Zaccaro

wouldn’t dream of being with.
My voice is somewhere between a rasped croak and grumpy cat’s purr, yet I am not self-conscious as I ask, “Were you a masseuse in another lifetime?”
From deep within the rock-hard planes of his six pack, Evan gives a boisterous laugh. He has a knack for not responding, and I’m learning the art of silence as his knuckles work wonders at the top of my spine. Evan truly is a mind reader, in some aspects, because my eyelids flutter before closing as he begins to rub my lower back. Then his large hand and fingers expand.
“This ass is the first thing I noticed about you.” He says, cupping one of my butt cheeks.
The anticipation is at its peak. On impulse my back arches for him. Once more, a thrill of laughter coming from the body etched in Italian gold marble behind me. I almost frown, yet the sides of my lips twitch before curving upwards. He. Knows. Exactly. What. I want. And I refuse to beg again.
Evan’s fingers slip past my thong.
Take it off! I internally grumble, yet I’ve learned so much of this man in such a little time. He’s smiling at my expense.
My lungs fill with fresh air as Evan presses a thumb into my wet slit while he continues to rub my ass. My mind is washed away of my business woes, the only thing left is the memory of his touch. His touch from thirty minutes ago. An hour ago. Two hours. Every stolen caress as we talked, the expectancy. He skillfully strokes the sensitive flesh at my clitoris until my lungs force me to take a breath.
“You want me to fuck you, don’t you?” Evan’s deep voice is heavy with pleasure, smooth and sensual.
“I won’t beg,” I respond tersely, and then bite my lip as his thumb continues to coax my honey.
“No? But I’m entertained. Your pleading has entertained me.”
My eyes narrow slightly; Evan is goading me with that damn word. I flip this around on him, “Whatever! You want entertainment, I’ll sashay my ass right out that d—”
SMACK.
The sound of Evan’s bare palm against my buttock reverberates against my ears. Now he delicately rubs at the pain. My eyes widen in shock; I glance back at him. He becomes aware that I’ve never been hit before. There’s a cocky grin that comes along with his dominating demeanor too.
“You’re tense, Reese, let me finish.”
“Oh, ‘let me?’ No, ‘do this, do that?’”
“Lie down.”
And I do. Evan climbs on top of me, the hard slab of his chest against my back. His whiskey-peppered breath roams trickles over my neck and the back of my earlobe, sending a ribbon of ecstasy down my spine. Once again, pleading is on my mind.
My mouth waters as the tip of his thick cock probes at my entrance; my fingernails begin to sink into the feather pillowcase as I lift my ass up more.
“Easy, Reese,” Evan says, his hand spanks the very same spot as before. He then caresses the pain away and inches his cock into my tightness. He grabs my wrists, and captures them at my back while my walls stretch to accommodate his heavy cock. I have not a zilch of control, as his hand clasps mine and he thrusts against me.
Evan brings his other arm around to my front. He palms my breast and tweaks my nipple with the rough padding of his thumb and forefinger. It’s as if a button has been pressed, a river rains down on his dick as he continues to thrust inside of me.
His hand sneaks down the slimness of my tummy and works its way toward my clit. All the while, Evan’s other hand holds me steady. I bite my lip from gasping as he fucks me.
Something in me sparks, coming alive. I want to touch him, see him, feel him.
“Trust me, Reese, we’ll get around to you touching me too.” Evan’s masculine chest leans forward, my body stretching even more for his length. He nips at my ear and tells me, “A baker, of all people. You’re in for a real treat.”
Suit. Custom suit pants are my line of vision upon waking up. For a moment I’m transported back into the past. My ex- fiancé owned an entire arsenal of tailor-made suits. I blink away the image.
I’m delirious. Not hung over delirious with a massive headache, but it’s as if my mind needs to enter the current century and catch up. My body is infused into this bed of clouds as anxiety creeps in.
My eyes bug out from the sight of a friggen badge. I. Do. Not. Screw. Cops. The salmonella is less contagious than Los Angeles finest.
The digital clock on the nightstand reads one forty-one in the afternoon. I cringe while rolling over to look at the man beside me. Evan’s skin is a warm olive, glowing under the sunlight. Oh, and I recall pulling the heck out of that wavy, dark hair at the crack of dawn. Lucky him, it's still perfect in his sleep. Those eyes were a caring brown. If I blink, they flash before me.
I mentally take a note of his features: thick, perfectly arched eyebrows, faint lines of wisdom on his forehead. That fucking mouth. Exactly how long did God take sculpting his distinguished jawline and cheekbones? For half the night, Evan conjured feelings I never knew existed. And I bite my lip wanting to bask in the way he took so much thought into pleasing my body.
But in this moment, I’ve failed the memory of my father. Jesus, it’s time to exit stage left–STAT. I glide out of bed, moving quietly and with a side of sultry if he does happen to wake up to a vision of the full moon.
I consider nabbing his linen shirt just to take one last whiff of his intoxicating cologne. Yet, him catching me in this position might elevate me to creeper status. I step past the no-no suit and grab my