"No."
His interrogation having evidently concluded with that, Adam studied her in silence for a long moment, his focus never wavering, his posture never changing, his eyes fixed intently on her face. Dorsey, too, said nothing, waited to hear what his reaction would be before acting one way or another. Finally, just when she thought he would never speak again, he did respond, in a very, very soft voice.
But all he said was, "Ah-hah."
She narrowed her eyes at him. "Ah-hah?" she echoed, just as quietly. "What does that mean?"
"It means, my dear Mack, that you're finally beginning to make sense to me."
Gee, that makes one of us, Dorsey thought. She decided not to ponder how his casually offered endearment punched the puree setting on her pulse rate. Best not to think about that right now, she told herself. So instead of pursuing his odd statement, she decided to answer the question he had asked her what seemed now like a lifetime ago.
"And that's why I chose to major in sociology," she told him. "Because, having grown up watching my mother's … social habits, I've always been fascinated by the dynamic between men and women. As much as I've spouted off about men ruling the world—and I do believe they rule it—it often seems to me that there's a pretty blurry line between who really controls whom."
Adam's features knitted in puzzlement once again. "Don't you mean who really controls what?" he asked.
Dorsey shook her head. "No. Men control the world. There's no question there. But so many men in positions of power have risked it all or lost it all or thrown it all away because of some indiscretion or obsession with a woman. It makes for a fascinating paradox," she said, warming to her subject. "If men control the world—which they do—and women control men—which they do—then doesn't that put women in the position of supreme power? And if it does, then why haven't women made the most of it? Why are we still second-class citizens?"
Adam gazed at her blandly now. "That's an easy one, Mack."
She gazed blandly back at him. "Then tell me the answer."
"Because women don't control men," he said simply. "Your whole hypothesis is skewed."
"Is it?"
"Of course it is. You yourself just said that your own mother has only survived in this world by depending on men. She didn't control them. They controlled her."
"I'm not necessarily arguing with you," Dorsey said. "But think about it. Who really controls whom in a relationship like that? It's generally men who are in the highest positions of power who indulge in this kind of relationship. Yes, the man provides the woman with compensation for her companionship. But he wouldn't be involved in that relationship with her—often an extramarital one, I might add—if the woman didn't have some kind of power over him, some kind of control. Something that he needs and can only get from her."
Adam sat up straighter, his interest clearly more than piqued. "You're a Ph.D. candidate, and you can't figure that one out?" he asked her, smiling in a way that made her insides go slack with heat.
"No, I can't," she told him frankly. "Not really. Not sufficiently. Even after writing my master's thesis on the topic, I'm not satisfied with the conclusions that I drew."
He shook his head in clear disappointment. "All that research, and you still don't see the most obvious thing in the world," he said. His smile grew broader, and somehow she got the feeling that he was laughing at her. "I think you need a study partner."
"No, I don't," she countered, battling a sudden rush of heat and wanting that came out of nowhere and threatened to run rampant through her body. "I have all the sources and resources that I need right at my fingertips."
"Mm," he replied. "Wish I had all your sources and resources—among other things—at my fingertips. And other places, too," he added before she could stop him.
"Adam…" she began, striving for another warning that never quite materialized.
Without further comment, but with much purpose, he pushed himself out of the corner of the sofa where he had been so adorably slumped. Then, little by little, he made his way down to the other end, where Dorsey was sitting. She had thought it would be a long trip, considering the size of the furniture in question. Somehow, though, it took him no time at all to cover the distance.
And when it finally occurred to her what he had on his mind, when she finally realized his desire—nay, his intent—she shifted her position, prepared to excuse herself from what she could clearly see coming, what she was in no way prepared to pursue. But just as she stood, he snaked out his hand and deftly wrapped his fingers around her wrist. Then, very gently, he tugged once to pull her back down. Dorsey had no choice but to fall back to the sofa beside him, landing in his arms, just, she was sure, as he had planned.
"You want to know who controls whom in a relationship like that?" he asked, fairly purring the words into her ear. "Well, now, Mack, why don't we just find out for ourselves?"
* * *
Dorsey told herself that the reason she didn't immediately withdraw from Adam was because she was too exhausted to make the effort. But when he brushed his fingertips lightly along her throat, when he stroked his thumb leisurely over her collarbone, when he dipped his head to nuzzle the sensitive skin beneath her ear, she realized that exhaustion had nothing to do with her capitulation. Because suddenly, Dorsey wasn't tired anymore. Suddenly, she experienced a renewed surge of energy that would allow her to do just about anything she wanted.
And she wanted. Oh, how she wanted.
She wanted Adam. Every hard, muscular, arrogant inch of him. She wanted him stretched out beside her, nestled on top of her, moving behind her. She wanted his hands roving hungrily over every part of her body, wanted to explore every part of his in return. And the moment Adam cupped a hand over her nape and bent his head to hers, the second he covered her mouth with his and plied her lips tenderly with his own, he shattered any objection Dorsey might have uttered.
Especially when the fingers that had strummed along her collarbone moved lower to free a few more of the buttons on her shirt. Instead of protesting—why on earth would she?—Dorsey lifted one hand to thread her fingers through Adam's silky hair, looping the other around his neck to hold him close. She returned his kisses with equal fire, equal passion, equal need. And with each brush of her mouth over his, with every sample of him she enjoyed, her desire for him multiplied, her hunger for him amplified, her need for him intensified.
He just tasted so good. And he felt so good. Everything in her life that had come before tonight seemed to fade to nothingness somehow. In that moment, Adam was everything to her. He overshadowed her past, filled her present, became her future. He dominated every thought, every feeling, every response she had. The totality of the experience should have overwhelmed her. Somehow, though, it all seemed to fit so perfectly. And Dorsey decided then to make the most of the evening. Of Adam. Of their time together. She simply would not think about how long that time might be.
When he pulled his mouth from hers, she reluctantly let him go. But he didn't want to go far. His face hovered just over hers, his brown eyes seeming darker than usual somehow, his lips curved into a tempting little smile. He smelled of smoky whiskey and sweet cigars, the twin vices only enhancing his already potent allure. In that moment, Dorsey knew she was done for. But she could think of no better way to go down.
"Is it just me?" he murmured softly as he lifted a hand to wrap an errant curl around his forefinger. "Or is this something we should have done a long time ago?"
She chuckled low. "It does seem rather silly that we've avoided it, doesn't it?"
"'Silly' doesn't quite seem the right word to me," he told her. "'Amazing' is more like it."
She spread her hand open over his rough jaw, raked her thumb lightly over his masculine mouth. "I just hope we're not making a terrible mistake."
He loosed the curl he had twined around his finger and placed that finger gently over her lips. "Don't," he said. "Don't ever once think that this is a mistake. It's not. No matter what happens, Mack, th
is, tonight, is not a mistake."
She opened her mouth to speak again, but he silenced her with a kiss. And then another. And another. And another. As he took her mouth again and again, he reached around to free the band that held what little of her braid remained in place. He pulled back as the dark auburn tresses tumbled free around her shoulders, then buried his fist in a particularly lush collection of curls. Gently, he tugged her forward, and Dorsey went without hesitation. Then he bent toward her to nuzzle her throat again, dragging his open mouth lightly up and down the side of her neck.
Too late, she realized his ministrations were meant to distract her while he freed a few more buttons on her shirt and tucked his hand casually inside it. Before she could object—not that she necessarily wanted to—he found the champagne-colored lace of her brassiere beneath and deftly began to explore. At first, he only grazed his thumb along the upper and lower lines of the garment, over the sensitive flesh of her upper torso and each elegant rib he encountered.
Little bonfires erupted everywhere his fingertips met flesh, and before she even realized she intended to speak, very, very, softly Dorsey murmured the word, "Please." Please what, she couldn't possibly have said. She only knew that what he was doing wasn't quite enough. She wanted more. She needed more. Of Adam and all that he promised.
Her soft, single-word petition was all the encouragement he needed. He dragged his lips back up along her throat, over her ear, her jaw, her chin, then finally covered her mouth with his. Dorsey answered his demand in kind, opening to receive him, to make herself fully accessible for his erotic plunder. And plunder her he did. He thrust his tongue full into her mouth, tasting her deeply, his slick passion nearly overwhelming her.
His big body pressed into hers, urging her backward, until Dorsey lay half on her back, her head cushioned in the palm of his hand. He positioned his own body sideways alongside and over hers, so that she lay between him and the back of the sofa. Strangely, Adam seemed larger lying down than he did standing up, and a small tremor of anticipation shook her as he crowded himself more insistently against her. The fingers that had been dancing along the lacy perimeter of her bra dipped lower, and he filled his hand with her, palming the tender peak of her breast with much affection. She heard the soft whisper of tearing fabric, felt her shirt gape open wider, then the kiss of warm air over her naked breast.
As enjoyable as that warmth was, though, it was nothing compared to the even more pleasurable sensation of Adam's hand rubbing over her swollen breast. That sensation, too, was soon surpassed, however, when he trailed a series of brief butterfly kisses down her neck, along her shoulder and collarbone, between her breasts and finally, finally over the tender mound of flesh. He opened his mouth wide over her nipple and sucked as much of her inside as he could, laving her with the flat of his tongue before doing his best to devour her whole.
Oh … that felt so … delicious, Dorsey thought. So delectable. So decadent. Her fingers tightened convulsively in his hair, and she urged him closer still, silently begging for more. So Adam gave her more. He licked the undersides of her breasts with long, lingering strokes, taunted the stiff peaks with the tip of his tongue. And with every salacious taste, he pushed a hand lower, loosing the fastenings of her trousers, dipping inside, skimming along the waistband of her panties.
Dorsey was so focused on enjoying the scintillating pleasure she was feeling that she didn't pay much attention to where Adam's seemingly aimless wandering was taking him. Not until he scooped his hand lower, beneath the silky fabric of her panties. Not until he buried three fingers in the damp, delicate folds of flesh that he found between her legs. At that shocking contact, she went absolutely rigid, clenched her fingers more tightly into his hair, expelled a rough sound that wasn't quite objection, wasn't quite acquiescence.
Adam halted his invasion then, as if awaiting a signal from her. Dorsey's gaze found his, and she saw that he was smiling, a predatory little smile that indicated he was enjoying himself immensely. But when she offered no indication that she wanted him to either withdraw or continue, his smile fell some. Not because he was unhappy, she soon realized. But because he had his mind on other things.
The fingers pressed against her moved again, slowly, gently, almost imperceptibly, two of them enclosing that most sensitive part of her, one of them reaching lower, to softly penetrate her. Dorsey's eyes fluttered closed at the keenness of the sensation, and her mouth fell open in an effort to draw in more air. Adam's fingers moved again, backward, forward, gliding effortlessly, insistently, through her slick heat.
"Oh, Adam…" she whispered. "Oh, that feels so… Oh…"
She heard his rough chuckle but couldn't quite bring herself to open her eyes. Because what she was feeling was quite unlike anything she had ever felt before, and she was reasonably certain that she didn't want it to end just yet. Which was good, because he showed no sign of ceasing his actions anytime soon. And with each eager, capable motion of his fingers, Dorsey fell back a bit more until her head lay cushioned on the sofa arm and her body lay open to Adam's onslaught.
Vaguely, she registered the removal of her trousers and her panties, her socks and her shoes. Vaguely, she sensed Adam removing some of his own clothing, as well. Vaguely, she felt him shove a throw pillow beneath her hips. And vaguely, she sensed him drawing near again. But there was nothing vague about her response when, instead of returning his fingers to the damp, raging heart of her, his mouth went there instead. Dorsey's eyes snapped open wide, and she cried out in both surprise and scandal at the sensations that swamped her when he flicked his tongue against her. No one had ever… It was completely unexpected… There was no way she should allow … Surely he wasn't planning to…
She never completed any of those thoughts, so far gone by now was she that she could scarcely remember her own name. She had ceased to be Dorsey, had ceased to be Mack, had ceased to be even Lauren Grable-Monroe. At that moment, she was simply a woman—nothing more, nothing less. And for making her feel that way, more than anything else, she would always be grateful to Adam.
And then even that fey, indistinct thought evaporated, melted away into a capricious whirl of others even less defined. All Dorsey could do then was feel. Feel and marvel at the kaleidoscope of sensation and emotion that wheeled through her, until even those shattered into a billion shards of joy.
She cried out her completion and instinctively groped for Adam. Clutching his shoulders, she pulled him back up to her breast, captured him, clung to him. But before she could say a word, he pushed himself between her legs and coaxed them wider still. She moved her hand between their bodies to find his ripened, rigid shaft and was surprised to discover that it was already sheathed in a condom. But her disappointment that she wouldn't have the opportunity to explore him more completely quickly turned to anticipation when she felt the solid length of him pressing against her hand. He was so … oh… Instinctively, she opened her legs wider, thrust her hips forward, and guided him to where she wanted him to be.
With one swift, arrogant thrust, Adam buried himself as deeply as he could, filling Dorsey in a way she had never been filled before. With that one, single maneuver, he seemed to be everywhere inside her, overflowing places she had never known were empty, warming parts of her she had never realized were cold. For a moment after entering her, he stilled, remained motionless, as if he couldn't quite believe what he had done. Then he withdrew and pushed himself forward again, even more deeply than before. And Dorsey knew in that moment that regardless of where he might be in the future—or, perhaps more realistically, where he would not be—Adam would never, ever leave those places inside her that he had filled. Not completely. He would be with her always. No matter what.
Then she gave up thinking at all, because his movements became more rapid, more rhythmic, more insistent than ever before. Again and again he drove himself inside her, deeper and deeper, faster and faster, harder and harder and harder still. Dorsey bucked her hips upward to meet every swift thrust,
wrapped her legs and arms tightly around him, until their damp, heated bodies seemed to fuse into one. And just when she thought they had accomplished that very thing, just when she was certain the two of them had united to become one, Adam's thrusting ceased, and his entire body went rigid atop hers.
Had it not been for the man-made barrier he'd donned to protect her, he would have emptied himself inside her then, would have mingled his physical essence with her own. Something in Dorsey grieved for that loss, even with her certainty that he had done the right thing. The joining of their spiritual and emotional essences had been more than complete, she told herself. And that was what was truly important.
After one final thrust, Adam withdrew from her, then deftly maneuvered their bodies so that he was flat on his back with Dorsey lying atop him. "Next time, Mack," he gasped against her hair, "we do this in a bed. Agreed?"
Somehow, she found the strength to nod. "Agreed."
After the passage of approximately two seconds, he added, "Okay, I'm ready for next time. How about you?"
* * *
Chapter 10
« ^ »
E die still had a full block to cover before reaching her car when she finally accepted the fact that she was being followed. She had felt someone's gaze trailing her almost since she'd stepped out of the elevator and into the lobby of Adam Darien's building five minutes ago, but she'd brushed the sensation off, had tried to convince herself that she was imagining things. She was tired, it had been a long night, and no woman in her right mind savored a solitary walk in the darkness.
Edie had told herself she was just creating monsters where there were none. And heaven knew she could spot a monster from this distance. And she was certainly no stranger to dark urban streets.
In spite of the quick pep talk, however, she'd been fighting off a major wiggins ever since leaving Adam's place. She'd even ducked into a coffee shop and ordered a café au lait to go, hoping that whoever belonged to the gaze following her would continue on his merry way and find someone else to creep out. Within seconds of leaving the coffee shop, however, that eerie sensation of being watched had washed over her again, and she'd heard the sound of not so distant footsteps echoing her own.
How to Trap a Tycoon Page 16
