Page 6 of The Bitter Rival

What? What the hell is wrong with me?“No,” I quickly reply. The thought of this woman leaving again brings me back to the here and now. Sliding closer to her, I place my arm behind her, resting it on her back. Nuzzling my nose against her dark tresses, I try to get this night back on track. “I can’t wait to get you home, beautiful girl.”

I sense a shiver from my companion and move to pull her against me while I tuck her silky hair behind her ear. Placing soft, teasing kisses along her nape, I can’t help but grow hard in my pants at the thought of kissing her lower.

“Do you have any idea how much I want you?” I exhale onto her skin, dropping my mouth lower onto her neck and down toward her collarbone.

“No.” Her voice is barely a whisper. Is she nervous? Or is she afraid of me?

“I thought I made it abundantly clear at the club,” I tease. I await a retort and become more alarmed when I’m met with silence. “Do I make you nervous?”

“A little. I don’t usually behave this way. I mean, I’ve had a one-night stand before, but this feels… well, reckless. I don’t know a thing about you, and no one knows where I am.”

Pulling back from her, I see her point. She’s as anxious about coming to my place as I am to bring her there, just for completely different reasons. “Would you like to go to your place-”

“No,” she blurts quickly. “I’m sorry, I can’t. This is fine.”

Giving her a questioning look, I choose to ignore her wariness. Even though the thought some other man may be home waiting for her is now causing a strange pull in my chest that I’m unaccustomed to. “Well, let’s start over. Shall we?” Picking up her hand, I gently kiss the palm. “I assure you, I won’t hurt you. You can leave whenever you like. I’ll even have Charlie take you home, no questions asked. Just say when,” I console, trailing soft, closed-mouth kisses from the soft skin of her palm down to her wrist. “I just want to make you feel good, bella.”

I hear a gasp escape her lips and notice her eyes have widened. Does she think I’ve called her someone else’s name? “It means beautiful, in Italian,” I assure her, making eye contact to ensure she knows I haven’t blundered her name with another’s.

“Oh,” she answers, placing her free hand over her heart.

“One night, good girl. I only want to make you feel good for one night. No one has to know.” I smile.

“Yes, one night.” Her eyes darken.

Fuck, I want to kiss her. I rarely kiss anyone, as it always feels so personal. I need to keep control of this situation, so there’s no mistaking this is one night of hot sex, and that’s it. But the more I look at her puffy, red lips and those molten brown eyes, I wonder who I’m trying to convince. She seems fine with the one-night scenario. I’m the one struggling to be anything but distant.

Sucking in a breath, I decide to ignore these novel feelings and treat this girl as I would any other. “I can’t wait to taste you,” I moan into her ear. “I’m going to make you come all over my tongue.”

Another audible gasp, this one not as loud as the last. I’m choosing to believe it’s a moan. I can practically feel her pulse thrumming under my lips as I continue to nibble and lick at her neck. Sliding the pad of my index finger down her throat, I stop at the swell of her breast. She’s wearing a tight little black dress which exposes plenty of leg but only a hint of the soft mounds I’m dying to see. This petite beauty is not my usual type. As irritating as it was to be reminded, Sophia was right. The women I spend time with are usually young, blonde, tall, and thin. This lovely lady is almost the polar opposite. She’s probably about five foot four, dark hair and eyes, and curves galore. I supposed she was my age or slightly younger, but I found her confidence and maturity a lot more alluring than the women I’ve enjoyed of late.

“Would you like that?” Kiss. “Do you give as good as you get?” Kiss. “I’d love to see those dimples in your cheeks pop out when your mouth and throat are full of my fat cock.”

“Oh, god.” She exhales above me.

Okay, that was definitely a moan. It appears she doesn’t mind reciprocating. Reaching up to her neck, stroking my knuckles across her cheek, I realize the car is coming to a stop and peer out the window. “Ah, we’re here.”

I watch as her face snaps swiftly toward the window, her mouth falling ajar at the sight of my home.Yeah, it still has that effect on me too. And I live here.

Sliding out my door, I quickly stride around the rear of the car to meet her. Reaching for her hand, I pull her into my chest and place a gentle kiss on her head before pulling her along behind me. Normally, I’d enter through the garage, but I admit, I’m feeling a sense of pride in showing off my home to a woman for the first time. This is a bit ridiculous given the extremes I take to avoid bringing women here. I prefer to keep my wealth and personal identification under wraps, and yet, I head up the stairs to the front door nonetheless, my hand resting gently on the small of her back.

The home is a stately brick three-story with a three-car attached garage which houses my rarely used McLaren and a separate enclosed garage for my toys. I house my gear for water sports, jet skis, my Ducati Panigale V5 motorcycle, and my snow ski equipment there. My pride and joy, my Sea Ray 540 Sundancer speed boat, is docked at the Marina. This thought has me wishing I could introduce this little minx to her. Picturing her in a cherry red string bikini, sprawled out on the lounger as I steer, has my dick pushing firmly against my zipper.What the hell, man?First, you bring this woman to your home, and now you’re picturing her on your boat?

Grasping for what’s left of my sanity, I open the front door and usher her inside. There’s no mistaking her awe as she takes in the place. It’s a whole lot of house for one person, but it’s a good investment. I have an in-home gym, a study, a media room, a library, and a pool. It’s my all-inclusive sanctuary. I’d offer to give her the tour, but that’s exactly what I want to avoid here. I’m unsure why I’m tempted with this woman. I need to get control of whatever this is. She doesn’t need any encouragement that this is a date. Or that she’ll be back.

We round the foyer to the den. Taking her little black purse from her, I place it on the oversized marble kitchen island as I continue walking her down the hall to my bedroom. She doesn’t pull back to look more closely at my abode. She’s cool as a cucumber. Maybe she assumes she’ll see the details later as the sun comes up.

As we enter my bedroom, it isn’t lost on me the scale is over the top. I don’t make eye contact with her but can imagine what she might be thinking. This room is practically the size of my three-car garage. There’s a large, king-sized, four-poster bed along one wall with an oversized couch at the foot of the bed. Along the opposing wall is a row of bookshelves flanking a large wood-burning fireplace. Rich, mahogany shelving with a built-in bar sits adjacent to the right of the fireplace.

Sliding my suit jacket from my arms, I drape it carefully over the wing-back chair in the center of the room before turning back to my gorgeous guest. As I unbutton and roll my shirt cuffs, I rake over her tantalizing form. She’s standing, quietly watching me, arms hanging loosely at her sides. She seems pensive. Her dark hair falls loosely about her shoulders. Her soft breasts appear to be straining against the smooth material of her dress, begging to get free. I can’t wait a moment longer.

“Strip for me, good girl.”

CHAPTERTHREE

Isabella

“Strip for me, good girl.”

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