Still. She was too damn skinny. Shadowy-eyed. All muscle and rib and hollows under her cheekbones. And that bluish network of veins showing at her temples didn’t look right. Someone should sound her out, see if she was OK. Maybe he’d get Margot or Erin to do it. Call him gutless, but he knew when he was out of his depth.
Liv made no sound behind him as she padded barefoot up the long staircase and followed him down the maze of corridors and clusters of dim rooms that led to the north tower. “Wow,” she murmured, looking around herself. “This place is incredible. She lives here alone?”
He snorted. “Can you imagine anybody living with Tam?”
“Uh, no, actually. She’s intense.”
“Tell me about it. And this is the way she treats the people she really likes, too. Just imagine how it would be if she hated your guts.”
She snorted. “Thanks, but I’d rather not.”
They started up the spiral staircase of the tower. Liv stopped at every landing, gasping at the view. The tower had to be architecturally camo’ed too. Cool. Even the princess, who had grown up in multiple luxury homes, appreciated Tam’s super-duper lair.
He himself, who’d had only a nodding acquaintance with indoor plumbing for his entire childhood, had been staggered by it.
Not that he was bad off, money-wise. He was doing just fine. His big condo had all the comforts of life. It was all a matter of degree.
The north tower was a tall octagonal room as big as an apartment in itself. Moonlight streamed in the horizontal diamond shaped windows. A spiral staircase led up to an airy sleeping loft above.
He flipped on a wall sconce lamp that gently lit the downstairs, showing blond wood paneling, the nubbly beige rug, plush off-white couches and chairs grouped around a huge entertainment console, the fully stocked bar. One side of the octagon was a kitchen and a dining area.
Liv spun, open-mouthed. “This is her guest room?”
“One of many.” Sean set the box down. “The east tower is Tam’s workroom, but there’s the west and the south towers, and lots of other rooms.” He pulled the lid off the box, and started reading off the labels on each package of food as he pulled it out. “Chicken sesame. Grilled salmon. Fresh pork roast. Filet mignon. Braised greens with vinegar and bacon. Greek salad, potato salad, taboulleh, sourdough rolls, asparagus quiche, roasted artichokes, stuffed three-cheese mushrooms, chocolate ganache, and fresh nectarines, honeydew and pineapple. And ah, Tam.” He pulled out a six-pack of his favorite beer. “I can almost find it in my heart to forgive her for the tetanus shot.”
“She’s just like you described.” Liv peeled open the chicken and sniffed with delight. “Everything she says puts you at a disadvantage.”
“True, but she kicks serious ass in a gunfight.” Sean pulled out a chair for her, popped open two beers and pulled the plates out of the box. “Come on, babe. Let’s pig out like there’s no tomorrow.”
They went at it, making wordless, appreciative noises from time to time in place of dinner conversation.
Halfway through, Liv paused for a breather. “Other than the crackers and sardines, this is the first food I’ve eaten in two days. And I’m not the type who voluntarily goes without eating. On the contrary.”
“Good,” he said. “Nobody should.”
“After looking at Tam, I want to eat bread and water for ten days.”
He blinked at her, perplexed. “You’ve got to be kidding. Why?”
She lifted her shoulders, eyes sliding away. Her face reddened with embarrassment. “She has such an amazing figure,” she mumbled.
He stared, incredulous. Liv was his gold standard for female perfection. Every rosy, luscious feminine detail, right down to the shape of her little pink toenails. He lifted his beer, a silent toast to voluptuous womanly bodies. “Bon appetit,” he said simply. “You are stunning exactly the way you are. I would not want you any thinner. I am dead serious. I do not like stringiness, or bones that stick out. I like you.”
“Hmph. It’s very nice of you to say so,” she murmured.
She didn’t believe him. He felt suddenly desperate to make her understand. “I’m serious,” he protested. “I like your body. It’s ripe and juicy. I love those big, soft tits that fill up my hands. I love the way they move. I love your soft, sweet kissable white thighs. I love those cute dimples in your knees. All of it. Tam’s got nothing on you, babe.”
“Oh, don’t even,” she snapped.
“Really. She’s a fine-looking woman, sure, but she’s too goddamn skinny. It worries me. She should see a doctor, drink some Ovaltine, stop smoking, I don’t know. And she’s not my type, sexually. It’s like she’s made out of stainless steel. Steel doesn’t turn me on. Neither does fighting a duel to the death every goddamn second. It’s fun for a while, sure, but it’s exhausting. I’m a lover, not a fighter, you know? I like cuddling, tickling, hugging. Who could cuddle with Tam?”
“I see your point.” A cautious smile dawned in her eyes.
He followed up on his advantage rapidly. “I’d rather dance with a beautiful woman than spar with her. And I want to dance with you.” He emphasized his point by leaning over the table with a forkful of night-dark chocolate ganache torte poised on the end of his fork.
She accepted it, and made a low, approving sound that he felt all the way down his back, like a warm tongue licking him. “I just want to fall on you,” he confessed. “Just grab you and lick you and nuzzle you. You’re so sweet and soft and luscious. I love grabbing that round, rosy ass. I love kissing your tits. And that tight, slick little—”
“Stop.” Her voice rang with royal command. “This is not dinner conversation. I want to concentrate on my meal, thank you very much.”
He subsided. They finished their dinner in charged silence.
They leaned back in their chairs afterwards, shy and silent. The lavish luxury was more inhibiting than the sleazy hotel room.
He couldn’t stop staring. Her eyes shied away, but he knew she was conscious of his eyes on her, as he stared at her profile.
She was more beautiful grown up, he concluded. Her features had come into perfect focus. So elegant and fine. He shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “You’re cute in that T-shirt,” he ventured.
Liv giggled again. “Tell me a better one.”
“OK,” he said easily. “You look better without it. Take it off.”
Her expression went wary, but he sensed the energy beginning to hum. She was tired, wiped out…but tempted.
“You have got to be kidding.” Her voice was crisp and austere. “I’ve had more sex in the last twenty-four hours than I’ve had in the last three years of my life combined. Don’t expect me to start working off that forty-eight-hundred-dollars-a-day bill tonight, buddy. I need sleep.”
He gave her his best, seductive bad boy smile. She made a huffing sound and got to her feet, tossing her hair back. She marched to the bathroom, disappeared inside. The oversexed gorilla inside him who never knew when to give it a rest got up and followed her.
He was helpless to stop himself. How could he? He had a massive crush on the princess. He’d been cooked since he laid eyes on her. Fuck the forty-eight hundred a day. He’d pay good money to be her bodyguard, lady’s maid, masseur, stylist, comedian, sex slave. Hell, he’d even iron. He liked his own shirts crisp and nice, so he wasn’t half bad at it. Though it was a skill he knew better than to brag about.
But he would iron Liv’s underwear for an excuse to stay close to her. Carry her bags, shine her shoes, suck her toes. Lick her pussy.
Just looking at her nipples pressing against the thin, cheap white cotton of the T-shirt made his palms sweat. It occurred to him that, what with one thing and another, in the past two days, he hadn’t seen her wearing any sort of restraining device on those tits yet. He’d only seen them swaying and bouncing, au naturel. Awesome.
If she were a different woman, he would think she was doing it on purpose to drive him mad with lust. Not that it mattered, on p
urpose or not. The mad lust result was exactly the same, either way.
He wanted to dig his fingers into that cloud of hair, lift it up and stare at the graceful line of her neck. He wanted her to turn those big, gray eyes on him. Let go and fall into them, sploosh, like falling into deep water from a great height. Plunging into a mysterious otherworld.
He wanted to see everything from her point of view. Find out what she thought about everything. Get inside her mind. It pulled at him, like a tractor beam. He leaned against the door, listening. Water running, toilet flushing. Was it kinky to listen through a door? He supposed it was. Too bad. He was too far gone to care.
The door opened, suddenly, and she squeaked when she found him standing there. She was still dabbing at her face with a towel, damp and soft, the hairs around her face and ears wet and clinging to her face. She smelled like honeysuckle and peppermint. Her jeans were draped over her arm, her underwear washed out and draped over the shower stall. So she was bare-assed, under that flapping T-shirt.
His boner went from hopeful half-mast to full, urgent salute.
“What are you doing, lurking out here?” she demanded.
He told her the blunt truth. “I can’t stay away from you.”
Her beautiful eyes narrowed to slits. She turned away, stomped towards the staircase. He followed like a hound, two paces behind.
She turned around at the foot of the stairs and gestured sharply for him to go up first. “I’m not letting you climb a flight of stairs behind me while you’ve got that look on your face,” she said.
“Sure, babe. Grab my ass all you want.” He started up the stairs, wagging his tush, and was rewarded by a smothered burst of laughter.
“I’m serious,” she said. “No sex tonight.”
He stripped off his shirt, stretching and flexing and showing off until he heard that giggling snort again. “I promise, I won’t jump you,” he said. “But I won’t promise that I won’t talk you into jumping me.”
“Don’t hold your breath.” She marched around the big, king-sized bed, yanked back the maroon chenille coverlet, and slid between the sheets, tucking the coverlet up under her chin. “I am resting.”
He undid his jeans, kicked them off, and lay down naked on the bed, his dick high and thick and throbbing purple against his belly.
“Sure. Just pretend there isn’t a naked man in bed next to you with a huge, aching hard-on from watching your tits bounce all day.”
“You had plenty of opportunity to slake your lust. A normal man would be in a coma from the amount of sex we had.”
“I’m not normal,” he said.
“I noticed that,” she retorted. “Maybe you should see a doctor.”
“I can think of a quicker, yummier solution.”
Her eyes flicked down to his cock. He stroked it for her benefit, with a rough, careless jerk of his fist. Inciting the beast.
She rolled onto her belly and buried her face in the pillow. “I am ignoring you,” she informed him, her voice muffled. “Good night, Sean.”
“Go ahead.” He slid between the sheets. “It won’t stop me from dreaming. Fantasizing. Like I’ve been doing for fifteen years now.”
Her head popped up at that. “Oh, really?” she asked. “Like you’ve had the time to fantasize about me, what with the psycho billionaires and terrorists and mad scientists and evil warlords, and bullets flying? To say nothing of the hordes of women parading through your bed.”
“You’re still way up top, when it comes to my fantasy life,” he told her solemnly. “Remember that day in the historic collection room?”
She made a muffled sound he couldn’t decipher. He decided to take it as assent. “All I have to do is crack the spine of an old book, and I’m back there,” he said dreamily. “Stone hard. With my fingers in your tight, hot, juicy cunt. Feeling you come.”
She ignored him.
“The harder I pushed, the hotter you got.”
She pushed her face back into the pillow.
“You used to get so red when I whispered sexy stuff in your ear.” His voice lowered to a silky soft croon. “Turn around, Liv. Let me see your face. Look at me. Are you getting pink yet?”
She shook her head violently, face still hidden. “Not in the least.”
“I bet nobody had ever talked dirty to the virgin princess before that, huh? But I’ve been able to keep my mouth shut to save my life.”
“That’s for damn sure.” The words were muffled, but the note of quivering laughter reassured him. He pushed hopefully on.
“Remember how I used to talk to you on the phone? I always told you to touch yourself while I did, and you always told me no, no, no, you wouldn’t. No, no, no, you couldn’t. But I think, maybe…just maybe you were lying to me.” He paused. “Were you?”
She didn’t speak. A triumphant grin wrapped itself around his face. He tried to curb it. It was too soon to get cocky and over-confident.
“I thought so,” he went on. “It was torture. All alone in a public phone booth, people all around me, so I couldn’t even grab my dick. Imagining you in your lacy, virginal bed. Those soft white thighs, open wide. Holding the phone with your shoulder while I described exactly how I wanted to touch you, lick you, suck you. Put my cock into you.”
She wiggled, restlessly, beneath the coverlet. He edged closer.
“I imagined your hand in your panties,” he went on. “Touching yourself til your pussy was hot and puffy and slick. It was agonizing.”
She nodded, her face still hidden.
“Tell me something, baby. Did you ever put your finger into your pussy and imagine that it was me?”
She looked up through a tangled veil of hair, a gleam of reluctant laughter in her eyes. “Duh.”
“Yeah? Really?” He edged closer still, so that he could sniff that honeysuckle smell. “Can I ask you an incredibly personal question?”
She shook with helpless giggles. “Like the last one wasn’t?”
He ignored that, intent upon his own curiosity. “Did you ever, ah, use a dildo when you thought of me?”
She hesitated. “None of your business,” she said primly.
He studied her hot pink cheeks, her averted eyes. “I’ll take that as a yes,” he murmured. “Wow. That blows my mind, babe. I just can’t picture you going into a sex shop and buying a—”
“I did nothing of the kind,” she snapped. “It was a gag gift. From my girlfriends. We threw a renewed virginity party for me once. To celebrate a full year of celibacy.”
He winced, at the very concept. A year? Ouch.
“We got toasted on frozen daiquiris, ate erotic pastries and trashed all the men we’d ever known,” she said. “You were included, I’ll have you know. After my third daiquiri, I went on and on about you.”
“I’m honored to have been included,” he said gravely. “So, uh, does it vibrate?”
She shook with silent laughter. “Of course it vibrates. You dork.”
His eyes were wide with fascination. “Whoa. And did you use it?”
“Certainly I used it,” she said tartly. “I hadn’t had sex for ages.”
He tried to wrap his mind around that for a while, and ended up squeezing a restraining fist around his cock, doing some deep breathing and muscle control to keep from coming then and there. The idea of Liv playing with a vibrating sex toy made beads of sweat spring out on his forehead. He couldn’t stop himself from asking. “How do I measure up?”
“To the dildo?” She let out a crack of laughter. “Oh, please. It’s much smaller than you, don’t worry. Less problematic, too.”
“Less problematic?” He scowled. “What the hell does that mean?”
She snorted. “It means that when I’m done, I switch it off, wash it with soap and water and put it back in its box. It doesn’t follow me around, and manipulate me into endless marathon sex sessions.”
“Mmm.” He did the deep breathing trick again, tightening all the muscles in his groin, his fist squeezing h
is aching cock. “Princess? If we get through this, when things calm down…can we play with it?”
She was startled into another burst of laughter. “Why on earth? Like the one you’ve got on your body isn’t enough for me to deal with!”
“I want to watch you use it on yourself,” he confessed. “The very idea makes me practically explode all over the sheets.”
She grunted. “Oh, please. What doesn’t have that effect on you, Sean?”
“Aw. That’s not fair.” He flopped down onto the pillow. “I just go nuts at the idea of you pleasuring yourself. You’re so sexy.”
“Oh, stop. Don’t overdo it.”
He nuzzled her hair, lifting it up to see the bright red color of her cheeks. It was working. “Sweetheart?” he asked softly. “Do you want to touch yourself now?”
She let out a shuddering sigh, and shook her head.
“It doesn’t mean that you have to have sex with me,” he coaxed. “It doesn’t mean that I won and you lost. It’s just pleasure. I want you to have it. I love it when you’re pleased. I love it when you take a bite of chocolate, when you laugh, when you come. It makes me happy.”
She shifted under the covers, and he felt her yielding as he cuddled closer and draped his arm over her tense, trembling back.
“Do it. Put your hand between your legs,” he urged, his voice a velvety caress against her neck. “I can’t even see you. It’s all under the covers. All secret, all hidden. Just do it. Give that pleasure to yourself.”
It took her a long time to struggle towards her climax. He loved holding her, tuning in, feeling the tension as she strove for completion, but it was torture to feel that sexual energy vibrating through her beautiful body, and remain outside. Waiting patiently.
She finally got there. Pleasure jolted and shuddered through her body, and knifed right through his own, by reflex. It made him gasp.
Every time, he made the same mistake, made it worse, took it further. Every time he fucked her, his seductive bullshit backfired on him, pulling him deeper and deeper into a vortex he’d created himself.
Edge Of Midnight (The Mccloud Series Book 4) Page 24