by Lavinia Kent
When she fled again, and he knew she would, he pursued.
Another lick.
“Stop teasing,” she begged.
He pulled away, stared at her, at his captive offering.
She licked her lips.
He forced himself to concentrate only on her face, the puffy lips, the pale skin—and those deep, endless eyes. He could have stared at them and forgotten all else.
That was a lie; there was no way he wasn’t indulging in what was coming.
Moving slowly, holding her gaze, he slowly bent forward, opening his lips. Her eyes dropped, following his movement. Her breathing grew shallow, and he could smell her feminine musk. God, he wanted her.
Sucking the nipple deep, he laved the bottom with his tongue, enjoying how her body moved in response to his. Her fingers were in his hair again, tugging hard, holding him close. It was a strain to shift from one breast to the other, but more than worth the tug and pull.
He devoured her, his whole being focused on her feel, her scent, her pleasure. Every tremble and quiver pushed him further, made him want her more, need her more. He scraped his teeth, and a long cry left her lips.
Fuck, that was hot.
He couldn’t wait. He reached down and started to gather her skirt, pulling it up. The silk slid easily, filling his hand. And then the silk beneath his fingers was her thighs. He ran his fingers up and down, enjoying her every shiver. He slid his hand up, a single finger brushing the curls at the apex. Wet. Yes, he’d been right. She was as into this as he was.
He was ready, so ready, straining and needy.
He sucked her nipple harder, let her feel the scrape of his teeth.
This was going to be so good. He lifted his head, moved his hand down to his fly—and stopped.
“Fuck,” he said.
“What?” Her blurred eyes tried to focus on him.
“The cameras,” he answered.
Chapter 9
Cameras? What was he talking about? And why? Who cared about cameras right now?
And then suddenly she understood. “Fuck,” she said, repeating his words.
Yet even as she spoke an unexpected tingle ran through her. They were being watched. Somebody was looking at them right now—or might be. She swallowed, wondering at the added excitement. If you’d asked her, she would have said she’d be horrified, but now it felt like lightning filled her limbs, leaving her both exhilarated and yet strangely heavy. It felt impossible to move, but even more impossible not to.
Clay started to pull away, but she held him tight. “Don’t move,” she said.
“What?” The bafflement was clear in his voice.
“If you move everybody will see.” She glanced down at her bare breast. The idea might be a thrill, but that didn’t mean she wanted to be put on display.
He started to pull the strap of her gown up.
She turned slightly, stopping him. “It’s ripped. It probably won’t stay.” That was an exaggeration. She didn’t think the straps had torn and, absent that, the dress would most likely hold even if she wouldn’t be able to reenter the ballroom without comment.
So why wasn’t she protesting? Why wasn’t she doing her best to cover herself? If she did this, there was no way to pretend she hadn’t wanted to. Her mind might be clouded with him, but still it was her choice.
“I doubt there’s anybody watching anyway,” she said after a moment, thrusting her hips forward slightly. She rubbed against his fingers, which still rested upon her upper thigh, high under her dress. Oh, that felt good.
“Why do you say that?” His fingers moved slightly in response to her action.
“I’m sure they’re all busy with the party. Who would think anything would be going on in the galleries now?” God, she needed him to move his fingers more.
“Well, isn’t it taped?”
“Perhaps, but I can’t imagine that anyone would go back and watch unless something is stolen. You don’t intend to steal something, do you?” She inched over, until his fingers were right there. A slow sigh.
“Only your virtue,” he whispered, bending closer. His fingers gave one long stroke.
“Who said I have any virtue…?” she trailed off.
He pulled back far enough so that he could look down into her eyes. “Is this really what you want?”
Was it? Her brain might question, but her body was burning.
There were so many things wrong with this, so many reasons to flee now. She might regret it afterward, but that was afterward. This was now.
“Yes,” she answered. “This is what I want, what I need.”
* * *
—
Shit. This was a bad idea. It was such a bad idea. He could see how serious Jordan was, but would she feel the same once passion had fled?
Still, he wiggled his fingers slightly, heard her gasp, watched her pupils grow large. She was more excited than he’d ever seen her, ever seen anyone.
His dick pressed tight against his pants, longing to be free, longing to be in her.
He glanced back over his shoulder, up at the camera, glanced further about the chamber. He didn’t see another one.
If they stayed just as they were nobody would see anything but his back. Oh, it would be clear what they were doing, there would be no mistaking that, but the cameras wouldn’t capture anything too…exhibitionist. Although, given her response, the response of her body, it was becoming more than clear that Jordan, his sweet Jordan, when filled with passion, might not mind putting on a little show. That was a detail he would have to save for later.
He rubbed his fingers forward, felt her moan, and swallowed it with his lips. She sucked his tongue deep as her body tightened.
With his other hand, he pulled the thin straps up her arms. He wasn’t going to risk the guards seeing any more than necessary. She started to protest, the sound light against his lips, but he moved his fingers faster over her slick flesh, and the slight whine changed to a very different sort of noise, almost a purr.
Once her dress was back in place, at least mostly—that tear was unmistakable—he leaned into her, engulfing her mouth with his own, demanding and vanquishing. He let his free hand run down her arm, enjoying the goosebumps that marked her flesh, before dropping it to his waistband.
In a moment he was free. He pushed her skirt higher, more than ready to…“Shit,” he exclaimed, the sound disappearing into her warm lips.
“What?” she whispered, her hips and thighs moving in sharp demand. She wanted him every bit as much as his body cried for her.
“I don’t have a condom.”
“I don’t care.” She rubbed herself against him, pleading.
“You know you don’t mean that.”
“I know.” Her voice was a whisper. “But I can’t stop.”
Her hips started to circle. Her head fell back, her eyes releasing his. Her breasts pressed hard into his chest, her nipples tight buds. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Her decision was made…but his?
God, he wanted this—needed this. He’d come here this evening planning almost exactly this—although he’d planned to lure her to his place, hence the lack of a condom. He probably even had one in his coat pocket, now resting in the checkroom.
His hips pushed forward, his dick brushing the heavy silk of her dress, cool and slick. He needed this. He needed it so badly.
And yet…
He wasn’t seventeen anymore. He’d had years of learning how to think ahead, of learning how to plan for tomorrow. No matter what he did, he knew Jordan would run from him before the night was through, but he was going to be sure that she only ran so far.
Breaking their kiss, he glanced down; her breasts were still covered, not well, but well enough.
He kissed her chin, nibbling at its soft point, let his lips trail over its curve, alon
g her jaw, down the tender skin of her neck, paused at the hollow, a swirl of tongue, a taste.
She protested as his fingers slipped from her damp folds, but grew quiet as his lips swept down between her covered breasts. He wanted to pause, to linger, to suck those sweet tips again, but he could feel her impatience. He moved lower, paused at the indent of her navel, pressing into it through the heavy silk. He could smell her musk, feel her want and desire in the tremble of her thighs.
She squirmed as he moved lower, as he pressed his face at the crux of her thighs, breathing deeply. Heaven. His cock protested as he knelt, fully aware that its time was not tonight, but he held firm. Swept up her gown just enough that he could slip under. Then all was dark, dark and woman. He could feel the velvet of her thighs against his cheeks. His head tilted back as he slipped his hands up over her damp skin, pulling her apart, spreading her.
He breathed deep again, pulling in her scent. He wished he could see, see her pale skin, see the glisten of her honey, the small scattering of dark curls attempting to hide her from him. He rubbed his thumbs hard, squeezing the edges of her clit. She rose on her toes.
His mouth watered and he attacked. His lips closed about her, his tongue swept over her. She cried out, small and sweet. He lapped and tasted, feasted. She was so sweet. He could feel the strain of her body, the quick gasps, the tight muscles. He slipped one hand farther, a single finger seeking her entrance, slipping in. Wet. Tight. And needy, so needy. Scraping his teeth over her tight nub, he sucked hard. His finger plunging deep and pulling back.
He felt her response, felt the inner quiver.
Again. And then again.
Her body was straining now.
His dick screamed for its own release, but he ignored it, cared only for her.
More, he gave her more. Pushing her further, higher, further—until her whole body stiffened and grew taut, until that first cry left her lips as her muscles rippled about his hand and mouth and she came, hard and fierce.
* * *
—
The stone was cold against the bare skin of her back. That was the first thought that circled through Jordan’s mind as she slowly descended from the blissful summit. She didn’t want to open her eyes, wanted to stay in her magic heaven. Clay moved against her thighs. A gentle kiss was placed on each one. And that was part of the heaven. He was part of the heaven.
She didn’t want to admit it, but it was true. It would not have been the same if it had been anyone but him.
That thought was enough to have her eyes opening, to have them staring across the dim room, up at the ever-present camera.
She knew what she must look like, torn dress, mussed hair, sweaty skin. Her eyes were probably pools of smeared black. And there was no disguising what had just happened, what she’d done, that she’d had an orgasm right here in this exhibit.
She should be sorry. She should be ashamed.
And she was both those things in some deep part of herself, yet mostly she was unsteady, unsure how to react to all that had happened.
Clay slipped from beneath her skirt, and she closed her eyes again, not ready to face him.
Reality was slowly, but surely, pushing heaven away.
This should never have happened. Once had been wonderful, but twice…hell, twice had been wonderful, too, but that didn’t mean that she should have given in again with so little thought.
But hindsight was worth nothing.
She felt him move to standing and forced herself to open her eyes, to look at him. It was too dark for her to see his face in detail as he faced away from the emergency lighting, but she could sense the hesitation and waiting. He was leaving this moment to her.
“Can I borrow your jacket?” She glanced down at her torn gown. Taking anything of his was not what she wanted, but despite all her foolish choices up to this moment she did not want to be seen like this.
He paused, and she thought he would say something, but when he finally answered all he said was, “Of course.”
He slipped it off and held it out.
She took it without saying another word.
* * *
—
Clay stood in the dark and watched the taillights of Jordan’s car pull away. She had not been happy when he’d insisted on walking her out, and had been furious when he’d leaned forward and given her a gentle kiss good night.
He had known it would happen, known her feelings would change. He didn’t like it, but he was trying to understand, trying to understand Jordan’s feelings, her desire not to be seen with him.
And the mess with Lydia hadn’t helped.
He should have broken things off with her weeks ago when it became clear she was after far more than he was, but he’d had no way of knowing that night with Jordan was coming.
Well, it was too late now. Now it was time to plan his next maneuver.
Chapter 10
“And then what?”
Jordan let the question hang as she took another sip of her tea, settling into her comfortable couch, trying to concentrate on the faint lemon flavor rather than on the chaos of her thoughts, trying to ignore the way the scent made her think of Clay, of waking up next to him.
Another sip. It was good to be back at her home in Forbidden Cove, surrounded by the things that gave her joy. She would concentrate on that.
“Well?” Veronica let the question hang, brushing a tangle of nearly black curls behind her ear.
Another sip. Jordan would never have started this conversation if she’d been afraid to tell her friend the truth, but now the words seemed frozen on her lips. Veronica would only see the positives of her two nights with Clay. Her only complaint would be that Jordan hadn’t told her after the first night. Veronica would never let what people thought influence her actions. “And then I left.”
“Which time? At the hotel or last night at the museum?” Veronica leaned forward.
“Both.” She put the delicate cup on its saucer.
Settling back, Veronica picked up her cup. “That’s too bad. I know I told you you needed to be fucked, but you’re not the type for a one-nighter or even a two-nighter. This will probably make you lock yourself in the tower again for another year or two.
“The tower?” Jordan asked, even though she knew what Veronica was referring to.
“You know exactly what I mean.”
“And you think that sleeping with Clay is my way of escaping?”
“You haven’t described much sleep, but yes. You clearly chose somebody you couldn’t have a real relationship with. After all, he is a bit of a boy toy. I never pictured you going from father figure to cradle-snatching. Oh, don’t look at me like that. You know I’m joking. Yes, he’s young, but that’s perfect for an affair. Lots of endurance. Plenty of big O’s. Clay does seem like a good first step, if you don’t let it scare you so much that you turn and run back in. The tower can be a very safe place.”
That was true, at least some of it. She had to admit the boy toy bit stung. Did Veronica think he was too young for her? “I don’t completely disagree with you, but do you really think Clay is safe? I mean, I understand your reasoning, but Amelia will be upset if she finds out. It is a strange situation to date someone who dated your stepdaughter.”
“That’s a very important word, step. And I know she’s always thought of you more as a big sister than a mother…okay, that only makes it a little better. But, given her life now, do you really think she’ll be that upset? And if you do, then you need to think about why you did choose Clay. I’m sure there are other men you know that you could have chosen.”
True, but none of them had done for her what Clay did. None. “Far fewer than you would think. I don’t see many people in my everyday life. I tend to be a homebody.”
“That may be true, but it’s still an excuse,” Veronica answered. “You gr
ew up in this town, just like I did. If you wanted to see people, you would. What about your work at the foundation, you must see people there, meet men there? Even more importantly, if you’re concerned about being stuck in life, why don’t you do something about it? Find a job? Or at least something you care about? When Mark was sick, in the hospital, it made sense for you to be home so much, but now you need more than getting your nails done and trimming the roses. You’re not some woman in a Regency romance with few choices in life. You can do anything. I know that you made sure Mark left almost everything to Amelia, but I also know you still have enough funds that you can do anything you want.”
“God, first you were saying I need to have sex to be happy and now you’re moving on to this. Besides, I do have A Place for Family, and helping families cope with sickness and loss is very satisfying.”
Veronica let out a long sigh. “Sex was only the first step for having a life, feeling alive—and I imagine having such a young lover will keep you very alive. But I know you and you want a complete life. And while I don’t doubt that the foundation work is satisfying, you’ve avoided becoming involved beyond the fundraising.”
“It’s what I’m good at and it’s all they have need for. It’s not like I have any experience with business. It’s part of why Mark left the companies to Amelia. He knew I only have a high school degree. And at the foundation I’ve made sure they hired the best people to take care of everything else.” Her mind flashed to Lydia and she had to hold back a grimace. “I’ve read the reports. I know that they’re doing good work.”
Veronica put down her cup and suddenly pushed to standing, starting to stride about the room with some aggravation. “Do you even hear yourself? You’ve read the reports. I know you, Jordan—or at least I did. You were never one to read about doing good; you were the one in the trenches doing it yourself. Have you even met any of the families you’re helping?”
Jordan stayed quiet.
Veronica continued, “You said several of them were being invited to the gala last night. Did you meet them? I’m sure they were looking forward to saying thank you.”
