A Million Dirty Secrets (Million Dollar Duet 1)

I pulled my fingers out and stroked along her folds until I could manipulate her clit, softly running my fingers back and forth over the taut bundle of nerves. Then I quickly dipped them back into her pussy and curled them in, finding her special spot.

“More,” she moaned against my mouth before she claimed it in another passionate kiss. It appeared I had a very eager beaver on my hands—pun definitely fucking intended.

I shifted my body and turned toward her, releasing the kiss and dipping my head until my mouth was just below the water and sucking on her right nipple while she continued to manipulate the other. I could feel her walls tighten around my fingers, and I knew she was almost there. My fingers moved in and out, curling in to stroke her G-spot. I looked up at her from beneath my lashes and saw that she was watching me. Her mouth dropped open and she arched her back as a moan started low in her chest and finally escaped her lips. The walls of her pussy constricted against my fingers and she tried to clamp her thighs together, but I caught a knee between my legs and held her still.

“Those are my fingers you’re getting off on, Delaine. Mine. And this feeling you’re having now is going to be so much more intense when it’s my cock instead,” I told her, and then claimed her open mouth with my own.

She responded immediately, hungrily devouring my mouth in return until her orgasm subsided and she was a heaving puddle of postorgasmic bliss in my hands.

When I removed my fingers, I immediately stood and stepped from the tub, my dick still hard as an iron rod with water dripping from the tip. “Finish your bath,” I told her nonchalantly as I wrapped a towel around myself. “I have to go to work. Make yourself at home, but I expect you to be waiting for me by the door when I return at six. Do you understand?”

Her narrowed eyes were back again—obviously she didn’t like the change in my attitude—but she nodded her understanding anyway. I might have given her the most intimate moment of her life, but we both needed to remember that this was still just a business arrangement.

“Sure thing, boss,” she said snidely, and then saluted me.

“Hey, you know that little slice of heaven I just gave you? Well, if you’d like to be feeling any more of that instead of me simply using your body for my own pleasure, then I suggest you watch that smart little mouth of yours,” I warned, running the tip of my finger over her bottom lip. “Of course, I could always just stick something in it to keep you quiet.” I knew that pissed her off, and, wanting to piss her off even more, I bent over the tub and said, “Where’s my kiss goodbye, woman?”

She reluctantly leaned forward, and I kissed the tip of her nose instead of her mouth.

“Be a good girl today,” I said with a smirk and then waltzed toward my bedroom, knowing she was watching my ass again. Before I reached the door, I stopped, flexed one butt cheek at a time, and then looked back over my shoulder and gave her a wink. As I suspected, her mouth was hanging open. When her eyes finally left my ass and she looked up, Delaine grabbed the loofah and threw it at me. I stepped out of the way just as it landed on the floor with a wet thwack.

“I hate you!” she called after me.

“Maybe, but you obviously love my ass!” I yelled back with a chuckle.

She was going to be too much fun to fuck with.

4

DOUBLE AGENT COOCHIE

Noah

I couldn’t help but smile smugly the whole drive into work. Knowing that Delaine would be waiting for me at home when I returned was definitely going to make the day a bit more bearable. Or unbearable, considering I’d probably be thinking about all the naughty things I wanted to do to my million-dollar girl, and have her do to me, for the duration of the day. Even that millisecond of a thought forced me to rearrange the uncomfortable hardness that seemed to have decided to take up residence in my pants.

But I was a man of business, and business came before pleasure. So the second Samuel opened my door and I stepped onto the pavement that led to the revolving glass entrance of my second home, my smile was gone. Stone-faced Crawford had entered the building.

I was known as a hard-ass around the office. Employees who had been there since my father’s day had been shocked to see his rambunctious son morph into a cutthroat wheeler-dealer. But the business world was a cold, cruel bitch, and to stay ahead, you had to keep your guard up or be prepared to have your balls handed to you at the first sign of weakness.

Mason, the only man I trusted around this place, greeted me as I stepped through the door.

Mason Hunt was my right-hand man, my personal assistant, and probably the closest thing I had to a friend. He and his wife, Polly, pretty much took care of every aspect of my life. Mason had my back at the office, and Polly took care of my personal life. She ran my home, overseeing all of the staff and my expenses, so I never had to be bothered with the task. The maids, gardeners, and cooks were there and gone before I got home, for which I was grateful. She was also my personal shopper and made sure I looked damn good for both business and pleasure. Multitasker extraordinaire.

She was really very good at what she did, as was Mason. They worked together like a well-oiled piece of machinery. I’d like to think I had something to do with their getting together. After all, tending to me on a daily basis meant their paths had to cross pretty often. Despite their differences, they complemented each other. Mason was a laid-back, cool motherfucker, tall, southern, and never without his favorite cowboy boots. Polly was just a hyperactive little shit who bounced all over the place. Short and highly social, she apparently never wore the same outfit twice. Not that I’d ever really noticed, but I caught that little snippet of information during one of her rants, which I usually tried to tune out. Polly was the yin to Mason’s yang, so it seemed inevitable that they would end up together.

“Hunt,” I greeted him as we walked side by side to my personal elevator. Yes, I had a personal elevator. I couldn’t stand to be stuck in a tin box with twenty other people crowding me, each one wearing a different cologne or coughing and sneezing all over the goddamn place.

Mason stuck the key into the lock and opened the doors so that I could step through ahead of him. I put my briefcase down and sat on the red velvet couch that stretched along the interior wall. The ceiling and each wall was mirrored to make the small space look bigger. Bigger was always better.

“So, how did it go?” he asked as he pushed the button for the fortieth floor and took a seat on the opposite end of the couch.

I’d been single for quite some time, and Polly had been relentlessly trying to set me up on dates with women she considered to be a good match for me. To stave off her attempts, I finally broke down and told her that I’d been secretly seeing someone that I’d met on one of my trips to Los Angeles. She bought it and stopped trying to play matchmaker, but then she started hounding me about wanting to meet the mystery woman. Usually I could give someone “the look” and they knew to back off, but not Polly. She wasn’t the least bit intimidated by me. I’d told her that I was going to ask my mystery lady to move in with me last night—you know, just in case I actually found something I liked at Foreplay and followed through on making a purchase, which I had.