Page 1 of Come in with the Rain
CHAPTER1
STELLA
Mickey has one of my arms pinned behind my back and a hand wrapped in my hair when the doorbell sounds, and I’m suddenly looking up into the faces of three men on the screen in front of me as Mickey’s thrusts stutter to a halt.
“Shit.” Mickey quickly pulls out of me and reaches over to the nightstand to shut off the security screens on the wall. They all go black so that I’m no longer staring at every empty room in the condo like I have been since Mickey flipped me onto my stomach and pushed into me from behind ten minutes ago.
He’s already sliding off the bed, leaving me naked and empty and quivering right on the edge of orgasm. “Contractors,” he says by way of explanation as I roll onto my back and watch him pull up his pants, the faded jeans he only wears at home. The sweat on my skin starts to go cold, but my tired muscles refuse to move, so I stay where I am, in the center of our California-king bed.
Mickey flings the bedroom door open and doesn’t quite pull it completely shut behind him. I can still see out into the hall, just a sliver. “I’m coming!” he shouts down the hallway as the doorbell sounds again. I run a hand down one of my bare thighs. Apparently, he’s the only one coming.
The front door opens, and I listen as Mickey greets the men who will be renovating the condo. The renovations were Mickey’s idea. There’s nothing wrong with the kitchen, with its Spanish marble countertops and voice-command fridge, but Mickey insisted a week ago that he was bored of looking at the same cabinets every day, and that’s Mickey—into something until he’s not anymore. And once he wanted a new kitchen, he wanted a new everything.
I hear Mickey’s voice as he leads the men down the hallway, toward the guest bathroom that’s just outside our bedroom door. As unfamiliar voices answer him, I’m reminded why I didn’t want to do this in the first place: complete strangers in my home, in my personal space.
I sloppily cover myself with the edge of the sheet just as several shadows pass in front of that sliver in the doorway. But one of the shadows stops, a tall frame taking up the entire opening, and I look up into a face I’ve never seen before. In a split second, the man—tall, blonde, and extremely V-shaped—meets my eye before I can cover the rest of myself and then turns his face away. I know he got a good look at what I didn’t manage to cover, the tops of my breasts, my freshly waxed legs, and definitely my bare ass.
I’m frozen, a deer caught in headlights, feeling my cheeks burn in horror before he scuttles away, moving into the bathroom with all the other shadows. I bury my face in the comforter the second he’s gone, but the expression on his face—wide-eyed shock—is burned into my retinas. Holy shit. I can’t believe that just happened.
I’m still laying there a few minutes later when hurried footsteps make their way down the hall toward me. I can imagine the scene already: Mickey coming into the bedroom and telling me he’s run out of time, that he really needs to get to work, and can I finish myself off?
Instead, Mickey shuts the door, and in moments, he’s back: back with me, back in bed, and back between my legs. He throws the sheet off me and unzips his pants.
“Mickey,” I hiss, glancing to make sure he closed the door all the way this time. “There are people.” He clearly has no idea that one of the men he’s paying just saw his girlfriend completely bare-assed, but the image of that man is seared in my brain, and it feels entirely wrong to even be considering carrying on with Mickey after that.
Mickey shrugs and pulls his cock out of his open fly. He knows I won’t argue now that it’s come back into play. Mickey has the best cock that I’ve ever had inside me, and he knows it. I whispered it to him the first time we were together, when I was delirious with the need to come and the knowledge that he was going to make sure it happened. Even looking at me now, after three years, he’s got a smirk at the corner of his mouth, stroking himself from root to tip to get hard again, still wet from me.
“You done with me, Princess?”
I shake my head, my brain reacquainting itself with the throb between my legs. I try to wipe my brain, shake it clean like an Etch a Sketch.
“Yeah, I didn’t think so.”
He pushes into me so deep that I whine and then cover my mouth, but Mickey yanks my hand away. Without a word, he fucks me into the mattress.
Here is the thing about the famous Mickey Kline, owner and CEO of Kline Corp: he knows how to fuck. As in, he knows where to put his fingers and his tongue and his dick. He knows how to make a woman come with a technical precision that’s almost alarming. But after three years, it’s a bit like having sex with an automaton. He’s pumping into me, but his eyes are on the floor, and I can practically see the wheels in his head turning with thoughts of things that have nothing to do with me: drone technology and Chinese AIs and coding the likes of which I’ll never be able to decipher.
“Need help?” he asks, clearly noticing that I’ve stopped making end-of-sex sounds. I’m too focused on the thumping footsteps of the contractors down the hall. I glance at the closed door, seeing again in my mind that man with the broad shoulders. I imagine his arms and his shoulders flexing as he pries up the bathroom tile just as Mickey reaches down and rubs my clit hard enough to make me see stars.
“Fuck,” I shout, throwing my head back. And then he starts to drive.
CHAPTER2
ADAM
I’ve got my prybar wedged between the countertop and the cabinet in Mickey Kline’s hallway bathroom when the shouting starts. Shawn stops trying to remove the clawfoot tub from the tile floor and sighs.
I look over at him, my hands still wrapped around the end of the prybar. “Is that…?”
A woman screams, and it’s unmistakably the scream of someone who just had an orgasm. We’re listening to Mickey Kline fuck his girlfriend, and she’s howling like a banshee. I feel a flush run up my ears. I didn’t mean to look. I didn’t mean to see so much of Stella Hart,theStella Hart. The door was cracked, and my eyes went there without meaning to. And she was there, all that pale, creamy flesh, laid out naked on the sheets like some kind of Greek goddess.
All my blood rushes down to my groin, and I grip my prybar tighter.
“I hate it when clients do that.” Shawn gives the tub one more upward tug. The feet on one end unstick from the tile with a crack. “Makes me feel like a pervert. Doesn’t someone like Kline have anything better to do at nine in the morning?”
I raise an eyebrow in his direction. “Better than getting laid?”
Shawn moves to the other end of the tub with a shake of his buzzed head. “Point taken. Especially if I had a piece like her in my bed every morning.”
