by Robin Kaye
“How do you know he didn’t slip something in your drink?”
“Leave it alone, Gina. Nick’s a nice guy.”
“Fine, but don’t blame me when you find out he’s a married serial rapist with six kids living on Long Island.” She muttered something in Spanish and stormed out, slamming the door behind her.
Rosalie winced. Neither the conversation nor the slamming door had helped her hangover. Damn, she felt like shit.
Nick sat in the Mustang parked across the street from Rosalie’s under the wash of a streetlight, missing his Viper. He killed the engine and wondered if a night with Rosalie was such a good idea. Sure, she said she wasn’t interested in a relationship, and on the surface, she seemed like the perfect playmate—for lack of a better term. But women always said what he wanted to hear in the beginning. The only difference was that Rosalie had said it first. Strange.
Something nagged at him in the deepest recess of his mind, yet he couldn’t get a grip on it. It was a sense of anticipation, but not the same anticipation he felt about taking over another dealership or seeing the preliminary P&Ls. This was more turbulent, nervous. The thought of being nervous astonished him.
Something about Rosalie was different, or maybe it was that he felt different when he was with her. He wasn’t used to not knowing his own mind, and he didn’t like it. It might take time, but he’d figure it out. He always did.
He scrubbed his hands over his face and got out of the ’stang. At least he was comfortable in his clothes. Being someone else meant he no longer had to live up to his image or his status. It felt great to be out of a suit and tie. He pulled the sleeves of his Henley down and shrugged on his old leather jacket before skipping up the steps of Rosalie’s brownstone. He rang her apartment, and she buzzed him in.
“Door’s open. Come on up.”
What was she thinking, not even asking who it was— and then leaving her door open? Nick pushed his way past the guy getting mail out of his box, strode down the hall, and slipped into her apartment, determined to give her a lecture on safety.
“What are you—”
Dave barked and jumped, slamming Nick against the closed door. The dog’s beefy paws knocked the air out of Nick with a whoosh, and he struggled for his next breath.
“Oh, sorry, Nick.” Rosalie rushed to the door, grabbed Dave by the collar, and yanked. “Down, Dave. You remember Nick, don’t you, boy? He fed you your nummies this morning.”
Damn, she looked good. She had on a lipstick-red, wraparound sweater that his fingers itched to untie, over some kind of satin and lace lingerie top that skimmed her hips and brought to mind sweaty sex and the sound of ripping fabric. Her black jeans made her legs look long and hot as a summer day. Pink polished toenails peeked out beneath the hems of her jeans. Nick cleared his throat.
“Hi.”
She smiled, and he fought the urge to grab her and kiss her like he’d been thinking of doing all damn day. He couldn’t do that. It would look as if it was natural to want to kiss her. Which, he guessed it was for other guys, just not for him. He hadn’t had the urge to kiss his other girlfriends when he saw them, though they usually kissed him. He’d never understood it. They’d put on all that damn lipstick, and then they’d kiss him. He always ended up wiping the stuff off his face and hoping he got it all. Rosalie had painted her mouth to match her sweater, all red and glossy, and for the first time, wiping off lipstick didn’t seem like that big a deal.
He’d wanted to kiss Rosalie the first time he set eyes on her and every time after that—even that morning, when she’d looked green. She didn’t look green now. Her dark eyes were sparkling, an improvement on the bloodshot looks she’d thrown him earlier. Her curly hair was sexy and tousled, the same as that morning, when he awoke to find her staring at him. The sight of her in nothing but a nightshirt had him thinking of little else all day. Well, that and the memory of how she looked out of the nightshirt.
“Hi.” Nick was staring at her. What was she supposed to do? Kiss him? No. That’d be too much of a “Hi, honey, welcome home” moment, and Rosalie didn’t want to give him any ideas. The sound of stainless steel being kicked—Dave’s way of saying, “Hurry the hell up, I’m hungry”—broke the silence. You’d think Nick would have said something. Maybe he was struggling with the same dilemma—to kiss or not to kiss. It was time for her to make a quick exit and regroup.
“Um, I’ll go feed Dave, and then we can leave.”
“There’s no rush.”
She pushed her hair back and walked barefoot to the alcove/mudroom behind the kitchen. She should have straightened up the apartment, or at least, put away the damn box of tampons sitting on top of a pile on the buffet, but she hadn’t had time. She’d had less than an hour to change out of her work clothes. As it was, she’d gone through a dozen outfits, because he hadn’t told her what they were doing or where they were going. Come to think of it, he hadn’t even asked her out. He’d taken the lie she told her mother and held her to it.
“Make yourself at home. I’ll only be a minute.” Rosalie walked away, knowing he was watching her. The hair on the back of her neck stood up. She hated that, especially since she didn’t know if her jeans made her butt look big. The one day she really needed them, her personal fashionistas, Wayne and Henry, were both unavailable for consultation.
When she returned, Nick was looking around the apartment as if he’d been cataloging changes and saw none for the better. Oh, well. It’s not as if she could do anything about it now.
Nick turned his gaze back to her and cleared his throat. He ran his hands through his hair as if frustrated, then stuffed them in the pockets of his jacket.
“Um . . . I was going to lecture you. You buzzed me in without even asking who it was, and your door was open.”
He’d spoken. Well, that was a relief. They’d gotten past the awkward greeting deal.
“I don’t need to ask. Nobody gets by Dave, although I do try to keep him from jumping. I was looking for my boots and. . .” She was still looking for her boots. She made a slow turn, hoping she’d see them under the coffee table or maybe in the corner by the door. She didn’t want him to think she didn’t know where her clothes were, which she didn’t, but that was beside the point.
One second she was trying to figure out where her boots were, and the next, she had two hundred pounds of man wrapped around her, kissing her. Oh, and what a kiss. This was no “hello, good to see you” kiss. It was more of an “I want to taste you all over, starting with your mouth, and moving on from there” kind of kiss. Not that she’d ever had one of those before, but she was sure enjoying having one now.
He was all over her. He seemed bigger, harder, and well . . . determined. Not that she was complaining, but damn, give a girl a minute to catch up.
Oh, yeah, Rosalie caught up fast. She wrapped her arms around his neck. God, he tasted good. Minty, like he’d brushed his teeth before he came over. She had, too, but that was before she’d snagged a few dark chocolates. There were worse things to taste like . . .
She tasted of dark chocolate and hot spice. Nick traced her lips with the tip of his tongue. He couldn’t tell if it was flavored lipstick or if she’d eaten something sweet, dark, and rich. Hot, soft, small, she seemed shorter. Right, no shoes. Her arms looped around his neck before she nipped his lower lip and sucked it into her mouth.
Damn, she kissed like a porn star. Her scent, her taste, her soft moans had his heart beating hard enough to crack a rib, and that wasn’t the only thing going hard. He felt like he had the time he’d flown in an F-14. The G-force slammed into him and stole his breath. In this case, it was the Lee-force.
He grabbed a handful of world-class ass, drawing her closer. Her chest flattened against his, and he straightened, pulling her to her toes. She tightened her hold around his neck and rocked her pelvis against his while she explored his mouth. She played tag with his tongue and then ran hers along every tooth and recess, as if she were mapping it for a future inva
sion.
Nick couldn’t get enough. He reached for more with every stroke of his tongue, delving deeper. Needing to be closer, he spun them around and pressed her back against the wall.
His heart hammered against his ribs. She swallowed his groan as he lifted her off her feet. Rosalie wrapped her legs around his waist so tight, he could feel her heat through his jeans. He cursed the layers of denim separating them.
Nick pulled his mouth from hers, trying to catch his breath and slow the passion that was escalating out of control. It didn’t help that she was writhing against him. No, slowing down was not an option.
Rosalie’s dark eyes swam with desire. Her swollen lips were now free of lipstick, and her skin flushed. He buried his face against her neck. Her perfume changed with the heating of her skin, to a dark, intoxicating scent—a mixture of deep woods, something oriental, vanilla, and aroused woman. Rosalie’s pulse raced beneath his lips as he untied her sweater, searching for skin, needing to feel it beneath his fingertips. Frustration escalated. His hand slid over heated satin as he explored the body he’d fantasized about since he first saw her.
“Nick, hurry, bedroom.”
With one tug, Rosalie had his jeans unbuttoned and unzipped. In his next ragged breath, her hand slid inside his boxers.
He hadn’t thought he could get any harder. He’d been wrong.
“No. Too far. Couch.” He groaned as he squeezed his eyes shut, trying to regain control.
“Dave—”
“Okay. Bedroom.”
He stumbled through the living room and into the bedroom, kicked the door shut, and sat on the edge of her unmade bed. Her knees found purchase as she worked the jacket off his shoulders. Nick slid it off without ever taking his mouth off hers.
He considered ripping the lacy top keeping him from his intended destination, but he wasn’t sure if she’d appreciate his haste. Before he could find its hem, she pulled his shirt over his head and shoved him down on the mattress. He was more than willing to accommodate her. She straddled him, her hands running over his chest, her pelvis fitting onto his just right. When her hot, wet mouth opened over his chest and sucked his flat nipple, he almost came off the bed.
Nick was fine with give-and-take. He didn’t mind women having their way with him, but he wanted his way, too. Now. He flipped her onto her back with little struggle, captured both of her hands, and pinned them above her head.
“My turn.”
Nick straddled her hips and slid the satin top over the lace of the bra that barely covered her nipples. He traced the lacy edge of the pale green material with his tongue and nibbled her breasts. He teased her but left her nipples craving attention. The more he teased, the more she writhed beneath him.
“Nick, please. . .”
He unhooked the front clasp before sliding the works over her head, creating a pair of cashmere, satin, and lace handcuffs. Sitting back with a wicked smile, he held her wrists with one hand and drank in the sight of her.
“Perfect.” His tongue followed his fingers as he traced her swollen lips, caressed her jaw, and kissed a path down the column of her neck. Rosalie’s pulse skittered beneath his lips, her breathing ragged, her skin flushed. He continued to take his time, making her wait. Anticipation built with every impatient move she made. He took a detour to explore a collarbone, nibbled on her shoulder, and continued at his leisurely pace to the valley between her breasts.
Rosalie squirmed, making it difficult not to get caught up in the feel of her beneath him. He slid to her side, not yet ready to give up control.
Rosalie’s stomach muscles tensed, and she gasped as he thrummed her ribs and dipped his tongue into her navel before unfastening her jeans. She lifted her hips as he slid her pants off.
Capturing her thong with his teeth, he uncovered all the pink bits he’d been thinking about ever since he’d met her. He dragged the slip of fabric down her long legs and kissed his way back up her inner thigh.
He tuned into her, concentrating on her breathing, the little noises she made, her quivering muscles, her sweet scent. He passed the juncture of her thighs and let his hands roam the area without touching. Her breath turned into shallow pants scattered between soft sighs that drove him mad.
He kissed the underside of her breast.
“Nick . . . please, just . . . oh, please.”
Her body tightened when he took her breast in his mouth. Her back arched, and her pelvis rose to meet his hand. His finger parted her and slipped inside. Her muscles clamped down around him as he slid his thumb higher, separating her damp curls, teasing her.
Everything increased—her volume, her scent, her groans. Her hips rose with every tug of his mouth on her breast. Her muscles tightened around his finger.
“More?” Nick asked.
“Nick? Oh, God, if you don’t stop. . .”
Rosalie struggled to free her hands as Nick moved lower, his mouth now between her thighs. He grasped her ass tightly, keeping her from moving. She tasted hot, sweet, and oh man, so good.
Her gasp and the tension that flowed through her revealed her shock. She tried to pull away in panic and then she lost herself in the feeling of his mouth on her, in her, licking, laving, and sucking. Her groans turned to muffled sobs.
Nick explored the curve of her ass with his fingers, and they joined his mouth in pleasuring her.
She whispered a breathless plea, “Oh, don’t. Stop.”
Her hands pulled his hair, bringing him closer, telling him she meant “Don’t stop.” He couldn’t have if he’d wanted to, at least, not without losing half his hair. He focused on her muscles tensing, her gasps, and he concentrated on the tiny nub of flesh, alternately sucking and stroking.
The fine thread of his control slipped as she cried out. Her body shuddered, her thighs quivered, and her muscles tensed as the lightning strike of orgasm crashed through her, through him, leaving him closer to the edge than he could ever remember being while still dressed. He held her as she quieted, grateful for time to regain his self-control.
Nick didn’t want to stop touching. His fingers skimmed her hip and dipped down to her waist and over the curve of her belly. Rosalie curled into him as her breathing slowed. Her limbs melted against his. He felt like a cat with a mouthful of feathers. Though it wasn’t as if he’d discovered something new. Oral sex was just one way to ensure his partner got off before he did.
She kissed his chest and looked him in the eye. “I think you’re overdressed.”
Nick placed a soft kiss on her lips, then stood and removed his wallet from his back pocket. After taking out the condoms, he threw the works on the nightstand and stepped out of his shoes, pulling off his jeans, boxers, and socks along with them. Rosalie watched him, unabashed. She looked as if she were ready to make a meal of him. She knelt on the bed, her body so lush and beautiful that Nick wondered what he’d ever seen in those bony girls he’d always dated.
Rosalie cleared her throat and scooted toward him, holding out her hand. He took her small hand in his, sat beside her, pulled her into his arms, and kissed her as they lay down together. She slid her leg over his as she kissed a path from his neck to his chest.
Nick drew in a lung full of air and held back a groan. Her hands ran over his chest while her mouth kissed and nipped along the muscles of his abdomen. Nerves twitched beneath her lips. When her fingers wrapped around his erection, he groaned and pushed up onto his elbows. Her hair, her lips, her breath whispered over his skin, soft but tantalizing. He ground his teeth together “God, Lee. . .”
When her tongue touched the head of his erection, he caught her hair in his hands and concentrated on breathing. He tucked a pillow beneath his head so he could watch. Her hand moved to a rhythm, and her tongue licked and teased. “So good. . .”
Every muscle tensed and every nerve short-circuited when she opened her mouth and took him in. He gasped for air as she closed her lips around him. Her hair teased his belly and thighs. His groin tightened when she sucked, taking
him deep. Her fingers dug into his thigh muscle as his buried themselves in the mass of her curly hair, clenching against her scalp.
Nick tried to control the urge to push deeper. He tried to keep his hips on the mattress, when every nerve in his body was signaling him to buck. The vibration of her moan ran through him, and he almost lost it. He struggled with his need to come—and the desire to be inside her when he did.
“Lee, stop.”
He wondered if his plea sounded as halfhearted as hers had.
Nick tugged on her hair, and she released him.
“What?”
“Guys shouldn’t come until their partner’s satisfied.”
“Since when?” she mumbled before he rolled them both over. He plunged his tongue into her mouth, tasting a heady mixture of himself and her, while he reached blindly for the condoms he’d left on the nightstand.
She took him in hand and managed to flip around. Her hand worked in tandem with her mouth. The suction, the flick of her tongue, the gentle teasing of his balls had him so tied up in knots, he couldn’t stop her. He was going to come, and when he did, he wanted her to come, too.
He threw the condoms aside and slid his hand over her body, into her heat. God, she was so wet. He buried two fingers inside her and felt her body tighten around them, sucking them in deeper. He circled her clit with his thumb and flicked it lightly. Her mouth went lax, and she pulled away, her cheek rested against his thigh, her hand still encircling him. Pumping.
“Oh God, Nick . . . Yes. . . .” For a moment, she seemed to forget what she was doing. He slid his fingers in and out of her and continued to stroke her. She vibrated with excitement, her body tightening around him. Her hand following his rhythm, she screamed as her orgasm took hold. Her body milked his fingers. He pressed them deeper, and when he felt her orgasm explode, he followed her over.
Nick locked eyes with hers, and she watched his face as he came. He looked as shocked as she’d been.