Naughty Brits: An Anthology

by Sarah MacLean

  A familiar face suddenly crossed my line of vision. The photographer who took my photo at the start of this wild ride, and whose work was displayed all over the museum tonight, walked right past. Lilah Rose’s chin was tucked, her eyes down, her stylishly tousled dark hair almost masking her face, but it was impossible to miss her in a sleek lady tux that revealed an impressive amount of cleavage.

  “Uh . . . Lilah?” I murmured.

  She didn’t hear me, and Luca didn’t let up. We kept walking. His hand clasped tightly around mine as though he thought I might try to make a break for it. We edged the dance floor, and one dancer in particular caught my eye. I did a double take.

  “Um. Is that Ian Hale?” He was my favorite actor. And there he was. In the flesh. Sitting all broody at a table beside the dance floor.

  Luca didn’t bother answering me. He was in a definite zone.

  As though there was still a threat nipping at our heels, Luca pulled us deeper inside the grand building. We left the din of conversation behind. He veered left, taking us through the doors into the museum galleries. I saw a flash of a STAFF ONLY sign, but it did not deter him. He pushed ahead until the music from the live band was a faint hum.

  “Luca? Where are we going?”

  He turned down another hall. We were halfway down its length when he tried a doorknob. The door swung open and he spun me inside ahead of him, finally releasing my hand.

  It was a storage room of some kind. Hard to tell what it was storing because sheets and tarps covered so many of the items in the room.

  I turned to face him as he closed the door.

  He stopped in front of me, his hands closing on my shoulders. He scanned my face and down my body, his dark eyes bright with worry and something else. “Are you okay?”

  I nodded jerkily. “Yes. I’m fine.” I released a shaky laugh. “That was intense, but I’m okay.”

  He wrenched his hands away from me as though he suddenly could not bear the feel of me.

  I watched him prowl the cramped space, a ball of uneasiness growing in the pit of my belly as he very nearly violently dragged his hands through his hair.

  “Luca?”

  “Do you understand now?” he growled.

  I shook my head. “What do you mean?”

  “That you actually need protection.” He stopped and glared at me.

  “Are you mad at me?” I demanded, my own temper rising.

  “You can’t keep your head in the sand when you go to these events. There are some messed up people out there and you can’t just skip up to them.”

  I pointed to the door. “That wasn’t my fault out there, and that woman who wanted her book signed wasn’t trying to hurt me either.”

  Bright fire snapped in his eyes. He was furious. “You’ve got to stop being so clueless and live more cautiously.”

  “I’m not going to live in fear—”

  “How about you just show some common sense?”

  I sucked in a sharp breath, galled at his incredible rudeness. “Is this how you talk to all your principals?”

  His mouth closed, the lines on either side of his lips tight. His glare did not ease up on me. If anything, it only burned hotter.

  I glared right back at him, lifting my chin a notch.

  “No,” he finally answered. “I don’t speak to all my principals this way, and that’s the problem.”

  “And I guess that’s my fault?”

  He took another hard step forward, closing the distance between us. I fought the urge to back up and held my ground. “It is. It is your fucking fault. From the moment we met, I’ve been trying to treat you like any other person I was assigned.”

  His words flayed me.

  He kept coming and I couldn’t help myself. He was too relentless. He was like a tsunami coming for me. I backed up until I hit the door. There was nowhere to go now unless I wanted to fling open the door and run. That was too dramatic even in this situation where the pheromones were flying and my blood was pumping and I couldn’t stop staring at his mouth.

  I wasn’t running. We were doing this. Right here. Right now.

  His hands came up, landing on either side of my head, flattening against the door. He angled his head and studied me like I was his next meal. I felt my ovaries clench and then combust.

  My breath froze, trapped in my lungs, and I flattened my palms against the door behind me, too . . . my fingers digging into the surface, my neatly trimmed nails bending against the pressure as though they could carve out an escape. Except I didn’t really want to escape him.

  There was a party full of celebrities and people with cameras not far outside this room, but I didn’t even care. His face was directly above mine. Even in my heels, he was still a few inches taller and I had to tilt my neck to look up at him.

  “I can’t do it anymore,” he announced, the words a warm puff of air on my lips.

  “Can’t do what?” I countered.

  “Treat you like any other principal.”

  “Oh,” I breathed. “W-why not?”

  “You have no idea? Really? Do you know how bloody hard it’s been to keep my hands off you? Sharing a hotel room with you night after night? Even before that night in Edinburgh when you let me taste you . . . but then afterwards?” He shook his head slowly side to side and leaned in, his nose brushing my hair. “Being with you today was just amazing. And then tonight you’re in this dress . . .” I didn’t even know he found the dress attractive. He didn’t bat an eye when I emerged from the room in it. “Pretending,” he continued hoarsely, “that I don’t want to do this.”

  His mouth slammed down on mine, hard and insistent, giving me the kiss I had craved and wanted all my life.

  I moaned and he swept in, his tongue claiming, tasting, sliding against my own in sinuous strokes as he leaned full-length into me, pushing me against the door, the bulge of his cock prodding my belly undeniable. His hands came up to hold my face and that just fanned the flames hotter.

  I lifted my hands up from the door and wrapped my arms around his broad shoulders. His palms rasped against my cheeks, his fingers spearing through my hair, messing the smooth and elegant arrangement of vintage waves I’d wrought.

  I didn’t care. The careful side part and elegant waves could be wrecked and that would be an accurate reflection of what was happening inside me.

  I held on and kissed him back, hungry and desperate.

  He lifted his head and I had to stop myself from chasing after his lips. At least he didn’t step away. At least he stayed as he was, his big body pushing mine into the door, his hands framing my face. His gaze moved almost feverishly over my features, his dark eyes absorbing me, studying me in a way that spoke volumes. In those liquid-dark eyes, I knew what he wanted. I read the question there.

  I answered him. Not with words though. I unwrapped one arm from around his shoulders and slid it down between us, palming his erection.

  I felt my eyes widen and lock on his. I didn’t need to hold it directly in my hand to know. He was big.

  Curious, and not a little lust mad, I fumbled between us to see it. To see him. He didn’t help me. I did it all. I freed him and took him out and looked down between us. “Oh, my.”

  “You ready for it?” he asked roughly, and there was an undercurrent of something vulnerable in his voice. As though he’d faced aversion before. Perhaps rejection. I knew all about vulnerability. I’d vowed never to feel it again. Four years ago I’d made that promise and here I was—as vulnerable as a person could be. Sex did that. No one could hide anything in the throes of it.

  He felt like silk on steel in my hand. I ran my thumb over the head of him, reveling in his gasp. I’d never been with a man this endowed.

  His voice came out strangled. “Vee?”

  I answered him by pumping my hand several times up and down his length.

  He moved then. His hands slid down my sides, running over my body, over the satin of my gown. I now heartily wished I had not gone with suc
h a fitted gown. Something with a flared poofy skirt would have been ideal in this moment.

  He dropped down and seized the hem of my gown. It took several violent yanks to pull my dress to my hips, and then he squatted again, yanking my panties down to my ankles. I neatly stepped one leg out of them and let the other gold-heeled foot kick them off.

  I was really doing this.

  I’d shared a hotel room with this guy for several nights and we were finally doing it. Against a door. In a storage closet at a party at the British Museum. I didn’t regret it, though. Better late than never. I was leaving tomorrow. I was leaving tomorrow. A lump of emotion rose up in my throat and my hunger for him twisted deeper, harder, darker inside me. My sex throbbed almost painfully. I had to have him. Inside me. Quickly.

  Rising, he reached inside his jacket, giving me a glimpse of his sidearm. It should have turned me off—reminded me of who he was. Who I was. But it didn’t matter. Four plus years was a long time to go without intimacy. A lifetime was even longer to go without the kind of excitement I was feeling right now.

  He dug in his wallet and then there was a crinkle and tear of a condom wrapper. He worked fast, sheathing himself and then lifting one of my thighs, positioning it high against his hip. Grabbing my other thigh, he hoisted me up in one move, locking my legs around him.

  I gave a small gasp of surprise that turned into a yelp as he entered me in a deep thrust that I felt in my teeth.

  “Oh, wow.” I inhaled and exhaled deeply, clutching my arms around his shoulders, my fingers digging into him, the tips bloodless white.

  He held himself motionless, not moving, not thrusting. He was as still as stone, the only sensation his big throbbing cock inside me. He pulsed and my inner muscles clenched around him.

  He groaned, but still didn’t move.

  I was wedged between the door and his body. His hands slid down, cupping my bottom, holding me up for him. He dropped his forehead against mine, his own panting breath mingling with mine. “Okay?”

  “Yes.”

  “Ah, bloody hell . . . been a while, has it?” His lips twisted in semblance of a smile.

  “Yeah.” I strangled on a laugh. “Um, yeah, but you might be more, um, than I’m used to . . . give me a minute.”

  “I’ll give you forever,” he said right before he kissed me deep—long and hard and thorough. Every stroke of his tongue ratcheted up my desire. I sank deeper on him, inner muscles greedily flexing around him. I whimpered into his mouth. Pinned between the door and his body, it was impossible to pump myself against him, but the impulse was there, and I wiggled.

  He got the idea. I was ready, and he bounced me once in his hands, readjusting his grip on my ass.

  Oh. I cried out in exultation as he started to move. Long and deep. Never easy. Never soft. Hard, slick thrusts that I felt to my core.

  I doubted that gentle existed in him. This, I realized, was what it was to fuck. I’d had sex before. But I’d never been fucked.

  He increased his pace, setting a tempo that coalesced each thrust with a bang against the door. I bit my lip, trying to keep silent, dimly aware we were in a public venue, but it was impossible. I couldn’t. Every nerve ending was alive and vibrating and singing out in pleasure.

  My lip popped free of my teeth, and I cried out. At every plunge, every push, every drive into the door, a cry spilled out. I rode him, sliding up and down against the door with the force of his thrusts, clutching him close, basking in the sounds of his groans in my ear—that he needed me, wanted me in this moment, as much as I wanted him.

  Just when I thought I couldn’t feel any better, something broke loose inside me. I collapsed, sinking down on him as I released a cry, long and keening. The sound gradually faded and I went limp, my body quivering between the door and him. I drifted back down as tremors rolled through me.

  He kept on going. His hands flexed and massaged my ass cheeks as he thrust, anchoring me, marking me in a way that felt indelible. I didn’t think there would be a day when I didn’t feel the brand of his hands on me—when I didn’t close my eyes and remember the sliding friction of him inside me.

  Suddenly he stilled, and a hoarse, muffled shout escaped his lips. I felt his release, even through the barrier of a condom. He pulsed and twitched, buried inside me. I watched his face in awe, his expression like nothing I had ever seen in any lover. It was only something I felt. Bliss. Pleasure. Fulfillment. All of this. Now. With him.

  He dropped his head into the crook of my neck. Gradually sounds returned. The pants of our breaths. The distant music from the party. Footsteps outside the door. Voices.

  He lifted his head and his dark eyes pinned me as effectively as his body had me pinioned to the door. “So. Want to get out of here?”

  Chapter Twelve

  The dash from the museum was a blur. The car ride less so. We sat in the backseat, trying not to be too indiscreet since we weren’t alone in the car. Luca sat close, his big hand inching inside the side slit of my dress to caress my thigh, as though he could not not touch me.

  I held his hand, fingers laced with his—the one that wasn’t climbing up the inside of my thigh. Our palms pressed flush, pulse to pulse. Kissing palms.

  The driver acted as though we were invisible, but he must have felt the tension on the air, the tightly checked self-restraint.

  We made it out of the car and up the elevator without taking off our clothes, but he was peeling off his jacket by the time he crossed the threshold to our hotel room, and we were both fully naked by the time we hit the bed. A condom wrapper ripped and I was grateful he was prepared and took care of that before it even crossed my mind.

  I trembled at the sensation of his naked body wrapped around mine. The scratch of hair on his legs rubbed against my skin. The heavy weight of his cock pressed against the inside of my thigh. And there was his mouth consuming me everywhere. First my lips, and then he traveled down my throat. The line of my collarbone. My chest. The undersides of my breasts. My stomach. Yes, even there . . . where I’d always been so self-conscious. He kissed and loved the rounded curve of it, and I moaned, arching under him.

  He crawled up me, wedged himself between my thighs and slid home. He lifted one of my legs and flung it over his shoulder, opening me wider for him. He thrust easy and deep, the delicious friction intensifying with each stroke.

  We continued on like that. Me under him. Until he rolled nimbly, taking me with him and I was on top then.

  I didn’t think it could be better than before, but it was.

  On top was new. I never got on top. I’d never been comfortable enough, confident enough, but I went with him to the brink, flying over my previous limits.

  Straddling him, I settled my weight, sinking down, taking him deep inside. I rocked and controlled the angle of him inside me and that was new and incredible and made me wonder why I’d never done this before . . . but I knew why. I didn’t have to wonder. I’d never done it like this before because I’d never been with him before.

  Sex was a vulnerable enough act, but sex in a position like this required real trust. For some reason, I trusted him. From the very start, he had evoked feelings of trust. I felt safe with him. Safer than I’d ever felt with any man. Maybe it was his profession, but I suspected it was Luca—the man he was. I didn’t trust him because he was a bodyguard. I trusted him because he was the type of man who excelled at being a bodyguard.

  He was someone who made people feel safe, and I was no exception.

  He was rock solid, a man to depend on. A man who said what he meant, didn’t play games, and never backed down. A man like none I’d known.

  I rode him, rocking on his cock, arching my back and letting every sound I felt escape with no fear, no concern for our neighbors.

  He lifted up on his elbows and devoured my breasts, his tongue and teeth attacking my nipples vigorously. “So sweet,” he rasped as I ran fingers through his hair, tugging on the strands and moving him, guiding him where I wanted his mou
th to be.

  “Harder,” I gasped, and he responded, his mouth biting at my nipples. I cried out at the sweet pain of it, feeling a rush of moisture between my legs, slicking the way for him.

  His hands latched onto my waist, bringing me down faster, harder on his cock.

  He came with a groan. I came much more shrilly. The edges of my vision blurred as I was launched into another orgasm. My hands dropped to his chest, bracing myself as it rolled through me. “Too . . . much,” I panted.

  He lifted himself up, his hand cupping the back of my head, tugging me closer as his lips closed on my earlobe, softly nipping the sensitive flesh before he whispered, “Never enough.”

  Never enough.

  His words continued to whisper through me even after we’d cleaned up and settled back down in the bed. Even later, after he’d ordered us room service and we binged on steaks, truffle mac and cheese and chocolate cake.

  Never enough. Never enough. Never enough.

  It would have to be enough because it wasn’t as though this could go on. I was leaving tomorrow, and he was staying here.

  I lived in another country. We would not be seeing each other again.

  He had to know that. It was probably why he was so insatiable. The reason we had sex two more times. He was getting the most he could out of one night together.

  My flight wasn’t until tomorrow afternoon, but I didn’t look forward to the morning. All things appeared in the morning—truths you could avoid at night. The light of day revealed everything.

  I didn’t look forward to a lingering farewell as he escorted me from the hotel to the airport. Would he turn once again into the specialist? That would . . . hurt.

  I didn’t want to see him like that again. I didn’t want him to be that way with me. Not anymore.

  We fell asleep, but I didn’t know if I would call it restful. Several times I woke, searching for something, discovering that I had drifted to the edge of the bed, away from his heat radiating length. I would scoot back to his gorgeous body and place a hand somewhere on him, just to touch him, to maintain contact, to have that comfort. I could sleep again then.