No Magic Moment (Secrets of Stone Book 4) (17 page)

“Hey!”

I jerked my head around at her summons. She stood on the other side of the glass, bearing a pair of fresh shorts and my favorite soft T-shirt, featuring a silhouette of Bruce Lee on faded gray cotton. Shucked already were her own street clothes, switched for a pair of form-fitting yoga pants and a red tank top. Her hair was in a poofy bun, her breasts freed of her bra.

Where did I begin to thank God for
this
part?

“Michael?”

I let another beat go by before growling, “Best. Girlfriend. Ever.”

One side of her mouth lifted. “Is that why you’re sniffing my bath gels?”

I glanced at the bottle in my hand—with its label consumed by white flowers and French words. “After smelling nothing but
eau de wino
? That would be a huge yes.”

Her smirk grew. “So which scent is your favorite?”

I returned a knowing grin. After all these months, it still charmed the crap out of me when she tried to learn a new way to please me, however thinly disguised the effort. Her expression reminded me of the time she’d come home early to fix some of my favorite dinner dishes, only to make the sour cream mashed potatoes with cream cheese. Despite her horror, it had been surprisingly good.

I had a damn strong feeling we could do better with this one.

“I’m really not sure.” I cocked my head. “Maybe I need to run some hands-on tests.”

“Hmmm. You think?”

The comeback was barely off her lips before I slammed the bottle on a ledge, leaned out of the stall then pulled her back in with me. Beneath the warm spray, I smashed her body against mine, giving instant homage to the suck-face gods. Her eager mewl drove me to push her mouth open wider, commanding her tongue in long, selfish strokes. I made no secret of what that did to my cock. Though I’d pounded her like a teenager an hour ago, it didn’t know the difference. From the feel of things, neither did she.

Yesssss.

I yanked at her hips, smashing her belly against my bulging length, raising one hand to start peeling back her top. With a frantic little growl, she peeled the whole thing off for me.

“Pants, too,” I snarled. “I want you totally naked and totally wet, sugar.”

As she flicked the soaked pants against the glass wall, she flashed an impish grin. “‘Wet’ was taken care of as soon as I walked in here and saw you.”

I let my eyes return the smile, but not my lips. “Cheeky girl.” One who liked getting that way when she wanted Mr. Headmaster to come out and play. I could sure as hell do that. I’d role play the damn Emperor of China, if this woman needed that.

“Perhaps.” She nipped her lip in coy invitation, pressing back against the wall. “But you like my…cheek.”

I stepped in, consuming her personal space, trapping her against the tiles with a hand planted next to her head and a rough touch, sliding up her body. Water and goosebumps flowed beneath my fingers…silken thighs, hips, waist, breasts…a mesmerizing ocean I yearned to drown in forever. She was my tide. My current. My soaked little sea siren. If she dragged me under and never let me go, I’d die in happiness.

My hand ended its exploration at her jaw. With a slight push, I parted her mouth. The recesses beyond were pink and lush, compelling my thumb inside. She sucked the digit in, keeping her wide green gaze fixed on me, a naughty mermaid come to life—especially as she bit the web of flesh leading to my forefinger.

I hissed.

She grinned.

“You know what cheek earns you around here, Miss Asher?” Encouraged by the aroused flecks in her eyes, I dug my fingers into her hairline. “Specifically with the headmaster?”

My thumb fell free as her jaw popped open. “No, Sir. I—I meant no disrespect, Sir.”

“Nevertheless, you’re a naughty little thing.” I worked my thigh into the space between hers, pushing until I felt her tremble. She handled the rest, unable to keep from rocking. “Are you riding my thigh with your dirty slit, young lady?”

She grabbed my neck, using it for support as she boldly returned my gaze. “Damn right I am, Sir.”

I smirked. Just a little. “You know what happens to cheeky brats who ride their headmaster’s thigh in the shower, don’t you?”

She returned my smile. So damn gorgeous…and perfect. The playful turn on our role play was what we both needed right now. “Please tell me they get fucked, Headmaster.”

“Oh, yes they do, little girl. Thoroughly.”

“Now, Headmaster? Please?” Her voice was a high, needy rasp.

I pulled my leg away, hardening my stare. “We’re in the shower, missy. I only fuck clean cunts in here.” It was the work of seconds to grab the bottle of foofy French gel and shove it into her hand. “Clean yourself. I’m going to watch, to make sure you get every inch.”

I took a step back, crossing my arms. A pause stretched, full of as much sexual impact as the plank of my cock, straining toward her. Margaux’s longing gaze only made my flesh stiffer. Little temptress. I couldn’t help but growl as she snuck her tongue over her lips and “innocently” eyed the floor.

“Don’t even think it,” I drawled.

She looked back up, again all Tinkerbell innocence. “Think what?”

“Deterring me with a blow job.” I leaned over, lightly swatting the insides of her thighs. “Spread these.” Cupped her trimmed mound. “Then wash this.”

Surprise, surprise. She kept her tongue inside her mouth this time. With her lips pressed together, she pushed back to the wall for balance—before pushing her legs apart.

I had to be the luckiest bastard alive.

I swallowed hard, unable to tear my stare from her sex. She was like a fantasy, with water descending and glistening on her short tawny curls…and the slick layers beyond. When she drizzled the pearly liquid down over them, my body bellowed a question at my brain.

“God
damn
,” I grated. My cock seeped with so much pre-come, I wondered if there’d be any juice left for fucking her. My balls, throbbing and heavy, answered that query fast enough. They granted no mercy as Margaux spread the soap, working the suds across her pussy lips, into her folds. With breath seized in my throat, I fisted my shaft. Worked myself from balls to crown with the same sensual rhythm she’d established. More liquid spilled from my head as she leaned back to wash the soap away, exposing the entrance of her velvety tunnel to me.

She lifted the bottle again. I ripped it from her and threw it against the wall—before slamming her flat and smashing our lips together.

She opened at once, letting her mouth become a maddening preview of how her channel would feel: wet, welcoming, and slick. I ravaged her tongue with mine, giving her a taste of more things, as well. This would be her fate, inside the magic of our glass escape. Ultimate surrender. Perfect desire. The highest peaks of pleasure I could possibly bring her.

Only when she moaned, signaling she’d accepted that recognition, did I pull away to let us both get air. She didn’t move, except to gaze up at me through heavy-lidded eyes. “Am I clean enough, Headmaster?”

“You’re perfect, princess.” I kissed and bit my way from one corner of her mouth to the other. “And now I’m going to defile you again. All of you.”

She nodded, clearly trying to form her mouth around words, but it wasn’t time for words anymore. It was time to shove up and in, invading her with my cock, filling her with my passion. Her sheath was torrid, gripping me with velvet walls, clenching every inch of my swollen, stiff erection.

She latched a leg around my waist, gaining traction to drive her pussy down as I lunged up. Within minutes, the extra friction on her clit turned her into a quaking dervish. She cried out, driving our rhythm faster and faster. I watched her in profile, amazed all over again by the brilliant, passionate miracle of her.

Yeah.
My miracle
. It fit…so fucking perfectly.

And yet it didn’t.

Of all the men on Earth,
why
had the Almighty gifted her to me?

And maybe it’s just best not to question the Big Guy. Ever think of
that
, asshole
? Right. Maybe gratitude was really the smart thing here—along with giving her a climax that’d roll her eyes back in her head.

“Shit,” she cried out. “Oh shit…Michael…it’s so—”

“Good,” I finished. “Yeah.
Yeah,
sweetheart. So good.”

Her head fell back. I tunneled a hand into her hair, forcing her to look at me. She bared her teeth and did the same, nails biting into my scalp.

I pumped into her harder. Grabbed her tighter. “Come for me.”

“
You
come for
me
.”

Remarkably, I grinned. Smashed her with another punishing kiss. Against her lips, I grated two words.

“Yes, ma’am.”

Before my world detonated.

My vision went silver then gold then back again, as my cock flooded my essence across her fluttering walls. Margaux’s mouth fell open on a silent scream as she rode me like a woman possessed.

Many minutes later, she slid from me, crumpling to the shower floor. I lowered with her, though managed to twist the knob and shut off the water first.

Flat on our backs, soaked and exhausted, we gazed at the ceiling while our lungs returned to normal. When we finally tilted our sights back to each other, laughter burst out. We were ludicrous from exhaustion.

“As amazing as that was,” she finally muttered, “don’t you dare think of getting yourself tossed in the clink again.”

I chuckled and lifted her hand, pressing a soft kiss into her moist palm. Her skin smelled like French flowers and satisfied woman.
Perfect.

“Don’t worry, my love. That’s definitely on the priority list.”

*

I barely remembered
the journey from the shower to the bed, only to thank God for Margaux’s love of expensive linen as my head sank into the pillow.

When I opened my eyes again, it was to learn I’d just slept four hours of the day away. I groaned and sat up, palming the grit from my eyes, the sleep from my senses, and the disgust from my brain. The first two were easy erases. The last wasn’t so simple. Rudderless wasn’t a condition I enjoyed, one fucking bit. Ambition and productivity had been my ways of proving I was everything like Dad and nothing like the leech brother he’d left behind. The traits were largely responsible for why Quade McIntosh and Rin Samura had taken me on at Aequitas, despite the massive scandal that had taken my former employer down. The men were open-minded enough to see that Andrea and Trey’s crime and flight from the country were because of their greed and deceit, and no one else’s.

It hadn’t been so easy to call Quade and Rin about the bullshit from this weekend.

Actually, it had been pure hell.

Even leaning against the cushions of the 750i, sitting next to the woman I loved, it had sucked complete ass to call the men who’d put such faith in me and admit to the outburst against Dec. It was even harder to ask that they believe I hadn’t done anything beyond the blowup in the ballroom, especially with my whopper of a finale: that I’d just been sprung on bail from county lock-up. There was no use in keeping it “conveniently” out of the conversation, since the court would be calling them to verify my employment for my official response to Declan’s allegations. There was a good chance they knew every member of the top-notch legal team Margaux had gathered, as well.

None of this shit had been a cheery week-starter for my bosses—I heard that much alone in their voices—but Rin and Quade confirmed that they stood by me. My gratitude had been met with the usual clichés—“innocent until proven guilty”, “a clear conscience fears nothing”, “trial by media means shit”—and I didn’t care. They’d earned themselves a loyal barrister for life.

With that, I was back to the stress of the moment. My ass. This bed. Four in the afternoon. Something was wrong. Off. Not aligned.

Margaux’s absence didn’t help things. Even after our morning of “reconnection,” things were off without her near. It had nothing to do with sex—though the sloth comparisons were easier to stomach when contemplating more hours of servicing her delectable body—but more an inner imbalance. I needed to know, one more time, we were back in sync.

Shit. Call a spade a spade, man. You need to make sure you didn’t fuck things up
that
badly
.

I kicked the covers back, rolled out of bed, then trudged through ribbons of autumn gold to the dresser, hunting for track pants. After hitching a pair on, I made my way out to the landing and followed the sound of my girl’s voice, determining she was downstairs in the office.

I lingered in the living room for a second, enjoying the chance to stare without her awareness. She stood at the desk, phone in one hand, scribbling on a pad with the other. The cupcake pajamas had been ditched in favor of a better outfit: one of my faded Julian Hard Cider T-shirts and nothing else. The cotton teased up and down her ass as she wrote, turning my secret vantage point into a lucky one, indeed.

Maybe I’d get lucky about that servicing-her-for-hours thing, after all. We’d had a great time on
one
desk already this week…

Or maybe my luck had run out.

As soon as I stepped into the office, she started like I’d cocked a shotgun. “I gotta go.” She dropped the pen and sucked a lip between her teeth. “Right. Five o’clock. I
have
to go.”