A Million Dirty Secrets (Million Dollar Duet 1)

He rounded out the kiss with a suckle to my bottom lip and then dived straight in on my neck as he leaned his body into mine. The gargantuan bulge pressed into my girly region, and the Cooch’s resistance wavered. Strong arms wrapped around my waist, and Noah held me to him as he continued to wantonly knead my flesh. His neck was on display in front of my lips, the tendons taut and alluring. I couldn’t help myself. I had to taste him.

I leaned in and sucked on the skin between his neck and shoulder, and he moaned into my ear. I sucked as hard as I could, because for some unknown reason I was still pissed about the day before and feeling a little possessive.

“Are you trying to mark me, Delaine?” his husky voice asked against my ear.

I ignored his quiet chuckle and bit into his flesh to aid in my attempt. He apparently liked that because he pressed harder into me until there was no space left between our bodies. His head fell back and to the side, exposing more of that gorgeous flesh. I wasted no time in devouring his offering with my wet and demanding mouth. My hands curled through the longer locks of hair on top of his head and gave a none-too-gentle tug. I could taste the coppery flavor of his blood as it rose to the surface of his skin, and it set off a feeding frenzy inside me. Mindlessly I dug my nails into his scalp, scratching at the tender flesh. Harder and harder I sucked, reveling in the saltiness of his skin. And still I wanted more. I swear I must have been a vamp chick in my past life, because I could visualize my teeth sinking into his flesh and losing myself in his very essence.

“Enough!” he finally barked in a commanding tone, and yanked his neck away before quickly stepping out of my embrace.

Both of us were panting hard, and I could still taste him in my mouth. I’m not ashamed to admit that I whimpered a little bit. I had been denied the chance to live out one of my naughty vamp fantasies. But then my eyes locked onto his neck and Double Agent Coochie giggled in glee.

Noah Crawford had the mother of all hickeys.

The skin on his neck was already turning a beautiful shade of dark crimson, and a welt was beginning to rise, marring his perfect skin.

One side of his mouth turned up into a smug smile as he looked me over. He lifted a long finger to brush my cheek and watched my heaving breasts with rapt fascination. “I let you mark me, only because I plan to mark you later.” The back of his hand barely swept over one of my breasts. “My mark won’t be a simple hickey on the neck, though. Everyone will know that you belong to me.”

A shiver ran down my spine and I could feel the gooseflesh rising on my skin. Noah’s gaze went to my nipples, and he sighed when he saw the evidence of how much his words had aroused me.

“Very nice,” he said before rolling one bud between his fingers. “No bra?”

I rolled my eyes at him and crossed my arms over my chest.

He pulled them away and stepped toward me. “Let’s take a closer look, shall we?”

His hands slipped under the hem of my shirt and slowly slid over my stomach and ribs before he found the bare flesh of my breasts. He cupped them in his hands as his thumbs passed over their hardened peaks.

“I like this. Makes it so much easier to do this.” He lowered his head and took one nipple into his mouth for one chaste suck, and then he gave the same attention to the other one.

That might have had something to do with equal-opportunity employment, or whatever. I mean, technically, I was working for him. Well, at least my body was. The Cooch used to be a model employee before the whole Noah-slobbering-all-over-the-Latin-whore thing. She was a real go-getter; always going for the “greatly exceeds expectations” on her annual evaluation. Pfft, brownnoser. I guess her theory was that if she was successful, she might get a raise.

“What about panties? Let’s see if you’re obeying the rules of your punishment.” His hand slid down my abdomen. With one flick of his fingers he had the button of my shorts undone and was slipping a hand inside. I should’ve felt like a heifer at a cattle auction being felt up by some lonely and very desperate farm boy. But you remember what I said about the porntastic fingers, right? Yeah, they were still porntastic.

He deftly maneuvered two fingers between my folds before slipping them inside me. His fingers curled back and forth, hitting that little spot of awesomeness until my eyes nearly rolled to the back of my head and a moan escaped my lips. Then he pulled them out, gave the love nubbin a few quick strokes, and slipped them back inside me quickly. My knees nearly buckled.

Noah quickly withdrew his hand. “You might need to change those shorts now,” he said with that smug look. Then he stuck his fingers in his mouth and sucked them clean.

I was quite perturbed by his tease. “Are you finished? Did I pass inspection?”

“You did,” he acknowledged, and then turned toward the refrigerator. “I have to run out and pick something up today, but I’m expecting a package to be delivered. Samuel can sign for it, but the contents belong to you, so feel free to open it.”

“What is it?”

“A gift.” He shrugged his shoulders as he poured himself a glass of milk.

“You spent two million dollars on me and you’re buying me gifts on top of that?”

“It’s as much a gift for me as it is for you.” He kissed my forehead and patted my ass before he walked back out of the kitchen and left me standing there by myself.

I had no idea what sort of gift it might be, but my curiosity was piqued. What woman didn’t enjoy getting presents?

I found out a little later. The doorbell rang—and, by the way, it was one of those snooty doorbells that seemed to go on forever—and Samuel signed for the package. “Here you go, Miss Delaine,” he said kindly, and handed the package off to me.

“Please, Samuel, it’s Lanie,” I said, and smiled at him. He nodded respectfully and then took his leave.

I’m not ashamed to admit that I felt sort of like a kid on Christmas morning when I knelt on the floor in my skirt—yes, I changed—and ripped into the box. It wasn’t an easy task, either. Whoever packaged that thing had sealed it up like Fort Knox. I even had to leave it in the entryway and retrieve a knife from the butcher’s block in the kitchen. No worries; I was careful so that I wouldn’t destroy the wee bit of treasure on the inside.

All that went out the window though when I finally got into the stupid thing and looked inside. “Le Petit Boudoir” was written all over the tissue paper, and there was a note from none other than Fernanda. I opened it up, and I’ll be damned if her handwriting wasn’t every bit as beautiful as she was.