Yours for the Night

by Jasmine Haynes

  “You wanted to jack off, didn’t you?” she whispered, bewitching him. “But you didn’t because you were afraid you’d miss something miraculous.”

  “Yes.” It had been exactly like that. “Then she came. I knew it was something special even if I didn’t know exactly what it was. And after, she raised herself on one elbow and licked her fingers.” He would have killed to lick them for her.

  “And that’s when she saw you?”

  “I don’t know. She didn’t look at me, didn’t acknowledge me. She just pulled up her panties and pajamas, and I went back to sit on the stairs before she came back down.”

  “And she still didn’t say anything?”

  “No. But she trailed her finger along my cheek as she passed. And I could smell her.” He’d never forgotten the sensual aroma of feminine arousal. He’d fallen in love with the sight of a woman pleasuring herself, the scents she gave off, the sounds she made. He’d sought to re-create that moment ever since, yet somehow it had eluded him.

  Until he’d decided to pay to produce it.

  He shook off the introspection. He wanted to know about Noelle. “What about you? When did you first know you were kinky? A friend of your older brother?”

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  “I’m an only child.”

  “Ah, then who was it?”

  Her cheeks flushed a deeper red. “I babysat his two kids. He was a single father.”

  “An older man.”

  She trembled as if the memory were tangible. “I love older men. I was sixteen and I loved him with all my heart. I used to dream about him at night, how he’d ask me to marry him and be mother to his children. It was all so romantic. He was twenty-six.” She rolled her eyes. “I thought that was sooo mature.”

  “Unrequited love?”

  “Shh,” she said, covering her lips with a finger, “you’re interrupting my story. One night I fell asleep on the couch because he had this really late business meeting.”

  “Right. A business meeting.”

  She glared. It made him hot.

  “He was down on one knee by the side of the sofa when he woke me up. I felt like Sleeping Beauty. I was so mesmerized, I kissed him.” She bit her lip, gaze unfocused, suddenly deep in the long-ago moment. “He kissed me back. It was so beautiful. He kept kissing me. I put his hand on my breast. And he squeezed. I laid his hand on my leg and moved it up under my skirt. It was one of those pleated schoolgirl types. I thought he’d get scared, stop. But I wasn’t scared at all. I wanted to know what it was like to have a man touch me there.”

  Drinking in every word, Dax wanted to reach beneath the table and stroke his cock.

  “I parted my thighs and set his fingers on my pussy. He kissed me as I made him rub me through my panties. They were an ugly old cotton pair, and I remember how much I wished I’d worn something pretty. Then I pulled the cotton crotch aside and helped him touch me. He was breathing hard, and any minute I knew he was going to run away. So I kept my hand on his, caressing myself with his fingers. It was the most beautiful thing I ever felt. I was so wet and so turned on, and then he put a finger inside me.” She hugged herself, eyes squeezed shut. “Oh, it was the most wonderful sensation. I could feel this heat building, wanting to get out. Then finally it burst. I think I screamed, then I started to cry because it was so good.” She opened her eyes and gazed at him 210

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  as if she’d been aware of him listening the whole time. “My crying scared the crap out of him. He thought he’d molested me, but really, I’d molested him.”

  Dax had a hard time putting a coherent sentence together. She was a teenage boy’s wet dream come true.

  She shrugged eloquently, with a hint of remembered joy and a touch of sadness. “He never called me to babysit again. They moved away a few months after that. I never made a pass at an older man again.” She smiled mischievously. “Well, not until I wasn’t jail bait anymore. Besides, I fell in love with a boy in my junior class. I married him.”

  “How many times have you been married?” Isabel had mentioned divorces, plural.

  “Three.” Though most of the food was gone now, she picked up her utensils and concentrated on her meal. As if waiting for his censure. “I wasn’t good at marriage,” she said. “I was a bad wife. I’m better at being a courtesan.”

  Across the small table, he cupped her cheek. “It’s good when a woman finds her calling.” It was the finest compliment. Her faults as a wife didn’t concern him. She was an extraordinarily lusty woman. It didn’t surprise him she’d needed more than a husband could possibly give. “What did you do before becoming a courtesan?”

  She laughed. It suited her much more than the negative introspection. “I was an accountant.”

  Interesting. The lady was no slouch. He’d been prepared for her to tell him she was a socialite who got huge sums out of her divorce settlements. It wouldn’t have mattered, but he liked that she was a career woman. In more ways than one. He shook his head, smiling. “I always thought accountants were boring.”

  “Oh, you’d be surprised.” She winked. “I’ve got some tales.” She pushed her plate away. “What about you? Married?”

  Though he hadn’t polished off everything, he set his fork aside. She was the only meal he was interested in. “I never got married. I realized my tastes were beyond what most women could handle in marriage.”

  She nodded, her eyes turning a misty midnight. “I wish I’d learned that earlier. But”—she brightened—“I’m on the right track now. So what do you do for a living?”

  “Executive.” He was CEO of a San Francisco-based Fortune 500 company. 211

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  “Ooh. Executives are hot.”

  He felt the sizzle in the word hot all the way to his balls. She had a way of looking at a man with those dark eyes, a sultry lowering of her lashes, a smile so barely there it was too damn sexy for words.

  Tonight’s date had been about checking her out, deciding if they had common ground, if their fantasies played into each other or against. He hadn’t expected sex; he’d only wanted to make a decision. But she had him. He imagined watching her undress for him, suck a man for him, get herself off while he sat close enough to drag in her aroused scent. He wanted it now.

  “Are you wearing panties?”

  She nodded her head slowly, a knowing sparkle in her eyes.

  “Give them to me.”

  Her hands beneath her skirt, she wriggled, then tossed him emerald panties that matched the dress. Pressing them to his nose for a brief second, he inhaled her hot female scent, then laid them by his water glass.

  “Spread your legs.” He held her with his gaze. Her nipples tight buds beneath the material, she put a bare foot to his knee, shifted, and pulled the dress to her waist. He shoved her plate aside to see through the glass tabletop.

  Indistinct, like looking through old-fashioned glass, he could still see she was as dark there as the hair on her head. A trim line arrowed down to the cleft between her legs.

  “Touch yourself,” he whispered, then allowed himself to be mesmerized by the slide of her fingers down to her pussy.

  Her lips parted, and her lids drooped halfway.

  “How wet are you?”

  “Very wet.” She removed her hand, held out her fingers. “See?” Moisture glistened on her fingertips. “Taste it.”

  He couldn’t resist. Sliding her finger in his mouth, he found her sweet, spicy, all woman, and very wet. “Thank you,” he whispered. “Pull your dress down before the waiter comes back.”

  “Do you care if he sees?” she challenged.

  “It’s hotter if he just spies your panties on the table.” He liked the subtlety of it.

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  A pulse rippled at her throat, the idea turning her on as much as it did him. He began to plan the things he’d make her do for him tonight. And for many nights to come.

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  4

  NOELLE’S BODY BURNED FROM THE INSIDE OUT. DAX DIDN’T CARE she was a three-time loser. She’d stopped short of telling him the full extent of her crimes against her husbands—she hated to think about it, much less say it aloud—but he was a big CEO; he had to have figured out she’d cheated, yet still he wanted her.

  They’d left her panties on the table and skipped dessert. Heat suffused her as she imagined the waiter finding them when he cleared the remains of their meal. Dax was so perfect. She’d never told anyone about her baby-sitting crush, or what she’d made Mr. Howell do to her. Not even any of her husbands. Secretly, she’d been afraid they’d call her a nymphomaniac. A slut. A pervert. Or accuse her of trying to trap the poor man like the evil teenager in Poison Ivy. Noelle admitted she was bad from a very young age.

  At fourteen, Dax had watched his sister’s friend masturbate. He was an equal pervert. It gave Noelle validation. Or expiation. Acceptance. She wasn’t sure which, maybe all three.

  She settled next to him into the backseat of the Lincoln. Since she’d given her driver fifteen minutes’ notice, when she and Dax exited the hotel, the Town Car sat at the curb.

  “Where to, ma’am?”

  The handsome Latino addressed her rather than Dax, as if he were hers to command. The thought evoked an awesome tingle of power. Still, she deferred, glancing to Dax. She wasn’t sure if he wanted to hit a club for dancing, fuck her senseless, or get rid of her on her doorstep. Though the fact he’d rushed her off the balcony before dessert arrived had to mean something. Noelle wasn’t ready for the night to end.

  “A drive along the coast.” It wasn’t quite a question, but he waited for her nod of agreement, then added to their driver, “Take the quiet streets to get there.”

  Noelle glanced from Dax to the Latino and relished the contrast. Dark looks versus sexy blond. She’d rarely been with a blond man, for no particular reason other than the fact that there were more dark-haired people than blond or red, the recessive gene thing. “May I touch your hair?”

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  Dax shot her one of his naughty smiles. “I don’t think a woman’s ever asked to touch my hair. Be my guest.”

  The driver’s eyes on her in the rearview mirror were a physical caress as she leaned into Dax’s space. Combing through his straight hair, she closed her eyes to absorb the textures with her fingers. “It’s soft.” Smooth, fine. Like silk. The car turned, traversing a more residential street, leaving the heavier traffic behind.

  Noelle sat back, her fingers tingling. As in a chess game, the next move was Dax’s. He glanced at the rearview mirror on the inside windshield, then the man’s profile, and finally at Noelle.

  “Suck my cock.”

  The words fell into the quiet vacuum of the car, not loud, yet unmistakable even in the front seat. His gaze brushed her nipples, bringing them to hard beads against her dress. Her body clenched. Without her panties, her thighs dampened with evidence of her need.

  A pair of brown eyes, unblinking, met hers in the mirror. Everything she did, the handsome Latino would see. Noelle’s clients were dignified in public despite how nasty they might get behind closed doors. She’d had sex at clubs, she’d been watched, she’d loved it. But what she’d done hadn’t been out of place for the venue. No one had asked her for this.

  A big dark hand reached up to adjust the mirror, tilting it down, aiming it as Dax shifted to the middle of the seat and took her chin. “You want it.” Again, the statement lacked the question mark, but it was nevertheless a question. Or permission to say no.

  She wanted this now as badly as she’d wanted Mr. Howell to touch her at sixteen. She fumbled unzipping Dax, her fingers clumsy in her excitement.

  “Easy,” Dax murmured, stroking her hair. “There’s no rush, baby.”

  With a deep breath, she willed herself to calm, and finally freed him. “God.”

  The word simply fell out in awe. Long, thick—all that hard flesh was almost too much for her hand. “You’re beautiful.”

  He chuckled. She tipped her head to look up at him. “I mean that.”

  “I know.” His eyes darkened to a stormy ocean blue. “Now suck me.”

  The console flipped down between the two front seats, improving the spectacle in the mirror. She angled herself to give their driver the maximum view 215

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  of all Dax’s lovely flesh disappearing into her mouth. She sucked on the crown, sipping a drop of pre come. Deliciously salty, agonizingly sweet. She murmured her pleasure, and Dax shuddered against her. Holding him at the base, she caressed him with mouth and tongue until her lips met her fist, and she could take no more. She grazed her teeth along him, worried the ridge beneath the head, then sucked hard on the plum of his cock. His hips surged, blood rushing, turning him diamond hard in her grip.

  “Christ.” Breath hissed through his teeth. He pulled the hair back from her face, making sure every inch of her lips around his cock was visible. She took him deep, began a fast slip-slide, then slowed for another hard suck of his crown. A gentle groan drifted to her from the front seat. She met the driver’s dark greedy eyes in the mirror. She wanted to come, with the big man’s gaze on her and Dax’s cock in her mouth.

  “Fuck me,” Dax demanded.

  God yes.

  He pulled her up, yanked on her dress, and she didn’t care if it tore. She wanted him to rip it in his excitement. He guided her over his lap, her back to his chest, his hips to her ass. She’d lost her shoes on the floor of the car.

  “Condom,” she managed, shoving her evening bag into Dax’s hand. She never traveled light.

  Streetlights along the road flashed over the hood of the car as it glided through the near-empty neighborhood, then headed downhill toward the vast blackness of the ocean.

  Sliding forward, balancing herself with hands on both front seats, she felt Dax’s fingers work the condom on. Her driver—yes, hers—the padded shoulder of his jacket lay only an inch from her fingertips. She stretched, touched, dug her nails in deep enough for him to feel through the material. He grunted.

  She almost came.

  Holding the hem of her dress out of the way, revealing her pussy to the hungry gaze in the mirror, Dax lifted her hips. He pulled her back, breaching her with the head of his cock. She moaned, closed her eyes, held still to relish the feel of him, just there, right there, pulsing. Then she snapped her lids open because she couldn’t miss a moment. Clutching the seat in front of her, fingertips still connected to her big, beautiful driver, she pushed back and took 216

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  Dax’s every magnificent inch deep inside.

  “Oh yes.” She spoke for all of them. Then she rode him hard, his grip guiding, her breasts bouncing, her nipples breaking free of the dress’s scooped neckline. One hand still in contact with the beefy shoulder, she pinched her nipple hard. A lightning strike zinged to her clitoris. Inside, Dax touched a spot high and deep, forcing a cry from her lips.

  Ahead lay the ocean and a red light. God, she was plainly visible fucking a man in the backseat. While the street wasn’t crowded, neither was it completely empty. If they had to stop for that light, anyone could see them. The risk made her hotter, slippery, wild.

  “Touch yourself,” Dax demanded. Maybe he didn’t see the light. Probably he didn’t care.

  The Latino didn’t slow, as if he wasn’t even aware of the intersection. They were going to die, fly straight into the ocean. Yet she rode the edge of orgasm, incapable of stopping until Dax’s cock reached all the way to her throat. At the last moment, the light flashed to green, and they careened around the corner with a high-pitched squeal. She held on tight, her knuckles white against the driver’s black jacket until the car straightened. He reached out to raise the mirror, focusing it on her face.

  “Touch yourself.” Dax’s harsh voice rasped at her ear. “Your left hand.”

  So much, too much, overload, yet she wanted everyth
ing he asked for. She had to do it or die. Her pussy was coated with her own cream, the nub of her clitoris so sensitive it almost hurt to touch. A raw pleasure-pain swept through her.

  “Let him scent you on your fingers.”

  The thought made her dizzy. The way Dax must have felt watching that nubile girl take her clothes off, revealing herself, performing for him. Noelle raised her hand once again to the seat in front of her. Dax held her hips still, took control of her body, pistoned deep. And Noelle stretched for the hot young man to smell the perfume of her come. She was close enough to hear his breath, hard puffs through his nostrils. Then he grabbed her fingers in one big hand, his gaze capturing hers in the mirror as he pulled them to his mouth, sucking her juice from her skin.

  Dax’s cock inside her, this big sexy man sucking on her, it was more than she could take, more than she’d ever had. Then Dax whispered, “Come. Come now.”

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  And she was lost.

  She burst into flames, screamed, and let her body drag her under, either to heaven or to hell.

  HOLY HELL. SHE LAY IN ORGASMIC EXHAUSTION ACROSS HIS LAP, her hair obscuring her face, her breathing in the easy rhythm of sleep. Or she’d passed out. She’d come so hard, Dax didn’t dismiss the idea. Disposing of the condom, smoothing her dress, pulling her close—nothing had disturbed her.

  “Where to, sir?”

  “I think it’s time to take us home, Manuel.”

  “Your home or hers, sir?

  He answered without a moment’s hesitation. “Mine.”

  Manuel made a slow, careful U-turn, unlike the left he’d made while Dax had been buried hilt deep in her.

  He’d planned to have her suck him in the back of the car, visible to Manuel in the front seat. The rest of it? She’d inspired him. He’d watched her watching Manuel—in the mirror, mesmerized by her moans, her sounds, her dilated pupils—and the familiar ache rose in him. He’d wanted to test her limits, see how far she’d let him take her the first time. When she’d touched Manuel’s shoulder, he was a goner. He’d fucked her deep and come hard as Manuel licked her come from her fingers.