by Diana Seere
But then she saw him.
His hair was damp, tousled. His eyes were blazing. And his shirt—a fresh one, but just like the last—was unbuttoned. Torn, faded jeans hugged his hips and well-muscled thighs. And he was barefoot.
“Nobody will find us down here,” he said roughly, reaching for her. “Nobody will know.”
“I’ll—” she began, but he swallowed her protest with a kiss.
Tasting his mouth, inhaling his scent, hearing the growl of desire in his throat—her fortress of self-denial crumbled.
She wrapped her arms around his neck and melted. She wanted all of him, every massive inch, on her and in her. Now. It would be impossible to stop now. Her arms were trembling. Her knees were buckling. She was like the survivor of a car accident, except the accident hadn’t happened yet. The crash was coming, and she didn’t want to stop it.
“Derry,” she cried, kissing his face over and over, clinging to him, shaking.
“Jess, my darling,” he said, his voice like a kiss. His hands stroked the back of her head, the curve of her waist, her breasts. “It’s all right. I’m here. I’m here.”
She couldn’t talk. She’d held back for too long. She didn’t know how to do this. She felt like crying. She was crying.
Making soothing noises as he caressed her, Derry lifted her in his arms. Before she could respond to this impossibility—he looked strong, but come on—he was laying her down on an ancient oak table and climbing on top of her. She felt smooth, flat planks under her shoulders, her back, her bottom. Derry’s hands were everywhere else, exploring her inner thighs, her ankles, her hair.
“You’re trembling,” he said. He loomed over her but was careful to support his own weight. “Are you cold?”
She shook her head. Closed her eyes.
“What then?” he asked.
She tried to tell him.
His lips traced her cheekbone. “I can’t hear you, darling. Would you mind terribly saying that again?”
“Afraid,” she whispered, opening her eyes to find his arctic-blue eyes piercing her soul. His eyes were wide with surprise, then narrowed, his head tilting slightly to the left as he studied her.
Cataloged her.
Owned her.
“Then,” he said, kissing her once on each cheek, “we will be afraid together.” His mouth took hers with a breathless movement that filled her with heat, her trembling vanquished instantly as his entire body covered hers with a pressure that drove all doubt from her in one swift second.
The slide of his palms along her skin drove her mad, her hands buried in the lush wetness of his long black hair. He was so big. Enormous. And his cock pressed against her thigh, so close yet so far, but then receded as he bent his head, pulling her shirt down roughly to expose one nipple and devouring it with his hot mouth.
“Oh, Derry!” she cried out, arching up, begging for more. The touch of his lips, the gentle sucking that intensified, the rhythm of his measured teasing made the pulse between her legs quicken. She was wet, soaking for him, every nerve in ecstasy even as a tiny voice inside her told her to stop.
She banished that voice to stand in the corner like a misbehaving child.
Derry nuzzled the space between her breasts, then moved on to the other, pulling her shirt down so she was exposed, the chilled air in the cool wine cellar no match for their heat. By the time he’d kissed her navel and moved down, she realized time had disappeared. She was floating, living in a space she didn’t know she could inhabit, her legs on either side of his broad, muscled shoulders, now unclothed as his open shirt slid to the ground, pooling beneath her feet at the end of the table, and his palms slid under her skirt, seeking the tender skin between her thighs. She felt a tug, heard a faint snap, a shredding of fabric, and then the confounding cool heat of his breath.
“Ah, you’re wet for me, Jess,” he said, that British accent making the words seem naughtier than they were, making her wish he would do unspeakable acts. She wasn’t quite sure what those would be, but if anyone could do them, she was certain Derry was up to the task.
His hair was silk and onyx, thick and wild, her fingers frolicking in the sensual glory of this man who had so much to explore. He was a world, a mountain range, a continent, and as one hand stayed in his hair, the other traversed the terrain of his hot back, the wide muscles radiating lust.
All man.
A sudden flash of self-consciousness immobilized her as he dove between her legs, planting the lightest of kisses on a trail headed for her wet, wanting pussy.
Then he paused, and she could hear the raggedness of his breath as he stared at her most private places. Moments passed. Long, hot moments during which he neither spoke nor moved. Her awkwardness returned, strengthened. She tasted fear again.
“What’s the matter?” she asked. “Is something wrong?”
“Nothing is wrong,” he said, his voice like gravel. “And you are the matter. You are everything that matters.” He spread her thighs apart and began to devour her.
“Oh my God,” she breathed. The earth fell away. She was flying.
“You’re delicious,” he said between licks, between kisses. “And beautiful. My Jess, my Jess.” He dove his hands beneath her ass and lifted her higher, opening her wider.
She leaned back, gave in, let go.
How hadn’t she known it could be like this? There had only been that time in college, the fumbling and the giggling, the premature ejaculation, the snoring, the forgetting and moving on. Hookups. Friends with benefits, but the friendships weren’t much and neither were the perks.
Jess remained a virgin, and not for lack of trying. More like lack of will to keep trying.
But this. This.
Him.
He was so confident. So firm. He acted like he knew his way around her own body better than she did.
Fingers. Tongue. All choreographed to the second, to her breath, to the beat of her heart.
She unwound completely, like the last piece of thread falling off the spool. Pleasure washed over her like rain. For the first time in her life, she submitted to the demands of her own body. It had been an eternity. How could she live without ever being touched like this? Without ever letting herself be touched?
His tongue slipped between her folds and caressed her in long, wicked strokes. Her clit was hard and aching, despairing for him. She arched her back to satisfy herself, to get closer. He indulged her with more pressure, a deeper kiss.
“Derry,” she gasped. “Derry.”
“Let go, my love.” His thumb danced at the base of her clit, pushing her into madness. “Jess. Jess.”
His voice sounded far away, but she felt him right there with her, flying into the stars. Then the tension shattered and she kept going higher, spiraling, spinning, dying.
With him. He was there, he had sent her, he would send her again. With him, she would never be alone.
Slowly, inevitably, she fell back to earth. She landed in his arms, dazed and spent, unable to hold a coherent thought. He was holding her, cooing to her, caressing her, saying her name.
“Derry,” she replied, just wanting to shape his name with her lips. She opened her eyes and saw the cellar’s shadowed ceiling, reminding her of where she was. She’d forgotten. The table was hard under her back, but Derry still cradled her hips in his arms.
She looked down at him, and their eyes met over the curves of her body. Energy crackled between them. Suddenly sensing his unsated hunger, she sucked in a breath, her pulse waking from its temporary rest.
It was his turn now. For all the pleasure he’d given her, she wanted more. She was hungry to have him inside her. She needed all of him.
“Jess,” he said, rising to his knees, fully aroused, seizing her ass with one hand. Digging her heels into the table, she lifted her hips to meet him.
“Jess,” said another voice. This one a woman’s, from a slight distance. “Have you gotten lost?”
Oh my God. Eva.
Derry d
idn’t seem to hear her. He was stroking his erect cock, hungrily eyeing her pussy.
Jess snapped her knees together and twisted to one side. Where were her clothes? Could she hide under the table? What the hell had Derry done with her panties?
“Jess?”
This time, Eva’s voice got through to Derry, who jolted at her words, tucking himself in his open jeans, Jess absentmindedly noting the absence of underwear on him. We’re a pair, she thought.
Jumping off the table, she smoothed her hair, raking it with her fingers, hoping she didn’t look as fuzzy and scattered as she felt. The air reeked of sex, her own musk like the bouquet of one of the thousands of fine wines stored in this cavernous, anachronistic room.
Derry caught her eye, and his mouth spread into a smile so predatory she nearly climbed back on the table and opened her legs for him. He shoved his arms into his shirtsleeves and buttoned up fast, then stroked her cheek with one finger.
“I smell like you,” he whispered, just as Eva made an appearance.
“Again? Does it run in the family?” Eva snapped at Jess, who exchanged a genuinely bewildered look with Derry.
She must be referring to Gavin, Jess thought, and made a note to ask Lilah what the hell that was about. Jess felt the creeping flush crawl up her breasts, the sensation of being caught being naughty a new one for her.
It felt… good.
Straightening her spine, she spoke up. “I was, um, doing what Der—Mr. Stanton requested.”
Eva sniffed, then pursed her lips. “I can tell.”
Jess’s blush deepened. “I meant finding the wine.”
“You go back upstairs and tend to your section, Jess.” Eva’s stare was like a laser, boring into her. “And remember the rules.”
Oh, she remembered the rules, all right.
Except that the red birthmark on her neck pounded so hard she could only think of one rule, one order that biology and destiny seemed to make her fate.
Him. She had to have him.
Derry started as the thought flowed through her, and their eyes met.
He knew.
How did he know? Could he read her mind?
“Go,” Eva barked.
Jess fled.
“What the hell are you doing?” Derry and Eva said simultaneously as the door to the wine cellar clicked shut with Jess’s departure.
“Me?” Eva retorted, clearly offended. “I didn’t turn one of the club staff members into a snack bar, Derry!”
“In a manner of speaking, you have!” he roared, bearing down on her, towering over the woman who acted like an older sister to him. She’d been his first crush as a small little cub-boy, and he’d never quite gotten over having his little six-year-old heart broken by the news that they couldn’t marry, for she’d already been promised.
But that was long ago, before her betrothed had died, before Asher’s wife, before so much pain and—
He shook his head to clear the sudden rush of nostalgic memory that came unbidden.
He was going mad.
“What the hell are you talking about? And your buttons are off.” One perfectly manicured finger tickled his chest with a poke. He looked down, distracted from his protective rage, to find she was right.
Damn it.
“You’re serving up Jess as bait when you have a problem member!” he growled, unbuttoning his shirt and turning away, as if exposing his naked chest to her would be a crime. When did he, of all people, become modest?
And yet with Eva, he was.
“You’re the problem member, Derry,” Eva shot back.
Her ire surprised him. Nothing rattled Eva. Why was she so upset about this?
“Isla’s been a pain in the ass for years, Eva. She’s nothing but trouble.”
“The same can be said about you.”
Ouch.
“But I am charming and know how to make the perfect apple caramel tart that you love,” he teased, trying to change the mood. The need to escape poured over him like a sudden, violent rainstorm.
He was still hard, throbbing for Jess, and her name pounded in his head like a heartbeat. She was upstairs somewhere now, serving men, bending and reaching, her cleavage and calves on display, the inner skin of her knees and the edge of the same thighs he’d just licked out there, in public, being ogled by men who had no right to even breathe the same air.
A radioactive cloud of possession filled him.
“You’re playing with fire, Derry. Gavin told me to make sure you leave Jess alone.”
Ah. So that’s what this was about.
“As if Gavin knows how to leave the staff untouched,” Derry said. “Such a fine role model, my big brother.”
“Older brother. Not bigger,” Eva said, her voice back to the sophisticated, unflappable tone he knew.
“True. In more ways than one.” He shot her a jaunty smile and waggled his eyebrows. Play the clown, he told himself. That’s what you know.
“Your penis size is nothing compared to your ego,” Eva said, selecting the bottle of wine he’d asked Jess to retrieve. She handed it to him without looking at the label.
“You’ve never sampled the merchandise, Eva. How would you know?” He wasn’t flirting. There was no attraction between them. Too many years, too many layers of loyalty and shared grief, and the ingrained distance of something so close to kinship that blood connection wasn’t required.
As she sauntered away, she called back over her shoulder:
“I don’t need to visit hell to know it’s a place that I would find thoroughly unpleasant. The same is true of your bed, Derry.”
“My bed is like Disneyland!”
“Everyone is fake, and the bathrooms are clean?”
He growled, trying to defend his manhood at the same time he suppressed his laughter. Sharp wit, that woman. Derry idly wondered why she’d never found a mate since…
None of his business, he reminded himself.
So why was his choice of a mate any of Eva’s concern?
“Keep Jess away from the jerks in the club.”
“Then you stay away from Jess, Derry.”
His hands curled into fists, chest expanding, his body wide and thick. As blood pumped through him, hard and pounding for Jess, he envisioned her delivering cocktails to yet another asshole who wanted to fuck her for his scorecard.
No.
And yet, a few weeks ago he himself had a scorecard to fill. Was he so different?
“This isn’t a joke.” His voice dropped, going deeper than the hidden Novo Club, deep into the earth’s core, finding a timbre that vibrated with an ancient sound that made his blood turn to hot lava.
She turned around and their eyes locked.
“Love never is.”
Chapter 10
It was her day off.
Not her day to get off.
Walking up the stairs into the biology building, Jess put a hand over her mouth to hide her involuntary smile. The morning was cold with a hint of frost, and she wore her favorite black leather gloves, the ones Lilah had given her for her twenty-first birthday. Soon Jess would have to find Lilah a present for her wedding. Hard to believe it was only weeks away.
She yawned, exhausted, thinking of all the work to be done. She’d only slept four hours the night before, but the quality had almost made up for the quantity. The best dreams, like a sexual drug trip, had enthralled her unconscious mind.
And her body. She’d woken up wet and feverish for him, her hands between her legs. Like sleepwalking except…
Biting her lip to hide another smile, she pulled open the heavy door to the old building.
Sleep-sexing. Slexing. She wondered if her professor had ever done a study or written a journal article about such a thing. Guys had wet dreams, but what about women? Could she actually climax in her sleep if the dream was good enough?
Feeling flushed, she had to pause and turn to a bulletin board to get ahold of herself. Finger by finger, she took off her gloves and shoved them
in her purse. Then she took out her compact and checked her lipstick.
She needed to make a good impression today. In three minutes, the professor whose expertise in human sexuality had led cable news stations to frequently invite her on air, making her a household name across the English-speaking world, was interviewing Jess to be her research assistant.
Well, one of many. Professor Jane Lethbridge already had quite a few assistants, most of them postdocs. But the job listing she’d read had said she was looking for an undergraduate, preferably premed but not required. Since Jess had first enrolled through the night school, and was older than most undergrads, she knew the regular students looked down on her. Those privileged kids who had gone to Andover and Deerfield, who took weekend ski trips to the Alps, who ate caviar for breakfast—she could only imagine what their lives were like, but they hadn’t been like hers, and she knew it showed. Working for a famous professor would help her prove she fit in. And improve her odds of getting into a decent med school.
She felt strange as she walked down the hallway, surrounded on all sides by the centuries of elite academia. Last night she’d been stripped bare in the wine cellar of an exclusive private club, and now she was here, in a different kind of club, almost as nervous as she’d been last night.
In a way, she was more nervous. This was real life. This was her future.
I’m your future too, a low voice rumbled in her mind.
This time she didn’t smile. She couldn’t think about Derry right now. The only way to cope was to compartmentalize her life at the club and her life—her real life—at school. The reason she worked at the club was to pay for her education, not enjoy herself in the basement.
Eva hadn’t called to fire her, so she seemed to still have a job. But if she and Derry did something crazy again—
She shook her head and turned her attention to the room numbers. She could not think about him right now. Her interview with the beautiful and brilliant Professor Lethbridge was in two and a half minutes, and she couldn’t show up with dilated pupils and a sex flush.
Room sixteen. Her office should be the next one, seventeen. But her door was blocked by a cluster of chattering students, male and female, all with perfect hair and perfect clothes and perfect bodies.
