Page 1 of Playing With Her

Prologue

BOSTON

One MonthEarlier

Christ,leaving the woman beneath me in the morning is going to be fucking hard. But my brothers at Four Brothers summoned me back as an emergency, and I have no choice but to go. Pushing it off by even a day is stretching it. Parker, Ezra, and Theo may not be family by blood; they’re still more than I’ve ever had before. What none of them know is I’ve fallen fast and hard. Being with Amelie is as easy as breathing.

“Fuck, I need more. Need to get deeper. Closer,” I groan. Amelie’s head is tipped back, her eyes are closed, and piles of her auburn hair are spread out on the mattress. The view she’s giving me… Son of a bitch. Spectacular is the only way to put it—soft fair skin flush from the impending orgasm slowly trying to consume both of us. That high she was so close to achieving ebbs as I move her legs from being wrapped around my lower back. Now, one is on top of my shoulder, giving me the room I need, wanting to bottom out inside the woman who is making me feel things I’ve never felt before.

“Damn it, Boston. I was almost there.” There’s fire in her tone, rich, intense, and her green eyes with flecks of gold surrounding them pop open. She’s pissed at me, and for good reason. She’ll get hers soon, only this time, it’ll be more intense for the both of us.

“I don’t think you’re too put out, are you?” I dip my body lower, my tongue sliding around her nipple, and feel the dig of her fingertips pressing into my scalp, pulling me closer. The grumble of annoyance she lets out has me suppressing a smile. Amelie wants what she wants, when she wants it. This being our last night for who knows how long, I’m going to make it last.

“Please, don’t tease me.” She uses her foot, planting it on the mattress, lifting her hips up to match each one of my thrusts. Each time I pull out, the ripple of her cunt has my own body locking up, all that velvet heat wrapped around my dick. I’m giving in to what she wants not because I’m a pushover. Oh no. I want the same thing she does. Amelie loves nothing more than to have my lips wrapped around her nipples, pulling the distended tip into my mouth. I swear she can come from my mouth alone and not with me between her spread legs. Nipple play alone does it for her. The way she arches her back, offering me more of her body, it’s only fair that I reward us both. I suck deeply, tongue pushing her nipple to the roof to my mouth, while keeping up a steady rhythm of my hips rocking in and out of her, not as hard before, albeit deeper, hitting her cervix. I wish like hell I’d had the forethought to do away with condoms. Though, it would have me coming before her, so maybe it’s a good thing after all.

“You like that, beautiful? Fuck, yeah, you do. You’re taking my cock perfectly, Amelie. Christ, you’re going to make me come before I’m ready.” I pull away from her nipple, hand wrapping around the back of her neck, holding her, eyes locked on one another even though I won’t have them for long. Amelie can’t keep her eyes open while coming. We’ve tried. Fuck, have we ever. It doesn’t matter that I’ll stop mid-orgasm in order for her to open her eyes, desperately wanting her to see the rawness before she takes me with her.

“Boston!” I swivel my hips on one powerful thrust inside her. My pubic bone hits her clit. There’s no way I’m going to take my hand away from the back of her neck, or from holding her leg hostage over my shoulder. My fingertips tighten against her creamy thigh, leaving a whole different impression besides wearing both of us out after this third and final round tonight.

“Come on my cock, beautiful. Squeeze the cum out of me. That’s what you want, isn’t it?” She nods rapidly, her wetness gliding a path. Fuck, I love how she gets off, with my fingers, my mouth, or my cock. It’s a damn vision, a work of art, and it’s all mine.

“Oh God, yes, yes, yes!” The tight clamp her pussy has on my cock triggers my own orgasm. I thrust my hips through hers while I reach my own, hands tingling, swallowing down the groan, and keep my eyes locked on Amelie’s pretty face, her eyes slammed shut, lips pursed, high cheekbones colored with lust. I didn’t move my gaze from where it’s locked the entire time. There’s no way I’m going to be able to move after this. Amelie’s body has to be as tired as my own. It’s been a marathon of sex. I told her the news yesterday, of my impending trip back home, and was unable to give her an answer of when I’d be coming back, only that I’d be here as soon as I could. A few words were threatening to come out, but it wouldn’t be fair, not to her or to myself. She may not know it yet, and I’ll tell her the truth one day, but I’m protecting her, leaving to put out a fire. If not for the screwup I call a father, she’d be boarding my private jet right along with me.

Amelie’s limbs fall from their purchase, no longer on my body, and fuck if I don’t like it. No longer is one hand at the back of my head, holding me so we’re looking at one another, and the other, which was fisting the sheets beneath her, is now unclenched. I’m already missing the warmth. I allow my body to drop onto hers, giving Amelie more of my weight. My cock isn’t settling down even after our third time tonight, her five orgasms to my three. Leaving her sated and sore was all a part of my master plan.

“I can hear the thoughts running through your mind. If it hasn’t shut down and you’re too busy thinking, that means I didn’t fuck you well enough.” Her arms loop around my shoulders. Glad I’m not the only one struggling here. I really should get rid of this condom, maybe catch an hour or two of shuteye before it’s time for me to head to the airport.

“Tell that to my poor used and abused pussy.” A laugh escapes me. Unfortunately, my cock loses her body as she joins in. Damn it all to hell. I wanted a few more minutes with her snug around me.

“She wasn’t complaining a few minutes ago.” Her gaze is hooded. I press my lips along her forehead. A slight sheen of sweat coats both of our bodies, and when I lick my lips, another taste of her comes right with it. “Let me take care of the condom. Be right back.” She unwraps her body from mine. I watch my no longer hard cock, wetness clinging to the condom. A few things will be changing when I’m back in New Orleans and Amelie knows I’m returning.

“Alright,” she responds once I’m out of the bed, situating herself beneath the covers, eyes already closing, sleep consuming her body. I head to the bathroom, keeping the light off, to take care of the condom and wash my hands, then heading back to Amelie. She’s tucked into herself, hands beneath her head. Sliding in beside her would be so easy. Falling asleep with her wrapped around me would be even better. Sadly, the sun is rising all too fucking fast, meaning I’ve got to get my clothes on, head to the airport, and put fires out that I didn’t start in the first place. The only consolation in this dynamic is I’ll be coming back. I’m not playing with her. I’m playing for fucking keeps. Amelie will be in my life. Forever. Even if that means leaving now to protect her from the people who share my blood.

“See you soon, beautiful.” The sun is slowly creeping up along the horizon. Neither of us took the time to close the shutters, so the orange, pink, and purple hues cast a light throughout the room. Amelie sleeps through the entire process of my redressing and kissing her lips softly, a good thing, too, because I’m not sure I could handle saying goodbye.

ONE

Amelie

This iswhat I get for allowing myself to get lost in the heat of the moment. I did what no girl or woman should do—I allowed myself to have scorching-hot sex with a man while catching every feeling there is to mankind as well. Why? He was gorgeous, gave me his full attention, his eyes spoke of an untold story, and the way he carried himself was confident in every facet you could imagine, especially in bed. I’d like to say I was using him as a distraction to get away from my parents and their incessant arguing. Obviously, it didn’t work out that way. I’m thirty-four years old and still in the middle of their crap. Don’t get me wrong, I love my mom; she’s the peanut butter to my jelly sandwich that holds me together. Sweet, kind, nurturing, always positive when the world is trying to steal her sunshine. My dad, on the other hand, well, yeah, that’s an entirely different story. It’s hard to love your father when he doesn’t reciprocate or show the supposed love he claims to have for me. The problem is, I’m stuck between a rock and a hard spot, my parents’ divorce, unincluded.

You see, it always comes down to meeting a man, at least that’s usually how the story goes. This one isn’t a New Orleans native, here on business, and is the epitome of tall, dark, and handsome. I thought it was going to be a fling, one night to let loose. Boy, was I wrong. One night turned into two, and so on and so forth. Each time he was here on business, we’d end up in bed together. There was no worrying about if my father is going to yell at my mother in that menacing tone of his, if he’ll tell me I’m wasting my time and should quit working at the LeBlanc Inn, which has been in my mother’s family for generations, only to work for him. Yeah, okay, no thanks. Needless to say, he can fall into one of the many holes along Bourbon Street for all I care. It’s him who’s the problem. Mom was never good enough in his eyes, and I’m the spitting image of my mother—our looks, the way we talk, the way we act, we’re an exact mirror replica of one another. Which pisses him off further, making him loathe me entirely. I was never the boy he hoped and wished for, and I’m their only child, a product of his own issue with a low sperm count. Karma really is a bitch. Works in all the right favors, allowing Mom to really dodge a bullet in that arena.

I roll out of bed and head to the bathroom, taking care of an errand that while necessary doesn’t help calm the nerves swirling in my stomach. Once I’m finished, I walk through my room in the three-story hotel, my own private quarters away from the guests on the top floor, perks of being the manager of the Inn. So, what if I have to traipse up and down the stairs several times a day? It’s great exercise, plus it means even less time of having to deal with my father, who without a doubt is trying to badger Mom into giving up the Inn through the divorce proceedings she finally asked for. I’m not sure what tipped her over the edge, nor am I going to ask. I’m only glad it’s finally happening. As for the Inn, well, fortunately, my great-grandparents had a stipulation in their will and how the Inn gets left behind. It went to my grandparents, and then my mother. Should something happen to her, it would go to me. Although judging by the way dear old dad is going about things and the way he attempts to manipulate the situation, it could backfire on us. I’ll be rooting for my mother. No way will I allow her to go down without swinging a few punches if it means she can keep what’s rightfully hers.

I take a deep breath. The piece of plastic digs in the palm of my hand, but I refuse to look down at the response as I continue my path from the bathroom. The Inn is historic in all the preservation we could afford after a long history of hurricanes, tornadoes, and everything else along the way. Hours upon hours, Mom, I, and a few other employees helped breathe life back into what my family loved as much as my mother and I have. The wood floors creak when you walk across them, sanded and refinished to a gleaming dark stain matching the trim around the whole room. The walls are painted in a muted white beige tone, there are wood tray ceilings, and plantation shutters on the door that leads to the small balcony, the windows sporting the same treatment. A plus when you’re working the front desk well into the early hours of the morning, checking in out-of-towners, taking care of rooms should the guests need towels, soap, or helping them out when they’re locked out after a long night out partying. I pull open the doors, ready to watch the sun rise over the water. The partial view still steadies my racing heart. No matter the complication in my life, I only hope it will do the same today. I’m still in my night clothes—an oversized shirt and sweatpants that have seen better days, hair in a bun on top of my head secured with a jaw clip. There’s no coffee in my hand like usual, and my phone is charging on top of the nightstand. There’s no way I could answer if my mom or best friend called. The sleep I hoped would come last night never did. Nope, instead, I tossed and turned, got up a million times praying to the period gods that mine would magically arrive. It didn’t, like I was ninety-nine percent sure it wouldn’t, causing me to do the one thing I wasn’t prepared for even if I am well over the age of thirty. It’s not like I’m married, in a committed relationship, or, you know, actually knew more about Boston than the fact he was from New York, was here on business, and the days were hot, the nights hotter, and the orgasms were fucking phenomenal. Okay, fine, I know more than that, but it’s beside the point. There were no promises made. One night a month ago, he left to head back to New York. I was fast asleep, and when I woke up, there was no sign of him except a discarded handkerchief. We’ll come back to that. I’m still scared to admit that I keep it in my nightstand drawer and look at it every night before I go to bed. We exchanged numbers. He didn’t use mine first, so being the stubborn woman I am, I didn’t use his either.

The only problem I have is how good it was between us, too good, and apparently, condoms be damned, the plastic test in my hand is cutting into my palm. I reluctantly look down. It's been well past the time the instructions said to wait. The positive line is all I need to know. I’m pregnant.

TWO

Boston

“I should have keptmy driver until Boudreaux meets up with me,” I tell the quiet street. Taking the company jet early this morning is wreaking havoc on my sleep schedule. My phone vibrates in my pocket. I ignore the call. I’d rather walk around the perimeter of the building one last time instead of answering my phone. Beyond the wrought-iron gate there seems to be enough space for two cars, meaning the rest of the employees will have to fight with street parking or deal with a parking garage. I’ll have to figure out if a monthly allotment will be necessary for each employee or not. This new venture is my baby, a new extension of Four Brothers, which means I’ll keep being on the front line, assume what needs to be done, take it back to Parker, Ezra, and Theo, and we’ll agree or not then go from there.

I pull my phone out of my pocket and dial my driver, ignoring the missed calls from my father, mother, and Parker. It’s too fucking early, and I don’t have enough caffeine in my body. Noticing the time, I grimace because I’ve rearranged my schedule only for Boudreaux to be a damn no-show. If I lose this damn place, I’m going to be pissed as hell, and while I may not be well-known in this area of the world, that doesn’t mean I’ll let shit lay where it lands. Being told this deal was locked and loaded only for it not to be means heads are going to fucking roll.

“Mr. Wescott, how may I help you?” Scott, the hired driver I acquired while I was down here the last time asks. Using him again was a no-brainer. Him answering on the first ring solidifies that I chose the right company. At least one thing is going right today.

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