Drawn Deep (Afternoon Delight Book 2)

by Taryn Quinn

  “How’s this?” he asked after selecting a CD. The smooth notes of Frank Sinatra poured out of the speakers.

  “An inspired choice. And a surprising one. You’re a man of mystery, Michael Montgomery.”

  “Good mystery or bad?” He crossed the room to the bar and reached beneath to pull out the bottle of Pinot Noir he’d optimistically purchased that afternoon. “Before you answer that, you should know I didn’t buy this to lure you into my bed.”

  She lifted her eyebrow as he walked over to her and offered her a glass. “Last night you only lured me to your sofa. Your bedroom would be an upgrade.”

  “Smart mouth.” He clinked his glass with hers and took an experimental sip. Fruity flavors flowed over his tongue, smooth and rich.

  “You have no idea.” She saluted him and drank.

  Examining her face for tells was like studying a master poker player. She gave so little away. “Do you like it?”

  “Mmm. Good choice.” She took another sip and set the glass aside.

  “Must not be if you’re not drinking any.” Maybe she wasn’t, but he was.

  “Tonight I intend to have all my faculties.”

  He peered into the crystal and wondered how many glasses he could have without affecting performance. Probably not many, since his performance was a dubious prospect to start with. “Two shouldn’t affect mine much.”

  Finishing off his glass, he walked back to the bar and poured himself another. After two sips, he set it down. This one he would nurse.

  A low hum buzzed through his bloodstream. Whether that was the wine or Kim, he couldn’t be sure. But when he returned to her, held out his hand and murmured, “Dance with me,” he knew the instant she placed her palm in his.

  It was her. All her.

  Drawing her into his arms, he whirled her into the center of the room. She laughed and hung on to his shoulders, her hair flying out, her eyes lively with mirth. Her lips were parted and damp from the wine he tasted as he brushed his mouth over hers. Barely making contact. Their bodies ground together in some weird combination of salsa and swing and modern dance. He’d taken lessons with Roch years ago and Kim had a few moves of her own. She kept time with him easily, showing no fear at his dips and lifts. They danced with no effort at all.

  She undressed him the same way. The heat from the fire and their exertions glowed in her witchy eyes while she opened buttons and nipped at exposed skin. She didn’t speak, tracing patterns through his shirt then on bare flesh. He let her lead that dance and he led the other, twirling her around the room, tiptoeing around cats and furniture, spinning, spinning, spinning until he fell backward onto the couch with her in his arms. Soft, willing woman. Kissing him with such hunger and no reserve at all, her fingers tangling in his hair, her hips rubbing madly at his for what he could only imagine and couldn’t quite wrap his head around.

  Right now, he believed her when she said sex was supposed to be good enough to make a person want to die. If she was to be his death, she would be his rebirth as well.

  “Off, off,” she mumbled against his mouth, dragging at his sleeves. She removed his shirt and heaved it into a corner, immediately setting upon on his belt and zipper.

  “Hang on.” He snatched the foil packet from his wallet—a recent addition—and dropped it beside them, then let her continue her task. She pulled his pants and boxers down, remembering at the last minute that he still wore his shoes. After sliding to the floor, she settled between his legs to untie the laces. She tossed those too, following them with his socks. And then she went back to his pants and boxers, easing them down with a sense of pomp that made him waver between laughter and reverence.

  Somehow he’d picked exactly the right person for this. For everything.

  She crawled back up into his arms, still fully dressed, and wound her fingers into his hair, bringing her lips to his forehead. She kissed every part of his face while Frank sang about New York, the swell of the horns echoing in his body as she trailed over his nose, his eyelids, his cheekbones, finally finding his mouth. Taking it with an urgency that vibrated through her and poured into him. He grabbed her hips and centered her groin over his, pulling down to create more of that delicious friction. Her clothes twisting against his flesh were an exquisite torture but she didn’t seem in any hurry to alleviate his torment.

  And then it got worse. So much worse.

  Her lips roved down his neck, setting nerves aflame he hadn’t realized he had. He would never forget now. She sparked fires with her fingers and her breath, teasing him to a level he’d never known. Sexual excitement merged with joy and affection, becoming something so pure he lost his air each time their eyes met.

  She filled her hands with him, cupping his cock, his balls, tasting both, offering him her enjoyment as a gift to share. Coaxing him past hardness to the point of pain and beyond, keeping him there with flicks of her tongue and long sweeps of her fingers. She explored all of him then did it all again, taking his length deep into her throat while Frank sang about strangers in the night and the firelight blurred from the sweat dripping into his eyes.

  When he gripped a handful of hair to tug her back, she only took him further, swallowing him with such enthusiasm that his thighs shook with the effort it took to hold back. Blowing in her throat would be so incredible—and so not what he wanted from their first time.

  She didn’t relent. The light from the fire danced over her hollowed cheeks, giving him no choice except to gather her hair, to draw it away so he could sketch the scene in his mind. He wasn’t an artist by a long shot but he’d spent enough time in Rand’s classes to pick up techniques. She was all heat and color and smells, infusing his world. Grape-flavored kisses, that tropical, earthy scent in her hair, vanilla behind her ears. He couldn’t take it all in. Electricity zipped over his skin with every patient and not so patient lap of her tongue.

  Right before he lost it completely, she stopped to graze his lower stomach with her teeth, centering him in the maelstrom of his need, making it theirs. Stringing it out as her hands feathered over his burning-hot skin, running up his torso, mapping him inch by inch. She climbed onto his lap and captured his face, her laughter infusing the kiss and making it sweeter.

  Forgetting to be gentle, he yanked up her sweater with one hand and tugged her bra down with the other, ripping apart the clasp. Her breasts spilled forward and he caught the rosy tip of one in his mouth while he pinched the other. She moaned, dipping her head back, her long hair tickling his knees as he sucked and pulled and savored the warmth of her surrounding him. Arms around his head, legs caging him in. Pelvis to pelvis, rocking in the dark.

  He fumbled for the zipper of her jeans. She helped him draw it down and rose to shimmy off the denim, giving him an erotic striptease that ended with her dangling her string bikinis off the tip of her finger before dropping them over the tent pole currently taking up residence in his lap. She chuckled at the image the lime green fabric stretched over his painful erection made, though he groaned in sheer agony as she wrapped her panties around his length and worked them up and down, flicking her tongue over the head when it popped free.

  “Mmm. You taste so good.” She sealed her lips around him and sucked, long and slow. His hips rose off the couch, driving him deeper into her throat. She hummed again, squeezing his painfully tight balls, showing no mercy. He couldn’t take any fucking more.

  He hoped it would never stop.

  “Goddamn you,” he said hoarsely, making her laugh in that sexy, devious way. Mischief lined her features as she rose above him, brushing that strip of damp heat between her legs over his cock, again and again, until he was half-mad for her.

  Locking his hand in her hair, he flipped her on her back in the corner of the sofa. He grabbed the condom and managed to get it on before pushing her legs up. Instinct rode him hard, guiding his actions. He wasn’t thinking about finesse or trying to put on an act. All he wanted, needed, was the hot fist of her sweet pussy closing around him as he san
k deep, way down deep into the inferno they’d made together.

  Her eyes went wide and she cried out, in pain or surprise or hunger. He didn’t know and didn’t stop to ask. He’d found heaven in her body. In the worlds revealed in her eyes at the first hesitant flex of his hips.

  “Kim.” Her name was a chanted prayer. His hands kept sliding off her skin. They were both drenched. She kept rotating against him, prodding him to move, whimpering her insistence. Telling him filthy things that made him harder than he’d ever dreamed.

  “Give it to me. I ache. Please.” She threw back her head, baring the long fire-licked column of her throat, and he bit her there, desperate for the salt of her skin while he fought to get his bearings. This wasn’t only about him. She needed—

  She arched, her nails digging into his shoulders. “Fuck me already.”

  He already was, in halting, uncertain strokes. Shallow at first, then all the way in until there was nowhere left to go. Burrowing there, swiveling his pelvis, grinding into the swollen nub she’d reached down to caress. He should’ve done that. Couldn’t quite coordinate that with the movements inside her yet. It was all too much. Information overload.

  Her fingers slipped over the base of him, providing more sensation, spreading the wet warmth that soaked him to the root. He was drowning in it, in her, his mouth reckless on hers, his fingers rough where they skated over her sensitive breasts. Bruising her while he tipped her farther back into the cushions, folding her legs up, surging into her over and over. Following impulse, hoping like hell it didn’t steer him wrong. He tried to consider her, to temper his thrusts, but there was no going back. He disappeared into the blackout pleasure of her cries and her welcoming body, overdosing on the rhythmic pulses of her sex. She was lost too, her eyes hazy and so dark, beckoning him into the storm. Offering him shelter when he’d believed there was none to be found.

  “Kim,” he whispered again. “Kim.”

  Her fingers locked with his on the arm of the couch, twisting together as he finally let go with a shout of triumph. She moaned long and low, coiling her legs around his neck like a spider around her very willing prey. He would’ve happily stayed in her lair forever.

  Exhaustion rolled through him. He unhooked her legs and dropped his head in the crook of her shoulder, inhaling a grateful breath of her tropical shampoo and the muskier scent of their lovemaking. He would remember this. Every sound she’d made, every brush of their skin.

  The desperation drained out of him, bleeding into a fatigue so absolute he would’ve slept if not for the awkward position and the soft protest she made at his weight. “Sorry.” He wasn’t sure if he was saying it because he’d crushed her or because he was nearly certain she hadn’t had an orgasm. Probably both.

  When he pulled back, she wrapped her legs around his waist, vising him in her heat. “Don’t apologize. We aren’t done yet.” She took him deep, her fingers flicking through the scruff along his jaw and toying with his lips. She worked him all on her own, taking what she craved while he watched her and tumbled over the edge into something he’d never expected. And she came undone around him, breaking open so sweetly that he couldn’t keep from driving his hardening cock into her depths one more time to ride that keen edge of desire.

  She slipped her hand into his hair, drawing his head toward her breasts. Her lips ghosted over his temple, a balm to his singed skin. If he’d had a voice, he would’ve thrown out promises she didn’t want and he surely wouldn’t mean come morning. He didn’t trust himself right now. But he knew one thing without a doubt.

  Waiting for this—for her—had been the smartest move he’d ever made.

  Kim snuggled into the strong arms that held her, drifting on a dream. She was walking in the sunlight, her hair caught in the breeze. A colorful kite trailed through the blue sky overhead, cutting a bright swath. She couldn’t look away. It was getting smaller and smaller, drifting higher into the clouds no matter how hard she pulled on the string.

  “Kim.”

  She raced with the kite, losing her footing, clenching her fingers until the string burned her palm. She was bleeding now, crying, but she couldn’t bring the kite down. The roll of string fell from her hand, bouncing down the hill. Going. Gone.

  “Kim.” The hand on her shoulder squeezed. “Wake up, baby. You’re having a bad dream.”

  She shook her head. No. It wasn’t. She’d been having the best dream until it ended. God, her eyes were prickling. Who the hell got that emotional over a dream?

  Unwilling to face reality yet, she rolled over and buried her face in his neck, clinging to him in a way she wouldn’t have let herself normally. But just now it felt right. He was so warm, so solid. All the way down to the cock poking her hip.

  She swallowed hard, trapping a giggle in her throat. Young men and their enthusiastic dicks. God bless them.

  “You okay?” he murmured, stroking her hair. So gentle. He rubbed his furry leg against hers and that was all it took to set the giggle free. “Hey, open your eyes.” He tapped on her chin.

  She barely remembered them stumbling upstairs to bed shortly before morning. Was it so wrong she wasn’t in any hurry for the fantasy of the night to end? “Make me.”

  “If you insist.” His lips moved over hers, tender and soft. Rousing her so effectively that she had to see him. Without shifting back, he smiled as they stared into each other’s eyes. “Much better. Hi.”

  “Hi.” She lowered her lashes, suddenly shy. In the dim morning light, it was easy to hide—at least from his gaze. Not so easy to avoid the erection now sliding between her already dampening thighs, as if it belonged there. Inside her.

  Key into lock. Hand in glove. Heart in trash disposal, if she didn’t watch her step.

  Nothing about him fit her usual patterns. She rarely fell for guys. That was simple fact. Her husband had been the exception and she still had the skid marks on her internal organs to prove it. Since then her outer shell had hardened to a crisp, proving nearly impermeable to the average male.

  Michael was not average. In any fucking way.

  He cupped her cheek. “What’re you thinking?”

  The question almost made her giggle again. No sane man asked that the morning after having sex for the first time with a new woman. Borrowing trouble much? Luckily she wasn’t the average woman any more than he was the typical guy.

  “I’m thinking about pancakes,” she said soberly. “Huge stacks of them dripping with maple syrup and butter.”

  “Liar. That’s not what you’re thinking about. I’m not either. I’m thinking about this.” He moved on top of her, catching her wrist and pressing it into the pillow next to her head. The show of dominance surprised her a little, as did the assertive way he simply slid inside her, no foreplay required. He pulled the car right into the bay and made himself at home.

  Well okay then.

  “Hey there, cowboy, slow your roll.” She pinched his ass with her free hand. The other wiggled in his grip. “Don’t you think we should talk about last night?” God, was she really saying those heinous words while she had a huge, thick cock buried inside her? Had she completely forgotten her dry spell? A gift penis should never be wasted.

  His hips rocked into her, startling a moan from her throat. “Shh. Let me make love to you.”

  Her eyes flew open. “Uh, yeah, let’s talk.”

  “Later.” He slanted his mouth over hers, hot and hungry, his tongue licking between her lips. His cock flexed inside her, stretching her until she shifted to ease the burn. He took that as an invitation and plowed in farther, widening her legs, driving into her so hard that she couldn’t stop her moan. “That’s it. You want it, baby?”

  She did want it, as evidenced by the slick wetness meeting his thrusts. He was a quick learner and other than last night, it had been too fucking long since she’d taken a good pounding. Her body was one hundred percent ready to play. That didn’t mean she was going to point her toes to the ceiling and pretend alarm bells weren’t
clanging in her head.

  Or at least she thought she wasn’t, until he started going deeper, harder, driving her hips up the bed. The shrieking in her brain grew dimmer with every stroke. Pretty soon a choir would sing and she’d start swearing fealty to deities she usually only mentioned while in the throes.

  Damn, she hadn’t been in throes like this since…never.

  He caged his arms around her head, pressing his sweat-drenched chest to hers, making her moan at the contact against her sensitive breasts. He mumbled something against her mouth and then he was kissing her with the same hunger he put into his fucking, with absolutely zero reservations and one hundred percent focus on her face. She should’ve been disconcerted that he never closed his eyes or looked away. She wasn’t.

  Something about the way he studied her with such reverence made her body smolder that much hotter. He wasn’t just screwing some random chick. He was savoring her in long, mind-blurring pumps of his hips that caused her to rake her nails down his shoulders. The groans he uttered against her lips encouraged her to do it again while he bottomed out inside her and shouted out his release.

  And then, because he was an angel of mercy, he reached down and rubbed his thumb swiftly over her clit. Granted, she kind of took him there by the hand but he didn’t resist. At all. He got into it too, swiveling his softening cock until she could swear he was getting hard again. Before she could ponder such a miracle, she approached the peak and shot right over it, her cries of completion caught in his kiss.

  “Oh God. That’s the best feeling ever.” He lowered his forehead to hers and wheezed. “Fuck.”

  What feeling? She soon thought better of asking the question. He’d probably say something mushy to destroy her glow.

  Minutes passed. Eventually her lungs refilled. But the peace that had descended for that blissful instant after her orgasm vanished all too fast. The warm weight on top of her shifted from comforting and pleasant to oppressive.