Dirty Sweet Valentine: And Other Filthy Tales of Love, Page 7

  Harrington helped me salvage what I could, and, though I’d already said I’d go to a hotel, he offered his flat instead. I couldn’t resist his dazzling smile and suave persona. Besides, the sex was incredible, even before we’d memorized each other’s preferences. Without hesitation, I agreed.

  I was madly in love with him by the end of five days. He seemed to feel the same. We were inseparable after that.

  At the time, I knew that Harrington had some government type job that he couldn’t talk much about. I knew that he loved it. I knew he was a translator, able to speak Hindi, Punjabi, and Urdu. That was about all I knew. I imagined that he was called in to translate secret messages or help with interrogations. I liked picturing the confident charmer. My James Bond even then, minus the danger. It was exciting.

  We’d been together for eighteen months before he broke down and told me all of it. I’d been pushing for a commitment, a ring. A promise. A possibility for someday, even. When he refused to give it, I was devastated and heartbroken. He hated to hurt me like that. It crushed him. Against all better judgment, against policy and his oath to his officers, he told me he wasn’t “just” a translator. He’d been working undercover for the past several years on an important project, and his relationship with me had provided a good cover. He hadn’t expected to really fall in love. Now that he was, he was stuck. His obligation was to the job and the people he worked to protect, but his heart belonged to me.

  Cold, cold comfort to hear.

  “One day,” he’d said, “I will be called to a new assignment. I’ll be forced to cut off all ties to the people I know. I will not be able to contact you again. I will simply disappear.”

  It was a tough blow, but one I eventually came to understand. He’d trusted me with his life by telling me what he had, and that was a testimony to his love that I couldn’t deny. Over the next several months, he offered me a few more hints to the truth of his situation. They were bitter crumbs from a trail I couldn’t follow. He spelled out the rationale for no personal attachments. He explained that his current assignment wasn’t qualified as dangerous, but his next assignment would likely not be as safe. The best part was that he was finally able to show me a part of him he’d been hiding, and I quickly learned just how passionate he was for his work. As passionate as he was for me.

  Eight months later, just as he’d warned, he was gone.

  He made it easy for me, told me to accuse him of cheating. I was to tell our few friends that he’d moved to the United States. Our friends were really all my friends. No one took his side. No one asked for his forwarding address. No one had a clue there was anything other than the story I gave. They made the appropriate angry noises about me not deserving that, and him not deserving me. No one saw the truth of my pain.

  He never asked me to wait for him, and I didn’t. Not on purpose. Just, there was never a man who could fill his shoes. Never a man who could fill my soul the way he did. So, although I led an active sex life after he left, I never gave anyone else my heart. But I did give a good portion of it to my career, throwing myself into it with the passion and energy I’d once devoted to Harrington.

  Now, my job is what means the most to me. What I am most proud of. It’s more than a job, it’s my identity. I couldn’t imagine walking away from it. It would tear something out of me that could never be replaced. I would do it, though, for Harrington. Even though I barely know the man anymore, I’d do it. But it would damage me.

  And there’s the impossible choice again, because there is no doubt in my mind that Harry would be just as damaged if he were forced to trade working in the field for a job behind a desk.

  “Hey,” he says, stirring now beside me. He catches my eye and his sleepy grin fades. “That’s the look of a woman who’s about to tell me goodbye.”

  I slide into his arms, and he turns on his side so we’re laying face to face. I rub my knuckles across the scruff of his jaw. “I love you too much to go with you,” I say quietly. The tears are already stinging my eyes, but I manage to keep them in.

  His features darken. I see the emotions wrestling across his face, usually so placid. He’s showing me this on purpose, letting down yet another wall. “I asked you to come with me, but I think I love you too much to let you actually do it.”

  My mouth finds his, and we get lost in long, slow, languid kisses. His fingers drift low and rub my clit, and by the time he rolls me under him, I’m wet and ready for his cock to glide inside me. His thrusts are sweet and unhurried, but each one is purposeful and full of desperate desire and love. Mostly love. So much love.

  Later, at the door, it’s harder.

  “I could quit altogether. I could stay here and be a regular guy.”

  “You’re not a regular guy, Harry.”

  “I could be.”

  “This isn’t the kind of job a man just walks away from.”

  “You aren’t the kind of woman a man just walks away from.”

  We kiss again, for a long time. I’ve given up making it to work on time, but there’s a client meeting at ten and a staff meeting at noon, and I’m already being ripped away from the fantasy in front of me by my reality.

  Harrington feels the same, I can tell. His eyes say he’s already out the door, already half wrapped up in whatever assignment he’ll be given next.

  And so it’s time to say goodbye.

  “We aren’t over, Amelia,” he promises as he steps away. “One day, it will be our time.”

  “I’m counting on it.”

  Then I shut the door on my dirty sweet Valentine, take a deep breath, and close my eyes against the tears.

  When I open them again, it’s just another day without Harrington Steele. But it’s also another day closer to when we’ll meet again.

  Amelia also appears in the Dirty Sweet Duet, Sweet Liar and Sweet Fate .

  Cherry Popper

  This title was originally published in the Laurelin Paige, Kayti McGee sampler. It has been reedited for this edition.

  One

  If I were writing an article about tonight, I’d call it Chase Matthews Discovers Religion.

  Because this right here? This is my idea of goddamned heaven.

  When I’d originally agreed to tag along with my buddy Jared to this dinky little bar forty-five minutes outside of our college town, I’d thought we’d have a good time—shoot some pool, flirt with some chicks, use our fake IDs to get a couple beers.

  I sure hadn’t expected to be crashed against the wall of the back storage room with the legs of the sweetest little blonde in the place wrapped around my waist.

  The instant I locked eyes with her, I felt the mutual attraction. There was a pull between us. It had only taken thirty minutes of eye-flirting before she’d made it over to our table. She was alone, which was the universal signal for I’m into you, and into this, and we don’t have to pretend. At least it had been where I grew up. But I wasn’t taking it as a given. In a lot of ways, Colorado wasn’t anything like California.

  For half a second, when she sashayed over looking that delicious, I worried Jared would try to pick her up instead. I didn’t want to have to go alpha on my buddy. But then God intervened—Chase Matthews Witnesses a Miracle—and another hot chick scooped Jared off to some dark corner.

  And now here I am, with Kira’s legs wrapped around my waist and her lips locked on mine.

  Man, she tastes good. There was a faint hint of Amaretto Sour, but mostly she tastes of the cherry flavor lip gloss she’d applied and reapplied throughout the evening. Even without the gloss, I suspected she’d taste good. How could she not? Those luscious lips of hers were made to be kissed.

  And the things she does with her tongue… Every time she flicks it across the tip of mine, my dick throbs as I imagine it flicking across my crown. And the sexy little sounds she makes in the back of her throat are making my jeans even tighter.

  Chase Matthews Verifies the Existence of Angels.

  I press her against the wall, relie
ving some of the weight from my arms so my hand can explore other parts of her body. The new position angles our pelvises more perfectly together. It’s both amazing and amazingly uncomfortable all at once.

  Trying to ignore the ache in my pants, I distract myself by concentrating on Kira’s breasts. If I could just hold one of those perfect little mounds in my palm, I know it will be worth the blue balls I’ll have later. I sweep my hand down the side of her torso, then up again, this time a little closer to the object of my desire. Finally, on the third pass, I can’t take it anymore. My hand circles around her perky tit and squeezes.

  Instead of the protest I’d half expected, she moans. I was nearly exploding already, but that sound has me desperate to make her feel that good again. Within seconds my hand has made its way under her T-shirt and slipped under the cup of her bra. Had I thought I’d made it to heaven before? Well, I was wrong. Because this was definitely heaven. Soaring on the wind, floating on air, heaven.

  Then she says the magic words—the words every guy wants to hear when his dick is painfully hard and his hand is wrapped around her breast—“I have a condom.”

  Sweet Jesus, I’m going to get laid in the back of this dive bar.

  But I’m not an asshole. I know the rules of chivalry. I break from her lips and kiss up to her ear, delighting at the shiver that rolls through her body when I nip at her lobe. “Are you sure?”

  “Yeah. I’m sure.”

  Score!

  I feel instantly harder, if that’s even possible. If the whole event was only about me, I’d have the condom on and be inside her before she could blink. And since I’ll likely never see Kira again, I could easily get away with selfish sex.

  But I won’t let it ever be said that Chase Matthews took a girl for granted. Ever. Setting her down so I have both my hands free, I slip my fingers up her skirt and under the elastic ribbing at the leg of her panties. My thumb slides between her folds until I find the hood of her clit. With alternating featherlight swirls and concentrated pressure, I treat her as good as I know how.

  Boosting my confidence further, Kira sighs deeply at my touch. “Yes,” she mumbles. “Oh God, yes.”

  Her features hypnotize me—the way her mouth parts, the way she peers up at me from hooded lids—it’s beautiful in a way I’ve never noticed. Do all women look this gorgeous when they’re mid-clit rub? Maybe I just never paid attention. Maybe I had been taking them for granted.

  When I feel her body start to tighten, I move my fingers further down. Damn, she’s already so wet. So ready for me. I’ll have to make this good, because I have a feeling I’m not going to last long inside her.

  I glide two fingers in, my thumb still circling above.

  Immediately, she cries out.

  I reclaim her mouth, swallowing her sounds before she alerts the staff that we’ve taken over their storage room. Shit. The noises she makes when she comes are even more beautiful than her face. She is a revelation.

  At this point I am turned on like a megawatt light bulb and I can’t bear the thought of waiting any longer to be inside her. Time to suit up.

  “Should I get the condom?” Kira asks against my lips.

  Apparently she’s on the same wavelength.

  “Actually, I have one.” Thank God, too, because I hate the idea of breaking apart for her to rummage through her purse. Even letting her go to dig in my pocket is almost more than I can take. I retrieve the square foil from my wallet then push my pants and briefs down just enough for my dick to spring free.

  Ah, much better.

  Kira removes her panties while I rip open the condom and poise it over my cock. When I glance up, I notice her eyes glued to my shaft. Damn, that’s hot too. Is there anything this chick does that isn’t hot?

  “Do you want to put it on?” I ask. Maybe she’s one of those girls who prefer to participate in this part. Or maybe I just want to feel her hands on me.

  “No, thank you. But I’d like to watch, if you don’t mind.”

  Mind? No, I definitely don’t mind.

  I take my time rolling it on, basking in the heat of her watchful eyes. Calming down so that I can last longer. When I finish, I reach for her again, but she puts her palm up to stop me.

  “Wow. That’s big.” Her brown eyes are wide. “I mean, not in a bad way or like I’m worried about it fitting or… God, I sound like a moron.”

  I can’t help grinning. “Big is totally an acceptable description.” It’s true, too. Something I’ve always been proud of. I hold an arm out to her. “Now, come here.”

  Instantly she’s on me, her mouth locked with mine, leg wrapped around my hip. I bunch her skirt up around her waist and position myself at her entrance. Then I’m sliding in and Chase Matthews Has Died and Gone to Heaven. Jesus, she feels good. Way good. Tight and wet and fucking awesome.

  “Oh, wow.”

  Did she just read my mind?

  “Wow.” She says it over and over, seemingly surprised. I try not to let that offend me. “Wow. Oh, wow!” Her words trail away into incomprehensible gibberish.

  Then talking is over. Hell, thinking is over. I kiss along her jaw and neck as I move in and out of her. The sexy noises she made earlier are nothing in comparison to the angelic sounds she makes now. They accompany each thrust, echoing in my head like a carnal symphony. I wish I could make it last forever—the feel of her, the sight of her, the music of her.

  But, of course, I can’t. Too soon I can feel it starting, and then I’m coming, driving into her with a last long stroke. I groan her name into her ear as I do—which is weird. Normally I never call out anything but God and Jesus when I’m climaxing.

  Perhaps it’s a good thing, then, that I’ll never see her again. That this tryst with Kira is a fuck in the stockroom and nothing more. Because otherwise—and I don’t want to sound all girly about it—otherwise I just might fall in love.

  Two

  An entire semester later, I’m still thinking about her. Kira. Kira Larson, according to what her girlfriend yelled as we emerged from the back room, slightly mussed and glowing all over. I stare at the blank document on my computer screen, the blinking cursor hypnotizing me. This isn’t really the way I want to spend such a beautiful February afternoon, but my brain just isn’t working right.

  It’s not like I haven't met any other girls in my first few months on campus. Hell, I’ve met lots of girls. Girls who’d seemed interested, even. But every time I think of asking someone out or hooking up with a chick from my swipe app, all I can see is chocolate brown eyes and hear the sexy little sounds of that angel.

  Fuck, I’m basically pussy-whipped. By a girl I met once in a town forty-five minutes away. Time to move on. Past time, really. Maybe I need to rip off the Band-Aid. Go out tonight and find someone to replace her memory. Yeah, that’s what I’ll do. Just as soon as I get this stupid paper finished. Which at this rate, will be some time next week.

  Jared knocks as he sticks his head through my open door. “Hey, you coming with me?”

  I’ve known Jared for ages. We hadn’t been best buds or anything, but we’d been friendly enough. Same crowd at school, same baseball letter jackets. So when he found out I was looking for a good school to follow up on my community college Associate’s Degree, Jared had suggested I check out University of Northern Colorado. The tuition is good and the school has a strong Education Department. It seemed like a good place for me to pursue my teaching degree.

  Now I live with Jared, a spur-of-the-moment decision, in a house we share with six other guys. Most of them are a little more aggressively jock than I like, but we all get along well enough. They’re respectful, if not the neatest of roommates.

  I lean back in my swivel chair and stretch until my back pops. Maybe I ought to take a break from staring at this screen. Grab a coffee or something. “Depends. Where you heading?”

  Jared leans against the doorframe and gives me a wicked grin. “The Cherry Savers rally. They’re the ones that are publicly saving themse
lves for marriage.”

  I raise a brow, obviously missing something. “Why the hell would we want to go there?”

  “Those chicks won’t bang, but they give the best head on campus. It is known.”

  I hide my eye roll by refocusing on my laptop. “You’re a total dog.”

  “And you aren’t? At least I got a number last time I hooked up in a bar.”

  “Touché.” And why hadn’t I at least asked for Kira’s number? I’ve been kicking myself about it ever since. But when we’d parted it had been so simple and easy and perfect—I hadn’t wanted to mess it all up by asking to see her again and being turned down. A girl like that wouldn’t want to date the guy she hooked up with in a bar. She would want the guy she could bring home to her parents with a nice story about meeting in a grocery store, or at a football game.

  No, I’m good without that embarrassing memory tarnishing the one of the sex. This situation is fine. And there is no way in hell I would be caught going to a virginity club meeting. Chase Matthews Falls From Grace. “I think I’ll just stay in. I need to figure out what I’m doing for this article due Monday. But thanks for the invite.”

  Jared shrugs and bends to tie his shoes. “Suit yourself.”

  I thunk my head down on my desk and sigh. This article is killing me. Now that I’m all settled in here, I’d decided to pick up an extracurricular. I’d had a regular column on the paper at my last school and figured I was a shoo-in for at least an occasional feature in UNC’s campus journal. Turns out the editor is a dick. Or just unreasonable. He’d taken no more than a three second glance at the copies of my portfolio before shoving it back across the desk.

  “Eight hundred words,” the editor had said. “Something about UNC campus life. Due Monday. Then I’ll decide.”