by Lauren Dane
He sipped his beer before speaking. “I decided to be a lawyer because my father is one. I saw him argue a case. I must have been eleven or so. I remember seeing him in a totally different light after that. He was so self-assured and clever. I wanted to be that. Wanted to change things with my brain and words. Two of my brothers are architects, but I hate math. Don’t tell my mother that.” He smiled and she relaxed. His demeanor warmed as he opened up to her. “After that day I made a plan and I stuck to it.”
She bet. The man sitting across from her wasn’t one who let life happen to him in any way. “Of course you did. I like that. You’re very ambitious. And this is your family business? The law firm?”
He nodded. “Me, my father, my older brother and my uncle and a few cousins.”
“It’s sort of fun working in the family shop.”
He laughed. “Yes, I suppose we both are, aren’t we?”
What she really wanted to know is how he was forty and unmarried. But she didn’t want to ask right then. He’d probably think she was looking for a marriage proposal, though she just wanted to know him a little better.
So they ate and chatted about silly stuff until they were finished and it got suddenly a lot more serious at the car.
“Would you like to come over? Have a drink?”
She took a deep breath and nodded.
It wasn’t as if he’d never brought a woman back to his place, but this one, well, this one made him a little nervous.
She fit against his side perfectly as he walked with her up the stairs from the garage into the house and then she paused, sucking in a breath.
“This is breathtaking,” she murmured and broke away, wandering toward the wall of windows he so loved to stand and stare out.
She looked remarkably right there, the night silhouetted around her curves like a lover. The heels she wore were very high. Her back arched, showcasing her ass and legs that were surprisingly long for such a petite woman.
“You do realize your body is ridiculously beautiful, don’t you?” He took her coat and noted the pleasure on her face at the compliment.
He stepped away and hung her things before he turned music on, needing the buffer because with her it always felt so raw.
“I could play coy and pretend I don’t.” She shrugged a shoulder and turned to face him and then walking to where he stood, mesmerized by her. She slid her hands up his chest. “I’m not very good at coy though.” She tiptoed up to kiss his neck, just at the place below his ear. “I know what I want. I know who I am.”
“Good.” He hated coy. Hated women who danced around what they wanted.
His arm encircled her waist as he caught her hand in his on the other side and they began to sway. She leaned in, her cheek against his chest and melted against his body.
Here in the dark, in the private of his home, the lush sensuality of her body sharpened his hunger.
It was slow between them, not quite careful.
He buried his face at her neck, breathing her in, the softness of her hair against his cheek.
“It’s been some time since I slow danced. I’d forgotten how delicious it was,” he murmured as he kissed her jaw, over her closed eyes, her nose and then to her glorious mouth.
Desire beat at him. Urgent. Greedy. And he let it take over with a tug on her bottom lip between his teeth until she made a sound, low and deep. That response arced through him like electricity.
He gripped her upper arms firmly and it made her mindless. Shivers broke over her and her knees went rubbery.
She swallowed hard as his lips slid down her throat, licking and nipping the skin until she nearly shouted at him to do more.
“Are you with me?” He pulled away from her body enough to look into her face.
She nodded because words had escaped her.
“Thank God.” He bumped her, walking her backward until she hit a wall. He pressed his weight against her to hold her in place.
The way he handled her made her mindless to anything but him. His hands at her upper arms, his body against hers to keep her where he wanted. Whatever he did, it was so raw and delicious.
Before she’d even registered it, her dress was slipping from her shoulders and he’d bent his head to kiss over her collarbone. Her hands on his shoulders held him to her, but she also felt the fine tension there.
“Don’t hold back,” she whispered.
“I’m not sure I could even if I tried.”
“Oh now, that’s not true.” She licked her lips and watched the dress pool at her waist as his hands went to her bra, peeling the cups back with a groan.
He pinched her nipples, tugging and twisting the bar in each until her hips jutted forward all on their own. She was pretty sure she’d never been wetter or more ready for sex. Ever.
She may have said something; she sort of went away for a moment as he palmed her breasts and squeezed. Not hard enough to hurt, but hard enough to bring that edge of pain. Hard enough to remind her he was there and he wanted her.
The edge of his teeth slid over her shoulder and she stuttered a breath and it seemed as if a warm weight settled over her system. It was so good, so right, all sorts of chemicals flying through her, rendering her slightly stoned.
Could it be so very easy for him to push her into sub space? The temptation to explore that with her was so overwhelming he had to close his eyes against it.
He’d told her he wasn’t sure he could hold back. But he could. And he had been for a long time. But he hadn’t exaggerated how much of a temptation she was.
“I want to see you in the light.”
Her gaze cleared and she nodded as he led her up the stairs and toward his bedroom. Her dress was still on halfway, exposing breasts that made him want to fall to his knees and praise.
Both nipples pierced. He exhaled at that memory.
“I’d like you to take your clothes off and sit on the bed, please.”
He’d been about to soften that once he got past his surprise that he’d said it. But she shivered and he realized she was totally on board with it. And then he couldn’t fight it anymore.
He leaned against the doorjamb and watched as she reached behind her body and unhooked her bra.
“When they’re covered by a bra and a dress they’re amazing. When they’re free they’re magnificent.” And holy shit they were. High and full, a metal bar in each nipple. His mouth watered to taste.
She smiled, not shy at all. And then she unzipped the rest of the dress and stepped from it.
Stockings.
Garter belt.
High heels.
Teeny panties.
The last time he’d seen a twenty-four-year-old naked, he’d been twenty-six or so. The experience was not overrated.
“On second thought,” he said as he pushed to stand and stalked toward her, “leave the stockings and heels on. Those panties…well, I’ll take care of them.”
“Should I sit?” Her usual saucy demeanor had softened, gone obedient.
Again he had to close his eyes a moment to get himself straight. It had been a very, very long time since he’d opened this part of himself to anyone else. “Yes.” He opened his eyes and settled his gaze on her. On the lush curves she sported.
She sat, as he’d told her to, and he got to his knees, spreading her thighs wide. Her skin was as soft as he’d imagined it to be. Her scent teased as he leaned in close, breathing over her cunt through her panties. The material was whisper thin; he could see the darkness of her labia, knew just beyond was a slick, hot world he planned to explore for as long as possible.
She whimpered, her fingers digging into the bedspread and when he pressed a kiss against her pussy she jumped a moment and then squirmed. Turning his head, he breathed a kiss over her inner thigh and then slid the panties down and off. She’d worn them over the belt like a smart girl.
“Are you going to get naked? Because I’d really, really like to see that.”
He kissed her thigh one last tim
e and then spread her pussy open to his mouth. He took a long lick and sucked her clit between his lips, tickling the underside with the tip of his tongue.
“Yes.”
He drew circles around her gate with a fingertip, sliding it down to her asshole here and there, enough to keep her whimpering and gasping. Enough that he was glad he was still in his clothing because all he wanted was to get inside her cunt and fuck her.
But that could wait. He needed her orgasm first. Wanted her to know who gave it to her, who she was there with. Then he could think straight and fuck her the way she deserved. He hoped.
“Your cunt tastes salty sweet.” He swirled his tongue through all that soft, wet flesh as she trembled.
He opened his eyes and found her looking down her body at him, her lids half mast, her eyes glossy, lips parted. There was no hesitation there, nothing but pleasure.
He continued to flick his tongue over her clit as he turned his wrist and slid two fingers deep.
Tight. Hot.
He knew he found the right place when she jumped and then rained honey all over his hand. He stroked that sweet spot and ate her cunt like it was meant to be eaten.
She must have let go of the bed because her fingers slid through his hair and then she tugged, pulling him closer, rocking her hips. Taking what she wanted. His cock throbbed angrily, approving mightily.
He hummed and she made another sound, a weeping sort of moan, and then she came, her back arched, pressing her pussy into his face as she pulled his hair and goddamn, he loved it.
Slightly dazed from climax, her inner muscles still jumping, Daisy watched him stand, his lips shiny from her pussy.
And then he flicked open a button on his shirt and snagged her attention again.
“Why don’t you undress me.” Not a question. Not a request.
But it didn’t need to be. She stood on slightly shaky legs and slid her palms up the fine cotton of the shirt until she got to the collar and began to unbutton.
His chest was broad. Hairy but not in a disgusting way. Threaded with gray here and there, which only made him a million times hotter.
She dragged her nails down that gorgeous, hard chest, over his nipples and rejoiced in his snarl of pleasure when she did.
Unable to resist, she leaned forward to take a taste, spreading the shirt open wide to lick over his left nipple and then his right. Left it seemed, got more of a response so she went back to flick her tongue over it and scrape her teeth against it as she pulled back.
He watched her, his expression inscrutable. She caught her lip between her teeth and walked behind him to remove the shirt and fold it carefully before placing it on the back of a nearby chair. His back was nearly as impressive as his front and called to her hands and lips as she paused to kiss and caress, sliding her palms around to his waist where she unbuckled his belt and pants, teasing with little touches of her fingertips and nails.
He turned suddenly, hauling her close for a kiss.
With his hands on her, when he was so sure and hard and in charge, everything inside her seemed to swell up, close to exploding. It was so very much. She’d never felt this way with anyone.
The kiss tasted of her, she thought as he pulled back. His pupils seemed to swallow his eye color, his expression was intense as his gaze slid to her breasts.
“I love that you’re pierced.”
She was sure glad of it.
“Can I take your pants off?” She didn’t quite know why she asked, only that it felt like she should. So she did.
Then he slid a hand into her hair, freeing the last of it from all the pins she’d had holding it up. It fell around her shoulders and then he pulled her close again. By the hair. It sent a freight train of sensation straight to her nipples, which brushed against his chest, the slightly wiry hair abrading them just right.
“Yes. And then I want you on your knees, my cock in that hot mouth of yours.”
Why yes, thank you very much! Her body seemed to electrify at that suggestion.
She slid her hands down his forearms before he let go so she could get at his pants. Pausing, she angled his arm to see the tattoo on the inside. Something she’d missed because everything else about his body had snagged her attention.
History is written by the victors.
“I like that.”
He kissed her shoulder, tracing his fingertips down her shoulder and down her back as she got his pants unzipped and went to her knees to get them and his boxers down and off. She stood again, folding and placing them on the chair with his shirt before turning back to take him in.
“Your back is beautiful,” he murmured as she walked to him.
They could talk tattoos after.
She smiled her thanks and went to her knees but he stopped her. “Wait.”
Moments later he sat on the other chair in the room and placed a pillow on the floor in front of himself. “It won’t be as hard on your knees.”
How such a thing could disarm her, she didn’t know. But it did and she went with it, adjusting herself to tuck the pillow beneath her knees. It brought her up a little higher as well. High enough to kiss along his flat belly, down over rock hard thighs, behind first one knee and the other. She caressed every part of him she could touch as she did.
But his cock was the main attraction. Meaty and thick and so hard it tapped his belly until she licked up the stalk and then grasped him at the root, angling to better take as much of him as she could.
He groaned when she slid her lips around the head and then down, slowly, breathing through her nose as she did.
He stroked over her hair as she began to suck him off.
“Yes, that’s right. Keep my cock wet. Suck it hard. That’s how I like it.”
So she did it. Because she wanted to please him. Wanted the hand caressing over her hair to continue that sweet and yet white-hot petting.
She reached down to her pussy to get her fingers nice and wet and then brought them to that place just behind his balls, pressing and then sliding down again to his asshole. He grunted but widened his thighs so she kept on, stroking over the hole and slightly inside as she sucked his cock.
He began to flex and thrust his hips, fucking her mouth as she found his prostate and pressed while she stroked a circle against it. The surface of his cock seemed to harden in response; nearly electric, the energy seemed to hum from him.
“I’m going to come in your mouth, Daisy. And then we’ll have a cocktail. Then I’m going to fuck you.”
She nodded around a mouthful of his cock and took him deep, wanting to make him feel good, wanting to bring him pleasure in a way no one else could.
It must have worked because he growled, his fingers in her hair tightening as he held her to him, fucking himself into her, and then came.
Chapter 7
He hoped the cocktail would soothe his nerves. God knew he needed something to. Because Daisy Huerta got right inside his defenses and had curled herself around him.
And he didn’t have the strength or will to push her out.
The woman in question padded through his kitchen, making him a drink. She’d volunteered, telling him she’d make him something he’d enjoy. And who was he to refuse?
“Where’d you learn how to make drinks?” He considered getting one of his robes for her. Totally naked, in the full light of the room she was even more stunning and clearly comfortable with her state of undress.
She smiled, handing him a glass. “I have a friend who owns a bar. Sometimes he needs extra staffing so I pop in when that happens. And my parents are cocktail-hour people so I just grew up around that. My mother is one of those people who’s good at everything. This is her recipe actually. It’s a twist on a sidecar.”
He sipped and approved. Hearty. Perfect for a cool evening.
“Are you cold? I have robes if you like.” He took her hand and she grabbed her glass, following him into the living room.
“I have post-sex warmth still. Unless you’d prefe
r it.”
He barked a laugh and when he sat, she sat at his feet, her head resting against his knee. He sucked in a breath, unable to resist a caress over her hair, dark and so soft. “It’s safe to say I’m more than fine with you being naked. I just didn’t want you to get a chill.”
Turning her head, she looked him up and down. “Thank you. I think you should know that I find shirtless men in worn jeans and bare feet to be one of the sexiest things ever.”
That warmed him. “Thank you. So tell me about your ink.”
“My dad’s family, my grandmother and grandfather, were first-generation Americans. But when I was a kid we went to Mexico a few times every year to visit extended family. Anyway, some of my very first memories were of the colors in my great-aunt’s house. Reds and yellows, blues and greens. Bright and vivid. It’s part of who I am.” She brushed her fingers over the ink on her shoulder and upper arm.
“The woman on your shoulder reminds me of Frida Kahlo.”
“It’s actually based on a painting my grandmother did.” The tattoo was of a dark-haired woman, a flower tucked behind her ear. Her face was made up like a sugar skull. Flowers and other bits and bobs, all Mexican folk art, surrounded her, flowing to her back in a spill of big red roses.
“When it’s totally finished, the back will be a side view of a woman, praying hands, flowing hair, with a sugar skull face like the one on my arm.”
“It’s beautiful work.”
“Thank you. The big piece on my back is being done by the brother of a friend. He owns a tattoo shop in Seattle. I’m hoping to have it all done by the end of next year. What about your ink?” As far as she could tell he only had the one on his forearm.
“Sometimes something happens and you were there, but everyone tells it differently and you begin to wonder what the fuck is true anymore. And the version most people think is real is not always the truth, but it doesn’t matter.”