Читать книгу Sweet Temptation / A Private Affair - Lauren Hawkeye, A.C. Arthur - Страница 20

MEG COULDN’T CONTROL her nerves as she and John approached his hotel room. She heard the lock disengage as it detected John’s phone. He urged her through the door first with two fingers pressed to the small of her back. Then they were both inside, and her stomach did a slow roll of anticipation.

“Want another drink?” He gestured to the bottle of whiskey she’d brought the night before, which still stood on the table.

“No.” She didn’t want a drink; she didn’t want food. When he turned to face her, she saw the coiled tension in his lean frame and felt the warmth of smug satisfaction.

That tension was because of her—because he wanted her. So many women wanted him, and yet he was here, looking like a lion about to pounce, because of her.

She braced herself for the lion to attack and was unprepared when, rather than grabbing her, he gestured toward the bathroom.

“Let’s have a bath.”

“What?” She frowned, confused. “Why?”

“Partly because we smell like cheap beer and cigarettes,” he replied, eyes tracking the length of her body, “and partly because I want to get you wet and naked.”

“Oh.” She exhaled, and just like that, her body was on fire. She followed him to a bathroom three times the size of her bedroom at home. It was a study in white, clean and bright and luxurious, but what caught her attention was the giant Jacuzzi tub under the window.

She watched, silent, as John started the water, and she felt the kiss of steam on her skin. He added droplets from a selection of small essential oil bottles that lined the edge of the bath, and her next breath was full of bergamot and cedar wood.

That done, he turned to look at her. Eyes on hers, he pulled a condom from the pocket of his pants and set it on the edge of the tub. She swallowed a whimper when he quickly undid the buttons of his dress shirt, shrugging it open and then off. She hadn’t seen his naked chest before, and, oh, it was a work of art. He had to log serious hours in the gym, because for a man who spent most of his time sitting at a desk in a suit, he had the musculature of an athlete.

Before she had decided to move, she’d closed the space between them and was trailing her fingers over his abs. He sucked in a sharp breath when her hand moved lower, dipping just below the waistband of his dress pants.

“Undo my belt.” His words were quiet over the roar of the water, but there was no mistaking the steel behind them. They were in this now—he was taking over, making the decisions so that she didn’t have to. For a single breath, panic flared, and as if he sensed it, he took her hands and placed them on his belt buckle himself, helping her past the barrier of her doubt.

With shaking hands, she undid the buckle, then the button that fastened his pants. Her fingers grazed the head of his cock, which swelled beneath the touch.

“Undo the zipper.”

She did, savoring his groan when her fingers danced down his length. Sliding her hand into his pants, she rubbed the heel of her palm over his erection until his hips thrust forward into his touch.

“Undress me the rest of the way.”

Her gaze flew to his face—did he mean that? Wasn’t that going to be awkward? But it was clear that he wasn’t joking, and she felt anything but inept when she pulled his pants and his boxer briefs down with one tug. She thought he would step out of them, would kick them away, but he remained still, so she knelt before him, assisting him out of the pooled garments and then his socks, one at a time.

She started to rise but stopped when he shook his head. Her mouth watered, actually watered, when he wrapped his hand around the base of his cock, jerking himself up and down, up and down.

“I told you I was going to find something else for your saucy mouth to do.” His smile was dark as he circled his thumb over the swollen head of his penis. Meg exhaled harshly as she watched a bead of pearly liquid disappear beneath his touch.

Rising to her knees, she reached out for him with her hands, but he again shook his head.

“No hands.” At his command, she fisted them at her sides. “Open up, kitten.”

She trembled from head to toe but did as he told her. When she parted her lips, he rocked forward, pressing the dark head of his erection to her mouth. She tasted salt, opened wider, and then he was on her tongue, heavy with arousal.

She waited for instructions, but none came. She got it—he wanted her to do what she wanted, so she sucked tentatively, experimentally.

He hissed out a breath.

She ran her tongue along the underside.

He groaned quietly.

She flicked that tongue over his swollen head, and he fisted his fingers in her hair. He began to thrust shallowly as she worked him, and her hands strayed up so that she could brace herself on his thighs. She knew he was close when his movements, which he’d kept controlled, sped up, and the muscles of truly impressive thighs clenched beneath her hands. Yet she was the one to cry out with disappointment when he abruptly pulled out of the wet cavern of her mouth.

“Good girl.” His breath was ragged. Her gaze was transfixed by his swollen length as he helped her to her feet—his cock was rigid, long and thick and shiny from her mouth.

She’d done that. That was how much he wanted her.

As if to let her know he appreciated her work, he pressed his mouth to hers. He kissed her hard, and knowing that he didn’t care where her mouth had just been was freaking hot. Sliding his arms around her, he unzipped her dress—a little slip of electric-blue silk she’d gotten in a Tory Burch trunk sale—slipping the spaghetti straps down her shoulders.

She caught the dress at her breasts before it fell off. He’d seen it all yesterday, but tonight, the stakes had been upped. Even though he stood before her, naked and as confident as if he was wearing one of his custom suits, she was the one who felt exposed.

“Take off your dress.” He spoke against her lips, his fingers toying with the loosened straps at her shoulders.

Still, she hesitated. Partly because she was again nervous...and partly because she wanted to see what would happen if she disobeyed.

“Take off your dress,” he repeated, his words now edged with steel. Still, she remained frozen, dress clutched to her chest.

She wasn’t prepared for him to strike. She cried out as he rounded her, catching both of her wrists behind her back. She tugged, but with him holding her like that, she could do nothing when he used his free hand to yank down her dress, where it caught around her hips.

“If you don’t do what I tell you, then I do it for you,” he informed her. Cupping her left breast in his palm, he found her nipple and tugged. She gasped at the bolt of pleasure/pain.

“You’re not allowed to hide your body from me.” Dipping his head, he sank his teeth lightly into the curve of her shoulder. She pressed back against his solid frame, knowing he would hold her up when she trembled. “I need to make sure you remember that. On your knees.”

Oh God. She shouldn’t love this, should she? She shouldn’t feel like her entire core had turned to molten liquid, shouldn’t feel as though she stood on the edge of a cliff and was ready to jump?

This time, she listened. She dropped to her knees, facing the bathtub. John still stood behind her, but she felt it when he followed her down.

Moaning shakily when he touched her ankles, he slid her feet out of the wedge heels she was wearing, then traced a path up the sole of each foot. She was wearing a baby blue lace thong, and her eyes went wide when he slid his fingers under the strap that divided the cheeks of her behind and tugged. It pulled the remaining fabric into the slick heat between her lower lips, and when he experimentally pulled the fabric up and down, she gasped at the delicious friction on her clit.

“Do you remember the day we met?” He continued to toy with the lace, and she felt her pulse, right between her legs. She arched her hips, empty and aching.

Though she hadn’t replied, he continued, “You weren’t dressed in any of your designer dresses. Your face wasn’t contoured. I could count every freckle on that adorable little nose of yours. You were with your sisters, who are all attractive women. But I fucking wanted you.”

This time he yanked on her thong, and she heard the fabric rip. Breath coming in pants, she arched her back, begging for more.

“Do you understand what I’m telling you?” With the torn fabric of her underwear in his hand, he leaned forward and traced it over her lips. She could smell her own arousal, and it forced her excitement up another level. “Your body is the sexiest thing I could ever conjure up, even in my filthiest dreams. Because it’s yours.”

Meg heard the sound of flesh cracking against flesh before she registered the fact that his palm had just swatted her ass. Her spine stiffened, and he paused, presumably to let her absorb what had just happened.

Her skin stung, stretched hot and tight where his hand had connected with it. It was uncomfortable.

As she shifted on her knees, somehow the newly awoken nerves traveled in a direct line to her clit. Oh—oh, that was new.

That was amazing.

Groaning, she felt herself sliding down until her chest touched the cool tiles of the bathroom floor. The position offered her ass up, and she heard him growl.

He was breathing hard when he swiped his fingers through her exposed slit.

“You’re drenched, kitten.” A pleasant fog started to drift through her brain as he wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her back up to her knees. “This body was made for me.”

His hand found her center again. She heard someone crying out over and over—was that her?—as she was pushed higher, then higher still. Then two fingers were inside her, scissoring against her swollen tissue, and she shattered.

She had no awareness of her limbs, of moving or of being moved, but suddenly she was in the steaming bath. John reclined in the scented water, and she straddled his lap. His latex-covered cock pressed against her, his hands at her hips, and she melted around him as he pulled her down, or he surged up, filling her to the brim.

It was too much. It was not enough. She couldn’t handle it, and when he began to thrust, she came again, and again, riding a series of aftershocks that had a scream tearing from her lips. He muttered filthy words in a rough voice, his fingers digging into the flesh of her hips as he followed her over the edge.

The fog overtook her. When she came to, she was lying on the bed, wrapped in a giant plush towel. Her nose was pressed to John’s chest, his arms around her.

Holy crap.

She felt as though she’d been turned inside out. What the hell had just happened?