One Wicked Week Read online

  He scrubbed a hand over his face, the tension of confessing his innermost shame making his facial muscles tighten. ‘But I’ve been an idiot. The more time we spent together, the more I found myself wanting to open up to you, to share stuff I’ve bottled up for years. But I didn’t want to dump all my shit on you when you’re so confident and together.’ He grimaced. ‘Besides, you’ve had enough on your plate lately with your folks and the new business and I didn’t want to screw with you when I couldn’t articulate half of what I was feeling. Plus, I’m no good at long-term relationships, I’ve never had one, and you’re so special to me—’

  ‘Which is why you deliberately pushed me away,’ she finished for him, sounding wondrous and a tad hopeful. ‘If you love me, you should’ve trusted me enough to tell me the truth. All of it. Everything you’ve just said.’

  Relieved she’d lost the hostile tone, he continued. ‘That’s what I’m doing now because I don’t want to have any regrets when it comes to the woman I love, even if being tied down terrifies me.’

  Her eyes lit as she glanced at his chest. ‘Is that what the seagull tats are about? Never being constrained?’

  He nodded. ‘At the risk of sounding like a dork, I did it about four months after graduation night, when I couldn’t get you out of my head. I wanted to be free of you so...’ He shrugged, hoping she didn’t think he was a total loser for admitting that.

  To his surprise, her mouth quirked into a bashful smile. ‘You got tats, I got a gym membership.’

  Confused, he waited for her to continue.

  ‘Looks like we’ve both got parental issues. For me, I was always second best. My folks adored Sasha and losing her didn’t change that.’ She grimaced and pointed at her waistline. ‘I always had body-image issues so feeling second best became second nature in all aspects of my life. So after giving that dickhead my virginity, I wanted to lose weight to feel better about myself.’

  She blinked rapidly, the sheen in her eyes almost undoing him. ‘But then I realised you did that. You liked me how I was so I stopped watching scales and going to the gym and tried to be happy with the way I was.’

  ‘You’re always beautiful to me,’ he said, itching to hold her, but he could tell she had more to say.

  ‘Thanks. Anyway, turns out my dad didn’t deal with Sasha’s death too well and started gambling, ended up embezzling money from the fund I managed for them, and Mum helped him cover it up.’

  ‘Shit, that’s terrible.’

  ‘It’s all sorted now and he’s getting help but I wanted to tell you you’re not the only one whose folks mucked them up.’ She made circles at her temple. ‘Up here.’

  He nodded. ‘I’ve come here directly after confronting my folks. I knew if I didn’t I’d never be able to move forward myself and, surprisingly, talking to them helped me understand their dysfunctional marriage.’

  ‘So you don’t want some skinny-ass chick to parade around in skimpy dresses with no bra?’

  The corners of her mouth twitched and he let out a whoosh of relief.

  ‘I want a luscious, curvaceous woman with amazing tits to parade around in skimpy dresses with no bra, thank you very much.’

  She laughed, a purely joyful sound as she launched herself at him. He caught her in his arms, picked her up and swung her around, squeezing her so tight she let out a squeal.

  When he stopped and lowered her to the ground, he rested his forehead against hers. ‘I might not be any good at this relationship stuff but I’m willing to learn, with you.’

  ‘Hey, I’ve never had a real relationship either so what do I know?’ She pressed her lips to his in the softest, sweetest kiss imaginable. ‘We’re good together. Let’s become great together.’

  As they kissed he finally got his way to push those awful saggy PJs off her and set about proving exactly how great they were together.

  Today and always.

  * * *

  If you liked One Wicked Week, why not try

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  Also by Nicola Marsh

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  Keep reading for an excerpt from Between the Lines by Lauren Hawkeye.

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  Between the Lines

  by Lauren Hawkeye

  CHAPTER ONE

  Then

  HE ALWAYS GOT what he wanted...except when it came to this woman.

  Theo Lawrence groaned with something akin to pain as she arched her hips into him, her soft, heated flesh rubbing against his aching cock. He fisted his hands in the front of her thin, ribbed tank top, yanking the fabric up to expose her small breasts, the nipples rosy red from his fingers.

  “Don’t stop.” Pressing her lips
into the corded muscle of his neck, Jo Marchande dug her fingers into his shoulders until it hurt, sparking deeper need to life inside him. All the while, her hips rocked restlessly, teasing the rock-solid erection that was straining at the stiff denim of his jeans. “Please don’t stop.”

  “You’re killing me.” He didn’t want to stop—oh fuck, how he didn’t want to stop. He’d never loved anyone in his life the way he loved her, and not being able to be inside her was exquisite agony.

  The one decent thing he’d done in his life, however, was to keep his hands off his underage girlfriend. He loved her—loved her family—far too much than to disrespect them by taking her before she could possibly be ready.

  It was the hardest thing he’d ever done. Especially when she was dead set on making him change his mind.

  “You don’t have to hold back.” Hand sliding down between them, she rubbed her palm over his arousal. His erection jerked in response, angry at being confined to its denim prison. “You know you don’t. I want this. Want you.”

  “Not while you’re still seventeen.” His words were strained. He tugged her shirt higher still, and she took the opportunity to rub her breasts against his chest, heating his skin to a feverish pitch. “It’s not right.”

  “You’re only two years older than me.” Her voice was stubborn. This was nothing new—his girl was nothing if not determined. Single-minded. He admired it in every aspect of her life.

  Except for this one.

  “And two years won’t be a big deal when you’re eighteen,” Theo growled against the top of her head. He inhaled the scent of her shampoo, straight spicy mint, something he’d never be able to smell again in his life without being aroused. “Tomorrow. We can wait one more day.”

  In Massachusetts, the age of consent was sixteen. It damn near killed him to do it, but he was making them wait until eighteen. It just seemed like the right thing to do.

  “No.” That stubborn streak in her voice thickened, and she dipped a finger inside his waistband. She swiped over the swollen head of his cock, and he groaned when a droplet of liquid leaked out in response.

  “Jo.” Drawing on every last ounce of strength that he had, he forced himself to take a deep breath, pulling back and putting a single precious inch of strength between them. It wasn’t much, but it allowed him to inhale without the smell of her skin sinking into the very cells of his being. “It’s not happening. You know me well enough to know that I don’t change my mind.”

  “I’m not asking you to.” He looked down into her face, the one he’d known since they were kids. Mischief was sparkling in her storm-gray eyes, bubbling up through the thick haze of lust.

  “You’re going to have to use smaller words.” Dipping his head, he pressed a soft kiss to her forehead, then trailed his lips down over her cheekbone. “All of my blood has flooded south of my brain. Far south.”

  She laughed breathlessly, and he felt the exhalation, warm as it teased over his chest. “I’m not asking you to change your mind. But I am asking you to...to fuck me.”

  His mouth went instantly dry, his cock surging forward, cheering at her words. Her dirty words, her innocent tone belying them, were rapidly bringing him to the absolute edge of no return.

  “I’m not sure you know what it does to me, hearing that sweet little mouth of yours talking about such filthy things.” Releasing her tank top with one hand, he dragged it up, up until he could rub his thumb over her kiss-swollen lips. In response, she swiped her tongue over it, then sucked it into her mouth, showing what she wanted to do to another part of him.

  What they both wanted her to do.

  “I’m going to do more than talk about it,” she insisted. Slowly, slowly, she started to work at his belt, the sound of metal on metal one of the most erotic things he’d ever heard. “Haven’t you figured it out yet?”

  “Jojo,” he exhaled, running the tip of his tongue over the seam of her lips. She parted them beneath him, and he licked inside. “No more teasing. What are you talking about?”

  “I’m not seventeen anymore.” She grinned up at him triumphantly. Blood suffused her pale, creamy skin, camouflaging the golden freckles that he knew were there. “It’s after midnight, Theo. And I know exactly what I want for my birthday.”

  Holy shit. Releasing her long enough to look at his watch, he watched as the numbers turned over from 12:02 to 12:03.

  She was right. She was eighteen now. And with that knowledge, his noble intentions melted like sugar in a hot pan, becoming something even better.

  He growled in response. He’d made it. And now there was nothing holding him back from sinking between those pale, pretty thighs that had taunted him for so incredibly long.

  “Put your arms around my neck,” he demanded. She cried out when he palmed her ass, lifting her so that she could wrap her legs around his waist. Again, the heat of her sweet core taunted his cock, but it was different now.

  Now it just spurred him on because finally, finally, he could touch her the way they’d both wanted him to for the last year—the longest year of his life.

  “I can’t believe we’re finally doing this,” she gasped as he carried her to the foot of the bed. Sliding her down his body, he set her down on her feet, then again fisted his hands in the front of her thin cotton tank top.

  “I can.” He grinned wickedly as he tugged. Jo exhaled harshly as her shirt ripped down the front. For a split second he felt bad—he’d ruined her shirt, and her family didn’t have a lot of money.

  But when she looked up at him, there was no judgment in her eyes, just raw need.

  He’d buy her a new shirt—he’d buy her anything she wanted, if she’d let him. Heaven knew he could afford it. Right now, though, the last thing he wanted was for her to start thinking about the differences between their lives—the one point of contention between them.

  Right now he didn’t want her thinking of anything. He just wanted her to feel.

  “Hold still.” He whispered the words into her ear, savored the resultant shiver. She was nervous, and he didn’t mind that.

  By the time they were done, she’d be too lost in sensation to worry about anything.

  He palmed her breasts, running his thumbs roughly over her distended nipples. She rarely wore a bra. She claimed that her breasts were too small to need the support. He didn’t care what size they were, because to him they were just perfect.

  And the lack of bra gave him easier access to heaven. Who would complain about that?

  Her breath hitched when his fingers worked at the button of her low-slung jeans. The denim was worn, the fastening giving way easily. Hooking his thumbs in the waistband, he worked the garment down her slim hips until it fell to the floor. She was left in nothing but a pair of flimsy blue cotton briefs, hardly a barrier to the sweet heat between her legs.

  “Lie down on the bed.” She did as he told her, scooting back until her head was cushioned on the pillows of his bed. Her slim, pale figure stood out in stark contrast to the deep sapphire-blue of his linen duvet, and he knew that he’d never look at his bed the same way again.

  He watched as she propped herself up on her elbows, her avid stare fixed on him. Her lips, swollen from his kisses, parted unconsciously as he undid the buttons on his expensive dress shirt, leaving it hanging open as he pulled his leather belt from his jeans. He was so hard that it was nearly painful, and yet he savored the bite of discomfort before popping the button and allowing the heavy length of his cock to breathe, his swollen length clearly outlined against his underwear.

  “Oh.” On the bed, Jo’s entire body flushed. She ran her tongue over her lips, and he barely suppressed a groan as he imagined those lips swallowing him deep.

  “You’ve felt me before.” He’d stuck to his rule, no sex until she was eighteen, but that didn’t mean they hadn’t touched. But this was the first time she’d seen him naked, and he
felt a strange surge of pride at her hungry gaze.

  He wasn’t a virgin, but nothing turned him on like knowing that she’d chosen him to introduce her to this kind of pleasure. It was a heavy responsibility, but he knew he was up to the task.

  “I know,” she whispered, her words rasping against the still air of his room. “But I’ve never really thought about...you know...how it’s going to fit.”

  Theo closed his eyes, his head falling back. What had he done in his life to deserve her?

  He hadn’t done anything, but he wasn’t that noble.

  “It’ll fit,” he promised, shoving his jeans down his hips. He stepped out when they fell to the floor, then rubbed a hand over his erection, which tented the front of his black briefs.

  Jo groaned, shifting restlessly on the bed. The sight of her arousal dampening the tender skin of her inner thighs was nearly his undoing.

  Quickly, he shed his shirt, then let his briefs fall to the floor. He stood before her naked, and though he wanted to pounce on her and bury his face between her thighs, he forced himself to hold still, letting her look her fill.

  He knew what she saw when those inquisitive gray eyes looked him over. He was tall, a good half a foot taller than her five foot six. He was also more than a little vain, and he started every day in the gym on the third floor of the house he shared with his father. He may not have had the drive for school or business that his dad had hoped to see in his offspring, but he never missed a session with his weights.

  Because of that, his body was chiseled and solid as a rock, and he’d shared that body with more than a few girls before he’d finally convinced Jo to date him. He knew that girls liked his abs, his cock, and even the fact that his skin was dark gold and his hair nearly black, his coloring thanks to the Brazilian mother who had died when he was a baby.

  Yeah, he knew he was a good-looking guy. And that plus his family money meant that he’d never been hard up for someone to warm his bed.