up into a smug smile as he looked me over. He lifted a long finger to brush my cheek and watched my heaving breasts with rapt fascination. “I let you mark me, only because I plan to mark you later.” The back of his hand barely swept over one of my breasts. “My mark won’t be a simple hickey on the neck, though. Everyone will know that you belong to me.”

A shiver ran down my spine and I could feel the gooseflesh rising on my skin. Noah’s gaze went to my nipples, and he
sighed when he saw the evidence of how much his words had aroused me.

“Very nice,” he said before rolling one bud between his fingers. “No bra?”

I rolled my eyes at him and crossed my arms over my chest.

He pulled them away and stepped toward me. “Let’s take a closer look, shall we?”

His hands slipped under the hem of my shirt and slowly slid over my stomach and ribs before he found the bare flesh of my breasts. He cupped them in his hands as his thumbs passed over their hardened peaks.

“I like this. Makes it so much easier to do this.” He lowered his head and took one nipple into his mouth for one chaste suck, and then he gave the same attention to the other one.

That might have had something to do with equal-opportunity employment, or whatever. I mean, technically, I was working for him. Well, at least my body was. The Cooch used to be a model employee before the whole Noah-slobbering-all-over-the-Latin-whore thing. She was a real go-getter; always going for the “greatly exceeds expectations” on her annual evaluation. Pfft, brownnoser. I guess her theory was that if she was successful, she might get a raise.

“What about panties? Let’s see if you’re obeying the rules of your punishment.” His hand slid down my abdomen. With one flick of his fingers he had the button of my shorts undone and was slipping a hand inside. I should’ve felt like a heifer at a cattle auction being felt up by some lonely and very desperate farm boy. But you remember what I said about the porntastic fingers, right? Yeah, they were still porntastic.

He deftly maneuvered two fingers between my folds before slipping them inside me. His fingers curled back and forth, hitting that little spot of awesomeness until my eyes nearly rolled to the back of my head and a moan escaped my lips. Then he pulled them out, gave the love nubbin a few quick strokes, and slipped them back inside me quickly. My knees nearly buckled.

Noah quickly withdrew his hand. “You might need to change those shorts now,” he said with that smug look. Then he stuck his fingers in his mouth and sucked them clean.

I was quite perturbed by his tease. “Are you finished? Did I pass inspection?”

“You did,” he acknowledged, and then turned toward the refrigerator. “I have to run out and pick something up today, but I’m expecting a package to be delivered. Samuel can sign for it, but the contents belong to you, so feel free to open it.”

“What is it?”

“A gift.” He shrugged his shoulders as he poured himself a glass of milk.

“You spent two million dollars on me and you’re buying me gifts on top of that?”

“It’s as much a gift for me as it is for you.” He kissed my forehead and patted my ass before he walked back out of the kitchen and left me standing there by myself.

I had no idea what sort of gift it might be, but my curiosity was piqued. What woman didn’t enjoy getting presents?

I found out a little later. The doorbell rang—and, by the way, it was one of those snooty doorbells that seemed to go on forever—and Samuel signed for the package. “Here you go, Miss Delaine,” he said kindly, and handed the package off to me.

“Please, Samuel, it’s Lanie,” I said, and smiled at him. He nodded respectfully and then took his leave.

I’m not ashamed to admit that I felt sort of like a kid on Christmas morning when I knelt on the floor in my skirt—yes, I changed—and ripped into the box. It wasn’t an easy task, either. Whoever packaged that thing had sealed it up like Fort Knox. I even had to leave it in the entryway and retrieve a knife from the butcher’s block in the kitchen. No worries; I was careful so that I wouldn’t destroy the wee bit of treasure on the inside.

All that went out the window though when I finally got into the stupid thing and looked inside. “Le Petit Boudoir” was written all over the tissue paper, and there was a note from none other than Fernanda. I opened it up, and I’ll be damned if her handwriting wasn’t every bit as beautiful as she was.

That bitch!

And Noah had obviously lost his mind, thinking it was okay to have this stuff sent to me. You’d think he would’ve gotten the clue when I walked out on them yesterday. He couldn’t
have actually thought I wanted to put something on my body that would remind him of her.

I wadded the note up and crammed it in my pocket.

In a fit of rage, I punched the box. Of course, that didn’t quite quell my anger, so I stabbed it with the knife that I was still clutching in my fist. I didn’t stop stabbing the damn thing until my arms got sore. Bits and pieces of lace and silk lay unrecognizable in the cardboard box, but I wasn’t satisfied. I could still see it, and I knew what it was and what it represented.

I jumped up and ran with purpose to the supply closet in the laundry room. Sifting through its contents, I finally found what I was looking for: lighter fluid.

I ran back, grabbed the matches out of the kitchen pantry, and dragged the offending box out into the driveway. I doused it with every last drop of lighter fluid left in the tin, struck a match, and dropped it into the box. I had to take a step back when a ball of fire ignited and shot up into the air.

Yes, I knew I was exhibiting irrational behavior. Yes, I knew my reaction was a bit on the psychotic side. But damn it all, I was not about to wear something one of his whores had picked out because she knew what he liked. And I wanted there to be no doubt in his mind how I felt about it, either.

As they say, hell hath no fury like a woman scorned.

I turned my back on the inferno and walked away. Even though the fire was relatively small and contained, in my mind it was huge. In fact, I was sure I looked just as awesome as little Drew Barrymore in
Firestarter
with flames engulfing everything around her, because Samuel stepped onto the porch with his mouth hanging open and his eyes wide in awe.