The Art of Love

by Kayla C. Oliver

  I leaned over and whispered, “You’re going to leave those heels on while I slide into you.”

  Her lips parted slightly as she looked up at me from beneath thick, dark lashes. “Good,” she said simply.

  Anticipation did half the work as it ran through my body. The less important, reasonable part of my brain was busy listing all the reasons that this was a horrible idea, but I was ignoring all of them. I wanted her. It didn’t matter if she was a pain in my ass or a ballbuster or anything else. It wasn’t like I wanted to marry her. I just wanted a hell of a time.

  I escorted her to the very end of the bar where there was a door with a sign that said PRIVATE in swirling gold lettering. She raised an eyebrow at me as I dug in my pocket for a key.

  “You got the keys to the city in there, too?” she teased.

  I grinned at her. “I’ve got something in my pants you’ll wanna see.”

  I used the key to open the door and slid in. There were a half dozen rooms in the back, usually used for meetings, but occasionally set up for more… intimate affairs like ours. It was a place for discretion and privacy, and only a few club members, like myself, had a key to get into the area. That was half the damn appeal. I didn’t care that I paid extra for it, regardless of the ridiculous bill. Nine times out of ten, I didn’t use it, but tonight it was well worth the price.

  Three of the six doors were closed with a red tag hanging on the handle, indicating that they were in use and not to be disturbed. But three were open. I picked the middle one, pulling out my key again.

  “The same key works on all the rooms?” she asked.

  I glanced at her and noticed that she was staring at the back hallway, looking at the doors and peeking at the room we passed. I had to remind myself that while she was an editor and likely made a decent salary, she wasn’t a billionaire. She likely didn’t come from the same kind of money that my family did. This whole back room probably looked like some Freemason’s secret ritual meeting site.

  Winking at her, I answered, “Yep. Anyone caught in a room he isn’t supposed to be in and his membership is automatically revoked.”

  She snorted, which was incredibly cute. “Jesus, you guys are on the honor system.”

  I pushed open the door and dragged her inside. The room was a private suite, complete with a vanity, couch, and a plush, king-sized bed that I intended to make use of.

  “You know what? I’m not even going to ask about the bed.”

  I laughed at her. “Good, because I’m not interested in talking anymore.”

  I reached for her, grabbing her upper arms, and jerked her back to me. She slammed against my hard chest, her tits pressing against me, soft and begging to be let loose. My hands went to her small waist, traveling lower to find her curvaceous, perfectly round ass. I gave her a squeeze, and she let out a small gasp.

  Her hands went around my neck and she tugged me down to her mouth. My lips fitted over hers, pressing hard. My tongue slipped out to slide against the seam of her mouth, demanding entrance.

  She offered it to me only for the sake of dueling with my tongue. We battled like it was for our lives. She tasted like olives, mint, and something I couldn’t place, but it might have been just her. Her hands clutched at my neck, then slid up into my hair, gripping the strands harshly. She was aggressive, needy, demanding. I fucking loved it.

  My hands gripped her ass tighter, lifting her up easily. She groaned into my mouth, and automatically her legs opened, settling around my hips with one long, shapely leg on either side. There was a long slit in her dress that let her do that, and the result was to expose one smooth leg, baring the skin there up to her panty line.

  Which I suddenly noticed she didn’t have. “Jesus,” I said, breaking the kiss. “You’re not wearing any fucking panties.”

  “Not with this dress,” she told me simply, then attacked my mouth again.

  If my cock hadn’t been hard up to this point—which it had; it had been hard since I’d seen her sitting at that fucking bar—it sure as hell was now. It strained at the fly of my trousers, begging release, and it was both a relief and torture to have Marnie’s core so fucking close.

  And there ain’t a scrap of material covering it, I thought. All I had to do was get through that damn dress.

  My hands roamed her back, with the bare skin there reminding me that there was no zipper. I carried her over to the bed, because I was impatient and fuck it all if she thought I was going to wait after that little bombshell.

  I threw her down onto the bed unceremoniously. She let out an oomph, then a laugh as her breasts bounced and her auburn hair sprawled out beneath her on the pillow. She looked like she belonged on one of those dirty books girls liked to read. All she needed was for her breasts to be spilling out of her top…

  And I was more than happy to help with that.

  Crawling over her, knee on either side, I reached for the shoulders of her dress, working my fingers beneath the fabric to find bare skin. Then I jerked the material down off her shoulders and down until I’d freed her large, pale breasts. Instantly I fell in love with those tits. Large, but still round and nicely shaped. Her nipples were pink, and I was pleased to see they were hard little pebbles set on the pinkest damn skin I’d ever seen. Fucking perfect.

  “Don’t just stare,” she told me, her voice thick with desire, and her eyes flashing with it. “Touch them. Play with them. I believe I was promised torture.”

  “You don’t have to twist my arm, baby.”

  I reached for her, my hands cupping her large breasts, squeezing them. She moaned as I did so, encouraging me further. Her back arched, shoving her tits farther into my hands eagerly. I grinned down at her, hungry for her pale, freckled flesh. I palmed her tits for a bit before I let my fingers slip up to her nipples. As soon as I flicked a thumb over the pebbled tips, she cried out.

  “Sensitive?” I asked, flicking them again.

  She moaned loudly and nodded her head.

  I pinched her tips between my forefinger and thumb, rolling them carefully, then squeezing them. She cried out at the movement.

  Fuck, she’s responsive, I thought.

  My cock was straining against my pants, and all I wanted to do was plunge into her balls-deep, but I’d promised her torture. Plus, her fucking tits… they were addictive.

  I leaned forward to capture a nipple in my mouth, letting my hand return to cupping her heavy flesh. I fastened my mouth around the hardened nub, getting another groan of approval. Then my tongue laved at the pebble before I sucked on it. Her hands went to my head, gripping my dark hair, holding me to her breast. I grinned into her flesh right before I caught her nipple between my teeth and worried at it.

  “Jesus,” she said, her voice strained.

  I bit her just a little, not hard enough to cause much in the way of pain, but like a pinch, just to let her know I was there. Not that she needed the reminder. My tongue instantly went over it to soothe the bite, and she writhed beneath me.

  “Fuck, are you going to take off your damn pants or what?” she demanded, half panting, and all I’d done was fondle her tits.

  I sucked once more on her nipple before pulling away. “Impatient?”

  She groaned. “Damn it, yes!”

  I chuckled a little at how demanding she was and how bad she was at waiting. But my hands went to my trousers just the same, because the truth was, I was feeling pretty damn impatient myself. I popped open the button, then slid down my zipper. My cock sprang free, hard and pulsing already, begging to plunge into her unknown.

  Marnie looked down the length of her own body to see my jutting cock. I felt her shudder beneath me and saw her lick her lips. I briefly considered offering her a mouthful, but I was too close already. I felt like I might pop if those red, red lips slipped around my dick and swallowed me.

  Fuck, but I might not get another chance.

  Check that, I wouldn’t get another chance. This would be a onetime deal. But that didn’t change the fa
ct that I was already fit to burst, and if I came, I could shamelessly say, I wanted it to happen while I was buried in her pussy.

  I shifted on my knees, repositioning myself so that I could pull her dress free and drag it up over those lovely, impossibly long legs. Each inch of skin I exposed was another piece of flesh I wanted to touch and taste. I moved the fabric up her thighs, and when I pulled it that last stretch, bunching it around her waist, I swallowed thickly.

  Her pussy was just as pink as those nipples, and it was not only bare, but also dripping wet.

  Leaving her dress gathered around her waist, I let my hands move down. I cupped her first, and she groaned. “You’re hot and wet,” I commented, letting my finger slide along her opening, dipping just slightly between her lips to gather the moisture there. “Are you tight, too?”

  She moaned, her hips bucking up toward my hand wantonly. “You won’t know until you put something in there—got anything handy?”

  I laughed. “As a matter of fact, I do. I’ve got a couple of things to bury in you, baby. Wanna start with this?” I pushed two fingers past her lips into her hot, wet core. She gasped, then moaned as I put my fingers in to the knuckles.

  Fuck, she is tight, I thought.

  Her pussy spasmed around my fingers. I groaned. Fuck, I needed my dick in there now. My fingers pulled out quickly, coated in her wetness, and she groaned in protest.

  “Please—” she started, but she didn’t have to.

  I was already positioning the head of my dick at her entrance. My hands went to her hips, then slid lower and to the inside so that I could use my thumbs to hold her pussy open. I slid myself against her, gathering her moisture on my length. Then, finally, I put my head at her opening, and I shoved in.

  She cried out. “Oh fuck!”

  “Jesus,” I said at the same time, burying myself inside her to the hilt, filling up every bit of space until there was nothing left.

  She arched her back, pointing her breasts to the ceiling, and pushing her hips toward me. Her hands clutched at the comforter beneath her, gripping tightly as I pulled myself out only to thrust inside her once again. I began to piston inside her, too worked up to even try to go slow, but she didn’t seem to mind. She cried out for God and Jesus and the devil all at the same time, her hips working hard to keep up with my breakneck pace.

  My hands went down to her knees, lifting her legs up higher until I could throw them over my shoulders, changing the angle of entrance. She cried out in approval as I groaned. I caught a flash of those heels out of the corner of my eye and grinned wickedly.

  There was little sexier than a woman being fucked in her heels.

  I kept one hand on her hip as I plowed into her, the other wandering higher to her tits. I wrapped my fingers around one and squeezed her tightly. Her back arched in response.

  I dove into her as hard and fast as I could, but when I felt myself get closer, I made a quick decision to let the hand at her tit drift lower again. My fingers found their way between her legs just above where I was sliding my cock into her. When I found the little bundle of nerves there, I knew instantly, because she let out a long, drawn-out cry.

  In time with my rhythmic thrusts, I began to move my finger against her nub. I rubbed hard and fast, that little movement becoming more and more difficult as I felt myself get closer toward release. My thrusts became erratic, my body aching for the release that was building up hot and fast in my system. Just before I lost myself, I felt her explode beneath me. Her hands gripped at the comforter until her knuckles were white, her voice rang out through the room, and she arched those wonderful tits as she lost herself to oblivion.

  I felt my own release power through me, unloading everything I had into her perfect body. For a moment, I was gone. My body was shaky, uncoordinated, and my mind felt like it was disconnected. When I finally came back to myself, I was leaning over her body, barely keeping myself from crushing her by supporting my weight on shaky forearms.

  Our eyes met for just a moment, and I had a weird feeling that this was something more.

  Then it was gone, and I pulled out of her. We both groaned. I found a towel in the attached bathroom and cleaned myself up. Then I threw a second towel to her. She did the same. As I zipped up my fly, she adjusted her dress until she was fully covered once more.

  Both dressed again, we faced each other.

  “You know this doesn’t mean anything, right?” I asked her calmly.

  She barked out a cool laugh. “I’m not a schoolgirl, Mr. Reid. I know what this was. And I just want to remind you that this doesn’t mean I’ll be giving up.”

  “Then our little competition is on?”

  She smiled sweetly at me. “Agreed. Best of luck—you’ll need it.”

  I escorted her out then and we parted ways. I was still a little loopy from my orgasm, but I had a weird, twisting feeling in my gut like this might have been a very serious mistake on my part. I tried to shove it away quickly, but it followed me home and remained even as I finally drifted off to sleep.

  Chapter Ten

  Trent

  “Callum called. Again.”

  I glanced over at Sara and raising my eyebrows at her, I said, “What did he want? And why didn’t he call my damn cell?”

  She rolled her eyes at me. Sara was a little thing with dark hair and olive skin. She was Italian or Greek depending on who asked, but it didn’t really matter because she was 100 percent American in the end. The closest to Italian and Greek she got was the Italian sub she ordered from that sandwich shop down the street and the disgusting Greek yogurt in the fridge. I reminded her she was gross every time I saw her eating it.

  “He said you’d ask that,” she answered, reaching for her memo pad. Clearing her throat, she said, “And I quote, ‘tell that bastard that I’m going through you’—he means me—‘because he informed me that I have to make this formal, otherwise it doesn’t fucking count. Sorry, Sara, I should watch my language’—he’s always been such a sweetheart, don’t you think?—‘tell that idiot to call me.’ End quote.”

  I was laughing by the time she was done. Sara was a smart mouth when she wanted to be, and being the go-between for me and Callum usually brought that quality out in her. Shaking my head a little, I grinned down at her. “Guess that means I should give him a call, eh?”

  She lifted a single shoulder in a half shrug. “It’s probably not a bad idea. He sounded a little rough around the edges, like maybe he didn’t sleep so well last night.” She pursed her lips together thoughtfully.

  “Aww, is little Sara concerned about the poor little baby’s bedtime?” I teased.

  Instantly, her high cheeks reddened, and she narrowed her eyes at me. She threw her memo pad in my direction half-heartedly. I dodged easily, laughing my ass off.

  “You’re so immature!”

  I only laughed harder. Sara had had a crush on Callum since college. When I used to drag Callum to that little Greek restaurant she worked at—because she looked the part and could fake an accent—she would be at our table every two seconds to make sure that Callum had everything he needed. I teased her mercilessly about it until she threatened to tell my grandmother that I was being mean. Although I was sure the threat still stood, I got away with a little light teasing now and again.

  Annoyed with me, she stood up from her little corner desk and walked over to me. She snatched up the fallen memo pad and then spit her tongue out at me. Turning, she stalked off.

  “Oh, yeah, real mature!” I called after her, but it wasn’t very effective given that I was still laughing.

  Still chuckling over Sara’s schoolgirl crush, I headed toward my workroom, pulling out my phone as I went. I was going to call Callum and set up another meeting because I was already about 90 percent sure I’d sign with him. S&W could offer me the sun and they still wouldn’t be able to convince me to go to the dark side. I was about to dial him when I got an incoming call. As soon as I saw it, a wide grin spread across my features.

/>   I knew she was only calling on behalf of S&W Publishing.

  I knew that she didn’t think she was talking to Trent Parker, but rather his “agent,” Malcom Resner.

  But I couldn’t help the thrill that rushed through me at the sight of Courtney’s name on my caller ID. Pulling myself together, I cleared my throat, let the phone ring two more times, and then answered.

  “Hello?”

  “Mal—I mean, Mr. Resner,” Courtney greeted me, coughing a little after nearly using my first name. “This is Ms. Hughes at S&W Publishing.”

  My grin widened. She was getting used to calling me Malcom, which, although it was my middle name, I couldn’t help but view as progress. “Courtney, how are you?”

  “I’m good, thank you.” She paused, then added, “How are you?”

  I did a little fist pump. She was warming up to me, I could tell. “Doing better now.”

  “Very cute, Mr. Resner.”

  “I told you, call me Malcom.”

  There was another pause. I could imagine her warring with herself now, with her cute little vintage dress and those ruby-red lips. Damn, she was beautiful. Finally, she sighed into the phone. “Malcom. I’m calling about Mr. Parker.”

  “Oh, and here I thought you just missed me,” I teased lightly.

  She gave a short laugh that must have been genuine, because she ended it abruptly with a cough. “Yes, well, sorry to disappoint. But the fact remains that I do need to discuss Mr. Parker’s schedule.”

  I sighed. “Can I be honest with you, Courtney?”

  “Of course. In fact, I’d prefer it.”

  Which means I really should just tell her who the hell I am—but I’m not going to.

  Because I wasn’t done with this. I needed to warm her up a little more, then make the big reveal. That way she’d be too smitten with me to really care that I had been lying to her about my identity.

  That was realistic, right?

  “Mr. Parker isn’t interested,” I told her seriously. Although I truly did want to keep chatting up Courtney and I had every intention of winning her over, I wasn’t going to sign with S&W.