The Schemer (Harbor City 3)

He wasn’t wrong, but she wasn’t going to tell him it was too late. She already knew that and had since that first kiss when he’d made her forget the rest of the world except for him. She heard the sound of the condom wrapper being ripped open coming from somewhere behind her. Damn. She hated missing him roll it on. There was something so sexy about watching him take his cock in his hand and stroke it before putting on a condom.

“No looking or I’ll make you wait to come.” Tyler’s command stopped her in mid-motion.

“It’s not fair,” she complained, her voice breathy.

“It’ll be worth it.” His hands were on her again, gliding up her front and cupping her breasts, rolling her aching nipples. “I promise.”

She moaned, arching her back so she pushed into his hands. He responded just the way she loved, by pulling her nipples with just enough pressure to make her thighs quake. Giving in to the moment, she let her forehead fall to the wall, its coolness in stark contrast to the heat surrounding her, threatening to burn her up from the inside out.

“That’s it.” He kissed the sensitive spot where her shoulder met her neck. “Let me hear how much you want me. How good it feels. Tell me what you want.”

“Your dick,” she panted, her core pulsing with the need to be filled. “I want you inside me.”

He chuckled against her overheated skin as he kissed his way up the back of her neck and tormented her nipples in the best fucking way possible. “Are you sure? Don’t you want me to play a little longer?”

If he did, she’d implode. “Fuck. Me. Now.”

He released one of her breasts, and she wanted to cry in disappointment, but the next second his hand slipped between her legs from the front and he spread her wet folds, sending waves of sensation through her. On the next breath he surged inside her, filling her the way only he did.

He stopped halfway. “Is this what you want?”

“More,” she whimpered. “More.”

“Whatever you want, sugar,” he said, and slammed into her. “So tight. So good.”

The gravel in his tone let her know that he was just as on the edge as she was. It wasn’t going to take long for either of them. Then, he started circling her clit with his fingers in concert with his thrusts, timing it so there was no moment where she wasn’t feeling him, no retreat of his cock without an answering swirl of his fingers. She was so wet she could hear the sound of him fucking her over their breathing, over her racing pulse that roared like thunder in her ears.

“That’s it, sugar,” he said, and nipped her shoulder. “Take me deep until you squeeze my cock as you come all over it.”

The combination of his fingers, his cock, and his words was too much to hold back any longer. Her orgasm slammed into her, blocking everything but the two of them as she cried his name.

“Everly,” he let out in a throaty growl before plunging into her quickly once, twice, three times and coming with her name still on his lips.

Her skin damp with sweat and her own desire, she tried to catch her breath as they both came down. Jesus. The things this man did to her. It scared her as much as it thrilled her. She was still floating down to earth when he withdrew and tossed the condom in a nearby trashcan.

“You sure do know how to show a girl a good time,” she said as she turned, glad for the wall at her back to support her because her legs sure as hell couldn’t do the job on their own.

“Oh,” he said with a wicked grin, “I’m not done showing you yet.”

As Tyler picked her up and strode toward his bedroom, Everly had a moment of crystal-clear panic. It was all fun for him. It was supposed to be all fun for her. However, she didn’t know how much fun she could take before her heart forgot the temporary parameters of this game, especially when she was pretty sure it was already too late.

Chapter Twenty-Two

A few nights later, the gallery was packed. The show from a multimedia artist, Celeste, had brought out everyone from art critics to avant-garde collectors to Harbor City trophy wives who were caught up in the rush of the rebellion in each piece. And when the critic from the Gazette pulled Everly aside to congratulate her on finding the previously unknown artist and helping to nurture her along, Everly could have passed out from the adrenaline rush. Well, that was if she wasn’t already half-asleep on her feet as it was. Tyler might have developed into a passable cook, but he was so good at a million other things—most of which required being naked or damn close to it—that she wasn’t getting much sleep lately.

“You look like a woman about to conquer the world,” Helene said, handing her a glass of the house white she always served at the gallery shows.

“I feel like I already have.” She took a sip, the middling wine tasting like champagne. Being giddy had that effect on her. It was weird.

Helene held up her glass in a toast. “To conquering heroes.”

Even Helene took a sip after that, which was saying something, since she often compared the gallery’s house wine to swill or worse. They watched the crowd move through the gallery, couples and small groups stopping here and there in front of Celeste’s neon pieces. The artist herself was a natural at working a crowd and had a small gaggle of people around her as she told them a story, the retelling of which involved sweeping hand gestures and—Everly cocked her head to the side and listened closely—bird calls. Okay, then.

Of course, that meant she had a minute to pump Helene for information before she had to start mingling again. “So you and Alberto seem to be getting along well.”

A hint of pink bloomed on the older woman’s cheeks. “He wants to take me to the gala this week. Of course, I told him no.”

“Why? You two seemed to get along so well on the island.” And by “well” she meant like teenagers with their first crush.