Читать книгу The Dare Collection: April 2018 - Stefanie London - Страница 15
ОглавлениеHARLEY STIFLED A yawn and forced her attention back to the man holding her captive. The older gentleman, a business associate of her father’s who claimed he remembered her in pigtails and braces, had monopolised her company for thirty minutes with a monologue on the merits of doing business with Jacob Holdings.
People mingled around them, but the old guy showed no sign of releasing her, his ass-kissing completely wasted on Harley, although Ash was here somewhere carrying the Jacob banner.
Harley’s eyes darted regularly around the glittering Hammerstein Ballroom, from the ornate, hand-painted ceilings to the tables decorated with thousands of fairy lights. The only thing keeping her at the Women for Women Gala, now that the important fundraising and awareness-raising part of the evening was over, was the promised appearance of Jack.
Would he come? Was he already here? Every few minutes, shivers danced over her bare shoulders, as if he watched her, unseen. She stifled a shudder, one that covered her in goose bumps. Wishful thinking.
His note, written in the confident penmanship she remembered from the love letters he’d mailed to her from France during the long months between their joint family holidays, played over and over in her mind.
I’ll think of you naked every second until I see you again. Know that I’ll bring my A-game tonight. Better and better.
J
Her legs wobbled, the thought of anything better than when he’d fucked her so thoroughly on her hall table leaving her weak-kneed. Her eyes scanned the ballroom once more for his tall frame decked out in the expensive and immaculate tailoring she’d grown used to.
She slid her eyes back to her tedious conversation partner, cursing that her natural good manners prevented her from simply walking away to scour the upper balconies for Jack.
And then he was there. Only ten feet away.
Her breath caught in her lungs, and her eyes watered at the sight of him. Something visceral shifted inside her as she took in the air of manly sophistication he carried.
He too was engaged in what she assumed was small talk with the Chairperson of Women for Women. When his stare found hers across the room, holding, sparking electricity across the space that separated them, her pulse surged to a frantic rhythm. The heat blooming in her belly threatening to incinerate her on the spot.
He’d gone all out, his black tuxedo ridiculously flattering and the gleam in his bright blue eyes, as he sent her a sly sexy smile, outshining the glittering ambient lighting.
Harley looked away, praying her face didn’t show off the excitement bubbling inside her. She’d never get rid of pops here if he misinterpreted her enthusiasm.
She escaped moments later, the fizz of anticipation thrumming through her blood. Jack had disappeared from the spot she’d last seen him. She deflated, the room losing a little of its sparkle as her gaze searched nearby. She craned her neck over the sea of heads in the crowded ballroom.
‘Harls, great fundraiser.’ Ash cupped her waist and stooped to kiss her cheek. She smiled, distracted, forcing her eyes to her brother rather than scouring the mass of glamorous socialites in search of her quarry.
‘You look beautiful tonight. Is this one of yours?’ Her brother, her biggest fan, dipped his chin at her outfit, a strapless bias-cut gown with a thigh-high split.
She nodded, her admiring stare taking in her handsome sibling. ‘You look good too. Here alone?’ Ash never went far without some statuesque beauty on his arm. Not that they lasted long enough for Harley to learn their political leanings or career aspirations. Ash had been badly burned once.
He grinned. ‘I am. Why? Spot someone promising?’ He glanced around, scanning the crowds.
She nudged him with her elbow. He winked, the cocksure expression that had rescued him from endless childhood misdemeanours, and turned away to snag them a couple of glasses of champagne from a circulating waiter.
Then she winced, herself turning in the opposite direction as Old Man Jibber-Jabber returned and collared her brother, calling him Jacob Junior, a name Ash hated. Ash stilled her escape with his hand on her arm and drew her back into the conversational circle with a tight smile and a glass of champagne.
With flight temporarily thwarted and her brother occupied by the bore, Harley sipped her drink and glanced around surreptitiously for another glimpse of Jack.
This time, when their eyes met, he made his excuses and, not once taking his eyes off her, stalked her way.
Harley’s throat dried. Her feet shuffled half a step in his direction as he approached. The silk of her dress scraped across her sensitive skin, her nerve endings tingling to life as she held his bold, seductive stare with what she hoped was one of her own.
How did he fray every scrap of her composure, easily unravelling her with an arch of his thick brows or a heated look that seemed to speak directly to her rampant libido? Rampant for him.
She swallowed and glanced at Ash, who was still trapped in conversation, but cognisant enough of her bid for freedom to shoot her a warning glare.
She stood her ground, waiting, anticipation twice as potent as the champagne. She fingered the skirt of her dress, enjoying the appreciative gleam in Jack’s eyes.
She’d dressed with him in mind, selecting her favourite gown and donning the rose-pink lingerie, which contrasted well with her creamy skin tones and showcased her ass to its best advantage. If, as he professed, he had X-ray vision, he certainly had an eyeful right about now.
At last he reached her side, all handsome masculinity, impeccably dressed and eye-fucking her, as he’d promised.
‘You look beautiful.’ His words whispered over her neck as he bowed to kiss first one cheek and then the other in that French way of his.
She sucked in his scent for an indulgent, unguarded second. ‘Thank you. This is one of my favourites.’ She indicated the dress.
‘Mine too. Beautiful and talented.’ His voice was low, murmured, so that even surrounded by people, with Ash only a few steps away, he effortlessly created a bubble of intimate privacy.
She laughed. ‘I could say the same about you.’ She eyed his tux, once more enjoying the breadth of his shoulders and the way the pants stretched taut across his slim hips. ‘Italian?’ She lifted the jacket, inspecting the whimsical flash of colourful lining and the cut of the tailoring.
He quirked his mouth, tutting.
‘French. An emerging designer.’ He touched her waist, drawing her closer. ‘I’ll introduce you if you like, next time you’re in Paris.’ He dipped low again, his lips brushing her ear so only she could hear.
‘Are you wet for me? Been dreaming, all afternoon, of the orgasm I’m going to give you?’
She swayed towards him, righting her posture at the last minute to deny herself the feel of his firm chest and strong arm around her. She looked up, all innocence, face blank.
‘Perhaps I couldn’t wait for you. Perhaps I saw to my own needs.’
Instead of scolding or expressing shock, he laughed, his head shaking and his eyes alight. ‘Good. Practice makes perfect when it comes to orgasms.’
How did he know that? Was he some sort of sex guru in his spare time? Did she care as long as she reaped the obvious and abundant benefits?
Another body entered her personal space, putting an end to the frisson of lust sparking between her and Jack. Ash grinned, clearly oblivious.
‘Is my sister working you over for a donation? She’s tenacious when it comes to her causes. Be warned.’
Harley dipped her chin to try and conceal the heat blooming in her chest. She had yet to work Jack over the way she wanted to. If she looked at him now, Ash might see that written all over her face.
Her brother eyed Jack, his hand outstretched in greeting and his polite smile drooping slightly as he tried to place the other man.
Damn. She’d forgotten about this eventuality.
‘I’m always happy to contribute to a worthy cause,’ said Jack. ‘Especially one important to Harley.’ He shook Ash’s hand, squaring up to her brother with a puffed-out chest in that way men faced off.
Silence stretched as she gaped at Ash to see if he’d recognised Jack. Her jaw worked as she looked between the two men but no sound escaped. Lost for words. Struggling to label this thing with Jack and reluctant to expose herself to Ash’s likely criticism.
Jack cast a lifeline. ‘Jack Demont. You’re Ash Jacob.’
Harley awoke from her trance, her hand instinctively reaching for Jack’s arm as she clarified the introductions. ‘Jack is a property developer and architect. Remember, I’m purchasing the Morris Building?’
Ash nodded, the cogs of his mind visibly clunking into gear as he flicked eyes dawning with recognition between them. Harley let her arm fall to her side, but Jack stepped close, his hand proprietary on her hip. Had he just laid claim?
‘You remember me, I’m sure. I’m Joe Lane’s son.’ He lifted his chin, staring her brother down. A face-off pissing contest ensued as the men gleaned the measure of each other the way men did. Silently assessing, fixed grins in place. Giving little away.
Harley, too, stood her ground, although she longed to waft away the testosterone permeating the air. After years of trying to fit into the Jacob mould, she wished she were past caring what her family thought of her choices.
Hating her dyslexia every time she saw a flash of disappointment in Hal’s eyes or he openly compared her to her two high-flying siblings, she’d tried to forge her own path—doing something she loved, something she was good at, and measuring herself against her own goals, the only way she could claw back a shred of her tattered self-esteem.
But her self-doubts were deeply ingrained. Her shoulders twitched with the effort of staying straight-backed. To his credit, Ash concealed whatever he thought behind a thin but polite smile.
‘Of course. It’s been a long time. So, have you relocated to New York?’
Harley’s heart sank. She knew that look. She had a reckoning to face. And then her blood froze as another thought occurred to her. Had Ash found out about the real reason for the Lane-Jacob bust up? After all, he worked every day with Hal. Would he let it slip now? Throw it into the conversation as some sort of macho put-down?
Jack tilted his chin. ‘Temporarily. I’ve recently opened offices here, although most of my business runs out of Paris and London.’
‘And you two are...’ Ash pointed his finger between them, hedging.
‘We—’ Harley jumped in, stuttering to a halt. What could she tell her brother?
We’re having the best sex of my life? I propositioned Jack over coffee? Before the night is over I hope to be screaming out his name loud enough to wake you? And, no, I haven’t told him about Dad’s affair with his mother so keep your mouth shut?
Her stomach flipped.
‘I was thrilled to discover Harley’s interest in a property I’m selling, especially when I discovered what she has planned for the Morris Building.’
Her gaze flew to him. Her heart skittering in her chest as the fear subsided. Jack flicked her a look, adding a wink, and his fingers flexed on her hip. Warmth flooded her body and centred between her legs. As he turned to glance at the band, which had returned to the stage, Ash briefly widened his eyes in Harley’s direction.
She shook her head and then looked away. She knew what she was doing. Exploring intense sexual attraction. It was no one’s business but hers who she fucked. Certainly not her brother’s and most definitely not her father’s. And she and Jack weren’t serious—no need to drag up ancient history.
‘So, are you...?’ Ash left the question hanging. Harley shot him a shut up now look, but the unspoken sounded loud and clear.
What are you doing? Dad will flip when he finds out.
‘About to ask your sister for a dance? Yes.’ Jack tilted his head to the dance floor, providing a perfect socially acceptable distraction for two old friends recently reacquainted. ‘Shall we?’
Harley nodded, her feet immediately lighter. She reinforced her kiss of dismissal on Ash’s cheek with a warning squeeze of his arm, and for once her brother stayed silent and kept his opinions to himself.
Sometimes it sucked being the baby of the family; no matter how old or successful you were, you could never outgrow the role. Although she only qualified as the youngest by seven minutes. And of course she’d never be successful enough by her family’s standards.
The fact she was sole recipient of the knowledge of Hal’s philandering turned her stomach. But she pushed that from her mind, determined to enjoy Jack’s company without interference from her family.
Harley sank into his arms, grateful for his confident steps and firm grip on her hand and waist leading her around under the lights. She checked his demeanour. No annoyance. No harbouring ill will. And certainly not concealing his interest in her, picking up where they left off before Ash interrupted. Clearly he didn’t give a damn what her brother thought of him.
If only she could achieve that...
‘So tell me about this orgasm.’
His change of topic was so abrupt, Harley’s neck protested as she leaned away to confirm the wicked gleam in his eyes. She glanced around. Bodies moved around them but no one seemed to have heard.
He laughed, a low rumble reverberating through his chest and zinging her nipples to life.
‘You brought it up, ma belle.’ He licked his bottom lip, pressing his thick length into her belly as he swayed them indecently close. His lips grazed her ear. ‘Did you think of me when you touched yourself?’
It was pointless to deny it. If he had any observational skills, he’d feel her accelerated heartbeat thud against his chest and see the flush of arousal her strapless dress failed to conceal.
She lifted her chin, meeting his bold stare. ‘Yes.’
Triumph sparked in his eyes—the cocky kind that expected nothing less. ‘How was it?’
Predictable. Tepid. Hollow.
‘Perfectly adequate, thank you.’ His ego needed no massaging from her.
He smiled, confidence unwavering. He stopped dancing, gripping her tighter, pressing every inch of her body to his while he stared intently.
‘May I put my number in your phone?’
Her insides turned gooey. The way he asked, like an old-fashioned knight accepting her favour with polite courtesy.
‘Why?’ She fought a smile. But she fished her phone from her clutch and handed it over while her pulse fluttered, double time.
His eyes gleamed as he typed his details in with one hand and held her with the other. When he passed it back, he resumed their slow dance.
‘Next time you have the...urge, you can call me. A little phone sex might liven up the mundane. I’ll join you.’ His lips twitched, fire in his eyes. ‘We can talk each other over.’
Nothing about sex with Jack, the phone variety, she guessed, or any other, could be described as mundane. And she’d been wrong about his politeness. A black knight, perhaps.
Certainly, the memory of that session on her hall table still had the power to make her internal muscles clench. The thought of him stroking himself while she did the same, their vocalisations and filthy words of encouragement the only contact between them, left her light-headed. Would he revert to his native French at the height of passion?
He sighed, his warm breath sliding down her neck.
‘Although the image of you pleasuring yourself... I’d travel a long way for such a sight.’ The look he settled on her left her trembling with anticipation and torrid arousal.
How could he do that with only a few, albeit explicit words and an intense look?
Then his eyes turned devilish. ‘So, are you coming home with me? Or are you sufficiently satisfied for today?’
Her belly quivered. Would she ever get enough of his sexual prowess? And he’d ramped up the anticipation so successfully, if he didn’t touch her more intimately soon, she’d probably spontaneously orgasm, just by walking across the room.
She pressed her lips together, her face straight.
‘That depends. Will it be worth my while? Better and better, you said.’
He nodded. Self-assured. He dipped low, his lips caressing her ear once more, setting off a cascade of tingles.
‘I have something up my sleeve.’
She smiled, fingering the expensive cufflink at his wrist. ‘Well, let’s undo this, and see what you have planned, because I’m on a promise.’
* * *
The minute she entered his apartment, his needs solidified into a hot ball of determination. He’d strived for what he wanted every day of his adult life, and right now the only thing on his agenda was getting Harley completely bare to him so he could demonstrate that determination over and over again, until she was one hundred per cent convinced.
He’d deliberately kept his hands to himself in the car, building the anticipation until his own skin itched and every muscle raged at him to touch her. But the wait would be worth the denial for both of them.
Since he’d visited her store, witnessed her passion and dedication to her career first hand, he’d thought about her constantly. Not what she would wear tonight or how she would look naked on his bed, his floor or anywhere else they might end up.
But how she’d opened up to him, showing him her workroom, her sketches, even her vulnerability over her asshole father’s cruel taunts. But he shoved that from his mind before he broke something. Not that it was his business.
Tonight was about pleasure.
‘Is there anything you want, besides me between your perfect thighs?’ He stepped up close as she cast her eyes around his dimly lit living space and whispered the words on a husky drawl—part intentional because he enjoyed the fine tremors of her reaction, and part because his own needs choked him to the point of oxygen deprivation.
This was physical. A game. His reminders to himself grew more frequent and more resolute.
She shook her head, her scent wafting on a cloud of warmth tinged with a hint of the arousal she was powerless to conceal. His hands glided to her hips, his fingers finding the dip beneath the jut of her hipbones.
He’d arrived at the gala at least thirty minutes before she’d finally spotted him, circling her like a cat, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. But he’d forced himself to observe her from afar, building the anticipation self inflicted torture. He’d ached to touch her, her creamy skin aglow under the dancing lights. And now he had her here. Had all night to indulge. But first he had to make good on his promised orgasm. Tonight, at least this first time, was all about her.
‘Come.’ He nudged her forward in the direction of the bedroom, his hand clasping hers to ensure she stayed with him. When he’d lit the bedside lamps, casting the masculine space into warmth, he dropped her hand and loosened his tie and the top buttons of his shirt.
‘Show me how you plan to torment me for my clumsy comments earlier—I know you’re hiding something under there.’ His gaze flicked down the swathe of rose-coloured silk to the toes of the sexy, peep-toe heels he’d glimpsed when she’d stepped from his car.
He hadn’t intended to question her dress sense earlier, merely fuel his own fantasies with visions of her draped in some figure-hugging garment or other.
What kind of a man would make her doubt, for one second, a single iota of her true worth as a human being, a woman?
And what kind of man seduced someone for some sort of twisted revenge?
Breathing hard, he focussed on Harley. The night he had planned. For her pleasure and his. Questioning himself only led to doubt—and he didn’t do doubt.
She lifted her chin, passion and sass warring for control of her expressive eyes.
‘Why would I bother to dress for you? You either want me or you don’t.’ Her pupils narrowed, the hint of vulnerability dimming the flecks of gold in her irises.
‘Well, that’s not in question.’ He clasped her hand, pressing it to the front of his pants, over the steely erection he’d sported most of the evening. ‘You’re a sexual woman. A woman who knows what she wants and isn’t afraid to get it. Whatever is under that dress—your creamy skin, a hint of rose in all the right places, or the most provocative lingerie—will torture me until I can get my hands and mouth on you.’ He dropped said hands to his sides and curled them into loose fists, waiting. Biding his time.
With a small sigh and a look that made his balls tingle, she lowered the side zip on her dress and shimmied it down until it pooled at her feet.
He’d been right.
Pure torture.
Her toned body, curves generous enough to scream one hundred per cent woman, was scantily clad in the same rose pink, almost translucent underwear he’d fingered at her store this afternoon. Her rosy nipples, visible through the lace of her strapless bra, seemed to strain towards him. His mouth watered, reminding him of other tasty parts of her.
The narrow strip of blond hair was just visible through the sheer panties, and when she turned to place her dress on a nearby chair, her glorious ass came into view, the high-cut thong framing the creamy cheeks and disappearing into the crack between them.
‘Wait.’
He shucked his jacket and took the dress from her, placing both on the ottoman at the foot of his bed. ‘Why don’t you sit there?’ He indicated the chair, which was decadently upholstered, wide and incredibly comfortable. Perfect for what he had in mind.
She smiled, tilted her head and reached up to remove the pins from her up-do until her hair fell around her shoulders and kissed her pert breasts, which lifted with her arms like an offering to the gods.
He was so fucked.
Jack bit back a groan. His cock strained at the front of his dress pants and he removed the belt and loosened the button at his waist. He made light work of his shirt and took the hairgrips from Harley, placing them on the dresser with his cufflinks.
When he turned around, she’d settled into the chair, her luminous eyes watchful and her cheeks flushed the same colour as her nipples and her sex.
Jack heeled off his shoes and removed his socks, impatience clawing at him. But she was worth the wait. He should know. He’d had another taste, the nine years since they’d fooled around as kids, the ultimate in delayed gratification. Sprawled under him on her own console table, coming around him while she’d tweaked her own nipples, she’d been any man’s fantasy.
But, as usual, he was firmly in control of his needs and about to test the limits of Harley’s. How badly did she want him? How far would she go for her orgasm? Only time would tell.
He dropped to his knees. With his hands, he spread her thighs, a punch of lust winding him when he met no resistance. He lifted first one foot, removing first one shoe, before kissing her delicate anklebone, and then the other. She watched his every move. Her eyes lit from within. Her chest rose and fell with her shallow pants, her nipples twice the size as when she’d removed the dress. Dark and ripe.
Saliva pooled in his mouth. ‘Lift your hips, chérie. Let’s see if my memory of your taste is as good as the reality.’
Fuck, he loved the flush of her skin when he talked bluntly. And her compliance—that she was momentarily outraged or flustered but went along with it anyway—exquisite.
Harley gripped the arms of the chair, her pink polished nails digging into the fabric as she lay back and granted his wishes.
He peeled the wispy garment down her thighs, the slight flicker rippling down her muscles telling him the ferocious, all-consuming need pounding through him was likely matched in her.
When he’d freed the lace from her pretty feet, he held it aloft, dangling the wisp from one finger. The scent of her arousal hit him square in the chest. He clenched his jaw, fighting the urge to rush this, finish it too quickly for his intended plan. Her pleasure.
‘You ruined these.’ He tutted and she shrugged, her eyes flicking to the scrap of pale lace.
More colour rushed up her neck.
‘It’s your fault.’
He nodded, a slug of triumph straightening his spine.
‘Apologies. I’ll replace them.’ He tossed the panties, his gaze raking over the slick pink flesh between her legs. He licked his lips, his stare settling on hers as he lifted first one leg and then the other over the wide, cushioned arms of the chair, splaying her open for his flagrant perusal.
In twenty minutes, she’d either hate his guts, or be begging him for a replay. His blood pounded with renewed force. Resolve strengthening.
‘That is a beautiful sight.’ He let his stare linger, slowly, almost reluctantly meeting her sultry stare. ‘Your pussy is exquisite.’
She gasped, whether from the coarse term or the lightest swipe of his finger over her clit, he couldn’t tell, but some Neanderthal part of him enjoyed shocking her. ‘Perhaps you prefer the French, la chatte.’ Another swipe.
Her eyes grew heavy. ‘You’re completely filthy.’
He shrugged. ‘Oui. And I’m going to enjoy every second of this.’ He leaned down to kiss first one pale thigh and then the other, holding her stare throughout. ‘I hope you will too.’
Waiting was over, anticipation played out. He gripped her thighs with both hands. If he didn’t taste the delights before him soon, he’d lose his mind.
And then he did lose it, because before he could get to her Harley slipped one hand down her belly, her perfectly manicured fingers forming an inverted V over her sex. She spread them open, parting herself to his stare, her mouth slack on a ragged sigh.
An offer and an invitation.
Fuck. He almost came in his pants at the sexiest sight he’d ever seen. This woman was made for sex. Sheer, uninhibited perfection.
With a groan that gave away his desperation, he dived for her, batting her hand away as he sank between her thighs and covered her glistening sex with his mouth. Her taste hit him, filling his senses with her essence. His cock lurched, and his hands gripped her thighs, holding her open as she acclimatised to his tongue on her most sensitive flesh.
This angle, her sprawled in the armchair, afforded him a view of her reactions—every broken cry, every glorious gasp, every streak of ecstasy across her beautiful face.
Her nails clawed at his scalp as she tried to control the angle of his working mouth and depth of his plunging tongue. He ceded, ramping up her pleasure until her thighs trembled against his face and her breathing grew choppy, punctuated with mewls of delight.
And then he stopped.
She cried out, neck arching.
The anguished sound lodged a lump in his stomach. But he leaned back, blowing cool breath over her quivering sex. Wordlessly, ignoring the drunk but slightly bewildered expression on her face, he encouraged her into a sitting position so he could undo the bra and toss it to the floor. He wanted to see all of her, every inch of her creamy skin, every freckle and scar, every shard of ice in the confused glare she levelled on him.
Her questions flittered across the stormy green of her eyes as her breaths slowed. He looked away, soothing the sting of his desertion with a long, languid pull of his mouth on each nipple that left her panting once more. When her hand slipped between them towards her clit, he grasped her wrist, gently restraining. He lifted the hand to his mouth, kissing each fingertip in turn. ‘Patience, chérie. I’ve got you.’
She’d start cursing soon. His balls tightened at the flecks of defiance flickering in the hot stare she levelled on him. Good for her.
‘Now...’ he licked his lips, his eyes burning over her again ‘...where was I?’
Before she could speak or even whimper, he dived back in. This time, her clit swelled almost immediately, the primed nub pouting towards his eager lips and tongue. He laved and sucked, smiling at Harley’s shocked curse and bitten-out cry of triumph as she renewed her clasp on his head.
Not content to take her medicine, this time, she lifted her thighs over his shoulders, her heels pressing his back, urging him closer. Not that he’d be anywhere else.
For now.
She mewled out her pleasure as he sucked down hard, gifting her his finger inside her tense warmth.
‘Yes,’ she cried. ‘Oh, right there, yes.’
He pumped the finger, finding that sensitive spot inside her that had her twisting his hair and rocking her hips into his mouth.
This time, he steeled himself. At the first flutter of her internal muscles around his finger, he pulled out. His mouth left her, muscles straining to overcome the clamping of her thighs around his neck.
‘No,’ she yelled, her head thrashing. She glared at him along the length of her naked body, her beautiful breasts jiggling with her seesawing breaths.
His voice was thick, transformed by his own lust battering down on him. ‘Soon.’ He kissed her thighs, which trembled under his lips. ‘I promise it will be worth it.’
At his words, realisation flicked across her face. She rolled her eyes, her face twisted with agony as she flopped back on the cushion. Her thighs clenched, tiny spasms twitching her abdominal muscles.
The wait killed him. He stroked her trembling thighs, the cheeks of her ass, her flat stomach, quiet, reverent words of encouragement and reassurance spilling from him in French. Not that she understood his praise or his declarations of her beauty and what she did to him, but she must have gleaned the tone, because she looked down at him, trust shining in her passion-glazed eyes.
This time, he gave her everything. Two fingers burrowed into her tight channel, his mouth feasted like a starving man and he growled out his own frustrations against her swollen lips and clit.
He’d primed her so effectively, it took seconds to send her over. Her whole body lifted from the chair when she came, the power of the climax arching her back to an almost impossible angle, her cries bordering on screams and her fingers clamped around the short strands of his hair as if she’d tear it from his scalp.
He was relentless. His mouth working at her until his jaw ached, he sucked every drop of her arousal, swallowing her taste over and over again. All the while testosterone roared through his blood, triumph hot on its tail. In those protracted seconds she gave herself completely. Her sublime reactions, total surrender, beyond his wildest imaginings. Her buy in to his one-upmanship challenge with himself a hundred and ten per cent.
Perfect.
Spent, she pushed him away. Her stare shone from beneath heavy lids and she whispered, ‘Wow.’
‘Was it better?’
She nodded. ‘So good. You’re clearly some sort of sex guru. Architect by day, orgasm whisperer by night.’
He laughed and eased to a standing position, his cock rigid, tenting his pants. She sobered. Her sexy stare traced a path up his thighs, along his abs, finally settling on his eyes.
She licked her lips. Slow. Seductive. Salacious.
He hardened further, although he wouldn’t have thought it possible. He needed to get out of these pants before his balls turned blue. Her mouth, the flushed, plump lips, the peak of her tongue, the twitch of a smile, held him captive. Fuck. Payback would slay him. If he ever saw that mouth around his dick... Game over.
‘Does it work for you too?’
Clearly her mind was more attuned to his than he realised. She slithered from the chair, settling on her knees at his feet, eyes wide, hair gloriously tousled, a satisfied glow to her creamy skin. She tugged at his zipper, her bottom lip trapped beneath her teeth on one side. His mind turned to mush. What had she asked him?
‘What?’ Fuck, was that his voice? He needed to get a grip. Now. If she put her mouth anywhere near him in his current state...
‘Orgasm denial. Does it work for you too?’ She yanked the trousers over his hips, the tight cotton boxers following until he was trussed at the ankles by his own clothing. Hell, no. No way could he last if she thought to torture him as he’d done her.
He cupped her cheek, his thumb brushing her lower lip, wiping away the indentations left by her teeth. He should claw back control. Find a condom and finish this inside her, but clearly the memo stuck in his brain, his legs rigid and his feet glued to the spot before the goddess at his feet.
Clearly she’d waited long enough for his answer. She gripped the base of his cock and closed her eyes, running the tip of her nose along his length as she dragged in a deep breath. She moaned, her eyes opening as she reached the tip, her mouth placing a chaste kiss there.
Every muscle strained towards her, his cock bobbed before her and she smiled, a feline grin that both chilled him and boiled his blood.
Could she be any hotter?
And then she stopped.
How he managed to keep the roar inside he’d never know. She sauntered to the end of the bed and retrieved her clutch. With a small smile that didn’t bode well for him, she reached inside and retrieved a tube of lip-gloss. With two quick swipes, she’d painted her mouth that shade of blood red that almost brought him to his knees.
With her eyes fixed on his, and her lips parted, she returned.
‘Now, where was I?’
He cursed at his words repeated back at him. Harley dropped to her knees again, her hands at his hips as she stared up at him, all wicked eyes and pouting lips. While he clenched and uncurled his fists, struck dumb, she dipped her head. Her tongue peeked out tracing a path from the base of his shaft. At the most sensitive area, just below the crown, she paused, her tongue swirling there, before placing a firm kiss on him. She leaned back, eyes sparkling, admiring her handiwork.
‘And what do we call this in French?’ A small smile and a tilt of her head.
Fuck, he loved her sass, her playfulness.
‘Harley.’ The bite of warning gave his voice a harshness he’d regret if he weren’t so close to plunging inside her and taking what he wanted. What his strung-taut body craved.
She smiled, the merest brush of her lips over his crown. ‘It will be worth it, I promise.’ Her eyes sparkled. And then she engulfed him. Her hot, tight mouth practically swallowing him whole, while she held his stare to ransom.
The pleasure was so intense, his eyes started to close. He slammed them open, the visual of her on her knees, that pretty red mouth of hers wrapped around him, too good to miss. His hips jerked of their own accord, shunting him deeper inside her warm, wet cavern. She nodded and groaned, taking him further to the back of her throat. So close to losing it.
No. Show some stamina.
He pulled back and she gripped her hand around the base of his cock with just enough pressure to send his hips in the opposite direction once more. Her other arm circled the steel of his clenched thigh, anchoring them together so he couldn’t escape, even if he wanted to.
His world shrank to the single entity of Harley on her knees with her mouth on him. Her sultry eyes, burning with erotic promise, mesmerised him, the tiny streaks of green a siren’s call. An endless ocean where a man could drown.
He cupped her face, his fingers anchoring into her hair as she bobbed her head and slid her tongue over his shaft with a frantic rhythm that left stars flashing behind his eyes.
His clothing, still around his ankles, held him prisoner. Without pulling from the warm clasp of her mouth, he lifted one foot free and widened his stance. When she gripped his flexed buttock, nails digging, he lost the battle to keep still, to let her guide the pace, and began plunging into her mouth with shallow thrusts.
She hummed, her head nodding her assent and he touched the back of her throat with a grunt.
She reached for his balls, her small hand cupping and rolling, all the while tiny groans vibrated from the back of her throat to the tip of his cock.
It was over.
‘Harley,’ he barked in warning. He tried to back away, but she clung, her hand squeezing his shaft like a vice, and gave a small shake of her head.
Heat slammed through him, from the base of his spine to the tip of his cock. Fire raced, spasms rocked him and he emptied himself down her throat. He forced his eyes to stay open, willing himself to suck every second of rapture from the wonder of the woman giving him the best head he’d ever experienced.
Her fingernails grazed his sack as the last spams tore through him and he registered the yell—harsh, broken, and from his own throat.
She released him with a final suck that made him wince. He panted down at her. She gazed up at him, her own chest working hard and brushing her nipples across his thighs. He hauled her to her feet, crushing her body to his.
Emotions expanded inside his chest. He pushed them aside, crediting the high, the euphoria to the physical release. It was just sex. Tremendous sex.
Out of nowhere, a question slammed into the forefront of his mind. One he’d shelved long ago.
Why? Why had she dumped him all those years ago? Swallowing hard, he sucked the scent of her fragrant hair into his lungs to stop the words escaping. The past was done. He’d started this to show her what she’d missed out on. And he’d made his point. Exacted his revenge. There was nothing more.
He’d end it soon, when the novelty had worn off. When they’d exhausted the burning chemistry. With those words running on repeat in his head, he dragged her to his bed, and collapsed alongside her, his grip on her suspiciously tight.
