I’m not going to think about it now, sitting here naked astride him, with the tip of his erection pressing against my entrance. But I do nod, telling him that I’ll follow his lead and take it slow.
He releases my hips, sliding his hands around my back, and I rock backward and forward a few times, lubricating his length with my moisture. His gaze remains fixed on mine, and as I finally lower onto him and accept him inside me, his lips part and he exhales with a long aaahhh.
I close my eyes for a moment. Oh, wow, that feels good. I clench my internal muscles, enjoying his grunt of approval as I tighten around him. Mmm, yeah, I like that. I open my eyes again, and he’s still watching me, his lips curving up at the corners.
Slowly, I begin to move, sliding him in and out of me. Every part of my body feels hypersensitive, and it only increases as he continues to stroke me, his hands travelling down my back, around my ribs, over my breasts, and up to my shoulders. He seems to enjoy just touching me. His touch has an oddly reverential air to it, a worshipful quality that I can’t say I dislike. He has a way of making me feel special, which is bizarre considering I am very un-special, just an ordinary girl that the majority of guys don’t even look at twice, let alone men from Caleb’s social standing.
I doubt that most guys even look at my face, and they certainly never gaze into my eyes like this. When I kiss him, he closes his eyes, but when I move back, he watches me as if he can’t bear to tear his eyes from me. If I were the kind of girl who blushed, I’d be scarlet by now, but I’m not, so I just hold his gaze and move and let him stroke me.
I know I sound like a stuck record, but I’m just not used to this. I thought sex was about using the other person’s body until hopefully you achieved orgasm. If you’re lucky, the guy’s kind enough to help you out occasionally, but most of the time whether I come or not is down to me. Guys can usually come just by thrusting away, so I’ve always known it’s up to me to stimulate myself in the right places if I want to climax. I’ve got it off to an art now, so most of the time I do.
But hmm, it’s different tonight, with Caleb. He’s not going at it hammer and tongs, as my grandmother used to say, and he’s not looking over my shoulder with his gaze fixed on the wall, or screwing up his eyes as he pictures some big-boobed bimbo from a secret fantasy. He keeps teasing my nipples and kissing me and watching me, and when he drops a hand between us so he can arouse my clit with his thumb again, I realize he’s holding back, waiting for me to come first.
Holy fuck. What a gentleman.
“What?” he murmurs, smiling as I frown at him.
“Are you for real?” I rub a thumb across his lips.
He takes it in his mouth and sucks it before releasing it. “I’m here, aren’t I?”
I continue to rock my hips, but I don’t quite know what to say. When I told him he was right if he thought I like it rough and dirty, I meant it, and I fully expected he’d take advantage of that. But instead, he’s… holy shit… he’s making love to me.
My head spins. I’m on unfamiliar territory here, and I’m not sure I like it. Maybe it’s time I took things to the next level.
I kiss his mouth, then his cheekbone, up to his ear, and down his neck. Ohhh, he smells terrific, and I nuzzle him like a dog and touch my tongue to his skin to taste him. He sighs and tips his head to the side. My lips curving, I fasten my mouth on him and suck, hard.
“Fuck.” He jerks upright, and I sit back smugly, admiring the red mark darkening on his neck.
“Gonna have to wear a shirt and tie to the party tomorrow,” I tell him.
He stares at me, and then his lids lower to half mast, as if he’s realized that I’m trying to provoke him into picking up the pace.
Without warning, he slips an arm around me and tightens it, and then he pushes off the sofa. I squeal as he tips forward, landing me on my back on the carpet. Oh yeah. I wrap my legs around his waist, preparing myself for the inevitable hard fuck I’m about to receive.
But he lowers onto his elbows, makes himself comfortable, and then starts moving, giving long, slow thrusts while he kisses me, dipping his tongue into my mouth.
I’m puzzled, because I thought this was why he came home with me—I thought he was attracted to me because he wanted it hard and fast, and I look like the type of girl who enjoys that. But he continues to go slow, and when he lifts his head to look into my eyes, there’s amusement there, as well as a dark desire that makes me shiver.
“Come for me, Roxie,” he says in his deep, sexy voice. He kisses me, teasing my lips with his tongue and teeth, his hand skating over my ribs, over my breasts. He tugs on the nipples a little, then strokes down to my thighs, up over my waist. My whole body is humming—I’m surprised he can’t hear it.
Where he’s thrusting, he’s grinding against me, and I realize with some surprise that I’m going to come without having to touch myself. For once, I don’t have to fight for pleasure. This man’s bringing it to me, laying it at my feet, and as I start tensing inside, I see a smug satisfaction on his face, so he can obviously feel it too.
“Yeah,” he says with a sense of victory that’s just so hot, and that’s it, I’m coming, and I gasp and clench, conscious of his mouth covering mine as if he wants to capture every breath. I dig my fingers into his butt beneath his jeans and boxers, pulling him toward me, and revel in every pulse before I flop back onto the carpet, limp and panting.
Caleb continues to kiss me, though, still moving, still slow and steady, as he nibbles my lips, kisses down my neck, cups my breast, and teases the nipple with his lips. I feel like I’m in a warm bath, swimming in sensuality, and I stretch out before him, waiting for him to take his own pleasure from me.
But he takes his time, teasing, arousing, plucking at my nipples, grinding against me. Hot and holy fuck, he’s expecting me to have another orgasm, and the amazing thing is that slowly I feel my body responding again.
My breathing starts to grow uneven, and it’s only now that he increases his pace, filling the air with the sounds of sex—the slickness of him inside me, my gasps, his grunts—and I’m spiraling, I’m drowning in pleasure, and fuck, I’m coming again, and this time he joins me, thrusting hard, burying himself deep within me while I clench around him, this second orgasm even more intense than the first. I dig my nails into his back, and he stills and shudders. Ohhh, this guy is gorgeous, especially so while he’s coming, and I force my eyelids open and watch him, enjoying every second of his bliss, every sharp thrust of his hips.
By the time it’s over, I’m a noodle, limp and floppy, and it seems he’s the same, because he withdraws and moves off me, then rolls onto his back on the carpet. We look up at the ceiling, panting and gasping for air as if we’ve been screwing underwater, and all I can think is Holy shit, that’s it, that’s done it, things are never going to be the same again, because I know that no man I sleep with now is ever going to match up to the guy lying at my side.
Chapter Seven
Caleb
For a long while, we lay on the carpet and stare up at the ceiling. I close my eyes as I wait for my breathing to slow, ripples of pleasures still traveling through me like a stone thrown into a pond. Aaahhh, that was good. I haven’t had sex for a while, that’s why. It couldn’t possibly be due to the gorgeous girl lying by my side.
I feel her shift, and I turn my head and open my eyes to see she’s rolled toward me and is watching me.
“Wow,” she says.
I smile. “I guess that’s better than ‘is that it?’”
“Caleb, honestly, I’m lost for words.”
I laugh and roll to face her, propping my head on a hand. “In a good way, I hope.”
“Mmm.” She meets my gaze, then looks down and examines her fingernails.
I study her fondly. I’ve kissed off most of her lipstick, and strands of her hair have escaped her clip and are curling around her face. She looks younger without her punk-style clothing. Her eyebrows are a light brown. I wonder what her real hai
r color is? It’s so black at the moment that I guess she dyes it.
I don’t know anything about this girl, but I find myself wanting to know more. What has made her into such a sharp, sassy, independent young woman? I get the feeling she’s had to cope on her own for a long time. Where is she from, originally? What job did she do before she came to Hearktech?
I want to ask, but there’s something private about Roxie that stops me from quizzing her. She’s naturally defensive and reserved, and I don’t want her to get annoyed with me for prying. But, we’ve just had sex and I think that allows me a little leeway.
“You live here alone?” I ask, looking around the apartment. It’s tiny and I can only see one bedroom, so I’m guessing that’s the case. It’s a polite way of asking if she’s single. I hope she is—I’ve never cheated on a girl, and I wouldn’t like to be a party to helping a girl cheat on her partner. I probably should have asked her this before we had sex.
But she says, “Yeah. All by my lonesome,” and the corner of her mouth quirks up.
“So, no one special in your life then?” I ask.
“Apart from you?” She wrinkles her nose. “No. Not for a long time. What about you? Tell me about Felicity.”
I don’t miss that she’s diverting attention from herself, but I don’t mind. There’s no rule that says she has to tell me her life story just because we screwed. “What do you want to know?”
“When she came, did she go ‘oh!’”
I give her a wry look. “I’m not going to answer that.”
“Aw.” She grins, then cocks her head at me. “Did she break your heart?”
I sigh and roll onto my back again. I’m not sure I can put the nature of our fucked-up relationship into words. “Kind of. We’d been dating for a year. She was high maintenance from the start, but I liked her. She was clever, and sometimes funny. She works in fashion—”
“Of course she does.”
I carry on as if she hasn’t interrupted. “—but despite having a top position with one of the big designers, she was often impatient with me because I work long hours. She took it as a personal slight that I didn’t want to spend more time with her.”
“Was that the reason?”
“No. I liked her, but I’m not going to have anyone dictate to me how much time I can spend on my career.” My voice comes out harder than I meant it to, surprising me. It’s been a few months since we broke up, and I’d half forgotten how angry I was at the time.
“How did it end?”
“Badly.” I don’t want to talk about the arguments, the accusations. It hurt then, and it still hurts now.
“Did you end it, or did she?”
“I did, although I think she knew it was over by then.”
“Do you miss her?”
“Sometimes. I miss the companionship. I don’t miss all the negative stuff that came with it. It’s a relief to be out of it, most of the time. It’s just hard to start over again, you know?”
“Have you?” Roxie queries. “Dated again?”
“No.”
“So, I’m the first girl you’ve been with since Felicity?”
I turn my head to look at her. “Yeah.”
Her green eyes study my face. “Why me?”
“Don’t know. You’re very different from most girls I know. I suppose I find that exciting.”
“A change is as good as a rest,” she suggests.
“Yeah.”
She trails a finger down my arm, and when I lift it, we link fingers. She looks at my watch, rubbing a thumb across the glass. “Omega.”
“Yep.”
“You must be loaded.”
I give a short laugh. “I’m not strapped for cash, true.” I stifle a flicker of wariness at her curiosity—she might be edgy but she’s a nice girl. I’m not going to turn my back and find she’s taken my watch and my wallet.
“Were you rich before the company got successful?” She speaks as if she’s asking an African explorer to describe a crocodile or a hippo or another wild animal she’s never seen—as if she has no comprehension of what it must be like to have money.
“More so than Stratton or Harry. My father is a top lawyer.”
“And your mum?”
“Plays tennis, wears twinsets, and raises money for charities.”
“Ah.”
I can see she has no understanding of this life except what she’s seen on TV. “So, they invested money in Hearktech?” she asks.
That makes me laugh, although there’s little humor in it. “No. Dad’s the type who thinks his kids should make their own way in life. He doesn’t believe in helping out—he says it makes you weak.”
“Ah, that explains a lot.”
“Really?”
She shrugs. “You seem very determined, and you work very hard. I’m guessing you want to show your old man you can do it. Gain his approval.”
“I don’t need his approval, or anything else from him.” My voice has turned cold.
She sucks her bottom lip. “Okay.” She rolls onto her front and jumps up. “I’m having another whiskey. You want one?”
I tuck myself back into my boxers, zip up my jeans, and sit up. “I snapped at you, I’m sorry.”
She shrugs. “Don’t worry about it.”
“No, that wasn’t fair. It’s not your fault.”
“Caleb, it doesn’t matter. I shouldn’t have been sticking my nose where it doesn’t belong.”
I can tell she’s cursing herself under her breath, telling herself not to get involved, to remain detached. I can almost hear her words, You fucking idiot, what did you have to go and say that for? Other people don’t care about you—stop caring about other people.
“I’m sorry,” I say softly. “You want me to go?”
We study each other for a moment. Then she turns and walks into the kitchen. I hear the clink of ice and the splosh of liquid.
I stand and go over to the window and look out at the uninspiring view for a moment. My gaze drifts down to a small table bearing a laptop and a small pile of books. The top one is Truman Capote’s In Cold Blood, the second is Tom Bingham’s The Rule of Law. Roxie’s light reading? Puzzled, I open one to see the pages covered in small handwriting, but before I can read them, she comes back into the room. I’m distracted by the fact that she’s still naked, and my body stirs again at the sight of her full breasts, her creamy skin.
She hands me a glass without saying anything, even though she must have seen me looking at the books. She swallows a large mouthful of her whiskey, and moves close to me. “None of it matters,” she whispers. “Not the past, not the future, not other people, nothing. This is right here, right now, and there’s only me and you in the room.” She lifts up and stops with her lips right near mine. “You want to fuck me again before you go?”
My heart thuds, but I turn my head and sip my drink slowly. Then I look back at her. “At least once,” I tell her, before lowering my lips to hers.
Chapter Eight
Roxie
I’m so relieved he didn’t walk out the door. I could see I’d struck a nerve—clearly, there’s an issue between him and his father, and my well-meaning comment hit him right where it hurts. But the promise of more sex seems to have done the trick. When he slides his arm around me and pulls me close, I can feel him already erect and hard for me, and he kisses me with passion, plunging his tongue into my mouth and eliciting a moan from me over which I have no control.
Mmm… what a wonderful evening. I don’t care about his father, or his ex, or my exes, or anything except being here right now with a man who is such an expert in the bedroom.
“Where did you learn your moves?” I murmur when he leaves my lips to kiss up my jaw.
“School for Gigolos. I aced the course.”
I laugh and then shiver as he touches his tongue to my neck. “I believe you.”
He lifts his head and gives me an amused look. “I’m nothing special, sweetheart.”
“M
aybe not in the circles you move in, but from my experience, you are extremely talented.”
He studies me, and I can see he’s bemused.
“Caleb,” I tell him, “most guys don’t care about foreplay. If I want an orgasm, I normally have to do it myself.”
Now his eyes turn sultry, and he brushes his lips against mine. “I could still do with some training. Maybe you could give me some tips.”
My eyebrows rise. “You mean you want me to…”
He slides his tongue into my mouth for a deep kiss, then moves back and says, “Oh yeah.” He takes my hand. His pupils have dilated so much that his eyes look black. “Come on.”
I follow him through to my bedroom, not sure what to say. I would never have called myself inexperienced, but I’m beginning to understand that a person’s level of sexual experience isn’t necessarily related to how many people they’ve slept with. All the guys I’ve been with have been the same—cardboard cutouts of each other, young, hot, arrogant, and mostly uncaring of the woman’s pleasure. It’s all been hard and fast, like a drag race, trying to see who can get to the finish line first. More often than not, it’s been the guy.
We enter the bedroom, and I glance around, relieved to see I’d left it tidy. I hadn’t expected to get lucky tonight.
My heart judders to a stop as my gaze falls on a children’s picture book lying beside the bed. I sidle across and kick it under. He turns, but just smiles—he didn’t see it. I take a deep breath and blow it out slowly.
Caleb places his glass on the bedside table, and beside it a condom he must have taken out of his wallet. He unbuttons his jeans and slides them off, and follows with his underwear. Jeez, the man is delicious, he looks like a boxer, all powerful muscles and flat stomach. Mmm. Yum. What have I done to be this lucky?
I finish off my whiskey and put the glass next to his, and then accept the hand he’s holding out and climb onto the bed with him. It squeaks—it’s old and not particularly comfortable, but I don’t think Caleb’s noticed. His eyes are fixed on me, and the heat in them is making my blood sizzle.
He lays back and gives my hand a tug, and I fall on top of him, laughing. We kiss, and he slides his hands down my body, skating light fingers over my ribs, my back, my butt. I sigh, and our tongues tangle, my nipples peaking against his chest. I want him again. I want him so much it hurts.
Taking Liberties (Like a Boss Book 3) Page 3