The Satin Sash

by Red Garnier

  The cup of his hand on her thigh tightened reflexively while the other still covered her mouth, letting her suck on his finger.“Is that how you’d suck his cock, hmm? Is that how you’d lick Heath’s cock while I fuck you?”

  She stiffened at the startlingly erotic image, her momentary rigidity betraying her to Grey. And then she purred in acquiescence because, yes, oh yes, that would be lovely.

  Her sex rippled around him, massaging his length, milking his desire. Her eyes fluttered shut as she sucked and tasted his thumb. Soon she was crying out mindlessly, moan after moan rising up her throat, muffled by his hand on her mouth.

  He sampled her neck, tasting her, then focused his attentions on her ear.The rough velvet of his tongue swiping across the sensitive shell ignited more electrifying sensations in her. “Tell me you love me.Tell me now.”

  “Oh, god, I love you.”

  He grunted and kept pumping and pumping, all power and stamina, all bad and wicked, all hers this moment.

  Her body contracted, the tension escalating. She came with a quick, jarring jolt, sobbing out helplessly as the swift contractions burst through her. Grey clamped her hips with both hands and delivered one, two, three final plunges. And the man newspapers around the globe had dubbed Glacier dissolved. His body jerked, a roar tearing out of him.

  Still thrusting, he kissed her mouth as he shuddered, a sloppy kiss full of tenderness. He murmured something hot against her lips, but Toni could not understand his words.

  She was limp against the wall, receiving his semen, entranced as she watched him come. To have put that twisted look of pleasure on his face made her heart tremble.

  He sagged against her once he finished, then surprised her by pulling out and setting her away from him. He rested his palms and forehead on the wall a few feet away and labored to recover.

  Toni swallowed at the absence of his weight. She wrapped her arms around herself and slowly smoothed the goose bumps from her flesh. Grey always coddled her after they made love. He would hold her so tenderly, coo at her as if she were a baby, tell her how beautiful she was, how hot she made him.

  But tonight Grey snatched up his clothes almost immediately and disappeared into the bathroom. She deserved no praise tonight.

  Toni winced when the door shut behind him. She heard the water faucet, the scrape and brush of his toothbrush.

  Guilt and confusion swamped her, but she knew one thing: Grey deserved more than her silence.

  Her hand shook as she turned the doorknob. Inside the small bathroom, she faced his broad back and reflectively said,“We danced. I was attracted to him, and it surprised me. I won’t deny it.”

  He didn’t move, and when he did, it wasn’t to sneer or mock or lash at her. It was to meet her gaze in the mirror and nod in somber understanding. “I know.”

  He didn’t say more and left for the bedroom. How did he know? How could he know? Had he seen her making an idiot of herself, turning to putty in his partner’s arms?

  Distraught at the thought, Toni cleaned up and removed her makeup, scrubbing hard where he’d smeared her lipstick on her cheek. She brushed her teeth and slipped on Grey’s old Chicago Bulls T-shirt, loving that even when she’d been the only one wearing it for a year, it still smelled like him.

  She found Grey sprawled naked on his back, the bedsheets up to his waist. One sinewy arm covered his eyes.Toni lifted the covers and slid under the sheets, instantly seeking his body for warmth.

  Without a sound, he curled an arm around her and pinned her to his side. Giving a silent prayer of gratitude,Toni draped one bare leg across his and cuddled even closer, peering into his face.

  “Grey?”

  “Not now,Toni.”

  Chapter Two

  He couldn’t talk to her.

  He didn’t know what he’d do or say or betray.

  Sprawled in a chair by the window, Grey studied her sleeping figure while he tangled the cool satin strip between his fingers.

  The clock on the nightstand read 4:36 a.m.

  She’d been tossing and turning all night. And he’d been watching her. Loving her. Hating her. Wanting to selfishly use that body he cherished, take her hard and bury his anger into the depths of her. He remembered everything. Vividly. Every word, every look, her smell, her voice. Every moment with her.

  She’d rocked Grey’s world since that first time he’d seen her work: a personalized card from a man he did business with.

  Through the echoing noise of what was yet another social evening, Grey had surveyed the sleek embossed logo and design, impressed with what he saw. Elegant, edgy.Totally unique.

  “Sharp card.”

  He grew up in money. Recognized the importance of appearances. Bank loan agents, investors—they could all be swayed with an intimidating glare, a powerful stance, most of all a sharp tie. And apparently Grey could be swayed by a petite bit of a woman, strolling the next day into his office with a portfolio of her work.

  Antonia Kearny.

  His first impression, aside from a youth she couldn’t manage to conceal in the rather insipid business suit she wore, was that she was little more than average, her hair tied into some sort of twist behind a pale oval face, a few coppery tendrils framing a high, smooth forehead.

  She had a small, rounded nose and small, plump lips painted the color of raspberries. She was nothing extraordinary—certainly nothing to turn heads—but when she began talking, showing him her work with that lively glint in her eye and a quiver of excitement in her voice, Grey had been charmed. Totally enchanted by her.

  He’d wanted to slip his hands under her skirt, spread her legs open, and see if the lips of her pussy glistened like her shimmering pink mouth.

  Instead he’d glanced at his watch, unsatisfied by the thought of a quick romp atop his office desk. “I’m afraid I’m running out of time, but I’d appreciate it if we discussed this over dinner.”

  Time seemed to still as she looked up. “Dinner?”

  He noticed his tongue would fit perfectly through the opening in her mouth. Just a little wider, and he could push his cock inside, see it rimmed by the pink of her lips. Stirred by the visual, he bowed his head. Yes, love, dinner. I’ll be having you.

  “Name the place, Ms. Kearny.”

  Although alarm skittered across her every feature, he sensed her determination in making the sale. She tucked her catalogues back into her briefcase, tentatively suggesting, “The Chop House?”

  “Excellent. And your address?” He leaned forward in his swivel chair. “To pick you up?”

  She hesitated, then rummaged through her things and scribbled down her address on a tiny yellow slip.

  Hours later, tucking the note back into his breast pocket, Grey knocked on her door. His heartbeat had increased en route to her home; it pounded severely when he arrived.A lion’s roar in his ears.

  She opened with an exerted little gasp, wearing a navy blue dress that, although loose from her waist to her knees, exposed a delectable amount of cleavage and amply showcased two very pert breasts.

  Flushing under his slow but discreet inspection, she quickly went back inside to retrieve the portfolio she was forgetting.

  An invitation, if Grey ever saw one.

  He followed her down a narrow hall, making no attempt to evaluate the simplicity of her home, intent on one thing only. Mine. Mine. Mine. He caught up with her in the bedroom as she bent to lift the briefcase. “Mr. Richards, do you want me to bring the—”

  He wrapped her in his arms, roughly drawing her against him. “What I want is right here.”

  His glaring hard-on was cushioned in the cleft between her buttocks. She stood utterly still. Smelling divine, feeling divine. Her suppleness amazed him. Her shampoo drifted up to his nostrils, the scent as tantalizing as spring.

  “I . . . don’t sleep with my clients, Mr. Richards.”

  He eased her gently around and flashed her a wolfish smile.“All right. I won’t buy.”

  The breath shudder
ed out of her lips, and for the first time in his life, Grey wanted lipstick smeared all over his mouth. Her eyes were bright with sexual energy and wide with innocence.

  He found the combination irresistible.

  Their kiss had been sex in itself. A mating of tongues, a fusion of mouths, souls. Cultivated and controlled as he was, he’d barely been able to rein himself in. Pins flew from her hair; his pants were at his ankles; her panties shredded across the floor. She was on the window seat, one breast poking out at an awkward angle from her dress, her pussy exposed to him like an open flower—and only then did Grey pause for a breath, for a condom, for a freaking grip on himself.

  Then the tips of her heels dug urgently into his buttocks, and he snapped like a twig.

  The sex had been no smooth seduction. It had been carnal, reckless, animal.

  No one made him lose control like she did. For months he was all over her, insatiable, intent on feasting on her until he was sated. And while he waited for the loss of interest that never came, they began flirting, teasing, exchanging secrets, childhood anecdotes—a Pandora’s box Grey had never opened before. Not to discover someone else’s contents, not to share his.

  One weekday morning he woke up in her apartment with a pleasant buzz in his head, a smile of contentment on his face. He caught sight of her quietly watching him, and it hit him; that knee-buckling, chest-expanding feeling he knew he’d never felt in his life.

  He left for work as usual, but surprised her by storming back within minutes. She had her briefcase in one hand, the other reaching to unhook her coat. “Did you forget something?” she asked, blinking in surprise.

  He meant to tell her he adored her, tell her she was his everything, that he wanted her, needed her. Instead he growled, “This,” hooked two fingers into her belt, and hauled her forward until he latched on to her mouth. And he kissed her and kissed her and kissed her, and the words wouldn’t come.

  They were there. In his heart. Quiet, burning words he couldn’t speak even while she framed his face with her hands and whispered, “I love you, Grey Richards.”

  He felt stripped of his skin, defenseless, because this fiery little creature could speak those achingly beautiful words he couldn’t. This sweet and saucy girl, with her reckless chestnut hair and big, innocent green eyes, loved Grey.

  He’d never felt so vulnerable in his life.

  And he watched as her face went pale when she realized he wouldn’t, couldn’t, say them back.

  She laughed. At herself. Maybe at him.

  She mumbled something indiscernible, pivoted around as she shook her head, but he clutched her back to him with force. “Say that again.”

  Her next laugh couldn’t quite hide her unshed tears, but even then she gazed into his eyes and softly, stubbornly said, “I love you. With all my heart.”

  And when he couldn’t find it in him to speak, he used the tongue that felt stiff and dry in his mouth and loved her with it.

  Money did not teach you how to care, how to show you care, or how to deal with the discomfort of expressing it.While Grey’s parents had traveled the world, money had been Grey’s nanny. Countless maids, chefs, chauffeurs, and toys had been his. None had made up for the absence of his parents.

  His mother had the bearing of a queen, and Grey remembered touching her little. She’d never been much for hugs, though she had been free with her smiles, plastic as they were. As for his father, Lucien Grey Richards didn’t give anything for free.

  But he sure had a lot to say about character. No tears. No weakness. No sniveling. No neediness. Grey had gotten it all down to a T by the time he was ten.

  Still, nothing he did seemed good enough for them.

  Toni had been raised differently. Her mother baked. Her father worked to put money on the table. Toni talked to them regularly. She was affectionate, compassionate. Warm.

  She was strong-willed, but the fact that she could bend to accommodate made her so much stronger in Grey’s eyes. People like Grey were make-or-break, but Toni flowed like a river—calming or destructive as only water could be. Her capacity to love humbled him. Her excitement for life, her thirst for new experiences, that impish humor that came at the oddest moments.

  And her passion . . .

  If he’d thought she was enthusiastic about her work, she was even more so about Grey. She gave him her all, freely and un questioningly. And now this woman who’d turned his world upside down, who called him to his face all the words nobody dared, whose first impulse once she got into bed was slipping into his arms to be held, wanted Heath Solis.

  And Grey would not forget that. He could not live with that. And what most ripped at him, most infuriated him for making himself this vulnerable, was that no matter who else she wanted, he still wanted her.

  Toni woke to find the bedroom empty—after an eternal, unsettling night. As she lay in bed, batting her eyes open, yesterday’s events crystallized in her mind with a suddenness that made her jolt.

  She jerked upright and looked around, an ache spreading through her chest. “Grey?”

  Faint light from the hall filtered through the tiny slit at the bottom of the door. She sighed as she got out of bed, brushed her teeth, combed the tangles from her hair, then padded out into the kitchen.

  He was bent over the dining table, the newspaper splayed across the table before him. Covering his long, muscled legs was a pair of cotton drawstring pants that rode low on his hips. His bare torso revealed each of the tautly marked muscles on his back—every ridge, dent, plane. All a woman could think of at the sight was touching. His blond-streaked hair was mussed, and she ached to tousle it even more.

  Would he pull away if she did? Was he angry, shocked, disappointed?

  Her stomach gripped. “Want some eggs?” she asked.

  For two years they’d shared breakfast in companionable silence, but now Toni needed to gauge him, and the need to talk was eating her raw.

  Grey lifted his coffee cup, but not his head. “Got all I need.”

  She puttered around the kitchen, opening and closing cabinet doors. “Toast?”

  “Later.”

  Her back to him, Toni nonchalantly dropped a slice of wheat bread into the toaster.

  “So. Anything interesting?”

  She glanced past her shoulder to find Grey checking her out, particularly interested in her ass. He caught her watching him and cocked a brow at the amusement in her eyes before turning his attention back to the paper. “Not really,” he said.

  Her smile was sheepish. “You mean, not really as interesting as my ass?”

  The rich, rumbling sound of his chuckle made her knees weak. “That’s what I meant.”

  Her smile widened as she turned back to pull out a plate from the cabinet. She loved it when she caught him staring at her. She loved . . . him. Every bitty thing. Even his annoying arrogance.

  Her toast popped up the second her groggy mind registered something important, and she pivoted around to stare.

  Her satin sash was wantonly draped around Grey’s thick wrist, and as he calmly read the paper, his fingers were playing with the tip.

  Panic seized her, and she went deathly still. How on earth did he . . . ?

  He raised his head and caught sight of her rooted to the spot like someone about to be beheaded. The two little creases at the corner of his eyes deepened.

  Toni could almost see the wheels in his brain spinning, twirling like the shimmering fabric coiled around his wrist.

  Struggling for calm while her lungs were twisting, she quickly crossed the kitchen and slipped between the table and him, settling on his lap.

  “Grey.” She was swamped with love for him. Desperate to comfort him. If she didn’t get this out in the open, there was no telling how it would tear them apart. “It was one dance. It doesn’t mean anything.”

  His rich whiskey eyes slid away from hers, and he reached around her to fold the paper in half. “It does to me.”

  She rubbed her hand up the m
uscles in his chest, pausing over the place where his heart beat steadily. “Surely it has happened to you—a beautiful woman catching your attention, even if you’re with me.”

  His face was beautiful; the sensual lips, the patrician nose, the stubborn jaw. Beautiful and impassive. “It hasn’t happened to me.”

  Desperate, Toni edged closer to him, gingerly kissing the corners of his lips, so plump but disappointingly unmoving under hers. “I wanted to be truthful with you.”

  The red sash fluttered to the floor. One hulky arm went around her, securing her against him as he tipped her chin so she would meet his gaze. “I don’t want anything between us, much less lies.”

  She gave him a weak smile.“You and I have our faults, but lying isn’t one of them.” She sought his jaw with her fingers and tenderly traced the faint shadow of stubble. “I’m sure it will go away.”

  “No, it won’t go away. It will hang like a shadow over me. I’ll obsess whenever he calls and you answer, and wonder when I fuck you if you want me to be him.”

  She gasped.“That would never happen! How can you say that?” She gave his jaw a firm, meaningful squeeze. “I’m crazy about you.”

  He held her face between his hands and covered her lips with his. She had been kissed a thousand times by Grey, and a thousand times she had been caught up in the storm of his kiss. But this kiss . . .

  Was a tempest.

  Through the dark, rich taste of his morning coffee, his kiss carried his power, the simmering energy he kept inside him, every need he gave no vent to. His lips moved commandingly over hers, his tongue swirled, his heat seared her.

  She was left quaking. And then he was squeezing her jaw, dragging his mouth roughly across her lips, pouring his words into her.

  “I’ll give you everything you need, everything you want, Antonia Kearny, and when I’m done giving, you will think of no one else but Grey Richards.”

  He stabbed her mouth with his tongue in a kiss that was almost painful in its intensity. She met his avid thrusts in kind and at last broke free to catch her breath, her lips achy and swollen.