MY PEN IS HUGE Page 14

  I pretend not to hear her. “Sorry, love?”

  “Sam? You? How long have you been working for him?”

  Again, I opt for offering a charming smile. “Well, you know, long enough. And yourself?”

  “I just started today, actually,” she says.

  “Oh. Really?” I say. “So this must be very exciting for you, playing bodyguard to such a big celebrity. Any updates on the people who are after Mr. Hofer? I hear they’ll stop at nothing, so I’m guessing it’s going to be high alert for some time.”

  Her cell buzzes inside the tiny black evening bag dangling from her wrist. I assume that’s where she hides her gun, given the size of her miniscule purple dress.

  Quite the hot outfit. Wouldn’t mind seeing Gisselle in something so scandalous.

  “One sec. I have to catch this.” She digs out her phone, and that’s when I see a devastatingly sexy woman stride towards me in a short black cocktail dress. Her green eyes are smoky; her lashes are long; her legs are longer.

  Wow. My cock pulses, my heart pounds, but my eyes see red. Gisselle’s face. Oops. I guess she found out that I made sure she was taken off the press list.

  “Leland? Leland Merrick, that you? What are you doing here?” she asks, steam piping from her ears.

  “Gisselle, what a surprise,” I say blandly to hide my excitement to see her. “Aren’t you supposed to be halfway around the world by now?” Warsaw. It was a good one. Not that I expected her to fall for it, but I did feel it necessary to shoot one across the bow—a “Let the games begin!” sort of thing.

  “Ha!” She tosses back her head of silky dark hair. I absolutely cannot get over how stunning she looks in that dress. “You think I’d trust any information you feed me? Fat chance.” She grabs my arm but looks at Abi. “I’m so sorry. I need to speak with him for a moment.”

  “Errr…no problem. I need to hit the ladies’ room anyway.” Abi flicks a thumb over her shoulder, looking on edge, which is a red flag to keep a close eye on the room. Just in case.

  Gisselle drags me off to the side of the dance floor. “Did you really get my name taken off the press list?”

  “Had I known you’d show up looking so incredible, I would have put you on the hurry list.”

  “Huh?”

  “Never mind,” I say.

  “I thought you were done trying to keep me from getting at the story,” she seethes.

  “Incorrect.” I rub my chin, desperately trying not to look down. Her breasts are pushed up like two soft little pillows. I want to rest my lips on them. Just for a quick nap. “I told you to ‘Go after the story.’ But I never said I wouldn’t compete. Gloves off, if you recall. All is fair in love and journalism.”

  “You’re impossible, Merrick. Seriously.” She spots something across the room. “Well, just—just stay out of my way.” She makes a beeline toward Mitch Hofer across the room.

  I watch her walking away and the view is mesmerizing. I really want to show her my pen collection.

  Suddenly, there’s a commotion in the direction she’s heading—screams, a struggle, the Abi woman running toward Mitch. Someone yells that there’s a weapon.

  I don’t know what comes over me, but I can only think of one thing: I have to get Gisselle out of here.

  I chase after her, catch her wrist, whip her around, and toss her over my shoulder.

  “Merrick! Ohmygod. What are you doing?”

  “I haven’t a bloody clue.” All I know is that Mitch’s security team is tackling him and there are two women on the ground.

  No one seems to care that I have a kicking, screaming brunette attached to me as I take the nearest exit toward the garden.

  Once we’re outside, Gisselle’s screams turn into a long string of curse words. I ignore her until we are at the side parking lot, standing next to my car.

  I set her down.

  “You sonofa—” She slaps me hard.

  “Ouch!” I cup my cheek.

  “Why did you do that?” she barks.

  “Did you not just see the attempt on Mitch’s life back there?”

  “No. I didn’t. I was too busy feeling your shoulder pressed into my stomach while my ass was hanging out in front of a room full of people.”

  And I missed seeing it? “Trust me, no one was looking. And we really need to go.”

  “No, Merrick. I’m going back in there.” She points. “That’s part of the story.”

  I know the attack was not directed at her, but for one split second, I thought it might be. And now it feels like there’s a giant fucking sledgehammer inside my chest, pounding away. My entire body is shaking again, just like the morning in Sydney. “I made a mistake. I can’t do this.”

  “Do what?” she snaps.

  “Have you ever been taken hostage in a hotel room and watched people being executed with a bullet to the head, shot like fish in a barrel?”

  “No. Obviously not.”

  “I have. I’ve listened to bullets cracking through people’s skulls while I stood a few feet away. I’ve watched children be ripped from their mother’s arms as they’re dragged off by soldiers to be trained as fighters, and I’ve heard women being beaten in the room next door during a coup. I have witnessed the worst things human beings can possibly do to each other, and never once did the horror compare to how I felt just now, thinking they were coming for you.”

  Gisselle looks up at me, the muted light of the streetlamps shining on her wide green eyes. “I don’t know what to say.”

  Neither do I, so I step in close and kiss her.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

  Gisselle

  One second, I’m fuming at Merrick for getting me booted from the party’s guest list, and the next I’m utterly livid, being carried outside over his shoulder. Yes, I heard some sort of commotion, but it took him saying the words “attempt on Mitch’s life” for it all to sink in. And now he’s said all that stuff and he’s kissing me.

  I’m frozen in place, my strappy black heels glued to the ground. His lips are silky soft, surrounded by rough whiskers, but the texture of the kiss is nothing compared to how his mouth moves. Demanding, sensual, full of emotion.

  His tongue slides against mine in a carnal rhythm, like a calling card that tells me he knows how to use his body. I melt into him and lose myself completely. He is a fantasy to look at, but being kissed by Leland Merrick is better than any dream. He’s sexy on steroids.

  His two strong hands slide down by body and grip me firmly by the waist. I can’t describe how good his touch feels, but when he tilts his head and deepens the kiss, everything else fades away.

  Pressing myself to his hard chest, I glide my hands up the satiny lapel of his jacket, noting how much the texture reminds me of his lips. This is too good. Even the way he holds me against his tall frame has me breathing harder.

  He turns my body and wedges me between him and the car. I feel his hand trail down my curves and reach behind my thigh.

  Oh, we’re doing this? Yes, yes we are. I’ve never been adventurous when it comes to sex, but this thing, this need for Merrick doesn’t come from any place I know.

  My knee goes up, and he moves right in, pressing his hard cock into me.

  Oh shit. That’s definitely not his pen. I exhale sharply as he grinds his erection against my lace panties. The tingling in my bud turns into a throbbing ache that spreads through me: lady garden to stomach, stomach to breasts, breasts to brain.

  I want him. Now. Here. In this dark parking lot. I let out a soft moan, telling him I like what he’s doing. His breathing comes faster. His kisses become more demanding. His hips push into me a little more forcefully.

  I can’t stop. I need him. So good…

  I reach for his zipper while his hands make their way to my ass and cup me firmly. I fumble for a moment, but I find what I’m looking for. A velvety hard cock that’s thick and long.

  I know we shouldn’t. I know I’m forgetting something, but the ache deep inside is too much
. I thought I didn’t want him. I thought I never wanted to see him again. But the look in his eyes just now, like he’d do anything, risk everything for me, made me see him in a new light. Merrick isn’t a greedy, sexy jackass. He’s a hero. My hero. I’m a sucker for those, but this one? I want way more than just his story. I want his heart. I want everything.

  I free his shaft and wrap a leg around his hip. He lifts me against the car and moves my thong to one side, positioning the head of his huge cock right where I want it.

  The crown grazes my throbbing clit, and… I’m done. I’m so done. Already coming before he’s in.

  “Fuck me,” I pant.

  He pushes his hips forward and slides into my wet pussy with one deep thrust. I pull my mouth away and bite down on my lower lip to stifle my moan. He’s huge, and I feel every inch of his cock pushing and filling me. He pulls out and slams right back in, all the while I’m coming hard, digging my fingernails into his shoulders.

  “Fuck, fuck. Don’t stop,” I whimper, clenching my eyes shut as the contractions hammer through me, releasing waves of blinding ecstasy.

  Thankfully, he doesn’t stop and repeats the long, sinful strokes, forcing my body to take his huge cock over and over again.

  Panting and groaning, he bows his head and presses his forehead to mine. I open my eyes just in time to see the hooded lids, the wet lips, the way he looks at me when he comes. It’s intense and primal. I love it. And I love feeling every twitch of his dick as the head presses deep inside me, almost past the point of pleasure.

  I know I’m on the pill, but somewhere in the back of my mind, I’m imagining he’s claiming me as his. That this is more than a fuck. He wants to keep me forever and is doing this to plant his seed in me. This guy isn’t just an obsession or a hookup. He’s my soul mate. My husband. My partner. We just haven’t passed those hurdles yet, but they’re going to happen.

  Whoa. Honestly, I have no idea where any of this is coming from. But still, it feels so good, having him come inside me and allowing these buried thoughts to rear their head.

  I quickly push all that aside and come back down to earth, where my rational brain lives.

  His mouth returns to mine and delivers one hell of a hot kiss while he pulls out, leaving me feeling deliciously raw. He puts himself away, but the kiss doesn’t stop, like he’s trying to say, “I’m not done with you.”

  Good. Because I’m not done with him either. We feel right together, like we share the same kind of spirit animal or fire or thirst for life or whatever you use to describe being forged from the same metal. I see that now. We can’t ever be rivals. We were always meant to be together. Otherwise, why would I feel this way? Like this isn’t just some story I want to tell.

  This story, I want to live.

  I lower my leg and shimmy down my dress, and like before, the feel of him lingers. This time it’s in my mind and my body. I’m still aching for him.

  “I need more,” I whisper, breaking the kiss.

  “Wait here. I’ll get a room.”

  Oh. Yeah. We’re at a resort. Why didn’t we think of that to begin with?

  Because this was way hotter, I argue with myself. Spontaneous. The result of hard raw emotions. But now that I’ve had a taste of our powerful connection, I definitely don’t want to let him go. Does he feel the same?

  Leland

  This time, my body is shaking for an entirely different reason. I think I nearly passed out when I came. It felt so good being inside her that I stopped breathing. I’m not joking when I say there could have been a busload of people in horrible dolphin costumes watching us, and it wouldn’t have stopped me from fucking her right there in the parking lot. I’ve never been this overrun with the need for a woman.

  I rush to the reception, book a nice room, and before I know it, Gisselle and I are naked.

  Forget the bed. Too far away. I’m fucking her again over some desk. I don’t even know what the room looks like. Don’t care. I just know I’ve got her soft tits in my hands and her wet pussy squeezing down on my cock as I pound her from behind. Somewhere, in between the tornado of kissing and clothing flying off, I mentioned I’ve got a clean bill of health and she mentioned she’s on the pill—don’t care. I’d fucking love to knock her up and keep her forever. Yes, yes. I will pay many goats for her. I will give her land to plant trees and grow fruit and—why the bloody hell am I thinking about this?

  I suppose because when I took her against the car, I had no intention of this being a onetime thing. In my mind, I was fucking the woman I’m meant to be with, so what the hell does a condom matter? My heart was all in. All right, and fucking her raw felt really good.

  Does that make me a selfish bastard? I really don’t know. I’ve never done this before—wanting to give a woman everything—so I guess I’ll have to figure that out later. Because right now, she’s throwing back her dark hair, sticking her ass in the air, and I’m about to flood her pussy with another load of cum. I bow myself over her beautiful body and reach around where our bodies join. I feel her clit as I slide my cock in, and I press down.

  “Oh god. Oh…god.” She explodes, and I go with her. I massage her clit in time to my ejaculations, timing our climaxes. I don’t know about her, but I’ve never felt so much pleasure from sex. I’ve never wanted to satisfy a woman like I do right now. Her orgasms are like candy to my ego.

  She moans out her last contraction, and I lean back, staying inside her. I know she’s raw and hypersensitive, but I can’t pull out. Not yet. I have my reasons.

  Still hard, I slowly slide out a few inches and savor the feel of gliding back in.

  “What are you doing?” she pants, her face pointed toward the desk.

  I want to say that I’m learning her and making sure I’ll never forget the way she felt on our first night together, but I’m not sure she’d understand: I don’t intend to ever be with anyone else. This memory goes in the vault. I pull out and slide back in.

  She moans softly as I slow my pace.

  “Can you come again?” I ask.

  “No. But don’t stop. It still feels too good.”

  I smile, knowing she’s creating a few memories of her own.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Gisselle

  I’m not exactly sure how we ended up in bed together at a golf resort after an attempted hit on Mitch Hofer’s life, but I can’t imagine being anywhere else right now. I’m not even tempted to jump on my phone and read whatever headlines are popping up about the incident.

  Leland’s muscled body is stretched out naked beside me on the bed, his strong arm wrapped around my shoulder. My cheek is resting on his smooth chiseled pec, and I’m contemplating his sexy navel.

  “I’ve never seen these kinds of abs up close,” I say quietly, too exhausted to speak louder. “How do you find time to work out?” My hand floats over the deep ridges of his stomach. “Must take hours.”

  “It does, but I don’t let it get in the way.”

  “Way of what?” I lift my head and stare into his beautiful brown eyes framed with thick lashes.

  “I happen to be a four-hour kind of chap.”

  I lift a brow.

  “Four hours of sleep,” he elaborates. “I’ve tried more, but I can’t. So why waste the gift of an extremely efficient body? I get up, run, go to the gym, whatever—before my day starts.”

  I drop my jaw. “You get up at four in the morning to exercise?”

  “Two in the morning. I go to sleep at ten most nights.”

  I laugh. “Are you for real?”

  His rough hand circles the small of my back. “Quite.”

  I rest my chin on his chest, and he doesn’t seem to mind since he’s apparently made of steel. I guess he really is more like Clark Kent than Daredevil. “So you work out while the rest of us sleep. Good to know. What other habits do you have? What time do you write? When do you do research?”

  He narrows his eyes in jest. “Are you trying to forage my mind for secrets of the
trade?”

  “Well,” I smile, “you did say we’re competitors—all is fair in love and journalism.”

  He nods in agreement, sticking out his lower lip.

  “So tell me about the pens,” I say.

  He laughs. “I’ve just shagged you to the state of near unconsciousness and this is what you want to know as we lie together naked?”

  “I did not almost pass out.” My head almost exploded, though.

  “I was speaking for myself. But to answer your question, my father owned a few antique pens. He gave me his Waterman White when I was ten—was either that or a stick, given we lived in the middle of nowhere.”

  I have no clue what a Waterman is, but the fact that we both collect old things is funny. “Are you ready to answer some tougher questions?”

  “Depends.”

  “Don’t you trust me?” Because I trust him.

  He gives my body a quick squeeze. “What’s your question?”

  I decide to go with something easy. “How did you end up in Austin, Texas?”

  He glances at me dismissively, as if to say, That all you got?

  “It’s because of my friend, the woman who was investigating Ripley. After he had her killed, I moved to Austin and promised her husband I would stay until he was behind bars or dead. Unfortunately, or fortunately, he didn’t kill often. I had to be patient.”

  That’s horribly sad, but also so, so sweet of Leland. It speaks to who he truly is. “Why the purple house in the funky neighborhood?” I know it’s not his style.

  “It was hers, my friend. Her husband, Peter, couldn’t afford to keep up the mortgage, so I bought it.”

  “Ohmygod. Really?”

  “Yeah. Things were rough for him that first year, but I think he’s going to be okay. He has to be, since he has Robbie, their son.”

  My heart tingles. “That is probably the nicest thing I’ve ever heard. You’re incredibly kind.”

  “Robbie would say I’m a pain in his ass—he can’t hide much from his dad with me around. You met Peter. He was there your first morning.”