Yours for the Night

by Jasmine Haynes

  Her heart stuttered. “I’m sorry.”

  “It’s too damn hot for words.” His eyes, deep, dark pools of blue, glittered in what little light they grabbed from the moon. “I needed that.”

  “Needed what?” As much as she’d wanted the sight, touch, and scent of him, she had to have the words, too.

  “You. Here. Tonight. After you’d done him. That kiss.”

  She wanted to go in, push him to the floor, take him, fuck him. Instead, she backed away. “Thank you,” she whispered. He’d given her everything. Anything more, in this time and place, would be too much. She wanted to savor each separate moment rather than immerse herself in sensory overload. She’d have it all next time.

  “Good night.”

  He didn’t ask her to stay. He understood her emotions precisely at that 227

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  moment, as if the same need to relish, the same intensity rocked his world, too. She backed down the steps one at a time, her fingers to her lips. “Call Isabel when you’re ready.”

  “I’m ready.”

  It was a tease. She loved it. She turned, gathered her coat around her, and ran back to the cab as if it were her Cinderella pumpkin and he was the prince who would be driven to find her by her shoe.

  His gaze tracked her the whole way.

  God, he was perfect.

  SHE WAS SO DAMN PERFECT. HE’D BEEN CALLED A PERVERT FOR

  RECEIVING his pleasure by watching women he cared for make love to other men. He’d been told he needed a psychiatrist, but for him seeing and hearing was as exciting as doing. Especially since he’d had Noelle. He could feel what her client experienced, a tactile journey. Most men would call him a crazy SOB for failing to drag her inside and fuck her, for achieving orgasm with his own hand earlier in the evening while some stranger drove him nuts with how well she sucked cock.

  Yet he couldn’t have asked for anything more ideal than what she’d given him.

  Drinking in the sights and sounds of a woman’s pleasure—it couldn’t be appreciated in the same way if you were part of the action. You overlooked the subtle nuances. You lost your concentration. You’d miss the kick of validation knowing another man could borrow but not own what you had. Of course he had his moments of doubt that she belonged to him. Until she stood on his doorstep. He’d tasted it in her kiss. She wanted to be shared as much as he wanted to share her. He imagined endless scenarios. Some he’d finish by taking her, others he’d simply enjoy the glisten of pleasure on her body. A woman’s orgasm was a sight to behold.

  Next he needed to be there to watch her come.

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  6

  “DID DAX CALL FOR A DATE YET?” IT HAD BEEN ALMOST A WEEK. THE

  suspense made her bitchy and cranky.

  Instead of answering, Isabel just gave her a look.

  “What?” Noelle knew she shouldn’t have asked. She never asked about clients. If they called, fine; if they didn’t, whatever. She wasn’t unfeeling, she had just never invested enough in one particular man. Which was probably her whole problem now with the boredom. No emotional investment, no emotional payback, but no one got hurt either. That had worked for a while. The pool was warm. Noelle loved water exercises. They eased the work her joints had to do, yet added resistance to every movement. Oddly, she loved the smell of chlorine, too. Fresh. Unlike the sweaty bodies in the gym. Not that she disliked a hardwork ing male scent; she just didn’t like to get sweaty herself. At least not while working out. After forty-five minutes of water-resistance exercises, she’d finish her regimen with laps in the big pool to get the aerobic workout.

  “Do not look at me like that.” She pursed her lips as Isabel continued to stare pointedly without a word. “I know what you’re going to say.”

  “You don’t.” Isabel wore her blond hair piled in a neat knot on her head. Noelle marveled that not a strand fell out of place, even while exercising. Isabel was always together.

  “You were going to say I’m getting too involved.” Laying her arms along the pool edge, Noelle began a set of thigh repetitions.

  “I wasn’t thinking that at all,” Isabel said, glancing past Noelle to an elderly woman climbing from the water.

  The lady had walked the length of the pool, bobbing back and forth, for half an hour at a fast clip. That was a hell of a lot of resistance, and she’d gotten her aerobics at the same time. Noelle herself wanted to be able to keep up the pace at eighty. She still wanted to have sex, too, sagging flesh and all. She turned back to Isabel. “All right, what were you going to say then?”

  “I’m jealous, actually.”

  That had her giving Isabel a second look. “You said putting too much emotion into a client was dangerous.” And maybe Isabel was right. Dax consumed 229

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  Noelle’s thoughts. She went to sleep thinking about him, woke up dreaming about him. If he walked away now, she didn’t know how she’d handle it.

  “Sometimes a girl needs a little danger to keep her on her toes,” Isabel said. Noelle keyed into Isabel’s almost wistful tone, wondering if something was going on with her. “Everything okay?”

  “Just great,” Isabel said, her smile a tad brittle. Isabel was a listener, not a talker. Noelle could count on one hand the number of times Isabel had needed advice. If she wanted it, she’d ask when she was ready. Noelle let it go. “So did Dax call?”

  “Yes.” Isabel winked. “He had some special requirements.”

  Oh, thank God. Despite the warm water, Noelle shivered deliciously. Dax had called her every night. He’d gotten off listening to her get off. But he hadn’t mentioned another date. Noelle couldn’t ask. That ruined the anticipation. But waiting had been killing her. Which was probably how Dax wanted her to be, right on the edge. “What kind of requirements?”

  “He gave strict instructions not to tell you anything.”

  Noelle forgot her count as she glided her left thigh through the water, so she switched to the right. “But you’re not going to obey him, are you?”

  Isabel’s eyebrows shot up. “I don’t obey men anywhere else, but a client request is inviolate.” Then she smiled, a wicked angel smile. “Besides, it would spoil the surprise.”

  Ooh. Her legs weakened with a rush of heat straight to her sex. “I like surprises.” She sounded like a child, but the tension coiling inside was all woman.

  “He told me to set the date, time, and place, and when the details are worked out, he’ll forward instructions through me on what you’re to wear.”

  Noelle bit her lip. Anticipation. Seduction. A thrill circled in her belly. “That’s kind of hot.” Totally hot.

  Isabel nodded slowly, and lowered her voice to a mere whisper. “That’s why I’m jealous.”

  MIDAFTERNOON TWO DAYS LATER, DAX COURIERED A GOLD-EMBOSSED

  envelope to her apartment. The envelope was attached to a box wrapped in deep red. She could barely contain herself once the delivery man was gone. Inside she found a fur coat. Fox. She didn’t like the thought of killing animals, 230

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  but the fur was sumptuous as she wrapped the knee-length coat around her shoulders. She was a sensual animal, and she couldn’t resist running her hands through the thick pelt, savoring the softness, the warmth. She’d wear it once, just this once, then send it back.

  Her hands trembled as she tore at the envelope and the note-paper caressed her fingertips.

  “Wear the coat and nothing else. Meet me on the corner of Powell and Geary at seven o’clock.” Union Square, with a myriad of hotels. Her insides creamed. Her legs weakened, and she fought the need to crumple to her knees right there in the entry hall. What did he plan? To fuck in her a restaurant, a doorway, on the elevator in Macy’s, the Rotunda at Neiman Marcus? Or maybe he’d parade her down the street, approach the first man they saw, and order her to suck him off in a dark alleyway. Her body trembled with equal parts terror, excitement, and desire.

  S
he’d agreed to do whatever he told her to. She just didn’t know how far he’d go. Of course she always had veto power if things got too intense, yet the intensity was what excited her. Catch-22.

  FIVE HOURS LATER, NOELLE HUGGED THE FOX FUR COAT TIGHT against the cold of the March night.

  Dax saw her from afar, and his heart stopped beating. Her silky black hair cascaded over the silvery white fur. Tall and graceful, her bare legs were impossibly long and luscious in her fuck-me stilettos. Heads turned, gazes trailed after her. One woman bopped her husband on the arm for looking too long. Yet it wasn’t her beauty that captured Dax. It was that she was his, that she waited on the corner as if it were a precipice she was ready to dive off. For him. The power brought him to life with a rush of exhilaration like none he’d ever experienced.

  How far could he push her? What kinky things could he get her to do for him?

  She turned then, saw him, and a smile curved her lips. Half-angel, half-vixen, sultry, sexy, yet elegant in the coat. His heart started its beat again, faster, louder. She’d do anything he asked. If he wanted her to suck one cock, she’d beg for two. If he told her to touch herself, she’d turn on a toy designed for dual entry. Her naughty mind would always outdo his. He could not have dreamed up a more spectacular woman.

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  Or maybe it was so much wishful thinking after years of disappointment. He’d always found the fall was harder when you truly believed your dream had come true. Only to find it hadn’t.

  He ambled to her, his gaze flicking over her, up, down, touching her eyes. Then he strolled past. The click of her spiked heels followed him on the sidewalk. He crossed Geary and headed up the street. A cable car clattered down the hill, and the noise was damn near deafening—car engines, horns, laughter, voices, a street person screaming at himself—yet beneath it all her shoes tapped close behind on the concrete. He turned into one of the older hotels, a doorman dressed as a beefeater holding the door for him. Mouthwatering scents drifted up from the restaurant—garlic, the zest of tomato sauce, something sweet he couldn’t identify.

  “Welcome, pretty lady,” the man said in a low rumble. She laughed, thanked him. Dax turned to catch a glimpse of bare skin where she held the lapels of the coat loosely. With that flash of thigh and deep slash of cleavage, the guy had to know she was naked beneath. Dax’s cock pulsed. His balls tightened. One step ahead of him, that’s what she was, and he adored it.

  As a couple with two children approached from the other direction, she wrapped the fox jacket around her. And hit Dax with a smile hot enough to knock him off his feet. On the other side of Reception, he headed up a wide set of carpeted stairs and turned right at the second level. Lengthening his stride, he hoped to lose her for a moment, force her to wonder and skip to keep up. Around another corner, he tugged an ornate door handle, slipped inside, and let the door close slowly behind him. Then he let out his breath. The setup was flawless.

  The lighting was low and intimate, the table was laid, the chairs occupied. And she was the feast.

  NOELLE LEANED BACK AGAINST THE DOOR, FINGERS CLUTCHED IN the soft fur. She couldn’t get enough air, spots danced before her eyes. Not a word, just a hungry look flaming in his blue eyes, and she’d had to follow Dax up the street. He made her crazy.

  But the sight in that room liquefied her.

  It was a small ballroom meant for intimate parties. Wall-to-wall mirrors 232

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  reflected intricate moldings along the ceiling, a chandelier dangled in the center, its crystal glittering like dewdrops, and lush carpeting swirled with pinks, reds, and purples. In the middle, one table that would easily seat ten was set with damask tablecloth, silver cutlery, Waterford glasses, gold-trimmed china. And two chairs.

  Dax stood between the two, a wineglass in his hand. He held it out to her. Noelle couldn’t take her eyes off the two men seated there. Isabel had chosen them, she knew, because Isabel had two years of practice giving Noelle what she wanted. They were older. God, she loved older men. They made her slick and hot and needy. Especially with Dax watching, reading every thought, interpreting each emotion flitting across her face. The first was completely bald. She loved a shiny pate where she could leave a kiss of lipstick on the crown. Wire-rimmed glasses, a ruddy masculine face, big hands, and a massive, sculpted chest. He was The X Files’ Assistant Director Skinner personified. She’d always had a thing for Skinner. But then she’d always had a thing for Burt Lancaster in some of his earthier classic roles, too, like rolling around on a Hawaiian beach in From Here to Eternity. Oh yeah, the second guy was perfect, a dark, dirty blond, not as light as Dax’s hair, but his eyes just as blue. His biceps bulged beneath his work shirt as if he spent his days tossing fifty-pound bags of cement. Dax snapped his fingers. The sound jolted through her. She should have hated it—no man snapped his fingers at her—but goose bumps pebbled her bare legs with anticipation, nerves and excitement doing figure eights in her stomach. She sauntered to him languorously, her hips swaying, her thighs playing peekaboo through the coat. She didn’t look at Burt or Skinner, holding Dax’s ice blue gaze. He was stone cold. Until she saw him swallow. He was as high as she was.

  This was going to be amazing.

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  7

  AS SHE STOOD IN FRONT OF DAX, HIS SEXY MALE MUSK SWIRLED around her, and beneath the black suit pants, Noelle imagined his cock pulsed. He held the glass of fruity sweet wine to her lips as she took a long swallow and licked away the last drops.

  “What are we going to do?” she whispered.

  He didn’t say a word. Her tension ratcheted higher. Close up, she could see the blazing heat in Burt’s blue eyes, the strip-her-naked, heavy-lidded stroke of Skinner’s gaze. And she wanted it all, everything Dax had in store. Even while it terrified her. Just how far would she have to go to please him?

  Fear was part of the high.

  She didn’t have time to think. Grabbing her at the waist, he forced a squeak out of her. Then he dumped her on her butt on the table. In the only empty place setting. The one he’d been meaning just for her.

  “Wha-at?” She stuttered, caught herself. “What are you doing?” Il He closed in on her, his mouth almost taking hers, his gaze a blur. “I want to watch.”

  “Watch what?” Her lungs felt light and fluttery, unable to process a full breath.

  He spread the lapels of the coat and cupped her breasts. His cold hands chilled her, thrilled her, like ice straight on her clit. “I want to watch them make you come.”

  He pinched her nipple. She moaned, little stars floating before her eyes.

  “Spread your legs,” he demanded. Then he touched her between the thighs.

  “Look how wet you are, naughty girl.” He glanced left, then right. “Which one do you want first?”

  Staring into his sky blue eyes, she wanted both. She wanted him, them, everything.

  He read her need. “You have to choose.”

  It was like selecting from a smorgasbord of expensive caviar, crab, and lobster. Snared by Dax’s gaze, she pointed. “Him.” Skinner. Dax stepped back, and Skinner pulled his chair between her legs. He nipped her thigh lightly. Heat rushed to her clitoris. 234

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  “Look at me,” Dax ordered. “Keep looking at me.”

  Falling back on her elbows, she couldn’t have torn her gaze from Dax even as Skinner’s mouth descended in her peripheral vision. Burt pushed glassware out of her way. Skinner’s tongue, Burt holding her thighs apart, Dax’s too-hot stare—

  she was suddenly there, right there, so close she could cry out. When Skinner licked her clit, she bit her lip until she tasted blood. His mouth devoured her while Burt played, stroking close to her pussy, easing away, then coming down beneath Skinner’s jaw to test her wetness. Her juice dripped onto his fingers. Oh God, oh God. La sered by Dax’s gaze, her skin flushed rosy, heat rising to her cheeks, as if he took her, fucked her, owned her
with nothing more than a look. Her pussy simply imploded, sensation rocketing through each individual nerve, sparking in her clit, her womb, the tips of her fingers, dragging her under, then shooting her into the glittering teardrops of the chandelier. Noelle screamed, and Dax covered her mouth with his, tasting her orgasm, riding the crest with her, sharing her breath as he drank in every ounce of pleasure she felt.

  When it was over, he pulled back, held her chin between his fingers. “You didn’t keep looking at me. We’ll have to try that again.” Consumed by her pleasure, he’d taken her lips and missed the orgasm play across her features. He wanted that, needed it. Damn, he wouldn’t miss it again by indulging in her taste.

  “Switch places,” he whispered, his gaze holding hers as he snapped his fingers at his cohorts. Then he whisked the fox coat from her arms, leaving her completely naked. She was too far gone to care. He kissed her, held her, and didn’t let her go until the musical chairs between her thighs ended. The blond put his mouth to her, and she arched off the table, moaning, a tear of pleasure slipping down her temple as she thrashed on the fine linen tablecloth. Her brow furrowed, she squeezed her eyes shut, pushed her fingers through the man’s short hair, and held him tight to her pussy. Her hips rolled, and she curled one leg around his shoulder.

  “Dax, oh God, Dax.”

  He loved that in the midst of another man eating her pussy, his name was on her lips.

  “Fuck her with your fingers,” he ordered the bald guy. And the man got right in there along with Blondie, spreading her legs, 235

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  stroking her thigh, and slipping beneath the tongue lapping at her to push two blunt fingers inside her. He glanced at Dax, a devilish smile creasing his lips.

  “She’s so damn wet. And she tastes so good.” He pulled out, licked his fingers, then slid back in.

  Dax leaned close to her ear. “How does it feel, baby?”

  She groaned, opened her eyes, met his. “It’s too much.”