Yours for the Night

by Jasmine Haynes

  “It’s never too much.”

  She jerked as one of them hit a sensitive spot. “Dax.” It seemed to be all she could manage, then she slid her arm around his neck. “Kiss me.”

  “I can’t watch you if I kiss you.”

  And Christ, he had to watch.

  Her gaze grew unfocused. She groaned, bit her lip, closed her eyes again, tossed her head. Another teardrop trickled down her temple and into her hair. Dax slid his hand over her soft skin, flicked the tip of one breast. She was so damn sensitized, she arched and cried out. He gazed down the length of her, a blond head bobbing between her legs and the top of a bald pate visible as they concentrated on her pleasure.

  He pinched her nipple. She arched her neck and moaned, panted. Then she rolled up, hunching, her eyes tightly closed as she chanted his name, a guttural, damn near unintelligible sound. But it was his name, and when she came the second time, harder than the first, he savored every tear, every cry, every quake of her body. There had never been a more beautiful sight. During the aftershocks, he gathered her in his arms, and when she quieted, he whispered in her ear, “We’re not done yet, baby.”

  NOELLE COULD BARELY MOVE HER LIMBS. BURT AND SKINNER HAD licked and sucked her until one orgasm melted into the next. One of them held her head—or maybe that was Dax—and fed his cock to her mouth. She couldn’t be sure in the end who did what. It was all a blur of mindless pleasure punctuated by Dax, stroking, talking, touching, kissing, loving her as she orgasmed. She’d never been closer to another human being. How that was possible, she didn’t know, didn’t care. It just was.

  Dax now cradled her in the backseat of the car he’d ordered to take them across town, his fingers toying with her hair. God, she was tired. And so utterly satisfied.

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  Except for one thing. “You didn’t come,” she murmured into his tux jacket, not sure he’d even make out her words.

  “I enjoyed watching you too much to interrupt.”

  “It turned you on?” Wrapped in his arms, she felt the evidence against her belly, yet she needed him to tell her.

  “It was the most perfectly decadent scene of debauchery I’ve ever witnessed.” His laugh rumbled against her ear.

  “Really?

  “Truly. It was too fucking fantastic for words.” He tucked a lock of hair away from her face. “I’ll never forget how beautiful you were with a cock in your mouth and a bald head between your legs.”

  God. He knew exactly what to say. But she needed more. Pushing upright, she let her gaze travel over his handsome features. He had the ability to steal the very breath from her lips, just as he had the first time she saw him. She rubbed noses with him. “I could lick and suck you now.”

  Manuel was driving again. She was sure he wouldn’t mind.

  “You’re exhausted.”

  Her jaw ached, her body throbbed, and if she closed her eyes for too long, she’d be asleep. But she needed this. She needed him to want it. Batting her eyelashes, she said, “I don’t mind at all.”

  He stroked her hair. She must look an absolute fright, yet he touched her with such tenderness. “The anticipation will be so much greater for the next time if I hold off.” He smiled for her. “I’ll be half-mad with lust by then.”

  She didn’t want half later. She needed him completely insane now. “You might get a case of blue balls,” she quipped.

  Something didn’t feel right. Didn’t he want her? After the things she’d done and had done to her, how could a man wait? She knew the guilty signs, the debilitating symptoms when a person needed more than what he or she was getting. She’d hated feeling that way, hated the things she’d resorted to in her quest for what she needed, hated the person she became. Was Dax already feeling that need for more, different, new?

  He cupped her face in his hand without laughing at her silly joke. With the streetlights flashing over his face, she couldn’t read his expression. Yet he must have read something in hers. Taking her hand, he caressed his cock with her palm. “Then you better suck me, baby,” he whispered. 237

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  She fumbled getting his zipper down. He helped her. In her hand, his cock was huge, pulsing, a tiny drop of pre-come beading on the tip. She swiped it clean with her tongue.

  “Yum,” she murmured. “This is so much better than waiting.”

  He moaned the affirmation she needed.

  Then she took him deep. His groan rumbled in his chest. With a hand to the back of her head, he urged her to devour every inch. Then she tucked her hand beneath his thigh, and licked and sucked, fast and hard. She forgot about Manuel, the twinge in her jaw, and the tenderness between her thighs. There was only this, the silk of his cock, the sweetness of his pre-come, the throb as she brought him close, closer, closest. Until he spurted in her mouth. She swallowed it all, every drop of his essence, and needed more. So much more. When it was done, he zipped up and snuggled her deeper into his embrace.

  “Thanks, baby, that was great.”

  Just “great”?

  She didn’t want to think. He hadn’t asked her to suck him. She’d offered. He’d refused because she was so exhausted. Sweet. But he hadn’t taken her in the ballroom either. Beyond kissing her and pinching her nipples, Dax hadn’t touched her since that first night. Now her blow job was only “great.”

  Maybe he didn’t want her anymore.

  AS THE CAR WENDED THE LAST FEW BLOCKS TO HER FLAT, NOELLE slept peacefully in his lap while Dax stroked her hair as if she were a child. The woman was insatiable. After the workout in the ballroom, he hadn’t expected her to do him, too, despite the ache in his balls. Yet she couldn’t get enough. He wondered if in the end he could actually keep up with her or if she’d tire of him long before he had his fill.

  That was the thing. He was starting to believe he’d never get his fill. She was his teenage fantasy come true, with so much more added on top. He’d have said he had a limitless imagination, but Noelle was like no other woman he’d ever known. Her need for fantasy and kinkiness surpassed even his. He knew what he was. His desires were enough to freak out most ordinary women. So he’d never allowed himself much emotion in his relationships. With this one, since he was paying, he’d thought to invest even less emotion. Yet he was in danger of giving her far more than any price they’d bargained for. 238

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  When she left, she’d take a piece of him with her. Manuel took a corner, and Noelle stirred against Dax. A soft purr in her throat, she nuzzled his cock, then settled as the car hit a steady rhythm once again. Her sensual woman scent drifted up to him, the scent he’d become addicted to at the tender age of fourteen.

  Goddammit, what the hell was he thinking? He wasn’t one of her pathetic, cuckolded husbands. He knew what he wanted. He knew what she wanted. Fantasy, excitement, naughty, dirty things in secret, hot places. He was a man, a CEO. When things took a wrong turn, he righted them, steered the ship onto a true course.

  He would give her the excitement she craved, always upping the stakes, always surprising her, never the same thing twice. And she would never want to leave him.

  NOELLE SAT IN HER FLAT’S BAY WINDOW OVERLOOKING THE MARINA. It was a sunny, windy day and sailboats dotted the harbor and bay. On the marina lawn, a dog walker struggled with six leashes, finally getting her charges untangled.

  The phone clutched to her chest, Noelle waited impatiently for Dax to set up their next date. In the week since the ballroom event, he’d called once for phone sex, only once, and that had been the very next night. Then nothing. He’d said he was planning a special date, and he wanted to heighten his anticipation by starving himself for the sound of her voice. It sounded so sweet, so seductive, so exciting. Until a couple of days turned into a week. For a woman who personified instant gratification, that was six days too many. There just had to be another date. She didn’t know what she’d do if she didn’t see him again. He was better than any flavor of ice cream. He was buttercream
frosting on red velvet cake or chocolate decadence with real whipped cream. He was everything she’d dreamed of and thought she’d never have.

  He’d said she was fantastic, but he might have been lying. No, he’d said it was fantastic. The date. Burt and Skinner. God, did he say it or she? Damn, damn, damn, she couldn’t remember.

  Isabel had been right. Getting your emotions involved was dangerous. Noelle hadn’t been on a courtesan date in a week. She hadn’t thought about another 239

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  man since she met Dax. She’d dreamed only of how to please him, what she could do to make him hot. To make him hers. From the moment she stepped onto that rooftop balcony, her clients had been merely reasons to call him, talk to him, incite him to orgasm. She’d wanted the excitement, the infatuation, the giddy I’ll-die-if-I-don’t-talk-to-him-right-now feeling. Now she was trapped into needing it all to be real. The phone rang, and she jumped, almost jostling herself out of the window seat. Then she jabbed the flash button without even checking caller ID. “Hello?”

  “Noelle?”

  Isabel. Thank you, thank you. She wanted to blurt out, Did he call yet?, but she managed to maintain a little decorum. “I hope you’re having a good day, Isabel.”

  Isabel snorted. “You don’t care about my day. You just want to know if he made a date.”

  “Who?” She sounded singularly innocent.

  Isabel gave a tinkling laugh. “He called.”

  Noelle closed her eyes and held in a sob of gratitude. “Did he want to schedule something? I’ll have to check my calendar.”

  “We both know your calendar is completely free. You can’t pay your mortgage with a free calendar, you know.”

  Noelle didn’t have a mortgage. Being a courtesan had been good for her. She’d paid extra against principal every month, and six weeks ago, the title had become hers. “Okay, I give in. My calendar is too free. Does he want to fill it?”

  “Tomorrow night.”

  She exhaled in a long sigh. “I can do tomorrow night. Anything special?”

  “He’s chosen a couple.”

  Her heart froze to a standstill. “A man and a woman?”

  Isabel laughed again, although it might have been closer to another snort.

  “Yes, a man and woman. He wants a foursome.”

  She’d have to share him. She’d have to watch him fuck another woman. He hadn’t even made love to her after the first night, and now he wanted another woman. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t—She shut herself down. “When, where, how should I dress, et cetera, et cetera?”

  “Are you all right?”

  Damn. Isabel was far too intuitive. That worked for making her matches, but 240

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  it sucked when Noelle was trying to hide something. “I’m fine.”

  “You sound funny.”

  “I had too much fresh air, and it’s made me all stuffy.”

  Isabel let the silence hang for five counts. “Nine o’clock. The date will be at a residence. He’ll arrive at your place by seven, though. He has something special for you to wear.”

  That lifted her. For a very brief moment before she dashed herself down again. God, she was manic. “Did you choose the couple?” It would be so much worse if Dax had picked the woman himself, someone special he already had in mind.

  “Yes, I did the match.”

  She wrapped her arm around her knees. At least there was that; he’d had Isabel do the selection. “Okay. Then it’s a go. Gotta run now. Bye.” She hung up before Isabel could say I told you so.

  He wanted another woman. Noelle wasn’t enough. She was nothing but a courtesan, a plaything. He probably wanted to dress her for the other man, not himself. And really, he’d never said he wanted her. He’d said he wanted a kinky relationship. She’d thought she meant something to him. The way he’d held her that night, soothed her body with a warm cloth, taken care of her. Yet he’d been gone in the morning. She’d allowed herself to fall for an illusion.

  Noelle set her chin on her knees and stared out the window. Comeuppance. Retribution. A reckoning. For the first time she understood how each of her husbands had felt when he discovered he wasn’t enough for her. For the crimes she’d committed against the men she supposedly loved, she deserved this.

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  8

  NOELLE HAD GIVEN HERSELF A PEP TALK. FOR TWENTY-FOUR HOURS. She still didn’t believe it. The gist was that, first, asking him not to do another woman in front of her would reveal all the illusions she’d dreamed up about their relationship and lay bare her insecurities, so no way, bad idea. Second, it would sound as if she had a proprietary interest in him. Which she did, but again, bad idea letting him know. And third, if he wasn’t jealous of her naughty desires, she couldn’t be jealous of his. It was two-faced. Or to twist one of her mother’s clichés, what was good for the goose was good for the gander. Only it wasn’t. Another man making her come was totally separate from how she felt about Dax. It was just sex, physical, nothing more. Her husbands hadn’t understood that. Now here she was with the shoe on the other foot (God, she hated thinking in her mother’s clichés), raging about it.

  But that was the God’s honest truth. If she did another man, it had nothing to do with her emotions about Dax. In fact, it was over the top for her if he was there to watch. When he did another woman, however, it meant he didn’t want Noelle.

  By the time the doorbell chimed, she’d freshly showered, applied her makeup, and dried and brushed her hair to silky perfection, yet beneath her satin Chinese robe, she was naked, ready for him to dress her up. The butterflies had flown from her stomach up into her throat, choking her. Dax was mind-altering in his usual black tux and crisp white shirt. Except the night she’d kissed him on his doorstep, she’d never seen him wear anything else. And when he’d crawled into his bed with her? She’d missed her one and only opportunity to view his fully naked magnificence. Oh wait, she’d have another chance tonight. When he took off his clothes to fuck another woman. Bam. Direct hit.

  “Hi.” Her voice squeaked, hitting an out-of-tune high note. She needed to get her jealousy under control.

  “Hi, yourself.” His gaze caressed her from head to toe and everything in between, setting her body on a low light. His voice dipped to a husky note. “You look beautiful.”

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  there was a “but” in there somewhere. “Thank you.”

  She hated how polite they sounded, like strangers, as if he’d never been buried deep in her mouth or her pussy. “Is that for me?”

  He’d wrapped the box under his arm in red paper. Or someone had. “I want you to wear this tonight.”

  “What is it?”

  He pulled back when she reached for it. “First things first, you get to try it on when we’ve gotten you all ready.”

  “I’m ready. Shower. Makeup. Hair.” She fanned the shiny tresses over her shoulder. Didn’t she look perfect? Dammit, she needed to stop with the selfdoubt.

  “Let me in and I’ll show all the ways we need to get you ready.”

  She’d kept him waiting on the landing without even realizing it. “How are we going to get me ready?” she asked, seduction seeping into her tone. She wanted to ignore the silly, maudlin thoughts and play the game. She’d told Isabel she needed excitement, not melodrama.

  He stepped over the threshold. “Nice place.”

  “It’s small, but it’s all mine.” A one-bedroom, it had the original pink and gray tile in the kitchen and bathroom, hardwood floors, big bay windows in both dining and living room, an ornate fireplace, and her own tiny one-car garage she used for storage.

  “It looks like you.”

  She tipped her head in question.

  “The blue suede lounging chair.”

  It wasn’t actually suede, which would have been a nightmare to clean. But she loved that chair, like th
e old-fashioned loungers an elegant lady of the manor would drape herself over. “I like to snuggle up with a good book in front of the fire.” She preferred a naughty erotic romance over watching TV. “So are you going to dress me?” She pointed at the package.

  “I’m going to prepare you. Take me to your bathroom.”

  This was interesting. She felt her spirits lift as she led the way down the short hall.

  “Wow,” he said, “that’s amazing.” The tub was a huge porcelain in which she could fully stretch out her legs. Pink and gray tiles marched up the wall. Her cushy towels matched, and a full-length cheval mirror stood in the corner. 243

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  Dax was still staring at the tub. “You could fit two in that thing.”

  “Yes. I probably could. But I never have.” Damn, she didn’t mean to offer that.

  She didn’t bring clients home. He was the first to even ask. She hadn’t thought a thing of it. It was just . . . natural. He laid the box on the countertop, then pointed to the tub’s rim. “Sit.”

  She perched demurely on the edge.

  “Open your robe.”

  Ooh. This was really interesting. She untied the sash and parted the lapels all the way down, letting the satin fall away from her thighs. She got a delicious little catch in her breath as his eyes glided over every inch of her skin.

  “Lean back, brace yourself on one hand, and put your other foot along the edge.”

  It was as if he were choreographing a musical or posing her for a photograph.

  “Touch yourself and tell me if you’re wet.” The tenor of his voice mesmerized her. She didn’t have to touch to know she was wet. But she did, slicking her fingers through her folds. “Very wet,” she whispered.

  “Good.” He reached to the inner pocket of his jacket, then stopped, looking at her. “Close your eyes.”

  From behind her lids, the sounds he made were exquisite torture. Something chinked on the sink, and he ran the water long enough to turn it hot. The pipes were old, it took a minute, and she could feel each second ticking away in her chest.