by Alison Kent
Her body pulsed, and even more than she wanted to jerk him to a stop and demand answers, she wanted to wait and find out what he could possibly want so badly that he was turning into this wild man.
The unlocked door he finally found opened onto a narrow mechanical room. He flipped the light switch; the bulb sputtered and buzzed.
He pulled her inside, locked the door and stared down so intently she backed up, hitting the door with one heel, then the other. His breathing was rough and labored as he dragged a hand back over his hair, shoved his other to his waist.
The thrill of the unknown had Chloe’s own chest rising and falling hard. “What the hell—”
The hand he slammed into the door above her head cut her off.
9
“YOU WANT TO EXPLAIN this exclusive crap Melanie’s talking about? Because I don’t remember that being any part of any deal you and I made.”
Chloe narrowed her eyes, jerked her chin higher, her shoulders straighter. She pressed her body into the solid door at her back, needing the sense of being grounded in even that weak reality before she hauled off and slapped Eric silly.
Whatever was about to come tumbling down was going to have a more substantial impact than a house of cards.
Steam wouldn’t be coming from his ears otherwise.
“What’s to explain? It’s what Melanie said. Your whoring around isn’t going to do much in the way of helping my reputation. I thought you would have figured that much out on your own. But I guess I should have spelled it out for you.”
Steam wasn’t even the half of it.
“Whoring around?” His jaw visibly taut, his eyes narrowed to irate slits, Eric raised the intensity in his voice, though it remained a coarse whisper. “Hanging out with a bunch of friends, some who happen to be female, is whoring around? This from the woman who dates everything in pants?”
“Not everything in pants,” she said, vilely pleased to see her barb gouge and stick.
Eric’s nostrils flared. “That’s right. You don’t date me. But you want us to be exclusive while we’re not dating. That’s bullshit, Chloe. Total bullshit. I never signed on to be a monk.”
Chloe crossed her arms over her chest. Something was going on here that was way beyond her understanding. But it was clear Eric was in no mood to calm down and explain.
And, quite frankly, she was well equipped to cover her own fast-and-furious ass. “You know, let’s just forget this whole thing. I don’t know why I ever thought it would work. I’ve never been able to count on anyone but myself, so why should this time be any different?”
She tried to move, to step away from the door and leave the room, leave Eric and his problems here where he could bang and pound and piss and moan to his heart’s content. But he refused to budge, standing in front of her, hovering, doing what he could in the way of intimidation.
Which didn’t do him much good at all. Chloe didn’t do intimidation.
But she was curious and, though she hated to admit it, concerned. Not for herself, but for Eric. This wasn’t like him at all, not the Eric she knew. And she knew him well. Better than any man whose company she’d kept for any length of time.
Why had she been so soft, letting him get to her?
“Look, Eric. I don’t know what the hell is going on with you, but I’ve got a program to get back to. So, if you don’t mind…oh, wait. Even if you do mind, get your attitude the hell out of my way.”
She shoved against his chest. He didn’t say a word. He didn’t move away. If anything, he leaned in closer, so close Chloe realized that his irises were actually rings of blue in at least a half-dozen shades, that his pupils were pitch-black and dilated with heat and arousal.
An arousal that she felt like a kick to her solar plexus. He wanted her. Desperately. He had to have her now, right now, here in this moment. “Eric?”
His head came down. He pressed the side of his nose to the side of hers and leaned his weight into both hands braced against the door above her shoulders. “Do you want to be exclusive, Chloe? Do you want to date? Like a couple? And not see anyone else? Is that what you want from me?”
What she wanted was for him to pull off her panties, drag his pants to his ankles and fill her like she’d never before been filled. But dating? Exclusively? Letting Eric see who she really was beneath the surface of his doll baby princess? She didn’t know. She just didn’t know.
What she did know was that her body had never hummed with this much electricity. Nerves sizzled on the outside of her skin. Eric’s breath was warm on her cheek, his lips soft where they barely touched the corner of her mouth, resting there, as he was, waiting, patiently waiting for her answer, with his body so taut she feared he would snap if she touched him.
She touched him anyway, laying both palms on his chest and sticking her tongue out just far enough to touch the tip to his lips. His entire body quivered and stiffened. She felt his restraint.
And then his mouth was on hers and this was not the kiss he’d given her at the movies. Or any kiss she’d ever imagined Eric giving. His lips pulled at hers and his tongue demanded. And he hooked one forearm behind her neck to hold her still.
It was mouth-only contact, and it wasn’t soft, but ravenous, as if he’d gone hungry longer than his body could stand. His mouth was firm, his tongue hard, stroking against hers, measuring hers.
She returned his every movement, stroke for aggressive stroke, sucking at his tongue, devouring his mouth, drawing his lips, first one, then the other, between hers, and nipping lightly with her teeth. She couldn’t believe how much she wanted this man. This one man.
Her hands kneaded his chest, her thumbs searching out his nipples, the tiny centers as hard as her own. Eric groaned, the rumble rolling out of his body and into Chloe’s mouth and both of her hands.
She rubbed harder, pressing with her thumbs and the heels of her palms, finding the erogenous zones buried in the muscle. Eric’s shudder, his grunt, his hiss of breath were music, and she played him harder. She pressed in massaging circles until her own panties grew damp.
And it was about that time that Eric buried his face in the crook of her neck, ran his hands down her back to the tops of her thighs and lifted her from the floor. He backed farther into the long narrow room. She wrapped her legs around his hips and held on.
Turning, he set her on a low tabletop littered with nuts and bolts and scraps of electrical wire. She leaned back, lowering her upper body toward the surface of the table, then bracing her weight on her elbows behind her.
What he did then had Chloe almost coming undone.
He reached back with one hand to hold her heels together at the small of his back. His other hand crawled between her legs, one finger slipping beneath the crotch of her panties.
He snugged a knuckle into the opening of her sex, drew it up her slit to the hard knot of aching nerves. And then he pulled his hand away, brought it to his nose and inhaled.
“I love the way you smell,” he said, and she could see her juices glistening on his skin. When he brought the same knuckle to his mouth and sucked away her wetness, all she could do was close her eyes and let her head fall back.
“I love the way you taste,” he said, and she felt her skirt being raised to her waist, felt air on her bare bottom.
“I love that you don’t wear panty hose,” he said, snapping one of her garters on her thigh. “But more than anything I love that you wear these thongs that are made of nothing.”
Rip! The crotch of her panties fell away. He lifted her ankles to his shoulders, and she couldn’t even think to gasp, exposed as she was under the light that glared examining-room bright.
Eric took a short step back, leaned down and forward and worked his shoulders beneath the bend of her knees. And the kiss he delivered to the hood of her clit sent moisture dripping from the mouth of her sex into the crevice of her bottom. She ached and she burned and she couldn’t stand the suspense.
He nuzzled lower, his nose exploring the
crease where her thigh met her torso. He sniffed her scent from one leg to the other. She wanted to beg, but bit her tongue, focusing on the warmth of his breath on her skin and the pressure points where his fingers held open her thighs. The light bristle on his face tickled and she shivered.
His tongue played around the edges of the strip of hair left after she’d shaved, and he pressed down with his chin, rubbing back and forth over the hard ridge of her knotted nerves. Her pleasure bordered on pain.
She could hardly stand his touch. It was too much. It wasn’t enough. She was open and she was ready, everything below her waist bare and exposed. And Eric was way too intent on taking his time.
She wanted to reach for his head and guide it between her legs. She wanted to feel the suction of his lips over the bud of sensation so tightly aroused. She wanted to feel his tongue, his fingers, slipping inside.
More than anything she wanted to feel his solid length. She knew how hard he could grow, how swollen, how the ripe head of his penis stretched his skin taut. She wanted to touch him.
Instead she touched herself, moving her hands to her breasts, pinching at her nipples, which had grown pebble hard. Squeezing the mounds of flesh together, she imagined Eric above her, straddling her on his knees, sliding his cock between, sliding it into her mouth.
She tipped her head back farther, lifted her hips to his mouth and moaned. Eric stopped. And she sensed him looking up as he blew warm breath the length of her slit before he moved forward and covered her hands on her breasts with his own.
He didn’t even hesitate, but tugged down the bodice of her dress until she spilled free. And then his tongue was there and his lips, sucking and stroking, nipping, while his hands pinched and squeezed. He teased one nipple with light flicks of his tongue, and she raised up, wanting more.
The teasing wasn’t what she needed. She needed it hard. She needed it rough. She lifted her hips and scraped her naked sex over the fly of his pants. Eric groaned deep in his gut, the sound vibrating against her skin.
And when he tugged sharply on the nipple he held in his mouth, she swore she felt her sex pull taut. “If you don’t have a condom, I’m going to kill you.”
Eric didn’t say a word as he reached into a pocket with one hand, not even into his billfold but straight into the pocket of his pants, as if he’d tucked the condom there, expecting to get lucky.
He was about to. He stood up, tore open the packet. Chloe tucked her chin to her chest and opened her eyes, watching as he unbuckled his belt, as he freed the catch on his suit pants and pulled his zipper down.
His boxers were a sexy white designer cut and not doing him a bit of good as he sprung free from the opening as soon as given a chance. He shucked the clothing down his thighs, and Chloe could only watch as he rolled the condom over his cock, his balls already drawn close to his body.
“Hold on, princess,” he said, his mouth and chin damp and red. “This is going to be wild.”
What the hell was she supposed to hold on to? But then it didn’t matter, because his thumb was at her sex, judging her wetness, drawing the slick moisture down into the crevice of her bottom, where he stayed to play, pressing against her tight rear opening as he filled her vagina with one long stroke.
Chloe cried out. And he stopped, his penis stretching her open, one thumb pressed to her clit, the other to the crevice of her bottom. She thought she was going to die. The three points of contact had her aching to move, but she stayed still, savoring the feeling of that first filling thrust and the anticipation of what else was to come.
Her sex twitched, her bottom clenched. Eric increased both pressures, the pad of his thumb rubbing teasing circles over her rear opening, pressing lightly until she relaxed, and then he began to move, slowly stroking, pressing her clit, teasing her bottom, circling both points while his cock slid in and out.
She milked him and he groaned and shuddered to a stop. He looked into her eyes then, his diamond-hard, flinty and as hot as she’d ever seen a man’s be. His mouth was pulled into a grim straight line, as if the struggle for control cost him plenty. She ran her tongue out over her lower lip and invited him to come.
“Are you ready for this?”
She gritted her teeth and nodded, so ready to explode. He wrapped his arms around her thighs and then he let himself go, his hips driving forward again and again. The angle of his thrusts rubbed the base of his shaft where she most needed the contact.
She came silently because she couldn’t wait anymore. Shudders tore through her. Her hands clenched. Her head thrashed. Her hips lifted, crushing her sex as hard as she could to his body.
With each contraction of her orgasm, she gripped Eric’s erection, working to pull him farther inside, wishing she could get either her hands or her feet behind him to urge his body deeper. But she needed her arms for balance, her bottom was barely on the edge of the table, and her legs on Eric’s shoulders were all that kept her from tumbling to the floor.
She was helplessly dependent. Eric was in control.
His eyes narrowed, burning with the knowledge that she’d taken her pleasure and taken it with him. Knowing he could take his time, take her over the edge again. That he could arouse her further, heighten the thrumming of nerves already exposed and raw.
He slowed then, pulling his cock all the way out until only the head remained buried inside. He pressed forward in one long, leisurely motion until he was fully engulfed. He repeated the process. Again. And again. Each time increasing the speed of his thrusts. Each time hitting bottom sooner, harder. Until he pumped with the stroke of a piston.
Chloe watched all of it, the clenching of his thighs, the grinding of his jaw, the slick slide of his penis in and out of her body. She hadn’t counted on the return of her arousal, but seeing the way he drove himself into her, the way he wanted her, the way he couldn’t wait any longer…
She sobbed. Spasms rocked her body to the rhythm of Eric’s thrusts. A guttural howl ripped from his throat and he came. Chloe felt the warmth. Even through the latex she felt his semen’s heat. She squeezed him hard, pulling him deep, drawing out her own orgasm until her shudders ceased.
Her legs slowly slipped from Eric’s shoulders, her knees sliding down to hook over his elbows. He didn’t back away, but kept his arms wrapped around her legs, his fingers imprinting her inner thighs. He remained hard and buried in her body, and she had no choice but to look up.
“If you’re waiting for permission to leave, then permission granted.”
“I’m waiting for an answer to my question.”
Question? When had he asked her a question? “Remind me, as I seem to have lost my mind.”
His face remained a hard mask. “Do you want us to be exclusive?”
How was she supposed to answer that when he had her bound to him? Every time she moved she felt his possession. “Yes. Until we finish this Faustian agreement.”
Eric eased his body free, eased her legs from his supporting hold. He slipped an arm behind her and helped her to sit on the edge of the table. He rid himself of the condom, adjusted his clothing and looked her in the eyes.
Chloe could barely move. Her back ached, her hip joints screamed. Her inner thighs throbbed. Her sex burned. Her conscience stung, and any control she’d once had had long since ceased to exist.
Working her dress down over her hips, her straps back over her shoulders, she slid from the edge of the table onto shaky feet, stood and smoothed her hair. She prayed for Eric to keep his mouth shut and leave without saying another word. But her prayers had rarely been answered.
He put his hand on the doorknob, paused and turned to meet her defiant gaze. “Let me tell you something, Chloe. The reason I call you princess is because your ivory tower is so damn high. You make it hard for a man to get close to you, much less claim you as his.”
She lifted her chin. “And now you’ve breached the tower, you think you own me? That you have a say over how I run my life?”
“Is that what you
think I want, Chloe?”
“Isn’t it?” When had a man ever wanted anything less?
“No, I don’t want to own you. I want to know you. There’s a helluva lot left for me to learn. And I mean to learn it, princess. All of it.” He stepped into the hall and reached back for the door, his gaze hardening. “No matter how many walls I have to scale.”
For long moments after Eric left, Chloe stared at the closed door. But no matter how hard she pressed a hand to her heart, she couldn’t stop its flutter of foolish hope.
CHLOE REFUSED TO PANIC.
She remembered having rushed past a ladies’ room during Eric’s earlier mad dash for privacy. And she scurried there now, before anyone could see her.
Before Eric, who was pacing the hallway—thankfully at the far end and in the other direction, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck and looking down at the floor—could say anything more about what had just happened, and add to her regrets.
Or to her hopes.
Her face was an absolute mess. Her lipstick was completely gone, or else smeared across her cheeks and her chin. Her foundation was damaged beyond any repair she could make with a compact. And what was left of her blusher was a joke.
Her mascara had fared better, though it left her with a serious case of raccoon eyes. And she hadn’t even gotten to her hair. Her brush, along with her makeup, was in the tiny black feather-boa bag she’d left hanging on her chair, thinking she wouldn’t be gone from the ballroom for more than a minute or two.
She’d never expected to find herself dragged off like a cave woman by a caveman.
She stared at her reflection, thankful the ladies’ room was off the beaten path and empty. She couldn’t face seeing anyone just yet. It was hard enough to face herself. What she’d just done was exactly what she’d promised herself and sworn to Sydney wouldn’t happen.
She’d jeopardized the very career she was trying to save by walking out on the gIRL-gEAR gIRL awards for a quickie. And she couldn’t begin to understand why.
