Hot Sexy Desire

by Nadia Lee

  Although the mob behind #PedHo has basically dispersed now, I am still instantly recognizable, thanks to the Hollywood Blaze…which, of course, doesn’t bother to issue an apology. It claimed to be the victim of an unscrupulous paparazzo. Haha, cry me a fucking river, assholes.

  So I put on a casual fitted pink shirt and faded blue jeans, Chucks, a pair of giant sunglasses and a pink Nike cap I got in Tokyo. The last two do a pretty decent job of hiding my face.

  Five before twelve, I walk into Galore II. It’s a brand new deli not too far from Dominic’s penthouse. The owners are the same people who started the original Galore, which serves some of the best sandwiches in town. They have tons of gluten-free options, including bread that tastes surprisingly like your standard fare. I grab a turkey and cheese sandwich on thick rustic bread with extra mustard, no onions or pickles, plus a tall iced organic jasmine green tea and a bag of plain baked potato chips. A sandwich without chips is like an haute couture dress without heels.

  I see Nicolas in the crowd. He’s easy to spot since he looks just like his profile photo. One point for Nicolas.

  He got a table near a window. As I approach, he stands and pulls out a chair for me with an easy smile that shows teeth any dentist would admire. “Kristen, how lovely.”

  Putting down my plastic tray, I smile back at him. “Nice to meet you in person, Nicolas.”

  “Please, call me Nick. All my friends do.” We shake hands.

  I wait until he’s seated again and study him. I’ve been to a few photo shoots, and pictures don’t always tell you everything. Good models and great photographers can put more than there is into their pictures. A model can be dumb as a rock or have a volcanic temper, but somehow they can project intelligence or calm in their photos.

  On the other hand, most normal people don’t know how to put all that into their pictures. They aren’t trained to pose, and they don’t have a top photographer to guide them if they don’t know what to do. That’s why there are so many awkward and ill-advised selfies, with the subjects trying too hard.

  Nick is definitely the second case, although not one of worst I’ve seen. His profile pic only showed him as being good-looking, failing to capture his intelligence and cultured sophistication.

  Good manners. Friendly. Smart. Seems honest. Guess I can have my regular one-hour lunch, then set up a second date before he has to go back to work.

  Before I can ask him about himself, he asks me about my work and what it’s like to work for Lola, a young designer who gets a lot of hype. I just smile since I don’t want to discuss the raw deal I got. Instead, I talk about fashion in general. Most men find it boring. Even Dominic, who’s proud of my accomplishments, gets a glaze in his eyes if I go on for more than a couple of minutes. Nick will change the topic to something more to his liking soon enough.

  But no. He leans forward, hmming and body-languaging me to continue every time I trail off.

  After a little while, it’s time to change the subject. “What is it that you do, exactly,” I ask in a teasing tone, “that you can’t take an afternoon coffee break?”

  “I’m a novelist.”

  “Ah. Then your ‘dick of epic proportions’ boss would be…?”

  “Moi.” Nick grins sheepishly. “I basically work for myself, and I’m not an easy boss to please.”

  “I don’t blame you. I’m the same way about my own designs, and sometimes my sister-in-law says I should just not be so hard on myself.”

  “People who want to do great things tend to be hard on themselves. If they can’t produce good work, how can they expect it of others?”

  “Right! I—” The door to Galore II opens, and Antoine walks through. His office is too far away for him to be casually dropping by for lunch.

  Antoine’s presence demands all my attention. Everything else fades into sepia tones, with only him bright and glowing like a star in a black sky. He looks amazing, his clothes crisp as though he hasn’t been wearing them for hours. There’s a five o’clock shadow on his jaw now. Danger and menace coil around him, and he moves toward my table with control and animal elegance.

  The air catches in my throat, and quickly I reach for my tea. I don’t want to act like an idiot after telling myself I’m eight point five percent over him. Why is he here? And what’s up with that grim expression?

  Oh my God. Did something happen to Dominic? Liza?

  I start to rise. “What’s wrong?” I ask, as my brain warns me something’s very, very off.

  Then it finally hits me. I’m not the center of attention here. Antoine is staring at Nick.

  “What the hell are you doing?” Antoine demands.

  “Having lunch with a beautiful woman,” Nick answers, enunciating each word neatly. “And you’re interrupting our date.”

  Antoine’s expression turns grim. It wouldn’t surprise me if he flipped the table and kicked Nick in the face.

  Antoine says something to Nick in rapid French. Although I spent six months in Paris after my time in Milan, my French isn’t good enough to catch it. Nick responds in the same language, his eyebrows snapping together, and the easy, affable demeanor is replaced by anger and something that looks suspiciously like the chagrined frustration of a teenager who’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t.

  Pointing at the door, Antoine barks something, and Nick stands. He moves as though he’s about to stiffen his shoulder and bump it against Antoine’s, then thinks better of it and leaves, his stride short.

  Antoine spins the now unoccupied chair and straddles it, his forearms resting on the back. He pins me to my seat with a hard stare.

  I scowl back.

  “What are you doing with that fucker?”

  “Seriously, Antoine? You have to ask?”

  “Yes.”

  “I’m dating—well, I’m trying to date—other people. You know, trying to find a man who will think me hot, sexy, desirable…words you said you’d never associate with me.”

  Antoine looks like he’s discovered a twitching fly on his favorite food—a rare porterhouse steak. “But him?”

  “Yes. He’s perfect.”

  “Are you blind?”

  I cross my arms. “Are you doing this to be a douche?”

  “No. I’m doing this because I want to. I would’ve done it even if you hadn’t asked me.”

  “You’re supposed to make me not like you, not screw up my love life.”

  “This is your idea of your love life going well?”

  “Yes!”

  “He’s a fucking dick. He doesn’t care about you or how you feel.”

  I gasp. The nerve! “And you know this…how?” I snap my fingers. “Oh, wait! Because you care so much about me and my feelings!”

  Even as I try so hard to act like I don’t care, I’m still hurting. I can’t unhear what he said to his mom, and I’m feeling too raw about that. And Antoine can probably tell I’m not okay.

  Screw it. I’m not even one percent over Antoine yet.

  Hating life in general, I get up, toss the leftover sandwich and tea into the trash, shove the unopened chips into my purse and leave.

  Antoine follows. “Kristen…”

  My gaze straight ahead, I keep walking toward my car.

  “Come on. Talk to me.”

  I flip him the bird. Then I get in the car and speed to Dominic’s penthouse. Despite my annoyance, I’m not allowed to return to my own place yet because my brother’s still freaked out about Mr. Naked Intruder.

  When I park my car and get out, the familiar black SUV stops next to me and disgorges Antoine. You gotta be kidding…

  I trot toward the elevator. He follows.

  “Go back to work. Or I’m going to tell Dominic you’ve been lazy and derelict in your duties.” I sound prim and pissy. Ugh. I was aiming for furious, or maybe just not to be messed with.

  “I’ll risk it.”

  I cross my arms. My temper simmers as we ascend to the top floor, but I’m not having a fight right
now. There’s a camera inside the elevator, and I’m not making a public scene that can be twisted to bite my ass.

  The second Antoine and I walk inside, Tolyan takes one look at my face, gets up and leaves without a word. When the door clicks shut behind him, I turn to Antoine and let loose. “You know what you are, Antoine?” I say, pointing a finger smack in the middle of his chest. “You’re a dog in a manger!”

  “A what?”

  “A dog in a manger. An asshole who lies down on a pile of hay so that the hungry cows can’t eat.”

  He stares at me like I’m not making any sense, and it pisses me off until I see red.

  “Go ahead. Google it and you’ll see a picture of your face! You don’t want me, but you don’t want me dating other guys, either. And because they don’t care about me and my feelings? That’s such bullshit. I’ll date whoever I good and damn well want, and if I happen to go for a guy who’s a douche, that’s my life. It doesn’t concern you.”

  “Why the hell not?”

  The genuine confusion in his voice is too much. I glare up at him. “Because…!” I’m nothing to you! I can’t say it because it’s too humiliating. So instead, I say, “You’re nothing to me.”

  Antoine looks at me like I slapped him, his face pale.

  I should stop, but I can’t. I jab my finger in his direction repeatedly as I make my point. “I’m doing what you want me to do. You told your mom you’d rather cut off your balls than marry me. That couldn’t have been clearer. I’m trying to accommodate you because it’s the only thing I can do.” Now I am actually jabbing him in the chest. “You know how crappy it is to hear what you said after I had all those clothes and lingerie sent here with the harebrained idea to seduce you into seeing me as a woman, not your best friend’s baby sister? Do you think I have no pride, just because I have feelings that you’ll never reciprocate?”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Kristen

  Antoine’s eyes narrow, and he wraps a hand around my wrist, lowering my arm and pulling me closer. “No. I don’t think that. I think you’re too damn fucking special…which is why I tried so hard to stay away.”

  The green intensity of his gaze makes my pulse throb. My mouth is drier than desert sand.

  “Do you know what it’s like to discover someone who makes your heart skip two beats, only to realize she’s someone you shouldn’t even think about that way? Do you know what it’s like to wish at times that your best friend was just…an asshole…so you could shrug off losing his friendship? Do you know what it’s like to have people say what a stud you are because you date one woman after another, but really it’s because you can’t have the one woman you actually want?”

  I stare at him, mute.

  “I think of you all the time. When it rains, I think of the day we met. When I smell jasmine, I think of the way you smell. When I’m in the shower, I wonder what it’d be like to have your hands running over my torso, your nails scraping my skin. By the time I reach down to wash my dick, I imagine it’s your hand gripping my cock, wonder what it’d be like to have your mouth wrapped around the head or watch as my dick sinks into your pussy.”

  My lips part as heat suffuses me. All this time…I had no freakin’ idea. And the images his words conjure fill me with pure lust. I swallow, my throat so, so dry. “Then stop wondering. Life’s too short.”

  “Kristen…”

  “You know how I feel about you. Are you waiting for me to get on my knees and beg?”

  We stare at each other, breathing in each other’s scent. He has a look of intense concentration, like he’s debating the most complicated problem in the world.

  I wait, my blood thick with hope, dread and anticipation. It’s his move now. If he pulls away…then it’s really over. I’ll have to scoop up all the broken pieces of my heart and move on—

  A harsh groan tears from his throat. His hands dig into my hair, pushing my cap off, and his mouth crushes mine.

  Relief catches in my throat in a shaky sob. Need sparks and spreads through me from lips to heart to fingertips to toes.

  Antoine's taste fills me—spice, a sweet hint of decadence that reminds me of rich dark chocolate, and a possessiveness that drives me wild. He plunders my mouth, all lips, tongue and teeth, and I revel in the lusty aggression.

  No more denial. No more retreats.

  I reward his aggression with my own, gripping his wide shoulders, then running my fingers through his hair. It’s clipped too short for me to grab, but I enjoy the silken texture and cup the back of his head, holding him close. We sink deeper into our kiss. And as though we’re mentally linked, we both gradually slow down—I’ve waited so long, and I want this to be perfect for both of us.

  He bites my lower lip, just enough to sting a little. The minor pain sends a hot jolt streaking down my body. His tongue flicks across the spot, soothing and exciting at the same time, and I feel the lick all the way to my pussy.

  I run my tongue over his mouth and sweep past his parted lips to stroke the inside of his mouth. We taste each other, stoke our desire, gauge each other’s reaction. Now that our fiery need has smashed through the walls, we’re trying to decide how to make it better for each other.

  Leaving one hand still wrapped around my hair, Antoine trails the other along the back and side of my neck, his fingertips gentle and inquisitive, then down along my spine. Shivers of excitement run through me, and I whimper softly, pressing against him and feeling his thick, hard length pressing back.

  Yes, yes, yes.

  I arch into him, unbearably turned on. I’m so wet and hot, and we still have all our clothes on. Why?

  “Bedroom,” I demand. “Now.”

  Laughing under his breath, Antoine picks me up in one swift motion. He walks up the stairs, his steps sure and quick. I’m not particularly small or fragile, but being in his powerful embrace makes me feel infinitely delicate, precious and treasured.

  Looping my arms around his neck, I kiss the pulse point, feeling it beating rapidly against my sensitive, swollen lips. His scent fills my senses, driving me crazy.

  We end up in my room. It’s as though he could tell I wanted our first time to be in someplace personal—like my bed or his. He deposits me on the mattress, then pulls off my shoes. They land on the hardwood floor with soft thuds.

  “Take off your clothes,” I say. Before, in the bathroom…I was naked and he wasn’t. And he beat a hasty retreat when he suddenly decided he couldn’t make love to his best friend’s baby sister. I’m not repeating that mistake. And I’m making sure he knows he’s here with me because he wants to be—nothing hammers the point home like undressing yourself.

  His green eyes grow darker. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  “So take ’em off.”

  His gaze on mine, he toes off his shoes, drops his jacket, undoes the holster, laying it carefully on my vanity, and unbuttons his shirt. There’s something incredibly erotic and empowering about watching him bare his body to me, one button at a time. My hands itch to touch him, but I keep them by my sides. This feels like a dream—an amazing, erotic dream I never want to wake up from. When his slacks, briefs and socks are gone, I let my eyes roam over his body, committing every hard plane to my brain forever. He is stunning—all power, breadth and control. I admire the incredible width and thickness of his shoulders and the way his torso tapers to the tight abs with visible ridges… Then lower, where his cock is jutting out.

  I lick my lips. It’s much bigger than I imagined—thicker, too. Dark veins pulse along the hard shaft, and I start to reach for it, wanting to feel it in my hand.

  He catches my wrist. “Not yet. Your turn,” he growls.

  Giving him a smile, I rise to my knees and pull my shirt off, flinging it so it lands on his clothes. The jeans follow. His eyes flare at the sight of me in my lingerie. I’m in a super-sexy set I bought recently. Nearly transparent lace cups my breasts, while the matching thong with thin satin straps and a bow sits low on my hips. “You like?
” I say.

  “I love, especially when it’s on you. You make everything special. Hot.”

  “Want me to take them off?”

  “Not yet.” His greedy gaze drinks me in.

  My breathing shallows as he comes closer, the muscles in his thighs flexing. Everything about him is big and imposing, and he’s going to be mine.

  When we kiss again, it’s like he’s put a break on himself. He licks my mouth, teeth tugging at my lower lip. He then drinks me in slowly, lick by lick, breath by breath. I pull him closer, our bare bodies touching, fitting perfectly. He’s so hot, so potent. I moan as my palms learn the feel and shape of him, from neck to shoulders to bulging biceps and forearms to the ridges of his abs and the tightness of his butt.

  He groans at my touch, but doesn’t relinquish my mouth. The kiss deepens, his large hand at my mid-back. My senses are spinning, and I shift so my legs are gliding against his, and my nipples rub against the crisp hair on his chest through the lace. The sensation makes me wetter, and lust beats a path through me, its rhythm in sync with my rapid pulse.

  Finally, his hand glides down and cups my breast. Pleasure flows through me as he kneads it, running his thumb over the tight nipple through the bra.

  “Antoine… I want you. Now.”

  He chuckles softly, the sound strained. “We waited for so long. We can wait a little longer.”

  “No, we can’t. We shouldn’t. Imagine how awful you’d feel if I died from frustration.”

  “The plan is to kill you with pleasure.”

  He makes no move to hurry, and I’m not strong enough force him to go faster. But strength isn’t the only thing that can compel someone…

  I run the pad of my index finger over the slit at the tip of his cock, spreading pre-cum all over. He shudders, letting out a small gasp. Then, deliberately, I flick his small, flat nipple with my slick finger and nip it, then pull it into my mouth, tasting salt and a hint of musk.