She gasped when his hands began working at the waistband of her pants, but her own hands dropped to follow suit. It only took a moment for them both to be stepping out of the matched pairs of slacks pooled on the floor, leaving their shoes behind as well. She slid her hand down over his hipbone and along the top of his thigh, surprised not to run into any hindrance from his underwear. She stepped closer, pressing against him and whimpered when she felt his bare cock, warm and velvety and hard against her stomach. His hands skated down her back, quickly releasing the catches on her bra and continuing down to push against the white silk of her panties. He slid them tenderly down her legs, catching her soft crew socks and slipping them off her feet as he removed the lingerie. He dropped open mouthed kisses along her legs on his way back up. She cried out as he licked at the crease of her hip.
Then he was kissing her again, their naked bodies rubbing eagerly against each other, hungry for more.
He bit her lip lightly, and it awoke something feral within her. She pivoted lightly around him and pushed him, surprising him enough to knock him over onto the bed. He crabbed back toward the headboard, grinning wickedly, encouragingly, his tongue caught temptingly between his teeth.
She barked a laugh when she saw he still had black socks covering his feet.
She grabbed one by the toe and yanked, tossing the sock over her shoulder as she admired his foot. He smirked at her as she repeated the process on the other foot, then groaned softly as she slid her warm hands over the soles and tops of each foot in turn.
She mounted the bed, his leg between her knees, and slowly cat crawled her way up towards him. She hesitated at his waist, pausing to watch his cock move in time to his breathing, his heartbeat, his response to her presence. Even in the soft light of the bedside lamps, this was something she had never looked at closely before. She had seen naked men before, of course, in her life drawing classes, but it wasn't appropriate to study the hardware there. And Gabriel had never let her, never wanted her to explore him.
"Curious, pet?” he asked hoarsely.
She blushed, but nodded.
"'S okay. Check it all over, make sure it meets your approval."
She already knew it did. It fit her like nothing she had ever felt before. But she was fascinated by the shape of it, the ridge around the head, the veining. She slid her fingers between it and his stomach, letting the weight of it rest in her hand, making him hiss in response. She closed her fingers around it lightly, slid the circle loosely down his shaft, feeling the tightness of the skin, the rigidness of the blood-filled vessels. “Does this feel good?” she asked, sliding her hand back up to the head.
"Mmm, yeah.” He arched into her motion. “Just hold it a little tighter."
She closed her fingers tightly, squeezing him. “Like this?"
"Lindy,” he moaned in reply.
She smiled smugly and began stroking him slowly, evenly, watching in fascination as a clear liquid gelled at the very tip.
Instinctively she bent over and licked the liquid away.
"Christ!” He bucked in surprise, jerking his cock in her hand.
"I'm sorry!” She started to move away.
"No, no,” he gasped. “Just surprised me is all. Wasn't expecting it."
"I won't do it again."
"Oh, pet, I wish you would. If you want to."
"You ... liked it?"
He met her eyes intently. “Luv, haven't you ever gone down on a man before?"
She shook her head in embarrassment.
"I don't think there's a straight man alive who doesn't like to have a woman's mouth on him. But you don't have to..."
She shut him up by running her tongue around the head of it in a hard, wet stroke. He gasped and arched up, but she moved back away from it, meeting his passion-soaked eyes seriously. “Help me,” she insisted.
"You're doing just fine.” He could barely get the words out.
She opened her hand to slide her tongue down the prominent vein along the underside, then up along the sides, wrapping around the curve of it as she guided it with her hand. She could feel him fighting to keep his hips still, his fingers locked in the bed linens. She continued to explore him with her tongue, covering every inch of the rigid flesh until the velvety hardness glistened in the lamplight.
"God, please, luv,” he begged her.
"What?” She was confused. She'd thought he was enjoying her attention.
"I need it in your mouth. Please."
Oh! She looked at the size of it, intimidated. It would never all fit...
"Just what you can,” he seemed to read her mind. “Please."
Her free hand stroked the side of his leg comfortingly as she dropped her head over him. Her tongue slid along the shaft as her lips closed around his head. She moved down slowly, curious as to just how much of him she could take.
"Mind the teeth,” he whimpered softly.
She opened her mouth a bit wider, keeping her lips soft as she continued her descent. His hands came up to rest on her head. “That's perfect,” he encouraged. “Just bloody perfect.” He guided her to slide back up, then down again. He felt amazing in her mouth, like she could feel his life pulsing there. She quickly found a rhythm and bobbed her head eagerly along his length.
Finally his hand on her head slowed her. “Lindy, luv, you need to stop."
She knew her look was petulant. “Why?"
"Because if you don't, you're gonna find out if you spit or swallow..."
She met his eyes, saw the intensity there.
And lowered her head right back to what she had been doing.
"Christ, woman!” he cursed, clutching at her head. “Just remember I ... warned ... you Aaagh!!!"
He came hard, thrusting up jerkily. She pulled her head back to keep him from choking her, but kept her lips tightly sealed around him, her mouth filling with his seed. It was hot and salty and bitter, but not. It made her feel powerful, like she'd given him something, taken something from him. Something primal, eternal.
As he calmed, she slid her mouth off the tip, sealing her lips. She looked at him, sexual aggression radiating from her. And deliberately, obviously, she swallowed.
He growled a primitive animal sound and threw her down on the bed. He kissed her hard, his tongue invading her mouth to delve out the remaining taste of himself. His hand with no deliberation sunk deep into her dripping center, and he swallowed her scream of pleasure.
"You want to know what that feels like?” he ground out. “Want to feel what you just did to me?"
Her heart was racing, her eyes huge with trepidation. But the only word that passed her lips was a breathy, desperate “Please!"
He didn't answer, moving over her, down her, settling himself between her thighs, running his hands along the length of her legs. “No stockings this time,” he noted richly. “But still just as silky.” He leaned down to run his lips along the inside of her thigh. She cried out and bowed up, but his hands pushed down on her hips, trapping her. “None of that, now. I intend to enjoy this for a long, long time."
She sobbed softly.
"And so will you.” And his mouth repeated its actions on the other side.
He drew soft, deliberate circles along the tender flesh of her inner thighs, moving closer and closer to the soft dark hair curling wetly between them. She whimpered and begged, her hips and ass trembling with anticipation. He met her desperate gaze with a ferocious look of his own. “Say it, Lindy. I want to hear it."
"Please, Michael! Please, oh god, please!” She whimpered and twisted under him.
He ducked his head and slid the flat of his tongue the length of her slit.
She screamed.
"Now that's the sound I want to hear, pet,” he said against her trembling pussy. “No need to be quiet here. I want to hear you, hear how much you love this. Because you do, don't you?"
She bobbed her head eagerly as he began probing her, his tongue licking and digging and exploring all her soft folds and cre
vices. She moaned and cried out, writhing, clutching at him, lost in the liberation of the act. There was nothing for her to do but lie back and enjoy, no way to pleasure him in return but to respond, and she gave herself up to it. She felt the climax building swiftly in her gut, heard her own voice drop in pitch from screams to guttural, animal growls. He flicked his tongue over her clit and she howled, locking her legs around his head to keep him there. She felt him smile against her, then felt his lips latch onto the bundle of nerves and suck hard, his tongue flicking across it eagerly. Her hips slammed up and down, her eyes rolling back into her head as her whole world exploded, colors coming to her as sound, sound as taste, feeling as light, and she wailed and arched and exploded under him.
"Michael,” she moaned softly as she collapsed against the mattress.
He was over her in a thrice, his mouth taking hers in a soothing, exploring kiss even as his rigid cock probed for entrance below. She lifted her legs around him, drawing him into herself with a low cry.
"See what you do to me?” he asked, stroking slowly within her. “Do you see what you are capable of? Beautiful, beautiful girl."
She pulled him back, kissing him languidly.
He buried his face in her neck as he continued moving, the feeling between them building. As the strength returned to her legs and she began to thrust more forcefully against him, he gripped her waist and once again rolled her over to be on top. She was too weak and tired to sit up, so she supported herself on her arms, rocking back and forth, the auburn cloud of her hair enveloping them.
"This is what you were made for, Lindy,” he murmured against her lips as he moved with her, pressing deeper into her with each stroke. “You are full of passion, desire, energy just crying to be let out. Let it out, love. Let it all out!"
"God, Michael!” She began moving faster. “How do you do this? How do you make me respond to you like this?"
"'S not me, luv. It's all ... inside ... you."
"No. I never knew I could feel ... like ... this oh god it's coming, Michael!"
"I feel it, love. I ... feel ... it too, harder that's it that's my girl just ... like ... that..."
"Michael! So ... good! Shouldn't feel ... this ... good oh god!"
"Yes you should. You should feel like this every fucking day..."
"Michael!” She thrust down on him hard, and as though something flowed between them, as though they were one person, they came together, crying out each other's name.
She collapsed onto him, and he held her close. After a few minutes, he slid her down beside him, still holding her, and maneuvered the bedspread over them. She moved to get up, but he held her still. “Shh, sh. Sleep for a bit, pet. I'll wake you."
She sighed and snuggled closer to his warmth and surrendered to the lethargy enfolding her.
* * * *
It was eleven when he woke her. They rose and dressed, pausing occasionally for soft, undemanding kisses. Then he held her coat for her, buttoned her up, and walked her downstairs.
They went out the Fifty-Ninth Street entrance that she had come in almost four hours before. The street was still busy and bright with headlights as he flagged a cab for her. He held the door for her, but she stopped. “When will I see you again?"
He smiled. “Lunch tomorrow. I don't think I can wait much longer than that. Meet me at Belvedere Castle? At twelve thirty?"
She nodded shyly, then kissed him one last time and disappeared into the cab. She watched him watch her as the cab turned up Eighth Avenue and out of sight.
Chapter 7
Rogue closed the hotel room door behind him and slumped back against the old wood.
Christ.
He crossed the room to the bar and swilled down the two fingers of single malt he had poured for himself earlier. He stared into the bottom of the glass, then put it down, filled it again, and drank that down just as quickly.
It wasn't supposed to be this easy.
She wasn't supposed to need him so much.
How was he supposed to know that Gabriel Stevens’ wife was as much a victim of the man as Rogue was?
Whenever he had imagined Gabriel's wife, he had pictured her as cold and sharp, selfish, manipulative, harsh and unfeeling, like Gabriel himself was.
He thought his assumptions had proved out that first day (had it only been two days ago?), as she'd sat with her vapid friends having vapid conversations, and had come on to him aggressively with silent promises no man could refuse. He'd had no intention of refusing anything she offered. Getting between her thighs had been his specific goal from the moment he had found out about this assignment. He was going to be spending three months in the same city with Stevens and his fuckable wife, and Rogue fully intended to do unto Gabriel as the son of a bitch had done unto him eighteen months before.
Just thinking of it brought the memory vividly to his mind's eye, no matter how often he'd tried to free himself of it. It was still a clear, scorching agony that no amount of alcohol or revenge would ever ease for him.
He had come home from work early that night (because wasn't that how these things always happened?) to find his Hope and that bastard fucking away madly in the middle of the living room rug. They both dripped with sweat, her sunlit blonde hair spread damply around her as he pounded into her. His back was ribboned in scarlet streaks, emblems of her unrestrained passion. The room reeked of hours of sex.
Whether they didn't notice him, or couldn't or just didn't want to stop, they didn't. Her arms were flung wide, bracing her against the floor, her legs wrapped high around his waist as he gripped her ass in his big meaty hands, lifting her hips up off the floor to piston his cock deep into her pale amber pussy over and over. She chanted Gabriel's name in harsh, guttural consonants as he cursed at her, demanding release.
It felt like hours to Rogue, but it was only a matter of moments before they came fiercely. Hope bucked and seized as Gabriel plunged deep into her, locking their hips together as his head jerked back in time to his own release.
Hope stayed spread out on the rug, panting and mewling as she came down, her body still twitching and rolling in lingering spasms. Gabriel slid off her to sit next to her, an arm resting on one raised knee, the other leg outstretched, his softening cock still wet with her juices and his come. He met Rogue's eyes, aggressive, supremely confident. “Evening, Rogue."
"Get. Out. Of my. House,” he had ground out, sick with rage and humiliation. “Before I kill you."
Hope rolled over and looked at him, face still swollen from passion. “Oh, my Rogue,” she had purred at him. “Don't be like that. It was just a bit of fun, my sweet."
"You, too, Hope. You and your new toy can get the hell out right now. Find a new place to live, because you won't be living here any more."
It had been an empty threat as it turned out. He couldn't stand to be in the house either after that. He ceded it to her as part of the divorce proceedings. He had bought the townhouse in Clapham and tried to figure out how to go on with his life.
And now he was in New York, working his revenge on the man who had ruined his life.
The chit had fallen into his lap. He had known she'd be in that restaurant that day (Stevens’ secretary was well-informed and eager to talk), and had planned to make first contact with her there, set the groundwork for her seduction. He had not expected to end up shagging her there in the bathroom. She had been so eager, so hungry for him. How was he to know she was basically a little girl playing grown up games? He was almost grateful he had taken the time and effort to pleasure her at the time. Not that that had been his intention in doing it. He had intended it as more ammunition to use against Gabriel, telling him all about the encounter and how much she'd enjoyed it, what she'd sounded like when she came.
He stared into the empty glass again. She had sounded amazing.
It wasn't until the party last night that he began to realize his assumptions about her were wrong.
He had known for a week that they would be attending the
fundraiser and had finagled a ticket for himself. Which he planned to expense back to the company as a networking cost. Seducing your rival's wife on someone else's dime. The height of class.
He had arrived early enough to see them make their entrance, had seen Gabriel's possessive grip on her that had little to do with desire or affection and more to do with ownership. Had watched him abandon her as soon as he didn't need her anymore. She had looked so grateful when her perky blonde haired friend and Blondie's husband had shown up. This girl was not a society bitch, able to mingle and connect and work a room with ease and a total lack of substance.
He found himself coveting every man she danced with, who got to lay a hand on that bare, perfect back and hold that strong, delicate hand, murmur quietly into the shell of her ear to make her smile. When he saw her alone at the end of the verandah, he couldn't resist the opportunity.
That's when he discovered that she wasn't the sexual predator he had taken her for, either. She was all passion and no experience, regardless of her protests. She had no confidence, no understanding of her sexual power. Her husband had apparently made sure of that. She wasn't a trophy wife to Gabriel, not even a marriage of convenience. She was simply decoration to him, and that, Rogue realized, was how to get to him. He could take Gabriel's best ornament away, take this passive, supportive, obedient wife and awaken her to the strength and passion inside her, teach her all the things Gabriel should have but never bothered to, and ruin her for the bastard forever. He could do it. It had already started. He'd sensed the seeds of it almost from the beginning. She had accepted his offer more quickly than a happily married woman should. He could do this. He could wage war with the bastard using Lindy's body as the field of battle. And at the end of the month, when he revealed who and what had brought about these changes in Gabriel's perfect little child bride, then Rogue's revenge would be perfect.
What They Call Sin Page 4
