TASTE ME

by Carrie Alexander

  At first, he held her nipple delicately between his teeth and twanged it with his tongue. But soon his mouth had opened and he'd sucked her flesh into the hot interior, taking in as much as he could manage, pulling on her nipple with a sensation so strong she felt it through her entire body.

  Mia's eyes rolled back in her head.

  This was heaven on earth.

  Forgive me, Mom and Dad. I'm about to sin.

  * * *

  7

  Julian lowered himself from all fours, resisting the urge to cover Mia completely. He kept most of his weight off her. He didn't want to overwhelm her. Not yet.

  She trembled, even so. Especially when he slid a hand beneath her shirt, across her satin skin and cupped her other breast. The plump weight, the natural shape so soft and pliant to his touch, worked on his libido in a way no silicone-enhanced starlet ever had.

  He started to lift his head, then stopped and played with her nipple a while longer, averse to letting go. When he finally did, the little pink button was glistening with wetness and as hard as a bullet. "You have beautiful breasts."

  Mia blew out a long breath. "I've never had complaints. But, you know, they came with a pair of hips most women would trade in. Kind of a matched set."

  "Your ass is fantastic." He thought of her swaying and bobbing to the beat, flashing her thong at him. "Especially when it bounces." Smiling at her, he jiggled her breast in his hand, making his passions skyrocket.

  Her lips twitched. "Oh yeah. My body is a playground."

  "A wonderland."

  "And I like to invite my friends over to play."

  A short sharp burst of jealousy stung him. "You mean I have to share?"

  She blinked. "Is that a problem with you rich-boy types?"

  "I hadn't thought it through."

  She pushed at him, trying to turn over onto her side. "Then maybe this isn't a good idea. We should go back to being platonic friends, not friends with benefits." She muttered into a pillow. "Even though that's never gonna work either."

  "Hey, wait." He folded his arms around her, nuzzling his face into her hair. She tried to bat him away, but he found her ear and licked and nipped and tickled until she relaxed with a shudder and a sigh. "Don't make me stop," he coaxed. "This is so nice." He stroked the length of her body, reaching her smooth thigh inside the baggy leg of her shorts. Damn, she was hot, like a steam machine.

  "It should be special, not just nice. Nice. Bleh."

  Where had that come from? He'd been taking it easy, going along thinking that she'd balk at the full-on seduction with all the romantic trimmings. She was a blunt girl, a bold, free, sexy one.

  But still a girl.

  He kissed her lobe, behind her ear, the cord at the side of her neck. "What do you want? Tell me and I'll give it to you."

  "I don't want stuff."

  "That's not what I meant—"

  She slipped from his arms and climbed out of bed. He caught at her robe to keep her, but she let it slide off her arms and left it behind, stalking across the studio apartment without a backward glance.

  He sat up gingerly and threw away the armful of empty terry cloth. Okay, so how the hell had that happened? He was usually a Ferrari when it came to his moves. This time, it was she who'd taken over and gone in reverse—from sixty to zero with one wicked screech of the brakes. She'd just laid the wrong kind of rubber across his flattened corpse.

  Mia adjusted her top with her back to him. She ran her hands through her damp ringlets, then took a deep noisy breath as she turned. "Listen." She strolled toward the bed. "We both know you're a hot guy. When I'm with you, when you touch me, I want to have sex with you—"

  He interrupted. "That's not one-sided."

  She waved with dismissal, as if that was a given. He admired her confidence. In his experiences with other women, he'd discovered that even the most stunning of them could be needy and insecure.

  "The point is—" Her face twisted. "Ack. What is the point? I'm not sure how we came to this. It's like … you're another of the people who appeared in my life and somehow end up sticking around. Almost like…"

  "I'm a friend?"

  She dropped her hands. "Yeah."

  "I wouldn't mind that. In fact, I'd like it a lot." He scooted to the edge of the bed, giving his fly a tug over his semi-deflated boner. There was that. "But what about the sex thing?"

  Silence.

  "We should go ahead and do it," she blurted.

  "Oh?" He wasn't jumping too fast this time.

  "Just to get it out of the way."

  "That never works," he said.

  "You've tried?"

  "No-o-o-o." He hadn't run across too many women who wanted to be just friends. "But common sense says…"

  She sighed and plopped beside him. "You're right. Dammit. Sex is complicated with emotion, no matter what. I don't want to end up broken-hearted and resentful."

  He'd just talked himself out of a quickie. A first, but not regrettable. Mia was worth exploring, even if they never came together again.

  Yeah, like there was any chance of that happening. He knew they'd wind up in bed. But for once, getting there was going to be as good as the act. His only qualm was her mention of broken hearts. He'd thought they could avoid that complication, but there he was again, forgetting that Mia was a girl.

  Luckily, he had his own emotions under control and didn't get caught up in the drama of these things. These flings.

  "So what should we do?" He took her hand, threading their fingers into a knot. "How do we handle this?" He gave her hand a squeeze, ignoring the pleasure that touching her gave him. A friendship first? Amazing.

  After a moment's thought, Mia bumped his shoulder. Her eyes slid sideways, peeking at him from the mop of her tangled curls. "If you really want to be my friend, come back at 2 a.m. tomorrow morning. And be prepared to go to places beyond your wildest imagination."

  "That sounds rather sexy."

  She laughed, her eyes snapping, her effervescence returned. "Aw, Julian. You would think that! But you'll see. You'll see a lot more than you think."

  "What on earth?" Mia said when Julian emerged from the limousine outside her building at the arranged time. The vehicle was black; not an ostentatious stretch, but it was still a limo.

  He'd thought of ditching it down the block and then decided that she might get a kick out of a ride. "I was at a benefit dinner all evening. The speeches ran long. It seemed easiest to come straight here."

  "In a limo!"

  He noticed that she wore jeans, a heavy sweatshirt and boots. A red bandanna covered her hair, and she carried work gloves. Not a limo-riding outfit, unlike his tux.

  "This is impossible." She fingered his lapel, then dusted off his shoulder with a slap of the gloves. "Gorgeous suit. Far too fancy for what I'd planned. You might as well go home."

  "I brought clothes to change into. We can send the limo away, if you'd prefer." He wanted to shake himself for not thinking. Showing up in a limo was not the way to enter Mia's world.

  She reconsidered, dragging her teeth across her lower hp. "What kind of clothes?"

  "Your kind." Truth was, he had a bag in the trunk with several choices, from blue collar to boating wear. Having no idea what Mia intended, he'd wanted to be prepared. But he couldn't admit that. Dressing down for Chinese food hadn't fooled her, and explaining that a tux was work wear for him would only cement their positions as polar opposites.

  "All right," she said with a heavy sigh, though he could see that her humor was intact. She seemed to be suppressing a smile that he didn't fully understand. "I guess we can go back upstairs for you to change, but you can't take too long or all the best junk will be gone before we get there."

  Junk? Was that street slang, or did she actually mean junk?

  A guy on the other side of the street put his hands up to his mouth and shouted, "Nice ride!"

  Mia waved. "Hey, Goldman. I'm going to the prom!"

  "Where's the corsage?"
The man's laughter faded as he continued along the street toward the neon invitation of a few seedy porn shops and strip clubs.

  The chauffeur had opened the trunk. Instead of removing the entire bag, Julian dug to the bottom and pulled out a jacket and a pair of jeans. Damn. He'd forgotten appropriate footwear. His Cole Haan wingtips would have to do.

  "Where are we going?" He peeled off the tux jacket and slung it into the trunk. "Why not use my, um, ride?"

  Mia's eyes widened. "Oh wow, that would be something. At least we'd be in the right neighborhood for a limo instead of…" She gestured at the corner, where a couple of wise-guy wannabes had staggered out of Mambo Italiano and were lighting cigarettes while they watched the limo through slitted eyes.

  Julian had been keeping his eye on them, as well. He hated that Mia had been waiting outside for him in a disreputable area, even if she did seem to be on friendly terms with the after-hours crowd. And the morning crowd, and the afternoon crowd. Meanwhile, he still hadn't met his "new" neighbor who'd moved into his condo building a year ago.

  "I don't get the joke," he said.

  "You'll find out. We're heading toward the Upper East Side, where the pickings are good."

  Pickings? Aha.

  If she thought that he'd be put off, his little sex kitten was toying with the wrong ball of yarn. "Then let's take the limo," he suggested. "It's here. It's paid for. All night long."

  "Huh. All night long, is it?" Mia winked. "You know what? That's not a bad idea." Her eyes danced; her sweet face glowed. The kitten liked mischief. Julian knew that she was trying to put one over on him. He didn't care.

  They climbed into the car. Mia scooted across the padded leather seat. "Fancy," she said admiringly, but she didn't appear to be overwhelmed by the opulence. Instead, she picked up the phone and matter-of-factly gave the driver directions. "Onward and upward to the East Side, driver. Put the pedal to the metal and lay some rubber."

  The limo pulled smoothly away from the curb. Julian had to admit he was disappointed. He'd collected a speeding ticket or ten in the days when he'd zipped around Manhattan in a sports car. He was more practical lately. With constant phone calls and paperwork to deal with, using a chauffeured car was a more efficient use of time. And if that meant that he was becoming his father, who'd scheduled his life by the minute in degrees of importance, starting at the top with business concerns and family to the bottom tier of taking care of himself…

  An uneasy tremor went through Julian. He wasn't his father. Not yet.

  Especially with cuddly, outrageous Mia onboard.

  "Have you guessed?" She tossed him a pair of work gloves. "It's garbage night. We're going salvaging."

  "I guessed." He pulled on the gloves and reached out his hands like claws, making monster noises. She let out an obligatory shriek. He grabbed her and nuzzled her into the corner, hugging her curves. "You and me in a garbage bin, baby," he teased, taking gentle, growling bites of her neck. "Grrr. Sounds like fun."

  She shoved him away. "You can't do street salvage in a designer tuxedo."

  "I can do anything in a tuxedo. I'm the James Bond of Dumpster diving."

  She sat up straight, breathing kind of funny. "We'll see about that." She tucked stray curls beneath her bandanna. "Strong men have quailed when faced with a rival gang of garbage pickers."

  "Will this be dangerous?" He removed the gloves and then his pants, working them past his shoes. Why not? She'd already seen him naked.

  "Not really. We'll have to look out for other scavengers. They can get proprietary about who spotted which broken chair first. I operate under the hands-on rule." She was busily watching the streets change from the rundown tenements of her neighborhood to the gray canyons of midtown. When she turned to look at him, her eyes dropped to his unclad legs. The tip-licking smile and wink she did made him fumble with the zipper of his jeans.

  He lifted his butt off the car seat and jerked up the pants. "Tell me about the rule."

  She was breathing funny again. "First one to lay a hand on the item owns it."

  "I like that." He zipped the jeans and reached across the roomy limo to press his palm to her cheek. "Mine."

  Pink mottled the skin beneath his hand: "That's sweet, but also possessive and bossy. Anyway, you can't lay claim. I haven't been tossed out." Her lids dropped and then blinked open, revealing eyes filled with a sudden sadness. He felt the tension in her jaw. "At least … not that way. It was my decision."

  "What was?"

  "Leaving home."

  "Were you a runaway?"

  "Of a sort, but it's not the sad case you imagine. More just me declaring my independence and my parents washing their hands of me. We've been distant ever since."

  He nodded to himself. That explained her lack of money and the assortment of strange friends who substituted as family. "Estranged?"

  "Not completely. I call them now and then, to let them know I'm still alive. We see each other at holidays, but it's strained." She wrinkled her nose. "They're good, conservative people. My father's a Methodist minister and my mother is … a lady. Forever and always, a lady. They just don't understand my lifestyle. Too outlandish."

  Julian pictured them, a God-fearing couple living in a small parsonage, where they cut coupons and prayed for their daughter's soul. They'd be the kind to share their meager income with the less fortunate. That would be where Mia got her generosity and belief in the goodness of humankind. But she was also a city child, blessed with curiosity and imagination, attracted to the color and variety and even tawdriness all around her.

  "You should try harder to get along," he said. "They must miss you being a part of their life."

  She shook her head. "They miss the me they wanted me to be, not the me I am."

  His fingers moved across her ear, tracing the swirl of the cartilage. "The me you are is pretty damn fine." He tweaked her lobe, unable to keep his hands off her.

  "Thanks." She shivered and rubbed her head against her hunched shoulder, nudging his hand away. Twice now she'd done that, but not because she didn't like him touching her. He could feel the response in her even without physical contact. She pulsed and swelled and shimmered with it, filling the air between them with expectation.

  He'd never known such a deep and abiding desire. The kind that was so good he almost didn't want it to be over. As if he were a kid waiting for Christmas morning. Or waiting through the last few seconds of a big sporting victory, before the raucous celebration commenced.

  "We're here." Quickly, Mia lowered her window and pressed a button on the control panel to drop the partition between them and the driver. "Please continue north along Park. Drive very slowly."

  "What are you looking for?" Julian asked when she hung halfway out the window.

  "Good salvage. The garbage trucks only pick up big pieces a couple of nights a week, so that's when the hunt is on."

  They were cruising by the side streets off Park. Sixty-sixth, Sixty-seventh. Julian paused to admire Mia's rump before joining her at the window, his hand on the small of her back as he poked his head out beside hers. "No luck yet?"

  "An old mattress and a lamp with a tattered shade. Nice booty for someone, but I'm looking for wooden pieces."

  Nice booty. His hand strayed lower. "What for?"

  "I fix them up, paint or tile them and sell the pieces at a ritzy little shop in the Village run by a friend of mine. We like to joke that some of the same people who threw out the stuff buy them back in their new transformations, never the wiser. Now take your hand off my ass and keep your eyes peeled, 'kay? I'm not used to trolling from a limo."

  "Well, neither am I."

  She laughed. "Good to know … although I'm not sure I believe you." Suddenly she let out a yip. "Stop the car! Look—what's that?"

  Halfway down the block, beneath a royal-blue awning, a doorman in epaulets was trundling a large object covered in a tarp out of his building. Julian squinted. "Might be a desk. Hold on."

  He reached fo
r the control panel. The sun roof opened with a whir. He stood on the seat, looked out at the dazzling tights along Park Avenue, then peered back inside the car, gesturing for Mia to join him. "Bird's-eye view."

  Taking his hand, she climbed up beside him. "You're brilliant. I don't know why I've never thought of salvaging from a limo before." She cocked her head, looking at him with stars in her eyes. "This is the way to go, all right."

  The doorman had set the object on the curb. He removed the covering with a snap. "It's a bureau," Julian said. "Looks off-kilter."

  "Who cares?" Mia bounced. "I want it. Let's go!"

  "Wait. There's a car…" A dinged-up sedan with a popped trunk had turned onto Seventy-first from Third.

  "Then we have to hurry." Mia disappeared and shot out the limo door two seconds later. "Haul ass, Julian. The race is on."

  He followed, stopping only to grab the gloves she'd left scattered on the street. She was running pell-mell past the limestone townhouses and the graceful glass-and-stone facades of the apartment buildings, shouting over her shoulder for him to catch up. From the opposite direction, the car bore down, headlights washing the street like a movie set. Mia ran into the glare, her red high-tops slapping the asphalt, arms pumping.

  Julian sprinted, slipping a little in his dress shoes. He and Mia arrived beneath the awning together, mere seconds before the car. She flung herself at the tilted bureau. "Mine."

  The car screeched to a halt. Secured in the trunk by cords was a tatty sofa with stained cushions and a pair of ladderback chairs. A sour face looked out from the driver's window. "Hey, lady. I saw it first!"

  "No, you didn't." Mia hugged the bureau. "And anyway, I called it."

  Julian slapped his hand on a half-open drawer. "Me, too."

  She beamed up at him before waving the car off. "Take the rummage sale to the suburbs, buddy."

  With a final four-letter-word insult and a gun of his engine, the driver gave up.