Wonderf*ck Read online

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  About the Book

  Dedication

  Part I

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Part II

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Part III

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Chapter Thirty-three

  Chapter Thirty-four

  Chapter Thirty-five

  Bonus Excerpt: Beck

  Bonus Excerpt: Hard Glamour

  Also by Maggie Marr

  About the Author

  Copyright

  Maggie Marr

  About the Book

  I am the Wonderfuck. I’ve got a rocket in my pocket and I live to take you for a ride. I’ve got everything a woman wants, all in one tight, well-muscled, long, hard package. My one goal is to make you come so hard and so often that you finally understand your innate power and how absolutely fucking beautiful you are. Because every woman is beautiful.

  Did you catch that? Did you hear it? Did you read it with the soul-searing earnestness with which it was written? Don’t shake your head or nod and skip right on past those so fucking important words.

  Every. Woman. Is. Beautiful.

  I know all of you sexy women don’t believe it, even if I tell you it’s true. No, you only believe you’re beautiful once I show you just how damn sexy you are. I’ve dedicated my life to tapping into your sensuality and sexuality until it pours from you. I loved once and lost. My heart shattered and I committed myself then to providing women pleasure. I am the Wonderfuck and this is my vocation. Or so I thought.

  Until Tara.

  My sexy neighbor with her douchenugget ex-fiancé. Tara and I weren’t friends, we were barely acquaintances, until the tears, and the fistfight, and then … the sex.

  Now what do I do? I can’t be myself with her, and I can’t be Wonderfuck. I want her, but having Tara means watching the walls of my carefully crafted existence crumble. While I have the strength to provide countless orgasms, I’m not sure if I have the strength to love.

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  Dedication

  This book is dedicated to

  Kristin Nelson

  My agent and my friend,

  thank you for believing in me all those times

  when I’ve struggled to believe in myself.

  Part I

  Chapter One

  “How did you find me?”

  “A friend.” Her voice cracks and her gaze drops. She stands on the far side of my hotel suite like a doe in the crosshairs. Her words are a lie. I see this in how she brushes her hand over her hair and tilts her head.

  Keep in mind she called me. They always call me.

  I stay still. I don’t move. I’m draped across a chair on my side of the room. All pent-up sexual energy and alpha male, restrained and waiting for her command. My suit coat is slung over the couch. I’ve untucked my dress shirt and unbuttoned two buttons. The sleeves are rolled up just enough to show my forearms. I am the fantasy.

  My gaze remains locked with hers. I keep my eyes up. Now is not the time to let my gaze drift over her body, although I know every inch already. I watched her come in. I watched her spot me across the room as though she’d just seen a panther. I watched the muscles in her body tighten and her pupils dilate with desire, combined with the type of internal conflict I often inspire in women.

  I remain still. I never move toward women, not in the beginning. She needs to know she’s safe. That I’m safe. Meeting a stranger alone in a hotel room is a risk for a woman. A big enough risk, that I know when a woman calls my number, when she shows up here, that she needs this. She needs what I can give her with every fiber of her being. She needs the Wonderfuck.

  She’s stunned by her own brazenness, and yet compelled to stay.

  She’s not young, but she’s not old either. No wedding ring, but that means nothing. I don’t ask, I never ask. She’s ash blonde with blue eyes. A solid B cup, and I’d guess about ten pound more than she thinks she should weigh. Which is utter bullshit. She’s gorgeous. All women are gorgeous, each of them in their own unique way. My fucking God, I wish every woman I met could get it straight in her mind that she’s fucking beautiful no matter what some fashion magazine tells her.

  “What should I call you?” My voice rasps out. I’m hard. Her mere presence makes me hard.

  Panic races through her eyes. I can practically hear her fluttering hummingbird heartbeat all the way across the room. “You said no names.”

  “Exactly.” My voice a deep rumble. My cock responds to her femininity, her beauty, even with her standing fearful on the far side of the suite. “No names, but what do you want me to call you?” I lift my eyebrow. “When we’re together.” Always interesting to see if a woman gives me her real name or a false one. I can tell based on their shoulders.

  She places her fingertip to her lips. One tap. Two taps. Three taps. A thought brightens her gaze. “Natasha,” she says, her voice taking on a silky, sexy, deeper sound, laced with a thread of desire.

  My lip twitches upward. A lie. But a lie with a purpose. Something about this name, Natasha, this persona she’ll inhabit when we’re together, will allow her to feel what she wants. To be who she’s always wanted to be. This name, this alias, will enable “Natasha” to embrace her sexuality.

  A concept I completely understand.

  “Natasha.” I let the name roll over my tongue. The word comes out of my mouth like a long languid caress. On the syllables I place an unspoken promise of all the pleasure my mouth will give every inch of her body.

  She shudders. Her breathing is shallow, but not from fear. The hand that clutches her purse drops and her breasts press forward. Her hips tilt a bit toward me as her nipples pebble against the fabric of her dress.

  “I love the name Natasha,” I say. I remain seated in the chair. My body is open, one arm laid along the back of the chair and my legs spread. I own this chair. I am all male. Sexy alpha in the domesticated position. All sexy beast simply waiting for her command.

  Any command.

  My cock is hard. I want this woman. I want to make her come. I want to make her feel. I want her to know when she walks out of this room that she is the all-powerful and beautiful woman I see standing in front of me.

  My gaze meets hers and I smolder. I smolder for her. For the physical. Because this is all physical for me.

  Heat sears between us.

  Her gaze drops to my crotch. My cock is tough to miss when it’s erect, and it’s definitely hard and ready. Her mouth, with those pretty rosebud lips, drops open. A blush starts on her chest and rises over her neck to her cheeks. Her tongue darts out of her mouth and licks her lips. She bites her bottom lip and her eyes lift to meet mine again.

  Natasha is nearly ready, but she needs permission, she needs a command, she needs me to tell her what to do. In this moment, she needs me to make this okay for her.

  “Natasha come to me. I want to touch you.”

  She swallows. She has every bit of control. She doesn’t know it yet, wouldn’t believe it yet if I told her, but she’ll have all the control the entire time we’re together. Every time we’re together. I’ll tell her what I want to do to her, I’ll even command her to do things, but she won’t ever have to comply. This meeting, and any others we have after today, will always be about what she wants. For her pleasure.

  She drops her purse onto the nearby table, and as though another woman takes over, Natasha pulls her hand through her hair and swaggers toward me. Her hips sway with a sexual confidence that she may be faking but is most definitely being conveyed. She stops in front of me. Her pulse pounds in her neck. Her shortened breath telegraphs both her anxiety and her excitement. Natasha is scared, she’s uncomfortable, but she’s also turned on as hell.

  She leans forward over me and places a hand on each arm of my chair. Her hair falls along the side of her face. Her breath smells of mint. I recognize the citrus and floral notes of Chanel No. 5. The lines of her face are deeper than I thought, and her eyes are more green than blue.

  “May I touch you, Natasha?” I ask, my voice low.

  She takes a halting breath. She nods. But a nod isn’t enough, not now, not this first time. I need to hear her. I need to hear her say yes or no, and know that she is getting exactly what she wants. I raise my face, my gaze still locked to hers, not moving, waiting. Finally, she answers.

  “Yes.”

  I reach out and my hand clasps her waist, just above her hip. I stroke up the side of her body. H
er face is near mine, her body bent over me. Her eyes are closed. “May I touch you here?” I ask. She nods.

  “Tell me, Natasha.”

  “Yes,” she whispers. My thumb strokes over the hard nipple beneath the fabric of her dress.

  I’m completely engorged. Her face is flushed with desire. I want her and she wants me, but this first meeting is meant to be slow. Needs to be slow. My focus is to unleash the sexuality that remains hidden within her.

  “You are incredibly sexy, Natasha. Do you know that?”

  She licks her lips. Her energy shifts and her eyes remain closed. She doesn’t know she’s sexy. My hand glides over her body to her hip.

  Her eyes open and drop to my cock, which presses against my pants.

  “Do you want to touch me, Natasha?”

  She nods.

  “Tell me,” I whisper. My fingertips circle her hip.

  “Yes, I want to touch you.”

  “I’m yours. My body is yours.”

  Her gaze widens. She glances at my face as though this thought, this idea, is more than she can comprehend.

  Natasha reaches forward, and through the fabric she grasps my engorged cock. My breath hitches in my chest and she tightens her grasp. A moan comes from my lips as my eyes close. Because yeah, a hot sexy woman has my cock in her hands.

  “You’re—” she pants. “You’re so big.”

  I open my eyes and smile. “I am. And every inch can give you pleasure.”

  She takes a deep breath. Her hand grabs my belt and she unzips my pants. She grasps my flesh.

  “Your cock … your cock is beautiful.”

  So I’ve been told.

  “Can I take off your dress, Natasha?”

  She nods and turns. I reach up, slide the zipper down, and let the dress fall from her shoulders. “I want to kiss you here.” My fingertips skim the small of her back.

  “Yes,” she whispers, and I press my lips to her skin. I unsnap her bra and pull her panties down over her hips. She turns to me, naked. Her body is perfect, beautiful. She has a small four-leaf clover tattoo over her right hip.

  How many people have seen that tattoo? What prompted that image, something that seems so far from Natasha’s character?

  Her pussy is front of my face and the scent of desire comes from her, the scent of want. “I want to kiss you here,” I say, looking at her sex. “May I?’

  “Yes,” she gasps. What I really want to do is pick her up and take her to the bed. To spread her legs and suck her clit until she comes, but that is for later, that is for when Natasha is ready and wants to be ravished. Now, this moment, this time, is for the slow methodical process of getting to know her sexual triggers.

  I lean forward and place a kiss on the edge of her sex. Then I spread her with my fingertips and I kiss her. I let my tongue lick up over her clit. A moan splits the silence. Her fingernails bite the flesh of my shoulders.

  “My God, that feels so good.” Her body trembles. I know, in this instant I know, that Natasha has never experienced oral sex.

  “I want to put you on the bed and I want to eat your pussy. Can I do that? I want your pussy.”

  Her mouth drops open and her eyes meet mine. Her breath is short. She can barely form words. “You want my … you want …”

  “I want your pussy, Natasha. Your pussy, the taste, the smell—all of it turns me on.”

  It’s like I’ve told her that aliens have invaded earth.

  “But men don’t like pussy. They think—”

  “I do. Men do. I want your pussy. May I take you to the bed?”

  “Yes, oh my God, yes.” Tears form in her eyes and she presses her hand to her mouth. I stand. I lift her. I carry her to the bed. I silently condemn to hell whichever asshole taught this gorgeous woman that “men don’t like pussy.” Then I proceed to give Natasha the best afternoon of her life.

  ***

  “Why do you do this?” Natasha lays beside me, naked and gorgeous. Her eyes are bright, and a smile dances on her lips. She’s beautiful, pleased, sated, no longer sad or afraid or quivering, and unable to acknowledge her own sexual power.

  “Why?” I smile. “I’m a man with a penis and this is the best vocation ever.”

  “So that’s what this is? A vocation?”

  I lift my hand to her cheek.

  “It’s not a job—there’s no monetary transaction. Besides, that would be illegal and it’s truthfully not how I feel about this … our time together. Vocation seems to be the word. It fits how I feel about what I do and how I do it.”

  My explanation seems to satisfy her need to understand. Most of the women I sleep with don’t dig too deeply for details. They’re here for their own reasons, which they often don’t share. Some women need to know things about me, others don’t.

  “What about you?” I ask. Natasha’s gaze flits to mine. “Why are you here?”

  She looks away. Her body is molded to mine, with my arm draped over her waist.

  “I …” She sighs. Her eyes glisten. “I … uh … He … he’s having an affair. Or he was. Maybe he still is.” She starts to roll away from me, but I pull her closer. She rests her head on my arm. “He said the affair was my fault. That I’m frigid, that I … that he couldn’t get hard because I wasn’t attractive anymore.”

  The last words are whispers on a breath filled with shame. Her bottom lip quivers as though she’s just admitted the worst secret any woman could carry.

  “We both know that isn’t true.”

  She looks up at me, and her smile bursts through her tears, like sun after a thunderstorm. “I do now.” She sighs. “You … you’re amazing. I feel more myself now, after these few hours, than I have in the last twelve years.”

  And those words, spoken by a satisfied happy woman, are all I need to hear.

  “May I see you again?”

  “That’s entirely up to you.”

  “Well if it’s up to me—” She pushes me onto my back and swings a leg over to straddle me. “Let’s start now.”

  Chapter Two

  “Uncle Jake, will you come visit this weekend?”

  “You know it.” The elevator stops on the thirty-second floor and the doors slide open. I shift the Chinese take-out bag into my other hand. I’m freshly showered, but exhausted and hungry. I want to be alone with my food and the soon-to-open Asian stock markets, but I always have the time and the energy to talk to my niece.

  “Will you bring me doughnuts? The ones with the sprinkles.” This kid has my number. One hundred percent, her wish is my command.

  “Is your mom there?” I whisper. I stop in front of my condo door.

  Lily drops her voice. “She’s in the kitchen.”

  “Don’t tell her, but yes,” I whisper back. I pull my keys from my pocket. “Doughnuts with chocolate icing and rainbow sprinkles.” An uncle’s job is to bring his niece doughnuts and toys and any other thing that a precious bundle of freckles and pigtails wants. “Okay? Don’t tell Mommy, but—”

  “Don’t tell Mommy what?”

  Ruh-ro. I immediately stand at attention and clear my throat. My older, authoritative sister has liberated her phone from her daughter. My sister is also freckled, but without pigtails. “That … that I’m eating two entrees from Mr. Chow’s for dinner,” I offer up, knowing Rachel will see through my lie.

  “Uh huh. Just like when you snuck out of the house at sixteen to visit Nana?”

  “Nana confirmed the story.”

  “Nana was an easy alibi, plus a sucker for your big blue eyes. I know you went to see Carolyn Dombrowski. She told me.”

  “You need proof to convict.” I smile. I’ll let my big sister bust my balls as long as I can bring Lily doughnuts this weekend. “Kind of an important concept for a judge to forget.”

  “And yet more than some of the attorneys who appear in my courtroom seem to know. So, you’re coming over this weekend?”

  “Thinking about it. Does that work for you?”

  “Yes.” Rachel pauses and takes a deep breath. “But I’d really love it if you’d go visit Mom.”

  What’s left of my heart cracks. I open my mouth to respond, but before I utter a word, big sis continues.

  “She’s been asking about you. She wants to see you, she misses you, and—”