“You close, honey?” I said against her throat.
“So close,” she confirmed.
Under my pants, my cock throbbed. It ached. It wanted to spring free and put itself to good use. Hell. It wanted to be exactly where my hand was at that moment. To be inside her when her orgasm rocked her, to feel against my erection what I’d felt against my tongue. At the thought, my cock didn’t just throb. It leaped painfully against my zipper.
Down boy.
The silent, crotch-directed order did nothing to tame my need. I tipped my mouth to her ear again, my eyes on the cabbie, making sure his eyes stayed forward.
“You have no clue how badly I want you right now,” I said to Aysia. “I want you on me. Around me. I want to sink myself into you. Slow at first. Then a little quicker. Just like this.”
I increased the tempo of my attention to match my words. Up and down, all while holding the flat of my palm firmly in place. I sunk my teeth into earlobe and tugged. She moaned out something that could’ve been a curse, or my name, or even just a primal, wordless sound—it was impossible to tell. Her body shook under my hand, her lips open and wet.
“Don’t hold back,” I said. “Come for me again.”
I watched her face as she did. Her lids fluttered and her mouth quivered for a second before she bit her lip hard. Her hips lifted a little—once, twice, and a third time—then shuddered and collapsed against the seat, her thighs closing tightly on my hand.
As her breaths evened out and her eyes opened, I expected her to turn her attention to the driver. Maybe to see a hint of a blush. Instead, her bright blue gaze stayed fixed on my face. If I needed an ego stroke, there it was. Her hot, appreciative stare was all mine. With my free hand, I brushed back a strand of her loose hair, then ran my thumb over her bottom lip. I wanted to do things with that mouth. To that mouth.
Yeah, it’s not your ego that needs the stroke, is it?
I adjusted my legs—and by extension, my rock-hard erection as much as our position would allow, which wasn’t much at all. Not enough, for sure.
“How many more minutes now?” This time, the question was all eagerness.
“About one.”
“Thank fuck,” I said.
She laughed. It was a good sound. Melodic. It filled the taxi for a moment, and it made me grin.
“You liked that one?” I teased.
“I like—”
The cab jerked to a halt, cutting her off. I stared at her for a moment, waiting. What did she like, I wondered? My dry jokes? The way I made her body respond to mine? Strangely, I hoped it was all of it. That what she’d been about to say was that she liked was me.
Instead, she just waved to the squat but modern building outside. “Guess it was less than a minute.”
I shook off the odd feeling and reached across her to fling open her door. “Guess so.”
As she climbed out, I let my gaze linger on her curved ass and lithe legs for a minute before reaching for my wallet. I snapped it out, then snagged a hundred from the small stack inside.
“I don’t have change for that,” the driver said.
“I’m not asking for any,” I replied, holding it out.
The cabbie eyed the bill—an eighty-five-dollar tip—then eyed me, too. “You drunk?”
“Sober as they come.”
“Yeah?”
“Uh-huh. Better take it quickly,” I added. “Before I change my mind.”
He grabbed the bill as if I’d pull it away. “Thanks, man. For real.”
“Thank you. Ride of a lifetime.”
“You coming, Marc?” Aysia called from outside the car.
I swung my feet to the ground and grinned up at her before standing. “Not yet. But I hope to be soon.”
“Pervert.”
“You have no idea.”
“Not yet,” she threw back with a wicked grin. “But I hope to soon.”
“Oh, really?”
She nodded. Then she lifted a perfect brow, licked a delicate top lip, and turned on a pointed heel to head up the front steps of the building. And I’m not ashamed to say that I chased after her at something damned close to a run.
* * * *
Aysia
Nerves and excitement battled as I made my way up to the heavy glass doors at the front of my building. There was no doubt in my mind that I was in for a mind-blowing night. In the last half an hour, I’d had more non-self-induced orgasms than I’d had in the previous year. And if he was that good with his mouth and his hands, I couldn’t wait to see what he could do with the rest of his body. My fingers trembled with eagerness as I reached for my purse and my key card.
My purse.
“Shit,” I groaned.
Marc’s palm landed on the small of my back. “Problem?”
“I left my stupid purse at the stupid pub.”
“Whoops.”
“Understatement.”
“Are we locked out?”
I shook my head. “I can use my password.”
He swept aside my hair and kissed the back of my neck. “Good.”
I moved to the keypad, finger outstretched. Then paused. For the first time since Marc had sat down beside me at the bar, I considered that what I was doing was slightly insane. I’d left the security of my favorite pub, the company of my best friend, and—apparently—my purse behind. I was glad I’d opted to use an app on my phone as a payment method, or I’d be scrambling to call the credit card companies instead of scrambling to find a way into my apartment.
Still.
Every bit of safety I could count on was back there. My phone, key card, and pepper spray. And what I’d taken home instead was an enormous hunk of man. Probably almost twice my size. Dangerous at best. Suicidal at worst.
It’s not like you’re the first woman to ever bring home a one-night stand.
But still…
“Second thoughts?” Marc said, his mouth near my ear.
I tried to make myself shake my head and I couldn’t. I angled myself away from him instead, and met his warm gaze.
“What if I said yes?” I asked.
“To having second thoughts?” He sounded surprised.
“Yes. What if I told you I no longer want to let you take me upstairs? That I want you to forget we met and forget where I live?”
“I’d leave.”
“Just like that?”
“Yeah, honey. I probably wouldn’t be able to forget that we’d met, but I sure as hell wouldn’t force my way upstairs, and you wouldn’t find me on your doorstep tomorrow morning.”
“Oh.”
“Not what you wanted to hear?”
I shook my head. “I don’t know.”
He touched the back of his hand to my face. “If it makes you feel any better, I’d also have the bluest case of blue balls ever in the history of blue balls. And probably have to choose between calling a hooker and taking eight cold showers.”
I leaned into the caress, my breath already shortening. “Okay.”
“Okay to which part?”
“I want you to go.”
He dropped his hand and drew back, his mouth open. “Really?”
“Yes.”
“All right.”
He turned away wordlessly and descended the steps to the street. I watched his wide shoulders as he started to move up the road.
He’s seriously leaving. Not even going to argue.
It was that simple. All I had to do was ask. Was he going to walk back to the bar? Find someone else? The thought of that made my chest squeeze uncomfortably.
“Wait!” I called.
He stopped, then turned back to me slowly. “Yeah?”
“Don’t go.”
“Don’t go? You going to change your mind again in two minutes?” He
smiled crookedly, but I could tell he really wanted to know.
I shook my head. “No. I didn’t really want you to go in the first place.”
His smile widened. “A test to make sure I’m not a sex-crazed lunatic?”
“Does that make me crazy?”
“Possibly. Or just cautious.”
I shifted from foot to foot, feeling more than a bit foolish. “Are you leaving?”
“Do you want me to stay?”
“Yes.”
“Then hell no, I’m not leaving.”
He strode back toward me, taking the stairs in two steps. He grabbed my face in his hands, then backed me up to the wall. Immediately, my arms came up to land on his shoulders, and my hand slid to the soft, thick hair on the back of his head. For several intense moments, we clung to each other. Forehead to forehead. Chest to chest. Our breathing quickened together, and I tipped my head up. He was several inches taller than I was—maybe six-foot one to my five-foot seven—but he was bent down enough that my move put us in kissing distance. Our lips brushed, and he pushed me back even farther. I closed my eyes, prepared for an onslaught. Hoping for one.
What I got instead was the squawk of the building’s intercom. “I can hear you breathing.”
Marc and I froze, and I fought a laugh as I recognized the cranky voice.
“Hi, Mrs. Fisk,” I greeted, pulling out of Marc’s embrace regretfully.
“Aysia?” My ninety-year-old neighbor sounded equally annoyed and confused.
“Yes, Mrs. Fisk.”
“What the hell’s going on down there?”
“We…uh, I…slipped and bumped into the intercom.”
“It’s the middle of the night.”
I fought another laugh; I doubted it was even ten o’clock. “Sorry, Mrs. Fisk.”
“All right.”
I waited until the intercom button clicked off, then turned my attention back to Marc. “Were we about to do something?”
“You were about to open the damned door. And you were about to do it quickly.”
I couldn’t stifle my snort of laughter anymore. “Okay, Blue Balls.”
He shot me a disgusted looked. “That is not going to be my pet name.”
“BB?”
“No.”
“Please?”
“Are you trying to make me leave again?”
I laughed again, punched in the code, and the door buzzed. Marc held it open for me, then put his hand on my back again. This time, I didn’t question the possessive, natural-feeling gesture. I didn’t wonder if it was dangerous. I leaned into it a bit instead, letting him guide me through my own door. But as we moved into the warmth of the lobby, I decided I did want a few extra moments to collect myself. And being stuck in a six-by-six elevator with a man who turned my knees to mush would definitely derail the recovery moment.
“I’m on the second floor,” I said. “You mind if we take the stairs?”
“Do I get to walk behind you and stare at your ass?”
“Is that going help you with your blue ball situation?”
“Probably not.”
“Good.”
I heard his muffled chuckle follow me as I pushed open the heavy door and reached the first step, I turned and shot him a look. “Seriously?”
He blinked at me, confusion evident in his frown. “What?”
“A hooker or a shower? You couldn’t just…you know. Take care of that yourself?”
He laughed, his caramel chuckle echoing through the stairwell. “With you on my mind? I’m not sure I’d be able to satisfy myself.”
“I’m going to take that as a compliment.”
“Believe me. It is.”
I snorted, then slipped off my heels and ran up the stairs. I could feel his eyes on my ass, as promised. And by the time I reached my floor, he’d caught up.
“You’re trying to torture me, aren’t you?” he asked.
“Don’t pretend you don’t like it,” I retorted.
“I won’t. I’m just trying to think of an appropriate punishment for the torture.”
My mouth tipped up, and I shoved my heels into his hands. “Hold these.”
I punched in the second set of codes on my door, then pushed it open. As I flicked on the light then led him from the entryway into the open living space, I felt strangely shy.
“This is it,” I said.
Marc’s gaze swept the room. I liked the space a lot. I was proud of the décor, picked out to match my personal tastes. There was a wall of classic novels, and a few framed prints. I had a vintage turntable and a stack of records, and a rack full of wine that I never seemed to get around to drinking.
“It’s perfect,” he said after a few moments of scrutiny. “Classic but modern.”
“Yeah?”
“Definitely. Is this building an Eco-Go design?”
I nodded. “You know the company?”
He nodded back. “Getting to.”
I bit my lip and thought about telling him I worked there. Was it too much information? Too many details for a night like this? If I started talking, would I be able to stop? I’d probably overwhelm him with enthusiasm, all based on his simple, polite observation. After a quick consideration, I decided it might kill the mood.
Better not to say anything.
“They design great things,” I said instead, then gestured toward the wine rack. “Would you like a drink?”
“Just one,” he said, a sideway smile tipping up his lips. “Wouldn’t want to do anything I regret.”
“Ha ha.”
I grabbed two glasses from the display case, then retrieved the nearest bottle and carried it over to kitchen where I searched for the corkscrew. It took me three drawers and a good dig before I finally found it.
“Aha!” I said, lifting it triumphantly.
“I don’t know if I should slow clap, or wait for your acceptance speech,” Marc joked.
“Maybe wait until I’ve actually opened it to decide.”
I was kidding, but after a few minutes of fighting to get the corkscrew to cooperate, he stepped in and took over. He jabbed the curly tip into the cork expertly, twisted it, then freed it easily.
I shot him a narrow-eyed glare. “Show off.”
He answered my grumble with a smile. “Twice I’ve saved your ass, and that’s the thanks I get?”
“Saved my ass, huh?”
“Yep.”
He slipped off his suit jacket and hung it over one of the kitchen chairs. Then he put one hand on the counter beside me and reached around me with the other to pour the wine. As he leaned back to hand me a glass, he kept his body pushed against mine and took a small sip from his own. The effect was instant sensuality. His lips on the rim, sucking off a drop. His thigh pressed between my legs. His eyes on mine unwaveringly. I wanted to toss aside the wine, take him by the tie, and pull him to the ground.
“Marc…” I heard the raw need in my own voice.
Clearly, he did, too. “Take what you want, honey.”
So I did. Slowly, though, because I wanted to enjoy it. I set down the wine glass on the far end of the counter, then grabbed his and put it beside mine. I wrapped my fingers around the tie—silk, I was sure—and tugged him closer. Without my heels on, I had to stand on my tiptoes to reach up and drag my lips over his, and I realized he was taller than I initially thought. More like six-foot three than six-foot one.
“I like tall men,” I murmured against his mouth.
“Oh yeah?”
“Mm-hmm.”
I closed my teeth on his bottom lip and tugged. In response, he made a throaty noise, somewhere between a groan and a growl. I sucked it hard for a second, then let go and gave him a gentle, full-mouth kiss before pulling away again.
“What else do you like?”
he asked.
I unknotted his tie, then brought my fingers to his shoulders and slid them down the length of his arms. “I like strong, capable hands.”
“What else?”
I pulled his palms to my hips and pushed to my tiptoes again so I could run my tongue along his throat. “I like a man who tastes as good as he smells.”
He exhaled a groan. “Fuck, Aysia.”
I smiled and slipped a hand to his top button and teased him. “I like that, too. But I’m not quite there yet.”
“Mmph,” he mumbled.
“Sometimes, I like to be in charge. But sometimes, I like a man who takes control.”
I undid the first button, then the next and the next. With my eyes on the strong line of his collarbone, I pushed the shirt open and ran my fingers over his chest. His skin was soft, but the muscles under it were hard enough that I wanted to forego my slow exploration and tear the rest of the buttons off so I could have a better look. And a better feel. I made myself refrain.
“I like the look on your face right now.” My voice shook with desire as I moved to open the shirt all the way to his stomach. “I like the way your eyes keep closing and the way your lips are a little wet.” I reached the last button, and my hands shook, too, as I unfastened it and moved on to his belt. “I like how fast your heart is beating and how you’re trying to hold still, but I can feel your cock twitching against my leg.”
“That’s a lot of likes,” he replied, low and thick.
“I have a long list,” I said. “I keep adding to it. Usually when I’m lying in bed naked.”
“Do you like being naked?”
“I do. Speaking of which…unzip me?”
I yanked off his belt, dropped it the ground, then spun around to give him access. I leaned my elbows on the counter and looked over my shoulder expectantly.
“Sweet Jesus,” he swore, his eyes raking up and down my body for a second before he reached for the zipper.
He undid it swiftly, with sure hands, and in moments, I was standing in front of him in nothing but my panties.
Chapter 4
After Hours Page 4
