by Beth Michele
Hearing him speak French makes me weak in the knees—and I don’t need another reason.
“What did you say?”
He turns his head to catch my eyes. “You are the most enchanting woman I’ve ever had the pleasure of knowing.”
My counter is swift. “I bet you say that to all your women.”
“All my women?” he snaps, and the hurt in his tone pinches my stomach with regret. “As if I have a harem stashed somewhere?” His feet stop moving and his eyes drill into mine, expression now guarded. “Is that the kind of man you think I am?”
My instinct is to look away, but I don’t. Is that what I really think? No, but I also don’t know him very well. Deep down, I’m aware this has less to do with him and more to do with me. “For one,” I start, “I don’t know you very well.”
“So get to know me then,” he replies, voice firm. “Next?”
I nibble on my lip, continuing to challenge his point. “I’m sure you encounter enchanting and beautiful women all the time.”
“Beautiful, yes. Enchanting, no. I’m not just talking about looks, Lily. But I’m not going to lie. Is that what initially drew me to you? Yes, but there’s something more, something deeper. I’d like the chance to spend some time with you.”
It’s difficult to render me speechless, but I have no rebuttal for his words. While I’m also very attracted to him and, yes, I want to have crazy sex with him, there’s something more for me, too—something that terrifies me.
“Are we quite finished with this topic? Or would you like to discuss my secret harem in further detail?” His lips give way to a small smile. “Hmm?”
“I suppose,” I answer, feeling bad about my comment when he didn’t deserve it.
“Good.” We continue our walk and, thankfully, our easy conversation. “Now I have a question for you: why do you work a day job when you obviously make good money selling your art?”
“Because ‘good’ money isn’t enough, especially when I want to have my own gallery someday,” I explain. “And I’m saving to buy a brownstone in Brooklyn.”
“Why Brooklyn?” He reaches into the bag for the last few peanuts, and I find myself happy he’s enjoying them.
“I love the sense of community there. I also love all the cafes and shops, the small parks, and you won’t find a better bagel anywhere.” A small laugh slips out. “But most of all, I feel like it suits me.”
He glances at me out of the corner of his eye. “I could see that.”
“What about you? Where do you live?” I ask, finally full from all the junk I’ve inhaled.
“Upper West Side, not far from Central Park.”
“I love Central Park. It’s so beautiful.”
“Yes, I have a spectacular view of it,” he says, and I get the sense seeing it is as far as his experience goes.
“You have to make time for the things that matter,” I tell him, a small piece of my past slipping in where it’s not wanted.
We come to another block, crowds of people gathering to listen to a solo guitarist. I crumple up the empty peanut bag and toss it in my purse then turn to face him. “Put one arm around my waist and the other hand in mine,” I instruct, and, though confused, he does as I ask.
“What are we doing?”
I give him a bright smile, placing a hand on his shoulder. “We’re dancing.”
He tenses beneath my fingers. “I don’t do this,” he says, his apparent discomfort giving me pause.
“Well, you are now,” I counter, stepping closer.
He glances around. “Now?”
“No, tomorrow,” I say, hoping to loosen him up with playful sarcasm. My feet begin to move as I lead us in a slow sway. “Yes, now. Just try not to step on my toes. You seem a bit clumsy.”
“Please, woman. You have no idea who you’re talking to.” Then he takes me by surprise and twirls us around in a graceful circle. An elderly couple claps nearby, and Jace’s skin hints of red under the glare of the streetlight. “It appears we have an audience.”
“Yes, and an adorable one at that. Who taught you how to dance?”
Jace brushes a strand of hair off my cheek. “My older sister.”
“You’re not bad, not as good as me, but—”
My smart comeback is silenced with a kiss, a soft tease of his mouth against mine before he uses that glorious tongue I was craving to lick across my lips. I don’t hesitate, opening to him, giving him my breath, my tongue—me—and it’s a fantastic kiss. I can almost pretend we’re in that ocean, his fresh scent filling my senses, the taste of him delicious: chocolate, peanuts, and desire. When we finally break apart, I’m winded, as if I’ve run a marathon. But my mind has plenty of energy, thinking about all the things that mouth can do, all the things I want it to do.
His gaze darts from my eyes to my lips, making his intent crystal clear. “It’s impossible to work everything out in your head, you know. The best thing to do is give voice to your thoughts.”
How is it possible he’s moved closer when there was hardly any space between us? I’m overwhelmed by how good he smells, making it hard to form words.
“What do you want, Lily?”
“I…”
“Whatever it is, the answer is yes.”
I’m suddenly aware of our time together slipping away like sand through an hourglass. I refuse to have regret over this night. Besides, I know Jace would give me anything I wanted right now, and I want him.
“I want to be alone with you.”
“Done.” He looks across the street to where his driver is now parked. Then he pulls out his cell phone and types a quick message before sliding it back into his pocket.
Tonight may be all I have with him, and I’m damn sure going to make the most of it.
The car circles around to the curb, and after a quick introduction to Scottie, we slide into the limo. I know I won’t regret my decision. His hunger for me is palpable in the air, thick and intoxicating. Every part of me feels it, including my heart, which is pounding a mile a minute. Whatever he intends to give me, I’ll take. I want it. Always being the one to stay on top of things, ensuring schedules are running smoothly and people are where they need to be—it’s exhausting. And right now, I don’t want to take care of anything. I want Jace to have the control, which I already know isn’t an issue for him. If anything, I get the sense he’s trying to hold back, and that’s the last thing I want. I want him to let go, want to see what he’s made of.
I let my thighs fall apart in the delicate space around us, knowing he can smell the desire between my legs. It’s a subtle move, but there’s no mistaking his response: a sharp intake of breath, the rustle of fabric as he shifts on the seat.
He glances into the front. “Just drive for a while, please,” he tells Scottie, voice laden with want. He flicks on a small interior light, and then the privacy screen goes up, as does my pulse. His gaze finds mine. “I believe there was something you needed, Miss Conrad?” he says, mischief playing in his words.
“Was there?” I ask, unable to resist the urge to tease him.
“Come here.” His tone is commanding and I respond immediately, scooting over on the seat. A dull, needy throb starts up in my core. “I’d like another kiss.”
“Hmm.” I stare up at him, tapping a finger against my lips. “Another kiss,” I repeat. “That’s the thing with lips and tongue, right?” The look on his face tells me he’s two seconds away from snapping, from throwing me back on the seat and fucking the life out of me. Sounds perfect, but I do want that kiss.
I kick my heels off then rise up on my knees, losing my balance with a little yelp when he grabs my hips and I end up straddling him, legs on either side of his waist. He’s hard. His erection pushes up against me, against the spot where I need him most.
“The kiss, Miss Conrad. You’d be wise not to make me wait.”
There’s a tiny twitch at the corner of his mouth. God, he’s sexy, and I’m so turned on. I’ve never had sex in a lim
o—or done anything sexual in one, for that matter—but I’m game for christening this vehicle in a thousand different ways.
Back to the kiss.
I cup his face in my hands, thumbs smoothing along the rough stubble lining his jaw. I want to leave a mark with this kiss. I want him to remember it, to remember me. I lean forward and brush my lips softly against his, but I don’t stay there. I let them move around his face…his forehead, his eyelids, the strong angle of his jaw, his chin…and then I go back to where I started. But this time, my tongue juts out to lick the seam of his lips. A low growl resonates from his chest and I can feel him trying to hold back, fingers digging into the leather at my sides. He wants to take, but right now, he’s letting me give. Little does he know, he can have anything he wants.
Still, I take my time. And when he grants me access to his mouth, I’m like a crazy, starved woman. My tongue is everywhere: the roof, the corners, across his teeth. His tongue reaches for mine and it’s an explosion of want and desire. Kissing him is addictive, but I can think of worse things.
Little by little, he takes control, bringing his hands up to grip my hips and deepening our connection. My answering moan is loud and needy, and all we’re doing is kissing. It can’t be helped, though, not when his tongue is filling my mouth and his erection is inches away from my sex.
If I didn’t want him this badly, I’d almost be embarrassed. I’m so wet I can feel it on the insides of my thighs, and it won’t be long before he feels it too. Desire oozes out of me. I need him to taste me, to spread me open and lick. I want to rip this dress off and expose my aching nipples, let him see what he’s doing to me—not that he doesn’t know already. The sounds leaving my mouth are desperate, as if I haven’t had sexual contact in ages. Partly, that’s true, but the more important part is that I want him in a way I’ve never wanted anyone before.
While my thoughts are roaming, so are his hands. They drift along my bare arms as he gently kneads with long, skillful fingers. Goosebumps erupt in their wake, popping and fizzing along my skin. His mouth is still on mine, teasing. “Your lips are like a gift from the gods,” he murmurs while he sucks and nibbles on them endlessly. I know they’ll be bruised and swollen, but I don’t care. And when he’s finally had his fill, his mouth trails down the line of my neck, nose following the path and breathing me in. “Jesus,” he rasps. “Your pussy smells like heaven,” and then in a more desperate voice, “I need to see it—to taste it.”
I gather the plush satin and ruck it up to my waist. Arousal glistens on the insides of my legs, and Jace’s response is immediate, sliding his hands down then pulling back with a groan. He stares at the tiny scrap of black lace barely covering my most private place. There’s no mistaking his hard swallow in the silence.
“Christ, is that for me?” I’m not exactly sure if he’s asking about my wet thighs or my panties, but my answer wouldn’t change either way. His tongue skates across his lower lip as if he can already taste me. “Did you wear those tonight knowing I might see you?”
“Yes.” The word comes out as a moan and he sucks in a breath.
“Show me,” he demands, squeezing my thighs and provoking a tiny hint of pain, which I welcome.
One hand holding up my dress, I reach down with the other, fingers shaky as I pull the skimpy fabric aside, baring myself to him. He chews on his lip as he looks with greedy eyes at nothing but smooth skin. His breath quickens, a hard rise and fall in his chest. “More. Show me more.”
My hands are clumsy in my attempt to give him what he wants, but he makes it easy, grabbing the edge of my panties with a salacious grin and ripping them, giving new meaning to the term hands-free. “Much better. Now spread for me.”
It takes a second to remember that no one can see us, dark windows cloaking our lust. But the light he left on hides nothing, and when I open myself up to him, he stares in awe.
“Jesus fuck. So pink and swollen. Just beautiful.” Then he takes his index finger and grazes it over my sensitive clit, and the moan leaving my mouth from that featherlight touch should be illegal—should be embarrassing—but all I want is more. “Does that feel good, sweetheart?” he asks, and I nod, eager for everything, for his fingers, his mouth, his tongue. “You’re so wet,” he says in a reverent tone. Then he removes his finger, and I whimper at the loss. He brings it to his lips, swirling his tongue like it’s a lollipop and he can’t get enough. “I knew you’d taste delicious,” he murmurs, licking his finger clean.
The sight of his full lips, shiny with my arousal, sends heat over every inch of my skin. Need takes over, and I want him to free his cock. I want to see if it’s long and thick, if there’s wetness at the tip. I want to slide down and ride him until neither of us can breathe, until we’re spent from the most amazing orgasms. Because I know he could give me one—or six.
“You need to be fucked so badly, don’t you?”
“Yes.” If he keeps talking like that, I won’t need anything else. His dirty words will be more than enough.
“Do you know that just yesterday…” His voice is strained and husky as he eases down the top of my dress to reveal aching nipples. “I walked out in the middle of a meeting to jack off in the bathroom? The thought of you in that red dress…all I could think about was what color your nipples were under all that fabric, how I wanted to suck them into my mouth then lift up your dress and slide into your pussy.”
“Jace…”
“Mmm,” he murmurs in appreciation, eyes a blue haze of lust as he circles his wet finger around my hard nipple. “They’re even more perfect than I imagined.” He groans, low and deep, and I lean forward, hoping he’ll take me into his mouth.
But he doesn’t.
More circling, tugging, twisting until I’m a wriggling mess. Until I’m begging for his mouth.
“Jace, please.”
He glances up like he wants to eat me alive. “Squeeze your breast and feed me that luscious nipple.”
Oh God.
I do it. I pinch and squeeze, pushing the firm point between his lips, and once he’s latched on, his hot mouth surrounding me—I can barely hold it together. I’m grinding relentlessly against his hard-on, knotting my fingers into his dress shirt. His strong hands are at my hips, moving me back and forth over his erection. My head falls to the side, skin beaded with pleasure. “That feels so good,” I manage as his tongue works my nipple over. “Please.”
Delirious, I don’t understand what I’m pleading for anymore. What I can admit is that I’m filled with want and incredible longing for this man I barely know.
And somewhere, in a place that reaches past the desire, a small voice whispers, I’d like to change that.
She’s a delicacy, and I’ve barely tasted her yet.
Before this night is over, I want her flavor filling my mouth, her scent lingering on my skin. This woman, this gorgeous, feisty woman—she drives me crazy. How is that possible? I’ve known her all of a few days, yet I crave her like nothing else. It’s not just her body, although, fuck, that part is incredible. I want to delve into her mind, her art, her spirit.
Stop thinking, Jace.
Staying in the moment has always been a challenge for me, my mind always racing to the next deal, the next meeting, the next million being deposited in my bank account. I’ve been running myself ragged for years. My work is my life.
Then in walks Lily, instilling in me a new kind of want. Not just a physical desire far surpassing anything I’ve felt in a very long time, but the desire to take a day off, to put my phone on do not disturb to spend an hour chatting with her at a café. I want to listen to her talk about art, maybe even open up about her hopes and dreams—all frilly sentiments, of course. I’m a realist, and while I’m aware the probability is nonexistent, it doesn’t make the yearning any less powerful.
While my lips ravage her rose-colored nipple, tongue laving the tight peak, I glance up at her. She’s staring down at me, soft mouth parted in wonder and bliss. Her body gravitates to m
ine like a magnet, like we’re two parts of a whole. Here and now, whatever this is can’t be denied.
And I’m good at that—denying myself. In this instance, though, I’m allowing this one small pleasure. Besides, I don’t think I could say no to her if I tried. From the moment she taunted me in that red dress, I was a goner.
Her sexy whimper brings me back and I know she’s close. The fact that I can practically make her orgasm with just my mouth on her nipples makes me wonder what I can do to the rest of that sinful body. By the time I’m finished, my name will be on her lips and stamped on her skin.
“Oh God,” she cries out, arching into my mouth. My pants are soaked from her sex, nose filled with her sweet musk. Fuck. My dick swells even more at the thought of being inside her, spreading her out on my king-sized bed, long hair fanning over white sheets, a gorgeous contrast of light and dark. “I want to suck you,” slips out on the way to her release, once again pulling me from the recesses of my mind.
“You will,” I reassure her, breaking free of her nipple. “But not yet.” My cock is protesting, of course. It definitely has other ideas as it presses against my zipper, demanding to be set free. All it would take is one thrust and I’d be inside her warm center, but if this is all I have of her for the next few weeks, I want to draw it out, make it last. Make sure I’m the last person she thinks about before sleep and the first person she thinks of upon waking. I want her sore, satisfied, marked.
Mine.
That last thought is the one to push me over the edge, spurring me to grasp her arms and pin her down against the leather. A breathy noise of surprise leaves her mouth as I regain my balance and sit back, rolling up my shirtsleeves. “Spread your legs, sweetheart.”
A coy smile peeks out from the corner of her lips. Inch by inch, she parts her creamy thighs, taking her time and compounding my torture.
“Teasing me is only going to make it worse for you,” I say, trying to stay in demanding mode and hide my amusement.
“How much worse?” she taunts, attempting to close her legs.
