by Naima Simone
And this beer must have crack in it, he sneered, tipping the bottle to glare into its depths.
“Hey,” a soft voice called out of the darkness. “Couldn’t sleep?”
Fuck me. “No,” he said, lowering his beer, fixating on the woman who glided in the room with the grace of a dancer and the seductiveness of a porn star. Moonlight streamed over her golden limbs, casting them in marble as she passed through.
Three.
The number flashed in his frontal lobe like a bright matinee sign as her gaze flickered over his bare chest and lingered.
Three. The number of clothing items he’d have to drag from his and her body before he could be balls deep inside her. His jeans, her tank and brief sleep shorts. Four, if she wore underwear. Because the hard points of her nipples and unfettered bounce of her breasts assured him she didn’t have on a bra.
She was trying to kill him.
“Me, neither.” She settled into the big armchair next to him and curled her legs under her hips.
“Nightmares?” The thought curdled his gut. To know she’d been shivering in her bed, alone, afraid and tormented, cut him up inside.
“No. Can I have some of that?” She nodded toward the bottle in his hand. He levered off the couch and handed her the drink. “Thanks. But no, no nightmares because I haven’t been to sleep yet. I couldn’t.”
She tipped the bottle to her mouth and drank deeply. Behind his zipper, his shaft thickened, lengthened. And not just because the sexy purse of her lips covered the narrow opening. Too easily he could imagine parting that pretty pout with his dick. Slowly piercing it with the head first, then feeding her his length inch by torturous inch. His flesh throbbed, demanding to make that vision a reality. But the other reason behind his zipper nearly tattooing his erection was the intimacy of her mouth covering the same area his had just touched. Like a kiss. When he recovered the beer, maybe he’d taste her.
“Do you know what I was thinking about?”
He loosed a strained bark of laughter. “I’m afraid to ask. I can’t predict what will come out of your mouth.”
She didn’t chuckle or toss back a wisecrack like he’d expected. Instead, she set the beer on the table and pinned him with an unwavering scrutiny.
“I was lying in bed thinking, we’re really not going to talk about what happened last night. We’re going to be all civilized and pretend a screaming orgasm on my piano didn’t happen.”
He couldn’t move. Need had him trapped in a vise grip that didn’t permit movement or breathing.
“Afterward, even as you held me, I knew you weren’t going to be there when I woke up. What I don’t know—and want to—is why. Three times you’ve left. In my kitchen, the night after the photos came. After you kissed me. And last night. Why do you walk away from me? And,” her voice dipped, softened. “Why am I so easy to walk away from?”
He should lie—lying was easier.
Simpler.
Safer.
It would keep him on shaky but familiar ground, whereas the truth would have him plummeting into an abyss called Loss of Control. Yeah, lie. Lie and this clawing hunger for her might drive him a little more insane but he—his heart, his life—would remain safe.
“Because I can’t be numb with you,” he confessed, shocking himself and her. She straightened, blinked. “I can’t fuck you and feel nothing.”
Silence followed his bald confession, resonating louder and louder with each second it was almost deafening. How screwed up did his reason sound to her? What kind of man admitted he didn’t have sex with women unless no emotions were involved? It made him come across as a selfish prick.
He heaved a sigh, thrusting his fingers through his hair. “Listen—”
“You told me you would be using me for forgetfulness. Oblivion.” She didn’t wait for him to confirm or try and pretty up the raw truth. “I get that, you know? Remember I said playing the piano allowed me to escape? To find a little peace in the chaos? I get it. We all need a place to disappear to where we’re not hounded by other people, the world—ourselves. I get it,” she repeated.
“Aslyn,” he murmured.
“I can be that for you,” she interrupted. Stealing the words and air from his throat. He froze. “I can be that place for you—I want to be that place for you. Even if only for one night. You could find oblivion and peace in my bed. My arms. My…body.”
“Jesus Christ, Aslyn,” he breathed.
“And afterward, I’d hold you. Whatever has you out here in the middle of the night sitting in the darkness wouldn’t find you in my bed. You could sleep, and I would watch over you, beat back the demons. Even if only for a little while.”
The demons? He stared at her. Detected the knowledge in her eyes. Inside, he cringed. He didn’t need or want a pity fuck, damn it. Hell no hovered on his tongue, the rejection hot and bitter. He parted his lips, but then he looked again. Really looked. No fear shadowed those silver eyes. Desire. Vulnerability. Determination. But no fear.
Disbelief and fear warred with the voracious greed demanding he accept her offer. He could lose himself in her. Drown in the ecstasy of finally being buried inside her. Take. Take and forget everything but the pleasure of skin on skin, of being surrounded by her legs, arms, and pussy.
And afterward, I’d hold you…beat back the demons. Even if only for a little while.
He closed his eyes. She couldn’t comprehend how that offer tempted him the most. Seduced him more than the fantasy of tasting, touching, and fucking her ever could.
She couldn’t know. But he did. And he couldn’t accept her offer—her gift. When daylight came, when reality intruded, he would still be damaged goods with nothing to give her. In spite of her belief, Aslyn wasn’t the kind of woman who could casually indulge in a few sexual encounters. She was too passionate, too sweet, her heart too big and open. Before long she would realize she’d surrendered her body to him, and he had taken even while acknowledging the things she would require—trust, honesty, intimacy—were impossibilities.
Soft palms cupped his shoulders moments before her honey-and-sugar scent enveloped him, and her weight settled over his legs. He stiffened, his body rocketing to full alert. Shit. What did she think he was made of? Titanium? His chivalrous streak would only uphold if she maintained her distance. If he didn’t have to touch her, smell her… He grabbed her hips, prepared to gently, but firmly lift her off him. But, as if she’d anticipated that reaction, she tightened her thighs around his, locking herself into place on his lap. Shifting her hold from his shoulders to his face, she cradled his cheeks between her palms and tilted his head back.
“I love how you touch me,” she whispered. “How you know just where to put your hands, your mouth as if we’ve been together before countless times.” She brushed her thumbs over his lips. “And, for the record, I object to the term ‘using’ me. Not because it demeans me, but because it degrades you. It implies you don’t have more to offer than this sexy, work-of-art body. When you do. Already you’ve given me pleasure and a safe haven to explore and experience it. You’ve boosted my confidence in my femininity. Because of you, I believe I can trust a man with my desire and passions, and he won’t use them against me.” She stroked her mouth over his. “I’m not asking for forever. Or promises. Just you.”
Her words sliced through the tenuous leash on his control. A sensory snap resonated through him, and he erupted. He gripped her ass in both hands, leaped from the couch, and nudging the coffee table out of the way, bore her to the floor.
Go easy. Be gentle.
The admonishments ghosted through his mind underneath the almost blinding lust. He tried—damn it, he tried. But as he fisted her fiery strands and crashed his mouth over hers, he acknowledged his failure. He feasted on her. Devoured her. And couldn’t get enough. Her lips immediately parted for the thrust of his tongue. God, she was sweet. Both her taste and how she so eagerly and willingly took him.
He crushed his body to hers—chest to chest, h
ips to hips, her slender thighs spread wide around him.
Closer. Need to get closer.
He ground his cock against the soft pad of her sex, eliciting a low moan from her throat. Hell yeah. He clenched his teeth against the pleasure. Wrenching his mouth free, he dipped his head and dragged the flat of his tongue up the slender column from where the rough, hungry groan originated.
“I love that sound coming from you,” he growled, rocking against her again. And again. The only thing preventing him from being inside her, from pushing deep inside her, was his jeans and her pajama shorts. She bucked beneath him, meeting him halfway. Rolling her cloth-covered flesh down his dick.
“I swear I can feel your pussy, so wet and hot, through these damn clothes.” Nipping her neck one last time, he lowered, raking his teeth over her collarbone to the top of her breast. “Not enough, baby. Nowhere near enough.”
With a whimper, she captured his mouth, thrust her tongue between his lips and tasted him. “God, I love how you talk to me,” she whispered against his lips. “How you don’t hold back but speak to me from real, genuine need and hunger. The words aren’t flowery. At first I thought they were a barrier, like the first time you talked to me that way but, no. They’re raw, honest. Like you. I love that you put my pleasure first like I matter.”
Groaning, he snagged the skinny straps of her tank and yanked the top down, baring her breasts to his greedy stare. He shuddered, his breath ragged, harsh.
“Gorgeous. So damn gorgeous.” He stroked the back of his finger down the side of the right mound, his knuckle nudging the hard peak. He’d wondered about the color of her nipples, and now he had up-close-and-personal confirmation. Pale gold skin crowned with light brown tips. Honey and brown sugar. And he possessed a sudden sweet tooth only she could satisfy.
Bending his head, he opened his mouth over her breast and coiled his tongue around the dusky nipple. He tugged. Lapped. Sucked. Fantasy come to life right in his arms, under his lips. He released her with a soft pop, but couldn’t stay away. The engorged tip had darkened in color, agitated by his hard pulls and stroking. He brushed his lips over the nub. Teased it with the edge of his teeth.
“Please,” Aslyn pleaded, grasping his head and holding him to her chest. Blunt fingernails grazed his scalp, and he closed his eyes, savoring the small sting. “Please don’t stop. I didn’t… That’s never—”
She didn’t finish. He pinched the damp tip, rolled it between his fingers, and her confession abruptly ended in a rough cry. She writhed beneath him, arching into his touch, offering him full access to her sweat-dampened breasts.
“That’s never what?” He switched to the neglected peak. Sucked it hard and deep. Another cry rang in his ears. “Never what, Aslyn?”
“Never felt…like this,” she panted. “Oh my God, it hurts. Chay, make it stop hurting.” She twisted, her grip on his hair tightening.
“I have you, baby,” he promised. Ignoring her wailing denial, he slid down her torso, forging a damp trail over her soft belly, stopping only momentarily to swirl a caress over her navel before continuing south.
Curling his fingers in the band of her shorts, he tugged the pajamas over her hips, swept them down her legs, and tossed them aside. Leaving her bare, wet, and swollen. Palming her inner thighs, he spread her wide and open to his gaze. He couldn’t contain the growl that rumbled up and out of him. Didn’t care that he probably resembled a hungry beast stalking its prey, measuring how it would be taken down.
He circled her wrists, removed her grip from his hair, and pressed her hands to the floor, next to her hips.
“Don’t move them,” he ordered.
He waited until she frantically nodded her agreement then wedged his shoulders underneath her legs. He inhaled deep, his eyes seeming to close of their own accord. Her musky scent—distilled, heavy, and fresh at the center of her body—embraced him, surrounded him. He’d just been here last night, but he could have his tongue buried in her hot center a hundred—thousand—times, and it wouldn’t be enough. With just one taste, she’d enslaved him, made him an addict.
Thumbs holding her glistening, swollen folds apart, he licked a slow path up her slit, curled his tongue around the pulsing clit peeking from beneath its fleshy hood. Aslyn screamed and clutched his head.
“Hands down, baby,” he reminded her, planting a kiss to her trembling thigh.
“Chay, please—”
“You want to come?” he asked, his voice harsher than he intended. But lust rode him hard, tearing at his gut like grasping claws. “I can stay here all night and never finish you. So if you want to come down my throat, put. Your hands. Down,” he ground out.
Slowly, she returned them next to her hips.
“I want to touch you,” she whispered, the note of hurt impossible to miss.
Hell no. If her soft musician hands caressed him now when his flesh throbbed with each breath he inhaled and his insides twisted in need, this would be over before it’d barely begun. And she deserved more than a quick bang on the living room floor of a safe house.
“Baby, if I let you touch me, I will be inside you before you blink. I’m not ready for this to be over so quickly. Yeah, I want to be inside you, but first I want you to shiver around my fingers. Come into my mouth. Can you do that for me?”
“Yes,” she agreed, a shudder rippling over her body. “Yes.”
“Good girl.” He lowered his head, licked the nub at the top of her sex. “That’s good.”
Then commenced to feast on her.
No inch of her flesh was neglected. Her pink, puffy folds. Her engorged clit. Her spasming core. He thrust two fingers inside her sheath, gritting his teeth at how tight and strong her internal walls gripped him. Milked him. Hissing a sharp breath, he latched onto her clit, sucked.
And she came apart. Her sex clutched at his fingers, the nerve-packed bundle jerking under the lash of his tongue. Her cries fell around him, echoed in the room like the most beautiful, magical aria. She—her body—sang for him.
With suddenly uncoordinated hands, he pulled at the button of his jeans, wrenched down the zipper. His erection ached and pounded in tune with his every heartbeat. Get inside her. Pound inside her. Fuck her. The primal part of him had taken over, speaking in short, raw demands. As he shoved the denim down under his ass, air kissed his cock head where pre-cum pearled on the small slit. Inside. His internal caveman dialogue continued, and he fisted his dick, squeezing. Get inside…
“Shit,” he snapped. He dropped his chin and his hand from his cock. “Damn it,” he swore once more, fiercely and hotly. He narrowed his eyes and studied her swollen sex, her full breasts, and finally her passion-glazed stare. “Condom.”
He didn’t have one in his pocket, not counting on having sex with Aslyn tonight or any other night.
“No,” she murmured, reaching for him before lowering her hand back to the floor. “It’s been…a while since I’ve had sex. I’m clean and am on the pill.”
Even as he shook his head he asked, “What’s ‘a while,’ Aslyn?”
Recalling the saran wrap clasp of her sex, he wasn’t surprised. The surge of primitive possessiveness that surged within him, on the other hand, shocked the shit out of him.
Her lashes lowered. “Four years.”
The confession punched him in the gut. Four years? Jesus, she was a gorgeous, sexy-as-hell, vibrant twenty-five-year-old woman. No man had pursued her, perceived her worthy of being wooed and won? What the fuck kind of idiots surrounded her?
Slim hands fluttered and covered her breasts. Get your head out of your ass, a voice snarled. She’d obviously interpreted his stunned silence as condemnation.
“Good,” he stated, a wealth of meaning contained in the one word. Good no other man had possessed the balls to approach her and claim her as his own. Good he was the only man she’d allowed to touch her in the last few years. Just…fucking good.
But she’d only cemented his determination not to take her without protectio
n. Not because he didn’t want it. Imagining her wet, viselike heat gripping his bare flesh almost stripped him of the scraps of civility he clung to. But she’d already given him so much tonight, that gift he refused to take.
Yes, he religiously used condoms and was regularly tested as part of the physicals he and Rafe demanded of all their employees. He was clean, but the intimacy she offered him—asked of him—he couldn’t steal from her. He’d done too much taking tonight; he drew the line here.
He clasped her wrists and drew her arms down, baring her chest for him once more.
“Be back.”
He bounded to his feet, yanking his jeans up around his hips, though leaving the denim unbuttoned and unzipped. He stalked to his room and sighted the overnight bag on the bed. As a matter of routine, he kept a duffel packed and stored in his SUV, but it’d been some time since he’d looked in the satchel. Praying he’d tossed protection in there, he pawed through the clothes and toiletries. His entreaty swerved on the sacrilegious side, but lust turned a man desperate.
“Thank God,” he muttered, his fingers closing around a small box of condoms. Tearing the box open, he extracted a couple and returned to the living room.
Aslyn hadn’t moved from the position he’d left her. By the time he knelt back between her thighs, he’d ripped the foil square open, shoved his pants down, and sheathed his dick in latex.
His world narrowed to focus solely on her.
The desire and traces of apprehension in her gray eyes. Her teeth sinking into her full bottom lip. The rapid rise and fall of her breasts with their hard, brown tips. The flushed, wet, plump folds of her sex. The tiny entrance to the heart of her.
Need—greedy, ravenous need—seized him. He cupped the back of her thighs, held her legs up and wide. Open. Arrowing his cock toward that small portal, he nudged it, pushed.
And entered heaven.