by Alice Gaines
“I’m forgiven, then?” he asked softly.
“Nothing to forgive.”
“Good.” He blew out a breath. “I’m growing tired of this party. How about you?”
“I’m ready to go home, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“A woman after my own heart.” He gave her a lopsided smile that curved his lips. “I’ll get your wrap.”
She watched him walk away and caught several other women doing the same. Angelica Hartman had disappeared, no doubt with her handsome husband. They might very well be headed toward the sort of night she and Peter would be sharing. An evening that could hardly be any better—a lavish gathering with all the best foods, followed by an epicurean adventure in bed. A ripple of excitement went through Susan. With any luck, Peter wouldn’t take too long.
Then she noticed a real prize standing across the room and gazing at her in much the same way Peter’s admirers had with him. The director of planning himself. She wouldn’t normally take advantage of a man’s attraction to her to get something professionally, and she wouldn’t do it now either. She would, however, use the opportunity to get an introduction.
Squaring her shoulders, she crossed the room toward him. As he watched her approach, he grabbed a pair of champagne flutes from a tray held by a passing waiter. When she reached him, he handed one to her. “Would you join me?”
“For a moment.” She sipped her drink. “Thank you.”
“I hope I haven’t been staring,” he said.
In her five-inch heels, she stood as tall as he was, her eyes on a level with his. Despite his thinning hair, he was attractive enough, with a strong jaw and sparkling blue eyes. His gaze wandered toward her bustline, though. Subtly, but pointedly enough for her to notice. But then, maybe he’d wanted her to notice.
“Ray Stemple,” he said, extending his free hand.
When she grasped his fingers, he held onto them a bit too long. Finally, she pulled her hand back. “I’m Susan Christopher. Of Archways San Francisco.”
“Archways.” He knit his brows for a moment.
“The community development nonprofit,” she said.
“Ah, yes. Something from your organization came over my desk.”
“The old cannery property,” she said. “Did you read the proposal?”
He took a drink of his champagne. “I assigned it to someone on my staff.”
Exactly the sort of response she’d expected. Archways had spent months trying to get an appointment with this man. Though he was notoriously pro-business and not-so-pro community, he nevertheless had a responsibility to work with organizations like Archways. Maybe she could put up with a few more minutes of having him ogle her boobs if it finally got them a meeting.
“We’d like to make an appointment with you to discuss our ideas for developing that property,” she said.
“The cannery, you said?” He sipped his champagne, his gaze still on her over the rim of the flute.
“I did.”
“That seems a bit…odd.”
“Odd?” she said. “How?”
One brow went up. “You did come with Peter Breit, didn’t you?”
“I don’t see—”
Before she could finish her sentence, Peter appeared at her side. In a gesture that clearly showed who she’d spend the rest of the evening with, he draped her shawl over her shoulders. Then he took her glass and handed it to Stemple.
“Wonderful evening,” Peter said. “But we’ll be going.”
“So early?” Stemple looked from Peter to Susan, clearly realizing what sort of relationship they had, or soon would have. He’d have to be blind to miss Peter’s hand at her elbow and how closely Peter stood to her.
“Still a bit jet lagged, I’m afraid,” Peter said.
“Welcome to San Francisco. The city looks forward to doing business with you,” Stemple raised his glass in a toast.
“Mutual, I assure you. Now if you’ll excuse us.” With that, Peter escorted her through the crowd. Eventually, they found their way outside to where his limo waited in the drive.
Chapter Four
Susan preceded Peter into the condo, her nerves now taut with excitement. So when his keys hit the brass dish on the table just inside the doorway, she jumped nearly a foot. He gave no indication that he’d noticed as he walked by her to the hutch. After opening the cabinet, he pulled out a crystal decanter and poured a bit of brandy into each of two snifters.
She’d selected the liquor herself and therefore knew its quality—a blend of vintages going back over decades. She’d never expected to taste it for herself or to end up staying here as the guest and lover of the owner. But then, she couldn’t have expected Sir Peter Breit on any level.
When he approached her, one snifter held out toward her, the intensity of his gaze promised a long, heated session of mutual exploration and pleasure. She took the glass and sipped the brandy; its perfume danced across her nostrils. Heady and intoxicating, like the man now standing only feet away. Watching his free hand unfasten the bow tie at his throat and open the top button of his shirt seemed, for the moment, the most sensuous experience possible. Suddenly unsteady, she kicked out of her shoes and dug her toes into the Oriental carpet.
Now, she had to look up at him, and she did so, pressing her palm against his chest. “Didn’t we have a second date?”
“We certainly do,” he answered. “I’ve been driving myself rather mad thinking about it all evening.”
“Well then?”
“As I told you, anticipation,” he said. “It makes the lovemaking all the sweeter.”
They’d finally arrived at the words. In this case, lovemaking rather than sex, although that would have been fine too. They didn’t love each other. They didn’t even know each other. They did have a tremendous connection between them—a pull like gravity, not to be denied.
“So you want a few minutes to anticipate,” she said. “Fine. I’m not going anywhere.”
He didn’t speak, but the way he stared at her said volumes. Though they’d hardly touched so far, they’d already established a link. One intimate enough that she could feel his breathing. Her heartbeat responded to the rise and fall of his chest, her nipples hardening against the fabric of her dress.
She took a step closer to him, dipped her finger into her brandy and then circled it over the rim. She followed that by running her tongue over the path her finger had made. His eyes turned the color of the ocean and his breath came faster as he watched. He might be a rich and powerful CEO, knighted by the queen, but underneath, he was still a man.
This time, she used two fingers, and a drop of liquor clung to them when she removed them from the snifter. She pressed that to a spot just under his chin and then tipped her head up, lifting her mouth to the trace of brandy. He made no move to touch her, even when she propped her hand against his chest for support. Slowly, she licked the brandy from his skin, savoring the slight scratch of his stubble.
“Do you like a woman to talk dirty?” she said.
“If it excites her.”
“It makes me hot to tell a guy what I want to do to him.” Actually, she hadn’t thought much about dirty talk, although her favorite magazine recommended it. But then, they supported pretty much anything consensual that supercharged sex. And right about now, watching the mighty Sir Peter Breit get off on her words sounded like a high-octane idea.
“I’d like to warm this brandy between my palms, drizzle some over your erection, and lick it off,” she said.
“You would?” His voice quavered.
“Hell yes. I could suck on you like a popsicle.”
“I wouldn’t be very cold.”
“Oh, I’d make sure of that. I’d keep you good and hot.” She placed her palm at the front of his pants, found his hardness, and squeezed gently. “Once you’re through anticipating, of course.”
He groaned. “Anticipation’s overrated.”
She put her lips up to his ear. “The bedroom.”
When she turned around, she found him waiting for her, his arms outstretched to invite her into his embrace. They kissed for the second time, more deeply now that their bodies fit together. She didn’t have to imagine the crush of her breasts against his chest nor the impression of his cock pressing into her belly. His heat surrounded her as he moved his mouth over hers. His cologne, which had teased her nostrils all through the party, became more pronounced, a musky scent that clouded her brain.
As he continued teasing her mouth with his own, his fingers met at her back and worked the zipper of her dress downward. The bra inside opened, allowing her breasts to fall free. Already sensitive, they ached and grew heavy. Needing his touch.
When he released her mouth, she sighed. His lips traveled along her jaw to the spot below her ear and then descended across her neck to her shoulder. Each tiny caress left a spark against her skin, stealing her breath and leaving her weak. And yet, she’d never felt so alive, so attuned to her body and its needs. Then he slowly eased the straps of the dress down and helped her free her arms.
Now that he’d bared her from the waist up, he bent and took one nipple into his mouth while cupping the other breast in his palm. Oh, yes. She swayed into him while the gentle tugging sent shocks of excitement through her body. The space between her thighs grew moist as her sex readied itself for him. She’d used the word hot, but it seemed insubstantial compared to the reality of what was happening to her. She was melting inside, her bones going soft and pliant.
He switched to the other nipple, still teasing the first with his fingers. Such a thorough lover, so devoted to her pleasure. She’d pay him back in a moment—make sure he received equal enjoyment. But for now, she’d allow him to continue so she could discover what he’d do next and next and next.
She’d expected him to finish stripping her, but perhaps not by falling to his knees in front of her and tugging the dress down around her ankles. When she stepped out of it, he rested back on his heels to view the last of her clothing—only a half slip and thong panties. He had her out of those quickly and tossed them aside, leaving her completely nude. Reaching out, he grasped her hips, pulling her pelvis toward his face. Then, he parted her thighs with his fingers.
The first swipe of his tongue made her reel, and she might have fallen if he hadn’t held her up. He continued stroking and pressing until he found the very center of her desire—that little bundle of nerve endings that connected to everywhere else in her body. Placing her hand on his head for balance, she closed her eyes and basked in the rising excitement.
The man gave great oral sex. So good he’d make her climax in another moment. That wouldn’t end their fun, of course, but she had made a promise to him. She could delay her own orgasm to make sure she had him ready for a good, hard fuck. What had he said? Anticipation.
So instead of letting him take her to the logical conclusion, she found the strength to take a step backward. He sat back on his heels again and gazed up at her, his head cocked to one side. “I wasn’t doing it right?”
“You were doing it more than right, but what’s the rush? You aren’t even undressed yet.”
“We can do that later.”
“Nuh-uh,” she said. “I made you a promise, and I want to keep it.”
His confused expression turned to a wide grin. “I’d never keep a lady waiting.”
The moment he was on his feet, she began on his clothing. Tuxedos involved a helluva lot more stuff than women’s formal gowns, it seemed. He’d already undone the bow tie, but that amounted to nothing when compared to the jacket, cummerbund, shirt, and belt. When she finally had him down to his trousers, she took her turn to kneel. With his pants on the floor, the only obstacle between her and his sex was his boxers, and he’d tented those out very nicely. She tugged the elastic down and had her first look at his member. Long and thick, it jutted away from his body, ending in a smooth head.
Nice. Very nice. As she imagined the feel of something that large thrusting into her, her pussy released more moisture. She touched him, letting her fingers glide along the shaft and feel the pulse in the blood vessel beneath.
“Oh yeah,” she said. “I need to have a good, long taste of this.”
“I’m at your complete disposal.”
“Sit on the edge of the bed.”
He did as she’d ordered, and she scooted over to him. After retrieving a snifter of brandy, she rolled the glass between her palms. She wouldn’t pour anything remotely cool onto a hard-on that fine. When she felt sure she’d warmed the liquor, she poured some into her palm before setting the drink back onto the table. Carefully, she sprinkled the amber liquid over him. If the cleaning service found droplets in the carpet, they’d have no idea how they’d gotten there.
Now she could feast on him, and she did. She sucked the head into her mouth and moved her lips lower as far as she could down the shaft. What she couldn’t swallow—and there was plenty of that—she pumped with her fist. The combination of brandy and man made a potent aphrodisiac, and soon she was bobbing her head to take as much of him as she could.
His breathing grew loud and fast, and his fingers burrowed into her scalp, but he didn’t thrust or try to shove himself deeper into her throat. Exercising his control? She removed her mouth from his member long enough to glance up at him. He was the picture of a highly aroused man—his chest rising as he struggled for breath, his skin flushed. His eyes had half-closed and held the hazy light of a guy who hardly knew where he was.
“I think you’d better come up here,” he said, his voice thick.
“I’m not done.”
“You’d better be, or this’ll end before it gets started.” He caught her under the arms and pulled her upward. Then they were kissing again, their arms draped around each other and her softness molded to his hardness everywhere. His cock butted into her, and she reached between them to wrap her fingers around it and stroke. That earned her a growl as his response, and in a moment, he’d twisted and tossed her on top of the comforter.
She lay there, her legs spread, while he launched an assault on all her senses. His body covered her, heating her with the friction of his skin against hers. Their breaths sounded harsh in her ears. And everywhere her hands moved, she found smooth skin with muscle just below.
Surely, this must be heaven. He caressed her everywhere—her earlobe, along her throat, to the nook formed by her neck and shoulder. While his mouth worked its magic, his fingers stroked her ribs, tracing each one, and then massaged her hips, fitting her against him. He didn’t neglect her breasts, but cupped them and flicked his tongue over one nipple and following with the other. All the while, she lay back, staring at the bed curtains out of eyes that had come unfocussed with pleasure.
She could hardly get air into her lungs, the sensations were so powerful. As he moved lower and lower, his destination became obvious. Oh God, he was going to do that again. She waited, parting her legs to make room for him and stroking his shoulders, his hair, anything she could reach. Urging him on. For the next several minutes, he’d give and she’d take. She’d pay him back somehow, but right now, the need built and swelled inside her.
When he’d lowered himself enough for his head to rest on her thigh, he trailed his fingertips along her skin from above her knee almost to her pussy. It was torture, which he had to know. Toying with her, he made pass after pass, so close and yet not there. Moaning, she twisted and stretched, trying to make contact, and he relented and stroked her lips. When he touched her clitoris, she released a cry as her hips jerked upward.
“You’re wet,” he said. “Sweet and hot.”
Rea
ching out blindly, she found his hair and curled her fist into it. What in hell was he waiting for? She felt ready to explode.
Finally, he slid her arms under her legs, dragging her thighs over his shoulders. After parting her lips, he feathered his tongue along her slit all the way to the throbbing nub at the top.
This was better than her dream, and it was real. It would end in a real orgasm and soon. For the moment, she let her mind drift back to the images of her dream—the rocking of the horse beneath her, the hard shaft filling her. Oh yes, she’d have that, too, before the sex ended. A cock as big and beautiful as his would make her fantasies pale in comparison.
He knew how to work a woman’s hot button, obviously. His initial soft strokes had turned into firmer passes. Each one sent a wave of pleasure along her nerve circuits. Now oblivious to everything except the rasp of his tongue, she lay suspended in a heated cocoon of spiraling excitement. The moment approached, the last touch that would set her off. She could try to fight it—get a few more seconds of this ecstasy and make the eventual orgasm more powerful. She tried to steady her breathing to do exactly that, but in the end, he sucked her clitoris into her mouth, and she was lost.
The climax coiled inside her, tight and hot, and then broke free, building and cresting to claim all of her. She shouted as her pussy convulsed. The madness went on for long seconds before she went limp against the comforter, unable to do anything but struggle for breath.
Before she could open her eyes, he’d scooted up next to her and pulled her into an embrace, her head tucked under his chin.
“Good one, love?” he asked. All she could manage was to nod in response.
“I thought so.” He rubbed her back, bringing her gently to reality. And what a reality it was. The evidence that they hadn’t finished pressed against her. The outline and hardness of his member said she had a lot more pleasure in store for her before they finished.
“That was wonderful,” she whispered.
“My pleasure.” He tipped her chin up and kissed her softly. She caught the aroma of her own musk on his lips. No surprise. He’d made her so hot and wet.