by Poppy Dunne
But Fraser continues to brood—manfully brood, yes, which is super hot, but still. Brooding over cocktails is more of an F. Scott Fitzgerald type thing. You know, the man who writes all day and drinks like a fish all night while bemoaning how nobody understands him, man.
I don’t want my first date with Fraser to go like this.
“Before we get to the stuffed cactus and solid gold caviar portion of the evening, can I propose a toast?” I clink glasses with him. “Here’s to you telling me what’s turned you into a surly beefcake all of a sudden.”
Fraser glowers, but seems intrigued. “Did you say beefcake?”
“Yes, handsome. A big, beautiful, brooding beefcake.”
“I admire your alliteration.”
God, the way he says that gets me wet, but I’m serious right now. “So as I’m replaying the evening in my mind, I recall that when we first saw each other in the shabby, cigarette-smoke choked lobby of my building, we were a little smitten.” I lean forward, aware that the candlelight is undoubtedly plumbing the depths of my cleavage. Plumb away, baby. “Do you agree?”
“More than a little,” he growls. I do believe it’s heating up in here, folks. Fraser draws nearer, and I’m aware again of how his stubble rasped against my cheeks, how his lips claimed mine in that hot, ferocious way. How I’m aware—and aroused—by his presence. But if we’re going to do this, we need to bare all before we, well, bare all.
“Then tell me,” I say, leaning close enough to get in kissing range, “why you got all weird when I joked about taking appointments.”
The smolder dies; the sizzle vanishes; the grill of lust is turned off to save more propane, or whatever. Fraser retreats back to his corner of the table, brooding at the lobster tail that has appeared before us. And yes, there is a crouton with caviar placed atop a cactus flower to complete the presentation. But it doesn’t matter how fancy this dinner is, there’s no way we can move forward if he won’t freaking talk to me.
“So I guess I’m going to enjoy this amazing meal in silence? Or are you trying to telepathically communicate with me?” I put my finger up to my temple and squint. I’m going for a ‘trying to receive telepathy look,’ although it may just come off as constipated. “Come again, Fraser? Come again!” I have to restrain myself from kicking him under the table. Fraser looks up at me again, his face a textbook example of ‘sexy brooding.’ Man, the sight of that gets me hot. But I need a little verbal seasoning.
“What do you imagine I’m saying to you right now?” he asks. Okay, at least that’s something. I ease up on the squinting, but I leave a finger to my temple, committing to this mindreading act.
“I’m getting some hesitation. A few choice comments about how amazing my tits look in this dress.”
“I, er, that is.” His eyes flick once to my cleavage, and his shoulders relax. “Well, guilty as charged.”
I giggle, and Fraser’s mouth quirks a few times. Trying to repress all that pesky laughter. Before the night’s over, I’m going to make Fraser Drake scream. With pleasure, that is, not pain. I mean, unless he’s into that sort of thing? I digress.
“But the biggest image that’s coming across, loud and clear?” I make a fist and thrust it into the air, wincing as I do so. “A huge, impressive stick right up the butt.”
Fraser took a sip of his cocktail as I do that, and nearly chokes into his napkin. “Keep your voice down,” he whispers, but the twitching mouth corners have returned. I squeeze my eyes shut.
“I mean, it is better than a prostate exam, this stick. It is filled with hopes and dreams, hopes and dreams you’re trying to stuff away into the deepest orifice.”
“We are in one of the most elite restaurants in the city.” He tries to say this sternly, but now I can hear that he’s losing control. Laughter is imminent. “My God, I can’t take you anywhere.”
“Oh, you can take me. Anywhere,” I quickly amend, though I’m serious about the first part of that sentence. Fraser’s manful smolder, his flinty self control, his laughter, it’s all a potent combination that makes me want to start doing things to him under the table more appropriate at a strip club than a fancy restaurant. “But the price is talking to me. Before the lobster is gone.” I take a bite of that heavenliness. “And better do it fast, because hot damn this is good.”
Fraser leans back in his chair and looks at me. The heated focus of his gaze sends a flush of gooseflesh over my arms. I slowly put down my fork, wanting nothing more than to press myself against this man, take him in my arms, listen to him. I want him to let me in.
And he does.
“All right. I have…issues with trust,” he admits at last. Normally I’d respond with a snarky comment along the lines of ‘tell me something I don’t know’ but not right now. Fraser absently rubs his chin; whatever he has to say is struggling to find its way to the surface. “When I was at Cambridge, I met a woman. Hell, the word woman seems inaccurate based on my feelings at the time. I thought she was a goddess. I fell passionately in love.”
He says it with the low, even control of a man who can master anything—any skill, any emotion. My heart warms even as my stomach drops. Where is this going? Is it going to end with him admitting he’s only using me to forget about a past flame?
Only way to figure it out is to let him continue.
“We were together all through university, and afterwards we moved in together. When we turned twenty-five, I planned to ask her to marry me.” He waits while the waiter shows up to pour the wine for our next course. Fraser looks into my eyes as he picks up his glass, swirling the wine so that it catches the light. “Unfortunately, she left me for another man.”
Jesus. “You were together all those years, and she just up and left?”
Fraser nods; it looks like this physically pains him, but he’s being stoic about it. “Something like that. Her leaving was bad enough, but I’m rather proud.” He clears himself; ‘rather proud’ is kind of an understatement, and I think he knows it. That’s like saying Moby Dick was ‘a slightly big whale.’ “I decided I didn’t want to feel pain like that ever again. In some ways, it was the pitying looks on people’s faces that made it all the worse.” He clenches and squares his jaw, obviously replaying all the ‘your girlfriend left’ greatest hits in the privacy of his own mind. “I never wanted to feel like that again. Like a fool.”
“So…you’re afraid I was going to schtup the mailman if you didn’t show up first?” Holy shit, I don’t mean that to sound as disrespectful as it does, but the words fly out of my mouth like flying things that have been enjoying tequila. I wince, and my whole body clenches. “Sorry. That sounded flip.”
“No.” Finally, Fraser smiles. It’s a small smile, but it melts me all the same. “That sounded like you. Which, incidentally, is what I like.”
I feel his hand come to rest on my thigh. It’s not the ‘hey baby, take me home’ creepy squeeze I’m used to from other men. You know, the kind of squeeze that usually gets a salad fork in the hand and a drink in the face. This squeeze is secure and securing, warm and increasingly hot at the same time. Fraser’s eyes never leave my face as he leans in closer.
“I don’t like to get close to people, Emma. In fact, I avoid it whenever possible. But you’re too tempting to ignore.”
I’m pretty sure I’m about to turn boneless and slide under the table in a pool of jelly. But that’s probably not sexy.
“Ignore.” That’s not even a question. That’s just a word that happened to leak out. I swallow, try again. “Me. I mean, don’t.” What am I saying? Don’t ignore me? Oh God, I’m flushing. I can feel it happening. And wouldn’t you know it? Fraser smiles.
“Oh, I already know it isn’t possible to ignore you. You’ve a smart mouth, a striking wit.” He leans in closer, pulling us toward each other like comets about to smash into each other and shatter before their pieces rain down and burn up in earth’s atmosphere. God, why do I think of Neil Degrasse Tyson’s voice when I’m about to kiss a
man? “And,” Fraser adds, oblivious to my internal astronomy lesson, “you’re fucking gorgeous.”
He practically growls that last line, and my body clenches. I’m pretty sure these panties are ruined now. I forget about my panties, the lobster, and all of the richest people in Los Angeles that are in this room right now: I am about to be kissed by Fraser Drake, and I am about to enjoy it. A lot.
Fraser squeezes my thigh again as he brings his lips to mine. Part of me wants to leap on top of him and start tearing at his clothes, but that doesn’t seem like the classy thing to do. Unfortunately. His mouth claims mine once in a searing, white hot kiss. His fingers trail a little higher up my thigh, and the low, throbbing feeling right between my legs is aching for his special attention. But he breaks off the kiss, and removes his hand. A gentleman through and through. And while part of me can’t stand waiting, the other part is loving how on edge he makes me feel. I’m about ready to come undone, and I think Fraser is as well. The tightness of his mouth, the wildfire that seems to have been kindled in his eyes, it is all enough to make a woman feel kind of like a goddess.
But not a goddess like the one he dated before. No, more of a smoldering, sensual, kind of silly goddess. The kind that wants cupcakes brought to her sacrificial altar instead of doves. Much more humane and sugary that way.
Careful, Emma. Pay attention to the hot man, ignore the delusions of grandeur.
“Then let me promise you something, Fraser.” I place my hand over his on the table—see folks, nothing naughty going on here. I hear his breath hitch at my touch; it’s like he can’t believe it’s happening. “I don’t play around with men. When I’m sleeping with somebody, that’s it. They’re the only one I’m with.”
“I see.” He takes my hand, his thumb brushing against the sensitive, thin skin at my wrist. “We haven’t slept together yet, of course.” Oh yeah, there’s sheer wickedness lighting up his face. Sheer semi-British wickedness. It’s a smile that promises dirty deeds and lots of tweed jackets. God, I’m getting horny just thinking about it.
“Think we should rectify the situation?” I brush my foot against his leg, just once.
We don’t stay for dessert.
10
Fraser
I’m barely able to get the door to my apartment open. Emma’s got her arms wrapped around my neck, and I’ve pressed her back against the door. She presses herself against me, one leg hooked around my waist. Fuck, this woman is limber. If I don’t get this bloody door open soon, I’m going to have to take her in full screaming sight of the security cameras. The men in the booth downstairs will have an eyeful.
My ability to think vanishes as Emma kisses me again. She tastes of perfection, perfume, lipstick and wine. Her hips move against mine, and my erection throbs. I need her inside, now.
“Easy,” I breathe, finally snagging my keys from my pocket and sliding the right one into the lock. Half a second later, I shove the door in, pick Emma up by the waist so that her legs encircle me completely, and carry her into the apartment. My pulse is wild, my breath coming in hot, fast gasps. I swear, if I accidentally bang Emma’s head on the doorway, I will entirely kill the mood. And that I can’t bear.
Fortunately, I get us inside and kick the door shut. I drop the keys onto the hallway floor, and continue to carry Emma into the living room. The lights are all off; only the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook all of downtown Los Angeles let in any illumination. The city’s a glittering sea of…glitter.
I am too drunk to make sense, but drunk enough to have sex. The perfect state of inebriation.
“Where to first?” she whispers before biting my lower lip. Christ, I can’t keep myself from moaning. This woman can do the most intoxicating, erotic things to me with only the slightest effort.
“First,” I whisper in her ear, pressing burning kisses down her neck, “we have to get naked.”
Emma bursts into a giggling fit, and I freeze. There it is again, that bastard pride standing by my shoulder and shaking his head. I must never, ever be embarrassed or made to feel small. But Emma nuzzles at my cheek, and kisses me. A woman who nuzzles, by God. I thought I’d foregone nuzzling for the rest of my life. I’m so damned happy to have been wrong.
“I like tipsy you.” She plays with the hair at the nape of my neck. “Sure I’m not taking advantage, Mr. Drake?” That is the kind of voice that implies she’s now batting her eyelashes in an overly flirtatious way.
Fuck yes.
“Sure I’m sure you’re not taking advantage of me, or I of you.” I say that in the gruffest, sexiest voice I can conjure, and it sounds so good I don’t think either of us cares it made no sense. I lay Emma down on my sofa, managing to do it without dropping her or falling onto the coffee table. Her hair is a spill of gold across the soft leather cushions. Even in the semi-darkness, I can see her eyes shining with need. This woman needs me to fuck her brains out, and I am at her service.
My cock is so hard and throbbing that I know it will need release, and soon. But I’m distracted with Emma, too enticed by the exploration of every satiny curve of her, the warm, wet heat between her thighs. I skim my hand up her leg, her thigh like silk. She opens for me as I find the lace of her panties. I push that thin layer of material aside, Emma watching me with widening eyes. Her breath hitches as my thumb grazes over the swollen bud of her clit. Christ, this woman is sopping wet for me.
Being a god must feel like this.
I circle her clit, slowly and languorously, and listen to her gasps as they pitch higher and higher. Emma arches her back, her mouth falling open. Her body bucks against me as I slide one finger into her. Fuck, she’s tight as a drum. Her pussy clamps down on my finger as I tease her. I don’t go too fast; rather, I circle slowly, pumping my finger in time to her gasps. I let the orgasm build as she whimpers. Then she starts calling my name.
“Fraser. Please. Oh, God.” She moans, throwing back her head and exposing her white throat. I lean down and kiss her neck, trail kisses down to the hollow of her throat as I slide in another finger. Emma’s entire body trembles as I thrust faster and faster, as her hips grind to meet me. She’s on the verge of orgasm; I can feel it. It’s been so long since I felt a woman tremble on the precipice of ecstasy. For the moment, I’ve forgotten my straining need. Emma is all that I see or can think of: her breath, her groans, the way she trembles as—
“Oh God.” She goes high and breathless as she comes, her pussy clenching on my fingers. Her body shudders, and she lifts off the couch a little. I feel her body ride out the orgasm, and I swear if I’m not buried inside of her in the next few minutes, I’m not going to last. Grunting, I pull down her panties as she sits up. Her hair is mussed now, and even in the urban twilight I can tell she’s flushed. Her mouth meets mine, tongue thrusting and searching. While I kiss her, I unzip the back of her cunning little dress. Within seconds, she’s down to only her bra. She kicks off her shoes as I slide out of my jacket, undo my tie, unbutton my shirt. Emma’s hands fumble to help.
“Hurry. I want you inside of me,” she whispers, reaching back to unclasp her bra. That is the sweetest invitation I’ve ever received. When the little construction of lace and silk falls away, I’m treated to a glimpse of the finest pair of breasts I have ever seen. Even though my experience has not been limitless, I’ve seen enough to know that I am, at this moment, the luckiest bastard in Los Angeles. Emma takes my hands and guides them, lets me touch her. My thumb skirts over her nipple, and I receive a surge of pleasure as I watch it harden and peak. Emma closes her eyes, sighing softly as I lean in and take one breast in my mouth, then the other. She leans back against the sofa as I lick her other nipple until it’s hard. Her fingers slide through my hair, and I finally tear myself away. Emma’s hands fumble at my belt, and I remove it. Thank God I don’t whip it out so hard that the buckle whacks one or both of us in the eye, because I am too aroused to go to the emergency room right now.
I slide a condom out of my pants pocket, the foil crinkling
. Emma’s eyes glow with a wicked light; her mouth quirks in a delectable smile.
“Planning ahead, boy scout? Or whatever the English boy scout equivalent is?”
“I believe they call them Polite Lads in Sussex,” I growl. Emma unbuttons my trousers and pulls them down, my erection springing free. I catch the way her jaw drops at the sight of me, well, exposed. She takes me into her hand, and it’s all I can do at that moment not to come. The very touch of this woman is sexual electricity.
Then she slowly squeezes me, her hand gliding down my length and back up again. Fuck, if she takes me in her mouth it will be game over. I take her wrist and delicately stop her. She snatches the condom from my hand, unrolls it over my cock. Finally, it’s time. Emma lies back down, and then she’s underneath me. The taste of wine on her lips is as erotic as the feel of her body. My heart is pounding; I haven’t been with a woman in so damned long. And I haven’t let myself truly give over to anything this exciting in even longer.
“Please, Fraser.” Emma whispers my name, her lips ghosting across mine.
Her silken legs slide up around my waist. I trace my cock up and down the wet seam of her pussy, listening to her moan. She thrusts her hips, wanting me inside, but I tease her. I circle the head of my cock around her swollen clit again and again, letting the orgasm build in her body. Then, when she’s right on the cusp of ecstasy once more, I slide into her in one long, slow thrust, filling her entirely.
Fuck, I’ve never fit so perfectly inside a woman before. It takes every molecule of self-control that I have not to come at once. Emma is gasping in my ear, taking me in to the very hilt. Finally, I’m sheathed utterly within her. I claim her mouth, tasting her as she whimpers. She wants me to move. She’s fucking begging me.
