Of course, most women were, but when Brenna climaxed, he couldn’t help seeing that staid office girl in his mind, and the contrast between that vision and this one made it all the more incredible.
“Oh, wow,” she sighed, her body dipping slightly forward, a sexy smile of relief taking over her face as she met his gaze.
“That was fast,” he said with a grin, going still now, just for a minute, to let her recover.
“I told you how close I was.”
“I love that you stayed aroused all damn night long.”
She nodded, smiled, and lazily licked her lips, confirming that—indeed—she had.
And for some reason he remembered her trying this position in the tub last night, and nearly pushing him under, which he’d thought was cute as hell. “This is a much better place for you to be on top,” he said, gritting his teeth again as he began to drive upward again into her hot, drenched flesh.
As she began to meet his thrusts, her answer came on labored breath, between strokes. “This is…the first time…we’ve done it…in a bed.”
His breathing turned just as ragged. “Don’t…get too attached…to the bed, babe.”
“Why?”
“It’s…a surprise.” Something that had occurred to him on the gondola, when they’d been talking dirty, when he’d been making her fantasize about fucking him in the boat.
“Another one?”
“For tomorrow night. And I promise…you’ll like it. Now let me…suck your tits.” He needed them in his mouth more than he needed air to breathe.
Biting her lip, she leaned over, bracing her arms on both sides of his head, letting those beautiful breasts dangle over his face. He captured one erect nipple between his lips, letting the hardness on his tongue drive him mad as he licked, French-kissed, then sucked.
Above him, her moans flooded the room and he understood that Brenna’s tits were even more sensitive than he’d realized. Moving to the other breast, he drew the beautifully beaded peak into his mouth, still plunging his cock up into her welcoming pussy. “Oh baby,” she breathed as he suckled her still more roughly, and when she arched deeper, he took in as much of the soft female flesh as he could.
Her breath grew thready again—quick, and her movements more sensual. Damon closed his hands over her ass, stretching his fingers to encompass as much of her rear as he could, massaging, matching the rhythm she used to fuck him now. He felt her desire gathering, tightening—and he was more than ready to erupt in her but held back, because he knew she was going to come again.
Her moans intensified, her breath growing still more shallow.
He sucked hard, pulling her nipple as far back in his mouth as he could, listening to her soft cry of pleasure.
He rammed his erection upward in hard, slow strokes.
And then it broke—he heard her sob, felt the slight collapse in her pelvis, then her cunt thrusting, thrusting, as she rode it out, her whole body moving and sliding against his, creating perfect friction.
Finally, she sank to his chest, appearing thoroughly spent. “Oh my God,” she finally whispered. “I can’t believe I came twice—just like last night.”
Running one hand through her silky hair, he smiled. “Why not?”
She sounded exhausted. “Well, I hear all the stories about multiple orgasms, but…I just never really had them—until you.”
“How was this one?” he asked softly.
“Um…intense.”
“In a good way?”
She nodded against his T-shirt.
And he instinctually rolled her to her back, without ever withdrawing, until he lay on top of her, peering down at her face, her cheeks flushed, her expression still impassioned.
He thought maybe he’d never looked so closely at her before this moment. Her green eyes possessed little flecks of gold and brown that made him think of a starburst. “Pretty eyes,” he whispered without weighing it.
Her smile was utterly sweet, her voice tender. “Thank you.”
And something in his chest tightened. He hardly ever had sex in the missionary position. Mainly because he generally found it boring, and confining in ways—but…it wasn’t boring now. Now it was like…too much; he was too close to her, face-to-face, their eyes locked.
And he knew he’d been close to her before, during all the other times they’d fooled around or fucked, but somehow this, just now, felt dangerous, like something he needed to back away from.
So he pulled out and said, “Turn over. On your hands and knees.”
She obeyed without argument, arching her pretty ass in the air, her skirt hugging her hips now and giving him a sumptuous view of her parted pussy before he molded his hands to her rear and rammed his cock back into her.
She cried out, and he said, “Tell me you like it. Tell me you like it hard.”
“Unh,” she moaned. Then, “Oh God, yes—I do! Give it to me hard.”
That was all he wanted, all he needed. Good, mindless fucking. He forgot about her eyes and drove back into her still-wet passageway—hard, hard, hard—as hard as he fucking could, until he reached the edge of bliss and let himself tumble over, yelling, “Christ, babe, I’m coming in you! Now.”
Ah, yeah—it was so damn good spilling his hot come in her, letting it loose, finally, after all these hours of building lust.
And when he’d emptied completely, that familiar exhaustion hit and he crumpled on top of her, felt them tumbling to the bed together—and as they lay there, silent and close, as he heard her breathing and took in the scent of her perfume combining with the rich aroma of sex, he realized turning her over hadn’t really changed anything.
He still felt close to her and there was apparently nothing he could do about it.
Shit.
So he simply kissed her on the cheek and let himself drift into post-orgasmic slumber.
Eight
A little while later, Brenna dragged herself from the bed, heading to the bathroom to wash up a bit. She took off her shoes, then shed her skirt on the way, exhausted but bubbling with a happiness she’d never quite experienced before. She felt downright giddy. And dreamy. About sex. About Damon. She’d just never known it could be this good. She’d never known being so naughty could feel so invigorating. It felt as if Damon had opened a whole part of life to her that she couldn’t have experienced without him, and her entire body hummed with an unsurpassed satisfaction.
Peering into the mirror, she sighed happily. She’d quickly grown used to her new hair color and cut. And now…she was even getting used to being a highly sexed woman, using her body in exactly the way it had been built to use.
And it suddenly hit her once more, with new force…that new Brenna didn’t really exist anymore—because this wasn’t an act anymore, someone she was pretending to be, or even trying to be. She really was new Brenna now, totally at home with Damon and totally at ease with all the outrageous sex they enjoyed together.
And this was probably stupid, probably dangerous as hell to even let herself ponder, but what if…what if this all somehow worked out and Damon wasn’t fired and they did keep working together? What if what happened in Vegas didn’t stay in Vegas, after all? What if they spent so much time together that he realized he was crazy about her, more than just physically, and that maybe a relationship wasn’t really such a horrible thing?
Letting out another sigh, this one girlishly hopeful, she withdrew her gaze from her reflection and reemerged into the bedroom, where she found that Damon, too, had kicked off his clothes and made his way under the covers. God, he looked good lying there, all sleepy and sexy and rumpled—and spent, because of her.
“Cell phone’s blinking, babe,” he told her, eyes shut.
She swung her gaze to the dressing table at one side of the room, where she’d dropped her purse and phone earlier. She’d left them at the hotel every night they’d gone out, having decided the purse would be a hindrance she didn’t need, especially since Damon’s Blue Night credit card c
overed all her travel expenses. And that was before she’d even understood that so much sex would be involved, so it had turned out to be an excellent decision.
Padding naked to the table, she picked up the phone, flipped it open, and retrieved the message.
Then she heard Jenkins’ voice. “Just checking in with you, Brenna. Damon mentioned in e-mail that you’re learning fast and have a real ear for music, so good job. Especially since things aren’t looking promising with Claire. I wouldn’t be surprised if she files suit very soon, and if that happens, you know what it means—Damon’s out and you’re in.”
Oh hell.
She flipped the phone shut, hoping Damon was asleep.
No such luck. “Anything important?”
“No.”
“Then why do you look upset?”
She glanced over to find his gorgeous brown eyes now open and studying her with clear concern.
“It was Kelly,” she fudged. “She’s having man trouble, that’s all.”
“Ah,” he said, tipping his head back lightly into the pillow, then letting his eyes close again. “Turn out the lights and come to bed. I want to wrap around you.”
So now she’d lied to him. Up to this moment, it had only been deceit, keeping something from him that affected him greatly, and that had been awful enough. But now she had pointedly, purposefully, lied to keep her dirty little secret.
And like she’d told Kelly when all this had started, she hated lying.
She did her best to swallow back the stinging guilt as she flipped off the bedside lamp and crawled beneath the covers with her lover—the man she was misleading in order to steal his job.
THE FIFTH NIGHT
“Pleasure is the bait of sin.”
—Plato
One
The next day, Damon informed Brenna that he needed to make a few phone calls to some of the acts he managed at Blue Night, and he was going to put them on speaker phone so she could hear how he dealt with “the talent.”
Thus she listened as he assuaged the fears of an alternative band whose first CD wasn’t getting as much attention as they’d hoped. And as he explained to an R&B singer why the release of his next long-awaited CD was being pushed back another two months. And as Blue Night’s biggest star, British rocker Malcolm Barstow, bitched Damon out over everything from song selection on his upcoming CD to not liking the photographer who’d done the cover shoot.
Damon dealt with each person differently, she noticed, playing into his or her personality and particular issues, until each seemed adequately appeased—although with Barstow, “appeased” was probably too optimistic a term.
After pushing the disconnect button the final time, he looked up from the sofa where he lounged in his usual jeans and tee to face Brenna, who rested on a satin-upholstered chaise. “There you have it,” he said. “The dark side of A&R. Think you can handle it?”
Not on my best day, she was tempted to say.
She knew how to deal with Jenkins when he was overworked and stressed out. And she knew that when Kelly was having a rotten day, the best thing to do was just agree with everything she said and it would all work out in the end. She knew how to fix copy machines and finesse Microsoft Word and efficiently run a small office with one hand tied behind her back. Yet despite Jenkins’ and Damon’s belief in her, she had no idea how to take care of people who probably had good reasons to be upset about problems that likely couldn’t be solved.
And sure, she’d talked to most of these people on the phone before herself, but only to patch them through to Jenkins or assure them their check was in the mail—and this was different. Old Brenna was a hand-holder, but not to angry, hysterical rock stars.
“I’ll admit I’m intimidated by everything I just heard,” she replied, trying not to sound as freaked out as she was.
“And I’ll admit that I usually don’t have to make three phone calls like that in a row. But being on the road allows things to stack up a little, and part of why they were all so mad is because I didn’t get back to them five minutes after they called. Artists are temperamental—that’s a fact of this business. You just have to address their needs the best you can.”
She nodded and hoped she didn’t look too worried. As she’d acknowledged to herself when he’d been networking with club personnel, Damon was a natural people person—and she just wasn’t sure she could see herself being that skilled at initiating relationships, or dealing with ones that were difficult, as Damon had just done.
“You know what you need to cheer you up?” he asked.
Okay, so clearly her fears were still written all over her face. “What?”
“Some new panties.”
She cast a flirtatious smile, having grown much more comfortable with her current social life than her professional one. “That’s right—you owe me a pair, don’t you? Or two,” she added, thinking back to their encounter at Fetish.
“Lucky for you, the Fashion Show Mall is close enough to walk.”
“Lucky for me, I happen to be sleeping with a guy who actually knows things like this,” she replied on a laugh.
“Well, I hope this won’t shock you too much, little miss Brenna,” he said with a wink, “but it won’t be my first time in a lingerie store.”
She let out a mock gasp, splaying her hand across her chest.
“And not only that—I’m not the kind of guy who stands at the door with his arms crossed, looking at his feet. I’ll be helping you pick these panties out.”
She laughed softly. “I can’t wait to see your choices. And just so you know, I’m not into crotchless. I require both practicality and sexiness in my undies.”
In reply, he snapped his fingers and muttered, “Damn.”
Two hours later, they’d crossed Las Vegas Boulevard and made the short trek to the stylish, upscale mall. In addition to replacing the red thong they’d ruined last night, Damon had picked out a black thong, a leopard-print thong with a black lace inlay on front, and an embroidered demi-bra and panty set of lavender silk and lace.
They’d held hands, kissed as they’d walked and shopped, and kissed some more as they’d stopped to grab a couple of sandwiches in the food court for lunch. Then they made their way back to the Venetian, Damon toting the little pink shopping bag with a natural confidence that made Brenna see how truly masculine he was.
“Not all guys would be happy about carrying a pink bag,” she pointed out, impressed.
He simply replied, “I’m not all guys.”
You can say that again. He was easily the sexiest, most confident, most seductive man she’d ever met. And he’d been giving her kisses over top of panty displays and around turkey clubs and—oh God—it was getting really easy to start thinking of him like…a boyfriend.
Which was emotional suicide—she knew that still.
He’d told her this was a temporary thing.
And she was lying to him anyway, so it was good it was only a temporary thing.
So quit thinking of him like a boyfriend, like someone you’re getting attached to.
If only it were that easy.
The fact was—she’d never been that kind of woman, the kind like Kelly, who could get physical with someone without starting to care. And she’d deluded herself there for a few days, thinking that maybe new Brenna was that kind of woman. But now that new Brenna was the real her…well, she was getting attached to Damon. And she was going to be hurt and lonely and empty when this ended, no doubt about it.
The only answer for now was the same she’d relied upon all week.
Push it aside. Don’t think. Just feel.
He kissed her at the door to her room—since he had more phone calls to make and some e-mails to send, and she’d decided she could use a nap—and when his tongue twined around hers and made her body tingle from head to toe, just like everything she did with him, she definitely felt. She felt it all. The pleasure. The emotion. The need to be with him.
The sad truth was that sh
e didn’t even really like parting ways with him for the afternoon. She’d grown so used to being with him almost around the clock these past few days, and that’s what had made her into the real new Brenna. Damon’s presence, his influence—the things he made her think, feel.
“Dress up tonight,” he said, still holding her hand.
“Dress up…how?”
He shrugged. “A sexy dress, if you have one.”
“Why?”
“You’ll see.”
Ah, her surprise. She’d almost forgotten. And she couldn’t imagine exactly where Damon planned to fuck her tonight that required her being dressed up, but she also couldn’t wait to find out.
Two
“Whoa,” Damon said when she answered the door that night at six sharp. His long once-over made her breasts tingle and her cunt pulse.
She bit her lip, feeling both sexy and sophisticated. “You like?”
“Babe,” he said, as if it were a ridiculous question. “That dress is…amazing. The way you look, I’ll be damn lucky if I can do our business before our pleasure.”
The black satin dress hugged her curves perfectly and revealed more of her body than anything she’d ever worn, with molded underwire cups that held her breasts in place of a bra, leaving much of them exposed. The hem dropped to mid-thigh, but a slit on one side made the short length even racier.
Kelly had insisted Brenna buy the dress, but she’d left the tags on, thinking she might return it—until Damon’s wardrobe instructions earlier, after which she’d known it was perfect for a night out in Vegas on the arm of the hottest guy alive.
She’d completed the outfit with strappy black heels featuring a bit of rhinestone bling across the toes and the dangly diamond earrings she’d worn at her wedding. In retrospect, this seemed like a better use for them.
Damon had dressed up, too—more than she’d ever seen him before—wearing a crisp white shirt, untucked, under a carmel-colored leather jacket, with his usual jeans below. As always, his grandma’s cross rested near his throat, visible between open buttons. “You look good, too,” she told him, offering the same bold perusal he’d used on her and not hesitating to let her gaze linger on his crotch, where—even without an erection—a very pleasant bulge appeared.
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