by K. K. Allen
“Admiring the view,” he says with a grin until realization strikes. His eyes widen in apology. “I forgot about the permission thing. I should have asked to take your photo first.” Then he starts frantically tapping through his phone. “I can delete it.”
Before I can think of what I’m doing, my hand is covering his to stop him. “Wait. Can I see it first?”
He glances up at me like he isn’t sure he heard me correctly, then he places his phone in my hands. It takes me a second to work up the courage to look down. It’s not that I’m afraid of the image I’ll see on the other side or that I’m tired of having my photo taken. It’s the fact that for the past twenty-plus years, photography has been more about artificial beauty than it has been about art. Through the lens, I was whoever they wanted me to be. Through the lens, I was a lie. But just in the few simple shots I’ve seen Desmond take of me, I know that, to him, photography is more than creating the perfect moment at the perfect angle with the perfect lighting. Desmond captures moments, he doesn’t try to create them. And for that, I don’t want him to delete the photo of me. It shows my hair in a disheveled half-ponytail after a fun night of dancing, with natural shadows from the surrounding trees blocking the bright light coming from the falls. I’m everything.
“You’re the most beautiful sight when you don’t know anyone is watching you. Do you know that?”
My throat closes with emotion before I look up at him. “So this is it, huh? The Desmond charm? And I’m the lucky one who gets to experience it tonight?” I’m trying to keep things playful, because if I don’t, I might just start to like what he’s saying.
He narrows his eyes. “I mean it, Maggie. You’re beautiful all on your own, without even having to try.”
I swallow, trying to keep my fluttering nerves at bay. “That was a really sweet thing to say.”
As if he knows things are getting a little too serious, his lips tug up at the corner, and his eyes slide down my body then back up. “Well, that dress isn’t helping matters.”
I shove him playfully as I laugh. “I should have known it was too good to be true.”
“What can I say?” he teases. “I’m a really sweet guy.”
“No, you’re not, but those rare moments when you are just might be my favorite.” I pull away from the rail and hold out his phone to him. “Don’t delete that photo.”
He takes his phone and places it in his pocket, before scooping up my hand in his. “I wouldn’t dream of it. It was already on the cloud anyway.”
A growl starts in my chest and slips past my throat. “You are something else.”
He winks and squeezes my hand. “Ready to go home now?”
“Yes.”
30
The Fifth Drink
Desmond
It’s just past eleven when I walk Maggie upstairs to our adjacent condos. Almost as soon as we got into my van at the wedding site, she fell asleep, giving me far too much time to steal glances at the woman in the pink-and-gold dress. Now she seems awake and as vibrant as ever.
“Thank you for the ride.” She’s playing with her keys as her eyes shine back on mine, and I don’t want her to leave me.
“Always. But you know,” I say with a smile and tilt of my head, “one of these days you’re going to have to get yourself a ride of your own.”
She shrugs. “I don’t need one when I have you.” She flashes those pearly white teeth at me and turns toward her door to unlock it. “Plus, I’d have to get my license first.”
“What?” I cough out the word with my laugh, and she just shrugs before pushing open her door. “Wait.” I jump forward until I’m halfway between her door and mine. “I was going to have a drink and maybe light a fire and turn on a movie.” I take a breath, realizing how desperate I sound. “Why don’t you come over for a minute?”
“Um,” she says, looking at her door and then at me.
“I did only have three at the wedding,” I remind her with a grin. “Join me?” Then I cringe as I remember how fast asleep she was in the van. “Unless you’re too tired and just want to go to bed.” I take a step back, trying to lessen the blow of disappointment before it hits.
“I’ll come in for one drink.” She looks down and then lets out a breathy laugh. “I should probably change first. Give me thirty minutes?”
Jesus, if my heart was dead, her words were enough to jump-start it back to life. “Yeah, okay.” I keep my response as nonchalant as possible, not wanting to sway her decision a single bit.
As soon as the door shuts behind her, I’m tearing into my condo, ripping off my shirt, and unbuttoning my pants. With a quick glance around, I breathe out a sigh of relief that I’m not a sloppy son of a bitch. Everything is mostly clean besides a stack of unopened mail on my kitchen island, a few dishes I quickly place into the dishwasher, and my unmade bed, which I fix up in a few minutes. Then I light the fire and turn on the surround-sound speakers to play my custom country playlist. A light soundtrack to the night will be perfect.
When I finish all of the above, I have twenty minutes left to change. Or maybe I should shower.
Before I can decide, there’s a faint knock at my door. With a quick glance at the digital clock on my microwave, I start to think I heard her wrong. I swear she said to give her thirty.
I jog from my bedroom to the front door and yank it open. “That was fast—oh.” I trip over my words, expecting to see Maggie dressed in sweats and ready for our nightcap. Disappointment settles over me when I notice she’s still dressed in her outfit from tonight. I’m expecting her to tell me that coming over will be a bad idea and that she’s changed her mind, but then I catch the way she’s looking back at me with a bashful smile.
She lets out a light laugh as her eyes bulge at my chest. Then she quickly turns away. “This is embarrassing, but Monica kind of helped me put this dress on, and…” Her voice trails off as she turns around. “I can’t reach.”
My eyes follow the line of long metal teeth that starts between her shoulder blades and runs down to the middle of her ass. Her gentle curves draw the shape of an hourglass from her ribs to her waist and then to her hips. I don’t even realize I’ve completely gone still from her request until she throws me a glance over her shoulder.
She catches me in my stare, and her brows draw together. “Do you mind unzipping me?”
I clear my throat and step forward, trying to keep my head from spinning before I pass out from the closeness of her. Jeez. I haven’t even touched her yet, and my hands are shaking just looking at her in that dress. Her half-ponytail is still intact and falling down the middle of her back. With a sweep of my hands, I place the locks over her shoulder before taking hold of the pink fabric between two fingers and gripping the zipper with my other hand. Then I bring the metal down slowly.
Inch by inch, metal teeth unfasten, parting against flawless dark-olive skin and the strapless white clasp of a bra. I lean down and press a kiss to her shoulder, an innocent reaction to the proximity of her. But the way her hair spikes in the area I just kissed tells me she didn’t consider it so innocent. I kiss her again between her shoulder blades, then again on her other shoulder, until I’ve hit the base of her zipper. The fancy fabric she’s wearing spreads open wide.
I take in a breath and lean back slightly to peer down her back and confirm what I already know is true. Her plump ass is now uncovered except for her white panties, which are really just a scrap of lace that separates her cheeks. The sight is enough to send my erection jolting to life in mere seconds.
“Shit,” I say on an exhale. “I think I went too far. I’m sorry.”
She tosses me a look over her shoulder, her eyes shining with amusement. “I’m sure you’re used to seeing plenty of asses.” She winks. “We’re good.”
Fuck me.
She starts to take a step back toward her door, but if she thinks I’m going to let her walk away after that comment, she’s very wrong. My hand slides beneath the rose-gold fabric of her dre
ss and circles her waist. I lay a palm on her flat stomach and then bring her back to me in one quick move. I’m rock hard against her ass while I press my mouth to her ear and growl, “What is that supposed to mean?”
She shivers in my hold, and her hand covers mine at her stomach from over her dress. “It means you’ve been around the block, Desmond. I’m nothing special to you.”
Anger and excitement fuel me like gasoline on a fire. I’m angry that she feels the need to constantly make assumptions about me and excited because all I want to do is prove her wrong. “Oh, Maggie, you have no fucking idea what you are to me.” I press my mouth against the nape of her neck. “You’re everything I shouldn’t want, but I do. You’re the first thing on my mind when I wake up in the morning. And you’re the only woman I saw at that wedding tonight. That’s what you are to me, Maggie Stevens. What am I to you?”
Her breaths have shallowed, and I can hear her heartbeat speed at the sound of my voice. “You’re my boss.” She whispers the words so faintly that I almost miss them. “And my landlord.”
My hand slips lower until I reach the lace band of her panties. “Is that all?”
I start to lift my hand away from her skin when she starts to shake her head. “No.” Her words are still small, but they’re firmer now, unquestionable.
I dip back down, this time below her panty line, until I’m slipping between her folds and feeling what I already knew existed. “So wet,” I rasp before nipping at her neck. Maggie wants me, and I’m not the type of guy who plans on letting her down. “How long have you been wet for me?” She sucks in a ragged breath, but no words follow, so I punish her by circling her clit with agonizing slowness. “How long, Maggie?” I demand again.
“All night.”
Her confession is enough, but that’s not all she gives me. I’m still rubbing her clit when her ass rubs against my cock like she’s trying to get me off through our clothes. Wait, my brain screams. This isn’t how tonight is supposed to go. Groaning, I remove my finger and slowly pull my hand out of her dress. Then I grip her small waist and swivel her to face me.
She’s breathing heavily, and so am I. It’s all the confirmation I need to lean in and slide my tongue across her bottom lip and then her top one, slowly, deliberately, gliding and dipping at the bow. When my lips leave hers, she shudders. I press her to me, my fingers caressing her bare skin at her arch until she’s right where I want her, bent beneath me by my direction, but completely at her will. Her mouth is glistening and waiting, her body is hot and shaking, and her breaths are shallow and ragged.
And I’m a fucking done man.
My mouth moves on hers like a hungry lion, more than ready for my meal but willing to wait if it means toying with my prey. I part her mouth the way I parted her dress, slowly exploring and gently tasting. Then I’m delving in with my tongue the way my fingers did her panties.
Maggie doesn’t realize this yet, but I like to take my time. I like the agony that comes before an explosive orgasm. And I’m going to love torturing her with slow hands, light touching, and a mouth so dirty, she’ll beg for mercy. I should warn her now. The only mercy I’ll be giving her is when I finally let her explode on my cock.
When I pull away from her mouth, I feel like she might buckle beneath me if I wasn’t holding her up. She clings to my arms, her eyes fluttering open as she does, and then she’s pulling in a long, deep breath.
“So how about that drink?” I ask.
She nods, and I chuckle before tugging her inside my condo and shutting the door behind us. I’m not letting her leave to change again.
I lead her to my kitchen and reach into my refrigerator to pull out a bottle of wine and two chilled glasses. “Good?”
Her back is to me, her eyes floating around the room. Then they snap to what I’m holding. “Fine with me.”
In that moment, I take in her unzipped dress and my unzipped pants and laugh at the image. She catches my gaze and faces me with a curious smile. “What?”
“I really do love that dress.” I step up to the island to uncork the bottle then pour two small glasses. I want a clear head for what I think—hope—might happen tonight.
“Thanks,” she says with pinking cheeks. “Monica made it for me.”
I knew Monica was a fashion-design student, but I didn’t realize her talents extended that far. “Tell her she did a great job, maybe too great of a job.”
Maggie grins. “I’ll let her know. I’m glad it’s still intact.” She winks, and I almost choke on my first sip of wine.
“Night’s not over.”
She turns away so I can’t see her expression and continues to walk around my condo. She passes the couch, walks the perimeter of the dining room, pausing at the bench seat under a large window, before making her way to the living room. She runs a finger against the white brick mantle above the fireplace then sits with her back to the flames before narrowing her eyes at me. “Your place is a lot bigger than mine.”
I smirk and walk toward her. “I pay a lot more than you do.”
She takes a sip of her wine and rolls her eyes. “Well then, maybe I need to find a new job, one that pays me more.”
I know she’s teasing, but I can’t resist a good verbal tennis match. “More than a rent-free condo, free rides, and free meals, plus a paycheck?” Now it’s my turn to take a sip while narrowing my eyes in a challenge and keeping my game-winning smile on my face.
“The view isn’t so bad either.”
Her words surprise me, only because of her casual tone that registers a layer of flirtation as she holds my eyes.
“It’s nice to know we’re on the same page.”
She grins. “For once.”
“Maybe this is the start of a new story, one where we share many pages.”
She lets out a light laugh. “You mean the story where the damsel in distress needs a tall, strong man to fight for her to the death.”
I shrug. “Sure. Or the one with the red room, the handcuffs, and the nipple clamps. Your choice.”
She almost chokes on her next sip of wine before swallowing it. “I wouldn’t put it past you to have a dungeon of sexual pleasure.”
“Good point, but I assure you, I don’t.” I’m studying her expression as she finishes the rest of her wine. All this talk of sex, jokingly or not, is throwing me off track. I hold out a hand, gesturing for her to give me her glass. When she does, I set mine and hers on the mantel. Then I reach out my hand again, my eyes gripping hers. “C’mere.”
She takes my hand and stands.
With my fingers on her waist and the fireplace burning beside us, I tilt my face down so our lips are inches apart. “I think I’m going to need to kiss you again.”
Her lips part on a quick inhale, her light-brown eyes wide and shining. “Maybe you should stop thinkin’ so much.”
I don’t waste a second before closing the distance between us and pressing my mouth to hers in a kiss I can only describe as desperate. I’m desperate to add fuel to the fire that’s crackled between us since the very moment we met, a fire that never died even though we both tried to douse it with our resistance. All it took was a little wind for it to burst back to life.
My hands move from her waist to the open back of her dress as her palms slide up my bare chest. With a light touch, I draw my fingers up her skin until I’m holding on to the fabric at her shoulders. With every second that passes, our kiss deepens, our breathing increases, and I’m peeling the fabric from her skin.
Once I’ve removed the top portion of her dress, the rest falls away—over her sexy hips, around her sleek bronze legs, and down to her pointy heels, which give her already tall stature a few more inches in height. All that’s left is a sheer white lingerie set consisting of her panties and a strapless bra that completely exposes her soft breasts and dark-pink nipples. Simple jewelry hangs around her neck and on her ears, and she still has on those killer heels, which I have no plans of taking off.
“Damn.” My voi
ce is low and shaky as I take in every ounce of beauty standing before me. “You have got to be kidding.” She’s a goddess in white. I run a finger along her bra, taking in her swollen nipple in awe. “Is this thing even a bra?”
She looks down and runs the pad of her thumb across one of her nipples. “It’s a shelf. You know, to support me without all the coverage. It worked with the dress.”
“Fuck yeah, it did.” My gaze tracks her finger as it makes a slow circular pattern over her sensitive flesh until I can’t take it anymore. I rip her hand away, replacing it with my own while slamming my mouth to hers. Then I kneel onto the faux sheepskin rug, taking her with me until I’m leaning her onto her back and spreading her knees with mine.
“You make me feel drunk,” I growl as I tear my mouth from hers and ease my way down her body, stopping only to kiss her breasts, her belly, and then her clit over her panties.
“It’s a good thing you stuck with your four-drink limit,” she rasps. A moan follows as I swipe away the material between her thighs.
With fabric hooked around my finger and her tender pink skin right there, daring me to take a lick, I chuckle at her words. “I might just have to break my rule.” My heavy lids open just enough to meet her confused gaze. “I think I’ll let you be my fifth drink tonight.” And with a swipe of my tongue, I throw caution to the wind and devour her.
31
Through the Lens
Maggie
Desmond’s mouth is something to be marveled. He tastes me like I’m a delicacy too rich to consume quickly, taking his time, running his tongue up and down my center, appreciating every inch, every dip, and every ridge. My fingers move to his head and dig under his hair until I have a good grip on his scalp. Without a word, he understands my needy demand and closes his mouth around that sensitive bundle of nerves. His tongue flattens, spreading wide against me, and then he’s sucking my bud between his lips, slowly and gently, before releasing me with a groan.
