Sinful Love (Sinful Nights #4)

by Lauren Blakely

  “Something that’s out of place. Something you don’t expect to see. A pink sock fluttering on a bush makes you wonder why a pink sock is there. A dog with a goofy expression that makes him appear almost human. The moment before a kiss when the woman is surprised.”

  “Do you photograph kisses often?”

  She shook her head. “Not often enough. I’d like to, though. I’d like to do a photographic book of kisses.”

  “Would you put yourself in it?”

  She shrugged. “Maybe. Depends if I looked like I wanted the kiss desperately.”

  Oh, that was too easy. He stepped closer, swiped his thumb across her chin, and held her face. A tiny gasp came from her throat, and her lips parted.

  “Yeah, like that,” he said, his voice rumbling as he held her gaze. The look in her green eyes was hazy, full of want. “That’s the image you want to capture.”

  “Maybe I don’t just want the before,” she whispered, her accent thicker, the way it sounded when she was more turned on. She was more French when she was aroused. He brushed the barest of kisses on her lips, a small, gentle kiss that made his skin sizzle. “I want the after, too.”

  Before. After. In between. He wanted it all with her. One simple kiss and he was on a slingshot into wild longing.

  “I want it, too,” he said, his voice low and hungry.

  She pulled back and blinked as if refocusing. “You keep distracting me from packing up,” she said, her voice soft and playful. “And I need to, so I can steal you away from here for a few moments.”

  He swept his arm out grandly toward her camera bag. “By all means, pack up then.”

  She tucked the remaining items in pouches and pockets, keeping her eyes on him. “Thank you for what you said about my pictures. About how you see something in a new way from them. That means a lot to me. Sometimes I go back through old photographs and see new details. Some slant of light, or a new angle. Something that wasn’t there before.”

  “Will you look at them all later? Hunting for details?”

  She nodded, meeting his eyes. “I will. Including that one of you.”

  The temperature inside him rose. “What will you search for in that one?” he asked, and when she looked at him like that, her gaze intense and knowing, the breath fled from his lungs, and he felt…disarmed. She was so direct. And yeah, she’d been like that when he knew her before, but it was magnified now, amplified by age and worldliness, as if all her inherent confidence had been strengthened and sculpted over time.

  “Maybe I’ll remember how it felt to have you in front of me.”

  His head felt dizzy. His blood rushed hot. “How does it feel?”

  “Like a favorite memory is real once more. And real is very, very good.”

  * * *

  She didn’t want another ghost. She wanted the solidness of Michael. The warm skin. The beating heart. He was flesh and here with her. That fueled her, made her want to answer this persistent hum in her bones asking for nourishment, asking for all she’d been deprived of.

  Contact. Connection. A thread binding her to another human being.

  But asking for all that was too much, too soon.

  Instead, she gestured to the edge of the pool area as she hiked her bag on her shoulder. “Walk with me?”

  “Where are we headed? Are you hungry?”

  “Starving.” She patted her stomach, flat as could be as they walked. “You know I always have a good appetite.”

  A smile spread slowly on his face, and he nodded. “Super metabolism,” he said, since that was what she’d called it.

  “French metabolism,” she added.

  She was slim and trim, but she didn’t deprive herself. She wasn’t a pig, but she wasn’t a “I’ll just have the salad” girl, either. Her secret was simple—she put one foot in front of the other and burned it off.

  “Still walk everywhere?”

  She nodded and then held up a finger as they reached the doorway leading into the hotel. “Wait. That’s not true. I took an Uber today,” she said, like it was a confession.

  He arched an eyebrow. “Naughty girl.”

  “I know. I’m the worst. But in my defense, I went several miles away. Breakfast with Becky.”

  “Yeah? How was that?”

  She scrunched her brow. “A little odd, to tell the truth. I’ll talk to you about it at lunch. If you want to get lunch?”

  He nodded. “Sure. I know some great spots here at Caesars. But do you really only have twenty minutes? Because that would mean taking you to the vending machines on the third floor and springing for pretzels.”

  A grin tugged at her lips, and she stage-whispered, “That’s what they tell the girls. To make sure they’re back in an hour. So I actually have about that long.” She set her hand on his arm, wrapping it around his bicep. Oh, that was nice. He was so toned, so strong. Julien had been ropy and lanky. Michael was broad, firm, and just…bigger. Stronger. She liked that he felt different from what she’d been used to. “I thought we’d be done by now. That I’d have you arrive at the end of the shoot and then…”

  “And then what?”

  She shrugged happily. “And then…” She let her voice trail off once more, leaving possibilities lingering in the air. The truth was she’d been hoping for more of last night. For a repeat performance, and then some. She wanted to touch him, to smash into him, to feel him grind against her, and to wrap her legs around him. Call her greedy, call her needy—she’d own up to all of that. But when the director had told her the shoot was lasting well into the afternoon, and maybe the evening, she wasn’t so sure she’d get what she wanted. She’d have to settle for lunch. She gestured right at the next corner, indicating the hallway that led to business suites in the hotel.

  “Where are we headed, Annalise?”

  “I left my purse in our suite—we all use it for the day. It’s kind of cool. Like a dressing room, because the models get ready there.”

  “So it’s full of bikinis?”

  “Yes. It is”

  “Will you model some for me?”

  “Would you like me to?” she volleyed back, as the sparks zipped between them. The flirting—the heady, decadent flirting—was fantastic. She wanted to inhale it, let it fill her body like oxygen after too long without air.

  “I believe that was established twice—a few minutes ago, as well as on the terrace last night.”

  “Last night was interesting,” she said softly as they reached the door.

  He tilted his head. “Yeah? Interesting is kind of vague. What made it interesting for you?”

  “Seeing you, of course.”

  “Was that all?” he asked.

  She knew he was fishing. But she wanted him to catch her at the end of his line. She needed him to reel her in.

  She leaned in close, her head bending to his neck, her breath traveling across his skin. He smelled so damn good, clean and masculine, his aftershave hinting at the scent of the forest. “Touching you.”

  His hands shot out, gripping her upper arms. Tightly. “You like touching me?” he asked, his voice low and gravelly.

  Like? She fucking loved it. She wanted her hands all over him. Wanted to explore him.

  “So much.”

  He exhaled hard. “One hour, you say?”

  Her lips pressed against his neck, then she whispered softly, “Sixty whole minutes. Minus ten now, from the time we spent on the pool deck.” She said it like an invitation.

  “Let’s get out of the hallway then.”

  She nodded, reached for a key, and opened the door.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Bright lights assaulted him. Fluorescents shone starkly from the ceiling, revealing one wall lined with makeup counters, and four mirrors with exposed light bulbs framing each. He reached for the switch to dim the light to a normal illumination so he could be alone with her without retinas frying, when the wispy blonde from the shoot waved a hand.

  Ah fuck. That was a buzzkill. So much for
the privacy of a room. His shoulders sagged. It was like being in college again, roommates crawling out of every nook and cranny, right when he’d been hoping to have his hands all over Annalise. His fingers itched to touch her.

  “Hi, Annalise,” the blonde said, stretching her arms over her head, pushing them into a gray sweatshirt. She poked her head through the hole.

  Annalise cleared her throat. “Hey, Candy. What are you up to?”

  “Just going to do some yoga during our break.”

  “Great plan. Good use of time. I need to grab my purse.” Annalise gestured to a beige couch littered with purses, bags, and jackets. “Then you can do your downward dog to your heart’s content.”

  Candy waved a hand. “I’m meeting my yoga guru. In his room. He travels with me.”

  “Oh,” Annalise said, seeming to rein in a smirk that tugged at the corner of her lips. “That’s smart. To have him travel with you.”

  “Thank you! I better go. I only have a few minutes to clear my mind of dangerous toxins,” she said, then seemed to float on her own weightlessness to the door.

  She left, and the door clicked shut with a satisfying thunk.

  “A traveling yoga guru?” Michael asked dryly.

  “Don’t you have one? I mean, really. How else could you travel?”

  He held up his hands. “Can’t think of how I’d manage without one,” he said, then glanced around the room.

  “It’s a good thing she had to leave to see him, though, don’t you think?” she said.

  “It’s a fucking great thing. Think anyone else will pop in?”

  “It’s possible.” Annalise gave an indifferent shrug. “But that’s what chain locks are for.”

  She dropped her camera bag to the carpeted floor and slid the lock into place. In a second he was behind her, dragging his nose along her exposed shoulder. “I like touching you, too. So fucking much.”

  “I like you touching me,” she whispered, facing the door, her fingers frozen on the lock.

  He dragged his hands along her sides, traveling over the fabric of her tank top, along her waist, up her ribs to her breasts, then back down. With her hair pinned up, her neck was bare and inviting. He dipped his head to the soft, sweet flesh, inhaling her. She trembled, shudders racking her whole body. He kissed a path along her neck, up to her ear, then nipped her earlobe.

  “Michael,” she said, all low and needy.

  “Yes?”

  She twisted to face him, looping her arms around his neck. “Last night was…intense.”

  “Yeah?”

  She nodded, then nibbled on her lip.

  A part of him knew there was so much to say. Words about time, and distance, and longing. Questions about her heart and her head, and how the fuck she was doing after losing her husband. Practical matters, too, like how long was she in town. Would he see her again today? And did she miss him over all the years with the same kind of intensity he’d missed her?

  His brain fought back, reminding him he was being ridiculous. He hadn’t missed her. He hadn’t thought about her. He hadn’t fucking obsessed on her.

  This was just fiery lust, and it had been reignited so furiously it blazed white-hot.

  “How intense?” he asked, brushing the backs of his fingers along her cheek. “We only kissed last night.”

  “Kissing can drive you crazy, though, don’t you think?”

  “I made you crazy last night?” He toyed with her, wanting to hear the admissions from her, the breathless, gasping yeses.

  “Wild. I was wild,” she said, then reached for his hands and led him to the row of mirrors with the lights. She hopped up on a counter, perching on the edge, and beckoned him closer. With his thigh he nudged open her legs and wedged himself between them. Ah, his favorite place to be. The place he wanted to get to know so much better. Ideally when they were both naked, but clothed was at least a good start.

  She roped her arms around his neck and raised her eyes to his. Hers were a confessional. A dirty one. “Last night wasn’t just the two of us kissing. When I returned to my room there was more.”

  “Tell me,” he said, threading a hand in her hair, letting the silk flames fall against his fingers. “I want to picture it perfectly.”

  “Standing up. Against the door. Fast, intense.”

  He breathed out hard, electric heat sparking through him as his dick throbbed against his pants. Fuck, that was one hot image. “Did I make you come? Like I did all those other times?” he asked, reminding her that he was the first man to bring her to orgasm. His fingertips stroked the denim on her thighs, traveling a path he’d loved when he was younger. She’d loved it, too—falling apart in the back of the car, his hands under her skirt. Her body was such a discovery to him. Learning how she liked to be touched, how she moved, how she felt, so silky hot in his hands. How she sounded when she had her first orgasm. She’d learned all those things, too. They were explorers together, mapping the terrain of her body.

  “Yes,” she said on a breathy pant. “I moaned your name. The way you liked it.”

  Desire surged in him, climbing up his spine, spreading over his skin. He’d loved the way she’d said his name when she came.

  He cupped her cheeks in his hands, holding her face tight and firm, and sealed his mouth to hers, kissing her hard and rough, the way she liked it now, because she wasn’t the same girl he’d made out with after midnight in the backseat. She was a woman, and he was a man. He needed it harder, rougher, hungrier, too. He drew her bottom lip between his, sucking and nibbling as she writhed closer, wrapping her legs around him.

  One hand snaked down her tank, brushing the top of a perfect breast, and he moaned deeply into her mouth then resumed the kiss, a commanding kiss that would leave her lips bruised. She arched her back, seeking more closeness.

  Traveling from her breasts to her stomach to her jeans, he flicked open the top button. A clock sounded in his head, awareness that time was ticking, that someone could knock at any moment. The lock was in place, but even so, he wasn’t going to finally fuck her right now. That would happen when he could spread her out on a bed, worship her beautiful body, and kiss every inch of her skin. It would happen when he could bury his face between her legs and taste her sweetness for the first time, making her come. It would happen, too, when she was ready.

  His blood heated as he imagined how intense it would be to have her.

  There wasn’t time now for all that he wanted, but there were more than enough minutes to make her come. He unzipped her jeans, and she gripped his shoulders, her breath pouring out in a hungry moan. Sliding his hand over the fabric of her panties, his fingertips traced what he suspected was a perfect auburn landing strip waiting for him beneath the lace. He dropped lower, touching the wet panel of her panties.

  “And evidently, you’re a bit turned on now, too,” he said, in the understatement of the year.

  “Just a tiny bit,” she said, as her lips fell open. Her head rolled back. Legs widened. There was so much want in her eyes. So much need. Wedged between her legs, his cock throbbing and pressed hard against her thigh, he slid his finger inside her panties, brushing wet, swollen lips.

  Fuck.

  Hot and velvet and so damn wet. For him.

  “I can take care of this for you.”

  “Please.” Her voice was feathery, a soft, gasping cry.

  He wasn’t sure who needed this more—him or her. He desperately wanted to make her lose control, to surrender. Hell, she seemed to crave it like air. Her heady moans, her breathy gasps, told him she was a woman consumed. He could smell her need, could feel it radiating off of her. She was a tuning fork, vibrating at the highest frequency of desire.

  He ran his fingers through her slick heat until he was coated in her.

  “So good,” she whispered, as he traced circles over her clit.

  He brought his fingers to his lips and sucked off her taste. Her green eyes widened, watching him. “How do I taste?” she asked, breathlessly.
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  “Decadent,” he answered in a growl.

  “Give me some,” she demanded.

  And that was entirely new. That was not the Annalise he knew before. She’d never demanded to share. He was thrilled at this dirtier side.

  “Such a greedy lover,” he teased, as he rubbed his finger over her lips. Instantly, she drew him into her mouth, taking his finger all the way in, sucking off her taste as if she were sucking his cock. His dick twitched, hardening to nearly uncomfortable levels in his pants. But he’d take this torture of bliss. He’d fucking live in it for hours, just to witness the sight of her mad desire. She twirled her tongue around him, as if simulating how she’d take him in her mouth. She’d never done that. He’d never felt her lush lips on his shaft, and now he knew what fantasy he’d be jacking off to tonight.

  She looked so good like that. So fucking hot and greedy, her cheeks hollowed out as her lips gripped tight. More. He wanted to see more of this.

  Taking his fingers from her mouth, he dipped them across her slick folds again, then returned them to her lips. He fucked her mouth with his fingers, as he brought his other hand between her legs. As he stroked her, he learned her pace quickly—she liked it fast and hard—and he rubbed her clit like that, in perfect, speedy circles.

  She moved her hips against his hand, writhing into him. Then, with her tongue, she pushed his fingers out of her mouth, freeing herself to moan, broken words of bliss in her French accent.

  Oh God.

  So good.

  Yes. More. That. Fuck me.

  God, there was so much he wanted to say. So many words that threatened to escape his throat. Words like dreamed about you, wanted you for so long, and more, so much more. Words he wouldn’t let himself say because those were only the hormones talking, right?

  “Did you fuck yourself like this last night? Thinking of me?” he asked, his voice rough as he plunged his fingers inside her slick heat.

  “Yes.”

  “Thinking of how much you want me?”

  She nodded as she lifted her chin, asking for a kiss.

  He dipped his head, crushing his lips to hers, tasting her as he fucked her pussy with his fingers. With his free hand, he gripped the back of her head, holding her tight against his mouth.