The Decadent Gift

by Lauren Blakely

Time to improvise. “Passing through. I’m on my way to New York, and I stopped here for the weekend with friends.”

  An eyebrow rose. “A girls’ weekend? Has it been good so far?”

  I nibbled on the corner of my lip, shamelessly staring at him because I could. Because I fucking could. “It’s getting better. A lot better,” I said, taking my time to punctuate those last words with a pop of my lips, so my meaning was clear.

  A groan emanated from his throat. “I’d say so too,” he rasped out as his eyes slid down to my cleavage, then back up to my face.

  A ribbon of heat unfurled in me, spreading through my body, pulsing between my legs. Out of the corner of my eye, the two women moved closer to each other. The woman in red took the lead, leaning in and pressing a kiss to the blonde’s neck.

  I went up in flames. “They’re going upstairs soon,” I said, unable to resist. My core ached. My desire shot sky-high. There was nothing that thrilled me more than strangers touching.

  Until Jake set a hand on my thigh, and I trembled.

  Oh, God.

  This man.

  He turned me on more.

  He turned me inside out with pleasure.

  Sliding his hand up my thigh, he shifted closer, his voice low and husky near my ear. “The blonde is about to be devoured. In a few minutes, she’ll be on the hotel sink, skirt hiked up, panties around her ankles, legs spread.”

  The fire was stoked.

  I shuddered, picturing that.

  But I wasn’t picturing them.

  I was seeing me on that hotel sink.

  Me leaning against the mirror.

  Me parting my legs.

  For this sexy, dirty stranger.

  “They don’t even know each other’s names,” I said.

  “No names, no professions,” he said, his hand gliding higher up my thigh, closer, closer still.

  I swallowed roughly. My throat was dry. “Just desire,” I whispered.

  Under the bar, his hand traveled to my center, and he cupped me.

  “Oh God,” I gasped, closing my eyes, giving in briefly to the enticing sensation of his hand where I wanted him. “That’s all they want. To make each other feel incredible,” I whispered.

  His fingers dipped between my legs, against the denim, as he stroked me, arousing me further, sending me higher.

  “You know what I think would feel incredible?”

  “Tell me,” I said, practically panting.

  He dipped his face to my neck, dusting his lips across my skin, his stubble sending sparks over me. “I’d like to take you to my room, strip you, and show you what I want to do to you with my tongue,” he said, flicking the tip of it along my neck.

  My vision blurred.

  I was on the edge already.

  My panties were damp.

  My skin sizzled.

  This stranger knew how to wind me up.

  “I want that,” I said, ready to beg for it.

  He pressed a kiss to my neck as he cupped me again under the bar. “I bet you’d love spreading your legs for me. Showing me how wet you are. Letting me taste your sweetness.”

  This was torture. Exquisite torture. I was dying for him. “I bet you’d love devouring me. I bet you want to fuck me with your tongue,” I said, giving as good as he gave.

  “Fuck,” he groaned.

  “Here are your drinks.”

  I snapped out of the moment when the bartender brought our martinis.

  I looked at Jake, whose eyes blazed black with desire. I had no interest in drinking. I wanted to be drunk on him. He lifted a glass, knocked some back, tossed some bills on the bar, and said, “Come with me. I need to go down on you so fucking bad right now.”

  In the elevator, he pushed me into a corner, his hands roaming over my chest, squeezing my breasts. “Do you have any idea how much I want to bury my face between your legs?”

  “I’m getting an inkling,” I said playfully.

  Jake was voracious in the bedroom, but he particularly seemed to love giving oral.

  I couldn’t argue with that.

  I’d dreamed about great oral sex.

  I’d fantasized about it.

  But I’d never had a man who ate me the way he did.

  With absolute passion.

  He’d gone down on me last night like I was dessert.

  Like I was his decadent dessert, and he’d been craving me all day, all week, all year.

  He kissed me like that now too. Like a man unhinged. He practically shook with lust. I swore I could smell it on him. His desire. His fervor.

  It was utterly addictive.

  When we got off the elevator, I didn’t ask when he’d booked the room.

  I didn’t care.

  All I cared about was getting naked for him.

  Inside the room, he practically tore off my clothes. We were frenzied, fevered, stripping as we walked, leaving clothes strewn along the carpet. I yanked at his shirt, needing to see his chest, to drag my nails along the grooves of his abs.

  He tugged at my jeans, unzipping them as we rushed to enact the scene we’d already mapped out.

  When we reached the bathroom, I kicked off my heels, and in seconds flat, he’d pulled my jeans to my ankles, helping me step out of them.

  He grunted, as if consumed with getting me naked.

  I wanted to be consumed by him.

  By his need.

  By his intensity.

  By his utter carnality.

  When I was down to only panties, he tugged them off so quickly they still dangled on my right leg, and he didn’t care. He lifted me onto the sink, spread my legs, and kissed my pussy.

  I saw stars.

  I cried out from that first touch, that first lick.

  He was on fire.

  I stared down at him, his dark hair in my hands, his mouth on my wetness, his palms on my thighs.

  He kissed and sucked and groaned.

  Jake Hamilton might be pretending to be a stranger. But I knew what he was. It was so crystal clear.

  Jake was an animal.

  And I loved his hunger.

  I adored his appetite.

  I craved his ravenous need for me.

  His hands curled around my legs as my undies finally slipped off. Naked, I scooted back on the vanity, my spine against the mirror, my fingers roped in his hair. He didn’t break contact with my pussy. His miraculous tongue was on a mission to please me, taunt me, fuck me.

  My God, that was what he did with his tongue.

  He fucked.

  I was in dirty heaven. As I stared at him, watching him, sparks racing over my skin, lust coiling in my body, I saw myself.

  I hadn’t noticed the other mirror in the bathroom at first. But there it was—across from the sink, reflecting me back to me.

  Or, I should say, us.

  What I saw made the temperature in me shoot up ten thousand degrees. A wanton woman, hair in a tumble, legs spread wide. A commanding man, bent down, face buried between her thighs. Pleasure radiated across my skin, evident in my face.

  I’d rarely watched myself before.

  I’d often watched others, and then only the start of their trysts.

  But now I was watching two people pretending to be strangers. Two people utterly lost in the moment. Two people wanting.

  Wanting so badly what the other had to give.

  He wanted to give me the highest high.

  And I wanted to take it.

  Oh God, did I ever want to take it. My hands curled around his skull, and I tried to watch as he sucked harder on my clit, as his tongue stroked inside me, as his strong hands gripped my ass mercilessly.

  But as the pleasure swirled in me, I couldn’t keep my eyes open. I couldn’t focus.

  I could only feel.

  I felt the utter intensity of his desire.

  I felt my own, as ecstasy ran roughshod over my body, and I broke.

  Shattering.

  Crying out.

  Saying his name.r />
  Chanting it.

  Because no matter how well we played, no matter how far we went, he wasn’t a stranger.

  He was my weekend lover, and I didn’t want the weekend to end.

  He shed his pants and boxers, and we moved to the bed, where he set me down on my side. “Need to be inside you, Kate. Need it now,” he gritted out.

  We weren’t strangers at all.

  Had we ever been tonight? Or had we always been us, just amped up? That was what I was learning about role-playing. Pretending you were someone else only made sex with your lover hotter. It deepened the intimacy. It deepened the connection.

  And I wanted that tonight. I wanted him in every way.

  “Have me, Jake,” I said, the most natural words I’d ever spoken.

  Then I said something else. Something I wanted. I met his gaze, swallowed, and spoke. “I’m on protection. And I’m clean.”

  He moaned. “I’m clean too. I’ve been tested.”

  That was all he needed to say.

  He kneeled between my legs, one knee on each side of my outstretched leg, then he lifted my right leg up on his shoulder.

  “The pretzel,” I said with a light laugh.

  “Be my pretzel, Kate,” he said playfully. His expression darkened, became more intense as he rubbed the head of his cock against all the wetness between my legs—wetness he was responsible for. “This position should let you feel me nice and deep like you’re on all fours, but I can look at you, so it’s more intimate.”

  That word seemed to roll around on his tongue.

  Intimate.

  Like he coveted intimacy. Like he ached for it.

  And I did too.

  I wanted more than role-play.

  More than a game.

  I wanted intimacy, and I wanted Jake to have me like this.

  The way he wanted it.

  He thrust into me, sliding deep, filling me. My mouth fell open, my lips parted, and the sounds I made were obscene—groans and grunts and sexy sighs.

  Pleasure rippled through my body as he sank into me.

  As he filled me completely.

  And as he looked at me, there was lust in his gaze, but something else too.

  Something I hadn’t seen before in him.

  Maybe because I hadn’t been looking.

  Or maybe because last night we didn’t look at each other.

  Now we did, and as he kneeled between my legs, rocking, swiveling, thrusting, I saw need.

  And want.

  And more.

  I saw an insatiable desire for more.

  Was it more sex he wanted?

  Or more nights like this?

  Nights where we talked, where we played, where we fucked.

  I wanted to know, but I also wanted to give in completely.

  That was easy because he was in charge. He was in control. He was a man who liked to set the pace, to command the scene, and to have his woman.

  As he fucked harder, faster, deeper, I felt like his woman.

  And he was having me.

  Dear God, he was having me, taking me, driving into me.

  “Play with your tits, baby. I want to watch you touch yourself,” he ordered.

  And I was all too happy to have something to do with my hands. I reached for my breasts, cupping, kneading.

  He groaned as he watched me, his hands curled around my hips as he pumped. “So fucking sexy. So fucking hot. I get off to that image.”

  “You do? You have?”

  “Yes, so many times. You’re so damn sexy. So damn beautiful,” he murmured, never stopping.

  My skin tingled, and my body was bathed in pleasure. Every cell sang in bliss. Every inch of me longed for that exquisite release.

  My eyes floated closed, but once they did, he growled. “Watch me. Watch me fuck you till you come so damn hard.”

  I opened my eyes, nodding, wanting the same thing. “I want to look at you when you come too. Want to see your face.”

  I played with my breasts, fondling myself, then I let go of one, slid my hand between my legs, and stroked my clit.

  My hips shot up. My lips parted. I was at the edge, ready to fly.

  “Yes, come for me,” he urged. “Come so fucking hard for me.”

  He didn’t have to ask twice. I was already there, bucking and writhing and losing my hold on reality.

  The world blurred, spiraling away into neon bliss, into electric ecstasy. I squeezed my eyes shut, my climax taking over, pummeling me with waves of lust, of pleasure.

  He groaned, his sounds growing louder, more erratic. His body jerked, and I wanted to see his face. I wanted to watch him hit that place I’d been.

  Opening my eyes, I discovered the sexiest sight ever.

  Jake’s handsome features tight with pleasure as he reached his release, calling out my name. He let go at last.

  Falling onto me. Clasping me. Holding me tight.

  Somewhere in the back of my mind, I knew I should leave.

  I knew this was risky.

  If I stayed, I’d want more than Sunday.

  I’d want Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday.

  I’d want every day.

  That was the problem.

  I was becoming addicted to this man.

  And I had to find a way to break my addiction.

  It wouldn’t be tonight though.

  And it wouldn’t be in the morning either, because I woke up to him curled around me again. To his hard shaft against my back. To his kisses on my neck. And like that, I led him back into me. I guided his erection between my legs, rubbing him against me, where I was ready for him.

  We had sleepy early morning sex. Slow and tender.

  We took our time.

  There was no pounding.

  No driving.

  Only us, tangled together under the sheets, and it felt dangerously like all the things it wasn’t supposed to be.

  17

  Kate

  That feeling you got when you’ve done something you shouldn’t?

  It hit me as the sun cast its rays through the window, illuminating the messy bed, the sprawl of sheets, the sleeping man next to me.

  I took a deep, fulfilling breath. I hadn’t felt this good in ages. Maybe I’d see if he wanted to order breakfast or grab a bite at the Egg Slut downstairs. We could order coffee, make our evening plans, then say goodbye for the day.

  We were good at this—spending time together.

  Satisfied with that plan, I let my eyes roam over him, practically whistling a happy tune. We must have fallen back to sleep after our nookie at the crack of dawn. It was probably nine. Plenty of time to make my meeting.

  I glanced at the clock.

  Wait. Was that right?

  I squinted.

  It was eleven in the morning?

  I blinked. Checked again.

  And the clock still mocked me with its red digital numbers telling me I’d slept far too late.

  I sat bolt upright.

  Trish.

  I had lunch with Trish in an hour. My heart skittered with panic. I had nothing to wear, my home was twenty minutes away if I was lucky, and even if I wore yesterday’s clothes, I didn’t have clean panties. The ones I wore last night were useless.

  Grabbing my phone from the nightstand, I checked my texts, praying that she’d changed her mind about a check-in meeting.

  No such luck.

  The text from her was the opposite.

  * * *

  Trish: Hi, Kate! Can you meet a touch early? I have an appointment at one, so if we could meet a few minutes ahead of time, that would be great.

  * * *

  I let out a long stream of muttered curses, my frustration bubbling over.

  “What’s wrong?”

  I swung my gaze to Jake, who yawned, rubbing his eyes.

  I dragged a hand through my messy hair. “I have to meet my boss in forty-five minutes, and I have nothing to wear that doesn’t scream walk of shame.”

  He b
linked. “Let’s go downstairs and go shopping for you.”

  I sliced that notion off at the knees. I didn’t need his help. Jumping out of bed, I hunted for my clothes, finding them in a trail across the carpet. “This is my problem. I need to solve it,” I said as I pulled on my useless underwear. “Besides, it’s quicker and easier on my own.”

  “But I can—”

  His phone buzzed. He grabbed it, groaning as he read the text. “It’s Carson. I told him I’d go to his soccer match. Evidently, sex makes me stupid too. I need to run.” He scrambled out of bed, pulled on his slacks, and tugged me in for a kiss after I jerked my top over my head.

  A boyfriend kiss.

  One that said I’ll see you later.

  Then he left.

  Out of bed in one-minute flat.

  I didn’t dwell on his swift departure as I grabbed the room key, hustled to the elevator, and darted to The Cosmopolitan’s shops to buy new panties and a basic black top. Then, after rushing back to the elevator, I zipped up to the room for a shower.

  What pissed me off wasn’t Jake or how he’d left.

  It was me.

  I’d messed up.

  I’d forgotten.

  I’d gotten swept up in a whirlwind of sex and conversation and closeness. I’d been caught up in what felt like dating, getting to know him, getting to like him.

  I soaped my body, scrubbing harder, trying to wash off the dirty.

  This was supposed to be a weekend of research, not of lolling like a pussycat in the sun, licking my fur and purring.

  And it was definitely not meant to be a weekend of feelings.

  Of falling.

  Of sliding into romance with a man who was clever, charming, a beast in bed . . . and a gentleman outside of it.

  My heart stuttered as I thought about our talk last night.

  Thought about the way he’d kissed me at the table.

  And thought, too, of the intensity with which he’d taken me.

  He was relentless, and relentlessly obsessed with making me feel good.

  Yet, the morning after, I felt dirty, like I’d done something wrong by seeking real-world experience.

  Like I should have relied on brains and research rather than using the excuse to scratch an itch.

  And perhaps I should have.