“Where’d you get these plants?” I ask.
“They’re terrariums. I make them.”
I raise my eyebrows, watching as she moves around the kitchen. “Yeah?”
She nods. “I don’t really do hobbies, but I guess if I had one, they would be it. There are more in my bedroom and my office.”
“You’re talented.”
She sets two empty tumblers on the counter. “And you’re far away.”
I take the invitation and round the breakfast bar separating the two rooms. The countertops are smooth and shiny, and my first thought is that I’d like to fuck her on one, but my second is that they’re legit marble, and Amelia could be quite wealthy. “How long have you lived here?”
“You’re wondering how I afford it.” She bends to open another cabinet. “Reggie bought it when we got married. He’d dumped a bunch of stock right before the market crashed in 2008. Then, with the fortune he’d saved, he bought it all back at a discount. Most of it multiplied in value.”
The market collapsed before I was in any position to own stock, but I knew some people burned by it—and by assholes who cheated the system. What I know of Amelia’s ex doesn’t make him look good. “Sounds shady.”
“It is,” she says, pushing heavy-sounding glass around the wood cabinet. “When we met, he spun it to make himself seem clever. He didn’t go to college, which had been a source of embarrassment for him until he became rich. Then he wore it like a badge of pride—filthy rich on a high school education. I eventually realized he’d been tipped off about the market, which is the complete opposite of cleverness.”
She stands with a bottle and unscrews the cap. When I notice the label, I raise my eyebrows. I don’t think I would’ve been more turned on if she’d taken off her top. “Glenlivet?” I ask, inching closer to her.
“It’s my drink.”
It’s Cellar Collection, and expensive as fuck. “Do you serve that to all your guests?”
“No.” She glances at me from under her lashes. “Just the ones I want to fuck.”
I hum, my chest vibrating, my stomach dropping. Her light perfume mixes with the whisky’s spice. She smells and looks good enough to devour.
She pours each drink carefully. “I hope neat is okay,” she says, and she isn’t asking.
“Perfect.”
She hands me one, and we clink glasses. “To tonight,” she says.
We each take a sip, and the liquor goes right down. It’s been a while since I indulged like this. With the change in my priorities came a change in how money’s spent.
“So,” she says, glancing into her glass, “how do we start?”
“How?” As satisfying as the whisky is, it’s no match for the taste of a woman. I set my tumbler on the counter and close the space between us. For once, she goes still and quiet. Perhaps I can flap the unflappable. I take her waist in my hands. “We can start like this.” I run my thumbs up her flat stomach. She inhales through her nose. “Or this.” I kiss her once on the lips before moving to the corner of her mouth. I brush her hair off her neck and make my way along her jaw. Already, her wispy breaths are bordering on soft moans.
“I’ll get a condom,” she says.
“I have one.”
“Let’s move to the bedroom.”
Her skin is smooth under my lips. I take her earlobe between my teeth. “No.”
“Why not?”
“I’ve got this, Amelia.” I place one hand under her skirt, caressing the inside of her thigh to hopefully turn those moans audible. “Just relax.”
“It’s been a while.”
“You said that already.” I pull back a little but squeeze her knee. “Are you having second thoughts?”
“No,” she says quickly.
My urge to have her, especially since it’s been some time for both of us, simmers close to the surface—but she has to be comfortable. “How long’s it been?”
“Reggie was the last . . .” She looks away. “That was a year ago, and even then, it was few and far between.”
“Ah.” A year. Good god. My dick stirs at the thought of how she’ll come apart under my undivided attention tonight. Just for the amount of time she’s waited, she deserves a ride to the moon and back. “Why me?”
“What?”
“Why’d you choose me? To be the first. I know you’ve had plenty of opportunities.”
She smiles a little. “Not really. I work a lot, and the divorce takes up any free time.”
“Bull.” I hold eye contact. “You could have anyone.”
She looks amused. “I thought I wasn’t your type.”
“You aren’t, but I’m not deaf, dumb, or blind.” Amelia surprised me tonight. I’m not used to such a direct woman, even if she is somewhat guarded. There’s no room for misunderstandings here, and I’m discovering, probably due to my unstable dating history, that’s a turn on for me. “You’re smart,” I tell her. “Upfront. Sarcastic. Beautiful, which goes without saying. I think all that’s sexy. But best of all, you know it is.”
She tilts her head at me, a smirk playing on her lips, her self-assurance back intact. “I’m not backing out,” she says. “You don’t have to woo me.”
“I’m not.” I wouldn’t be able to go a year without burying myself in a woman—not just fucking, but enveloping myself in her scent, the feel of her skin, her mouth. Amelia needs this. I need this. “I could’ve easily gone home tonight,” I say. “Something about you kept me in the city. I want to be here with you.”
She lifts one angular shoulder. “Eh. I could take it or leave it.”
I narrow my eyes at her, and she allows herself a small laugh. When I run my hand up the back of her thigh and take a handful of her firm, ample ass, her laughter vanishes. “I’ve been wanting to do that all night,” I say.
“By ‘all night’ you mean the last couple hours?”
I lift her onto the counter by her waist, satisfied with the way her lips pop open for a gasp. She remembers her cool just as quickly and closes her mouth.
“You have a lot to say,” I tell her.
“That surprises you?” she asks.
“No. You’ve been talking since the moment I met you.” I lean in, nab her bottom lip between my teeth, and let it go. “You don’t have to stop talking, but there are other things I’d like to hear you say.”
“Such as?”
“‘Oh, God.’”
“Oh,” she repeats in a moan, “God.”
I try again. “How about ‘oh, Andrew’?”
“Andrew,” she says, drawing out my name like she’s begging for something.
My mouth goes desert-dry, as I’ve forgotten to swallow. The burn of desire scorches my patience. I slide her ass to the edge of the counter, push her skirt high enough to part her knees, and fit myself between them.
“Here?” she asks. The counter is the only thing separating the kitchen from the living room. I can see out her sizeable windows into the night, into the city that never sleeps, into the windows and lives of other New Yorkers. The kitchen lights are on, and if someone were to look in, they’d see us.
“Here,” I say. “For round one.”
“All right then, handyman.” She leans back on one arm and picks up her drink. “Just how handy are you?”
“Allow me to demonstrate.” I slide both palms up her thighs until my fingertips brush lace. I peek under her skirt. “You sure you weren’t planning on getting lucky tonight?”
“Definitely not.”
“You’re wearing black lace underwear and your legs are as smooth as glass.”
She smirks. “They aren’t the only part of me that’s smooth.”
My cock, already awake, springs to attention. I dig my fingertips into the soft skin of her thighs, imagining what I’ll find when I peel her underwear away. “You just happen to be ready for me?”
She takes a long sip of her drink, sets it down, and sits forward to take my face in her hands. “I didn’t do it for you.
”
Maybe I should feel threatened, but I don’t. She’s made it clear there’s no one else, and if there were, as worked up as I’m getting, I could run laps around him. If fucking were running, that is. “Who’s it for then?”
“Me. I wear expensive lingerie and wax myself because it makes me feel good. Not because I hope it’ll get me a man.”
I arch one eyebrow and suddenly, it’s clear as day: this is what drew me to Amelia from the start. Her amazing figure and her sweet red lips didn’t hurt, but with confidence like hers, I can’t help wondering where it comes from. I’m about to reach the source of it, my hands creeping higher. “You don’t need a man to feel sexy.”
“Does that scare you off?” she asks.
“No, but thanks for trying.”
I tease the skin under the band of her panties where her thigh and hip meet. She bites her lip. I want inside that mouth. I want inside her walls tonight, even though they’re high. It’s been so long since I was this attracted to someone. “It’s fine if you don’t need me,” I say, “but I need you.”
She wiggles under my feather-light touch, smiling a little. “No you don’t.”
“Yeah. I do.” I slide my finger down the elastic. “I need you tonight. Will you let me in?”
She wraps her hand around my wrist to hold me still, spreads her legs a little wider, and rolls her hips once. I don’t need more invitation than that. I touch her gently with the pads of two fingers. It isn’t fair for me to ask for more than this, especially because I’ll be gone in the morning, and I won’t look back. But I’m old enough to know there are two kinds of sex. You can see the person you’re inside of, or you can do everything in your power not to. The sex I’ve had lately is the latter. It has to be. That doesn’t mean I like it that way. I miss connecting with my partner when we’re intimate.
No, it isn’t fair to ask to be let in, but I need something with Amelia, even if it’s small. “Don’t hold back,” I say. “Promise me.”
“I think it’s been too long for me to try and control myself,” she says, her voice already tenuous, hinting at the passion building beneath the surface. “I’m likely to fall apart in your hands right now.”
My heart thumps. It isn’t what I meant, far more physical than emotional, but the thought of her dissolving for me gets me going. I want to undo her, mess up her perfect hair, chase away the tension in her muscles, smear her makeup. I swallow dryly and realize I’m breathing through my mouth again.
“Are you all right?” she asks.
“Yeah.” Patience gone, I push her panties aside and really feel her. Her chest rises and falls a little faster, her forehead creases as she draws her eyebrows together. We maintain eye contact despite the rawness of the moment. She’s hot against the tips of my fingers, but not as wet as I’d like. I tease her, watching her expression. She sucks her bottom lip into her mouth as I press into her warmth—her armor’s not as impenetrable as I thought. Because of her hard shell, it feels like a win.
With my other hand at the back of her head, I pull her mouth to me. I taste the whisky on her tongue and push a finger inside her. She slickens around me. I add another, feeling her from the inside. Though our lips are mashed together, we don’t kiss, simply breathing together and finding a rhythm, her grinding on my fingers as I flick them inside her. I want to fuck—I don’t need any more convincing. She’s got to be good and ready for me, though. If it’s been a while for her, I have to make sure she enjoys this.
With my free hand, I search the back of her skirt. “How do I get this off?”
“Unzip it,” she moans.
I feel nothing but fabric and impatiently pull on the waistband. “Where? What zipper?”
“What?” Her eyes slit open, a lusty, drunken gaze. “Oh. Side.”
Side? What? I circle around her waist, searching, and she closes her eyes again, absolutely no help. “Please don’t stop,” she says.
I would chuckle over her sudden descent into arousal if I weren’t so hot to get the fucking skirt off. It takes a few more seconds of one-handed struggling to locate a side zipper, get the skirt all the way around her waist and untuck her blouse. I stop fingering her long enough to remove them both, along with her underwear, and not a moment more. I want her sopping when I enter her.
I pop her bra with one hand, and her tits spill out. They’re too big for her small frame, and her tiny, pebbled nipples beg for my mouth. I start with her neck, nibbling the thin skin under her jaw before making my way down. She arches for me, falling back onto her elbows, groaning. I take a nipple between my teeth as I continue to work her into a frenzy. She shudders against me, spurring me to thrust faster, harder. Her wetness makes my fingers slippery, and the sucking sound turns my cock to stone. I move to the other breast, feeling ravenous, mouthing her with fervor normally reserved for eating pussy.
Which I also plan to do—later.
I reach into my back pocket with my free hand and get a condom. Looking down her body, then into her eyes, I tear the wrapper with my teeth. “I’m going to fuck you now,” I tell her.
She nods hard. “Right now.”
“So give me back my hand,” I tease as she writhes on my fingers, “or open my pants for me.”
She pushes off her elbows and yanks me forward by the waist of my jeans. She unbuttons them deftly, sliding my zipper down. When she reaches in my underwear and wraps her hand around me, it’s all I can do not to growl. She isn’t timid. She holds me like a woman, her hand soft but firm, unafraid.
“You’re hard,” she says, stroking me once.
I stroke her too, curling my fingers inside her. “What’d you expect?”
“That you’d be hard.” She circles the tip with her palm, spreading pre-cum over my head.
I grit my teeth.
“You’re big,” she adds.
I hold her gaze. I like where this dirty talk is going. “What’d you expect?”
“That you’d be big. That’s two out of three things I was right about.”
“What’s the third?”
“I’ll let you know.” She pushes my pants down so they pool around my feet. Taking the condom from me, she positions it over my crown. Her fingers are long, but her hands are small, making me look even bigger as she rolls on the condom.
I love that she wants this as badly as I do. I love that she didn’t ask me to turn out the lights, that it didn’t even occur to her. I can see every part of her, the pinch of her eyebrows as she focuses, the pink flush of her chest, the swell of her nipples.
When she finishes, I kiss her hard, moving so my thighs press against the counter’s cabinets. I take my dick in my free hand, position it, and spread my fingers inside her, opening her up for me.
And then, she tenses up so tightly, she constricts around my fingers. She stops kissing me. I pull back a little to look her in the face. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” She pulls me back by my collar, and as quickly as she went taut, she’s jelly again. “I’m good.”
We both watch as I press my crown in. I don’t remove my hand from between her legs right away. I want some part of me inside her at all times. When I’ve begun inching my way in, I remove my fingers to thrust deep, anchoring myself to the hilt.
Her uninhibited groan is music to my ears, undoing me just a little. I slide out and dive back in. She’s hot, tight, but she takes all of me with each thrust. As I go harder, I reach up to touch her face, but she catches my wrist. She brings my hand to her mouth. I widen my eyes as she wraps her lips around my fingers and sucks herself off them.
Fuck me. The sensation of being suckled is enough to have me grinding into her but knowing she’s not shy makes my balls ache in the best way. I wrap one arm around her waist, lift her, and hold in her place as I fuck up into her. She releases my fingers, drops her head back, and silently cries up at the ceiling. Her tits jiggle in my face. With my other hand, I grab the nape of her neck and bounce her harder onto me.
“Giv
e me a drink,” I command, my voice foreign and rough.
She rights her head, looking down at me a moment. Since my hands are full, she grabs my glass and tilts it over my mouth. She drips a little onto my tongue, but because I’m still fucking her, it trickles, and she laps it off my bottom lip. I try to capture her tongue, but she arches back, allowing me a deeper angle. She drips Glenlivet onto her chest, and it rivers between her breasts and down her stomach. I suck it off her, following its path, as if her skin isn’t just covered in whisky but soaked in it.
“God, Andrew,” she moans. “You can fuck. Just as I expected.”
“Three for three?” I ask, panting.
She answers by swiveling her hips. My stomach tightens, my balls pulsing. I want to come. She hasn’t yet, but I need my hands to get her there, and I don’t want to put her down. I like holding her up, stealing any control she might try to keep.
“Touch yourself. Help me get you off.”
She wraps one arm around my neck and puts a hand between us to circle her clit. “Like that?” she asks, batting her lashes at me.
“Just like that, you perfect tease.” A growl rises in my chest as every muscle in my body tenses. “Come on, baby. I need to feel you grabbing my cock. I won’t finish until you do.”
She goes at herself harder, using her own juices to lube herself. Though the sight of her getting off with her own hand is something I’ll be picturing for a long time to come, I raise my eyes. I need to see her face. By the way she’s squeezing her eyes shut and gasping up at the ceiling, I can tell she’s close. But she isn’t there, not yet.
“Amelia. Look at me.”
She blinks a few times. Her skin is flushed, her blue eyes murky with desire as they meet mine.
“Good girl.” I want to watch her fall apart. Nothing will push me over the edge faster. “You wanted to fuck me in your office, didn’t you?” I provoke her. “Even though I was just the plumber.”
The First Taste (Slip of the Tongue Book 2) Page 5
