by Alison Kent
If she wanted him to walk, all she had to do was say so. Finn had no intention of staying where he wasn’t wanted. In fact, he was pretty sure he heard his beach house calling his name…
“On this, you can trust me. My judgment, my instincts.” Dustin let his gaze drift between Olivia and Finn. “You need someone who isn’t going to try and stage the shots, someone who can capture you in medias res. Someone with whom you have chemistry, because really. A photographer who doesn’t appreciate what you do will never get the shots we want, no matter how impressive his portfolio and résumé.”
Chemistry. There was that word again. Chemistry and appreciation.
“I need to circulate, so you two talk. Finn, Livia will explain what I’ve been working on her for ages to do, and you can decide if the project interests you. Though as fantastically as you two are getting along, I can’t imagine anything less. Don’t disappoint me.”
“We’ll do our best not to,” said Finn. He shook the other man’s hand, and Olivia kissed him good-bye.
Dustin barely had time to turn and engage another patron in conversation before Finn reached for Olivia’s elbow and spun her into his space. “What the hell was that? Why did you act like you and I hadn’t already talked at length about you hiring me as your photographer?”
Twelve
Jodi couldn’t control the rapid-fire beat of her heart. She couldn’t calm the rise and fall of her chest as she struggled to breathe. She couldn’t cool the burning sensation in the pit of her stomach.
This wasn’t what seduction was supposed to feel like. She knew seduction. She knew sex. The heat and the thrill and the way she grew wet. The way her conquests grew hard and filled her. But this…
She felt like a schoolgirl with her first physical crush, like a virgin bride on her wedding night.
What was wrong with her?
If her seduction backfired, it would hardly be the end of the world. There were dozens of men she could choose from to replace Roland Green. He wasn’t so special….
But he was, she admitted, closing the door to her office, flipping the wall switch that set the small lamp on her desk to dim. And then she turned to face him.
He stood between her desk and the door, his back to her, his hands in his pockets causing the sides of his coat to flare. His shoulders were as broad as a football player’s, his hips and waist narrow. He was quite tall—she was sure at least two inches over six feet.
She’d thought so many times about the fit of their bodies; his powerful thighs closing around hers; his belly, hard and flat, spread on top of hers; his chest so broad as he crushed her into the bed.
When she let out a breathless moan, he took a step forward, then, head down, pivoted to face her. “This isn’t real, you know. Anything that happens here. It means nothing. It’s not who I am.”
“What are you saying?” she asked, because the words he’d spoken were the last ones she wanted to hear.
He came closer, one step, then another, his hands still in his pockets, but now his head was high, his chin up, his eyes looking straight into hers. “I’m saying that you can’t expect anything from me.”
“I don’t.” She never had. He’d made it clear that she shouldn’t. “I want; I desire; I need. But I don’t expect.”
“Then we’re agreed.”
“Agreed?”
“This goes no further than this room.” His eyes shimmered, the whites bright, the dark irises nearly glowing. “We don’t talk about it. Ever. For all intents and purposes, tonight didn’t happen.”
“What didn’t happen?” she asked breathlessly, because nothing had, and she wasn’t sure anything would.
For all she knew, she was the only one talking about sex. His comments had been so cryptically vague, they could be about identity theft. “The exhibit? Me telling you about Dustin? What?”
He shook his head, his eyes never leaving hers. “None of that. Only this.”
It took him an eternity to reach her. An endless and forever moment she spent waiting and counting the steps he took. Six. There were only six. It felt like six hundred, six thousand.
But then he was there, and she could see the fabric of his shirt strain with the force of his breathing. The cool blue cotton delineated his pectoral muscles, his nipples there in the center of both.
She wanted to unbutton him, to bare him, and found her fingers shaking when she touched him. He’d rejected her so often. So when this time he didn’t, when he let her have her way, she swore to take her time and savor even the act of exposing his body.
While she slipped one button, then another through their holes, widening the strip of dark skin visible between the shirt’s slowly parting plackets, he reached up and got rid of his tie, stuffing it into his pocket.
She smiled at his impatience but kept her gaze on her task, fearing she’d lose what discipline she’d so far maintained if she looked him in the eye.
“I don’t want you to regret this,” she said, tugging the shirt’s tails from his pants. “Or to hate either of us tomorrow.”
He didn’t answer, not verbally. But he did groan, and he let his head fall back, and she knew he would swallow what he felt before he put it into words that would hurt her.
She would have to live with that. To get from him what she wanted, needed, desired, craved, she would have to do more than give a lip-service agreement to the terms he’d so clearly laid out. That meant she’d have to make sure what came next was unforgettable.
She settled both palms in the center of his chest, feeling the drumbeat of his heart beneath his skin. He was smooth, taut, hot, and she slid her hands up to his shoulders, pushing away both his shirt and his jacket. He helped her along by shrugging out of them, grabbing them before they hit the floor, and tossing them onto the closest chair.
And then he came closer, his body blocking the lamp’s feeble light, creating a shadow that covered her like a blanket of him. She shuddered, did so again when he found his way to the buttons of the blazer she wore. She looked down, watching his fingers work through them with no hesitation at all.
He opened the two sides of the blazer slowly, exposing her body beneath an inch at a time. He knew already what he’d find her wearing, and she sensed the anticipation of discovery in each of his shallow breaths. She wasn’t having an easy time of breathing herself.
A part of her wanted to close her eyes and give up everything but feeling, but knowing this was all she’d ever have of him, she was determined to bank all possible memories. And so when he pushed her blazer down her arms, imprisoning her, she caught her lip and waited.
“Christ. You’re gorgeous. I knew you would be, but…” He shook his head as if she was the first woman he’d seen in ages, then rubbed his thumbs—just his thumbs—over the surface of her nipples and watched them pucker and pout. “Christ. Jodi.”
“I’m all yours,” she told him. “Anything you want.”
He made a sound, a low, guttural noise that could have been either pleasure or pain. “Girl, you don’t know what you’re saying.”
“I know exactly. And I mean every word.” Girl. She loved the way he said “girl.” She tilted her head, raised her chin, watched the play of light through the window’s shutters on the opposite wall, wondered why the stripes looked like a prison cell’s bars. “Please. Don’t hold back.”
He groaned again, a deep, roaring cry of surrender as he lowered his head, plumped the flesh of her breasts together, and feasted on both, nipping at her skin, sucking hard on her nipples, teasing her areolae with first the tip and then the flat of his tongue.
He pinched, and she wanted more. He bit, and she grew wet. He nuzzled his face deep between her breasts, and it was all she could do not to reach for her clit and finish what he’d started. But she couldn’t move, her arms pinned at her sides, still caught in her blazer.
And so she gave herself up.
He moved lower, his lips and tongue leaving a wet trail down her belly, in and around her navel,
to the top of her garter belt and the skin bared beneath. He nuzzled his nose in her closely clipped bush, and she heard what she thought was a growl.
“You make me so hungry,” he mumbled.
“Then why don’t you open your mouth and eat me?”
This time he chuckled, then started out by kissing her: the crease of her hip, the skin of her thigh, the swell of her belly between her pussy and her garter belt. And then he kissed her clit. A light, breathy brush of his lips before moving lower and doing the same. Teasing her, teething her gently, drawing her flesh into his mouth with a soft sucking pressure that he slowly increased, pulling hard, harder, tugging at her until she was nothing but a wreck of tingling, fiery nerves.
She tried to shrug out of the blazer, to free her arms so she could guide his head, hold his shoulders, feel his skin and his muscles beneath her hands, but he wouldn’t let her move. He kept her pinned to the door, lapping at her now, his tongue sliding through her folds, dipping inside her, circling her clit, his lips finally locking around it as he pushed two fingers into her pussy’s core.
She clenched tightly around him, pulled him deeper inside, pumped against his hand while swallowing the sounds straining to escape her throat. She was not the silent type, and the things he was doing down there with his tongue and his teeth, and, oh, fuck, with his fingers and now with his thumbs, spreading her open, exposing her, rubbing and licking, driving into her with a deep, steady stroke.
Her juices ran down her thighs. She was sticky, and he drank her up, and all she could think about were his big, broad hands and his fingers stroking her, in and out, and in and out, and she was sweating, melting, wound so unbearably tight, and so, so close. She thought she would die of the pleasure before she came. And then he moved his head away, and she just plain thought she would die.
She looked down, found him looking up, his eyes deviously bright as he moved his fingers, making love to her as he would with his cock, a teasing insertion, an agonizing withdrawal, repeating the motion until he had her where he wanted her, dependent on him, aching for him, needing him.
He gave a slow, sultry nod, as if giving her permission, and if she’d had anything remaining that resembled control, she would have laughed at realizing the truth. This man was not unfamiliar with women. In fact, he knew them quite well.
And when she saw in his eyes a shared flicker of amusement, she let everything go and came in his hands like she had never come in her life.
Thirteen
If he could take back what had just passed between them, Roman wasn’t sure that he would. Yeah, he’d just screwed himself over in more ways than he could count, but what the hell. It was done. And she was done. And there was no way he was walking out of this room without getting his, too.
He got to his feet, helped her out of the blazer, and holding her hands, backed toward the chair where she’d promised to make him feel good.
She shook off her sex daze and smiled, her fingers making fast work of his belt, his button, and his zipper. It was all he could do not to reach for her tits and squeeze, but he was afraid they’d never get to his cock if he did.
She seemed just as ready, tugging down his pants and his boxers, and shoving everything he wore to his feet before shoving him into the chair. She knelt between his spread legs, her gaze crawling over him, taking in his shoulders, his biceps, his chest, and his abs before settling on his groin.
“God, but you’re gorgeous,” she said, and he wasn’t sure if her compliment included all of him or only his cock.
“I don’t look half as good now as I will with you in my lap.”
“I’ll be there in a minute.” She leaned forward, flicked her tongue over the slit in the engorged head, wrapped one hand around his shaft, and squeezed. “This is just too yummy not to gulp down.”
As he watched, she leaned forward and swallowed a whole lot of the twelve inches he offered her. She licked and sucked and opened the tip with her tongue, her free hand fondling his balls before stroking the extension of his erection that bulged all the way to his ass.
He spread his legs wider and groaned, fighting the urge to thrust into her mouth as well as the urge to come. He had more control than to be quick on the draw, but goddamn if she couldn’t suck the chrome off a trailer hitch, and her finger in his butt wasn’t helping.
“Enough,” he growled, grabbing her shoulders, closing his legs, and urging her up to straddle him. She did everything he wanted, her thighs opened wide as he held the base of his cock and slumped to get the angle that would do them both the most good.
She moved her hands to the chair back and slowly lowered her hips, taking the whole of his cock in one smooth downward stroke, grinding against him when she sat. She shuddered, shook, her body tense, her pussy holding him tight.
When she sucked in a sharp breath, he asked, “You okay?”
She nodded, her hair falling across his chest, tickling him. “I’m beyond okay. I’m in heaven.”
He gathered up her hair, held it to the side. He wanted to see her cunt, the way he spread her open, her pink flesh sucking at his thick black cock. Her heaven was going to be his hell. What was he doing, selling his soul like he could afford the transaction?
She moved her hands from the chair to his shoulders and watched the spot where their bodies were joined as she began to ride. He held her hips as she ground against him, rubbing her clit hard on the base of his shaft. Held her as she raised up, her thighs taut, keeping nothing but the bulbous head of his cock inside her before sliding slowly back down.
She swallowed him, devoured him. He watched his cock disappear inch by inch into her hungry cunt, watched how tightly his girth stretched her, watched her clit sit up and beg. He slid his hands to her thighs, moved them close to the V between, close enough to pinch the hard knot with his thumbs.
“Ooh, ooh,” she grunted. “Harder. To the left. Yes, oh, right there. God, yes. Right there.”
He played her as she instructed, her flesh slick and warm and plump. The sounds she made. The smell of her sex. Her sweat, which was as sweet as her juices running down his shaft to the crack of his ass. His cock, which had never been so well fucked. It was too much. He was done. The small of his back tingled. His balls drew up, hard and tight.
He wrapped his arms around her, pulled her close, buried his face between her breasts, and pumped into her, driving upward, holding her tight as he came, as she came, her sex sucking, tugging, milking him dry, his cock fairly exploding and taking her apart.
She collapsed against him, damp, breathless, her hair a tangled mess. And then he felt her smile. “You’re still hard.”
A fact that didn’t surprise him at all. “It’s been awhile.”
She used her palms on his chest to lever herself upright. “Would that have anything to do with you telling women you’re gay?”
Ah, so she thought she was tricky. “Have I said that I wasn’t?”
“No, but actions speak louder than words.”
“You think that was something to hear? Get down on all fours.”
She didn’t say a word. Just backed off his lap and turned. Before he knew it, she had her hands and knees on the ground, her ass in the air, her pussy glistening with their juices. It didn’t even cross his mind to say no.
He followed her down and mounted her, driving deep, pounding, fucking her like it was his last day on earth and she’d been given to him for his pleasure—an analogy that was more on target than he wanted to think about, and so he didn’t think at all.
He just used her there on the floor until both of them were raw and spent. It seemed like the thing to do, the thing they most wanted, this place one they’d been destined to reach since the first time they’d met. One he feared more than anything would destroy them both.
Fourteen
“So now you’re interested?” Livia asked, feeling Finn’s tension in the hand holding on to her and in his taut posture. He looked like he was ready to snap.
He did, hi
s frustration evident in his harsh whisper. “Did I ever say I wasn’t?”
She wondered about the source of his sudden irritation; was he that upset that she hadn’t given Dustin all the facts first thing?
She waited several seconds, waited for him to calm, to release her before she spoke. Once he had, she said, “You told me you weren’t a photographer.”
“I’m not.”
“And you made it clear that you aren’t crazy about what I do.”
“I’m not.”
“What was I supposed to think when you never gave me a clear yes or no?”
He shrugged in response.
“Now you want the job. Is that what you’re saying?”
“What I want is not to be manipulated. I don’t play games. I thought we were clear on that.”
They were. And it wasn’t too much to ask, that she treat him honestly. She knew that, down where she didn’t have to worry about being screwed over herself.
She reached for his hand, lacing their fingers together when he gave it, and guided him through the crowd and toward the final portrait, where fewer of Dustin’s friends lingered. Once they had the privacy she wanted, she turned to face him.
But she didn’t let him go. “Hiring you was my idea, yes. But I hadn’t had a chance to run it by Dustin yet, even though you and I talked about it more than once. I wanted to feel him out, see what concerns he might have.”
The muscle in Finn’s jaw pulsed. He stared at the framed portrait rather than meeting her gaze. “Do you think he would have thrown us together if he had doubts?”
“He might have. If he wanted to see how we clicked.”
“Chemistry.”
“I seem to remember mentioning that before.”
He nodded. “You did.”
“And now that Dustin’s brought it up…”
“You’ve been vindicated.” Finn pulled his fingers from hers, stuffed his hands in his pockets.
Vindicated? Was that how he saw it? That she needed a third party’s validation to prove her instincts right? “I’m not looking to have anything vindicated. I’m quite confident in my own decisions.”
