And I know that because I’ve worn plenty of other designers. Jaz has a crazy amount of talent and potential, and I know with absolute certainty that I’ll be seeing her designs at New York’s Fashion Week in no time at all.
The confection she’s custom designed for me has a nude bodice with a black overlay of thin mesh material that has the subtlest of sparkle to it. More like a shimmer. The neckline is high, the sleeves are long, and there’s a small train in the back. It might sound almost boring from the front, but the back is what makes the dress a stunner.
Well, I should say the lack of back.
My entire back is exposed, the shimmery material meeting just above my butt, with a bit of ruching in the middle. The whole thing is held together by a tiny eyehook at the base of my neck.
It’s a genius design.
With the nude bodice underneath sheer black material and the completely open back, it gives the illusion of being risqué without actually revealing much. And with the shimmer effect, it adds a touch of elegance and sophistication to an almost scandalous cut. I left my hair in a tousled ponytail and put in small teardrop diamond earrings so as to not take away from the dress with gaudy jewelry. A little bit of smoky eyeshadow and my trusty black clutch and I’m ready to go.
“You’re going to give all the sausages at the sausage fest tonight a heart attack.”
“I could use some sausage right now,” I mutter to myself without thinking. I sure as hell don’t mean for her to hear it.
Oh, but she does.
“I’m sorry, what was that?” Her grin could rival the Cheshire Cat’s.
“Nothing.”
She wags her finger at me. “Oh, noooo. I don’t think so. Little Miss Lawrence is cock-hungry, is she? Is that why you’re not bringing a date to this thing? Want to keep your options open?”
“You make me sound like I’m on the prowl, which I’m definitely not. And I’m going by myself because I won’t be there long enough to waste someone else’s night. Mike ordered me to be there to accept my award, and that’s all I’m doing.”
“Or maybe you’re just on the prowl for one cock in particular. The…Kade cock?
My seething glare has zero effect on her amused grin. “How many times do I have to tell you that ship has sailed?”
“Come on. You’re not even a little curious why he suddenly showed up in town and got a job at your network?”
Duh. Of course, I’m curious about that.
But I’m still not ready to hear his excuses for his actions eight years ago. That was the most painful time of my entire life. Re-visiting it is only going to drain me all over again, and I can’t afford that right now.
“It doesn’t matter,” I tell her. “That bridge burned down a long time ago, Jaz. We can try to be friends now, but nothing is going to be like it was. End of story.”
She knows I’m bullshitting her. Because that’s likely not the end of mine and Kade’s story. The only problem is I don’t know what chapter is coming next.
“Still doesn’t mean you can’t hop on and take his horse cock for another ride—”
“No!” I slap my hands over my ears. “You are not going to tell me that it’s okay to get it on with Kade. I don’t need you enabling me.”
She’s about to say something else, so I start humming the first song I can think of, Van Halen’s “Panama.”
Seconds later, she tugs my hands away from my head. “Someone’s ringing your doorbell, Courtney Love.”
“Thank God.” I practically sprint for the door. “And Courtney was married to Kurt Cobain, not Eddie Van Halen,” I yell over my shoulder.
“Whatever!”
I’m still smiling when I throw open my door to find…Kade.
Standing on my front porch.
In a tux.
His eyes blaze with heat as they crawl over my body. “You ready to go?”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
“Need You Bad”
by Ted Nugent
Kade
Holy Christ, she looks fucking amazing.
That dress…
Sam just stands there staring at me, mouth agape.
“Sam?”
Her gaze finally clashes with mine. “Wh-what are you doing here?”
Part of me feels pretty damn smug that I’ve been able to render her speechless, a rare thing indeed. “I’m taking you to the awards banquet.”
She still looks like a deer caught in headlights with her wide eyes and open mouth. I would say it’s cute, but she’s way too sexy right now to be described in such a subdued way.
“I was going to go alone.”
I hold out my arm like the gentleman I’m trying to be. “Well, now you’re not.”
She hesitates a moment, watching my arm like it’s about to turn into a snake and bite her. I don’t breathe again until she finally snaps out of her trance and winds her arm through mine.
It feels like a victory, small as it may be.
It still counts.
I escort her to the limo the National Newscasters Association sent to take her to the ceremony. When I found out about tonight and made the decision to tag along as her date, I learned that Sam had turned down the car service.
I said screw that.
She’s not driving herself, nor is she taking a cab. Especially when she looks like that.
“Have her home by eleven!” Jasmine shouts from the porch, smiling like the cat that ate the canary.
I wave and laugh when Sam shoots her best friend the finger. Jasmine blows her an air-kiss just before Sam ducks through the door I’m holding open for her.
Then I lose all ability to think, move, or fucking breathe.
Her entire back is completely bare in that dress.
Jesus. I’m in so much trouble.
The only thing I’m going to be able to picture now is bending her over the nearest surface, lifting that dress up, and pounding into her until she screams my name. It wouldn’t take much to get her naked. Just a quick flick of the clasp at the nape of her neck…
Fuck me.
I’m breaking out in a sweat, and it’s only been two minutes.
Once we’re seated inside, the car rolls forward, the driver already aware of where we’re heading.
“Were you so sure that I’d come with you? So cocky that you could show up at my front door in a tux, with a limo waiting, and I’d automatically agree to your plans?”
“No, but you can’t say I’m not a risk taker.”
“You forgot a red rose to complete the cliché.” She’s talking more to the window than to me, refusing to make eye contact.
“Why would I get you a rose when your favorite flower is a lily?”
Her head snaps around, her lips parting.
I grunt, somewhat annoyed. “Really, Sam? You think after all the years I’ve known you I would forget your favorite flower? Am I that big of an asshole?”
“No,” she says quietly. “I just didn’t think you’d remember.”
Her forehead creases in thought. If I didn’t know better, I’d say she’s conflicted. Who knows what her brain is saying about me. Hell, I’d probably rather not know. So, I break the monotony.
“You have to admit, though. Getting to stare at this all night,” I wave down at myself, “is certainly better than going stag.”
Instead of rolling her eyes or making a snide comment like I expect her to, her eyes rake over me from head to toe, narrowing with her inspection. “It’s not your football uniform, but I suppose it’ll do.”
The fuck?
Sexual innuendo from Sam? That’s the last thing I expected from her tonight. Slamming her door in my face? Sure. Stomping on my foot with her heel? I wouldn’t be surprised. But looking at me with unabashed lust shining in her green eyes? That didn’t even track on my radar. Regardless of the fact that we kissed the other night.
Her comment reminds me of our night together in college when my football jersey was the only thing she’d been wearing at one
point, thus fulfilling one of my longtime Sam fantasies. My dick stiffens into a steel rod at the memory.
Would you look at that? The football jersey still does the trick.
And I’m going to take advantage of this unexpected opportunity.
“I still have my uniform, you know,” I rasp, my gaze locked on hers. “And I’m sure I can rouse up some pads and pants if that’s what you’re in the mood for.”
She licks her plump lips. No doubt they’d taste like cherries if I were to kiss her, just like they had the other night. I can still recall what that mouth felt like years ago when it was wrapped around my—
For shit’s sake, Jennings. Get ahold of yourself.
“I’m not quite sure what I’m in the mood for,” she whispers. “Yet.”
Note to self: jack off before accompanying Sam anywhere that requires her to wear a fancy dress.
Second note to self: jack off before being around Sam...ever.
I’m learning that when I don’t, I’m guaranteed to be in a world of hurt. But I guess I’ll survive as long as she’s not in a world of hurt.
Inspiration strikes.
Making sure the privacy screen between us and the driver is raised, I shrug out of my jacket and throw it onto the other seat. Her eyes track my movements as I loosen my bow tie and kneel in front of her.
She doesn’t ask what I’m doing.
She knows goddamn well what’s about to happen.
If she allows it.
We stare at each other, facing off in a silent battle. I’m fighting against her willpower. She’s fighting against her own conscience that’s probably telling her this is a bad idea.
I’ll get you to stop hating me one of these days.
And in the meantime, I’ll use every weapon in my arsenal to tear down her walls.
Just when I think she might refuse, her legs slowly part. Our gazes remain entwined as I slide her dress up her smooth thighs. Silk against silk. I know she can’t wear a bra with this dress, which means the slinky black thong is the only piece of undergarment she has on.
Well, did have on.
I hook my fingers under the string on both sides of her hips and pull the material down. Once it’s free of her feet, I make sure she sees me put them into my pocket. Her eyelids grow heavy at the sight, her pupils dilating. I push her thighs farther apart and lick my lips in preparation for what I’m about to treat myself to. My first sight in eight fucking years of the sweetest pussy I’ve ever had.
And.
She’s.
Drenched.
Yes, baby girl. Fucking yes.
Until this very moment I don’t think I’ve fully comprehended how starved I’ve been for this woman. How everything in my life before right now has been…lacking.
I can’t wait. I have to know if—
“You still taste the same, baby?”
But I’m not expecting a response from that set of lips. I put my mouth on her, and my eyes instantly roll back in my head.
Same taste. Same Sam.
I give her my tongue, licking up her slit. Her legs clench around my head, her hand grasping my hair. Her moans fill the car when my tongue plunges into her. She’s already on the edge. I know I have to make this quick, even though I want nothing more than to shout at the driver to take us back to her place so I can appreciate her properly. As I thrust a finger inside her, I lap at her clit, massaging it with my tongue. She’s panting heavily, her eyes squeezed shut, her hips driving against my mouth.
“I’m so close. Please, Kade. Make me come.”
I groan in approval. Those words have me nearly shooting in my pants. I close my lips around her clit and suck hard.
She detonates.
It tastes like fucking victory.
Shoving her fist in her mouth to muffle her screams, her inner muscles squeeze my finger, her hips shaking, as she rides out her orgasm. Her lower lips are properly soaked and shiny when I finally remove my mouth, albeit reluctantly. If we didn’t have to leave this car in the next couple of minutes, I would be going for multiple right now and blowing her fucking mind. Instead, I place one last kiss on her inner thigh and pull her dress back down.
When I slide my jacket back on and tighten my tie only to find her in the same position, with the same dreamy-eyed, sated look on her face, I know I’ve done my job. And proudly.
I glance out the window and see we’re approaching the convention center. “You might want to look more alert when the cameras start flashing.”
She blinks a few times before straightening her posture and tucking away a few strands of hair. It’s when she leans forward, probably feeling the remnants of her arousal, that she remembers what I’ve got in my pocket.
“What about my underwear?”
I grin. “I’ll let you know when you can have them back.”
“You want me to walk into that room with absolutely nothing on underneath this dress?”
“Since I’ll be the only one in that room who gets to see what’s underneath that dress, yes. That works for me.”
Surprisingly, she doesn’t argue.
One more victory.
Chapter Thirty
“Witchy Woman”
by Eagles
Kade
Sam got a standing ovation following her acceptance speech.
I overheard her at the FNN studio talking to Mike about this award, claiming it was only out of political correctness and pressure from certain feminist groups that she’s receiving it at all.
But she’s not giving herself enough credit.
I see the admiration from her peers. They respect her, whether she thinks it’s genuine or not. That’s just Sam, though. She’s always fighting to earn things the fair, equal way, and gets offended when she thinks she’s being recognized for any other reason. She’s just made history by being the first woman to ever receive this particular award. And whether or not she wants to admit it, I know she’s honored.
Although I’m proud as hell to see her standing up on that stage, I can’t ignore the fact that she’s standing up there completely naked underneath that dress. And I’m the only one who knows it. My fingers brush her thong that’s hidden away in my pocket like our dirty little secret.
She makes her way back down the stairs toward our table in the back, dodging chairs and shaking hands as she goes. I know she won’t appreciate a huge spectacle, so I just lean in and kiss her on the cheek.
“Congratulations, Sam.”
She’ll kick me in the shin if I ever address it later, but her eyes are most definitely shiny when she looks up at me with a grateful smile.
The ceremony wraps up only ten minutes later. Then the drinks and dancing start, dinner having already been served prior to the ceremony.
“My chicken is dry, and I’d rather have a burger, anyway,” Sam says, scooting her chair back. “You ready to get out of here?”
The couples spinning around on the dance floor grab my attention. After I take her clutch and set it on the table, I rise to my feet, my hand wrapped around hers.
“We’re going to dance first.”
It must be my lucky night because once again, she doesn’t protest.
I take her in my arms just as the band starts playing an instrumental version of Eric Clapton’s “Wonderful Tonight,” which is perfect. The lyrics about him watching his girl brush her long blond hair, crooning about how wonderful she looks tonight, reverberate through every bone of my body.
“Have I told you how breathtaking you look tonight?”
The corner of her mouth tugs up discerningly. “Are you saying that just because of the song?”
I slowly shake my head. “No. I should have told you the second you opened that door. If it makes any difference, I was thinking it.”
“Are you saying you were struck dumb by my appearance?”
“That’s exactly what I’m saying.”
She laughs, her body relaxing more against mine. “Just what every girl wants to hear.”
“I think I’ve always been dumb where you’re concerned, Sam. If I’d been smart, you wouldn’t hate me now.”
Her brows knit together. “I could never hate you, Kade.”
“But you’re not happy with me, either. I promise I’m going to change that.”
My words hang in the air. I want to believe she’s feeling this moment as headily as I am. That the look on her face is due to her overwhelming feelings for me, rather than an overabundance of sensation, which is far more likely.
“Why do you go by Samantha, anyway?”
“What do you mean? That’s my name.”
I give her my old school I’m calling bullshit look that I used to give her in high school. Back when our comradery was effortless, our banter smooth and easy. I can feel things slowly going back to that, though not at a pace suitable enough for me.
Where’s Doc Brown’s DeLorean when you need it?
Because sometimes all I want to do is magically travel back in time and stop this particular future from ever happening. The one where I didn’t get my girl.
“You hate your full name. You always have. So, why use it in a job that literally puts your name in front of the entire country?”
She averts her gaze, her signature tell. When she senses I’m not letting it go, she shrugs. “It was pointed out to me once that Sam is also a man’s name. And I never want anyone in this industry mistaking me for anything other than what I am. A woman.”
“That seems almost counter-productive, though, if you wanted to blend in with the dick-dominated world of football. Your words, not mine,” I add, pulling a small smile from her.
“I want to blend in to a degree, but that doesn’t mean I’ve ever been willing to sacrifice my identity. I just want to prove that a woman can do a job like this, know a sport like this, as well as any man. I may not have played the game like my male colleagues, but that doesn’t give anyone the right to say I don’t know what I’m talking about. It’s like saying male fashion designers don’t know what the hell they’re doing because dresses are traditionally worn by women.”
That’s my tough girl.
The Unforgettable Kind Page 18