Yours for the Night

by Jasmine Haynes

  She blew his mind. A woman who knew what she wanted, who asked politely, but took nonetheless. He didn’t think he had a choice in the whole matter, and damn if that wasn’t the biggest turn-on. He’d been intrigued and attracted by that early hint of vulnerability, but in the heat of sex, he liked the Iwant-I-will-have approach just as much. And take him she did, her lips tasting of brandy. She didn’t devour like a shecreature from hell, but licked, sucked, and nipped, her tongue dipping inside for quick forays.

  “Mmm, you taste good,” she whispered against his mouth. This time she went deep, for a bone-melting kiss that sent his blood sizzling through his veins, yet was all too brief. Then once again, her breathing a little faster, she murmured against his lips. “I have to tell you a secret, Gabriel.”

  In that moment, he’d have killed to know her every secret.

  “What?”

  She rested her forehead against his, her eyes closed. “I’m not wearing any panties, and I need you to put your hand between my legs right this minute and make me come.”

  There was definitely a god looking out for him when he’d decided to take Brenda up on her invitation. He’d never have had this woman, never have known her, touched her, desired her. Even if it was only for this one night.

  “How many times?” he asked.

  She backed off, laughed. “I’ll tell you when I’ve had enough.”

  Capturing her chin, he held her. “You’ll never get enough,” he murmured. She blinked, her expression unreadable for the briefest moment. Then she recovered. “Maybe you’ll never get enough.”

  He liked the challenge. “Let’s see.” He tunneled beneath the yards of fabric with both hands, grabbing her butt cheeks.

  She gasped. “God, your hands are warm.”

  He laughed. “I thought you’d say they were cold.”

  “No.” Closing her eyes, she hummed a sexy sound. “Warm.”

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  Sliding his hands forward, he caressed her thighs, slipping up to the juncture, his fingertips brushing her curls.

  She opened her lids again and gazed down at him with a sultry smile. “And you’re getting warmer,” she urged, as in the child’s game of warm-warmer-hot. He eased along the plump lips of her pussy, watching her pupils dilate. Her nostrils flared in anticipation of his touch on her clit. He held off, stroking on the outside. “Warmer still?”

  “You could certainly step it up to hot.”

  That would be too easy, too fast. Lightly clamping her pussy lips closed between his fingers, he used her own flesh to caress her, rotating slowly. He felt the bite of her fingernails on his shoulders even through his tux, as she moved against him, trying to force him to a faster pace, a deeper penetration. Then she huffed. “You’re a tease, you know.”

  “I just want to make sure you get really wet.”

  “Trust me, I’m wet.”

  He relented only because he needed to feel how wet she was. “Christ.” He slipped in all her moisture. God, he wanted to bury his face in her, inhale her scent, taste her.

  “More, more,” she chanted, her hips writhing against him, her eyes closed. He didn’t think it mattered whose hand she rode, but he wanted to make sure she didn’t forget it was his. Wrapping one hand around her neck, he played her with the other, shoving two fingers deep in her and working her clit with his thumb. “Look at me.”

  She moaned, but didn’t obey. He lightly pressed a pulse point at her throat. This time she gave him what he wanted, her eyes the deep green of a priceless emerald.

  “Do you like this?” He pushed her.

  “Yes.” It was barely more than a hiss. “Make me come.”

  He snaked an arm around her hips, held her tight, and fucked her with nothing more than his fingers inside and his thumb on her clit. She panted, then tossed her head back and came with a long shudder and a throaty tigress growl. He didn’t want her to come down before he got his cock in her, but he suddenly realized the lack of condoms. He hadn’t come prepared to make love in the backseat. He hadn’t been expecting sex at all tonight. Yet he craved it more than anything in a long time. Hot, fast sex in a car with 131

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  her. Then later, a long, slow seduction. And after that, who the fuck knew. She finally collapsed hard against his chest, trapping his hand between their bodies.

  “God, I so needed that,” she muttered into his collar.

  “Ready for another?” He’d give her as many as he could. She shimmied against him, backing off just enough to ease her fingers down his abdomen, touching his wrist, his waistband, then settling her palm over the hard ridge of his cock. “I’m ready for this now.” She murmured once more into his collar, her breath stirring the hair at his ear.

  “I’m afraid I didn’t bring the necessary protection.”

  She backed off, knocked him senseless with a luscious smile, and leaned over for her purse. “Have condom, will travel,” she quipped and held up the package as if it were a prize out of a Cracker Jack box. “Always prepared, like a Boy Scout,” she added.

  “Ah, that was my problem. I wasn’t a Boy Scout.”

  She fluttered her eyelashes. “Neither was I.”

  It amused him that she wasn’t embarrassed to have condoms in her evening bag. Despite the sexual revolution, women’s rights, and a new millennium, most ladies his age still weren’t supposed to be out trolling, so to speak. That she’d attended a gala affair fully stocked both delighted and amazed him. As he would a jewel, he wanted to explore her many facets. But first, he wanted to bury himself inside her. Gabriel took the packet, tore it open, then held out the condom. “Will you do the honors or shall I?”

  DOMINIQUE CONSIDERED WHETHER SHE WANTED TO PLAY OR JUMP right to the action. The orgasm had been so damn good, his fingers magic. But there was nothing like the feeling of a big cock deep inside, filling her. And he was big, overflowing her palm as she cupped him. She leaned forward, nipped his lobe, then whispered against his ear, “I want cock. Your cock. Now.”

  He shoved his fingers through her hair, taking her by the nape with his hand, and held her tight against him. “Woman, I don’t think I’ve encountered anyone quite like you.”

  “I assume that’s a good thing.”

  He gazed at her with those brandy-colored eyes. “Most women my age do 132

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  not seem to like sex as much as you do.”

  She liked that the compliment was embedded in sex talk. “I do believe I’m probably older than you. Maybe that’s why.”

  “I do believe it doesn’t fucking matter.” He pushed her skirt up her thighs, baring her and exposing the hard cock burgeoning in his pants. “Christ, you have a gorgeous pussy.”

  She liked a combination of neatly trimmed and clean-shaven, the lips of her pussy freshly smooth and sensitive. “It’s very wet, too.”

  “I noticed.” With his free hand, he slipped down her slit, dipping in her cream. Capturing her gaze, he raised his hand to his mouth, sliding the very tip of his finger along his lower lip, then he sucked it into his mouth and licked it clean. “I had to know how you tasted.”

  The sensuality of it set her pulse racing. She usually had to slow men down, guide them to take stock of her body, to use it fully the way a woman’s body was meant to be used, with reverence and joy. Few men, though, were good at it. They gave capable orgasms, excited her blood, but she rarely got that something extra. It had never mattered. She gave herself what she needed anyway.

  Gabriel Price was the absolute personification of extra. Her pussy tightened, moistened, her nipples peaked, ached, and a flush rode her body. All from the look on his face as he ran his finger along his lip, the heat in his gaze as he licked off the very essence of her.

  He could make a woman come without even touching her.

  “The condom,” she whispered. “Put it on now. I want you inside me.” With enough intensity that if he didn’t hurry, she’d take him bareback. And Dominique never let a
man ride bareback.

  He shoved the condom into her hand, then unbuckled, unbuttoned, and unzipped, pulled his cock out, holding it in his fist. Squeezing.

  “God,” she murmured, in awe, in fear. “You’ll never fit.”

  “Hell yes, I will, baby. I was meant to be inside you.” The pitch of his voice mesmerized her, and she found herself wrapping her hand around the gorgeous monstrosity, testing the girth. Pre-come beaded on the tip. Just as he’d tasted her, Dominique gathered the drop on her finger and raised it to her lips, sucking it, rolling it on her tongue, savoring it.

  “I love come,” she said, but his was . . . extra. She closed her eyes so that 133

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  nothing detracted from his scent, his taste.

  He extracted the condom from her fingers.

  “If you keep doing that”—she wasn’t sure which “that” he meant: the way she relished him, talked to him, or stroked his cock—“I’m going to come before I ever get inside you.”

  He donned the condom with an expertise that even as a courtesan she hadn’t quite mastered. A man always knew his own cock best.

  “Hold your dress up,” he directed, his hand gripping her thighs. “I want to watch every centimeter sliding inside.”

  Pushing her hips forward to meet that hot, succulent tool, she crumpled her dress against her belly with one hand while stretching behind with the other to brace herself on his knee. Legs spread, she gave him maximum view. He flipped on the overhead light, spotlighting the head of his cock at her entrance. Then he reeled her in with two hands on her butt.

  “Oh God, yes.” Once again, she closed her eyes to steep herself in the sensations. He was big, fitting her snugly. He flexed his hips a couple of times, teasing her.

  It was enough to drive a woman mad.

  He squeezed her ass. “Look at us,” he urged. “Watch us.”

  She gazed at his flesh filling her up. He pulled her inexorably closer, feeding his cock to her, stealing her breath with the overwhelmingly sensual sight of man taking woman. Owning her flesh. Her clit was a red bud between her pussy lips. Even as she saw it, thought about it, he put his thumb to the nub and rubbed as he eased another inch deeper.

  “I love fucking,” she murmured. “I love sex. I love orgasms. I love cock.”

  It was the first time in a year that she could say she loved all those things over and above the power of taking a man, making him want, making him beg. It was the first time in a year she’d had sex without getting paid for it. She pushed the excess material of her dress beneath her to hold it aside, then stretched both hands behind and clamped down on his knees for leverage.

  “It’s the hottest fucking sight, isn’t it? My cock buried in your pretty pink pussy.”

  God yes. She’d never have thought she could love the sight so much, or be so utterly turned on by it. She leveraged herself to ride him, shifted her butt back and forth on his lap, pushing relentlessly with her hands. 134

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  “Told you I’d fit,” he said, a gleam in his eye as he circled her clit.

  “Oh, you fit all right.” So well. He was high, deep, at the very entrance of her womb. She’d never been so full.

  Not even with Edward.

  Oh God, please don’t think of Edward now.

  “Fuck me, Dominique.” Gabriel’s voice brought her back to the moment. She wanted to rise over him and pump hard, but somehow, the angle of his cock was stroking that special place deep inside, and she didn’t want to move. She rode faster, her arms aching. Then she was repeating his words over and over. “Fuck me, fuck me.” Though she’d never been a fuck-me girl. He had turned her into one. And it was good. The orgasm shot in, a rush of heat, an implosion, then an explosion.

  And Dominique screamed.

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  4

  THE ORGASM HAD DAMN NEAR GIVEN HIM A STROKE, IT WAS SO powerful. For long moments afterward, he’d been unable to move, to speak, to do anything more than reel her in flush to his body. Her skin was hot to the touch, her cheek against his face. She lay like a rag doll in his arms. With the strength of her climax, it was no wonder. What was surprising was how damn good she felt against him, how good it was to remain seated fully inside her. While he enjoyed sex, he didn’t tend to tarry long after the act. He glanced up, saw they were almost to Palo Alto, and realized he’d been holding her for ten minutes.

  He must have shifted slightly, disturbed her. She raised her head, pushing the red locks out of her face.

  “Wow.” She smiled.

  “Double wow.” He smiled, but all the while he wondered what came next. If he wanted her to come home with him, they’d have to double back. She sat straight, stretched, her hair brushing the roof of the car. “My arms and thighs will be deliciously sore tomorrow.”

  “Hopefully it was worth it.”

  “Definitely.” She smiled again, yet something flickered in her gaze. Her mind was working the issues. How to get off him. How to dispose of the condom without getting messy. How to ditch him without hurting his feelings. He always made sure his dates realized there was no sleeping over, so he didn’t have to deal with any fuss. It was almost amusing to be on the receiving end.

  Yet he didn’t want to let her go.

  “Come home with me.”

  “No.” She slid back on his lap, his cock falling free, then she dexterously pulled her leg over him and plopped back onto her half of the seat. “But thank you for the offer.”

  He disposed of the condom, zipped, buckled, straightened. Why, of all women, did he want her in his house? Though she was older than him, she was beautiful and completely comfortable in her skin, devoid of inhibition, at least as far as he could tell. She laughed easily, yet she didn’t 136

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  tolerate bad behavior. She fucked like a goddess. Still, he had met a few other women like her, comfortable with who they were. So why her?

  Then he saw it, that wary glimmer as she dropped her gaze searching for her purse, a hint of the vulnerability that had initially attracted him. She was more than the façade. He was interested enough to want to find out what was behind it. He wanted her secrets, to learn what made her tick. Women who needed to be coddled and cared for hadn’t appealed to him since college. Yet she was an exciting mixture of assuredness and vulnerability. Not a needy cream puff, but not an ice queen with brass balls either.

  She found the lighted mirror in the console in front of her, fixed her lipstick and the smudge of mascara under her eyes, fluffed her hair, then set about righting her dress. Finally, she slipped on her shoes, putting away her lipstick with a snap of her purse. And looked at him.

  “Good as new.” This time the caution shading her eyes was gone. Just as she’d mentally fixed herself up in the ladies’ room after seeing her ex-husband, she’d done so in front of that tiny mirror. Transforming herself from the woman who’d begged him to fuck her into a date done for the night. The driver took the turnoff for Highway 85 down to Saratoga. Like a portent, they’d reached the halfway point between his house and hers. All right, so she wasn’t coming home with him. He chose the next best option. “I’d like to get together again.”

  She opened her mouth, then just as quickly shut it on whatever she’d been about to reveal. Clicking the clasp of her purse once more, she pulled out a card. He wondered idly how a woman managed to fit so much into such a tiny pocketbook and figured it was somehow a statement on the whole nature of male-female relations: women knew how to pack a wealth of meaning into one tiny act.

  She handed him the card. “Call this number. Ask for Isabel. Tell her you’d like a date with Dominique.” She waved a hand at the window in front of her. “Now, please ask your driver to take the next exit and drop me at the hotel on the corner.”

  The demand was so unexpected, he did exactly what she said, pushing the intercom button. Sure enough, there was a Wyndham on the corner. She opened the door and, with one hand on the latch, leaned across
to peck his cheek. “Thanks. That was hot. See ya.”

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  Then she was out and striding to the lobby doors, disappearing inside.

  “Sir, where to?” The tinny voice came through the intercom. He didn’t know. She’d taken him completely off guard. She’d surprised him. Hell, he actually liked being surprised. “Home,” he finally said. He turned the card she’d given him to the light. Courtesans. And a San Francisco number in a cursive font. A courtesan. Wasn’t that a high-class prostitute in days of old?

  Reaching in his pocket for his cell phone, he punched in the number.

  “Courtesans.” A male voice, surprisingly.

  “I’d like to speak to Isabel.”

  “Just one moment.”

  After a second or two, he heard the click of a transfer.

  “Hello, this is Isabel. How may I help you?” She had a sultry, smoky voice that reminded him of Dominique’s yet didn’t strike quite the same chord in him.

  “I’d like to make a date with Dominique.”

  “Have you seen her before?”

  “She just left me.”

  There was a beat of silence. “Well, Mr. McDowell, I assume you had complete satisfaction if you’re calling so quickly.”

  “This isn’t Mr. McDowell.”

  The silence was longer this time. “And you are?”

  “Gabriel.”

  “Gabriel, this sounds like a situation I need to discuss with Dominique. May I return your call in a few minutes?”

  “By all means.” He disconnected, assuming the woman had caller ID. He hadn’t blocked his number.

  Mr. McDowell, the short guy Dominique had walked out on, had been an arranged date. A john. A mark. Whatever. And she was an escort. A call girl. A courtesan.

  The woman was a prostitute. And she’d just given him a freebie. He wasn’t averse to paying for a woman. He was just averse to paying for one he was already in lust with before he’d known there was a price to pay. Yet she’d hooked him like a slow, dumb fish who saw only the bait and snapped for it. He had to go back for more.