by Ava Frost
James nodded again, tersely this time. Then he turned to the two ladies in question, frowning as they chatted quietly to each other and giggled from time to time.
It was only a matter of convincing them to get in his car, where Isabelle sat in front while Samantha settled at the back. Samantha kept chatting him up, apparently finding it hilarious that he was the one Isabelle kept going on and on about at the bar.
“And what, pray tell, has Isabelle been saying about me?” he asked calmly.
“That you are…an ass!” Then Samantha burst out in a fit of snorting laughter. Isabelle joined in, and they rejoiced in their antics before settling down as sleepiness took over.
James already knew where Samantha lived, having had access to files before, and it was an easy matter of taking her home first and leading her inside her apartment unit. When he got her there safely and got back in his locked car, Isabelle had fallen asleep, snoring lightly as she did so.
He couldn’t exactly take her home, because her father was going to have a fit.
With a sigh, he quietly drove them to his place.
******
Isabelle woke up when he parked the car at his apartment building’s basement, staring at the ceiling blearily and blinking her eyes a couple of times. He waited for her to turn her head towards him, and when she finally did, gave her a level stare.
She met that stare head-on, a smile brightening her face.
“Ah, the jerk who rejec – ted me,” she hiccupped, then tried to fall asleep again.
James leaned forward and gently tilted her chin up.
“I didn’t reject you, Isabelle,” he said, waiting as she opened her eyes and met his again. From this nearness, he could see them clearly, see her expression silently waiting for him to continue. “I just don’t want you hurt.”
Neither of them moved, frozen in their positions as she pondered this. “So you’re trying to protect me by rejecting me?”
“Weird as it sounds, yes.”
She pondered that again, blinking once and pursing her mouth. She nodded her head.
Relieved that she understood it, unable to take any more of her scent and being so close to her, James leaned back as he tried to control his incessant attraction for her. He opened his mouth and spoke as casually as he could, to lighten the mood.
“So, now that we’ve established—”
She pounced.
Isabelle moved before James could finish his sentence, flying off her seat until that portion of the car was empty and her warmth filled the driver’s area. The impact of her jump sent her flying straight into his lap, and without losing momentum, her arms went up to wrap around his neck.
And her mouth leaned down to cover his.
The first thing that stopped him from reacting right away was the shock of her fast movements as she licked his mouth with her tongue, hot and eager.
And then he couldn’t move at all, because arousal had shot up in his system like a vicious grasp and yanked him straight to raging desire. She tasted like alcohol and pure, delicious sin, threatening to unravel the thread of control he was trying to hold on to. Desperately, James tried to think of the negative sides of any part of her skin against his. She was his best friend's daughter.
She was too young for him.
She was tipsy, possibly more.
He needed to stop this.
Then Isabelle started writhing against him, a soft sigh coming out of her lips as she pressed closer. She rubbed against his erection like the most wanton creature he'd ever encountered.
And finally, with a strangled groan, James reacted.
He put his hands on her waist, intent on removing her from his lap. But she held on like a glove, her hands moving to slide down his chest and unbutton his dress shirt. She stopped kissing him, only to slide her mouth near his ear.
“I don’t need protection,” she whispered. “I need this, James Lucas.”
The way she said his name – throaty and soft – made him lose whatever resistance he had at the beginning.
With a low curse, James pulled her closer, sliding his hand up her hair and tilting her head to meet his mouth fully. There was the shortest of moment when they froze inches before they could kiss, and he felt her breath warming his lips. And then he touched her lips with his, hearing her sigh against him and feeling nothing but pleasure – intense, unbelievable pleasure.
This kiss, slower and ultimately more intimate, was glorious.
And it wanted to consume him completely.
His hands cupped her breasts over her dress – hell, the dress she’d tortured him with during dinner – marveling at how tight and perky they were and rubbing his thumbs repeatedly on her nipples until they stiffened and poked against the material. Unable to help himself, he cruised his mouth down her skin, lowering to her shoulder and biting gently. She moaned and jerked, and he soothed her by sucking the reddened skin and pressing his palm against her thigh, sliding her dress up.
One finger touched her core, then slid inside her and curled. She was wet and absolutely tight, and it felt like she was waiting for him as he kept a carefully slow rhythm while his mouth absorbed her moans.
It lasted a few seconds. It felt like a lifetime. Isabelle exploded around his finger, clenching like a vise as her hands gripped his shirt. He kissed her thoroughly, lost in her high, waiting for her to come down from her climax even as his cock begged for release.
Silence.
Then Isabelle slumped against him, sweetly responding to his kisses before closing her eyes in deep, drowsy satisfaction.
“Fantastic,” she murmured.
Then she fell right back to sleep.
*******
He didn't feel guilty, but tried to gather his emotions as he carried her sleeping form up the elevator and into his unit, tucking her in his bed before closing the door of his bedroom.
She'd been aware of it all, even while drunk. Had been aware, had enjoyed it all, and would probably regret it come morning.
But he was more aware, and he knew it would stay embedded in his mind for a long, long time.
And he knew he shouldn't have taken advantage.
The couch looked cold, and James wanted nothing more than to slide in bed with her and wake her up at dawn to do what he did to her, again – again and again and again until she was all but steeped in the pleasure, all but screaming his name.
He acknowledged that thought, filed it inside him, and sat on the couch as a certain realization settled slowly.
He was in deep, deep trouble.
Chapter 7
When Isabelle woke up, she found herself staring at a strange ceiling and lying on a soft, unfamiliar bed. Panic would have set in right off, if not for her headache-filled mind bombarding her with image after image of the fun she and Samantha had last night – then the intoxication setting in, and a dreaded man looking at her with nothing but disapproval in his gaze.
Even her fuzzy mind wouldn't let her forget how she'd called him like an idiot at a very late hour and said such stupid things before hanging up and rejoicing in her so-called victory.
When had she become so immature?
That was the extent of her memories, and she groaned out loud as embarrassment over her behavior filled her. Isabelle rarely went out for drinks, preferring to stay at home or in her college dorm room to read – but when she did, she often went all out.
God. What else had she done?
A yellow note beside the bed got her attention, with a few words telling her to drink some water when she woke up. It was written in James’ smooth handwriting. Beside the note was an aspirin and a glass of water, and Isabelle made the effort to get out of bed and down it right away. Then she tried to gather her wits about her, allowing herself to focus on the spacious, masculine-themed room she was in.
There was no doubt this was James’ room, because she could smell him in the sheets.
A glance down told her that she was still wearing the same outfit as last ni
ght – a stretchy silver thing with thin straps that sparkled when she moved. She’d worn a bolero during dinner with her father to appease him, but had removed it once she was at the bar. Her shoes were laid out neatly on the carpet, and her handbag was sitting on his dresser. She made a move to stand up and grab the bag–
And the door opened.
James stood at the door, wearing dark gray sweatpants and a plain white shirt. He looked fresh and unfairly handsome, his damp hair swept back and a five o'clock shadow on that well-chiseled jaw. He was carrying a towel and a tiny basket, stopping only when he saw her already up. Green eyes met hers.
Isabelle froze.
The tension that built up in that gaze could have been cut with a knife, and she found herself almost unable to breathe. Then James cleared his throat and nodded his head, cutting through whatever moment was happening.
“Good morning,” he said, voice painfully courteous.
She attempted a smile, but didn't think it looked quite right on her face. “Good morning.”
“I brought you a towel and fresh clothes. Thought you might want to freshen up.”
“I...thank you.” She hesitated for a few seconds, then rushed on. “Did I do anything stupid?”
Other than calling you?
Green eyes flickered, but his gaze remained unreadable as he shook his head.
“Just being your usual young self,” he said lightly, the emphasis quite clear on the word young. Then he instructed her to come out after her shower for breakfast and silently closed the door.
The moment his footsteps couldn't be heard anymore, Isabelle snatched a pillow and shoved it on her face.
Then she groaned at her own stupidity. Even a night of drinking didn't take away from the damn man's attractiveness. Or her disappointment.
She was so screwed.
*******
The hot shower cleared her mind a little bit, but there were still some blank moments that needed to be filled in. She quickly dressed in the loose shirt and boxer shorts he brought, forgoing her old underwear and arranging her party clothes inside her handbag. Then, because her own phone battery was low, she used the wireless phone on top of his dresser and dialed a number as she tiptoed outside of his room and took a peek.
Empty.
He was probably out doing some errands. Or something. Relieved, Isabelle wandered around until she found the kitchen. His place was a typical bachelor’s pad – sleek, simple and almost impersonal.
“Hello?”
Samantha's groggy voice brought Isabelle back.
“Sam! Did you get home okay?”
Some shuffling and the bed creaking, then Samantha answered. “Good morning to you, too.”
“Yes, sunshine, good morning. Now, did you get home okay?”
“What do you mean? James took us both home. Embarrassing moment 101 when the boss witnesses everything.”
Oh. So James took care of the two of them. Isabelle bit her lip as silence filled the line.
Then she heard a gasp.
“Oh, my God. Iz?”
“What?” Isabelle said defensively.
“Oh, my God. Isabelle! You didn't.”
“I didn't,” she replied automatically.
“You totally did,” Samantha hissed in a whisper. “No wonder you kept calling him asshole last night!”
Isabelle sighed, rubbing her head. “Shhh. Not so loud. I still have a headache.” Though the aspirin was working fast, thank goodness, as it wasn't as painful as earlier.
Silence came from the other end. Then Samantha spoke again, her tone more serious this time. “You're not home, are you?”
“Nope.”
“And he was the jerk who rejected you.”
“Yes.”
“Oh, sweetie...I'm sorry to hear that. Want me to come over and get you? We can sneak out if you want.”
She smiled at that. “I can handle it, don't worry.”
“Good to know,” her friend's encouraging voice said over the phone. “So what's your plan now? Are you headed home? Is he even around?”
Her mind had already formed the words for her even before she could say anything. Yes, she was headed home. No, he wasn't around. Isabelle leaned on the counter she was standing near on and closed her eyes as she tried to say the words.
Except what came out was completely different.
“I want him, Sam,” she blurted out before she could stop herself.
Silence.
“Are you sure, Iz?”
“I've never been more sure of anything in my life. I just want him so bad. I’ve wanted him since I was fifteen,” she whispered.
It was scary to admit it, but her chest felt lighter once she got it out.
Samantha made the appropriate comments, spouting something off about them hanging out on a no-drinking binge session to talk about it if Isabelle wanted. While the woman was sweet, and instinct told her she could trust her, Isabelle opted to decline, hedging an excuse that she needed to get home and finish some tasks.
In truth, she just needed to be alone.
“Sweetie, any man who doesn’t want to fuck you is insane – and obviously he is,” Samantha was saying.
Isabelle chuckled. “Maybe we can hang out next week.”
“Oh, that would be lovely!” Samantha began to make plans right then and there, and there was talk about Samantha bringing her car, triggering something in Isabelle's brain–
Whatever Samantha was saying next got lost in Isabelle’s mind.
In an instant of hot flashes, everything came back. The car. Her pathetic attempts to seduce him, and...
James kissing her. Touching her.
Making her experience a mind-blowing orgasm in just a matter of seconds.
And then – and then – being all polite again today, like nothing even happened.
In short: rejected a second time.
In mild panic, Isabelle squeezed the phone.
“Sam, no one can know about this, okay?”
“Of course.”
“Especially not James. If he knows–”
“I already know.”
The male voice stunned Isabelle enough to open her eyes, where she found James looking at her. She turned around with a gasp, facing away from him and fully expecting him to lecture her right there and then – and perhaps offer to take her home in his usual indifferent manner.
Instead, his hand touched her arm.
His mouth rested on her ear.
“And you’re wrong. I do want you.”
And Isabelle dropped the phone in shock.
Chapter 8
He was going to keep that picture of Isabelle in his mind – fresh and wearing his clothes in the kitchen, as if she belonged there. Her eyes were closed, and her teeth were biting her plump lips as she and Samantha discussed him. Him, as in the man who rejected and hurt her.
As in the man she wanted since she was a teenager.
Isabelle had bloomed from a young, shy kid to a confident, sexy woman, bloomed into a beauty like no other – and his blood rejoiced as he slowly, painfully became aware of it. It made him stagger in amazement, made him dumbfounded.
And it made every inch of his body ache.
The shock of that knowledge – because all the while, he thought nothing existed between them – made him freeze as he kept the other phone extension in his ear and spoke for the first time since he’d seen her in the kitchen.
“I already know.”
Shock made her open her eyes, and a dawning comprehension entered her expression as she looked at the phone he was holding. Then she turned around with a gasp, almost as if embarrassed to face him.
And he was having none of that.
In a few easy steps, he was crossing the kitchen floor until he was standing inches away from her, and he touched one hand on her arm. He felt her stiffen, but tried to ease her by whispering near her ear.
“And you’re wrong. I do want you.”
The statement made Isabelle jol
t slightly before dropping the phone on the floor with a soft thud. He ignored it and kept his mouth near her ear, just enjoying the moment. Then, unable to resist, he went closer and dropped his own phone on the counter, sliding both hands up and down her arms as he slowly started to kiss her ear.
A strangled gasp came out of her mouth.
“What are you doing?”
“What I should have done before,” he murmured before his hands moved under her shirt and cruised up to her breasts. She was as perky as last night, and just as soft, and he groaned at the sensation of her nipples hardening at his ministrations. His own cock hardened in response, and with no hesitation, he thrust it against her back, digging in until her torso was pressed on the kitchen counter.
“Tell me if you want me to stop,” was all he said as his breathing roughened.
Her hands clenched as they gripped the sides of the counter. “James.”
“Yes?”
“I – oh, God,” she moaned when his tongue licked at her neck, tasting fresh shower and smelling her own delicious scent. She was addictive and warm, and he wanted more.
So much more.
Without even realizing it, James was stepping in more than he bargained for, and what started out slow became oh-so-fast as he proceeded to slide her shirt up and remove it. He didn’t hear any protest – instead, he heard her breathing turn sharp.
And suddenly he wanted to kiss her.
There was nothing gentle in the way he turned her around to face him. But Isabelle came willingly, removing his shirt in a rush before her hands flew to his hair to bring his head down. Their mouths met, a seductive dance that made his blood pound through his veins, made him want to pound inside her until they were both raw from the pleasure.
Not yet.
Her breasts were for him to feast. To taste. His mouth watered at the sight of them, and he didn’t waste time as he suckled one in his mouth, his tongue nestling the rosy tip. His own breathing grew ragged. Caught in the moment, he slid his hand inside the boxers to find her just as bare as her top.
She was slick to the touch, wet and already sucking his finger in. With a groan, then a growl, James abruptly removed his mouth from her nipple, staring at her and trying to calm himself before he was beyond any control.
