by Eden Summers
“No sex,” he echoed with too much seduction to even consider his credibility. He knew he had the upper hand where sex and persuasion were concerned. The ass practically had the monopoly on the market, which meant she needed to be firm on the no nookie front.
She sighed in defeat and raised her gaze up his delicious chest. Who was she kidding? She couldn’t turn down more time with him. She already wanted to lick a trail from his cum gutters, all the way up to his dark ruby nipples.
If only she could trust him to be true to his word.
Glancing back up to his face, she scrutinized him. She wasn’t sure Captain Copulation could agree to a no-sex rule without his manhood shriveling away.
“You promise?” As much as her core clenched in protest, she needed to sort out her feelings for him before they dived between the sheets again.
“No sex. Scout’s honor.” He held up his hand in what she assumed was a scout’s pledge. She opened her mouth, prepared to surrender, but he cut her off. “Unless you beg for it.”
She fixed him with a glare. “There will be no begging, Dean Sutherland.”
Cocky bastard.
His self-confidence rubbed off on her and she felt empowered to do a little teasing of her own. His gaze followed her as she moved into him. With deliberate purpose she stared at his mouth provocatively, running her tongue over her lips in blatant invitation. A burst of pride warmed her belly when she noticed his Adam’s apple bob.
Two could play this game.
“Unless you plan on begging,” she whispered with a curve to her lips.
His head moved closer, continuing the seduction, taking the game to the next level. “I’m not too proud to beg.” His mouth stopped millimeters from her ear, the warmth of his breath traveling down her neck, under her skin, and down her spine. “For you.”
She could feel the movement of his lips against her hair as he whispered, the pleasure ripping a betraying moan from her throat before she could stop it.
Damn the man and his unwavering sex appeal.
She already wanted to cave and take back her stipulation. There was no way she could hold out for an extended period of time.
“So, does this mean you’ll spend the day with me?”
She pretended to ponder the idea for a moment, glancing off into space while tapping her chin with her index finger.
He seemed happy to continue the charade by acting impatient. First his hands gripped her hips, then he walked his fingers up her sides, gently digging in to tease her ribs.
She hated being tickled, always had, but she loved his large hands on her body in equal measure. Even in torture his touch enslaved her.
Her body began to wiggle, her toes curling, unable to withstand the suffering. She gasped, trying to scream. “Y-yes. Yes, okay, I’ll spend the day with you.”
The pressure stopped immediately, his hands now lowering to rest on her hips. He gave a sincere smile, dimples showing and all, before doing the last thing she ever imagined a grown man would do. He fist pumped like a teenager. “Yesss.”
She threw her head back with a bark of laughter, the tension draining from her body. When she looked back at him, she could see legitimate happiness in his eyes.
She needed to believe it came from something deep and emotional, but her brain knew better. She had to keep reminding herself that things between them were only casual.
Before she could move away to hide her sudden melancholy, his lips were on hers, his tongue seeking immediate entrance in a devastating, passionate kiss that robbed her lungs of breath. She couldn’t help reciprocating, kissing him back, clinging to his bare chest, savoring his tight hold as their tongues danced.
Her hands roamed, moving over his bare skin, to feel every curve, every hard plane. Talk about a lack of self-control. She’d never been the type to give in to temptation so easily; however, she found herself second-guessing every action around this man.
Clutching the bare thread of strength she had left, she smacked his chest. “I said no sex.”
He frowned at her. “Babe, I hate to break it to you, but that was just a kiss.”
She rolled her eyes and moved from his embrace to stalk toward her bathroom. “I’m taking a shower.”
Alone time became increasingly necessary with each passing minute. Her body needed time to desensitize, to stop humming on an erotic level that continued to keep her blood on a slow boil.
“You’re welcome to use the other bathroom down the hall if you plan on staying. And be aware, I have things to do today and I don’t plan on changing my schedule.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he replied as she closed herself into the privacy of her bathroom and locked the door—just in case.
An hour later, she stood in Dean’s home, peering through the floor-to-ceiling windows at the water of the Melbourne, Docklands below. His apartment stole her breath.
The heels of her sandals had clicked on the lavish black tiles of the entry hall while he held the thick wooden door open for her. Each tile flaunted unique wisps of silver that threaded through the gleaming surface, leading her into the open-plan dining, kitchen, and living area.
She had imagined him living in a bachelor pad, a shrine dedicated to his single status. But as she glanced around the tastefully decorated apartment, with its dark leather couches and large glass dining table, she realized she’d underestimated him.
He had expensive taste, art and furniture included. She never would have guessed he would be a neat freak as well. The kitchen’s stainless-steel appliances gleamed. The charcoal marble bench tops were spotless and bare.
No, it definitely wasn’t a bachelor’s pad. This apartment spoke volumes about his maturity and pride and she felt another piece of her heart crumple under the weight of admiration.
On the drive here, she’d assured herself the large detour on the way to the grocery store wasn’t anything to get worked up over. He needed to brush his teeth and change his clothes. He hadn’t taken up the offer to shower at her house, stating he didn’t want to intrude, and would freshen up at his place.
She didn’t believe there were any ulterior motives to the quick visit, but seeing where he lived would have ramifications. His intimate hideaway would be another memory she would need to forget when things between them ended.
But she couldn’t expect him to spend the day in his dirty work clothes either. Okay, so maybe it would have been logical if he went by himself and met her back at her townhouse later. However, they only agreed to one day together. Merely a few hours to get to know each other on a friend to friend basis, and they couldn’t do that properly if they spent the majority of the time apart.
While she convinced herself she was doing the right thing, she grasped a framed picture off the mantelpiece above the extravagant electric fireplace. The image was of Dean when he was a teenager, embracing a young girl, her beauty a feminine version of his own.
“My sister,” he offered, coming up behind her.
“She looks sweet.” She glanced over her shoulder to see him nodding, his gaze fixed on the image.
“Yeah, she is. Megan doesn’t have a selfish or petty bone in her body. She’s her mother’s daughter, thank God, and nothing like our father.”
She wanted to know the story behind his somber expression. She only feared he would close up on her if she prodded too hard.
“You two are close?”
His gaze met hers and she blindly placed the frame back on the mantel before turning to face him.
“Mmm.” He nodded with a sad smile. “She didn’t have the best father figure growing up, so I tried to make up for the loss. Megan looked up to me and I protected her from the real world as best I could. But she’s a grown woman now, pregnant and happily married.”
Dean a father figure? She smiled at the mental image. A young, strapping male growing up with the responsibilities of a man. No wonder he was so confident, so self-assured; he’d had to play the grown-up role from an early age.
“W
e were very close…are still very close. But that’s enough about me.” His tone deepened as he leaned a little closer.
She tilted her head, bringing her lips closer to his. She didn’t want his kiss and knew it would lead to something much sexier, yet she was unable to stop her actions.
“How about a guided tour?” He spoke into her mouth, teasing her with his proximity.
She should’ve said no, hell no, at the prospect of seeing his bedroom. Instead, she found herself nodding. She already had a library full of fantasies stored in her mind involving his private room. Her brain would need to do renovations, expanding shelf space, if she found out what it looked like in reality.
He grabbed her hand, bringing it to his lips for a soft kiss before entwining their fingers and leading her down the hall. Their connection hadn’t been theatrical, just a simple peck, but the simplicity of his actions seemed monumental.
It felt like a moment between longtime lovers, not two people who shared one morning of passion. The intimate caress made her swallow down the butterflies multiplying like bunnies in her belly.
She was in so much trouble.
He leisurely led her through the apartment, giving her hand a soft squeeze every now and again. He explained the art on the walls, admitting his sister organized the majority of the furnishings, although he had the final say on all the purchases.
The first two bedrooms boasted floor to ceiling windows with captivating views of the Docklands. Each room had its own color theme, first a deep green with cream, the next navy and white. The furniture consisted of thick bed frames, dark polished dressers with expensive adornments, and matching bedside tables with stylish iron lamps.
He gave her a brief look into his study, the walls lined with stocked bookshelves and a thick, wooden table in the center. When he shut the door behind them and led her to the one remaining room, she almost dragged her fingers from his grip.
He must have sensed her unease because he let her hand fall and gestured for her to walk in front. With timid steps she moved to the room where all the magic happened. She wondered if his personal room would be different from the others. Maybe with ladies’ underwear hanging from the bedposts, or a corkboard filled with pictures of his conquests.
She knew the thoughts were ridiculous, yet a tiny piece of her hoped she was right.
It was unhealthy to continue seeing him as the perfect man. She needed something to dislike about him, something to focus on that didn’t involve white picket fences, a family station wagon, and a very convenient happily ever after.
The intoxicating scent of his aftershave filled her lungs with each step. Chocolate brown adorned the wall behind the hardwood king-size bed, the shade a tone darker than his eyes. On the opposite wall stood a dressing table, tall and proud, with the space above holding a television bigger than the one in her living room.
“Wow, it’s an honor to enter this infamous space.” She tried to dislodge a twinge of jealousy over the women who had shared his bed.
“Let’s hope you’re the last.”
She ground her teeth at the absurdity of his statement and glared over her shoulder. He must have a very low opinion of her if he thought she was that naive. He stood a few feet behind her, arms crossed casually over his chest, but his expression didn’t hold the sarcasm she expected.
“Don’t patronize me.” She didn’t know why his playful banter stung; it just did. “So how many ladies have made the cut?” The masochistic remark left her mouth before she thought better of it.
She didn’t want to know. Her heart couldn’t take the reality check.
“Too many.” The rough reply hurt more than she anticipated. “You’re the first woman I’ve ever had to beg to get here though.” Her lips twitched at the memory. “I’m going to get ready. I won’t be long.”
He picked up a remote from his bedside table, turned on the television, then threw the remote onto the bed. “Make yourself at home.”
She sat cautiously on the bottom edge of the mattress, her focus wavering, switching between the TV and Dean as he walked into his private bathroom.
He left the door wide open, giving her a perfect view of the open-ended shower, the sparkling tiles and gleaming taps. She assumed he would shower and change; only he made no effort to close the door, so she gathered he must be brushing his teeth.
It wasn’t until he began to undress that she realized her assumption had been wrong.
His shirt came off in one fluid motion, the muscles of his back contorting and stretching as the material dropped to the floor. Before she comprehended what he was doing, his pants came down. Underwear, too.
She should have diverted her gaze, should have moved to the head of the bed, where his body would be out of view, but she couldn’t. She focused on his body, the size of his thighs, the dip of his back just above his buttocks.
Oh God, did he think she couldn’t see him?
Then with dawning brilliance she realized his plan.
The bastard was tempting her, trying to make her beg for sex. It had been working too; her body already hummed with desire, pleading to be sated one more time. Too bad Dean and her libido were going to be left unsatisfied. She wouldn’t give in so easily. No matter how lickable his muscles were or how much she ached for his touch.
Not. Gonna. Happen.
If he wanted to put on a show, so be it. It wasn’t like half the attractive women on this side of the hemisphere hadn’t already seen him naked. She may as well take advantage of the free entertainment. Hell, maybe he was an exhibitionist. Good for him. Today would be his lucky day, because she would be more than happy to watch from a distance.
In fact, she felt confident enough to blatantly watch from a much closer viewpoint.
As he stepped under the shower’s spray, she walked toward the bathroom and stopped inside. She stood in riveted fascination, following the trail of water down the smooth, sculpted planes of his chest and down his thighs.
He turned to face her, his perusal casual, not showing a hint of surprise as his hand left a trail of body wash over his chest. His hair had darkened under the water, the loose lengths now draped around his face, framing charcoal eyes.
Faking a bravado she didn’t have, she walked to the basin and pushed herself onto the vanity for a more comfortable position.
The shower’s steam misted the air, traveling over her skin, under her knee-high skirt, and across the tops of her breasts. The warmth seeped into her, matching the fire burning between her legs, and she wished like crazy she could rub her thighs together.
She would not give in. This wasn’t her first fight with temptation where he was concerned, and she doubted it would be the last.
In a trance, she followed his movements as he worked a lather over his body. His hand glided from his pecs, rubbing the muscles of his stomach, and then going farther down to the nest of curls at his groin.
When he cupped his balls, she sucked in a breath, gripping the vanity tight until her fingers screamed in protest. She couldn’t look into his eyes, embarrassment would burn her cheeks if she did. But she could feel his stare on her, watching, noticing how her body hummed and shivered all at the same time. She couldn’t help it, couldn’t hide it.
He took his time, rubbing his palm back and forth, back and forth over his length. “Enjoying the show?” His hand continued to torment the flesh she tried to divert her attention from.
“I didn’t realize you were providing entertainment otherwise I would have brought snacks.” The words came out etched in confidence even though each syllable scraped over her raw throat. She couldn’t allow him to break her resolve.
He chuckled, the deep tone of his voice making her core clench, her nipples harden. “I’ll take pleasure in entertaining you.” And with that, he angled around for more body wash.
Unable to resist staring, she looked at him, really looked at him. Even semi-erect he was remarkably well hung. He didn’t seem to be staying that way though. When he turned back
around his cock had already grown, now jutting from his thighs like hard steel.
She itched to reach out and touch, to run her fingers over his flesh and see if the length moved in response. The scent of him became heavier, the aroma from the body wash filling her nose, her lungs, her soul. She’d loved that smell, imagined inhaling the tangy and commanding mix even when he wasn’t around.
It was his scent. His essence.
He grabbed himself in one hand and began to stroke his length. From root to tip, his palm ran back and forth, back and forth while she stared in wanton fascination. His expression intensified, the lines and angles of his features more clear-cut and tense.
He focused on her like a predator. “You sure you don’t want to join me?”
She cleared her throat then shook her head, unable to voice a response. Even if she could speak, she wouldn’t trust her mouth to say the right thing. Her hormones were currently cat fighting with her restraint, trying to viciously shred it to pieces.
Without pausing his strokes, he turned toward her in the shower, resting his spare hand against the glass. His shoulders slumped, his stance widening as if he fought for strength or control.
“Come here,” he growled, the sound so deep it barely registered over the noise of the rushing water.
She shook her head, adamant on maintaining her position on the bench. Right here was fine, out of touching distance, out of the zone of utter temptation. But her legs betrayed her as they began scissoring inches off the floor, aching to move toward him.
“Please, just come to the glass.”
Her hesitation was lame at best. She scooted off the vanity and her feet slowly shuffled forward of their own volition.
Their gaze remained locked the entire time, each step making her weaker, taking her closer to the hypnotic intensity of his eyes.
She couldn’t resist the scorching need of this man. He had the confidence to beg, didn’t shy away from his lust, and being the woman to cause such strong emotions was all consuming. It made her wonder if he always acted this way. Did every woman he slept with experience this hunger? This raw need?
