by Casey Hagen
Her body coiled tight. The temperature in the room skyrocketed despite the cool glass, and a sheen of sweat broke out along her hairline. The sound of her gasps filled the room as he took everything she had.
“Micah, oh, oh…God, Micah, keep doing that,” she moaned.
She had no idea what he propelled her toward, but as much as she wanted it the sensations rocking her made her thrash, her palms dragging down the glass as she sought the cold with her burning cheeks.
“Please…help me,” she begged, not knowing what she needed, just that if he didn’t do something she wouldn’t make it. He added his fingers, sending them deep and hitting something. With a couple more strokes she erupted, the shocks spinning her out of control. Her body took over, and a scream tore its way from her throat.
In the throes, he took his mouth away and rubbed at the tight bundle of nerves hidden at the heart of her. Her knees buckled and she crumpled to the floor.
Micah cradled her with a satisfied smile on his face. “Nothing, and I mean nothing, tastes better than your pussy.” He held her to his chest and kissed the top of her head.
“What do I taste like?” she whispered.
“I can do better than that.” He tapped his finger on her bottom lip. The finger that he’d had inside her. Her musky scent reached her nose, not unpleasant, but different than anything, and sheer curiosity propelled her to suck the digit into her mouth and curl her tongue around the pad of his finger.
She met his eyes as she sucked his finger, taking her time to pull her mouth free with an audible pop. “Mmmm,” she hummed, smiling up at him.
His smile slipped, replaced by a look of such naked hunger that her mouth fell open in surprise just a second before he took her mouth, his lips fierce, his tongue just as wicked, sliding against hers as it had been between her legs. The more he kissed her the more forceful he became, gasping for air as he tilted his head, first to the left, and then to the right.
“Up,” he gasped out as he shot up to his feet and pulled her to her own. He tore open his shirt, buttons flying, fabric tearing, and tossed the garment aside to open his pants.
Tan muscles rippled with his movements. A light smattering of chest hair coated his pecs and downward, over his rippled stomach, slowly narrowing on its way past his belly button. He whisked his pants away with his black underwear, leaving him gloriously naked before her.
She backed up against the glass and swallowed hard at the sight of his erection—thick, heavy, and hard for her.
During the time she stared he had snagged a condom from who knows where and tore it open with his teeth. He took a step toward her as he smoothed the protection over himself, and a part of her mourned. From the moment she had laid eyes on this length, she wanted to touch and feel the contrast between the softness of his skin and the throbbing hardness…for her.
He hesitated mid-reach. “What’s that look?”
She forced her eyes to meet his. “I wanted to touch you. To taste you the way you did me,” she said.
He blew out a breath and stepped into her. “And you will. We have all night. But I need to be inside you.” He hooked his arms around her thighs and lifted her against the glass. His eyes flickered out the window, and he gave her a grin that she’d swear he’d stolen from Lucifer himself. “We have an audience,” he said against her lips.
“I know.” She sank her hands into his hair and sighed. God, there was nothing better than this. She’d never had a man turn her inside out so thoroughly, and didn’t know how she would go back to the staid intimate relationships to which she’d become accustomed. She forced the thought from her mind.
She had tonight. No one could take this away, the experience, nor the memory of what Micah did to her.
“You saw them?”
“Yes. They watched you when you…um, well—”
“When I ate you?”
She choked on the shock of his words. She tried to speak, but nothing came out, so she abandoned the words and nodded.
“My, my, Beatrice, you are a little vixen deep inside, aren’t you?” He punctuated his question by thrusting deep inside her.
She stiffened with the force with which he entered her, burying himself to the hilt, giving her pleasure with a pinch of pain.
He pulled out and thrust again, this time holding himself deep inside her. He brushed the hair away from her eyes, gently tucking the waves behind her ear in a show of affection she didn’t expect from him.
It was those small actions that confused her. This was supposed to be one night of passion, but he continued to do little things that showed her that he cared for her. Maybe she was reading too much into it. Maybe this went right back to what he said about women being sacred.
She knew what she needed to do, needed to say, to put them back on solid ground.
She yanked his hair, pulling his face down to hers. “Micah?” she whispered over his lips.
“Yes, Beatrice?” he said with a nibbling kiss at the corner of her mouth.
“Fuck me,” she said, tugging his head away from her, forcing him to look into her eyes. “I want you to fuck me.”
A growl escaped his lips, his arms flexed, and he started to move. His thrusts, long and steady. His hot eyes on her. It wasn’t long before her lungs heaved. The embers that lingered from her release flared to life again, only this time, as her muscles squeezed him, she witnessed what the feeling did to him. The way desire played over his face. The way determination came to life, his thrusts becoming less graceful and more desperate.
She had done this to him. She had turned him into this animal, a slave to his needs. The power in that knowledge gave her the courage to drive a nail into his coffin. She reached down and cupped her breasts, flicking her thumbs over the nipples.
Watching her, he seemed to forget himself and froze. “Who taught you to do that?” he demanded.
“No one. It just felt right. Should I stop?”
“Fuck, no. Pinch them.”
“What?”
“Pinch them for me,” he said again, that air of authority creeping back into his deep voice.
She fought a flash of embarrassment, and rolled her nipples between her thumbs and index fingers. While she loved the way it felt, it was the way he watched her that had her body straining for release again, his pistoning strokes propelling her toward completion. She grabbed his head with both hands, brought his mouth to hers, and nipped his bottom lip before crying out her release.
Micah was right here with her, his grunts breaking up the sound of her labored breathing, until he let out a lusty shout, her name on his lips.
Chapter 5
Slivers of light spilled into Micah’s bedroom, coaxing him awake. The lingering musky scent of their lovemaking hovered in the air. Beatrice scooted in closer, curling her hand around his ribs and wrapping her thigh tighter around his hips.
Fuck, but he could get used to waking up like this.
He glanced at the clock. 7:32AM.
Four and a half hours of sleep, his typical. He thought that maybe this time, after so many hours of activity, he might be able to stretch it out a bit. But, no, his body had other ideas.
He took her in, his hands roaming over her soft skin, the memories of her arched back, her pretty breasts thrust in the air as she clenched his sheets in her tight fists. The screams that tore from her as she came over him again and again.
The regal princess from the bar with the straight spine, her shoulders pulled back, her head high and proud, had transformed into a tigress in his bed.
A tigress who gets a certain thrill from being watched.
She put her trust in him to take her to the places she desperately needed to go, and when he took her there he found a woman, the first woman, to pique his curiosity, then hold his interest, and to instill a sense of protectiveness in him outside of the protectiveness he had reserved for his grandmother.
His mind raced with ways to keep her in his life, when he should have been waking her up, tossing her dress o
ver her head, and scooting her out the door.
Shit.
He couldn’t afford distractions right now. He had Addington to deal with, if he managed to find any dirt on him. There had to be dirt. There always was with these men. They got bored with their lots in life. The money, the prestige, it became commonplace, and to taste excitement they got involved in dirty dealings. Each ruse they managed to get away with, another flash of elusive excitement there one minute, gone the next. In order to keep that thrill going the underhanded schemes became bigger, more elaborate.
Eventually their time ran out.
Some got caught running around on the spouse. Others found themselves buried under extortion, money laundering, and worse. They prided themselves on their foundation of old money, that they could play with the big boys.
They hadn’t the first clue how to really play the game.
No matter. Micah had had enough of dirty dealings in his early years, struggling for the next break, the next payout, the next rung in the ladder that, for him, climbed to respectability.
Addington had forgotten who he was dealing with. Micah, now a respectable businessman, came at every deal with integrity, and to have an offer snatched back and given to a country club chum because Addington owed him a favor didn’t sit well with Micah. So he’d remind the man who he was dealing with, and if that didn’t work he’d destroy him.
Addington needed to be taken down a peg. Micah would start by teaching him a lesson, since the opportunity to right the wrong had passed.
No one played puppet master in Micah’s life.
No one.
Beatrice shifted in his arms; her sleepy eyes opened and found his. “Hi,” she said softly, her hand sliding over his stomach, to his chest, where she curled her fingers in his chest hair.
The feel of her fingers sliding over his skin burrowed into him on a primal level, his body learning her touch, her scent, and her sounds, until she became a part of him.
And made him vulnerable.
He smiled at her, banishing the reasons why this could very well spell disaster for him. “Good morning,” he said, smoothing a hand over her passion-tangled hair. “Are you hungry?”
She grinned, pushed onto her palms, and flicked her tongue over his nipple.
Letting out a hiss, he buried his hands in her strands and held her forehead to his. “That’s not quite what I meant, not that I mind that particular hunger,” he said, brushing his lips over hers.
She snickered against his mouth. “Look what you’ve done to me. I’m a ruined woman.”
He tugged, pulling her face away just far enough to look into her woodsy eyes with their starbursts of green shooting through the brown. “You’re perfect. Absolutely perfect. And you did it to yourself.”
She searched his gaze. “There’s something about the way you look at me. Like I’m the only woman you could possibly desire. It’s intense.”
“If I never looked at another woman again, I could be quite happy as long as I had this view to sustain me,” he said quietly. He lay his palm over her warm breast, a small smile tilting his lips when the peak pebbled against his hand, needing his touch, his tongue.
“You mean that?” she asked.
“If the words come out of my mouth, I mean them. Always,” he promised.
“So, this thing between us…” She trailed off and fidgeted with the sheet, not meeting his eyes. “It’s not over?”
He pushed up against the headboard, tossed the sheet away from them, and reached for her. “No. Not over.”
“Okay,” she whispered.
“That’s it? Just okay?”
“Well, I’m glad,” she said, giving him a smile.
He raised his eyebrows. “Glad?” He clasped her hips in his hands and pulled her over him so she straddled his waist. Her wet folds hugged his cock, teasing him, torturing him.
She flattened her palms on his chest and steadied herself. “Is there something wrong with glad?”
“There sure as hell is. Someone is glad when they get carnations, when it hits the perfect temperature outside, when they grill their burger just right. I want to get to know you, Beatrice. I want to go on dates with you. Only you.” He shot up into a sitting position, ducking his head and sucking her taut nipple into his hot mouth. He swirled his tongue, relished the taste of her salty skin, and pulled back. “I want you to be a hell of a lot more than just glad. Ecstatic, euphoric, rapturous even. You’re turning me into a god- damned thesaurus.”
A laugh bubbled up from her, quickly smothered by raw need. Her back bowed and her pussy rocked on his hard cock, teasing him. Need flashed. His spine stiffened.
She kissed his mouth, seemingly unaware of the arousal building in him. “How about thrilled, delighted, overjoyed—do any of those work for you, Micah?” She laughed, the sound light and free.
She joked, but he locked onto the way she said his name. The shape of her mouth when she formed the sounds. The light in her eyes. “Say it again.”
“Thrilled, de—”
He shook his head. “No. Not that. Say my name.”
“Micah,” she said, giving him a strange look.
He buried his face in her neck and kissed her there. “God, it was even better the second time.”
She cupped his face and forced him to look up at her. “I’ve said your name before.” She ran her fingers over the stubble on his cheeks and narrowed her eyes, staring at him with a look of pure fascination.
“Yes, but you were tense. You were in a transformation of sorts. Today, it’s the new year and you’re free. The sound of my name on your lips is different. Better.”
“Then I shall keep saying it.”
He brushed a finger over her high cheekbone. “What’s that look?”
“I’ve never seen five o’clock shadow on a man before, in person. It’s abrasive, but I like it. I wonder what it would feel like…” She trailed off and bit her thumbnail.
He thrust up against her, his cock rubbing against her clit, making him smile with a sort of possessive satisfaction when she closed her eyes on a gasp.
“You like that.”
“Yes, but didn’t you ask if I was hungry?”
He tucked his mouth against her ear. “Yes, but I didn’t ask you what you were hungry for.” He pulled back, cupped her chin, and held her there facing him, looking him right in the eye. “First, we fuck.”
Heat flooded her face, making her cheeks rosy, the flush of her skin quickly spreading to her collarbone. Her arousal had already moistened his ready cock as it sat nestled between her thighs. He lifted her hips off him just enough to jerk his cock, where it landed right at her entrance. With a swift stroke and supporting her slide, he sheathed himself in her.
A sexy hum vibrated up from her throat as her head fell back. In the dim light he spotted the marks he’d left on her skin when he’d nipped at her, and wondered if she would be mad.
He traced his fingers over the red patches as he rotated his hips with just enough movement to keep her breathing irregular and growing wetter by the second. “I left bruises. I should have been more careful.”
Her hand locked on his wrist and pulled his fingers from her skin. “Don’t you dare do anything different. Don’t worry about the marks. I’m not spun glass. You said you were going to fuck me. So do it.”
He smiled and leaned back. “No, my dear. I said we were going to fuck. In this case, you’re going to fuck me.”
She glanced down to where they were joined, and back up at him again. Her mouth fell open. “Uh,” she said.
“What?”
“I’ve never been on top before,” she said with a shrug.
He closed his eyes and sighed. “Look, Beatrice. I don’t mind teaching you, but I’d like to line up every guy you’ve ever been with and deliver a sharp nut-punch. Jesus. You’ve been with some real assholes.”
She traced the muscles on his stomach. “I don’t know. I’m kind of glad. This means I will only have these memories
with you. No one else will have touched me like this. Fucked me like this.”
Yeah, there was that. And the possessive part of him that wanted to keep her latched right onto the idea. He grinned. “Are you ready, Beatrice?”
“Yes.”
He pushed up into a sitting position again. “I want you to roll your hips, just like this.” He pulled her hips forward before guiding them in a roll backward, just a few inches, letting her get the feel for it on her own. With a few practiced strokes he’d be able to lean back, and she could fuck him like the wild woman she turned out to be.
She rolled with him, but after a few rounds back and forth her spine had started to straighten, giving her less of a stroke. “You’re doing good, honey, but do me a favor. Lean forward and stick out that round ass.”
She did as he told her. “Like this?”
“Yeah, now hold that while you rock back and forth. Concentrate on your center. Do you feel a difference?”
Because he sure as fuck did. She sheathed more of him, cocooning him completely in her wet heat. Tingles shot to the base of his spine, urging him to thrust, to seek relief, but he wouldn’t. This was for her.
All for her.
“Yes.” Her response sailed out on a groan.
The desperate look on her face as she sought her pleasure burned in his mind. The way her eyes drifted shut, her lips parted, her pretty front teeth then biting into her plump bottom lip.
She rocked again, this time harder, her hands flattened on his chest, her back arched even more, her golden waves falling around her face, the curled ends teasing her breasts.
She’d turned into an enchantress, holding him in her spell, and his bed was their patch of soft moss in a magical forest. Surely, books had been written about women like her holding men spellbound with their wanton looks, their lithe bodies, and their forbidden desires.
It was her. All her. She had pulled him into this haze with her. Common sense told him to find a way out, but to hell with common sense. To hell with anything but the way she looked at him as if he was everything and could do anything. Did women know what that look did to men? That look that made men want to beat their chests and conquer mountains for them?
