Cake

by Lauren Dane

  “Do you have cookies?”

  He rolled his eyes but turned, leaving the room and heading to his kitchen.

  “I don’t have macarons, I’m sorry to say. But I have some cake.”

  “Cake? I don’t have cake. Why do you have cake?” Though he nearly always had something sweet in his pantry.

  He turned. “I love cake.” He shrugged.

  She laughed. “I knew you liked it, but I had no idea you loved it.”

  “I love cake like I love painting.”

  “Like you love women?”

  He quirked a sexy smile that made her shiver. “I love women like I love cake. It’s a better way to say. It’s chocolate with almonds.”

  “Oh. Yes, please.”

  “News.”

  He pulled a pink bakery box from the cabinet.

  “I’ve been working on a proposal for my graphic novel, Jude the Assassin.” Working on. Ha! More like pouring every spare moment of her life into it. She’d had Zoe and Kelsey give it a final read the night before and had received happy thumbs-ups from them. “I…one of my classmates, her dad is an agent—he saw my website and asked me to send him something. I mailed it this morning.”

  He turned and moved close, pulling her into a hug and she couldn’t help it, she breathed him in. Clean man work sweat and all. Damn.

  “This is amazing news.” He set her away from him a little and she had to clench her jaw to keep from licking him.

  “I have…I have copies of what I sent if you’d like to see.” She blushed, she knew it. She’d agonized over every line, every drawing, every word. But she was proud of the final product.

  “I always want to see your work. Do I not beg you all the time to share it with me? Sit. You don’t need tea, you need champagne.”

  Of course he had many bottles of it in his fridge.

  “I can’t believe you have like five bottles of champagne in your fridge at all times.” She rolled her eyes as she pulled out the notebook where she’d kept copies of what she’d sent out.

  “I love champagne nearly as much as I love cake.”

  She did know that.

  “Fortunately champagne and cake go together rather well.” He popped the cork and filled two glasses, moving to sit across from her at the table.

  She took one of the glasses and he clinked his against hers. “To success, pretty bird.”

  She drank rather than responding because she had no idea what to say to that. He pushed a huge slice of cake her way and snatched the notebook from her lap, reading slowly as he drank and she nervously wolfed down eleven billion calories’ worth of chocolate and butter.

  He’d missed her. At first he’d been relieved when she hadn’t come to bring him things for the first days after that kiss. Kelsey came, thrust things his way, ordered him to sign them and had left. Which was fine. That was how they worked. She knew how to take him in hand and get him to pay attention to important things.

  But she wasn’t Wren. So he’d dived into this painting and had just missed what he wanted. Over and over. All while he pined for her like an idiot.

  And now she sat across from him eating his cake, drinking champagne and blushing.

  He felt better than he had in a week.

  And that was before he’d started looking through her notebook. What he’d seen from her in the past had been good. This? It was clear she’d spent all her waking hours perfecting and polishing. He wasn’t a great fan of graphic novels in general, but he did have a love of certain ones. He liked a good story. Liked some quirky stuff. Liked darkness but not for the sake of itself.

  Jude the Assassin. He smiled. “This is remarkable. If this agent does not represent you, he is an idiot and you will take the offer of the connections I made before.”

  She snorted and drank her champagne. “I’m going to do my best at putting this in the back of my mind for a while. I know this all takes time. I have final projects to finish up anyway.”

  “Maybe you can finally accept the fact that you don’t need art school. You are far too talented to be wasting your time.”

  She gave him a look and while he knew she was pissed, it made him a little hard, too.

  “This again?”

  “You have so much talent. You don’t need school.”

  “No. You don’t need school. I’ve learned a lot. It’s been good for me on many levels.”

  He sniffed and she rolled her eyes. “You’re such a snob. Oh, you lie around and arch your brow and pretend to be so artsy and hip, but you’re a total snob.” She gave him a sniff right back.

  “I am not a snob.”

  “You totally are.” She forked up the last bit of her cake and ate it, smiling at him the entire time.

  “Prove it.”

  She waved a hand at him. With an arched brow, she cocked her head. “Wren, you do not need art school. Real artists live and die by the work they are talented enough to create. What does school teach you, eh? A teacher cannot give you passion and fire. You have it or you don’t.”

  She imitated him so well he had to fight to keep from laughing. “I do not sound like Mr. Chekov.”

  “From the Star Trek?” Again in his accent. He gave in and laughed.

  “I do not say the Star Trek.”

  “Missing the point there, Mr. Man.”

  “You are talented. You didn’t learn that in a classroom. You have it all inside you.”

  She scooted her chair closer and took her notebook, flipping through it. “Here. You see how I’ve shaded this part?”

  He nodded.

  “I learned that in an animation class. It’s a technique. I can’t learn passion, but I can learn technique. I learned how to storyboard in a class. I have absolutely benefited from school. I even met this agent through a connection at school. Most of us are not geniuses. We don’t all fall out of our mothers with a paintbrush between our teeth.”

  “That sounds painful.”

  She shook her head, rolling her eyes as she did. “You take for granted how special you are. You’re lightning in a bottle, Gregori. The rest of us have to work a lot harder than that.”

  He leaned closer, even as he knew he shouldn’t. “I believe art is in here.” He tapped her chest, above her heart. “Not here.” He tapped her forehead.

  “But some artistic endeavors are both. This is a business. What I do involves multiple mediums that are evolving all the time.” She paused, so very close to him. Her eyes glittered with their passionate discussion, her chin jutted out a little. Defiant.

  God, he wanted her.

  And then he smelled her skin.

  “What perfume do you wear?”

  “My sister-in-law makes bath and body stuff. Soap, lotion, all that. She created a custom essential-oil blend for me. Several actually. This one is rose with a tiny bit of amber.” She laid her head to one side, exposing the line of her throat to him.

  Unable to resist, he leaned in and breathed her in. “I like it. It’s unique.”

  She turned her head but he didn’t move back.

  “You may have a point about art school.”

  He blinked, trying to clear his head. “What?”

  “You were going to say that. Right before you kissed me.”

  “You may have a point about art school. But I’m not going to kiss you.”

  Her nose scrunched up in a rather appealing way. “Why?”

  “Why?” he repeated, confused by the entire conversation.

  “Yes. Why aren’t you going to kiss me? You’re staring at my mouth. You’re sniffing me. I heard that whisper of a groan when you did, don’t think I didn’t. You want to kiss me, Gregori.”

  “I want a lot of things.”

  She laughed, leaning a little closer and still he didn’t move away. “You do. And you take them all. You have a need for instant gratification, Gregori. Cake. Champagne. The signs are all there.”

  Struck frozen by the sight of her there so very close, the rising scent of her skin as she heated
up, he licked his lips. “I told you why the other night. It was a good kiss, I can’t deny that. But we are friends. It should stay that way. I don’t want to mess that up.”

  One of her brows slid up slowly.

  And then she licked her lips. Only not nervously like he had. Sensuously. Knowingly. This side of her was scorching hot.

  “You’re going to kill me.”

  “Then you should go out doing what you want to do.”

  “Should I? Well, that might…injure you.”

  Her laugh was different than her usual. Low, throaty. A full-on seductive sound and it stroked over his skin like a touch. “That sounds like something I’d enjoy.”

  He closed his eyes.

  She knew he was wavering. Knew his control was thinning. This called for some action or they’d never kiss or have sex or any of that fun stuff.

  “A year, Gregori.” She pressed a kiss to his shoulder. “A year you’ve flirted with me.” Another kiss at the hollow where shoulder met body. “You’ve looked at my boobs when you thought I didn’t notice.” His pulse thundered against her lips when she kissed his throat. “And then you laid a kiss on me. In the dark, pressing me against a wall in a nightclub.”

  She climbed into his lap and he drew a shaky breath.

  “I felt just how much you wanted me then.” She rolled her hips, grinding herself against his cock. “I feel it now. Question is, Gregori, do you enjoy me as much as you enjoy cake? And how can you know unless you take a taste?”

  She brushed her lips over his mouth and his eyes snapped open. “Indeed.”

  His muscles, which had been tense, loosened and then he pounced. He wrapped his arms around her, hauled her closer and kissed her.

  Kissed was a word she supposed. But it was more like he devastated. He took. He tasted and sipped and teased. He devoured her until she was breathless and her breath shaky.

  All from kisses.

  “More,” she whispered against his mouth.

  “You sure?” He picked her up and deposited her on the edge of his large table.

  She reached out and grabbed his cock, squeezing lightly to answer his question.

  He growled and stepped forward, standing between her legs. Busy hands undid her hair, his fingers tunneling through it, freeing it. He tightened his grip, pulling her back, kissing her throat. Licking. Nipping until she might have made a sound surprisingly similar to a wordless beg.

  “Yes. Again. I want that sound again.” He pulled her sweater up and off, leaving her in a camisole and her bra. “So pretty.” He kissed across her shoulder, the tickle of his beard bringing a hitch to her breath.

  She grabbed his waist, working his pants open. He swore when she took him in her hand, fisting, sliding up and a down a few times.

  He muttered in Russian, drawing aside the straps from her camisole and bra, kissing the bare skin he left behind.

  More muttering in Russian. Hearing it made her so hot.

  “What? What are you saying? You’re giving me a complex.”

  He snorted, tipping his head to look into her face. “I can’t get at all of you adequately here.”

  He then simply bent his knees, got a better grip on her ass and picked her up. Laughing, she wrapped her legs around him and held on as he marched through the loft and into his bedroom.

  She’d never been in there. It was surprisingly serene. Not that she thought about it long because three seconds later, one-handed, he divested her of her cami and bra and she hugged him, skin to skin.

  His nipple rings were cool against her breasts. His muscles bunched and relaxed as he moved. He was so hot she didn’t even have the time to panic about how heavy she was.

  He went down to the mattress with her, rolling so that he was on top. She managed to kick her shoes off as he went back to her mouth, kissing her again with a zeal and heat that scorched.

  More. God, she wanted so much more she was nearly mindless with it.

  “Pants off. My god, man! You’re killing me.” She shoved at his chest with one hand as she tried to get his jeans down.

  He laughed, backing off enough to get his pants down. She had hers mostly off, really glad she’d gone for the fancy underpants instead of the plain white cotton ones she usually opted for.

  He was… “Wow.” Which was probably the greatest understatement she’d ever made in her entire life. He was incredible. His ink swirled around his thighs. Up his sides, down each arm. Thick, powerful thighs to match a thick, hopefully powerful cock. Acres of skin covered taut muscles. This was a man who worked with his body. Not bulked, but a swimmer’s build, or that of a runner or cyclist.

  He was as badass naked as he was clothed. Tattoos, pierced nipples, the scarlet mohawk, scruffy beard, piercing hazel eyes.

  “You have great hands.” Strong, big. And what they said about hand size and other things being equally sized was totally true in his case.

  He grinned. “Hands? You have great tits.”

  “Well, I couldn’t very well go straight to complimenting your package. That just isn’t done.”

  He chuckled. “Feel free to do it. I won’t tell anyone. Now get the rest of your clothes off and back over here.”

  She complied quickly, before he could change his mind, though given the state of his erection, she didn’t think he would. Still, she didn’t want to take any chances.

  “Come closer, kotyonok.” He crooked a finger and she wrapped her arms around him, tipping her face up for a kiss.

  “Kotyonok?”

  He kissed her chin and down her neck.

  “It means kitten. Though I’ve no doubt you’re more fun.” He laid her back and kissed his way down her chest, to her belly and worked his way up again to focus on her breasts. They were better than he’d imagined. And as a man who loved breasts big and small, he’d done a lot of imagining.

  He teased. Nipping, licking, sucking until she writhed, her nails digging into the flesh of his back, urging him on. Beautiful there in his bed, her workstrong body beneath his, the burn of a new idea began to form at the back of his brain. He grabbed her hips, fingers digging into the muscle there to keep from grabbing a pencil.

  He took her in as she smiled up at him, her dark hair a silky tousle around her face. Bold. She was fire and feminine grace. The strength of the muscled legs and the lean arms. The curvy bounty of her hips and those breasts. She took what she wanted. Demanded her due.

  He didn’t need a pencil. Not when the image of her this way would be burned into his brain for a long time.

  Pushing it from his head, he bent. A brush of his mouth against her ribs and she shivered. She trembled with a soft sigh of his name as he licked over the hollow at her hip bone.

  When he spread her open and licked, she arched on a hiss.

  He learned her, learned what she liked, what made her tense up and what made her thighs shake. He loved this. This power at the heart of a woman. And when she came, he lapped up that quicksilver pleasure and took her in, the smile marking her lips.

  She cracked an eye open. “You’re apparently a genius at sex, too.”

  She made him laugh.

  “We have only just started.”

  She sat up, kissing across his chest, licking over his chest, scraping her teeth over his nipples until she tugged on the rings with her teeth.

  He loved that.

  “Act one you scored a ten. Tell me you have condoms and you’ll get bonus points.” She grabbed his cock. “But you don’t need one right this second. I have plans.”

  She shoved him back, kissing down his belly.

  The sight of her on hands and knees above him was nearly his undoing. He had to take a deep breath to center himself because she was so raw and sexual in that moment it was all he could do not to flip her over and plunge into her body hard and fast.

  And that was before she angled him at the root and slid her mouth down over his cock.

  He made a strangled sound and said stuff in Russian. It made her smile. Even bonel
ess still, from that stellar blow job he’d doled out, the way he fell back to his mother tongue when he was in the throes of emotion was adorable. Not that she’d say so out loud.

  “I like the way you taste,” she said, licking across the head.

  He groaned as she continued to tease.

  She pushed him up slowly, reveling in the fact that what she’d wanted for so long was actually happening. She liked knowing what made him hot. Liked discovering he preferred the flat of her tongue under the crown to the tip.

  He grabbed her upper arms and heaved her up. “Do not move.” He jumped from bed and she watched a very spectacular ass and back as he hustled into the bathroom.

  Returning just a moment later, he tore the wrapper open with his teeth and sheathed his cock quickly. “Hands and knees.”

  Not a question. Not a request.

  Good lord.

  Heat blasted through her as she rolled up and did as he’d said.

  His beard tickled the small of her back when he bent to kiss her. She arched as he tested her readiness but when he began to push into her body there was no way she could stop the moan. He felt so ridiculously good.

  His fingers dug into her hips, holding her still as he continued to push inside. Taking his time. Making it so deliciously slow she tried to push back, but he held her in place.

  “Oh no, kotyonok. I’m in charge. You’ll get it. I promise.”

  And he kept his promise. But stole her breath again as he pulled nearly all the way back out and thrust in again in one quick movement.

  It was so good and she wanted it so bad, she was glad her hair covered her face because she was fucking delighted. Triumphant even that she’d finally broken past his control and that it was so stellar. Sex with a Russian artist bad boy was all it was cracked up to be and more.

  He knew exactly what he wanted and he took it. And then he gave it to her. Knowing exactly what she wanted. One of his hands snaked around the front of her body and found her clit, circling it slowly in time with his thrusts.

  The pressure of her impending climax built with each breath. It was good. And then it was better. And better. Little arcs of pleasure danced around her nerve endings as he played her body perfectly. They had major chemistry. The combo of their bodies and all their various pheromones and chemicals was delirious and when she came, he was right there with her, pressing in one last time, hard and deep as she writhed, biting her bottom lip so hard she tasted blood.