by Kally Ash
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Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Also by Kally Ash
About the Author
Taste Me
Copyright © 2020 by Kally Ash
The right of Kally Ash to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by her under the Copyright Amendment (Moral Rights) Act 2000
E-book ISBN: 978-0-6480360-9-8
Print ISBN: 978-1-922353-00-9
All rights reserved. This publication (or any part of it) may not be reproduced or transmitted, copied, stored, distributed or otherwise made available by any person or entity (including Google, Amazon or similar organisations), in any form (electronic, digital, optical or mechanical) or by any means (photocopying, recording, scanning or otherwise) without prior written permission from the author.
All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Cover Design by Sly Fox Cover Designs
Edited by Landers Editorial
Proofread by Judy’s Proofreading
One
From her perch at the bar, Natasha looked around The Nightingale, mentally counting all the single men at this party. Probably none unless she wanted to count the bouncer.
And she didn’t.
Well, there was someone who had her attention and had had it for a while now. Ethan Harris was the owner of The Nightingale, a man who was unofficially West Hollywood’s most eligible bachelor. As if conjured by her thoughts, Ethan appeared, his eyes fixed on her, an easy smile on his sinful mouth.
Reaching out, she slid her fingers suggestively up and down the stem of her martini glass. When she was sure her message had been received, she picked up her drink and swallowed the last mouthful like she was burning on the inside and needed to douse the flames.
She watched Ethan come toward her, the guy wearing his well-cut suit like it had been painted on him.
“Natasha.” The way Ethan said her name made her shiver. “Can I buy you a drink?”
“Do you still buy them if you own the damn bar?” she shot back.
He laughed deeply and she squeezed her legs together. The guy was pure sex and she was more than ready to get down to business with him. They’d been dancing around each other for a few weeks now and tonight was going to be her night. She uncrossed her legs, then settled them back into position, knowing that Ethan’s eyes weren’t where they were supposed to be.
“I thought you’d never offer.”
Leaning in, he whispered into her ear, “I’d be willing to beg.”
She purred. They were waaaaay out of drink territory now and she loved it. It had been a long six months since she’d had a remote interest in sex, and that was saying something. She had a high sex drive, higher than most teenage boys with an endless supply of Playboys, but the last six months, she’d kicked up her efforts to get herself up higher on the corporate ladder by working long days and even longer nights.
Vee and Beau’s engagement party was the perfect place to let off steam and hopefully get flat on her back in the process. It wasn’t like she was a nymphomaniac or anything, but with having the high-pressure job she did, she needed an outlet or two. Drinking and fucking were pretty much it, and when she could do them together, she was one happy camper.
“Dirty martini. Extra dry. Two olives,” she said, inhaling the scent of his cologne.
With a grin, he stepped back and said to the blonde working the bar, “Two dirty martinis.”
She frowned. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”
“My girls know the way I like my drinks.” He was grinning at her smugly, not even turning his head when the martinis were placed onto the black lacquered bar and pushed gently in their direction. Passing her one, Ethan picked up his own drink and took a sip. Natasha kept her eyes locked on his face before looking to find two olives speared through with a plastic cocktail stick. She took a sip and smiled. Dry. Dry. Dry.
“Your girls are good.”
“I know.”
Throwing her head back, she laughed. “Jesus, cocky much?”
“I’ve never had a woman complain about my cockiness before.”
“Oh, I wasn’t complaining. Merely observing.”
“I think I like you observing me, Natasha.”
Okaaaaay, things just got a little hotter in there. She practically tipped the clear liquid down her throat and picked up the cocktail stick, sliding one olive down the wedge of plastic with her tongue. She seriously considered taking the guy out back to the bathrooms to fuck him stupid, but she forced her gaze away to find Vee and Beau. The loved-up couple were standing on the opposite side of the bar, their arms around each other’s waists. Vee’s face was turned up to Beau’s, the look of absolute love in her eyes making Natasha’s chest ache for a moment.
She didn’t begrudge her friend her happiness. Lord knew Vee had had to suffer a lot to get her slice of happy, but Natasha couldn’t help but feel like her friendship with Vee was closing a chapter. She was the only single one left and it was a little lonely standing on the outside.
“—Natasha?”
“Huh? What?” she asked, refocusing on Ethan. “Sorry. I was miles away.”
He looked in the direction she’d been staring. “They make a good couple, don't they?” he murmured softly.
“Yeah,” she replied, looking back at her best friend and the only man she’d ever loved. “The best.”
“You must be happy for her.”
Ethan would never know just how happy she was for Vee. “Yeah.”
Natasha shut off the emotions that were threatening to bubble up to the surface and turned her attention back to the man who could make all her dreams come true—at least for tonight. She picked up her empty martini glass just for something to do with her hands, but Ethan peeled it out of her fingers and placed it back down.
“Want to get out of here?” he asked, his heavy-lidded eyes drifting down to her mouth. Fuck yeah, she was ready.
“I don't want to skip out on Vee and Beau. This is their night.”
Ethan’s smile made her heart tachycardic for a moment before her body settled into a semi-aroused state she had no desire to get out of.
“I have other dark corners where we can get some privacy.” He held out his hand and she slipped hers into it. Warm. So warm. And strong. Sure. She slid from the stool, smoothing down her dress with her free hand.
“Lead the way,” she murmured. She trailed behind him, her dirty mind working through all the ways she thought he could make her come when she was brought up short by something cold and wet dripping down the front of her dress.
She glared at a blond guy standing there, an empty glass in his h
and, the bottom of which was swimming with an inch of amber liquid.
Beer.
She fucking hated beer.
“What the fuck?” she yelled, grabbing at some cocktail napkins that were within arm’s reach on the bar.
“Jesus, I’m so sorry,” the guy slurred, putting the glass down onto the ground and reaching for her like he was going to help her mop things up.
“Back off,” she growled when his hands came within an inch of her dress.
“Hey, are you all right?” Ethan asked, scooping up the abandoned glass and putting it onto the bar. It was swept up almost immediately by the efficient, photo-memorizing blonde bombshell who had made their martinis. Fuck, like, every single woman working in there was blonde.
“Fine,” she replied tersely, swiping the quickly sodden napkins down her dress. “Jesus, this dress is worth ten grand.”
“I’m sorry,” Drunk and Clumsy spat out. “I'll pay you back.”
“You couldn’t fucking afford it,” she growled, turning her back on him and dumping the beer-soaked napkins onto the bar.
“Here,” Ethan said, appearing at her elbow. He handed over a glass of soda water and a clean cotton cloth. “You can get cleaned up in my office if you like.”
“Thanks.” Still dabbing at the mess, she followed Ethan out of the bar proper and into a long hallway. The walls were red, the doors well hidden. The only reason she knew there were rooms along this corridor was that the seams couldn’t be disguised.
“In here,” he said, pulling out a key and opening things up. Stepping to the side, he showed her in. “I’ll give you a few minutes.”
“I appreciate it,” she replied a little too stridently before adding, “Sorry. Thanks.”
He gave her a sad smile before closing the door behind him. Well, there went her chance for sex for the night. With a sigh, she cursed the asshat who had not only cock-blocked her but who had also made her smell like a bar’s floor. She put the glass of soda water onto the desk, then, dipping the cloth in, she soaked it as much as she dared and then ran it over the expensive fabric of her dress.
Two
John was so fucking polluted he couldn’t see straight. Propping himself up against the hallway wall, he watched the gorgeous redhead he’d been mentally undressing all night disappear with Ethan into Ethan’s office. Fuck. Spilling a drink on the woman you want to get naked was so not smooth. In fact, it was pretty much a sure-fire way to get yourself kneed in the junk.
When the office door opened again, he pretended to just be hanging out, but Ethan locked eyes on him and smirked.
“Hey, man, I’m so sorry,” John started, but Ethan held up his hand.
“It’s all good.” He jerked his head in the direction of his office. “That one was angrier than a nun with a venereal disease. There are plenty of other wet and willing women here tonight.” He offered his knuckles to John who returned the gesture.
“Happy hunting,” Ethan said, fixing his gaze on one of the blonde girls who worked the bar.
“Same to you,” John replied. He really wanted to go and talk to the redhead—to apologize again—but he really wasn’t sure that was a good idea. The most intelligent thing to do would be to turn around and sit his ass down and sober up. Yep, that's what he should do.
Except... that was not what his feet were doing.
Somehow, he was in front of the office, his hand raised to knock on the door.
The thing was yanked open and a long breath escaped his lungs. The goddess had her back to him, her head bent over the dress, scrubbing at it and wearing nothing but her black lacy underwear and heels. She was wearing a thong that framed her perfect ass, her legs looking longer and more perfect to have wrapped around his waist by the second. She could keep the heels. As if on board with that idea, John’s cock punched out from his hips, the erection painfully hard.
“Did you bring more soda water?” she asked absently, too absorbed in getting the stain out to notice it was him standing there. When he didn’t say anything, she glanced over her shoulder, her green eyes flashing with rage.
“You asshole!” she screamed, dropping the dress onto the desk. “Get the fuck out of here.”
“I'm sorry,” he spat out, the alcohol buzz was burning off as his brain sent more blood south, like it had mistaken her anger for bald-faced lust. He looked down at his hips, wondering if hitting himself in the junk was going to calm things down or make them worse. He peered at her when he realized that she’d gone quiet. Like all the birds go silent before a storm. Or a tornado. He was stunned, however, to see her eyes locked on to his erection. She touched her collarbones, dragging her hand down between her breasts.
“I want to fuck you,” he blurted, cursing himself for not applying a filter. But, hey—drunk. “Sorry,” he added quietly. He should’ve turned around, but the way she bit her lip and squeezed her thighs together made him pause. “I’m sorry,” he repeated.
Fuck, why couldn’t he stop saying that?
“I’m just going to go.”
He turned around and stared at the back of the door, waiting for... what? He didn’t know.
“The least you could do is give me an orgasm.” Her voice was haughty—cocky even, and why did he have to think of the word cock again?
He spun around and stared at her. She met his gaze, widening her stance in invitation. He took two steps toward her, noting the way her breathing increased, her pumping chest rising and falling and making her perfectly creamy breasts surge.
Wrapping one arm around her waist and the other around the back of her neck, he kissed her hard and fast, plunging his tongue inside her mouth. She found his erection, grabbing hold and stroking him through his pants. John groaned, his head falling back on his spine like the thing wasn’t even connected anymore.
His hands began to move over her body, cupping her breasts through the lace that barely covered her. Her nipples rose up to meet his touch and he leaned down to suck one into his mouth through the fabric. She hissed through her teeth and tightened her grip on his cock. He groaned in return, his hips pistoning as she worked him.
Fuck, he just had to get her even more naked.
Unhooking her bra, he freed those magnificent breasts of hers and gained unadulterated access to them. Picking her up, he walked her over to the desk and placed her down, bending her backward until her spine was flat against the slab of wood. Running his hands down her body, he slid his finger down her cleft. She was wet. She was panting. She was so fucking ready.
Shoving the lace aside, he got his first look at her core and fell to his knees like he was having a religious experience. Placing his head between her long thighs, he closed his mouth over her sex, lapping at her, keeping the pace slow and steady despite her trying to urge him on. He groaned when she grabbed a fistful of his hair, tugging him closer, holding him in place as he went down on her.
She ground her hips against his face, and he flattened his tongue, sweeping it through her folds and drinking down her sweet arousal. When he got impatient with the barrier between them, he tore the side of her panties and let them drift to the floor.
Hooking her legs over his shoulders, he redoubled his efforts and pushed her screaming and clawing over the edge. As soon as her body stopped quaking, he placed a kiss against her hot core, then stood up.
Panting.
Watching.
Waiting.
“Are you going to stand there all night or are you going to fuck me?” she asked in a throaty voice.
He lost his shoes and pants, kicking them off to the side before unbuttoning his shirt.
“Condom?” she asked, looking up his now bare body with glazed eyes. Leaning down, he planted a kiss on her perfect lips, his cock kicking when her tongue darted out to taste herself on him. Reaching for his wallet, he pulled out a condom and sheathed himself. She didn't take her eyes off him for a second and he was so turned on, his balls were actually aching for release.
Lining himself up with her
opening, he pushed in slowly, knowing he wanted to enjoy this, knowing that he’d probably never get this opportunity again. When he was buried to the hilt inside her, he began to move, biting his bottom lip in a vain attempt to stop himself from coming too soon.
She felt good.
She smelled good.
“I fucking hate you,” she hissed out, digging her nails into his forearms as he planted his hands onto the desk on either side of her hips. She arched into him, trying to get him deeper inside her. John lowered his head, looking up at her from under his lashes. She was glorious, spread out beneath him, her hair fanned out. Who the fuck cared if she hated him? He was in the fucking zone and by the blissed-out look on her face, she was in the same place. Hell, they could’ve been neighbors.
“You ruined my dress.”
Thrust.
“I’ll buy you a new one.”
Withdraw.
“It’s a vintage YSL,” she replied. “One of a kind and it cost a small fortune.”
Thrust.
“I’ll make it up to you,” he replied, gritting his teeth as his orgasm surged.
Withdraw.
“I fucking hate you.”
Thrust. Hard this time. Hard enough to make her suck in a breath and writhe as he pinned her with his body.
“Good.”
He placed her lean legs onto his shoulders and plunged into her, setting a bruising pace he wasn’t even sure he could maintain. Her inner muscles tightened then, her orgasm screaming through her body and tipping off his own. With a few more shallow thrusts, he was coming, filling the condom, his hips jerking uncontrollably as she milked every last drop from him.
