Big Man's Bride (Big Men Small Towns 1)

“What if we put the talk about the house aside for a few minutes,” he says. “Because I don’t think either of us care about a house right now.”

“Things like this don’t actually happen,” I manage to say, my mouth completely dry.

Slowly, he reaches a hand out. He trails his fingers over my shoulder, raising goosebumps in their path, and down my side. It’s a touch that’s asking for permission. One that I could easily push away But it’s also lighting me on fire, so I don’t.

Instead, I grab his wrist. In the beat that I’m just holding his hand, I see confusion cloud his face. But then I guide his hand up, holding eye contact with him, and watching his face transform until I plant his hand on my breast. Then he smirks. I release his hand and he squeezes, ever so slightly. Just that subtle movement has heat spinning through me so fast that I’m almost dizzy.

Caleb grabs my other wrist and pulls it—and me—closer to him. He puts my hand in his lap, and through the fabric of his boxer briefs, I feel his cock. Fuck it’s so hard. And so big.

This isn’t right. This is my grandfather’s house. I used to watch him make pancakes in the kitchen and pretend that I was a detective looking for clues in the moldings of the house.

But right now, that doesn’t seem to matter. Any sentimentality I have for this house has flown out of my head in this moment. I’m about to have filthy, angry, sex in this house. Every bit of rage I’ve experienced today has coalesced into a burning ball of need for this man. I’m angry and disappointed. I hate Caleb and everything he stands for. His greed. Dashing my dreams. I hate it all, but I also want him. And if I want to think clearly and stand a chance of convincing him to sell me this house, I need to move past my anger. I know that fucking him will get that out of my system so I can think clearly again. Because right now, all I can think about is his cock.

I put the ice down on the floor, and I shove Caleb back on the couch. My hand meets the steel of his chest and I can’t help it, I’m impressed. I savor the look on his face: anticipation mixed with surprise. I reach for his waistband. He watches me with interest as I inch down the elastic waist, letting the swollen head of his cock peek out. Inch by inch, I lower his boxers until the waist band is straining over his thighs, and his entire cock is free from the fabric.

In my entire life, I’ve never been left so completely speechless by a man’s cock before. I’ve never thought one was better than any other that I’d seen. Caleb Staunton’s might be the one to change my mind. Long, thick, and proud. But I won’t give him the satisfaction of knowing just how much I want to taste him. Not yet, anyway. Because the moment my lips touch his skin, I don’t think that I’ll be able to control myself, and I quite enjoy the look on his face right now.

“Clearly, I’m not the only one with other things on their mind,” I say.

He smirks. “I never pretended otherwise.”

“I’m pretty sure I hate you.”

The smirk deepens. “I’m not your biggest fan, considering you nearly crippled me.”

“I just don’t want you to think that I hate you any less because of what’s about to happen.” I raise an eyebrow, challenging him.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, sweetheart.”

I hate pet names. Sweetheart, princess, darling. They all make my skin crawl. And hearing him call me sweetheart, it makes me hate him even more. That inexplicable heat washes through me again. A heady combination of loathing and lust that triggers my base instincts to take over. I don’t bother moving slowly. I press my lips to the tip of his cock and sink into his lap completely. Not stopping until I feel the head against the back of my tongue.

“Fuck,” he groans.

God, I love his cock. I might hate him, but this man is blessed in this department. The feeling of him so solid, sliding against my tongue, is enough to drive me mad. I’m certain it’s going to drive him wild, too.

I’m not the most experienced woman sexually—I’ve been too busy saving and working to save this house to put time into relationships. But I’m not a virgin either, and I know that I’m good at this. Every ounce of aggression I have, every bit of anxiety and worry, is channeled into sucking his cock. Sucking him down, I flick my tongue along his skin, moving back to the head to find that secret spot just below the head that drives him wild. I reach my hand down and cup his balls, tugging at them as I take him deep. His hand falls on my shoulder, and his breath comes out in pants. That touch on my shoulder sends a shiver through me, and all the anger I’d felt turns into a hot pool of desire.