Michelle Celmer - Mistress to the Magnate - Money Man's Fiancée Negotiation

Mel looked up at him and found that he was looking back at her, drowsy and a little disoriented, as if he were still caught somewhere between asleep and awake. He looked down at her hand still gripping him inside his pajamas. She waited for the smile to curl his mouth, for him to tell her how good she made him feel, but instead he frowned and snapped, “Mel, what are you doing?”

Mel snatched her hand from inside Ash’s pajamas, grabbed the sheet and yanked it up to cover herself. He couldn’t tell if she was angry or hurt, or a little of both. But Melody didn’t do angry. Not with him anyway. At least, she never used to.

“I think the appropriate thing to say at a time like this is thanks, that felt great,” she snapped.

Yep, that was definitely anger.

“That did feel great. The part I was awake for.” Which wasn’t much.

He knew last night, when he’d pulled back the covers and discovered she was naked, that sleeping next to her would be a bad idea. When he woke in the middle of the night with her draped over him like a wet noodle, limp and soft and sleeping soundly, he knew that he should have rolled her over onto her own side of the bed, but he was too tired, and too comfortable to work up the will. And yeah, maybe it felt good, too. But he sure as hell hadn’t expected to wake up this morning with her hand in his pants.

Before the accident it would have been par for the course. If he had a nickel for every time he’d roused in the morning in the middle of a hot dream to find Melody straddling him, or giving him head.

But now he almost felt … violated.

Looked as if he should have listened to his instincts and slept on the damned floor.

The worst thing about this was seeing her there barely covered with the sheet, one long, lithe leg peeking out from underneath, the luscious curve of her left breast exposed, her hair adorably mussed, and all he could think about was tossing her down on the mattress and having his way with her.

Sex with Melody had always been off-the-charts fantastic. Always. She had been willing to try anything at least once, and would go to practically any lengths to please him. In fact, there were times when she could be a little too adventurous and enthusiastic. Three years into their relationship they made love as often and as enthusiastically as their first time when it was all exciting and new—right up until the day she walked out on him.

But when it came to staying angry with her, seeing her in such a compromised condition and knowing that she had no recollection of cheating on him took some of the wind out of his sails. For now. When she got her memory back, that would be a whole other story.

But that did not mean he was ready to immediately hop back into bed with her. When, and if, he was ready to have sex with her, he would let her know. He was calling the shots this time.

“I don’t get why you’re so upset about this,” she said, sounding indignant, and a little dejected.

“You could have woken me up and asked if it was okay.”

“Well, seeing as how we’re engaged, I really didn’t think it would be a problem.”

“You’re not ready for sex.”

“Which is why I don’t expect anything from you. I was perfectly content just making you feel good. Most guys—”

“Most guys would not expect their fiancée, who just suffered a serious head injury, to get them off. Especially one who’s still too fragile to have him return the favor. Did you ever stop to think that I might feel guilty?”

Some of her anger fizzled away. “But it’s been months for you, and I just thought … it just didn’t seem fair.”

Fair? “Okay, so it’s been months. So what? I’m not a sex fiend. You may have noticed that my puny reptile brain functions just fine without it.”

That made her crack a smile. “It didn’t seem right that you had to suffer because of me. I just wanted to make you happy.”

Is that what she had been doing the past three years? Making him happy? Had she believed that she needed to constantly please him sexually to keep him interested? Did she think that because he paid for her school, her room and board, kept her living a lifestyle many women would envy, that she was his … sex slave? And had he ever given her a reason to believe otherwise?

For him, their relationship was as much about companionship as sex. Although, in three years, of all the times she had offered herself so freely, not to mention enthusiastically, had he ever once stopped her and said, “Let’s just talk instead?”

Was that why she cheated on him? Did she need someone who treated her like an equal and not a sex object?

If she felt that way, she should have said so. But since they were stuck together for a while, he should at least set the record straight.

“The thing is, Mel, I’m not suffering. And even if I was, you don’t owe me anything.”

“You sure looked like you were this morning when I woke up,” she said.

“Mel, I’m a guy. I could be getting laid ten times a day and I would still wake up with a hard-on. It’s part of the outdoor plumbing package.”

She smiled and he offered his hand for her to take. She had to let go of the sheet on one side and it dropped down, completely baring her left breast. It was firm and plump, her nipples small and rosy, and it took all the restraint he could muster not to lean forward and take her into his mouth. He realized he was staring and tore his gaze away to look in her eyes, but she’d seen, and he had the feeling she knew exactly what he’d been thinking.

“Not suffering, huh?” she said with a wry smile.

Well, not anymore. Not much anyway.

“I honestly believe that we need to take this slow,” he said. “If you’re not physically ready, we wait. Both of us.”

“Okay,” she agreed solemnly, giving his hand a squeeze. “You mind if I use the bathroom first, or do you want it?”

“Go ahead.”

She rolled out of bed and he assumed she intended to take the sheet along to cover herself. Instead she let it fall and stood there in all her naked glory, thinner than she’d been, almost to point of looking a little bony, but still sexy and desirable as hell.

Instead of walking straight into the bathroom, she went the opposite way to her suitcase, her hair falling in mussed waves over her shoulders, the sway of her hips mesmerizing him. He expected her to lift her case and set it on the bed, but instead she bent at the waist to unzip her case right there. She stood not five feet away, her back to him, legs spread just far enough to give him a perfect view of her goods, and he damn near swallowed his own tongue. He saw two perfect globes of soft flesh that he was desperate to get his hands on, her thighs long and milky white, and what lay between them … damn. Doing him must have turned her on, too, because he could see traces of moisture glistening along her folds.

He had to fist the blankets to keep himself from reaching out and touching her. To stop himself from dropping to his knees and taking her into his mouth. He even caught himself licking his lips in anticipation.

She seemed to take an unnecessarily long time rifling through her clothes, choosing what to wear, then she straightened. He pulled the covers across his lap, so she wouldn’t notice that conspicuous rise in his pajamas, but she didn’t even look his way; then, as she stepped into the bathroom she tossed him a quick, wicked smile over her shoulder.

If that little display had been some sort of revenge for snapping at her earlier, she sure as hell knew how to hit where it stung.

They got back on the road late that morning—although it was Melody’s own fault.