Serving Pleasure

by Alisha Rai

  Nooooo. She tried not to keen the word, but it was a struggle. An hour and a half? That was ages away.

  He continued speaking. “If you want me to come over when I get home, leave your curtains open and your door unlocked. And be naked. I won’t be patient.” He stepped away, his lips twisting. “If you’ve changed your mind—well, I won’t bother you again. But I’ll expect the same courtesy.”

  “I won’t change my mind.” How could she? This was all she could have dreamed of. And more. A night of pure physical lust with the man who had ensnared her mind and body since the first minute she’d seen him.

  Tomorrow might be strange or complicated, but she’d worry about tomorrow then. Giddiness made her want to laugh and dance. Poor man had no idea what was about to hit him. But he’d thank her in the end. They always did.

  He gave her a long, thorough look, as if her clothes were as good as gone already. “Naked,” he repeated, before turning on his heel and brushing past a middle-aged couple who cast him covert, curious looks. Looks they transferred to her when he was gone.

  She supplied them with a wobbly smile and tilted her head at the painting behind her. “This one’s mine.”

  Chapter 5

  She’d left her blinds open.

  Micah stood in the darkness of his studio, staring into her darkened bedroom.

  Those blinds had been shut since he’d spun out of control last week. He’d assumed she’d been disgusted by his vulgar display. God knew, he’d been consumed with plenty of self-hatred for scaring her off.

  I felt guilty. For liking it.

  She’d uttered those words, and elation had coursed through him.

  From the moment he’d made the exhilarating connection that she was following him—which was roughly ten seconds after she started following him, she was truly terrible at reconnaissance—he’d wrestled with what he would do if a face-to-face confrontation came to a head. He’d never spent a more agonizing half hour than the time she’d made him wait before walking into the gallery.

  Then he’d spotted her, standing in front of his painting, the one he had actually liked but the gallery manager had been less than enthused about, and the decision had been remarkably easy. He couldn’t not talk to her. Not when she was right there.

  He’d thought her beautiful before, but tonight, she’d launched herself into super-model territory. While she’d studied his painting, emotions flitting over her lively face, he’d searched her for some imperfection, but there was nothing about her he didn’t like.

  Rana. Now that he knew it, he couldn’t stop repeating her name in his head.

  She’d smiled at him, and he’d lost whatever shred of sanity he’d retained, forgetting he was no longer the type of man who would boldly demand a woman go home and wait for him naked.

  Are you smart?

  Micah winced. Conversation had never been his strength, given his solitary nature, but he’d become a barbarian during his self-imposed exile of the past two years. She deserved better than his fumbled attempts to charm her.

  Luckily, she was quick. And brash. And she took initiative.

  He liked that. Because lately, he couldn’t do a single fucking thing without becoming paralyzed with indecision.

  Like right now. The instant she had left him, he’d reverted back to the broken man he had become, filled with doubt and second thoughts.

  He grimaced, staring at her house like it held all the answers to the universe. Or, at the very least, the answer that would tell him what to do now.

  What was there to be indecisive about? If he didn’t go, he would only spend the rest of the night agonizing over his failures—the way he’d had to pretend not to see people’s curious glances or hear their whispers over the past few hours. Or how he’d had to not take offense when the gallery manager told him they’d sold some paintings.

  Some? She’d been pleased by that, and he’d wanted to throw a champagne glass at the wall. There had been a time when people had fought over his work, when every show had sold out.

  Why had he given in to his agent’s nagging?

  Because eventually your money will run out, and you need some sort of career.

  Correct. He’d be damned if, on top of everything else, he had to ask his parents for financial help.

  Yes, there was nothing productive he would do at home. Anyway, didn’t being with Rana trump basically every other option open to him?

  He slipped his hand over the front placket of his pants. As much as he missed fucking, a large part of him simply wanted to surround himself with her, have those soft thighs and gently rounded arms around him for a night. Was that so much to ask?

  Small steps.

  Was she in her living room, waiting for him? Was she, as he’d demanded, naked?

  There was only one way to find out.

  Bare feet padding on the hardwood floor, he walked out of his studio and down the stairs to his front door. He didn’t bother to put on shoes.

  The full moon lit his way. The cold, wet grass tickled his feet, and the small rocks in her driveway pricked them, but he didn’t much care. Her home was dark, and if it weren’t for her car in the driveway, he’d think she wasn’t home.

  When he looked closer, though, he noticed the glow of a dim light peeking out from under the brocade curtains shielding the large bay window at the front of the house.

  He paused at the door, his hand hovering over the doorknob. He had told her to leave it unlocked. Had she?

  Micah stopped before he could touch the polished brass. The doorknob wasn’t his. The house wasn’t his, though it was identical in build. He barely knew the woman inside, for all the strange connection he’d felt with her from the second he’d caught her watching him.

  They’d both intruded on each other enough. He made a fist, knocking lightly.

  Before his hand could fall twice, the door opened, and there she stood.

  It took him a second to realize he’d forgotten to exhale, and he let his breath out in a rush. The overhead light in her foyer was soft and caressed her face, the shadows making her eyes pools of mysterious black. Her cheekbones appeared more pronounced, her lips a deeper, more vibrant shade of scarlet.

  She had changed her makeup for him, or maybe touched it up. She hadn’t needed to, but he couldn’t deny he was flattered. It was another sign she truly wanted him.

  He shifted, aware of his bare feet. Would it have killed him to put his shoes on? Or maybe shower first?

  Rana wasn’t wearing shoes, though. Her feet were delicately arched, slender and elegant. She’d donned a lavender silk robe that ended above her knees, leaving her long silky legs bare. She wasn’t exposing any more skin than she had in the gallery, but he had seen enough women in robes—both models and in his personal life—to know when a woman was naked underneath one.

  His body tightened. Had he ever felt like this, even before his accident? Like he wanted to lay a woman down on the floor and feast on her body for hours?

  Her lips curled up, and she spoke, breaking their silence. “You said to leave the door open. I thought you would come right in.”

  He looked at the door. “I didn’t want to… It seemed presumptuous,” he said finally, aware how silly that sounded, when she’d been not-so-secretly watching him for weeks. When he had already bared his body to her.

  That was the problem, though. He’d wanted a clear, non-equivocal sign he was welcome, that this was freely given on both sides. He didn’t want any shame or guilt tainting tonight.

  “I wouldn’t have minded.” While he warmed at her simple statement, she opened the door wider and stepped aside, giving him the physical invitation he’d needed.

  Feeling rather brave, he stepped over the threshold. He wasn’t here to examine her decorating, but he appreciated the warm colors and soft lighting. She closed the door behind him with a snick.

  He dipped his head and started to turn. “Rana…”

  Upon pain of death, he wouldn’t have been able to
tell someone what he’d been about to say. She was stroking the knot in the tie of her robe, and how was a man supposed to have rational thoughts when that was happening?

  “Yes?” A finger tucked inside the knot, tugging at it. His vision narrowed, until he couldn’t see anything else but that tie. The one barrier left between him and her skin.

  Small steps.

  He cleared his throat. Having her unclothed would be nice. Having her inflamed with lust would be better. “Are you naked under there?”

  “That’s what you asked of me,” she purred. She freed the knot and paused a beat before letting the two sides fall away, the lapels opening to reveal a sliver of tawny skin, the inner curve of her breasts, the toned expanse of her belly, a flash of dark pubic hair.

  Drama. He didn’t know what she did for a living, but this woman was born to be an actress or model. She knew how to work a captive audience.

  She shrugged the robe open, letting it slither over her shoulders and down her arms, until it caught on the curve of her elbows for a brief moment. His heart stopped, then started again as he viewed her body surrounded by a frame of frothy light purple.

  Proportionally, her breasts were a little too big for her slender body, firm and ripe and heavy on the bottom, the nipples large and dark brown. He’d always been a breast man. If someone, right this moment, offered him the choice between ten million American dollars and a minute where he could bury his face in those tits, licking and sucking on her nipples until she screamed out loud with pleasure? The minute would win.

  The robe fell to pool around her elegant feet, and his eyes followed the path it had taken, skimming over her toned legs, lingering over the neatly trimmed bush between her thighs.

  His voice sounded like a raspy stranger’s when he finally spoke. “Are you wet?”

  Rana leaned back so her shoulders rested against the door, displaying her body in an arch, and smiled. A siren’s smile. She was exceptional at playing to the audience. “Why don’t you come over here and take a look?”

  If he did, he wouldn’t stop at a look. He’d have his pants around his ankles and his cock fucking inside her before either of them could say two words. “Show me.”

  She quirked an eyebrow at him, but her red-tipped nails stroked down over her chest and her belly, heading to the juncture between her thighs. She raked over the curls there, and then her fingers were gliding over the sweet flesh he was dying to touch.

  Men did not grow weak in the knees, but there was no other reason for him to sink to the floor. Though he immediately saw the benefit in this position. “Come here.”

  He was grateful to note he wasn’t the only one with unsteady legs. She came to a stop in front of him, his head level with her pussy. Her hand still cradled it, giving him tiny peeks of dark hair and pink flesh between her fingers. He looked up her body, admiring the way her breasts rose and fell, her nipples hard. “Open up for me.”

  Two of her fingers slid over her vulva, separating the puffy lips. He wanted to run his tongue all over that soft flesh, suck her down. Examine her and absorb her, taste every drop of her slick, swollen body.

  It had been so long since he had had his mouth on a woman, and he didn’t think he’d ever wanted a woman like her.

  “I want to see,” he said, his voice so guttural he barely recognized it, “how wet you are inside. Don’t move.”

  Without further warning, he buried his face in her pussy, lapping her first before spearing his tongue inside her. Her muscular channel contracted around him, sucking him deeper.

  She gasped and stumbled back a step, separating their bodies.

  That wouldn’t do.

  He reacted like an animal that had been denied his favorite treat. Clutching the cheek of her ass with one hand, he dragged her toward him. “I said don’t move.”

  “S-sorry.”

  Knocking her hand aside, he spread her pussy open for his mouth. “Let me…” he muttered, aware he sounded like a lunatic, but unable to temper the desperation. “Just stand still, Rana, and let me fuck you a little. I need it.”

  She might have said something. He didn’t know, couldn’t think past the fact that her legs were parting, her hand on his head urging him closer. Somewhere in his brain, part of him stood apart from this and watched in shock. He’d always been a demanding lover, but this was…absurd.

  He’d stop if she told him to, but if she was willing? God, if she was willing, he’d push her wherever she would let him. Straight to hell, even, though he’d make sure they both enjoyed the ride.

  She tasted sweet and salty, better and richer than any woman he had ever had. Her ass was round and high, thick handfuls for him to grip and use to hold her tight to his mouth. He squeezed her buttocks again and again, rocking her against him, alternating between fucking her with his tongue, and tugging and rubbing her clit.

  The scar bisecting his upper lip made his touch rough, he knew that. At first, he tried to be mindful of it. But once he realized she was grasping his hair tighter each time he inadvertently scraped her, he threw careful kisses out the window. The next time he drew her clit between his lips to suck it, he made sure to roll his lips in and press down, compressing the nub. Instantly, her grasping hands turned to claws.

  She ripped a few strands of his hair when she pulled out the tie keeping it back, but he didn’t care, because then her fingers were sliding through the strands and using them to guide him where she needed him.

  His cock was throbbing, his pants a painful restraint. The only thing he wanted more than getting inside her was having her come on him. Words were spilling from her lips, a rush of pleasegodyesfuckmedon’tstop, every single syllable making him feel like a god. How had he gone two years without this?

  It took him a second to realize she was saying his name over and over, her hands pushing him away rather than toward her. He jerked his head up, aware her juices covered his face.

  “Do you need me to stop? Please. Don’t…” He tried to cut himself off. Begging. He never begged. Even when he had been lying on the ground in a pool of his own blood, he hadn’t begged.

  He would beg this woman. “I need—”

  She shook her head, long black hair flying, and he realized her eyes were glazed over with as much lust as he was feeling. A fine layer of sweat covered her body, and her breasts moved fast with the power of her breaths. “Micah...can’t come like this. Standing.”

  Relief crashed through him. Thank God. Was that the only problem? She couldn’t come on her feet? Fine.

  He pulled her down to straddle his lap and then spilled her back, grateful she’d placed a rug on the tile floor. The better to cushion her.

  He grasped her legs at her knees and wrenched her open, laying her pretty pink pussy bare for him. It was his. She was his.

  Only for tonight.

  He swatted away the nagging thought like he would a fly. Not now. This wasn’t the time.

  This position worked. He liked her like this. He had more room to maneuver now. He pressed her thighs wider, planting her feet on the floor to give him more access. “Better?” he asked.

  “Yes.” Her eyes fell to half-mast. “Now get back to work.”

  He attempted to match the teasing humor she employed so effortlessly. “Demanding.” He liked it. Liked someone taking the choice and the thought out of things for him. His cock jumped, but he could wait. He’d waited all this time.

  For her.

  She didn’t respond, but she did shift restlessly under him. God, how long had he been lost in her pussy, eating her out, before she’d told him what she needed? The last thing he’d do was deny her pleasure. “Shh. I know. You need to come.” He could do that much. Women’s bodies, he understood.

  She nodded and made a pitiable mewling sound, her hips arching. His hands pinned her down and limited her movement.

  He stroked her inner thigh. She was so damn perfectly formed.

  A vision flashed in his mind, of her spread out on the couch in his studio,
bathed in sunlight. He could paint her like that.

  No. Don’t bring work into this. It’s enough you’re breaking your long celibacy here. One milestone at a time. “What gets you off quickest? Show me.”

  Her lashes fluttered, and he wondered if perhaps he was pushing her too hard. Maybe she was too shy to—

  Nope.

  There was nothing shy about the long fingers that cupped her pussy, nothing remotely bashful of the thumb that rubbed her clit in tight, focused circles.

  He drank in her actions, memorizing every move of her body and fingers, before lowering his head. “Keep that up,” he said quietly, and sank his tongue inside her again. She gave a small shriek, her thumb’s motions becoming tighter and harder on her clit.

  Once he was certain he had her rhythm down, he pushed her hand aside and took over, closing his eyes so he could properly savor the feel of her round clit beneath his thumb and the sweetness of the pussy he was fucking with his tongue.

  He knew when she was coming, her hands clutching at his head and her muscular channel contracting around his tongue. She was going to tear his hair out and he didn’t care.

  Exultant satisfaction coursed through him when she fell back limp, and he gave her pussy one last lingering lick.

  Yes. He could at least manage this.

  Chapter 6

  Rana stared at the ceiling of her foyer and contemplated every facet of her destruction.

  It wasn’t that she’d never had a good lover before. She’d had some fine lovers in the past. Unfortunately, none of them had ever made her feel like she was having a religious experience when they went down on her.

  Maybe it was because it had been a while? Or the desperate enthusiasm with which he approached eating her out? Or the scar that rasped over her intimate flesh, giving her the perfect bite of roughness?

  She blew out a puff of air. Whatever the fuck it was, this could be a real problem. She had anticipated great sex. She hadn’t anticipated having her soul ripped out and stomped on.

  Don’t be melodramatic. It was an orgasm. A powerful one. A very, very, powerful one. But an orgasm. No big deal.