TamingTara

Chapter Twelve

They sat on the bed, Tara with the covers pulled up demurely under her armpits, eating olives and cheese and crackers and drinking Chardonnay.

“Why’d you join Le Château?” Joe asked.

She looked down at the wine in her glass. “I don’t want to talk about that.”

He nodded. It was personal, a decision to explore something like that. He got that. And he knew she was still struggling with the reasons. Fine. They’d talk about it later.

“Tell me about your parents then,” he said. She considered that as she swirled her wine in her glass, then lifted her eyes. To his surprise, she started talking.

“They died when I was fourteen,” she told him. “In a car accident on the freeway. They’d been in Los Angeles on business.”

“Fourteen is young to lose your parents.”

She nodded. “Sasha was only twelve. Grandpa, of course, stepped right in. He’d been alone for a long time. My grandmother died before I was even born. It must have been hard for him too to lose his wife so early and then his son. But he moved to Santa Barbara so we could stay in the home we knew, stay in the school we knew, and looked after us. He gave us everything.”

She didn’t say it but he could hear “except”…

“Everything but…what?” he asked.

She looked at him in surprise. “Everything but what I really want.” She bent her head, peered down at her wine and swallowed hard. “He gave us generous allowances, cars when we were sixteen, he sent us to college. We had a beautiful home, all the clothes and shoes we could want, trips to wherever we wanted to go and Nina was there to look after everything.”

“But…”

She looked up at him. “You know what I want.”

He nodded. He knew what she thought she wanted. “You want to run the company.”

She nodded, nibbling a cracker. “He has very old-fashioned attitudes about things.”

“Oh yeah.”

Her eyebrows slid nearly up into her hairline.

“I’m not gonna argue with you on that one,” he said. “Being a woman has nothing do to with ability to run a business. And I don’t believe a woman should be at home barefoot, pregnant and in the kitchen. Unless she wants to be.”

She stared at him, the cracker suspended halfway to her lips. “Really?”

“Why are you surprised by that?

She shook her head. “I just…I don’t know. Because you too seem to think I can’t run the business.”

“I don’t think that at all.”

Her head tilted and she regarded him open-mouthed.

“I think you’re strong, intelligent and knowledgeable. You also have great vision and passion.”

She blinked at him, the hand holding the cracker lowering. “Really?”

Had no one ever complimented her? His chest tightened. Christ.

“Really.” He took a bite of cheese, chewed and swallowed. “You miss your parents a lot, don’t you?”

“Well. You know.” Her eyes lowered. “Not every day. It’s been a long time. But since I became involved with the business, I think a lot about my dad, about what he would have thought of what I was doing, what he would have done. Sometimes I still have dreams about both of them, like they’re still here,” she confessed and met his eyes with a hint of embarrassment.

He was so damn lucky to have the family he did. They’d supported him through all his shit and they always would, no matter what. He hated that Tara hurt and he had to admit it kinda bugged him that Tyrone didn’t think she was good enough to run the company.

“I think your dad would be very proud of you, proud of what you’ve done.”

She nodded again, her bottom lip quivering, and tough-as-nails, bossy, controlling Tara looking so soft and vulnerable damn near ripped a hole in his gut. He stroked a hand down her bare arm. She thought what she wanted was to run the business. And yeah, she did want that. But he knew what else she wanted.

He set the empty dishes aside, took her wineglass from her and set it on the bedside table and pulled her into his arms. She tipped her head back and gazed at him, her hands on his chest, her eyes soft and yielding.

Need slammed into his balls, and the urge to throw her down and fuck her crazy rose up inside him. He had to fight for every bit of control to take it slow, take it gentle. Trust. He was building trust. ‘Cause he was gonna need it.

He lowered his mouth to hers and kissed her, long, clinging, warm kisses, their mouths tasting each other, tongues nudging, mouths lifting, shifting, clinging again. She softened in his arms and heat spiraled through him. He pulled her onto his lap, fighting with the bed covers to free her, kissing her again and again. Sweet. Hot. Consuming.

He nipped at her bottom lip, sucked on her tongue and she moaned. Her hands roamed over his shoulders and chest and rubbed his nipples, sending a barrage of sparks through him. God, that was good.

“I don’t have another condom,” he said, their foreheads resting together as they panted.

She made a small noise.

He slid a hand between them to her pussy and found her drenched and slick and swollen. “Ah, sweetheart.” His fingers played there. “I’ll make you come.”

“What about you?”

“Don’t worry about me.”

“I can…”

She’d already given him one blowjob. Jesus.

“Make yourself come then,” he said. “I’ll watch. And then you can watch me.”

He laid her down on the bed and parted her legs, then waited for her to touch herself. She stared back at him, eyes big and glossy, lips pouty from his kisses.

With a small groan, teeth sinking into her bottom lip, she moved her hand between her legs.

“Oh yeah.” He sat back and watched with avid eyes. Her slender fingers stroked through her pretty pink folds, dipped deeper, slicked moisture up over the straining bud of her clit. She rubbed in small tight circles, eyes closed.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” she moaned.

“That is so fucking hot, Tara.” He stroked his cock, thick and hard. Easy. He wanted her to watch him too. Pleasure poured over his body, a buzzing, a growing pressure at the base of his spine.

“This is awful,” she whispered without opening her eyes.

“Why, sweetheart? Doesn’t it feel good?”

“It feels…wicked.” She licked her lips and her fingers continued their rhythm. “I’ve never…done this…in front of someone.”

He smiled with satisfaction. There were many things he would make her do that she’d never done in front of someone.

He wished for some toys—something to insert inside her to make her orgasm more intense. His fingers would have to do. So he let go of his cock and probed her entrance. She started, blinked, then her eyes drifted closed again as he pushed inside, one finger, then two. Her hips lifted at his touch, and her breasts swelled and flushed. She gave a soft cry and her body tightened and clamped around his fingers. When she came, he felt the pulses, the ripple of her pussy around him over and over. She cried out again and he leaned up and kissed her mouth.

“Wow,” he said against her lips. “Hot.”

“Mmm.”

She’d need a few minutes. But he needed to come. Right. Fucking. Now. He lay down beside her and fisted his cock again, dragging it up and down in slow strokes, twisting over the head just how he liked, waiting.

She shifted, rolled to her side and met his eyes. He held her gaze and deepened his stroke, the combination of her eyes focused on him and the touch of his hand intensely intimate and erotic and lethal to his control. Her gaze went to his cock. Her eyes widened, her lips parted and she sat up. The fascination in her expression almost undid him as his hand moved up and down, around the head, faster and harder. Leaking pre-cum slicked his hand. He rubbed his other hand over his chest, then cupped his balls. God, he’d love her to touch him right now, play with his ass, but that…might be…Christ! Just the thought of that sent him over.

“Ah fuck!” He came in hot spurts, semen on his belly, sliding over his fingers. Tara stared, absorbed in the sight, and he gasped for breath, his heart pounding, chest heaving as he finished himself off.

Jesus, that was the hottest masturbation he’d ever experienced.

Without a word, she reached over for some tissues from the nightstand and, to his surprise, wiped him clean, gently, attentively.

They curled up together, her body touchingly small and dainty in his arms, and when she fell asleep, harsh reality intruded into his brain.

He’d fucked his boss’s granddaughter and potentially jeopardized the only job he’d been able to land after months of looking. And the only reason he had this one was because his grandmother, bless her heart, had used her influence with an old friend. He needed this job, needed to prove to the world he wasn’t scum; in fact, he needed to prove it to himself. He almost groaned aloud at the complicated mess.

He wanted to tame Tara so they could work together, so he could keep this job—but taming her might be the very thing that lost him the damn job.

Tara awoke later that night, the lamp still on, almost startled to find herself in bed with a big warm male body, his hair-roughed arms around her and one hairy muscled leg twined with hers. His soft breathing told her he was asleep.

Remembering her astonishment at the size of him when he’d removed his pants, she slid a hand down his side, over his square hip bone and lifted the covers enough that she could peek down at their bodies. His penis, soft but still impressive, lay against her thigh, thick and heavy, his balls beneath it fat and round. Her gaze was glued there, studying the perfect shape of the round head of his penis, when he twitched against her. She dropped the duvet and her eyes flew up to his, which were now open and watching her with amusement.

“Do you like what you see?” he asked, his voice raspy. She pressed her lips together in embarrassment, then she shrugged.

“I’ve seen bigger.”

“Bullshit.” He rolled her onto her back and pinned her down. A small gasp escaped her lips. His eyes gleamed wickedly, his mouth curved and those dimples flitted across his cheeks. His face was really dark now with scruffy beard and she put a hand up to touch his cheek, to stroke the roughness there. He closed his eyes briefly at her touch, rubbed his cheek against her hand. “I guess I need to shave.”

“You’re a little rough.”

“Yeah.” He held her gaze. “But you like it rough. Don’t you, Tara?” His voice was a velvet seduction.

“Um…”

He kissed her mouth and she felt him hardening, lengthening against her thigh. “I know what you like.”

“You do not.”

He arched a brow. “You’re going to argue with me? Now?”

She blinked.

“Go ahead,” he invited her. “It turns me on when you argue with me.” And he kissed her again, igniting every nerve ending. Jesus. She’d been fighting with him ever since he arrived and here she’d been turning him on. Talk about the wrong strategy!

And yet the knowledge she affected him that way made her all warm and syrupy.

In the morning, Joe woke first. He studied Tara sleeping, her eyelashes curved fans on her cheeks, her pretty mouth soft. In sleep she was vulnerable, sweet.

The truth was—she was always vulnerable and sweet. She just hid it well. And something squeezed his heart at that realization.

He rolled carefully out of bed and pulled on his jeans sans underwear. He wandered through the spacious house, with airy vaulted ceilings and gleaming golden wood floors, into the kitchen. There, square terra cotta tiles were cool beneath his feet.

He gazed out the window onto the tiled terrace with a small, Spanish-style fountain, currently dry, shaded by a vine-covered arbor. Clay pots of palms and other tropical plants were scattered here and there. He could easily picture some comfortable lounge chairs, shaded by olive and oak trees or pulled into the sun, looking toward the craggy mountains in the distance.

The kitchen was large, although a bit outdated, and he opened a few cupboards, then the freezer to look for food. Ha! A loaf of bread. Frozen, but that was no problem. A jar of peanut butter in a cupboard would complete the meal. While the bread toasted, he located coffee and quickly spooned the grounds into the coffeemaker and got that started.

While the coffee brewed, he explored the house. He found a large dining room furnished with a kind of retro-chic 1950s Scandinavian-style dining set. He assumed Tyrone slept in the huge master bedroom when he stayed. There were four other bedrooms, two with ensuites, another large bathroom, a small powder room and a half empty room that could be anything…a den, a library, an office, another bedroom. The views from the windows were spectacular, lots of light and sunshine flooding in through them in a way that couldn’t help but make you feel cheerful.

A short time later he carried a tray with a plate stacked with toast and peanut butter and two cups of coffee—both black, no cream or milk to be found, so he hoped Tara could handle that—down the hall into the bedroom. Tara rolled over in bed as he walked in, half awake.

Her honey-blonde hair hung in tousled strands around her face, eyes sleepy, mouth swollen. She was fucking sexy as hell. His dick twitched.

“I thought I smelled something,” she murmured, shoving her hair back.

He set the tray on a dresser and carried her cup of coffee to her.

She sat up and took it in both hands. “You made breakfast?” She peered up at him.

“Yup. Not much to choose from. Sorry your coffee’s black.” He paused.

She shrugged and sipped it. “I can drink it black. Mmm. This is good.”

“And I found a loaf of bread in the freezer.”

She shook her head, eyes questioning him. “Um…thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” He sat on the bed, the plate of toast between them, his own cup in his hands, and leaned forward to kiss her.

“I’m starving,” she said. “Cheese and crackers wasn’t enough dinner for me.”

“Me either.”

“Do I get to get dressed today?” she asked him, with just a hint of snark.

He considered that. “I don’t know. I’d love to keep you naked, but the truth is, that just makes me horny, and without condoms…”

She lowered her chin. “I have to go home.”

“Why?”

“I…uh…”

“If you tell me you have to go in to the office, there’s no way in hell you’re getting any clothes back.”

She blinked at him. “Uh…”

He grinned. “It’s the weekend. Neither of us has any reason to go back.”

“Yes, but…”

He shrugged and took another bite of toast. “So, we’ll get condoms. There must be somewhere around here.”

“Santa Ynez.” She snapped her mouth shut. Joe grinned.

She sighed. “It’s only a few miles away. It’s kind of a cute little town.”

“Perfect,” he said. “I’ve never been there. Let’s go check out Santa Ynez.”

“I’m going to need clothes.”

He laughed at the waspish tone in her voice. “Oh all right, if you insist.”

“And I need a shower.”

He grinned and stroked up her spine. “A shower sounds good. Let’s go.”

She met his eyes and bit her lip. “Um…alone,” she muttered.

“Nope. We shower together.”

Her eyes darkened. No way was he giving her a chance to run while he was in the shower. Even though he knew the shower was going to lead to more sex. Well, at least that was a good place to have sex without a condom.

He followed her into the small bathroom and she cranked on the water. Soon steam filled the room and they stepped into the enclosure.

She eyed him uncertainly, eyes flickering. She’d never showered with a man before. He’d bet his Porsche on that. Sweet.

“Ladies first,” he told her, reaching for a bottle of body wash. He squirted some into his palm and slicked it over her abdomen. With a few rubs, he worked up a good lather, nice and soapy and slippery, gliding his hands up and down over her pretty body. Her breasts. The feeling of a pair of tits all soapy and slick was like nothing else. Especially hers. Firm resilient flesh all slippery in his palms. Her nipples hardened into tight little points. Christ.

Then he slid a hand between her legs, gently soaping her pussy, expecting she was tender there. She moaned. Hell yeah, he had to make her come. So he turned her so her back pressed against him, her ass round and fitting perfectly into his groin, and found her clit, water pounding down on them, running into his eyes, and he fingered her to an orgasm, her head falling back on his shoulders.

“Good girl,” he murmured, kissing her mouth.

“Now you,” she said. “I want to do it.”

Jesus. Jesus Christ. It killed him, but he had to stop her.

He grabbed her hands as she reached for him, gritting his teeth. “You have to ask my permission.”

She paused, looked up at him and blinked. For a moment he thought he might have blown it and she was going to refuse. Her pretty mouth was set in a mutinous line, but then she said, “Can I please wash you?”

He gave a short nod and released her hands. She squeezed a puddle of body wash into her hand, soaped him up and her wicked fingers circled the base of his cock, ran over his tight balls, behind them, up through the crack of his ass—fuck! The caress was brief, but enough to have pleasure slamming through his bloodstream, heat cascading over him, balls tightening and pulling up hard. She pulled at his dick, her hand slick and soapy, up, down, up, down.

“Yeah.” He set his hands over hers gently and showed her how he liked it with that twist over the head, and she took over, her focus on him and her hands, stroking him perfectly. “Oh yeah. So good, baby, just like that.” Pressure built inside him and he thrust into her slick hands. His jaw tightened…and then he came, the top of his head nearly blowing off. “Ah, Christ,” he almost shouted. “Christ, Tara.” Hot semen spilled over her hands, quickly washed away by the water.

When he could focus his vision, he looked at her and saw…gratification. She was happy she’d done that for him. With a long groan he pulled her up against him, wrapped his arms around her and gave her a soapy wet hug. Satisfaction swelled inside his chest.

The doubts from last night were still there. The temptation, no, the need, to tame her had been so consuming he’d lost sight of reality. He was in a really precarious position here and spending the day with her wasn’t going to help that. And yet…he couldn’t help feeling it was all good and right. Seeing the look on her face, the joy she got from giving, even if she didn’t yet recognize it for what it was… Worth the risk. Christ, he hoped he was right.