by JC Harroway
The display is so carnal that our mere presence here on the other side of the one-way glass feels somehow taboo even though, intellectually, I know they enjoy being watched. But I can’t move. I can’t look away.
Through the roar of blood in my ears I grow aware of the sound of my own rapid and harsh breathing. I feel Nick’s heat at my back, his breath a warm tease on my neck, stimulating my nerve endings. I’m enveloped by the manly scent of him. He’s everywhere.
I look up over my shoulder. Just as backstage after the fashion show, he’s watching me, watching my reaction to the couple rather than the action itself.
And his eyes are ablaze with lust.
I drop my head back onto his hard shoulder, feeling his scruff against my cheek. His arm is a steel band around my waist, his erection obvious in the small of my back. The intimacy of this blasts through me like an explosion. It’s not about the strangers. It’s about us. Nick and I, sharing this moment of complete and utter trust and abandonment. He’s showing me this side of himself. It’s more profound than any prior sexual experience.
It’s addictive.
Nick dips his head, his whisper warm against my ear. ‘Do you want to hear them?’
I nod, aroused but also conflicted. My upbringing and society’s norms compound the feeling that this is somehow wrong. But we’re all consenting adults. No one is being coerced or exploited, a fact that’s confirmed when the man on his knees glances our way with a small smile on his face—he knows we’re here on the other side of the glass.
Nick presses a button on the wall, flooding us with the sound of the woman’s cries of pleasure and the man’s grunts of satisfaction. He pauses, says something to her in Italian that I don’t quite hear and then lifts one of her legs, draping it over his shoulder before delving back in. She grips his head, watching him but also glancing at the window, at us, from time to time.
‘Why do you like this?’ I whisper, trembling with need. I lift my arm overhead to tangle in Nick’s dark, silky hair and hold him closer. I crave deeper understanding of his past and his pain. I burn to know all there is to know about this man who seems to have infected my consciousness and made me probe my own deep desires like no previous lover.
His cheek grazes mine, his breath hot, jolting my nerve endings. ‘Because I can enjoy it without being a part of it.’ His voice is low and resonant with arousal. His lips brush my skin. Not a kiss, but from him it’s somehow more than a kiss. Because every move he makes is measured and meaningful. I sag deeper into him—he’s practically holding me upright, I’m so boneless.
‘I’m detached. In control,’ he says. ‘I can stay or walk away at any time.’
My heart judders with fear behind my ribs. Am I right about Nick? Is he too broken by his past for true intimacy? I can empathise with his regrets without knowing the details, but whatever has caused him to be this way has cut soul-deep.
‘But I don’t want you to be detached with me,’ I whisper, my throat a hot ache of need.
My words settle in the fraught air. His fingertips press into my waist with a fraction more pressure, as if he can’t help himself that tiny indulgence. I spin away from the window and look up at him for a beat, needing to see on his face that he feels as wild and unrestrained as I feel even if, for his own reasons, he’s still fighting the complete loss of inhibitions.
It’s written all over the harsh, handsome planes of his face, which is taut with everything he’s trying to hold inside. His eyes are anguished and I can no longer hold back.
I hurl myself against his chest, my lips colliding with his, too desperate to connect with him and drag him towards pleasure to wait a second longer. The force of my body slamming against his dislodges his finger from the button on the wall that allows us to hear what is happening in the room and we fall into silence. Silence that quickly fills with the sound of my own pulse and the needy whimpers I can’t contain as I kiss Nick Rivers the way I’ve wanted to for months.
CHAPTER TEN
Brooke
IT’S NOT A controlled kiss held to ransom. Instead it contains my every desire, every demand, every searing need. I push my tongue into his mouth, feel his counter thrust and revel in it. Nick hauls me from my feet with one strong arm around my waist. He stumbles back against the wall of the alcove we’re occupying and scoops me up. I straddle his waist to feast on his glorious kisses—his firm, insistent lips and the powerful, sensual surge of his tongue, his unrestrained abandon which matches mine.
It’s everything I dreamed.
It’s as if he’s flicked a switch. As if he’s done fighting his own boundaries. As if he’s finally unleashed himself to take what he wants. He spins us around, reversing our positions so I’m pressed against the wall and he’s holding me there with his hips between my legs. His erection is right where I need the friction. Spikes of pleasure blank my mind.
I’m just sensation. Euphoria. Release. Out of control, as if we’re trapped in the centre of a hurricane.
Then Nick pulls back, his eyes almost black with desire. Searching. Serious. Soul-destroying in their beauty and depth and vulnerability.
‘What are you doing to me?’ he pants out.
It’s rhetorical, another kiss swallowing my answer. He cups my face, pinning my mouth under his plundering tongue and voracious lips.
‘Where can we go?’ I ask, my hips rocking desperately against his hard length.
He sobers a little, his eyes clearing of the lust-drunk glaze. He lowers my feet to the floor and then takes my hand, this time with wonderful urgency.
I rush after his ground-eating strides, barely cognisant of him keying in a code at another closed door on the opposite side of the corridor from the windowed rooms. We fall into a darkened bedroom almost identical to the one we’ve just peered into to watch another couple have sex.
The music from the nightclub is piped here from hidden speakers but at half the volume. The rhythmic and hypnotic beat of the dance track gives the room a sense of sensual privacy. A club just for two.
But, now that I’m bereft of Nick’s intoxicating kisses and the blur of arousal, caution creeps over my skin. I scan the room for a window or large mirror. My stomach twists with uncertainty. I trust him to protect me, but I’m also aware of my location. Socialite Heiress Frequents Milanese Sex Club is not a headline I want my parents to wake up to tomorrow morning.
He sees my furtive checking and tugs me close. His stare pins me with his trademark intensity. ‘This room is different. Private, understand? We didn’t sign up to be watched, and I’d never do anything without your consent.’
I nod in relief and sway towards him, desperate to lose myself in the passion he showered upon our kissing only moments ago. But, apart from the inferno of heat in his eyes, he’s back in control. I shiver as he slowly strips off his black leather jacket, heels off his boots and loses his socks.
Saliva fills my slack mouth. I could watch him strip every day for the rest of my life and be blissfully happy. He’s so masculine. So sure of himself. So mind-numbingly sexy.
‘But you like to watch,’ I say, loving the further flare of excitement in his eyes.
He smiles. Genuine. Seductive. That wondrous sight that is so rare, I feel humbled, awed and desperate to make him smile over and over...
‘I’ll watch you.’ He removes his T-shirt and pops the top two buttons on his jeans, where his erection is an impressive bulge.
I wet lips that are still sensitive from his kisses and aching for more. My eyes rake over his bare chest for the first time. I’m a kid in a sweetshop—Nick’s sculpted body decorated with intricate tattoos and a smattering of dark hair is a divine feast. He’s like a fallen angel, his eyes dark, dangerous and a little wild. He’s looking at me with similar hunger, and I want to burn in the heat and passion I see coiled inside him.
My heart lurches in an insane and poorly timed m
oment of doubt. ‘Does it always need to be strangers that you watch?’ I say, tentative about asking the wrong thing, but also needing to know that I’m enough for him.
‘No.’ He shakes his head slowly, a sexy smile playing around his mouth. ‘I could watch you for hours. Days.’ He cups my cheek and rubs the pad of his thumb over my parted lips. ‘Your display last night almost killed me. I came in my own fist at how sexy you are. How uninhibited and spontaneous.’ He closes his eyes and drags breath through his flared nostrils. When he reopens his eyes, I want to swim in the perfect pools of his expressive irises.
‘There are lots of ways to watch—mirrors, through a camera, finding some sexy, raunchy goddess who likes to perform for you when she knows you’re watching.’ His smile is a ghost of the rare, full-blown variety but, knowing its scarcity, my breath snags with yearning.
‘I wasn’t sure if you were there,’ I whisper.
His eyes narrow, sparks flying. ‘Oh, I saw everything. The shower. The dildo. The look on your face when you came for me.’ He presses his mouth to mine—fast and fierce. ‘You wanted to dance,’ he goes on, his voice tight with that same lust I witnessed in the corridor. ‘So dance. Just for me.’
He steps back and lowers himself into a wing-back armchair, spreading his thighs in a comfortable, lazy sprawl.
The excitement flying through my system makes me shudder. I kick off my shoes and glance around the room, locating a remote control on the bedside table. I turn up the volume of the music and start to dance—slow, seductive, sensual moves which carry me in Nick’s direction.
I stop just out of arm’s reach. Nick likes to deny himself. Delayed gratification is part of what turns him on. Rushing in all eager and grabby won’t help me to achieve my goal—Nick helpless, letting go of that restraint. And devouring me with all that suppressed craving.
I lock eyes with his, deliberately shimmying the straps of my dress over my shoulders to expose the tops of my breasts. I’m not wearing a bra so my nipples strain hard and obvious against the silky material. His stare darts there, his nostrils flaring as if he can’t get enough air.
I’m light-headed myself—this tease, the anticipation, is working its magic. I turn my back to him and gyrate my hips until the dress slips to the top of my butt, hopefully exposing my lacy thong for his eyes.
I smile to myself. Nick’s harsh breathing is loud enough to compete with the dance track. Over my shoulder I watch the flare of his pupils as I slide the dress over my hips. I bend to scoop the fabric from the floor, purposefully taking my time so Nick can feast his eyes on my scrap of underwear and what it fails to conceal.
When I turn back to face him, his grip on the arms of the chair seems to be the only thing keeping him seated. His thick thighs are spread wide. His erection strains at the fly of his jeans and his chest gusts out choppy breaths.
‘Don’t stop,’ he orders.
I raise my arms over my head and shimmy my hips, aware my breasts are thrust in his direction, nipples proud and begging. Oh, I want to beg. But I want to perform, too, until he can’t take any more.
His stare rises from my breasts. ‘Can I touch you?’ His voice is so raspy, he sounds like a stranger. And he’s asking me for permission...? When for months I’ve craved his touch like a starving woman? When I’ve teased and tortured and seduced, doing everything in my power to have him where he is in this moment?
My stomach muscles clench with longing. I want his hands on me more that I want him buried inside me, but I also want more of Nick than his carefully doled out measures. I’m determined to play him at his own game. To draw out the anticipation until his control is a frayed and ragged thing. Until burning arousal consumes us both in the flames.
With effort I shake my head, denying his request. Excitement and hunger shift over his features. His cock flexes against his fly.
Triumph sings through me.
My embracing the game, prolonging the moment of surrender, excites him. I sway closer, positioning myself between his thighs, not quite touching. Every tilt of my hips inches me between his spread legs. The body heat he’s generating sears my skin. His leashed desperation is like electricity crackling in the air before a storm.
I brace my hands on the chair arms where his fingers flex, his knuckles bloodless-white. My breasts are level with his face, which is taut with repressed lust.
‘Kiss me,’ I say, dipping my head so my mouth is one swoop away from contact. I can’t hold out any longer.
He lifts his head from the back of the chair and finds my mouth, his tongue surging forward to meet mine. It’s our only point of contact, heightened for the fact. Every nerve-ending screams for more.
I’m about to collapse into his lap when he breaks away, his eyes blazing with need. ‘Can I touch you?’ This time his question is gruff, full of bite and the desperation I’ve longed to hear.
I stand, the kiss having rendered me helpless to my own needs. The insides of my thighs are slick with arousal. I want him too much for role-playing or games.
‘Yes. Oh, please, yes.’
My lips have barely stopped moving before Nick surges from the chair, scoops his arms around my waist and in two strides hauls me onto the bed.
I’m deposited against the cool sheets, and then he’s on top of me, his mouth ravaging mine while I moan and claw at his thick muscular arms and bare chest. His body suffocates me, all scalding heat against my breasts and corked power crushing me in his arms. My hands can’t stay still, hell bent on exploring every slab of sculpted chest and back, every muscle, every inch of fevered skin.
I want to kiss him all over, to marvel at the intricate designs of his tattoos—some script, some geometric patterns—and the taste and scent of his skin. But that would involve losing his mouth, and I’m too high on his thorough kisses to stop. Too high on triumph that I’m finally getting what I wanted—Nick unleashed.
He breaks free and I whimper. His sensual lips are swollen and reddened. ‘Fuck, you’ve tortured me for months.’ For a split second he looks shocked by his own admission. Then he dives for one breast, his mouth swallowing the distended and needy peak. I cry out at the thrill of pleasure, digging my nails into his biceps to hold on to my sanity.
‘Yes, Nick. Don’t stop...please.’ Now he’s finally mine, I never want to leave this room.
Nick lavishes, licks and sucks one nipple, and then rips his mouth away to repeat the divine torment on the other.
‘Oh...my...’ I gurgle some inarticulate sounds. I’m making an embarrassing amount of noise, gasping and wailing, but it’s too good. I couldn’t stay silent if I tried. I just hope these rooms are soundproof.
‘I need you inside me,’ I say, cradling his head, my fingers flexing against his scalp and languishing in his thick dark hair.
He releases my nipple with a long protracted suck and rears back on braced arms. ‘And I need to taste this gorgeous pussy.’ He slides his hand over my mound and cups my sex, his beautiful features taut with desire.
‘Yes!’ I hiss.
He spreads my thighs without ceremony and presses a kiss right over my clit through the fabric of my underwear. My hips buck off the bed and my head arches back. That’s when I notice the mirrors on the ceiling.
I gasp and Nick chuckles.
They capture the entire scene. Me spread-eagled wearing only a nude lace thong. My pale skin ethereal against the black sheets. Nick’s large frame hunched over me, his back muscles bunching and his dark head buried between my thighs. I whimper at the carnal sight.
Nick smiles at my reaction. ‘Enjoy the view.’ He slips the fabric of my thong aside and the cool air and his warm breathhit my exposed lips. I gasp.
‘If only you knew how much I’ve wanted you. How hard it’s been to ignore all this.’ I look down. Nick’s staring, stroking one thick finger through my arousal and over my folds. Nothing Nick does is impulsiv
e or rushed and now I’m torn between greedily hastening this along and languishing in every decadent second of his coveted attention.
‘I want you too,’ I say, anticipation a sharp metallic taste in my mouth. But when I look back up to the mirrors, watch the scene as if from outside my own body, I shake with the eroticism of the moment he’s created for us.
Then he licks me. His flattened tongue swipes over my flesh and then focuses on my clit. I cry out, the pleasure streaking along my nerve endings like bolts of lightning.
‘Nick... Nick...’ I chant his name, gripping his head as he sucks and tongues me higher and higher.
He spears one and then two fingers inside me and that’s when I notice he’s watching us too, from a mirror on the wall. I turn my head to the side, catching his gaze in the reflection. It’s as if we’re watching another couple, only better. Because it’s us.
He holds my stare in the mirror, his mouth and fingers still working me like a man starved. I suck in a breath at the look of triumph, need and raw hunger in his eyes. His abandon is better than I’d dreamed because he’s not only let me in physically, he’s cranked open his emotional fortress.
The room blacks out as I’m tossed into an orgasm so powerful, all my other senses shut down for long agonising seconds. When I resurface, open my eyes, Nick is naked, his erection straining up as he sheathes himself in a condom.
Wordlessly, he climbs over me on the bed. He traces my face with one palm. He leans over me, kissing me with that leashed passion I’ve now grown to expect as he encourages me to turn onto my stomach and rise up onto all fours.
I comply, eager for his penetration at long last.
I’m facing the mirror.
Our eyes connect there. He grips my hips, his fingers flexing into my skin as he looks at our reflections. I see in his eyes that he’s losing what’s left of his control.
In case he’s waiting for my permission, I urge, ‘Do it, Nick. Fuck me.’ Because I’ll die if I don’t feel him inside me soon.
