Only for a Night (Lick)

by Naima Simone

  “Are those second thoughts making a belated appearance?” Rion stood in front of her, and she focused her attention on the wide expanse of his chest, unable to meet his eyes.

  “No.”

  “You were always a horrible liar,” he mocked, shifting closer until she breathed in his dark, delicious scent. “Look at me, Harper.”

  Though soft, the tone brooked no argument or resistance. And she obeyed without hesitation. But this wasn’t the resented acquiescence she’d given Terrance. With Rion, she wanted to surrender, trusting that her safety, her needs, her pleasure was first and foremost for him. She could entrust her body into his care without worry.

  It was her heart that she couldn’t risk.

  It had been broken too many times and even now was held together by emotional duct tape.

  He cocked his head to the side, studied her. “What was our agreement earlier? I don’t use anything we do against you, and you give me what in return?”

  “Honesty,” she murmured.

  “You haven’t held up your end of the bargain, and I’ve let it go. But not now. What’s wrong? This doesn’t go any further until you tell me what you’re thinking.”

  The urge to utter “rosebud,” her safe word, rose within her, hovered on her tongue. She hadn’t used it when he’d hiked her dress up in a room full of people and finger-fucked her. Yet, she was willing to say it because he pushed her to expose secrets she’d never intended for him to discover. Humiliation strangled her.

  Coward.

  Her own insult beat at her. She’d come to Lick to jump-start her life, to find the woman who had dreamed of one day owning a book store and café, who had defied her parents to befriend a boy who moved in the dangerous, murky world of the mob. Uncover the woman she was meant to be. She hadn’t backed down or given up when Rion had first rejected her. But now, at the thought of stripping free of her heart rather than her clothes, she was ready to turn tail and run.

  Closing her eyes, she reached for the courage of that woman. “That—what we just did—it was…dirty.”

  “Yeah, it was.”

  Shocked, she met his hooded gaze.

  “What?” he pressed. “It was dirty, hot, and good as hell. And you enjoyed every minute of it.”

  She shook her head, fighting the guilt, frustration, and burning arousal twisting inside her. His eyes narrowed.

  “Are you going to try and claim you didn’t love it?”

  “No.” Again she shook her head. “No, I did. I’ve never—” Come like that before. She bit the telltale admission off. “Just because I-I liked it doesn’t make me a slut.”

  He recoiled, his head jerking back as if slapped by a phantom palm. Pinching the bridge of her nose, she sighed. God, she was mucking this explanation up. With a low growl, Rion crowded her, his chest and thighs pressed to hers. Fury had chased away the surprise, and it darkened his eyes, firmed the sensual curves of his lips into a flat, grim line.

  “Hell no, it doesn’t make you a slut. Who said it did?” Before she could reply, he slowly nodded, his lips twisting into a hard smile. “No, let me guess. Terrance. What happened? You asked for something more than missionary?”

  Jesus. Embarrassment crawled over her, prickling her skin. Crossing her arms, she rubbed them, cringing inside from his question.

  “Harper.” That tone again. The one that demanded her honesty. Her truth. No matter how humiliating it was.

  “I wanted to use…toys in bed. But that offended him, because it was basically saying he wasn’t satisfying me. Then I asked him if we could watch…” She paused, squeezed her arms tighter. “…Movies together. If we could have sex while they were on. I thought it would be sexy. But he told me I wasn’t a whore. That only whores wanted what I did.” A dangerous, dark rumble of sound emanated from Rion, but she continued. “One Friday, he’d left home for his monthly poker game with friends. He usually stayed out until very late, so I put in a movie I’d secretly bought. In the middle of it, he returned home early and caught me. He…” She shifted her attention to the far wall over Rion’s shoulder. “He lost it. Trashed the DVD player. Called me a slut and more horrible names. Said I was dirty. After that, I never asked him for anything more. Not even…”

  Not even after she became pregnant, and he stopped having sex with her, treating her like some untouchable Madonna instead of a woman. She bit her lip, trapping the words in. That particular secret—her pregnancy, Carlie—she wasn’t ready to share. Never would be.

  “Not even, what?” Rion pushed, of course catching her reluctance to continue.

  “Not even when I felt invisible as a woman. Unattractive. Undesirable. For so long, I’ve been a wife”—a mother—“a silent partner, a title rather than a person. For once, I just want to be desired, to be needed. To be…”

  “Free,” he supplied, his quiet tone a stark contradiction to hers.

  She nodded, dropping her arms. “Free,” she repeated just as softly, surprised he’d remembered her earlier admission in his office.

  “Why did you marry him?”

  Because you didn’t stop me. She bit back the accusation. “We’d dated for a while,” she began, hesitant. Careful not to admit too much. Like, she’d started seeing Terrance after Rion had rejected her. She’d accepted that first date with Terrance out of her desperation to overcome her insane and fruitless fascination with Rion. “So when he asked, I said yes.” She shrugged. “Like you pointed out then, Terrance was a good man. He had a great job with his father at their accounting firm. I’d just graduated from college. And I…was ready to start my life.”

  Had she been in all-consuming insta-love and lust with Terrance like she’d been with Rion from the moment he’d warned those asshole bullies that he’d fuck them up if they came near her again? No. But she had loved and respected Terrance. And they’d shared common values and goals in life. Her parents had based their thirty-year marriage on the same foundation.

  Besides, she’d wasted years wanting Rion. After he’d told her he didn’t do relationships, refused to leave the life that would one day steal his, and had distanced himself from her, she’d had to move on as best as she could.

  “But it wasn’t what you wanted,” he stated, tone flat.

  “We weren’t married long, but…no. I found out too late that Terrance wanted a homemaker, not a career woman as a wife, so I never used my business degree, thinking I could wear him down eventually. Then…” She shut down the thought of their baby with a teeth-jarring slam. “After a while, I just wanted peace and not to live in strife, so I went along. I mean, plans change all the time. But now, I know that peace at any cost isn’t peace at all.”

  “Is that the reason behind your hard limits? No gags or masks?”

  Once more, he surprised her. But then again, he was the most intuitive person she’d ever known, always watching people with that steady, piercing gray stare. At some point, he’d even seen past her we’re-just-friends facade and guessed how much she craved him.

  “Yes,” she murmured. “I spent most of my marriage silent and wearing one figurative mask or another. I couldn’t stand that here, between us.”

  He slipped a hand around her neck, cupping the nape in his big palm. She shivered under his masculine, dominant hold. He’d bared her in a room full of people, touched her, whispered dirty things to her, had made her come on his fingers, and yet, she’d never felt more sexy, wanted, and protected.

  “Harper, wanting sex that doesn’t fit into a narrow mold doesn’t make you depraved or sinful or any of those other stupid labels people with sexual hang-ups try to tack onto others. You are a gorgeous, sensual woman who isn’t afraid to explore her body or indulge in pleasure not just for herself, but her partner. You are giving and unselfish, and I damn near came from just watching you in that room. You’re rare, and your curiosity, your passion deserves to be encouraged and cherished, not shamed. Terrance was wrong for making you feel like you were immoral. He was intimidated by you, by your needs
and instead of being a considerate, selfless lover, he tried to make you feel guilty. It’s probably a serious breach in etiquette to speak ill of the dead, but he had a gift, and he’s a fucking fool for not appreciating it.”

  She sucked in a breath. No one had ever spoken to her like that. Her heart slammed against her rib cage. But beneath the clamor crept hope of maybe, just maybe, someone saw the real her—the flawed, stubborn her who fantasized about being corrupted…dirtied.

  And even more, he accepted her.

  “Thank you,” she whispered.

  “You want to thank me,” he said, stroking a hand up her thigh and cupping her, the heel of his palm pressing against her clit. She gasped, heat flooding to her sex, bringing a now familiar ache with it. “Then let me taste what my fingers have already touched.”

  Lust stole her ability to speak. Not that she would’ve said no. And maybe he’d guessed her answer because he released her neck and slid that hand under her dress as well. He hooked his fingers in the band of her panties and slid them down her legs. Then stepped back, his stormy scrutiny like a brand.

  “Undress for me,” he ordered.

  A protest leaped to her lips. Him stripping her was one thing; he had the control. He was doing it to her. But if she removed her clothes, she would be laying herself bare. In more ways than one. Baring not just her skin but her insecurities and vulnerability. She was a far cry from the women who strutted around downstairs with their tight, barely clothed, model-thin bodies. The women he was probably used to fucking.

  What if he was…disappointed?

  “Whatever you’re thinking,” he said, “don’t. Be brave with me, baby.”

  The words bolstered her flagging courage and confidence like nothing else could. Inhaling a deep breath, she stepped out of the pool of black lace at her feet and removed her shoes. Though he stood a short distance away, silent as a statue, his tall frame and powerful shoulders seemed to dwarf her. The disparity in their heights was even more pronounced without her stilettoes. Her pulse hammering, she eased the straps of her dress and loosened bra down her shoulders. With one shove of the material over her hips, she was completely naked.

  She fought the urge to cover her breasts and sex like some Victorian virgin. And succeeded. But she could do nothing about the blush that scalded her face, neck, and chest. Rion didn’t ease her discomfort. His hooded stare roamed every inch of her from her tousled hair, over her breasts and pebbling nipples, down her tad-less-than-flat belly, lingering on the trimmed triangle of hair between her legs, and lower to her bare, unpainted toes. Say something. The plea remained trapped behind her clenched teeth, but it ricocheted off the walls of her head. Still, his expression revealed nothing.

  No. That wasn’t true. When his eyes returned to hers, she almost flinched from the heat. It smoldered like dark, roiling storm clouds. Intense, hot…dangerous.

  “On the bed.” The low, growled order reverberated in the room and danced over her skin.

  Turning, she headed for the large, four-poster bed and climbed onto the mattress, conscious of his attention on the line of her spine, her bared behind, the exposed folds of her sex, and even the backs of her knees. She shouldn’t have been able to practically feel his scrutiny—fanciful thoughts like that belonged to romance novels and science fiction—but damn if she didn’t. It marked her.

  She propped up on her elbows and snatched the opportunity to scan the room. Anything to give herself a few moments before meeting that all-too-perceptive stare. The king-size bed dominated the room that was pretty spartan compared to the other places she’d already visited in the club. A huge oak armoire that wouldn’t have been out of place in the Beast’s castle from Beauty and the Beast sat in a corner while two big armchairs flanked a banked fireplace. An ornate lamp on the bedside table provided the only light, but it cast enough illumination for her to glimpse the mural adorning the wall directly behind Rion. Her breath caught. Painted in variations of green, gold, and white, a couple with their arms and legs entwined lay on a carpet of grass. Vines and flowers twisted around their nude bodies in a sensual embrace. It was gorgeous. Magical. And while on the surface too whimsical for this den of sex and hedonism, it fit perfectly.

  “Eyes on me,” Rion instructed and, unable to resist, she fixed her attention on him. The flutters in her belly morphed into rapid beating, and if she could move, she would’ve flattened her palm against her stomach to still it.

  Dark, intense beauty. Barely leashed power. Seething sexuality. He overwhelmed her.

  He stripped out of his jacket and unbuttoned his shirt, revealing inch after inch of taut, golden skin, firm, ripped muscle…and tattoos. Heavy black swirls and stark patterns mixed with dark reds, blues, and purples. He shrugged free of the shirt and tossed it on the chest, revealing that the ink continued over both shoulders and down his right arm to his wrist. The need to study each line and drawing up close, trace them with her tongue, whipped through her. Was it possible to come just from looking at a man? Her tight nipples and damp, clenching sex volunteered a resounding yes. As did her pounding heart.

  Jesus, he was beautiful. He stalked over to her and didn’t pause until he climbed on the bed and crouched over her like a sleek, faintly menacing, large cat. Muscles danced in sensual tandem under his skin, the display visual foreplay. Unable to not touch him, she flattened her hands over his pecs, stroking down his chest with a low purr she couldn’t contain. Slightly ridged flesh scraped her palms. She glanced down, zeroing in on the long, shiny scar of an old wound directly above his abdominals. Three scars, different lengths. Knife wounds. And under her fingertips, hidden by a black wing of a skeletal angel on his shoulder, was a slightly raised circular mark.

  Old injuries, wounds. Reminders from his old life.

  She sucked in a breath, grief for the pain he must’ve suffered streaming through her. She’d known it had been rough for him. But apparently he’d hidden just how rough from her.

  Rion covered her hands with his. Shifted them to the bed on either side of her head.

  Then he brushed his lips across her forehead.

  Her breath snagged in her throat, the gentle caress so…unexpected. Sweet. Reassuring. And it made her heart stutter then beat as hard as it did under his most carnal touch.

  A stroke of his mouth over her eyelids, her cheekbones, the bridge of her nose, the line of her jaw, and column of her throat. They left her trembling. Not just with the delicious sensation of his firm mouth grazing over her skin. But in those moments, she felt cherished. As if each whispered caress was a testimony of how lovely he found her. Even in the early days of their marriage, Terrance had never made her feel treasured.

  “Stay with me, baby,” he murmured against the base of her neck, smoothing a palm down her side and cupping her hip. “Just you and me here.”

  Trailing a burning caress down the middle of her chest, he slid down her body, and his swirling tongue created a burning path of lust that razed all thoughts from her mind but him and the need he so effortlessly stirred within her. Her nipples ached for his just-shy-of-rough touch, but as he dipped into her navel before continuing lower over her hip, and then…lower…she groaned, tangling her fingers into his thick hair, already hungry for this erotic kiss she’d fantasized about but never experienced.

  He slid his hands under her ass, wedging his wide shoulders between her thighs and spreading her wide. Lowering his head, he nuzzled her curls, and she tensed in anticipation, his breath hot puffs of air over her clit.

  “Rion, I—”

  His tongue licked up her slit.

  And she screamed, pleasure a lightning bolt cracking inside her. Her body jerked, and his hard, big hands gripped her hips, holding her still for his mouth. Fire raced up her spine, only to rush back down to the place where he ate her like a starving man. With a groan that vibrated against her flesh, he tasted, sucked, and tongued her, leaving no inch of her untouched. She writhed and twisted under his mouth, a puppet to the erotic strings he tugged
and pulled. Feverish cries spilled from her lips when he nipped a fold then soothed it with long, slow laps. Broken pleas tripped from her tongue when he raked his teeth over her sensitive, aching clit, shooting sparks to the base of her spine and back to her spasming sex.

  “Goddamn, this pussy is sweet,” he growled, rimming her entrance with a blunt fingertip. “Sweet and tight.” He sipped at her clit, flicking it, then thrust a finger deep inside her.

  Strangling on a scream, she grabbed his head closer, grinding her hips up and down, seeking, begging for each hard stroke. Unlike earlier, he didn’t start slow and easy but plunged inside her, the knuckles of his fist bumping her swollen folds with a wet smack that should’ve been embarrassing but was only hot as hell. Soon, he gave her two, then three fingers, stretching her, igniting a burn that nearly consumed her.

  Pushing her legs wider apart, he withdrew then dipped back inside her before trailing a caress along the sensitive skin connecting her sex and ass. She gasped, going still as he probed the crease and circled the sensitive, forbidden hole.

  “Relax for me, baby,” he murmured. “Don’t fight me. Let me in.”

  Dark, smoky desire curled through her. She shouldn’t crave this illicit pleasure, this possession. Good girls didn’t. But like Terrance had been fond of telling her, the things she hungered for weren’t good. They were dirty. And God, she wanted it. Closing her eyes, she deliberately loosened her muscles, bearing down. When the tip of his finger breached her, she bit her bottom lip but was unable to contain the low, earthy groan that filled the room.

  The bite of pain shoved back the arousal for a moment, but then Rion latched onto her clit, sucking it, tonguing it, and the heat returned in a rush. And when his finger slid deep into her ass, she lifted it into the stroke, crying out. He kept up his raw, sexual assault. One finger, two, rocking inside her.