Gluttony

by Lana Pecherczyk

  “This smells much better than the sewers,” she said, slowly relaxing beneath his touch.

  He picked up the soap the girls had given her from the caddy, but Bailey stopped him.

  “I want to use what you use.”

  “This is prettier.”

  “I don’t want pretty. I want you.”

  Bailey’s words hammered on his heart. His body reacted viscerally. Nestled between the pillows of her bottom, his cock grew thick and hard. It demanded attention. So many thoughts swirled in his head. Emotions clogged up. I don’t want pretty. I want you.

  He wanted her too. So bad he ached. With his throat closing up, he lathered his shampoo into her hair, taking special care to massage her kinks. Sandalwood, spices and musk bloomed in the air. When she groaned huskily, and dipped her head back to his chest, his cock tingled and jerked. Shit, this was difficult. He’d tried to hold back his desire but her body was incredible. Slippery. Wet. Soft. Looking down her front while he massaged her hair, he was entranced, tortured. His eyes were windows to the most seductive, erotic scene. He struggled to maintain decorum. Bubbles ran down her slick brown skin, curving and swirling around her breasts, and every time she inhaled, two erect dark nipples pointed out, catching air, teasing him briefly before submerging again.

  Jesus.

  “I have to rinse your hair,” he mumbled, at least he thought he said that. His mouth felt like cotton.

  She tensed, coming awake. Wide, panicked eyes swiveled to him. Her bottom lip trembled, betraying her lack of resilience.

  “Don’t worry, I’ve got you.”

  She glanced down at the water around her and inhaled deeply. “I know it’s stupid, and completely out there, but I keep thinking vines will come out of the water. They’ll sneak up on me when I’m most relaxed. It’s all I see when I close my eyes.”

  “We can get out.”

  “No. If I don’t face this, then this fear will turn into something worse. I won’t be beholden to another.”

  Another fear? He tightened his grip across her ribs and shifted her weight so she was a little higher. He put his lips to her temple. “Do you want me to sing a song?”

  A melancholy smile hit her face, giving him the courage to press on.

  “I take requests,” he murmured. “But no Country.”

  She scoffed. “I’m not a Country fan, anyway. Hmm. Let’s see.” She trailed a finger through the water, tracing patterns in the bubbles. “How about... Pavarotti?”

  He snorted. “Um... I’m not that skilled.”

  She laughed. “Taylor Swift?”

  “No Country.”

  “She’s not—never mind. What about ABBA? John Lennon? Ooh. Beyoncé?”

  She mocked, but Queen B was one of his favorites. A real entertainer to the end. Lightened with amusement, he started to tap a gentle acoustic beat on the tub. She stopped smiling, and when he started to croon the lyrics to Halo, she twisted to watch him with avid attention. He caught the way her chest lifted and held, holding her breath captive. Seeing her rapt attention gave him the courage to continue. It was a song about walls coming down, a new addiction, and a saving grace. He’d never been that guy who asked for anything. Words of his own never came easy. And he’d never worn his heart on his sleeve, but with Bailey, he was becoming that guy.

  When that creature had her in its vice, and she’d stopped breathing, when every vine and root he’d burned and ripped away from her body grew back, he’d been cold with terror. He couldn’t lose her, and he almost did.

  While he continued to sing softly, his voice rasping and trembling, he gently lowered their bodies to submerge partly in the water. He scooped water to wash away the shampoo, tilting her head back and rinsing against his chest while she listened. As the song finished, he lifted them back up. The dying note echoed in the air.

  She wiped her eyes and then faced him again, eyes glistening.

  “You bastard,” she sobbed and laughed at the same time.

  “What?”

  “You made me cry! You sang Beyoncé perfectly in tune, for heaven’s sake. Who does that?” She buried her face into his chest and shook her head. Her voice muffled against his skin. “All day I’d not cried, and the moment I hear your voice, I’m done.” When she looked up again, her humor fled. “You thought you’d ruin me, Tony, and you have. With a song.” She sniffed. “And before you get all worked up, it’s a sweet ruin. It’s a walls-coming-down-ruin. It’s—” she choked up, unable to say more.

  “Hey.” He hooked a finger under her chin so he could look into her eyes. “But at least I rinsed your hair.”

  She burst out laughing and then covered her mouth.

  He took her hand away. “Don’t hide your smile, angel.”

  When her lashes lifted, and their gazes clashed, desire ignited. The raw sexual intent in her eyes sent every male hormone skyrocketing. His body became hot, prickly and hard. His scent bloomed with musk—pheromones—and then the mood in the tub turned dark and needy. Everything changed.

  She pulled him down to meet her lips. The kiss she gave him started chaste and sweet, but soon became demanding.

  Tasting her was everything.

  She whimpered and arched toward him, twisting to get closer, but he forced her back. He wasn’t going to rush this.

  “Let me make you feel good,” he murmured against her ear.

  She shivered, lashes fluttering. After a moment, she gave a small, shy nod. Liquid warmth spread through his chest. He placed her back to his chest again, and slid his hand down her stomach, leaving the other cupped on her breast. Under the water, he twirled a finger around her belly button, circling bigger with each pass until she made an impatient noise. Smiling against her ear, he licked the lobe, enjoying her breath turning ragged.

  “Does this feel good?” Pulling her lobe between his teeth, he nipped.

  She nodded.

  He exhaled, watched his hot breath create goosebumps on her wet flesh, and then rubbed his nose along the skin. “This?”

  “Uh-huh.” She squirmed.

  He bit her shoulder and tested the weight of her breasts in his hands. Gorgeous, full, and peaked with desire.

  “And this?” Going deep, he dipped between her legs, sliding through her private flesh with an escaped, hoarse groan of his own. “Here?” He plunged his finger in.

  She tensed, gasping, then exhaled with a whimpered nod. “Yes. More.”

  So tight. He pumped once, twice. He mimicked his finger’s rhythm with his tongue on the flesh behind her ear. And when his tongue traced around, exploring her neck, the tip of his finger began a slow, torturous circle of her sensitive nub. She gripped the tub, fingers flexing with restlessness and urgency. He liked it when her knuckles paled.

  “Yes, Tony,” she gasped. “Make me feel good.”

  Watching her final defenses crack, seeing how she completely put her pleasure in his hands, it drove his rhythm to match his fierce mood. He was hard, relentless, and driven. He gave her what she wanted. With a final pinch on her nipple, she responded with a cry and a sharp intake of breath. Her eyes rolled back, her body bowed, and she released a long drawn-out, satisfied moan that he felt down to his bones until she finally came down with languid limbs.

  She was safe.

  She was his.

  Smiling to himself, pleased, he unplugged the bath and lifted her, enjoying the way her head lolled against his chest. The sassy bodyguard who always held her own against him had finally succumbed to his appeal.

  Getting out was harder than getting in, but he didn’t let her know that. He gathered a big towel, draped it over her body, and then carried her back to his room. Placing her gently at the edge of his bed, he stood before her and used the towel to dab her body dry, taking special and attentive care over all the places he’d lovingly touched, learning the areas anew.

  She stared, unfocused, in lazy silence, but when he lifted his arms to scrub the towel over her hair, his erection lifted too. Her gaze dropped, and then
she took hold of it, fisting it within her grip. She stroked, pumped. His vision went white. Unable to do anything else, he stopped toweling her hair and gave in to the sensation. Tingles zapped up his spine. His legs weakened.

  “Babe,” he mumbled. “That feels—” Shit. So good.

  She wrapped her lips around the head and drew his length into her mouth, sucking and stroking, getting faster and more insistent. Her magic tongue took him captive. He was lost in her hands. Frowning at how fast it was going—he wouldn’t last, it would be over—he couldn’t stop himself from thrusting into her, and when her hands moved to his behind and pulled him deeper, she took all of him. Ecstatic waves of bliss rolled over him, and he almost came undone. But then she pulled off.

  Lungs heaving, he looked down into her mischievous gaze. Plump, juicy lips and rosy cheeks. He wasn’t finished.

  Naughty.

  A thrill tripped in his chest. He reached for her, but she scooted back.

  “I’m not done feeling good,” she said with smoldering eyes. She kept shuffling backward using her feet. He caught her thinly veiled wince.

  Was she better, or was she pretending?

  Concerned, he studied her face to see if she was in pain, but she waggled her finger at him. “Uh-uh. Eyes down.”

  Spreading her knees, she showed him everything. A feast. A banquet. He traced his thumb across his lower lip, already imagining her flavor, savoring the memory he’d yet to make. Fuck, he was horny. Ready to go. And she was telling him he could have more.

  She’d once teased him, saying that he couldn’t handle all of what she had to give. He hoped she was right because he never wanted it to end.

  With a low growl of intent, he crawled onto the bed and buried his face between her legs. More. More. Yes. He licked and tasted and sucked until he’d had his fill, and then he kept going. He brought her to climax again, with his mouth, with his fingers, and only when she shivered, sated with aftershocks did he guide his cock to her entrance. Teasing her with his length, he whispered near her ear, “Are you ready for this, baby? Are you ready for me?”

  “Tony,” she warned, bucking her hips. “Give it to me.”

  He grunted, entering with one stroke, falling down the rabbit hole, knowing that his ruin was inevitable. She was one hundred percent his new addiction, and he would never let her go.

  Twenty-Two

  Bailey woke with full feeling restored to her ankles, but half a brain of common sense. She’d spent most of the night making love to Tony, drifting asleep, then waking up to do it all again. He was insatiable, and she’d encouraged him. Being intimate with him had been the best cure for her fears.

  She’d almost died.

  But last night she’d lived.

  And now that it was morning, and the light streamed into his bedroom, she wondered if she’d done the right thing. Looking at the gorgeous man sleeping peacefully next to her, she felt like she’d stepped into the centerfold for Playgirl Magazine. The man laid on his stomach, his sheet artfully twisted around his hips, a tantalizing glimpse of his taut, tanned ass showing. Even at rest, the musculature of his back was defined. She gently shifted hair that had fallen over his forehead.

  His eyes popped open, focused right on her. “Stop the press,” he murmured. “I found the stalker.”

  “Who?” She frowned. “Is it your co-star, because I’m starting to wonder about her ‘I know’ comment to the paps.”

  He sat up, rubbing his eyes. “I was going to say you but, okay. I’m not prepared for this level of serious in the morning.”

  “Oh. Sorry.” She leaned back on her pillow and stared at her nails. The French acrylics needed refills, and after last night, they were chipped.

  He gave a breathy grunt and climbed on top of her, arms braced either side so he looked down with his gorgeous eyes still puffy from sleep. How could she look anywhere else?

  “Babe,” he said, voice low and intimate. “What’s wrong?”

  “I just wish I was allowed to investigate this stalker.”

  “That’s not it.” He brushed his nose against hers. “Are you rethinking last night? How are your ankles?”

  “It was fine. They’re fine.”

  For a moment, he looked offended, then his brows winged up.

  “Fine?” He put special emphasis on the word. “Tony Lazarus is not fine. He is fine.”

  She laughed. His cheeks went pink, and he looked away.

  “So...” He rolled off her to rest on his elbow and stare openly. “It’s about us.”

  How could she tell him that where he was concerned, she’d always have doubts? He was an actor, and supremely good looking. He’d done nothing to demonstrate his philandering would continue. He’d done quite the opposite, but the truth was she’d known him longer as a playboy than as a faithful partner. Maybe this was about her. The moment she’d woken in his room, and realized her usual carefully structured rules of engagement had gone out the window, she’d become anxious.

  She was changing too.

  “Babe?” He trailed his fingers along her arm. “Are you okay?”

  She hugged her sheet. “I don’t know. A lot is happening and I’m still trying to process.”

  His eyes narrowed. “About us... not last night.”

  “You know, for someone who receives a lot of attention, you’re very perceptive of others.”

  “I’m an actor. It’s my job to read people and then become them.”

  Taking a deep breath, Bailey held it, then let it out. “I’m afraid, I guess.”

  “Of me? I’ll never hurt you.”

  “I know you’ll never do it intentionally, but you don’t have a great track record of staying with one person.”

  He sighed and rolled onto his back, joining her in studying the ceiling. “I know,” he admitted.

  Honesty. Bailey hadn’t expected that. Maybe a joke, or two, but not an admission.

  “I like you, Tony,” she said, trying for her own truth. “I like you a lot. You’re not what I expected. Tell me I’m wrong, that the partying and the women were a front, and I’ll feel better. Was it all a front, another cover to protect your secret?”

  “No.”

  Disappointment lodged in her throat. Okay.

  “But.” He paused for such a long time, that Bailey thought he’d gone back to sleep, but then he started speaking with his brows drawing together. “It’s a front for something.”

  She sat up to try to gauge his expression. He looked nervous.

  “Tony?”

  “I—uh...” He licked his lips and his cheeks darkened.

  “Hey,” she said softly and trailed her finger down his arms. “You can tell me anything.”

  “I always think I’m going to fuck things up,” he said and gripped the sheet in his fist. “So I partied and screwed around so I’d never had to worry about disappointing anyone.”

  Her heart ached for him.

  “Parker used to be so perfect. He was a hard act to follow. But I had my looks, and people outside the family seemed to just do what I asked if I smiled a certain way. It sounds stupid, but it was a relief to not have that pressure. And then, with my sin, it just kind of all snowballed.”

  “I’m sorry you feel that way,” she whispered. “For the record, I think you sell yourself short.”

  He scrubbed his face, as if he could scrub away his deep thoughts, and then lifted his gaze to meet hers. “Bailey, I didn’t know everything tasted like cardboard until I met you. Nothing I did back then makes sense now.” His eyes turned dark as they caressed her form. “You make me both hungry and sated at the same time. I can’t explain it.”

  “Oh, I don’t know. I think you’re doing a good job. Continue.”

  With a smug curve of his sensuous lips, and a glint in his eye, he shuffled closer and lowered his tone. “You make me want, Bailey Haze. You make me want to be the guy who chases the girl. I’m not going to leave you alone.”

  Strong hands tugged her closer. He dropped h
is lips to the side of her neck, bringing delicious tickles all down her body.

  She giggled and rolled into him. “Oh, damn. You made me the girl who giggles when her boyfriend kisses her.”

  He lifted his head, grinning. “You said boyfriend.”

  “I did.” She bit her lip, still smiling.

  Her reaction prompted another series of butterfly kisses all over her body. He started with her chin, then her neck, collarbone, between her breasts and lower. His hair tickled and his lashes fluttered against her skin causing the most delicious build up of warmth low in her stomach. Goosebumps erupted over her flesh and he smiled against her skin.

  “I love it when I make that happen.”

  She scoffed. “Cocky much?”

  “Come with me to my movie premiere. Be my date.” More kisses getting lower.

  “You want to go official?” Her breathing got heavy, and she threaded her fingers through his hair.

  “I think you already did that when you kissed me in front of those cameras and stole me away like some heathenous woman.”

  “Heathenous is not a word.” Oh, God. Why were they still talking?

  “It is now.”

  Sometime later, only interrupted by their growling stomachs, Tony went to shower, and although it was a tough decision, Bailey declined to follow him in favor of cooking breakfast. She only needed to mention the magic waffle word, and he acquiesced, leaving her to do her thing on her own.

  Bailey swiped a T-shirt from Tony’s drawer, put it over her naked body, and went to investigate the contents of his fridge. She found it stocked with groceries and decided to squeeze some fresh juice while she cooked.

  She’d fried up an entire batch of waffles but was still trying to figure out his million-dollar price tag juicer when he came out, wet-haired and dressed in only a pair of low-slung jeans. He came up behind her, slid his hands around her stomach and rested his chin on her shoulder. The warmth he gave along her spine spread to her entire body. She smiled inwardly. She could get used to this.