The Wrong Man (Alpha Men Book 3) Read online

  “Give me your hand,” she urged, and he held up his left hand. She took it in her much smaller right hand and without any warning whatsoever pushed it beneath her skirt. They both hissed sharply when his hand made contact with her moist heat, and she moaned when he found her clit. Her lower lip caught between her teeth when he clumsily stroked her, his left hand heavy and uncooperative and definitely not equal to this most important of tasks.

  He tried his best and she didn’t mind his clumsiness at all—she looked like a fucking goddess, her pelvis gently thrusting against his questing touch as her hands went to her breasts and unclipped the fastening of her bra. Her palms immediately cupped the small mounds, completely obscuring them from view, and her head tilted back as she worked herself back and forth over his fingers.

  “Do you have a condom?” she suddenly asked on a broken breath, and Sam snapped out of his erotic fog as he hazily registered that his fucking condoms were upstairs in the bathroom.

  “They’re upstairs,” he groaned. She was still rubbing herself against his hand, and Sam couldn’t seem to focus on anything else. She pointed to the sofa beside him.

  “Brand . . . my bag. I have a couple of condoms.”

  “You do?” Really? That was unexpected, to say the least. She blushed and shrugged, striving for unconcern when she looked embarrassed as hell.

  “I stole them from Daff and Spencer’s medicine chest tonight,” she confessed, and Sam choked back a laugh at that revelation. Sam had to withdraw his hand from all that wonderful heat in order to grab the bag, and Lia moaned at the loss. When he fumbled around in her bag, she took it from him impatiently and withdrew the condoms herself.

  That move finally revealed her pretty little pink-tipped breasts to his greedy gaze, and while she struggled to tear open a foil packet, he leaned forward and tugged one of her hard nipples into his mouth for a sample. But a mere taste wouldn’t do, and soon he was feasting. He was vaguely aware of Lia wrapping her arms around his head and encouraging him to suckle harder—something he was very happy to do. His clumsy left hand crept back beneath her skirt, this time not content to just stroke; he plundered her with his fingers, easing the way for the invasion to come.

  “Oh yes, oh yes. Oh thank you . . .” This last was moaned as she clenched tightly around his fingers when her orgasm took her. He couldn’t recall ever being thanked during sex before, and Sam grinned. It was so typically and charmingly Lia. She slumped heavily against him, her legs giving in until she was straddling his lap, her heat within touching distance of his throbbing shaft.

  “Think you can get that condom on me now, sunshine?” he asked, his voice strained.

  “Give me just one moment, please,” she begged breathlessly, her voice muffled by his throat.

  “I fear we might not have a moment,” Sam said, fighting the urge to smile. That spurred her into action; she pushed herself up and stared at him with barely focusing eyes. She looked drugged, dazed, and a little bit devastated. But despite that, she managed to get him sheathed in the condom, her hands fumbling even more than his left hand had. Sam wasn’t certain how he managed to keep himself from coming in her hands, but he was damned proud of his restraint.

  Proud until she lifted herself up and over him, proud until he found himself completely engulfed in her tight heat, proud for all of the thirty seconds it took before he came, violently and messily and quite fucking spectacularly. She was in the middle of her upward stroke and he gripped her skirt with his good hand and dragged her back down onto his spasming cock. Kept her down while he emptied himself inside her.

  “Oh my sweet, sweet Christ,” he groaned, his hand leaving her skirt and burying itself in her hair. He pulled her close until her face was nestled in the spot where his shoulder met his neck. She happily nuzzled him there and sighed contentedly.

  “That was nice,” she murmured happily, and he found himself glaring at the wall. Nice? Seriously?

  He nudged her up and she lifted her butt lazily while he tugged off the condom and clumsily knotted it, setting it aside for later. She sat back down on his lap, her wet nakedness smooshing against his wet nakedness. She didn’t seem to mind.

  “What did you do with the other one?” she asked drowsily, and he shifted to look down into her very contented face.

  “What do you mean?”

  “The condom. That night in the barn?” His brow furrowed.

  “You’re seriously asking me about that right now?”

  “Yes. It bugged me for a while after that. I kept picturing one of the poor farmworkers picking it up. Or my father.” She shuddered delicately at that thought.

  “I didn’t leave it in the barn. That’s disgusting.” He was offended that she’d even think that about him.

  “Well, then, what did you do with it?”

  He wrinkled his nose. “Put it in my pocket and discarded it when I got to a bathroom.”

  “Oh. Good.” She wriggled a bit to get more comfortable, and of course it had a predictable effect on his body. She pushed herself up and peered at him through her messy hair. She moved against him, this time with more purpose, and he sucked his breath in through his teeth at the delightful friction.

  “More?” she asked hopefully, and he grinned.

  “Sunshine, we’re just getting started.”

  Hours and hours and so many orgasms later, Lia sat up in bed with a contented sigh and stared down at the man who had satisfied her so completely tonight. He was wiped out, fast asleep, spread-eagled on his back with his arms thrown out on either side of him. He had dragged her close just before falling asleep, tucking her against his side, but she had wriggled away almost immediately, because it felt dangerously close to cuddling and cuddling was a huge no-no.

  Because Sam didn’t have the use of his right arm and because he wasn’t as physically adept as usual, Lia had been on top every time. Sam had been very vocal in both his appreciation of her and his demands. Still, she knew he wanted to do more and that his current weakness frustrated him. But despite that, it had still been streets ahead of anything she’d experienced with Clayton. Lia sighed again and shifted her legs over the edge of the bed and pushed herself up.

  “Where are you going?” The gravelly voice sent shivers up her spine, and she fought the urge to climb back onto the bed with him.

  “Home. It’s late. Or early,” she rectified with a giggle. “Take your pick.”

  “You should stay,” he growled, and she laughed outright at that.

  “I don’t think so. But thanks for the offer.” She leaned over and planted a kiss on his lips. Just because she could. And because he looked rumpled and sleepy and gorgeous. His left hand lifted to the back of her head and kept her there while he deepened the kiss. She made a small sound of surrender, and her hands went to his chest and then smoothed up over his shoulders and his throat until she was cupping his jaw.

  She took another taste, her tongue lazily sweeping over his lush lower lip before, with a reluctant sigh, she lifted her head. His eyes caught and held hers.

  “You okay?”

  “More than okay,” she said with a smile. “This was a good idea. I feel fantastic. Thank you.”

  He chuckled.

  “Always so polite, sunshine. I’ve never been thanked for sex before.”

  “I was thanking you for the orgasms,” she corrected primly, feeling brazen, and was pleased when his laugh deepened.

  “Never been thanked for an orgasm, either.”

  “Well, I’m happy to rectify that oversight,” she said with a blush. “I should go.”

  She gathered her clothes and, despite already being stark naked, took them to the en suite and dressed there. His laughter followed her into the bathroom.

  When she emerged from the bathroom, it was to find him clad in a pair of briefs and sitting on the edge of the bed.

  “You sure I can’t convince you to stay?”

  “We’re flinging, remember? Staying over doesn’t fall within the fling guideli
nes.”

  “You have guidelines? How do you have guidelines? Where would you even find them?”

  “On the internet.” He gaped at her.

  “Seriously?”

  “Yes.”

  “You found actual guidelines?” He couldn’t seem to wrap his head around that idea.

  “A few. I chose different ones from different lists and tailored a set of rules to suit our situation. Is that weird?”

  “A little.” He nodded and then smiled. “But I suppose it’s also practical. Maybe you should share this list with me? I should know the rules so that I don’t overstep.”

  “Of course you won’t overstep. I think men kind of live by these rules when they’re involved with someone unimportant.”

  “You’re not unimportant,” he snapped, actually sounding offended. “I’ve never called you unimportant.”

  “I only meant—”

  “I’m just not ready for a relationship. I’ll never be ready for a relationship. I don’t believe in marriage and long-term monogamy. It’s unnatural. But that doesn’t mean that I think less of you. I think you’re pretty fucking great.”

  “That’s nice of you,” she said, smiling weakly before clearing her throat.

  She didn’t look convinced, and that frustrated Sam. He didn’t want her to think that she was just some random place-filler chick. The thought made him pause, because essentially she was exactly that. A fun, sweet bit of short-term entertainment . . . He’d been adamant that she not romanticize this arrangement between them, and she was doing exactly the right thing in establishing a clear set of guidelines up front about what they could expect from each other and this fling, for lack of a better word.

  But why did it make him feel so damned uneasy and unsatisfied? He wasn’t sure. He watched as she gathered her things, feeling a hollowness settle in his gut as she turned to him and rewarded him with another of those beautiful, sweet smiles.

  “I’ll see you in the morning,” she promised, and he nodded. He didn’t want to speak, not when the only words that would come out were more pleas for her to stay.

  She hesitated and looked like she was about to say something else. Sam waited, hoping she’d change her mind about leaving, but in the end she said nothing. Just nodded at him and left.

  He listened to her car start up, the cold engine coughing a bit before it turned over, and he instantly worried about her safety in that ancient Fiat. He checked the time and was shocked when he saw that it was after three. It was much too late for her to be out alone.

  He immediately started pacing and, after ten minutes had passed, picked up his phone and called her. She answered on the second ring.

  “Brand? Are you okay?” He shuddered in relief when he heard her concerned voice.

  “That’s my line, sunshine. I didn’t know it was this late—you shouldn’t have left this time of night.”

  “The roads were quiet; I was home in five minutes.”

  “Next time you stay the night.”

  “No. I’ll leave earlier.” He didn’t much care for that answer and seethed silently in response to it.

  “Brand? You still there?”

  “Yes,” he gritted.

  “Did you call to find out if I got home safely?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s really sweet, thank you for your concern.”

  “You’re always so polite,” he said, for lack of anything better to say, and she laughed.

  “I don’t know how to be any other way.”

  “I like it,” he said, and then before he could stop himself, “I like you.”

  She didn’t respond to that, and he sighed. That was probably for the best. He was in an odd mood. He didn’t understand himself right now.

  “Lia?”

  “Yes?”

  “Thank you. For the orgasms.” He heard her harshly inhaled breath and smiled.

  “Y-you’re, um . . . you’re quite welcome.” His smile widened into a grin.

  “Lia?”

  “Yes?”

  “I can practically hear you blushing.” His observation startled an exasperated laugh out of her.

  “Good night, Brand.”

  “’Night, sunshine.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Dahlia Rose McGregor’s List of Rules for an Effective Short-Term Fling (STF)

  RULE 1—Absolutely! Do NOT! Fall in love!

  RULE 2—No cuddling.

  RULE 3—Don’t leave anything behind. Keep your clothes in your own closet!

  RULE 4—No sleepovers.

  RULE 5—No meaningful postcoital conversation.

  RULE 6—Do not introduce to family (too late!).

  RULE 7—No gifts given or received.

  RULE 8—When it’s over, it’s over.

  RULE 9—No regrets or shame.

  “Good morning,” Lia greeted Sam with a bright smile when he came downstairs the following morning. He looked exhausted, and she figured they had probably overdone it the night before. The man was recovering from some pretty horrific injuries, and while he had performed admirably last night, four times had perhaps been a bit extreme.

  “Hey.” He nodded, grabbing a long wooden spoon and inserting the end of it between his cast and his wrist. His eyes practically rolled back in his head when he reached the itch that had been bothering him. “God, I can’t wait for this fucking thing to come off!”

  “When is your doctor’s appointment?” she asked. He dragged the spoon out and dropped it on the table before sitting down and looking at her.

  “Next week. Wednesday or Thursday.”

  “I need to know exactly where and when so that I can rearrange my schedule,” she said, dropping a coffee in front of him. He groaned appreciatively and hooked his palm around the mug to drag it closer. He inhaled deeply, just savoring the aroma for a long moment before lifting it to take a sip. He opened his eyes and met hers over the rim of the mug.

  “Your coffee is the best,” he complimented, and she smiled. His gaze raked over her, going from her sensible beige kitten-heeled Mary Janes, up over her legs, farther up over the knee-length skirt of her pink gingham dress. It was a simple, strappy dress with a sweetheart neckline and small buttons all the way down the front, from neck to hem. She’d combined it with one of her favorite lacy white cardigans.

  “You look pretty,” he observed, and she dropped her gaze. His words made her feel shy and a bit self-conscious.

  “Thank you.” She picked up a damp cloth and started wiping down kitchen surfaces, busywork to keep her hands occupied. “I see you’ve managed to dress yourself today.”

  He glanced down at himself and grinned unrepentantly.

  “I figured I was busted.”

  “So busted,” she said with a mock glare. “So what was the point of the shirt sham?”

  “Shirt sham? I like that,” he said with a chuckle. “I wanted to make you hot for me. And I thought if you got to see my pecs and abs every day, you’d start throwing yourself at me.”

  “Pecs and abs?” she scoffed, trying to hide her smile. “In case it’s escaped your notice, you’re as thin as the proverbial rail at the moment.”

  “Wow, does my fragile male ego mean nothing to you, woman?” he asked woefully, and she rolled her eyes. “I’ll have you know, my manly form is making a comeback thanks to your smashing meals.”

  “Good to know,” she said, unable to fight the smile any longer. “Then you’d better eat up.”

  She placed his full English breakfast on the table in front of him, and he looked down with an expectant grin. The smile faded abruptly and Lia looked at his plate, wondering if there was a hair in his food or some other bit of nastiness that she hadn’t noticed.

  Sam stared down at his perfectly delicious-looking, perfectly ordinary plate of food. No faces or flowers this morning. Just two eggs, bacon, mushrooms, sausages, and toast. For a second he wondered if she was upset with him over something, but then he remembered his dickishness of the previous m
orning. She was just giving him what he’d demanded—edible food without any pointless, pretty fripperies.

  And yet . . . he felt ripped off. He didn’t understand why he felt that way, and he damned well didn’t like it.

  “Is everything okay?” she asked, and he blinked and forced a smile.

  “Yes, this looks marvelous,” he enthused, stabbing his fork into a mushroom with more force than was necessary. Some stupid, irrational part of him wondered what she would have created for him if he hadn’t ranted at her yesterday and felt bereft that he would never know the answer.

  The food was amazing as always, and he savored every bite, watching her while she bustled around and cleaned the room. She looked fresh and lovely this morning. Not at all like a woman who’d only gotten about four hours’ sleep and had spent most of the previous night thrusting away on top of him.

  The memory of her riding his cock so damned beautifully made his throat dry, and the appendage in question hardened painfully. She had her back to him and her hands in soapy water. Sam got up and stalked toward her until he was directly behind her, his crotch just above her tight, round butt. His left hand went to her hip and pulled her firmly back against him.

  “What time are we leaving?” he asked, bringing his mouth to her ear.

  “We c-can leave anytime we like. It’s just the animal shelter today.”

  “I want to fuck you,” he said.

  “Yes.”

  “Right here. Right now.”

  “Ye-es.” The word trembled out of her mouth on a soft sigh and he nipped her earlobe before dragging the skirt of her dress up over her thighs and then over her peachy little bum. He groaned when he caught sight of the plain white panties. His hand roughly yanked the soft cotton garment down her thighs, leaving her lush, already damp nudity completely revealed to his gaze.