“How old are you?” she asked suddenly.
“Twenty-eight, and you?”
“Thirty-nine as of two weeks ago.” She looked at him for a moment and then went to the sink to rinse out the plates and glasses.
“Oh, excuse me,” Ian said, backing out of her way as she almost bumped into him on her way back to the island.
They moved around the room in an awkward dance, with Tam flickering strange looks at him until Ian wondered what exactly he was doing at this woman’s house. So what if they’d had a great time against the back of her car? That didn’t mean she wanted to date. Ian cleared his throat.
“I came over to get your number,” he said. “I thought about calling but then realized I had no idea what your number was.”
“Are you sure that’s not just an excuse? I can’t imagine you not having access to Jasmine’s phone number.” She finished slicing her carrots and swept them from the cutting board into a silver bowl already lined with freshly washed lettuce and pieces of broccoli. “Which, by the way, is also mine.”
“Cut me some slack, I’m trying not to seem like a stalker here.”
“Oh, I see.” She smiled at him as she put away the cutting board and knives before wiping clean the checkered marble countertop.
Ian leaned back against the cupboards and watched her. She seemed so confident here, so sure of herself. Was he the only one caught unawares in this awkward moment? Then he noticed the slight tremor in her hands as she turned off the stove. “I’ve been thinking about you,” he said. What an understatement that was. Obsessed. Priapic. Under her damn spell.
Those were better words to describe what he was feeling. “And?” She finally stopped her movement around the kitchen. Her eyes bored into his.
“I think you should take some of the blame for that. If you hadn’t invited me into your car…” or answered the door that night over a week ago or even existed, “then I’d be safe on my side of town and you’d be free to eat your tofu alone.”
She bit into a baby carrot and chewed slowly. “Who says I want to eat my tofu alone?”
Ian watched her for any sign that she was playing with him. He stood up from his prop against the cupboard and felt the ground steady under his feet. Tam stayed where she was, chewing her carrot, watching.
Her skin was soft. He thought he had dreamed that, too. Velvet under his hand, buttery on the tongue. Ian sucked her finger into his mouth, tasting the hints of carrot, broccoli, and dish soap that clung to her skin. She fell into a deeper slouch against the island, and her lips parted as she watched him taste her. He kissed the back of her hand, the inside of her wrist, her elbow, and then her shoulder. Tam’s arm draped on his hip bone, and her hand fell forward to rest against his ass.
“Beautiful boy,” she murmured, exploring the contours of his round ass with her fingers.
He wanted to tell her that he was a man not a boy, but her skin entranced him, and all he could do was slide his palms up her back, and that motion became a lift onto the kitchen island, and then he was tugging off her panties and burrowing under her skirts to find the source of the smell that had been torturing him since he’d walked into the house.
She shaved. He hadn’t properly noticed it before when they were fucking on the beach, but now his tongue glided over her smooth flesh without resistance. He sighed and then groaned. She smelled so fucking good. He teased her with his tongue, lightly touching the soft bud of her clitoris as he bathed the sensitive flesh with his breath. Her pussy eagerly opened up for him, and he went, gently, inside. She tasted like rain, fresh and abundant. Tam sighed and fell deeper onto the marble surface. Her legs floated up to his shoulders, and Ian caressed them as his tongue savored the delicate flavor of her pussy.
This was what he came here to eat. Fuck the tofu.
She gasped as his tongue pushed firmly inside her. His nose nudged her clit, and she gasped again. Her hand settled on top of his head.
“That’s…perfect.” Tam moved against his mouth, murmuring soft nonsense words as he ate his fill of her.
Ian freed his aching cock from the prison of his trousers, passed his hand briefly over it to put on a condom, and then he returned his attentions back where they belonged. His mouth was wet with her, his nose full of her smell, his arms full of her softness. He groaned against her clit, and she jerked. Her hand fluttered down to his neck. His mouth opened wider as he used the flat of his tongue on her clit, lavishing it with deep strokes and sucks until her breath was nothing but hisses and her nails bit painfully into his skin. Her hips cycloned on the countertop, thrusting harder and harder against his face.
“Oh!” The sound was reluctant, an escapee from her tightened lips. She bucked against him. Then her cunt fluttered and flexed as she came. He stood up swiftly and buried himself inside her. The last flutterings of her pussy tugged him instantly deeper, hurling him toward his own orgasm. Too fast, but he’d take what he could get. He pushed his dick inside her to the hilt before withdrawing, then again and again. He was so close. She clung to him, scented, pussy wet, and warm. He could feel her building again, and he forced himself to slow down. He wanted her so much. His body sang with desire, heated like he’d just come from the sauna, breath out of control and loud in her kitchen.
Tam’s hips flew into motion again, and he heaved, panting over her, trying to ram them both into the marble countertop. Her hands flew back, reaching for something, anything that wasn’t him. A glass fell to the floor with a harsh crash. She slid across the counter, and he followed, grunting and ravenous. The sweat poured down her face and neck, staining the white linen of her blouse. Her nipples strained through the tank top, begging for his mouth, his tongue. He wanted to see them. He wanted to taste them. But—shit!
They came, panting, together and collapsed in a sprawl across the sweat-slickened surface of the kitchen island. After a moment she pushed at his shoulders. He was heavy. A groan escaped Ian as he slipped from her and then from the countertop. His thighs and arms still ached from their session on the beach two days before. Without bothering to hide himself, he stripped off the condom and dropped it in her kitchen trash. Then, noticing the broken glass, he carefully swept it up with a nearby broom and dustpan and tossed it in with the used rubber.
“That was a little presumptuous of you, don’t you think?”
“What?” Ian looked up from tucking his shirt back into his trousers. His knees felt weak. What was this woman doing to him?
“To come here with a rubber in your pocket.”
“It’s not just you,” he said. “I’m always prepared.”
Tam lay back, propped up on her elbows, watching him. She was always watching. The wet flower of her pussy, framed by the white skirt and the sprawl of her thighs, made him stop, slow down, and almost reverse the direction of his zipper. Ian cleared his throat and backed away.
“Can I see you again?” He made a show of examining the salad bowl, ignoring the heavy drum of his heart. He wanted this. In the worst way. He had no idea what it was about this woman that had him by the balls, but she had him. “I’d like to do it in a bed sometime.”
She threw her head back and laughed. “You are a presumptuous little fuck.”
“Little?” He raised an eyebrow, and she laughed even harder.
Ian shook his head. She still hadn’t given him an answer. But he knew she would say yes. The hum of her pussy around his dick was her yes. She just didn’t know it yet.
Ian left the salad bowl alone. “Come on. Be nice to me, and show me around your house. Afterward, we can have some dinner.”
She watched him, speculation bright in her eyes. Then she hopped off the kitchen island and brushed down her skirt. “Why not?”
The house was made for comfort, clean smelling and cool, with plants scattered on every available light-filtered surface and an adventure of color— olive green, maroon, shell pink— on each wall. It was a feminine, cozy house, with canvas after canvas of beautiful art on the walls—large
fantastical nature scenes, painstakingly realistic in their detail, down to the whisker on a bunny’s nose, the dusty blue of a butterfly’s wing, but with a hint of something otherworldly hovering in the background. The artist’s use of light and shadow was beautifully effective.
“Your place is nice,” Ian said. “I especially like the art.”
“Thank you. It’s mine.”
“Really?” Ian nodded, impressed. “It’s very good.”
“I know. It pays the bills.”
So she was a working artist. He looked around the house again. Very nice.
“You have a beautiful home.” They ended the tour in her bedroom. “Very beautiful.”
The room was like her, lush and overwhelming with its color. Red walls, a vivid blue rug on the hardwoods, a queen-size bed covered with a bright red Mexican blanket and six solid colored pillows. The only calm spot in the room were the bare canvasses on the walls, stretched and framed bits of white space scattered like light around the room.
“Thank you.”
He felt his body reacting to her again. It didn’t seem fair when she seemed so unaffected. Ian wanted her to react to him. “Have you ever had a man in here?”
“Not with my child in the house.”
“That makes sense.” He looked at her again, considering. “Will you have me in here?” He pulled his shirt out of his pants and started to unbutton it. “She’s not home.”
Her hesitation didn’t stop him. Ian stripped for her, tempting her with his tight, flexing body. One pair of pants, socks, shoes, and boxers later, he stood naked at her bed while she stared from the bedroom door.
In the mirrored closet door, he saw a reflection of them, Tam with her mouth bitten red and her nipples hard against her shirt as she leaned back against the closed door. Ian’s body was hard and flawless, a visual feast of muscled calves, thick runner’s thighs, hardening penis, washboard belly, and hard, hairless chest. His face was open to her, showing her how much he wanted to touch and be touched, how very much he’d like to fuck her on that holiday miracle bed of hers and knock all those damn pillows to the floor.
“You know, you can,” he said. “Have me, that is.”
“What makes you think I want you?”
It was his turn to laugh. “I know your pussy is wet for me now.” His eyes flickered over her body as if he could see beneath her clothes to the thickening lower lips and the moisture gathering there. “You want me to go down on you again, or do you just want to fuck? The bed is right here.” He decided to change his tone. “Making love in it would be so sweet.”
“I don’t believe in making love.” She said the last two words with a scornful curl of her lip. “Only in fucking.”
He shrugged. “I’m always down for that, too.”
Ian didn’t go to her. He waited for her to come to him, and she did.
“Did you bring only one rubber?”
“I’m sure you have some here.” He prayed she did. The last thing he wanted to do was put his clothes back on and trudge down to the damn corner store for some condoms.
“You’re right.” Tam smiled. “I do.”
She traced the muscles of his chest with her fingers as though she couldn’t help herself. Her thumb flicked one nipple. Then the other. Ian drew in a quick breath. This woman was playing with him. Every touch of her hand, every smell of her turned his brain to shit. And she knew it.
Her hands roamed over his chest, tracing its contours and curves. She touched his throat, squeezing it for a moment, and then stroked his jaw, his cheeks, and the beginnings of his stubble.
“You’re so fucking hot, you know that?”
It was a rhetorical question. One he apparently wasn’t even supposed to pay attention to because she pressed close to him, crushing his hard, aching dick between his stomach and hers. Tam licked his mouth, tracing his closed lips with her tongue, begging for entrance with the quiet undulation of her belly against his dick, until he opened his mouth and let her in. She tasted like carrots. Her tongue slipped between his teeth, dancing against his tongue while his dick hardened even more and throbbed against her. He pulled briefly away from her to strip off her skirt and blouse.
Tam didn’t wear a bra. She didn’t need to. Her breasts stood up perky and firm in the cool air of the bedroom, inviting his fingers and mouth. He didn’t bother complimenting her. She had to know how breathtaking she was. Now that the fever of lust was gone, he could take the time to savor her intoxicating beauty like fine wine. His hands shaped her body, traced the long-limbed smoothness of her, the softly sighing, pleasing length of her that made him feel a little mad, a little drunk, and a far way down the road to infatuation.
Ian pressed her backward on the bed, bending her lithe body until they fell onto the surprisingly soft blanket. He grunted softly. Their kissing was slow and teasing, a biting of lips and sucking of tongues, and then deep, sweeping tastes of each other’s mouths that felt so damn good they almost didn’t need to have sex for Ian to get off. The press of her skin against his was electric. Her tongue in his mouth, her hands on his ass, over his back, in his hair, all were driving him slowly insane with pleasure.
She rolled his balls in her palm while her tongue moved, sweet and slick, in his mouth. It felt like she was licking his balls, turning the flesh over on her tongue like candy. Tam moaned deep in her throat, but it was Ian who reared up, suddenly very eager to be inside her. He felt, ridiculously, like a fourteen-year-old boy again with his first woman, although he could swear that back then he had more self-control than now.
The bed sighed as he eased her onto her back and slowly parted her thighs. He was teaching himself control, too. It didn’t make sense that he wanted her so badly, not when they’d just had a really amazing fuck in her kitchen. He’d always prided himself on his self-control where women and sex were concerned. Pleasure was Ian’s way of keeping the women he wanted captive. Make them love the dick, love his tongue on their pussy, so they wouldn’t think twice about leaving. Them dying wasn’t something he could control.
She swallowed him without hesitation. The slick walls of her pussy welcomed him, sheathed him in liquid pleasure. Ian arched his neck back, a long, luxurious groan easing its way out of his throat. No pussy had ever felt this good. None. In a bed, it was even better. Her legs slid up the backs of his calves and thighs, and she sighed.
He moved deeper inside her, slowly, hitting her clit on the down stroke. Their breaths came slowly, deeply as they watched each other, their combined efforts breaking out the sweat on both their bodies. Ian sank deeply again and then sped up his rhythm, alternating the deep, heavy fuck with the shallow, clit-skimming one that made her lips part in surprised pleasure.
His body felt rich with desire for her, his dick, his balls, his muscles aching to please her even as her molten wetness dragged him near the brink. The red blanket exhaled the scent of lemons and rosemary as he propped himself up on his hands and fucked her harder. He felt the sweat gather in the deep muscles of his back, flowing down into the crack of his ass. Tam grabbed his biceps and gasped as her orgasm took her by surprise.
“Ian!” She reared up in the bed, rising up against him, but he held her, slowing his strokes but still diving against her clit to prolong her orgasm. He kept on going, and she chuckled through her sighs of pleasure.
“Are you on a mission?” She gasped.
“Something—like that.”
He could fuck her all night. Her fingers skimmed up his chest, sliding over the muscles slick with sweat. It didn’t matter that she saw him as young and cocky, only that under him she sighed and moaned and clung, her legs winding around him like ropes as the bedsprings creaked and the lamplight flooded over them, highlighting her pleasure-streaked face and the eyes that grew wider and wider with surprise the longer he lasted and the more she came. Ian’s muscles began to ache, but he didn’t ease up.
At one point she might have gasped “stop,” but it became another “don’t stop,” and her bre
ath reeded in her throat, climbing up the register of need and pleasure and fulfillment. She lay beneath him, her face, throat, and chest wet as if she’d just come from a bath.
The sounds of dawn—early work traffic, the fading music of night creatures, dedicated morning joggers—began to filter through the window. Only then did Ian let himself go inside her. He lifted her leg and her ass until she was perfectly positioned for what he wanted. Her eyes opened even wider, and she growled. She actually growled. Ian wanted to laugh, but his dick had control of everything in that moment, and it only wanted to come.
His hips pistoned into the bed, and he let his voice loose, grunting and gasping as the feeling, leashed before like a captive lion, roared in his body until he was shivering with the electricity of it and his back ached and he was coming fast, fast, fast inside her pussy. He took her with him. Tam reached back to hold on to the scrolled headboard, her mouth opened, her back arched high off the bed, her hips jerking in perfect counterpoint to his.
“Fuck, yes!”
Their frantic breaths roiled against each other in the aftermath. Ian rolled over and brought Tam’s unprotesting body with him to lay on his chest. Her breath still came heavily, her face buried in his neck, and the rest of her body draped over him. Their lazy sex smell tugged at him, inducing the beginnings of lethargy.
He blinked at her ceiling. Fuck. This woman was magic. Ian hadn’t been able to enjoy himself like this in a really long time. He sighed and relaxed even deeper into the bed.
“You can’t stay.”
He looked down at Tam. She pushed herself up and away from him, separating herself from his body and then the bed. Her lovely ass, damp from their sex, sauntered to the other side of the room. She plucked her robe from the closet and put it on.
“Sorry.” Her look wasn’t sorry at all.
He sat up in the bed. “Can I take a shower first?”
“Sure.”
Like everything else in this house, the bathroom was built for comfort. It had a roomy, glass-encased shower fitted with a radio, CD player, and mirror. The massive tub sat on the other side of the bathroom with various delicate smelling, feminine things neatly tucked away on shelves within arm’s reach. He climbed into the shower and turned on the water.
Propositioning the Professor (Professional Lovers Series Book 2) Page 4
