by Louise Bay
My palms grew clammy as I passed the paddle from one hand to another. I didn’t want Sam to walk away empty-handed from today, and I didn’t want him to think I was totally incompetent and had set our limits way too low. Sam placed his hand around my wrist. “It’ll be fine. Whatever happens it won’t be the best or the worst day of my life.”
It was an odd thing to say, but he was right. We weren’t about to cure cancer. His words slowed my heart. Whatever happened, it wouldn’t be the end of the world.
I forced by eyes back to the stage as the action began. I should be concentrating on what was going on in front of me, but I wanted to know what the best and worst days of Sam Shaw’s life had been.
Several phoned-in bids drove the price up, but by eight hundred thousand, all but one had dropped out, leaving a single bidder in the room and the one on the phone to compete with. At a million, only the phone bidder was left. I raised my paddle with a deep breath. Shit. I was about to spend a lot of someone else’s money. I hoped I’d picked right and I wasn’t about to buy a turkey. My bid was acknowledged, and I turned to Sam who calmly nodded at me.
We kept bidding, the price nudging higher and higher in increments of twenty thousand until at one million eighty thousand the hammer came down on our bid.
Shit.
We’d done it. My stomach tightened and my body went hot. I hoped Sam was good for the money. I held my paddle in the air as the auctioneer took down my number and Sam grabbed my hand, squeezing his palm against mine.
There were a few mutterings in the crowd and people turned to take a look at the person who’d just dropped seven figures in a matter of seconds. Sam and I sat there as if we shopped like this every afternoon. I pressed my lips together, trying not to show my excitement, trying to stop the adrenaline from pouring out of me.
“You did it,” he whispered into my ear and my nipples tightened against my bra as his breath hit my skin. “Let’s go.” I understood his need to get out of the auction house. There was something so intimate about what had just happened—from the way we’d been sitting so close, whispering to each other, to the fact we’d both been reaching for the same goal and he’d been silently cheering me on. Yet, here we were surrounded by all these people. I wanted us to be on our own.
He pulled me out of my seat and away from the staring faces.
As we headed toward the door, I tried to stop him. “Sam, no. We have to pay.” He grimaced but turned and strode in the other direction. I handed over my paddle and the paperwork I’d been given when we arrived to the woman behind a wooden desk.
“Congratulations,” she said without looking up at us. “You have twenty-four hours to arrange collection. Should I use the card details we have here?”
With one hand Sam reached into his pocket and flipped open his brown leather wallet. I tried to pull away to make it easier, but he squeezed my fingers. Awkwardly, he fumbled and then finally presented his American Express.
I glanced up, and found him staring back at me. He released my hand, and I thought for a second he could see what I was thinking—that I wanted him. My body sagged with relief as he snaked his arm around my waist and pulled me toward him. Did he want me too?
“Come with me,” he said, turning us and walking so quickly I found myself having to run every couple of steps to keep up with him.
A cab idled at the curb. “Seven forty Park Avenue,” Sam told the driver.
“That was a rush,” he said, his fingers tickling over my knee.
I nodded. We both had excess energy. Maybe we should down some shots, dance a little, though I didn’t see Sam as much of a dancer. “We’re going to your place?” I asked. “To decide where the painting will hang best?” I hoped that wouldn’t be the only thing that happened at his place.
He frowned. “If you like, but then I’m going to fuck you on my new couch.”
I tried to keep my expression steady despite the throbbing between my legs. I wasn’t quite sure how to respond to such a blunt declaration. “The couch has arrived already?”
“I tell you I’m going to fuck you and you focus on the couch?”
Only so I didn’t have to think about whether going home with him was a mistake. This wasn’t my normal MO. Sam Shaw wasn’t my normal MO, but I wanted him. Every time I was near him, I wanted him.
I found it difficult to look at him as we got out of the car and went into his building. Even in the elevator I studied the floor rather than glance at him and have him see how much I wanted him. He periodically squeezed my hand, running his thumb over my knuckles, sending sparks of lust across my skin.
In his apartment, we stood in front of the couch, holding hands, looking out onto the city.
“Did you feel it?” he asked, keeping his gaze forward at the skyline as if he was trying not to look at me. “Between us, at the auction house?”
I knew what he was asking. There was a pull toward him, a need to touch him, a desire to be alone, together.
I nodded and he turned toward me. “I wanted it to be just you and me.” He released my hand and cupped my face, stroking his thumbs over my cheekbones. “I like you.”
His eyes flicked to my lips.
There was nothing but the sound of our exaggerated breathing in the air.
“I like you, too.” I shouldn’t like him—I should think he was spoiled and indulged. Except that he didn’t seem that way at all.
He sighed as if he were disappointed. Slipping my jacket from my shoulders, he didn’t take his eyes from my face. Not as he undid my sleeveless shirt, leaving it to fall to the floor. Not as he removed my skirt. Not when I stood in front of him in just my underwear. He stepped back and finally let his eyes trail down my body. Just his glance intoxicated me, each part of my body lighting up as he inspected me. “Sam,” I whispered, urging him to take pity on me, to touch me.
My cry brought his gaze back to my face and he stepped forward. “I’m here,” he said. “I’m here, Princess.”
My fingers fumbled at his shirt but he knocked them away and unbuttoned it quicker than I could have. My body was weakened by him. Relief flooded me as I placed my palms against his chest. I’d been waiting to touch him, to kiss him. He took his pants off and snaked his arms around my waist, one hand smoothing up my back, the other down to my ass, holding me against him. “Tell me what you want,” he whispered, his forehead pressed against mine.
“You. I want all of you,” I replied.
He groaned as if just my words increased his need for me. “You don’t know all of me, Princess. Not yet.”
“I don’t care,” I said. “I want it all.”
He pushed his lips against mine, urgent and needy. Our lust had been let off the leash; I just couldn’t get enough of him. I pulled at him and he gripped me tighter. My hands went from his neck to his chest to his sides. I couldn’t decide where I should hold him, where I could feel enough of him, get enough of him.
He lifted me and I wrapped my legs around his waist, my arms around his neck, our lips never leaving each other’s, our tongues pushing and reaching as he walked across the living room.
His hands went to my hips, holding me as he encouraged me to unwrap my legs.
“Bend over, Grace,” he said, turning me so I faced the couch. I shivered and leaned over the black velvet arm, the fabric pressing against my warm skin, softly grazing my nipples.
Sam smoothed his palms up my spine, then down and over my ass. “Beautiful,” he whispered, then his touch left me. I pushed up on my hands and glanced over my shoulder. “Stay there,” he said from a few steps away. He crouched, rummaging in his pants pocket. I took the opportunity to admire his body, his hard thighs, the peaks and troughs of his arms where muscle overlapped muscle. He stood and walked toward me, his thick cock flat against his stomach. Jesus.
Strong was the only word to describe Sam Shaw. And it wasn’t just his body that earned that description. When he spoke, the way he walked—everything about him exuded strength. Like rock, hav
ing weathered a thousand years of the world, Sam was strong inside and out.
“Are you ready?” he asked, stroking his hand across my lower back.
Couldn’t he tell?
I opened my legs and turned my head so he couldn’t see my smile as he moaned. The crinkle of the condom wrapper delayed the feel of his cock at my entrance. I sagged, relieved he’d soon be inside me, hoped he’d cure this need I had.
“You want more of me?” he asked.
I nodded.
“Talk to me, Princess,” he said. “I want to hear it.”
“Yes,” I said, my voice small and desperate.
“Say it louder,” he bellowed.
“Please. I want you deeper. I want all of you deeper.”
He slammed into me and I slid against the velvet. He hooked his hand over my shoulder, driving me onto his cock. “That’s what you want, isn’t it?” He pulled out. “Tell me,” he said, his voice soft.
“Yes, I want it. Please, Sam.” What was he doing to me? This man had me begging for his dick. But as he drove into me again, my questions disappeared and I could only concentrate on the way he filled me up. I had no control over my body. The heat. The layers of pleasure that seemed to settle over me with every thrust. Sam gave me everything and I lay there, feeling like I could give him nothing in return.
His thighs pressed against mine as he continued to fuck me. His hands tugged and pulled at my waist, my hips, my neck. I was covered in him.
I wasn’t used to taking from a man. I was used to giving, to concentrating on making him happy, making sure he was getting what he needed. All I could think about was how good this felt. How perfect Sam made me feel.
He withdrew and I reached for him, but his hands left me, too. I snapped my head around, but before I had time to argue, he’d pulled me up and sat my ass on the back of the sofa. “That’s better. I can see your eyes,” he said, pushing into me again. His pace was less feverish this time, slow and steady and deliberate, as if he’d regained some control now that I’d admitted I wanted him.
He leaned forward and brushed his lips over mine before dipping to kiss my shoulder. His kiss turned to a bite as he increased his thrusts. I wasn’t sure I wouldn’t tip over the back of the sofa, but just as I became unsteady, he caught me, pushing us closer, his teeth sinking deeper and deeper. The pain heightened my pleasure and with his next push, my orgasm began to uncurl and my nails dug into his shoulder.
“Oh God, yes,” I cried.
His movements became jagged, and I pulled him toward me, wanting more of him, not ready for the peak of my climax to fade.
He let out a tremendous groan, thrusting sharply into me as his orgasm collided with mine. He brought his forehead back to mine, our breaths short and out of synch.
It was like he tore the pleasure out of me, then coated himself in it. As if our orgasms were symbiotic, joined.
One impossible without the other.
“I knew you’d look unbelievable naked against this couch,” he said as we lay side by side on the cushions, where he’d arranged us post orgasm.
I giggled. “Is that why you bought it?”
“Yeah, I think it was.”
I shivered. “Are you cold?” he asked, pulling us closer. I shook my head. I wasn’t. “I should have a blanket or something. You know, on the back of the cushions like you do in magazines.”
I grinned. “You don’t even have dining chairs—accessories are a second layer. You need the basics first.”
“Have you decided on what tattoo you’re going to get?” he asked.
My eyes widened. “Oh God.” I’d forgotten to look. “Where is it?” I tugged at his arm, twisting it so I could get a better look.
He stroked my chin with his thumb. “You’re very beautiful.”
“Where’s your tattoo?” I asked.
Without taking his eyes from mine, he lifted his arm toward the ceiling. I shifted up onto my elbow, scanning his skin.
“No, on my side,” he said.
Along his body were a few handwritten words. I pressed my fingers next to them and looked closer. “Wait and hope,” I read aloud and glanced up at him as he brought his arm down, hiding the marking once more. It was beautiful. The script was curly and pretty and seemed to decorate rather than defile him. Perhaps I could have a tattoo. I liked the way it hid under his arm waiting to be discovered, revealed just to people he decided he wanted to show it to. It made me feel special. I rarely took risks, but when I had, they seemed to pay off—the gallery, him … “What does that mean?” I asked.
“It’s from a book,” he said, cupping my face, distracting me from the ink. He kissed me on the nose. “There was something else I wanted to do to you on this couch.” He pushed himself up, sliding me to the edge of the sofa until I sat up. “Lie back,” he said. “I want to see that blonde hair spread across the cushions.” He pressed my thighs open with his palms and fixed his stare between my legs.
Maybe I should have been embarrassed, but I liked watching him watching me. He was so focused and intense. “Even your pussy is beautiful,” he said, glancing up and grinning at me as he pushed his hands up my thighs. “Your mouth …” He kissed me briefly on my lips, using just a whisper of his tongue. “Beautiful. This, here …” He trailed his tongue along my collarbone and I melted into the cushions behind me. “Is beautiful. It’s all …” He placed kisses down my chest, between my breasts and over my stomach. “Beautiful.” He paused and pulled back before his thumbs opened my lips. I lay before him as he spread me wide, and somehow it was okay to be so exposed to someone, to him at least. It felt right.
He nudged his tongue into my folds, then up toward my clit. My back arched in anticipation. The fire between us that had built during the auction reignited, as though it had only been temporarily quenched by that first orgasm. Sam moaned against my sex, the vibrations scattering across my body. My hands threaded into his hair, urging him on. I wanted more, wanted whatever he could give me. “Yes.” My voice came out breathy and begging as he licked and pressed his flattened tongue against my clit. Wetness trickled out of me. We were going to ruin his couch.
The softness of his tongue on my clit mixed with the rough of his stubble on my thighs was too much sensation. I jerked and he placed his large palm on my stomach to hold me in place. Two fingers began to circle my entrance. I wanted them deeper, needed him inside me.
He knew that if he gave me what I needed, I’d be gone, pushed over the edge immediately. He wanted to tease me a little longer.
“More,” I cried out. As if my plea was what he’d been waiting for, he thrust his fingers into me, his tongue rounding my clit. It was too much. I gripped his hair, suddenly wanting him to hold off, but he was relentless. The teasing was over and he was going to make me come with a vengeance. The realization stirred my orgasm. I had no control. My body was his. Sensation ran down my thighs and they began to shake. He flicked his tongue over my clitoris and I was gone. I released my grip on his hair, my hands falling to my side as my back arched and I came in a violent wave.
Panting, I watched as he grinned up at me. “You taste amazing.”
I could barely breathe.
I couldn’t tell him that no man had ever made me come with his tongue before. I couldn’t say that sex with him was so different to sex with any one of my other boyfriends it was like comparing ice and diamonds. He was everything I shouldn’t want—everything I’d spent my life rejecting and here I was, wanting him so badly I could barely breathe.
Chapter Eleven
Sam
Grace seemed to have a rule that she ignore me the first three times I called her. Which was why I was pulling up her number for the fourth time in forty-eight hours. I looked out of my office window and down below at the street. The yellow of the crush of cabs reminded me of the prints we’d bid on at the auction but lost. I hadn’t minded not getting them even though I liked them. I’d just enjoyed being with Grace.
After the auction, the s
ex, the way I told her she owed me a tattoo, she’d left. And I’d wanted to ask her to stay but I couldn’t quite find the right words—a good reason. I’d spent the last two days trying to find an excuse to call her. She’d mentioned something about an exhibition she thought I might be interested in and I wanted to know more. About the exhibition. About her.
“Sam,” she answered.
“Come to my office at twelve,” I said, looking south across the buildings. Was she at the gallery? What was she wearing? Was her hair up or down? I liked the way some escaped when she wore it up. I wanted to see her.
“I’m busy,” she said, but I heard the grin in her voice. She didn’t hate the idea.
“Then unbusy yourself and come to my office at twelve.” I was supposed to have a lunch, but I could cancel. “I want your thoughts on dining tables.”
I needed another place to fuck her. A dining table would do nicely.
“I haven’t said yes to the tattoo,” she replied.
“You will,” I said. “I expect you here at twelve sharp.” I hung up.
I’d never had any difficulty walking away from women I’d had sex with. I knew it was better for them, and for me. I had no need to create emotional ties. But with Grace, I just couldn’t keep away. If I hadn’t called her, insisted on hiring her, I was pretty sure she wouldn’t have gotten in touch with me. She’d have made it easy for us to part ways.
Maybe that was why I was chasing after her like a teenage boy.
I busied myself, trying to get enough work done so that I didn’t have to come back to the office this afternoon, after I’d taken Grace to get her tattoo. Wanting to prove to myself that it was possible to spend an hour not thinking about Grace Astor.
At twelve fifteen my fingers hovered over the buttons on my phone. Should I call and make sure Grace was coming? I looked up at the knock on my office door as my assistant came through, followed by Grace. I stood up to greet Grace but she didn’t look at me. Her eyes were everywhere but on me, taking in my office, Rosemary, everything.