by Tracy Wolff
“And did you make it?” he asked right before he sank his teeth into her upper thigh.
She screamed his name as her arousal shot through the roof and her lithe body bowed against him.
He laughed—a low, wicked sound that sent razor blades of need through her. “Well, did you?”
“Did I what?” Her voice was hoarse, but she figured she should be grateful that she still had the power of speech. As his lips skimmed over her hip bone and abdomen, stopping to nibble at each birthmark and freckle, she feared that soon even that ability would fail her.
“Reach the stars?” His mouth closed softly over her navel, his tongue incredibly gentle as it probed her belly button and the soft skin of her abdomen.
“Not—” Not yet was what she had wanted to say, but her voice truly was gone, her ability to concentrate evaporating beneath the gentle suction of his mouth.
And then he was moving on, moving down, his lips skimming over the top of her mons, down the side of her hip. His tongue made little forays underneath her hip bone, delicate little touches that lit her up like a Roman candle. Sharp little nips that had her gasping for air with lungs that had forgotten how to breathe.
“Byron.” It was a cry of agony, a plea born of desperation, and his hands clenched on her thighs as he realized just how far he had pushed her.
Shudders racked his body as Byron buried his face between Lacey’s thighs. She smelled delicious, like honey and cinnamon and sweet, sweet strawberries. He paused for a minute; simply absorbed her smell into himself. He took a deep breath, then another and another, while his thumbs stroked closer and closer to the slick folds of her pussy.
With each slide of his thumb, she trembled more. With each clasp of his hands, she took a shuddering breath. And when he moved forward, blowing one long, warm stream of air against her clit, she started to cry, to sob, her body spasming with even the lightest touch of his against it.
His cock was on fire, his balls pulled so tightly against his body that he feared he might explode if he didn’t take her soon. But he wasn’t ready for it to end, wasn’t ready to send her careening over the edge so he could follow behind.
He wanted to savor her, to push her, push himself, higher than they’d ever gone before.
But she was coming apart, her body so sensitive and responsive that it humbled him even as it made him sweat.
“You’re unbelievable,” he muttered as he delivered one long lick along her gorgeous, ruby-red slit. “So fucking responsive I could just—” He stopped talking as Lacey screamed, her hands clutching his hair as flames ripped through her. He licked her a second time. And then a third, lingering on her clit.
Sliding his hands up her thighs, he gripped her ass in his hands and squeezed. When she moaned, he moved his thumb over her anus and pressed in slowly, gently. At the same time, he pulled her clit into his mouth and suckled.
She sobbed as she hurtled over the edge, orgasm after orgasm roaring through her body like a series of shooting stars. He held her while she came, stoking the flames higher and higher until she was screaming silently, her hands clutching at his shoulders in an effort to pull him up and into her.
Her need sent him over his own edge, and he stood in a rush, one hand reaching for his pants and fumbling the condom out of the pocket, as he used his other to spin her around. “I’ve got to fuck you,” he growled, as he threw open the balcony door and walked her out to the railings.
It was still raining; the thunderstorm that had moved in while they’d been playing the question game had decided to stay. He pressed her against the rain-soaked railing, and Lacey gasped as wind whipped against her, lashing her with warm raindrops that felt cool against her heated skin.
Words from one of her older fantasies played in his head as he rolled the condom over his dick, tormenting him with the power and the pleasure of her words, driving his own need to stratospheric heights.
You come to me in a flash of lightning, as rain pounds the burning streets beneath my balcony. A stranger who grabs me from behind and presses me against the wet and slippery iron of the railing. You raise my skirt, rip my underwear from my burning pussy and take me right there, before I ever have a chance to see your face.
Again and again you take me as the hot rain falls on my face.
Again and again you take me—with your hands and mouth and cock—until my knees quiver and my soul is satisfied.
He wasn’t a stranger and she wasn’t dressed, but the other parts of the fantasy were right on and he wanted to give it to her, needed to give it to her—and himself—with a desperation that bordered on the obsessive.
Skimming his mouth over her neck, he reached between her legs to make sure that she was ready for him. She was slick, swollen and so hot he shuddered with a desperate need to be inside her.
With a groan, he placed a hand on the nape of her neck and another on the small of her back, bending her forward over the railing until she was at the perfect angle. And then, with his knees shaking and cock throbbing, he sank into her, the broad tip of his cock working its way into her one slow inch at a time.
She felt amazing, smooth and silky and so hot he feared she would burn him alive—but, God, what a way for him to go. With her wrapped around him like a fist, her strong body quivering against his, and the wind lashing them with rain-soaked sweetness, he wanted nothing more than to stay like this forever. Working his way inside her as she had found her way inside him. Taking her as she took all of him.
Lacey moaned as Byron entered her, his thickness an invasion that stretched her beyond comfort and into a pleasure-pain that was unbelievably exciting. She arched backward, desperate to get away, to get closer, to make the agony of unfulfilled desire go away.
He held her steady, thrusting slowly, pulling out, thrusting a little harder, pulling out, until he’d worked another inch of himself inside her. He was gentle, more gentle than she’d expected him to be, certainly more gentle than he had been the night before, and she struggled to find her voice.
“It’s okay,” she gasped, pressing her ass into his stomach. “You won’t hurt me. I can take all of you.”
His only answer was a low, deep groan as he thrust and retreated, thrust and retreated. Fucking her with more care and reverence than he could have imagined possible.
“Byron,” she gasped. “Please.”
And then he was all the way in her, his cock a strong, undeniable presence within her. She’d never known anything could feel so good.
Leaning forward, he rested his cheek against her temple. “Is this okay?” he asked through gritted teeth, his breath coming in harsh pants against her ears. “Am I hurting you? You’re swollen, tight, from last night.”
“No, God, no!” She answered in a series of tortured gasps, so turned on by the care he was taking with her that she would have fallen if Byron hadn’t been there to support her. She was trapped between a rock and a hard place—the stationary, unyielding balcony at her front, and his strong, immovable body behind her. She was trembling, shaking, barely able to hold herself up.
And then she didn’t have to, because he was there, supporting her—his cock an exquisite pressure within her. He began to move, gentle thrusts at first that glided in and out of her. The pleasure built and built until she was once again on the edge.
He was deliberately keeping her there, suspended on a precipice she couldn’t cross without his permission. And no matter how hard she pressed, how much she struggled, he kept up the same, easy, in-and-out rhythm that was setting her hair on fire.
When she could take no more, when need was a screaming obsession inside her, she clenched her vaginal walls around him. Once, twice, again and again she squeezed his cock within her, until she elicited one long, deep groan from him.
“Fuck, Lacey. You can’t do that.” He leaned forward, pressing her hips into the railing with all of his considerable weight, while his hips pistoned back and forth against hers. “I’ll lose it—”
“Good.�
� She reached back and around, clasping his ass in her rain-soaked palms. With the last of her waning strength, she pulled him against her as hard as she could, clenching down with her vagina as she did so.
He wasn’t expecting it, and the move broke his composure, his unbelievable control. He began thrusting against her, the power of his hips actually moving her up and down on the railing as he came at her with everything he had.
And she loved every second of it, her cunt running with the slick proof of her desire for him. He brought his hands up and cupped her breasts, squeezing her nipples between his thumbs and index fingers until she nearly screamed with the pleasure and the pain of his possession.
Reaching up, she grabbed on to his thick wrists, trying to keep herself in place beneath the powerful hammering of his hips. It was no use; she was being swept away. Carried off by the rising tide of an orgasm that was almost within her reach.
“I can’t hold on—” He ground out the words as he thrust harder and harder. “Come with me, baby. Come with me!”
It was the order that did it, the rough command in his voice that sent her spiraling off the highest edge yet. The climax ripped through her, taking over her entire body until all she could feel or see or hear was him.
In those moments, Byron was all around her, inside her. Not just in her body, but in her mind and heart and soul. And though she tried to keep him out, to slam walls down around her out-of-control emotions, it was too late.
The sensations kept coming, never-ending waves of ecstasy that shot up her spine, her arms and legs, through every part of her. In a small part of her mind, she was conscious of him stiffening against her, of his body jerking inside hers while he came in a series of long, beautiful pulses.
When it was over, he didn’t collapse on her as she’d expected. As she’d craved. Instead, he leaned down and swept her feet out from under her, cradling her against his powerful chest. Then he ducked back into her apartment and carried her through the living room to her bedroom.
He laid her gently on the hot-pink comforter, then joined her, tracing the raindrops on her arms with his tongue.
“You’re so goddamned beautiful,” he said between kisses. His voice was gravelly, rusty, as if it had been too long since he’d last spoken.
“You don’t have to say that,” she answered, rolling to her side and pulling her knees up so she wouldn’t feel so exposed.
“I don’t have to say anything. But that doesn’t make it any less true.”
With a smile, she pulled him into her arms and reveled in the feel of his big, warm body against her heart—even as he wondered how long this fantasy could last.
Chapter Fourteen
Gregory hung up the phone with a growl.
“Boss?”
Gregory looked up from the picture of Lacey Adams that he was very quickly growing obsessed with. “Yes, Jim?”
“The new shipment has arrived at the airport. Dimitri wants to know if the merchandise should be delivered to the regular warehouse, or if any of his current load should be sent on to the auction house.”
Shit. Gregory froze as he realized he’d been so obsessed with Lacey that he’d failed to look over the newest files. He didn’t even know what kind of merchandise was being delivered, and that sure as hell didn’t say much about him as a businessman.
Furious with himself—and the red-haired witch who was slowly turning him inside out—he barked, “Do you have the files?”
Jim held out a small group of manila folders to him. “They’re right here, sir.”
“Are they secure?”
“I’ve kept them with me all day, so that I would have them when you were ready for them. They haven’t been out of my sight.” There was no censure in Jim’s voice, but since his assistant valued his life, Gregory didn’t take that as a particularly encouraging sign.
He had dropped the ball today and could only hope Jim was the only one who had noticed. He could always tell the others that he’d been too busy to get to it before then. It sounded so much better than saying he’d been too busy looking at a woman to do the job he’d made a fortune doing.
He glanced through the merchandise files quickly, wanting to make up for his blunder. “How fresh is the merchandise?”
“Not very, from what I understand.”
He looked up sharply, growled his displeasure. “There are no pure ones in the whole shipment?”
His annoyance must have been obvious, because Jim took a cautious step back. Gregory almost smiled when he saw that small retreat—how nice it was to have men who appreciated how dangerous he really was, despite the fact that he rarely chose to handle the dirtier aspects of his job anymore. Nice to know that Jim realized he could still handle it when he needed to.
“No, sir. They thought they had secured one, but it was tainted.”
“Damn it, I have a whole host of clients coming who are expecting something special this time around. We need to deliver it.” He cursed; the problem with being successful was you became a victim of your own success. Do something good once and you ended up with clients who wanted something even better. Do something spectacular, and the fucking sky was the limit.
Still, success was a hell of a lot better than where he’d started out—in life and in this business. He sure as shit wouldn’t do things any differently. “All right, then. We still have a few days to figure out what to do for the auction. In the meantime, have all of these delivered to the warehouse and get them processed immediately.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And that other matter we spoke of earlier—is it taken care of?”
“Yes. The story should run on the news tonight.”
“Excellent. You may go.”
But as his bodyguard walked toward the door, he called after him, “And, Jim, start thinking about ways to get the redhead. I’ve decided I want her for my collection.”
“Of course, sir.” Not by so much as a flicker did he reveal what he was thinking. But Gregory recognized the gleam in his bodyguard’s eyes, the lust that said he would be more than happy to do what his boss asked, if for no other reason than to get his shot with Lacey when Gregory tired of her.
Gregory glanced down at the photos he never kept far from his desk. Like that was going to happen anytime soon.
Byron and Lacey ended up going out despite all her previous objections, though it was for a midnight snack instead of breakfast. A stroll through the French Quarter instead of the morning window shopping he’d originally planned.
After they’d eaten, he’d bought her an ice-cream cone—Rocky Road, of course—then shared it with her as they strolled hand in hand down Chartres Street.
“So, you said you write true-crime books,” he said as they traded licks of the frosty treat. “Is that why you move around so much? For research?”
She nodded. “I usually like to live in the city I’m writing about. It helps with the background information and insight. It usually makes it easier for me to get into the mind-set of the people I write about.”
“So what are you writing about here? God knows this city has enough crime to stock a library full of books.”
She took another lick of the ice cream, and he enjoyed watching her pale pink tongue scoop up a little of the tasty treat. Leaning in, he swept his tongue over hers and savored the cool, chocolate taste of her.
“If you keep that up, I’m not going to remember my own name, let alone what question you want me to answer,” she murmured breathlessly.
“That’s not necessarily a bad thing.” He skimmed his lips over hers.
“No, it’s not.” He heard the smile in her voice and reluctantly pulled away.
“So, tell me, what are you writing about?”
She seemed to hesitate for a minute before she said, “The Mardi Gras Madam case. I’m sure you’ve probably heard of it.”
He laughed as they turned a corner. “It’s pretty hard to live in America—and New Orleans, specifically—without hearing about i
t. Half the state congress is still reeling under the allegations.”
“Right. Anyway, I’m looking into a bunch of stuff in the case that just doesn’t seem right. Parts of the investigation don’t make much sense and I’m trying to dig a little deeper, see what’s there.”
“Gotta love the NOPD,” he said with a grin, steering her from St. Louis onto Royal. “There’s always something going on over there.”
“I know.” She shook her head. “You’d think they’d clean house or something.”
“I think they have—more than once. But there’s always a group that just doesn’t understand that the rules apply to them too. I think it’s that way in any busy police force.”
“Maybe. But it seems to be more prevalent here. There’s a larger percentage of dirty cops. Dirty DAs. Dirty politicians. It goes all the way up.”
“Is that what you’re looking at?” He was curious at the vehemence in her tone—like she’d had personal experience with the problem.
“I’m investigating a lot of things, actually, and I really don’t have any idea how it’s all going to pan out.”
“Is that normal?”
She snorted. “Not usually. But then, everything in this city is just a little south of normal.”
She paused in front of a ladies’ boutique and admired the group of fancy hats in the window. “Look at that one there,” Lacey said with a laugh as she pointed to a red one that was decorated with miles of lace and fancy beads. “Isn’t it pretty?”
“Do you want it?” He started to reach for the door handle before he remembered that the only places open after midnight were bars and restaurants. Glancing up, he made a note of the name, Miss Hattie’s.
“Yeah, right. What would I do with a hat like that?”
“Play dress-up?” He wiggled his brows suggestively.
“I bet you’d like that.”
“Hell, yes, I would. I bet you’d look fabulous in nothing but a little red nightie and that hat. Oh, and maybe a feather boa or two,” he said as he remembered the template she used for her blog. “You would look fantastic.”