by JC Harroway
‘So, are you...?’ Ash left the question hanging. Harley shot him a shut up now look, but the unspoken sounded loud and clear.
What are you doing? Dad will flip when he finds out.
‘About to ask your sister for a dance? Yes.’ Jack tilted his head to the dance floor, providing a perfect socially acceptable distraction for two old friends recently reacquainted. ‘Shall we?’
Harley nodded, her feet immediately lighter. She reinforced her kiss of dismissal on Ash’s cheek with a warning squeeze of his arm, and for once her brother stayed silent and kept his opinions to himself.
Sometimes it sucked being the baby of the family; no matter how old or successful you were, you could never outgrow the role. Although she only qualified as the youngest by seven minutes. And of course she’d never be successful enough by her family’s standards.
The fact she was sole recipient of the knowledge of Hal’s philandering turned her stomach. But she pushed that from her mind, determined to enjoy Jack’s company without interference from her family.
Harley sank into his arms, grateful for his confident steps and firm grip on her hand and waist leading her around under the lights. She checked his demeanour. No annoyance. No harbouring ill will. And certainly not concealing his interest in her, picking up where they left off before Ash interrupted. Clearly he didn’t give a damn what her brother thought of him.
If only she could achieve that...
‘So tell me about this orgasm.’
His change of topic was so abrupt, Harley’s neck protested as she leaned away to confirm the wicked gleam in his eyes. She glanced around. Bodies moved around them but no one seemed to have heard.
He laughed, a low rumble reverberating through his chest and zinging her nipples to life.
‘You brought it up, ma belle.’ He licked his bottom lip, pressing his thick length into her belly as he swayed them indecently close. His lips grazed her ear. ‘Did you think of me when you touched yourself?’
It was pointless to deny it. If he had any observational skills, he’d feel her accelerated heartbeat thud against his chest and see the flush of arousal her strapless dress failed to conceal.
She lifted her chin, meeting his bold stare. ‘Yes.’
Triumph sparked in his eyes—the cocky kind that expected nothing less. ‘How was it?’
Predictable. Tepid. Hollow.
‘Perfectly adequate, thank you.’ His ego needed no massaging from her.
He smiled, confidence unwavering. He stopped dancing, gripping her tighter, pressing every inch of her body to his while he stared intently.
‘May I put my number in your phone?’
Her insides turned gooey. The way he asked, like an old-fashioned knight accepting her favour with polite courtesy.
‘Why?’ She fought a smile. But she fished her phone from her clutch and handed it over while her pulse fluttered, double time.
His eyes gleamed as he typed his details in with one hand and held her with the other. When he passed it back, he resumed their slow dance.
‘Next time you have the...urge, you can call me. A little phone sex might liven up the mundane. I’ll join you.’ His lips twitched, fire in his eyes. ‘We can talk each other over.’
Nothing about sex with Jack, the phone variety, she guessed, or any other, could be described as mundane. And she’d been wrong about his politeness. A black knight, perhaps.
Certainly, the memory of that session on her hall table still had the power to make her internal muscles clench. The thought of him stroking himself while she did the same, their vocalisations and filthy words of encouragement the only contact between them, left her light-headed. Would he revert to his native French at the height of passion?
He sighed, his warm breath sliding down her neck.
‘Although the image of you pleasuring yourself... I’d travel a long way for such a sight.’ The look he settled on her left her trembling with anticipation and torrid arousal.
How could he do that with only a few, albeit explicit words and an intense look?
Then his eyes turned devilish. ‘So, are you coming home with me? Or are you sufficiently satisfied for today?’
Her belly quivered. Would she ever get enough of his sexual prowess? And he’d ramped up the anticipation so successfully, if he didn’t touch her more intimately soon, she’d probably spontaneously orgasm, just by walking across the room.
She pressed her lips together, her face straight.
‘That depends. Will it be worth my while? Better and better, you said.’
He nodded. Self-assured. He dipped low, his lips caressing her ear once more, setting off a cascade of tingles.
‘I have something up my sleeve.’
She smiled, fingering the expensive cufflink at his wrist. ‘Well, let’s undo this, and see what you have planned, because I’m on a promise.’
* * *
The minute she entered his apartment, his needs solidified into a hot ball of determination. He’d strived for what he wanted every day of his adult life, and right now the only thing on his agenda was getting Harley completely bare to him so he could demonstrate that determination over and over again, until she was one hundred per cent convinced.
He’d deliberately kept his hands to himself in the car, building the anticipation until his own skin itched and every muscle raged at him to touch her. But the wait would be worth the denial for both of them.
Since he’d visited her store, witnessed her passion and dedication to her career first hand, he’d thought about her constantly. Not what she would wear tonight or how she would look naked on his bed, his floor or anywhere else they might end up.
But how she’d opened up to him, showing him her workroom, her sketches, even her vulnerability over her asshole father’s cruel taunts. But he shoved that from his mind before he broke something. Not that it was his business.
Tonight was about pleasure.
‘Is there anything you want, besides me between your perfect thighs?’ He stepped up close as she cast her eyes around his dimly lit living space and whispered the words on a husky drawl—part intentional because he enjoyed the fine tremors of her reaction, and part because his own needs choked him to the point of oxygen deprivation.
This was physical. A game. His reminders to himself grew more frequent and more resolute.
She shook her head, her scent wafting on a cloud of warmth tinged with a hint of the arousal she was powerless to conceal. His hands glided to her hips, his fingers finding the dip beneath the jut of her hipbones.
He’d arrived at the gala at least thirty minutes before she’d finally spotted him, circling her like a cat, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. But he’d forced himself to observe her from afar, building the anticipation self inflicted torture. He’d ached to touch her, her creamy skin aglow under the dancing lights. And now he had her here. Had all night to indulge. But first he had to make good on his promised orgasm. Tonight, at least this first time, was all about her.
‘Come.’ He nudged her forward in the direction of the bedroom, his hand clasping hers to ensure she stayed with him. When he’d lit the bedside lamps, casting the masculine space into warmth, he dropped her hand and loosened his tie and the top buttons of his shirt.
‘Show me how you plan to torment me for my clumsy comments earlier—I know you’re hiding something under there.’ His gaze flicked down the swathe of rose-coloured silk to the toes of the sexy, peep-toe heels he’d glimpsed when she’d stepped from his car.
He hadn’t intended to question her dress sense earlier, merely fuel his own fantasies with visions of her draped in some figure-hugging garment or other.
What kind of a man would make her doubt, for one second, a single iota of her true worth as a human being, a woman?
And what kind of man seduced someone for some sort of twiste
d revenge?
Breathing hard, he focussed on Harley. The night he had planned. For her pleasure and his. Questioning himself only led to doubt—and he didn’t do doubt.
She lifted her chin, passion and sass warring for control of her expressive eyes.
‘Why would I bother to dress for you? You either want me or you don’t.’ Her pupils narrowed, the hint of vulnerability dimming the flecks of gold in her irises.
‘Well, that’s not in question.’ He clasped her hand, pressing it to the front of his pants, over the steely erection he’d sported most of the evening. ‘You’re a sexual woman. A woman who knows what she wants and isn’t afraid to get it. Whatever is under that dress—your creamy skin, a hint of rose in all the right places, or the most provocative lingerie—will torture me until I can get my hands and mouth on you.’ He dropped said hands to his sides and curled them into loose fists, waiting. Biding his time.
With a small sigh and a look that made his balls tingle, she lowered the side zip on her dress and shimmied it down until it pooled at her feet.
He’d been right.
Pure torture.
Her toned body, curves generous enough to scream one hundred per cent woman, was scantily clad in the same rose pink, almost translucent underwear he’d fingered at her store this afternoon. Her rosy nipples, visible through the lace of her strapless bra, seemed to strain towards him. His mouth watered, reminding him of other tasty parts of her.
The narrow strip of blond hair was just visible through the sheer panties, and when she turned to place her dress on a nearby chair, her glorious ass came into view, the high-cut thong framing the creamy cheeks and disappearing into the crack between them.
‘Wait.’
He shucked his jacket and took the dress from her, placing both on the ottoman at the foot of his bed. ‘Why don’t you sit there?’ He indicated the chair, which was decadently upholstered, wide and incredibly comfortable. Perfect for what he had in mind.
She smiled, tilted her head and reached up to remove the pins from her up-do until her hair fell around her shoulders and kissed her pert breasts, which lifted with her arms like an offering to the gods.
He was so fucked.
Jack bit back a groan. His cock strained at the front of his dress pants and he removed the belt and loosened the button at his waist. He made light work of his shirt and took the hairgrips from Harley, placing them on the dresser with his cufflinks.
When he turned around, she’d settled into the chair, her luminous eyes watchful and her cheeks flushed the same colour as her nipples and her sex.
Jack heeled off his shoes and removed his socks, impatience clawing at him. But she was worth the wait. He should know. He’d had another taste, the nine years since they’d fooled around as kids, the ultimate in delayed gratification. Sprawled under him on her own console table, coming around him while she’d tweaked her own nipples, she’d been any man’s fantasy.
But, as usual, he was firmly in control of his needs and about to test the limits of Harley’s. How badly did she want him? How far would she go for her orgasm? Only time would tell.
He dropped to his knees. With his hands, he spread her thighs, a punch of lust winding him when he met no resistance. He lifted first one foot, removing first one shoe, before kissing her delicate anklebone, and then the other. She watched his every move. Her eyes lit from within. Her chest rose and fell with her shallow pants, her nipples twice the size as when she’d removed the dress. Dark and ripe.
Saliva pooled in his mouth. ‘Lift your hips, chérie. Let’s see if my memory of your taste is as good as the reality.’
Fuck, he loved the flush of her skin when he talked bluntly. And her compliance—that she was momentarily outraged or flustered but went along with it anyway—exquisite.
Harley gripped the arms of the chair, her pink polished nails digging into the fabric as she lay back and granted his wishes.
He peeled the wispy garment down her thighs, the slight flicker rippling down her muscles telling him the ferocious, all-consuming need pounding through him was likely matched in her.
When he’d freed the lace from her pretty feet, he held it aloft, dangling the wisp from one finger. The scent of her arousal hit him square in the chest. He clenched his jaw, fighting the urge to rush this, finish it too quickly for his intended plan. Her pleasure.
‘You ruined these.’ He tutted and she shrugged, her eyes flicking to the scrap of pale lace.
More colour rushed up her neck.
‘It’s your fault.’
He nodded, a slug of triumph straightening his spine.
‘Apologies. I’ll replace them.’ He tossed the panties, his gaze raking over the slick pink flesh between her legs. He licked his lips, his stare settling on hers as he lifted first one leg and then the other over the wide, cushioned arms of the chair, splaying her open for his flagrant perusal.
In twenty minutes, she’d either hate his guts, or be begging him for a replay. His blood pounded with renewed force. Resolve strengthening.
‘That is a beautiful sight.’ He let his stare linger, slowly, almost reluctantly meeting her sultry stare. ‘Your pussy is exquisite.’
She gasped, whether from the coarse term or the lightest swipe of his finger over her clit, he couldn’t tell, but some Neanderthal part of him enjoyed shocking her. ‘Perhaps you prefer the French, la chatte.’ Another swipe.
Her eyes grew heavy. ‘You’re completely filthy.’
He shrugged. ‘Oui. And I’m going to enjoy every second of this.’ He leaned down to kiss first one pale thigh and then the other, holding her stare throughout. ‘I hope you will too.’
Waiting was over, anticipation played out. He gripped her thighs with both hands. If he didn’t taste the delights before him soon, he’d lose his mind.
And then he did lose it, because before he could get to her Harley slipped one hand down her belly, her perfectly manicured fingers forming an inverted V over her sex. She spread them open, parting herself to his stare, her mouth slack on a ragged sigh.
An offer and an invitation.
Fuck. He almost came in his pants at the sexiest sight he’d ever seen. This woman was made for sex. Sheer, uninhibited perfection.
With a groan that gave away his desperation, he dived for her, batting her hand away as he sank between her thighs and covered her glistening sex with his mouth. Her taste hit him, filling his senses with her essence. His cock lurched, and his hands gripped her thighs, holding her open as she acclimatised to his tongue on her most sensitive flesh.
This angle, her sprawled in the armchair, afforded him a view of her reactions—every broken cry, every glorious gasp, every streak of ecstasy across her beautiful face.
Her nails clawed at his scalp as she tried to control the angle of his working mouth and depth of his plunging tongue. He ceded, ramping up her pleasure until her thighs trembled against his face and her breathing grew choppy, punctuated with mewls of delight.
And then he stopped.
She cried out, neck arching.
The anguished sound lodged a lump in his stomach. But he leaned back, blowing cool breath over her quivering sex. Wordlessly, ignoring the drunk but slightly bewildered expression on her face, he encouraged her into a sitting position so he could undo the bra and toss it to the floor. He wanted to see all of her, every inch of her creamy skin, every freckle and scar, every shard of ice in the confused glare she levelled on him.
Her questions flittered across the stormy green of her eyes as her breaths slowed. He looked away, soothing the sting of his desertion with a long, languid pull of his mouth on each nipple that left her panting once more. When her hand slipped between them towards her clit, he grasped her wrist, gently restraining. He lifted the hand to his mouth, kissing each fingertip in turn. ‘Patience, chérie. I’ve got you.’
She’d start cu
rsing soon. His balls tightened at the flecks of defiance flickering in the hot stare she levelled on him. Good for her.
‘Now...’ he licked his lips, his eyes burning over her again ‘...where was I?’
Before she could speak or even whimper, he dived back in. This time, her clit swelled almost immediately, the primed nub pouting towards his eager lips and tongue. He laved and sucked, smiling at Harley’s shocked curse and bitten-out cry of triumph as she renewed her clasp on his head.
Not content to take her medicine, this time, she lifted her thighs over his shoulders, her heels pressing his back, urging him closer. Not that he’d be anywhere else.
For now.
She mewled out her pleasure as he sucked down hard, gifting her his finger inside her tense warmth.
‘Yes,’ she cried. ‘Oh, right there, yes.’
He pumped the finger, finding that sensitive spot inside her that had her twisting his hair and rocking her hips into his mouth.
This time, he steeled himself. At the first flutter of her internal muscles around his finger, he pulled out. His mouth left her, muscles straining to overcome the clamping of her thighs around his neck.
‘No,’ she yelled, her head thrashing. She glared at him along the length of her naked body, her beautiful breasts jiggling with her seesawing breaths.
His voice was thick, transformed by his own lust battering down on him. ‘Soon.’ He kissed her thighs, which trembled under his lips. ‘I promise it will be worth it.’
At his words, realisation flicked across her face. She rolled her eyes, her face twisted with agony as she flopped back on the cushion. Her thighs clenched, tiny spasms twitching her abdominal muscles.
The wait killed him. He stroked her trembling thighs, the cheeks of her ass, her flat stomach, quiet, reverent words of encouragement and reassurance spilling from him in French. Not that she understood his praise or his declarations of her beauty and what she did to him, but she must have gleaned the tone, because she looked down at him, trust shining in her passion-glazed eyes.