“What?” she asks, catching me studying her.
I could toss her a canned line or redirect the conversation to something that’s not how gorgeous she is. But if I know anything about Blaire so far, it’s that she can pick out a line of bullshit a mile away.
“You’re beautiful, Blaire.”
She flushes. “Thank you.”
“It’s not a line. I mean it—you’re fucking beautiful.”
The candlelight flickers as she shifts in her seat. Her eyes pull away from mine, and I instantly regret opening my mouth.
She clears her throat as her fingertips touch her necklace again.
“I’m sorry if that makes you uncomfortable,” I say carefully. “That might’ve been a little forward.”
“It’s fine.” She takes a deep, steadying breath. “To be frank, I’m not used to situations where someone would say something like that.”
“I don’t understand.”
She sits up a bit straighter. “I don’t have a lot of dinners with men who I’m not trying to outwit or outplay. This whole thing tonight is a little foreign to me.”
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t date,” she says simply.
My brows shoot to the ceiling. “You don’t date? At all?”
I tilt my head as though it will help me hear her better—as if the idea of Blaire not dating will make more sense if the octaves are a bit higher.
It’s baffling. How could a woman like her not date? Sure, women say that shit all the time because they think it ups their desirability. But I actually believe Blaire. And, lo and behold, I need to adjust my cock at the thought. So maybe they’re on to something with that line.
“I mean, I’ve dated,” she says. “Just … not often. I’m just too busy to entertain another human. I can barely keep my own life on target, let alone adding someone else’s life in.”
“I feel the same way,” I say. “My life goes a hundred miles an hour. I can’t be thinking about buying flowers or chocolates or making sure I pick up my shoes.”
“See? That’s a hard limit for me. Pick up your own damn shoes.” She laughs. “That is one of the reasons I find men to be barbaric creatures, as you so carefully noted.”
I point a finger at her and wink. “That’s what you tell yourself.”
“Excuse me?”
“You like to think you find barbaric tendencies in men to be appalling. Society has taught you that. There’s no place in the world for aggressive men, men who know what they want.” My smile deepens. “But deep down, you enjoy an alpha male.”
She bites her bottom lip. “That’s not completely true.”
“Is it not?”
“No. I do find those tendencies appalling. Truly. They insinuate that the woman is the lesser sex—that we should pick up men’s shoes, make them dinner, have a lower paying job—and to that, I call bullshit.”
She lifts her glass and takes a drink, keeping her eyes glued to mine over the rim. There’s a steeliness to the blue irises that feels like a challenge. But as they stay trained on mine, I see a softness, too, that feels like an invitation.
“As you should,” I say, my voice lowering. Breathing in the warm notes from her perfume, I watch her chest rise and fall at a quickened pace. “I have no doubts you are as capable and intelligent as any man I know. But I also know something else.”
She sets the glass down. Her finger runs around the bottom, her chin lowered as she looks at me through her lashes. “What’s that?”
I lean forward and run my teeth over my bottom lip. The movement catches her attention. Her gaze drops to my mouth as her own lips part.
The air between us warms, the connection between us cackles with energy. Her brows arch as if she knows the answer and is waiting on me to deliver.
So deliver I will.
“I have no doubts that if I bent you over a chair and buried myself in you, there wouldn’t be any complaints.”
Her eyes widen as she shifts in her seat.
She wants it as badly as I do, but there’s no way I’d do that. Not here. Maybe with another woman—one who would orgasm all over my balls in the middle of this dining area and not regret it. But Blaire? She’s cut from another cloth, albeit one I’d like to mark.
My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I silently curse whoever it is. She hears it and motions for me to take it. While I type a quick response back to Rosie, I glance up. She’s watching me carefully.
“Like what you see?” I tease, slipping the device back into my pocket.
Her mouth opens as if she’s going to say something but snaps it shut again before she does. Her brows tug into one long line as she mulls over a thought.
Giving her space to work whatever it is out, I sit back in my chair. She starts to speak again yet stops herself.
“Blaire?”
She looks up through her lashes again, her eyes wide.
“Say it,” I demand.
“Say what?”
“Whatever it is you keep stopping yourself from saying.”
She makes no movement to do anything of the like, but I see exactly what she wants.
As soon as our eyes meet, really meet, the desire burning in the blues is undeniable. Her lids hood, her tongue swiping along her bottom lip as she watches me very slowly push away from the table.
My cock is pressed so tightly against my pants that I think it may burst through the seams. It’s all I can do to ignore it for the time being and, instead, sidle up behind Blaire’s chair.
She doesn’t turn to face me. She doesn’t flinch as I brush all the hair off her shoulders so it lays down the middle of her back.
“I’m going to touch you,” I say just loud enough for her to hear.
Pausing to give her just enough time to object, I lay my hands on her shoulders. A slight gasp escapes her lips as I knead my palms against her skin.
She’s warm and smooth and supple, and I want to bury myself in her body on this damn table.
Her head bends to the side, almost laying her cheek on my hand. I continue to work it back and forth, listening to her soft moans as I go. Finally, she sits up again and clears her throat. My hands drop to my side.
She doesn’t turn around to face me. She doesn’t move at all. The only thing that changes is her voice when she says, “Do you think it’s possible to rent a room here tonight?”
“I’ll be right back.”
Chapter Five
Holt
The key card takes forever to activate the lock on the suite.
The elevator ride was quiet, yet every time our eyes met, I swore I could hear the air vibrating between us. Despite the dilated pupils and labored breathing— something I notice but don’t think the other guests in the hallway do—she appears calm. Confident. Controlled.
She’s a damn conundrum, a puzzle with equal pieces sexy and soft. If there’s one thing I won’t do tonight, it’s fuck this up. Fuck her up. In order to do that, I need to clear my head.
When I glance over my shoulder, it’s clear she needs a second as well. Her blue eyes war, a storm crashing wave over wave as she waits for the chirp of the lock.
The door snaps, freeing itself, and although I’ve been anticipating the sound, I still jump. Blaire wastes no time taking the power in the situation. She moseys by me, pressing her palm flat against my chest as she enters the suite with the naughtiest grin.
Working the knot in my tie loose, sure as hell I’m going to choke, I step inside and let the door slam shut behind me. It’s her turn to flinch.
As she spins around, I step toward her in one deft movement. Her back hits the wall, a soft intake of breath parting her lips just before mine land against them.
Her back arches and her chin tilts back as my hands frame her in along the gold-painted wall. Warm and soft, her lips move against mine but not like I predict. She’s slow, methodical, each kiss a decided choice in an easy, calculated flow.
One hand cradles her cheek, her face a perfect
mixture of hollowed and round. I brush my thumb against her jaw and am rewarded with a soft, feminine moan.
The sounds of our connection whisper through the room, echoing in the grand entryway. Years before I’m ready to break the kiss, she does just that.
Breathless, she pants as she pulls away, leaving me dragging air into my lungs. Dropping my hand, I let it skim her arm as it falls to her hand. Placing it in mine, I lead her onto the patio. She doesn’t object, just follows me as though it’s our nightly ritual.
Large plants in beautiful clay pots line the sides of the balcony, giving the feeling of seclusion. The sky is clear with a host of silver stars dotting the darkness.
The taste of her mouth is still fresh on my tongue as I sit on a chair with a soft crimson pillow. She slips her hand from mine and chooses a chair a few feet away.
A sliver of thigh is unveiled as she gets settled. My cock, already rock-fucking-hard, throbs so much it physically aches. I try not to wince as I will it to ease, sure I already have pre-cum in my boxers.
The breeze catches her hair, making it dance in a cloud around her. She pulls it into a knot on top of her head, and I’m surprised at how much it changes her appearance. Her cheekbones are sky-high, nearly touching the bottom of her lashes. The corners of her eyes are almost an almond shape, something I never noticed before. Everything about her looks more sophisticated, more regal, and I’m left no choice but to adjust my cock before it explodes.
“I’m going to admit something,” she says. “This is a little too easy for me.”
“What’s too easy? I’m fucking hard as hell.” Wincing, I openly cup myself and try to find some relief.
She grins. “That’s exactly why I sat over here.”
“Isn’t that a good thing? For you, I mean. That you make me this turned on?”
“Of course,” she breathes. “I just … um … I feel like we got here in two seconds.”
“I’ll tell you what, gorgeous. You sit over there until you’re completely and utterly sure this is what you want. And if you decide it’s not, you can walk out, and I’ll take a cab home.”
She cocks her head to the side as though she’s not sure what to say. She searches my face before smiling. “There has to be a bad side to you.”
“Oh,” I say with a low, rough chuckle, “I can be as bad as you want me to be.”
“That’s not what I meant,” she says, her hand waving toward her pinked cheeks.
I grin. “By the way you’re fanning your face, I think that’s exactly what you meant.”
Her hand falls to her side. “Do you always say what you’re thinking?”
“Absolutely not.”
Gripping the edges of her chair, she wars with herself about what to do. I’m not a man who will ever convince a woman to sleep with me, but I will let her know I’m willing. And so fucking able.
“But, for the record, I’m thinking about how wet your pussy is right now,” I say, resting my forearms on my knees. “I’m thinking how your muscles will spasm around my cock as it slides into you, how your eyes will struggle to stay open, the little sounds you’ll make as I suck on your breasts.”
Her breath stalls in her chest as her hips shift on her seat.
“I’m wondering what kind of panties lay under that dress and how easily they’ll slide down your thighs. How hot is your pussy? What does your slit taste like as I run my tongue up it and toy with your clit?”
As the breath she’s holding is released, with it seems to go a decision that is evident in the playfulness in her eyes.
“If I were wearing panties, they’d be soaked,” she whispers. Leaning back in her chair, one long leg lifting and crossing on the other, the corner of her dress slips and hits her right at the top of her thigh.
Gulping past the red-hot lump in my throat, I have to tear my eyes from the sliver of creamy skin. When I look at her face, her eyes shimmer with amusement.
Her tongue darts out, skimming her bottom lip. Her chin lifts ever so slightly, her eyes smoldering with the promise of a tease.
I’m only a man. A very virile, capable man who has limits and restraints just like the mortal I am. And I’ve hit my limit.
“Why don’t you come here?” I spread my legs, my cock clearly locked and loaded through the fabric of my pants, but I don’t give a fuck.
She stands, the hemline of the dress toppling to the floor. The front dips, the roundness of her breasts on full display.
I think I’m going to lose my damn mind.
Taking her time, she strides to me, making a one-second trip into about four. It feels like eighteen. Standing before me, her lips pursed together, she smirks. “I’m here. Now what?”
* * *
Blaire
My heart is pounding as I look down at him. The moonlight sweeps across his features, the angles causing him to look even more roguishly handsome than before.
As we sat in the dining room, just the two of us, he wore down my resolve. I was certain we’d share a meal, and that would be that. After all, I don’t really even know this man. I barely sleep with men after three dates. Yet here I stand, figuring I’m on vacation and should live a little.
I want to sleep with him. My brain has chosen this moment to let my hormones override any sensibilities, and as I look at him looking at me, I don’t even care how illogical this is. Any regrets I have about this later will be from my decisions. They’ll be my doing. He’s given me a hundred ways out, and I keep shoving my way in.
His hands grasp my waist, his fingers biting into my hips. With a gentle yet firm grip, he urges me to take a step toward him. To close the small distance.
The scent of his cologne fills the void between us, swirling with the warm evening air. My thighs clench together; my legs sticky from my arousal as a grin plays across his lips.
“I’ve never had this problem before,” he grunts.
Making a show of glancing at his lap, I drag my gaze up his chest until it settles on his eyes again. “Doesn’t look like you have a problem to me.”
He bites back a laugh with a slight shake of his head. “There’s no problem there.”
“I could find out for myself if you weren’t so chatty.”
The chuckle comes now, as does a grin. “I was referring to knowing where to start, smart-ass.”
“Have you never done this before?” I tease.
“I’m confident when I say I’m certain I’ve never been with a woman like you.”
There’s a kick to his tone, an almost reverence, that takes my breath away. It’s swoon or seduce, and I choose the latter.
“Well, then let me show you.” Prying one of his hands off my hip, I hold his gaze. Bringing it to my throat, I let the back of his fingers trail down my skin, gliding them over my sternum and between my breasts. His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows, fighting the urge to take over. But he doesn’t. He lets me direct the moment.
My skin burns beneath his touch, a trail of unseen flames left behind his contact. My brain buzzes, almost drunk, numb to any thought other than him and me. The powerfulness coursing through my veins, that a man like this is responding to me in this way, beats any victory in a courtroom. It’s surreal.
Twisting his hand so his palm is flat as it rubs down my stomach, he turns it at the apex of my thighs. Cupping my sex through my dress, the fabric sinks into the dampness under his palm.
His eyes flick to mine.
“Is that wet enough for you, Holt?” I ask, lifting a brow.
He doesn’t answer. Instead, my dress is bunched up and held in place at my waist. The air brushes against my bare vagina, and I feel incredibly exposed. The sensation startles me for a fleeting moment. He erases any sense of bewilderment with his warm, cradling gaze.
Grabbing the back of my thigh, he squeezes my leg. I try not to yelp because it doesn’t hurt, but a sound comes out as I reach my breaking point. He bites his lip to contain his amusement because he knows I want him. He’s aware that I need him. But
it’s apparent that he’s not going to give it to me until he’s ready.
My legs part at his nudging, his fingers trailing up the inside of my thigh. With each inch they go higher, my heartbeat spikes a little more until the tips of his fingers reach my opening.
I suck in a hasty breath as I watch him feel, for the first time, how turned on I really am.
“My God,” he groans. “You weren’t kidding.” Pulling me toward him, he reaches farther back and inserts one long, firm finger in the middle of my slit. I moan, my body turning to gelatin as he drags it through the wetness.
“Holt …” I gulp as my stomach clenches.
He holds the finger in the air, my desire glistening off it.
“There’s one question answered,” he says, his tone rough. “Let’s answer another.”
“Which is that?”
Looking me dead in the eye, he wraps his lips around his finger. My jaw drops as his eyes light up.
“You taste amazing,” he says.
Before I can react, before I can come up with a witty response, he’s dipping a finger inside me again. It goes in slow, and even I can feel my body squeezing around it. He works it inside, his other hand gripping my bare ass, before sliding it out and inserting it again. With each stroke, the flame in my belly grows hotter.
My fingers dig into his hair and tug his head back, capturing his mouth with mine. He strums my pussy, like a key to an ignition, as his tongue wraps around mine and strokes it to the same tune.
He pulls back, giving my bottom lip a gentle bite before burying his head in my chest. He kisses across the top of my breasts before tugging down the neckline of my dress. My breast pops free of my bra, sitting atop the white lace.
His tongue coats a budded nipple, working a small circle around the engorged flesh. As he sucks it into his warm mouth, he inserts a second finger into my pussy, and it’s all I can do not to scream out in delight.
I can’t focus on either sensation. Every synapse is firing, misfiring, and re-firing in such quick succession that I can’t make sense of any of it. All too soon, he pulls away from my chest, and his fingers slow.
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