Hideaway Heart (Cherry Tree Harbor Book 2)

I WOKE up to the sound of drizzle on the roof and someone breathing behind me. A heavy arm circled my waist, and a warm, hard body curled around mine.

My eyes popped open. The first thing I saw was the knotty pine ceiling sloping toward me. When I looked down, I saw the ink on the thick, masculine forearm draped possessively over my belly. The previous night came back to me, and my body tingled right down to my toes.

I couldn’t believe it—I’d had sex with the big bearded lummox.

Not just any sex, good sex. Hot sex. Mind-blowing, bed-moving, two-orgasm sex. Was I surprised? Not really. Xander moved in the world with the kind of confidence that came from knowing you could cash any check you wrote.

And that body, my God. The muscles. The ink. That mouth. Those hands. That cock. Between my legs, I felt that whoosh, followed by an involuntary contraction of my core muscles. A little memo from my body to my brain—more please.

Could I have more? It would be fun, but was it wise? Could this hot little vacation fling somehow come back to bite me in the ass?

I couldn’t see how, really. I trusted Xander not to run to the internet tabloids or sell his story to the gossipmongers. We weren’t making out in public. Photos of us in a clinch weren’t going to pop up in entertainment news with a lot of speculation over who was banging Pixie Hart. Duke wasn’t going to see them and come at me in a fit of jealous rage.

Not that I cared. I didn’t belong to him. And he didn’t really want me back—he just wanted the door to my bedroom to remain open for him. He liked the publicity we generated. He enjoyed me as candy on his arm.

Well, too fucking bad. I had no illusions he’d give a shit if I wasn’t Pixie Hart. Maybe at first it was flattering to have the attention of such a well-known star, to feel special that you were the one who’d caught his eye when he could have anyone he wanted, to feel chosen, but reality had set in eventually. He hadn’t chosen me. He didn’t even know me. And he certainly hadn’t been faithful to me.

I remembered Xander’s words from last night. You don’t have to perform for me. I don’t want an act. I don’t want to fuck Pixie Hart.

How could he have known I needed to hear those words so badly?

Suddenly the arm around me tightened. “It’s tomorrow.” His voice was gruff in my ear.

“Yes?”

“You said I could give you a third orgasm tomorrow, and it’s tomorrow.”

I laughed. “It’s barely tomorrow.”

“Does that mean you don’t want one?” His hand snaked lower.

I was about to say of course I want one, so keep going when I remembered what he said about putting up a fight. I squeezed my legs together, denying his access. “You can’t just give me an orgasm when you feel like it. You don’t own me.”

He froze. Then it clicked—we were playing a game. “You say bear, and it’s over,” he whispered.

“Okay.”

Turning his hand sideways, he slid his fingers between my thighs. “You don’t want this?”

“No,” I said, tugging on his thick, sturdy wrist. It was like trying to pick up a cinderblock with my pinky. “I told you once before, I’m sick of being pushed around. I’m tired of everyone telling me what to do. This time, I’m putting up a fight.”

In two seconds flat, he had me pinned beneath him, my stomach to the mattress, his body heavy on my back. “Do it. Put up a fight.”

I squirmed and wiggled, as if I wanted to escape. One of my arms was trapped under my stomach along with one of his, but I swung at him with the other one—he laughed and let me flail before catching me by the wrist with his free hand and twisting that arm behind my back.

Placing his knees on either side of my thighs to keep them in place, he somehow captured my other arm, so he had both wrists crossed and pinioned against my lower back. “You’re going to have to fight harder than that, baby.”

I floundered and kicked and writhed, but it was like my upper body was encased in cement. “Not fair,” I panted, turning my head to the side. “You’re so much bigger and stronger than me.”

“You’re right. It really isn’t fair at all.” Somehow he locked one hand around both my wrists, holding them in place while he slid his other hand under my hips and hitched them up. Then he slipped a finger inside me from behind. Or maybe it was his thumb. “You’re wet.” His tone was cocky. “You want this.”

“I don’t,” I lied, inwardly begging for more.

As if he heard me, he pushed in deeper, crooking his finger in some magical way that had my mouth opening wide on a fast exhale. “Liar,” he rasped, now rubbing his fingertips over my clit in slow, sensual circles. “Now come for me.”

“Never. Go to hell.” I was panting with need, my nipples hard and tingling, my lower body surging with heat and pleasure. I wanted to move, to fuck his hand, to give up the fight. But part of what was turning me on so much was the game of resistance.

He flattened my body with his and spoke with a menacing tone. “Don’t move, if you know what’s good for you.” Then he leaned down and reached under the bed. He felt around, and a moment later, he brought up his hand with my curvy little mini vibrator tucked in his grip. “What’s this?”

It looked small in his wide, strong hand, but I knew how powerful it could be. “It’s none of your business.”

He pushed a button, switching it on. “Funny, I distinctly remember you offering to share your toys with me last night.”

“I changed my mind.”

A laugh rumbled in his chest as he slipped his hand beneath my hips again, yanked them up, and pressed the humming vibrator against my clit. “Too late now.”

“Jerk.” I pushed my forehead into the mattress. It felt so good, the way he was rubbing me with the rumbling little toy. I felt the vibrations in every fiber of my being. My body moved of its own accord as the tension pulled tight across my abdomen.

“That’s it.” His words dripped with self-satisfaction. “Just like that. Come for me. You want this.”

“No!” I yelled, the mattress muffling the sound.

He laughed, holding it tight to my clit, the increased pressure and steady tremble taking me right to the summit.

Then his words pushed me right off.

“The only thing you want more is my cock.”

“Fuck you.” My eyes closed and everything around me disappeared. There was only his scent in the air, his voice in my head, and the delicious, continuous burst of sensation beneath his touch.

When I stopped convulsing beneath him, he removed the toy, letting my hips collapse onto the mattress. Then he let go of my wrists and straightened up. “Three.” Leaning forward, he whispered in my ear. “I’m gonna hit the shower. Join me if you want to fight about number four.”

He sank his teeth into my shoulder before tossing the vibrator onto the bed and leaving the room.

The shower had only been running for a few minutes when I finally caught my breath and followed him into the bathroom. I noticed the light was on, which meant power had been restored at some point during the night. I took a minute to brush my teeth before I pulled back the shower curtain.

Xander looked like a god, bronzed and sculpted, water cascading down his tall, masculine body as he stood there slowly stroking his fully erect cock. “What took you so long?”

My eyes traveled down hungrily over his wet skin—the wide shoulders, the glistening ink, the towering erection—and back up again. With his hair all slicked back from his face, the chiseled jaw and cheekbones were even more arresting.

He was a work of art, and I’m pretty sure I drooled.

“Were you worried I ran off again?” I teased, stepping into the tub and pulling the curtain closed behind me.

His eyes narrowed as he caged me against the tiled wall with both arms. “You wouldn’t dare.”

“Oh no?”

“We’ve got an understanding now, you and I.” He kissed me, teasing my lips open with his tongue. He tasted like toothpaste and smelled like his body wash, woodsy and clean.

“Is that what we’re calling this? An understanding?” I sucked on his tongue and reached low, wrapping my fingers around his cock. His slippery flesh glided easily through my hand. I liked the way he immediately started to thrust into my fist, like he couldn’t help himself, like he was already impatient for the release. I gripped him a little tighter, worked my arm a little faster.

“Fuck,” he growled against my lips. “You better slow down.”

“Why?”

“I’m about to come all over you.”

“Maybe I want you to come all over me.” When he groaned, I tortured him further by arching my back and brushing the pebbled tips of my breasts back and forth against his wet chest. Sparks of lust popped under my skin. “Maybe it’s my turn to get what I want.”

“Fuck me.”

“We’ll get to that.” I rose up on tiptoe and ran my tongue along his bottom lip, then tugged it with my teeth. “We’ll get to all kinds of things today.”

“Christ.” Xander was breathing hard, his jaw was clenched tight.

“That’s it,” I murmured as his cock thickened even more in my hand. It was dark in color and bulging with veins. “You want this. Stop pretending you don’t. Give it to me.”

“You want it?” His eyes closed, his stomach muscles flexing gorgeously as he neared climax. “You want my cum all over those perfect tits?”

“Yes.”

He had the audacity to count it off, as if to let me know he was still in control.

“Three.” He wrapped his huge fist around mine, working my hand tighter and harder. “Two.” His chest heaved. He pinned me with a hot, dark stare. “One.” On the final word, he came in thick, white spurts that hit one breast like it was a bullseye. He pumped our hands a couple more times, each one bringing forth another shot that roped along my skin.

When he was spent, he put a hand on the mess he’d made and spread it around, rubbing himself into my skin, strumming my hard nipples with his fingers, then finally lowering his mouth to mine.

The kiss surprised me. It was deep but not hard, intense but not demanding. And it kept going. He wrapped one arm around my back and cradled my head with the other hand. His tongue was insistent but soft. My head began to swim, and despite the steam rising around us, my skin puckered with gooseflesh. My heart fluttered in an unfamiliar, all-consuming way.

“Hey.” I pushed against his chest. “Give me some room. You’re taking up all the space.”

“I’m a big guy.” He traded places with me. “Did I mention I’m two inches taller than Austin?”

“Once or twice,” I said drily, moving under the spray. I wet my hair, then reached for my shampoo. Xander watched me intently as I lathered it up and rinsed it off. “What? Why are you staring at me like that?”

“You’re nice to look at.”

“Oh.” My skin tingled. “Thanks.”

“Plus my cum is still on your tits, which is really fucking hot.”

I laughed. “You’re a barbarian.”

“But I was thinking that you’re much prettier in person than in photographs.”

I sighed, working conditioner through the long, wet strands. “Stop ruining the compliment, Xander.”

“I’m not. I’m sweetening it. You always look good. Perfect, in fact. I just like you better like this.”

“Because I’m naked.”

“Because you’re beautiful without any makeup on or your hair all done up.” His arms slid around my waist, and he pressed his taut lower body to mine. “But yes. You’re a fucking smoke show naked.”

Our mouths came together, and I rose up on tiptoe, sliding my palms up his chest. His arms tightened around me, lifting me right off my feet. This time his kiss was more aggressive, his tongue more commanding. I was beginning to realize Xander had all kinds of kisses, and I liked every one of them.

“Hey,” I said. “Put me down. I have to rinse my hair. And wash myself off.”

He set me down and I rinsed the conditioner from my hair. When I opened my eyes, he was standing there working up a lather of my body wash in his hands. “Let me,” he said.

“Use my soap?”

“Use it on you.” He reached for my wrist and tugged me out from under the spray, then took his time soaping up every inch of my skin—arms, legs, hands, fingers, toes. My back, my belly, my breasts.

“You’re good at this,” I said as he crouched down to reach in between my thighs, surprisingly gentle considering he’d just assaulted the same place with a vibrator not even an hour ago.

“Thank you.” He turned me around and moved my hair out of the way to rub my shoulders and the back of my neck. I laughed when he slid his hands into my armpits. “Stop it, you’re like a kid,” he complained as I wriggled away from him.

“I can’t help it. I’m ticklish there.”

He grabbed me by the hips and pulled me back into place, his hands skimming down my hips and the sides of my legs, then up the backs of my thighs and through the crack of my ass. Then he pressed up close behind me. “There. Squeaky clean.”

I turned around and looped my arms around his neck. I had to tilt my head back to look up at him, he was so tall. “Is that just so it’s more fun to get me dirty again?”

“Definitely.” He locked his forearms around my lower back. “But I need food first. I’m hungry.”

“Me too. Should we go out for breakfast?”

“I’ve got a better idea. I’ll cook for you.”

My eyebrows shot up. “You cook?”

“Don’t look so surprised, princess.” He pinched my butt. “We don’t all have live-in chefs. And I lived alone for years. It was either cook or starve.”

“What do you like to cook?”

“Meat. But I can also do some stuff with eggs.”

“I like eggs and meat. Do you need groceries?”

“I think I can impress you with what we bought the other day.”

I smiled. “Okay, then. Impress me.”

Xander said he didn’t want me in his way, so I stayed out of the kitchen while he made breakfast for us. With a cup of coffee in my hand, I stood by one of the front windows and watched the rain fall in heavy sheets. The world outside seemed dull and gray, even the vibrant emerald-colored pines had faded to a dreary shade of army green. The temperature had dropped too. I shivered as I brought my cup to my lips.

“Cold?” Xander called from the kitchen over the sizzle of bacon in the skillet.

I hadn’t realized he’d been watching me. “A little.”

“There’s a sweatshirt in my bag there by the couch.”

It was sort of ridiculous how giddy I felt as I set down my coffee and dug through his bag. I found the dark blue hooded sweatshirt and tugged it over my head. It was dark blue with NAVY printed in highway-paint yellow block letters across the front. It was also gigantic—not only did it cover my tank top but my denim shorts as well. The thing fell midway down my thighs, and my hands were lost in its sleeves.

But it was cozy and smelled like him. Wearing it reminded me of being in high school when the boy you liked offered you his hoodie late one night at the county fair. Pulling it on for the first time was a little magical.

Careful to keep my back to him, I pulled the collar over my nose and mouth, inhaling deeply. The scent of him hit me straight in the lady bits and spread throughout my body from there, like streetlamps coming on one by one all the way down Main Street.

“Does it fit?”

“No. But I like it. Thank you.” His bag was still open, and I noticed he’d brought his camera. I picked it up, switched it on, and focused on him working in the kitchen. “You brought your camera.”

He looked up. “Hey.”

“Come on. Give me a smile.”

“Put that away.”

“What’d you bring it for anyway? Are you going to take pictures of me while I’m sleeping and sell them to Splash!?”

“No!” He frowned. “I’d never do that.”

“I know. I’m only teasing.” I tucked the camera back in the bag and spied the box of condoms. Picking it up, I held it aloft. “Wow. The entire box, huh?”

“My instincts were telling me it was going to happen no matter what I said.”

“That might explain sticking one condom in your bag. You brought thirty-six.” I shook the box.

“I was fairly confident I’d enjoy the experience.” He grinned arrogantly as he cracked eggs into a bowl. “And you would too.”

“Oh, now he smiles.” I shook my head, tossing the box back into his bag. “What are you making over there? It smells delicious.”

“Denver omelets served with bacon and a side of arugula.”

My stomach growled. “Yum.” I wandered over and sat at the counter, watching him move confidently from skillet to mixing bowl to chopping board to fridge and back again. He looked even bigger because of the small size of the kitchen. “So how’d you learn to cook?”

“Just sort of figured it out, I guess.” He took a sip from his coffee mug. “I was always hungry, and my dad worked long hours. Austin did a lot around the house and drove the younger kids to and from their activities, so unless I wanted to starve, I had to learn to cook. That was kind of the way I pitched in.”

“So you cooked meals for everyone?”

“I wouldn’t go that far, but if I made something—like spaghetti or chili or whatever—I’d make a lot so everyone could have some. I also worked at a restaurant.”

“Oh that’s right. The one we passed last night?”

“Yes, the Pier Inn.”

“Maybe you’ll take me there for dinner while I’m here. A real date this time.” I watched him pour the eggs over the diced ham, red bell pepper, and onion in the skillet, then shake the pan to distribute everything more evenly.

He pretended to consider it. “Nah, I don’t think so.”

“Why not?”

“I’m working for you.” After running a spatula beneath the edges, he sprinkled on some cheese. “Wouldn’t be proper.”

I laughed. “Oh, now you’re working for me? I’ll take care of that—you’re fired.”

“You wouldn’t dare fire me now.”

“Why not?”

He shook pepper on top of the omelet. “Because you like me. Just like I said you would.”

I shook my head. “You’re a smug, conceited pain in the ass, and I can’t wait until I’m rid of you.”

He smiled and gave the pan another shake. “But first you want me to take you to dinner.”

“Only because I have no other prospects.” I paused and conceded, “And I do sort of like you.”

“Yeah?” He gave me a cocky, lopsided grin.

“Yeah. So will you take me to dinner?”

He carefully folded the omelet in half and then slid it onto a plate. “I’ll think about it.”

We ate breakfast sitting side by side at the kitchen counter, and I practically inhaled every single bite. Afterward, I told him I’d clean up since he’d done the cooking, but he wouldn’t let me do it alone. I loaded the dishwasher while he scrubbed the pans by hand, then I dried them and put them away while he wiped down the counters.

“So what’s the verdict?” he asked. “Are you impressed?”

“Totally. I have to admit, I didn’t quite believe you when you said you could cook, but that was delicious.” I wrapped my arms around his solid middle and rested my chin on his spine. Now that touching each other was okay, I couldn’t seem to stop. “Thank you.”

He rotated to face me and pulled me close. “What should we do today?”

“I don’t know. With this rain, it looks like we’re probably stuck inside.”

“What a shame.”

I smiled up at him. “I’ve got some ideas for how we might pass the time.”

“Such as?”

“We could play cards. Read books. Do some yoga. Watch a movie.”

He slipped his hands inside the sweatshirt I wore and rubbed the sides of my ribcage. “I have some ideas too.”

“Such as?”

“You could get naked. Sit on my face. Let me fuck you with my tongue.”

Arousal swooshed up my center, making my thighs tighten. “Is this before or after the movie?”

“How about during?”

“You know, for someone who was so against messing around with me, your ideas are very messy.”

“I know.” He fisted his hand in my hair and pulled my head to one side, fastening his mouth to my neck. His tongue tickled my throat as it traveled up to my ear, where he traced the shell. His beard rubbed against my jaw as he whispered, “I’ll clean it all up.”

I slid one hand between his legs, stroking the bulge in his jeans, excitement building in me as he thickened beneath my palm. His hands moved up to cover my breasts through my tank top. I hadn’t bothered with a bra, so my nipples poked through the thin cotton, and his thumbs teased them until they were hard and almost painfully sensitive. Desire radiated outward from those two little tips, setting fire to every nerve ending in my body. It amazed me how he could use such a small body part of his to create such a powerful feeling in me. My clit ached for his touch. My pulse quickened with anticipation. His mouth covered mine in a searing-hot kiss that made me pant and writhe and want to lie down right here, right now.

Throwing my arms around his neck, I tried to pull him down, but he only laughed. “You want me to fuck you on the kitchen floor? Is that it?”

“Yes.” And I was not above begging for it, but he didn’t make me.

Reaching beneath the bottom of his sweatshirt, he unbuttoned and unzipped my denim shorts, then yanked them down to my ankles. As soon as I kicked them aside, he grabbed me and set me on the counter. Pushed my knees apart. Growled with animalistic hunger. Buried his head between my thighs.

Then he used his tongue and lips and fingers to drive me all the way to the edge of the orgasm cliff like five fucking times without actually sending me over. Propped on my elbows, I watched him delight in tormenting me, sometimes with his eyes closed in sensual abandon, sometimes looking up at me with smoldering intensity, sometimes focused on his hand as he fucked me with his fingers, slowly and expertly, with toe-curling patience and skill.

“Xander,” I begged. “Please.”

“Please what?” His breath on me was warm and tantalizing.

“Please let me come.”

He backed off, pressing soft, wet kisses to my stomach, my hip bones, my clit. “You want to come?”

“Yes.”

“What are you going to do for me?”

“Anything.”

“Anything?” He bit my thigh. “Seems like a risky gamble on your part. You don’t know me all that well. My mind could be a scary place.”

“Xander.”

“I mean, what if I want to tie you up?” He gave my clit the barest swipe with his tongue.

“Fine.”

“Blindfold you?” Another agonizing, light-as-a-feather caress.

“Okay.” My stomach muscles twitched.

“Fuck your mouth with my cock?”

I licked my lips. “Do it.”

“You’d like that?” He pushed his fingers a little deeper and looked up at me with those dark, ravenous eyes. “Sucking my cock?”

“Yes.” I tried to move my hips, get some friction.

“You want me to come in that pretty little mouth? Feel me dripping on your lips? Taste my cum on your tongue?”

“Yes. Goddamn it. Yes.” Frustrated almost to the point of tears, I went to put my own hand between my legs, and he snatched both my wrists, pressing them firmly to the counter outside of my legs. My head fell back onto the butcher block with a thud, and I moaned with weary aggravation.

“Oh no,” he reprimanded me with a harsh tone. “This is my orgasm to give, not yours to take.”

“Then give it,” I begged. “Please.”

He exhaled, like I was asking too much of him. “Fine. But I might have to punish you later for rushing me.”

“Deal,” I said, positive the climax would be worth the cost. “Just don’t stop this time.”

He did as I asked, working his mouth and tongue and fingers together, taking me back to that edge and this time letting me sail over with blissful, pulsing relief, my thighs tight around his face.

I was still lost in the hazy aftermath when he tore his mouth off me with a grunt of frustration and left me on the counter. He was back inside fifteen seconds, undoing his jeans, tearing open the condom, sliding it on, pushing inside me. When he was buried deep, he put my legs over his shoulders.

“What’s this?” I asked. “I thought you wanted my mouth.”

“I can’t see you like this and not have you.”

“Like what?”

“Wet. Open. Bare.” He grabbed my hips and gave me a few deep, bone-jarring thrusts. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!”

I watched him fall apart and thought I’d never enjoyed anything as much as the sight of big, strong Xander Buckley succumbing to his need for me, unable or unwilling to control himself. His eyes closed, his jaw clenched, and he cursed angrily and repeatedly, as if he was furious that the orgasm was gaining on him, about to beat him in the race. Then he scooped me up from the counter, put my back against the fridge and fucked me hard, driving into me with quick, deep jabs until finally he buried himself to the hilt. I gasped at the depth, at the shock of being filled so fully, but I barely had time to register the feeling because he began rocking his hips, his pubic bone rubbing my clit, his cock hitting that sweet spot inside me. Another blaze in me ignited, and we came together, his cock throbbing inside me, my insides tightening around him in a gorgeous tandem rhythm that beat throughout my entire body.

Bearing my weight beneath his hands, he turned and set me on the counter again. My forehead fell onto his sternum, my breath coming fast. His chest rising and falling quickly too.

Slowly, he stroked my back with both palms. Up and down. Up and down. Up and down.

“I like that sweatshirt on you,” he said.

I smiled. “I can tell.”