by Megan Hart
She kissed him. Long and hard and fierce, until both of them were gasping and she could feel the throb of his heart in every place she was touching. Her own, too.
With another of those low, greedy growls, Elliott scooped her up. “Bedroom?”
“End of the hall—” Her breath left her when he kissed her harder.
He carried her without effort down the hall, past the guest room she used as an office and the bathroom and the small, odd-shaped room that would never be a bedroom, only a walk-in closet. Her bedroom door was half-closed because of the drafts, and he kicked it open.
Kicked. It. Open.
“Oh, fuck,” Simone breathed, every nerve in her body humming with arousal.
Elliott put her down next to the bed and kissed her again. His hands roamed, one between her legs. The other the back of her neck. He held her still with just that touch, though she wanted to writhe.
His fingers hooked into the lacy waistband of her panties. With a short, sharp tug, Elliott tore them away from her. The motion jerked her forward, clashing their teeth together. His clipped her tongue.
Instant, bright pain. Stars flashed in her vision. She cried out, then again when his hand moved between her legs again. A finger slid inside her. Then another. His thumb pressed her clit.
Somehow they were on the bed, Elliott kneeling over her. Her skirt had hitched up to her waist. Her blouse buttons gaped. He undressed her swiftly and with a competence that shouldn’t have surprised her but did. When she was naked, he pushed her back roughly against the pillows.
“I want to see you, Simone. Open your legs.”
He’d done no more than loosen his tie. He’d made no move even to undo his belt. For a moment, she hesitated, but he hadn’t demanded, he’d asked. There was a difference.
Was there anything more vulnerable than being naked with someone who wasn’t? It was a different sort of pain, one Simone didn’t generally crave. Still, she found herself letting her knees fall wide to tease him with the sight of her wetness.
“Touch yourself for me.”
Her fingers slid between her legs. Circled her clit. She dipped inside, getting them wet and slick. She watched him watching her, and didn’t feel vulnerable anymore. She felt powerful. Feminine.
Desired.
That feeling was a trigger for her, and she let out a soft moan as her moving hand extended the pleasure his had already begun. Simone arched, spreading herself to his gaze. She took her clit between her thumb and forefinger, jerking it gently.
He moved closer to kneel between her legs. His hands slid up her thighs, nails lightly scratching. It didn’t even come close to hurting, but her skin pebbled into gooseflesh with the anticipation.
“Yes,” she murmured when he touched her. “Yes, Elliott.”
His fingers slipped into her again, moving slowly. Simone rocked her hips at the feeling of him inside her, urging him deeper. She reached up to grab the spindles of her headboard, giving in to the sensation of his hands on her.
He paused when she did that.
“Don’t stop,” she said.
Elliott fucked in and out of her again, still too maddeningly slow. Too gentle. Every so often he’d pull his fingers out to stroke her clit, but mostly he concentrated on curling them just right against that magic spot behind her pubic bone.
How’d he know she could come that way? she wondered as the pleasure built, but that thought was fleeting. All of her thoughts were insubstantial, quickly lost. All she could concentrate on was the pleasure Elliott was creating in her pussy.
He eased her to the edge, then slowed again. Once. Twice. Frustrated, Simone let out a spurt of breathless giggles.
Incredibly, Elliott laughed, too. It transformed him, that low laughter. Sitting up, he moved away from her enough to shrug out of his shirt.
At the sight of his bare chest, Simone made a small noise. He looked at her sideways. His hand went to his belt, teasing open the leather.
For a hopeful moment she thought he meant to take it out. Maybe use it? They hadn’t talked about anything like that, and right now she was so turned on she’d be almost stupid enough to forgo the usual “know your limits” talk—but only almost. Simone had learned her lesson the very, very hard way when she’d been young and inexperienced, knowing only that she liked it when her lovers pulled her hair and used their teeth, and not that some men didn’t do this because of the pleasure it gave to anyone else, but only cared about their own. Only once had she been with a man who’d hurt her beyond what felt good, but Simone was smart enough not to make the same mistake twice. If Elliott meant to use that belt on her, they’d need to talk about it first.
Elliott didn’t slide the leather free of the loops, but he did get himself out of his trousers and the boxer briefs beneath. Simone made another soft noise at the sight of his cock when he freed it. She’d seen him fuck a dozen or so women in his office, but she’d never actually seen his prick.
All men are proud of their erections, and Elliott was no different. He gave it a few strokes, getting it even harder, until it tapped his belly. With his other hand, he slid his fingers up her inner thigh again.
“I have condoms,” Simone said, pointing toward the bedside table drawer.
Elliott shook his head. “Not yet.”
She propped herself up on her elbows to look at him. “Non-negotiable.”
“Understood,” Elliott told her. “But we don’t need one yet.”
Simone settled back onto the pillows. She let her toes drag up his thigh, the muscles bunched because he was kneeling. She put a foot flat on his belly. His fingers encircled her ankle, not completely around the way he could with her wrist, but tight enough.
“Elliott … I want you to touch me.”
He leaned to press his fingertips to her clit. He tweaked it the way she had, and Simone shuddered. She reached for the headboard again, gripping the wood so tight it squeaked. She arched into his touch.
Still fingering her, Elliott stroked his cock. He dipped his fingers inside her, wetting himself with her arousal. Both of them sighed when he did that; their eyes locked.
“I want you to fuck me,” Simone said.
“Not yet.”
She laughed, frustrated. He laughed, too. She rocked her hips into his slow touch.
Elliott leaned over her to find her mouth. He kissed her slowly. Then faster. His tip of his cock rubbed her belly, but only lightly, because he kept himself propped up. The hand between her legs paused. Drifted upward. He found her nipples and tweaked them to tightness until she gasped and wriggled.
When he pinched one, then the other, Simone cried out. Something breathy, wordless, full of need. He did it again. The man who’d growled and picked her up, the one who’d kicked in her door, was back.
His mouth moved over her. Licking. Biting. Sucking. He pinched and rolled her nipples as his teeth caught the flesh of her throat. His cock rubbed her belly. Her hip. Her thigh.
Simone tensed, but he didn’t try to slide inside her bare. His kisses moved over her breasts. The ticklish spot of her ribs. At the curve of her hip, he bit down, and her entire body came alive. Electric.
“Fuck,” she muttered. “Yes, that. Oh, fuck, yes.”
His hand had never stopped moving on her cunt, and by this time he’d edged her so close that all it would take was another few strokes before she’d come. Simone let go of the headboard to find Elliott’s head, the soft dark hair she threaded her fingers through. She didn’t push him toward her pussy, but oh, that was certainly where she wanted his mouth to go.
His breath gusted over her. Just a puff. His fingers slid deep inside her, three now. Stretching. He had his hand back on his cock, stroking in time to the thrusts he made inside her.
“Fuck me,” Simone said in a lust-broken voice. Not quite pleading, though she wasn’t too proud for that. Not when every twist of his fingers inside her sent her spiraling toward orgasm.
“Not yet,” Elliott said.
H
e pushed himself onto his knees again. Stroking his cock, faster now. He bit his lower lip, brow furrowed in concentration. The cords of his forearms stood out, another trigger for her. He fucked a little harder inside her with his fingers, then slid them out to tap her clit lightly.
The sudden change startled her, and she cried out. Surged toward climax. She shook with it, letting out a low, hoarse gasp.
“Fuck,” Elliott said.
His stroking quickened, and he fucked into his fist as much as he stroked. His gaze raked her, taking in everything, and Simone, too close to coming to form coherent words, reveled in Elliott’s desire. She lifted herself a little, pressing against his hand.
He slapped her clit. Hard. The pain, sharp and intense and furious, bit at her like the sting of angry wasps.
And that, finally, was what sent her over the edge, as though he’d known it all along. Simone came so hard the world turned gray and red at the corners of her vision. The second slap hurt worse than the first on her love-swollen flesh, and it sent her tumbling into a second climax so hard on the heels of the first it was as though she didn’t stop coming the entire time.
“So fucking beautiful,” Elliott said.
The heat of him hit her belly and breasts as he came all over her. Simone’s breath caught in her throat, watching his head fall back with pleasure, his hand still stroking the last bursts of his climax over his fist. It wasn’t what she’d expected from him, not at all, but oh, God, it was so hot that her body tried and failed to send her over the edge into one more climax. Her cunt tightened, clit tingling, but she couldn’t quite manage.
Still, it had been close and she’d never come from just watching a man get off before. She sipped at the air, trying to find her voice, and could only manage to whisper his name. Elliott, blinking, focusing at last on her face, slowed to his final stroke.
“Wow,” she said. “That was … amazing.”
That’s when he leaned in to kiss her softly, the embrace as unexpected as his orgasm had been. She thought he might say something, but he only pressed his forehead to hers for a moment, his eyes closed. Then he kissed her again, once more, before he gathered up his clothes and took them with him as he left.
* * *
She hadn’t come out of the bedroom after him—that he had expected. She hadn’t called him, either, and Elliott wasn’t surprised by that any more than by her refusal to follow him. Simone had impressed him as a woman who knew what was what. What shocked him into a gape-mouthed silence, though, was the fact that she’d shown up at his office the next afternoon with a paper bag from a local bakery in one hand and a cardboard tray containing two large coffee cups in the other.
“I take it you’re not much one for cuddling,” was her greeting. She didn’t wait for him to invite her in, but set down the bag and the coffee in front of him. She shut his office door, then turned back to him.
“Simone,” he said, and that was all he managed to say.
“Look. I’m sure that you’re used to a certain … kind … of woman, let’s say.”
“I am.” He looked inside the paper bag. Lemon scones. His favorite. The coffee, sweet and creamy, also the way he liked it.
“Dig in. I bet you’re starving. There’s some hummus and chips in the bottom of the bag, but you have to share. I’m starving, too.”
He was starving, as a matter of fact. He’d skipped lunch, intending to duck out early to have dinner with Molly, but the charge nurse had called him to say it was one of her bad days and he shouldn’t bother.
“I know it’s a hike for you with traffic and all,” the nurse had said. “And I’d hate for you to get all the way out here only to have her not even know you.”
What he hadn’t been able to tell the woman, who’d worked there since before Molly’d become a resident, was that his visits had stopped being solely for Molly a long time ago. Even on the days when she didn’t know him at all, or the worse ones, when she thought he was his father, when she wept and pleaded with him not to leave her, to never, ever leave her—even on those days, Elliott visited for himself. Because there were so few days left before she’d be gone for good.
“Why not let me take you out for a real meal?” Elliott asked.
Simone paused in taking out the carton of hummus and bags of chips. “First of all, that sounds more like a date. Second of all, me and you? We have some discussing to do. And I sort of got the idea that you’re the kind of man who doesn’t like to make a scene. If this isn’t enough food for you, we can order pizza.”
Shit.
“Are you going to make a scene, Simone?”
“No. I don’t intend to,” she told him. “But I do intend to say what I mean to, and I do mean for you to listen.”
“That sounds ominous.” He tore open a bag of chips and dunked one in the hummus, his stomach rumbling.
“Only if you’re uncomfortable with discussions of an adult nature.”
He paused to give her a look, trying to judge her. She’d said it lightly enough, but her expression was neutral. He sat back in his chair. “You’re pissed off.”
“Let me ask you a question, Elliott. Don’t you think I have the right to be a little disgruntled?” She sat in the chair on the opposite side of his desk and sipped from her paper cup of coffee. Her voice, still light. Expression, still neutral.
He knew enough about women to know he was in for a shitstorm if he didn’t play this right. The problem was, he was never able to play things right. Elliott sighed.
“What do you want me to say? Sorry?”
“Are you sorry?”
He looked at her. “No.”
“Then don’t say you are.” She sipped coffee again. “But I think you need to understand some things about me.”
He expected her to tell him how she didn’t put up with bullshit. How he didn’t know what he was messing with. Maybe even that he was a selfish prick. All things he’d heard from other women over the years.
“I’m not a robot,” Simone said, instead. “I’m a real girl. With real feelings. Which might surprise you, or make you feel uncomfortable, but that’s the way it is, and for someone who made such a big deal out of me being rude for dancing with someone else when you told me you didn’t want to dance, I think it was particularly rude of you to fuck me and leave without so much as a ‘call you later.’ You didn’t have to stay for breakfast, but you could’ve at least acted like you weren’t chewing off your arm to get out of a trap.”
“I don’t like to sleep in someone else’s bed.”
“Who does?” Simone said with a frown. “You could’ve just said so.”
“I’ve tried that in the past. Women don’t like it. They think I’m making an excuse. Or that I should somehow get over my desire to sleep in the comfort of my own bed, with my own pillow, for their sake.”
“Oh, women,” Simone said with an airy wave of her hand. “We can be some kind of crazy bitches.”
Elliott snorted reluctant laughter. “Yeah, you mentioned that the night we met.”
“But men,” she added, “can be assholes.”
“Yes. We can. I wasn’t trying to be an asshole. I just … didn’t want an argument.”
“I wouldn’t have argued with you.”
“I didn’t know that.”
She smiled, then. A small one. “No. You didn’t.”
“I’m sorry,” Elliott said, surprising himself.
“Accepted.” She gestured at the food. “Eat up.”
He dug into the hummus and crunched a chip, watching her as she sipped more coffee. He could remember the taste of her. The feel of her skin under his fingertips. The way she moaned, the color of her skin fading from red to creamy pale …
“You’re staring,” she told him.
Elliott shifted, uncomfortable. “I’m sorry.”
“Are you imagining me naked?”
He had been, but shook his head.
She grinned. “Liar.”
A smile tugged his mouth. �
��Are you imagining me naked?”
“Oh. Absolutely.” Simone lifted her cup toward him. “I’m hoping I get another chance to see it for real.”
“You’re not … mad.”
She sighed for a moment. “Listen. You’re kind of hard to like, do you know that?”
“Yes.”
“Bonus points for acknowledging,” she told him.
Elliott tore the lemon scone into four equal pieces and laid them out on the napkin, since he had no plate. Before he could reach inside the paper bag for another napkin, Simone handed him one. “Thanks.”
“And yet I like you anyway,” she said.
“You have suspicious taste in men.”
She gave him a cheery smirk. “Oh, there’s no doubt about that. But here’s the thing, Elliott … you like me, too.”
He did like her, that was the crazy thing. He’d liked her from the moment in the elevator when she’d transformed herself from office mouse to after-hours vixen. And when she’d held her own at Barry’s party. He liked the way she tasted and smelled, the way she moved under him, but most of all, he liked the way she responded to him.
“I don’t even know you,” Elliott said.
“You know parts of me,” Simone replied in a low voice.
He was no longer so hungry. Elliott wiped his fingers carefully on the spare napkin. “Seeing you naked doesn’t mean I know every part of you.”
Simone got up from her chair and came around the desk to sit on the edge of it. Her knee brushed his on purpose. She crossed her arms at first as he leaned back in his chair. Then, before he could stop her, she swung her leg over his lap. Straddling him, she put her hands on his shoulders, her thumbs brushing his neck.
She put her mouth to his ear. “I like it when you hurt me.”
* * *
Simone had never seen a man move so fast. One minute she was on Elliott’s lap. The next he’d lifted her and pushed her to the side so hard she stumbled, whacking her elbow on the edge of his desk as he got out of his chair, which went spinning into the wall behind him. She straightened, rubbing it with a wince.
“That’s not the kind of hurt I mean,” she told him.
