Unbidden Desires (Den of Sin Book 12)

by Mel Blue

  Giving herself no more excuses to stand out in the garden with him, she started to walk. His hand shifted and curved into the hollow of her back. No. He hadn’t let her jacket go. She was done, but apparently he wasn’t.

  When they were closer to the main building, his hand turned into a guide like the night before. “Zora,” he said in a coaxing tone.

  She stopped and closed her eyes. To be fair and honest, the tone wasn’t really coaxing. Every time he spoke, she felt like he was talking her into something she didn’t entirely believe in. Alastair was the epitome of everything she hated in her profession. He was the vulture who sat outside a grieving widow’s home to be the first to get her statement. Still, she respected him. As a man he was honest to a fault and sometimes she could almost feel his broken pieces. Something had broken him; that much she knew. A journalist didn’t get his kind of ambition without it. Jackasses weren’t supposed to be complicated with many facets, but he was.

  She lost patience with him and herself and let it show in her voice. “What?”

  He turned her around so she’d face him. He lifted her chin with his forefinger. “Why is it so hard to believe I’m here just for sex?”

  Zora didn’t hesitate to answer him. “Say ’fuck me.’”

  His head snapped back as though she hit him. “Excuse me?”

  “Just say it.”

  His brows rose but he said, “Fuck me?”

  She’d braced herself and still those two words hit her. They made her wet. They made her hate herself for the reaction, but that didn’t negate it. “That’s all you have to do. Those words are crude. It makes you one of the worse stereotypical men who believe a woman is only good for one thing. With your looks, your voice, your accent…everything about you, that’s all you have to do. Especially last night. Here. So forgive me if I think you’re full of shit.”

  His hand tightened on her arms. She backed up, scared of the dark, twisty lust that had filled his gaze. Her back hit a solid wall. She glanced up. He’d taken them to an alcove on the very outskirts of the building.

  Alastair lowered his head. “Fuck me,” he demanded in a raspy tone.

  Zora had handed him a weapon and he hit her over the head with it. She swallowed. “You get the gist.”

  He shook his head. “The words are not working.”

  “I’m immune,” she lied.

  “Then tell me what works.” Frustration spilled out of him.

  The cold air felt thick around them. Something in his demeanor broke through her stubbornness. He wasn’t pushing her to see how far she’d let things go. He wasn’t pretending to want her. This charged moment was very real.

  “I don’t want anything you do to work,” she said it for them both, hoping her words would end this exchange.

  “I gave you fair warning.” He placed a hand near her head and leaned in. “So ask the hard question, love.”

  Her eyes widened. “I didn’t stand in your way.”

  “Ask.”

  The answer was right there on his face, in the way he leaned into her, trapping her against the building. Even last night she’d noticed the shift but refused to dwell on it. When he had first forcibly escorted her out of the ballroom, his cock hadn’t been hard. Sex with her had been the last thing on his mind, but sometime between closing the media room’s door and caging her against the couch, something had changed.

  Ignoring it hadn’t made it go away. Didn’t matter if they left the hotel now, this attraction would live between them. He’d be an email away. A constant temptation, needling her like an itch.

  “Why did you go back to your room?” she asked.

  His attention dropped to her breasts. “It was the dress.” He flicked her zipper with the tip of his finger as though annoyed at it and then he pulled it down. “I’d only seen you once before. You had on this professional dress suit with a sky-blue blouse. I liked it but with the way you reamed me. I didn’t entirely appreciate the way it hugged your breasts.”

  He closed his eyes and his jaw flexed before he added, “I could have spent the rest of my days, happily, without knowing the way you smelled.” His voice lowered. “You smell like something I should eat. Again and again until all I can taste is you.”

  “Stop talking like this.” Much to her surprise anger sparked in her chest.

  She was more than okay with thinking of him as a bastard first and handsome second, but the tense lines that etched along his mouth and eyes highlighted every rugged and masculine slope to his face. He desired her and from the pissed off way he pushed back the lapels of her jacket, the emotion wasn’t welcomed.

  “Alastair, what are you doing?”

  He scoffed. “I don’t know.” He balled his hands and used them to lean against the wall.

  The position was problematic because now he’d trapped her between him and the building. Zora looked around for salvation, but everyone sane or even horny was inside. Or had started to leave the hotel since it was officially the last day. They were alone.

  The realization drew a trail of desire down her spine. Her fingers and toes tingled for a different reason now. Hell, when had the heat of him warmed her down to the bone?

  “This is dumb,” she said but her hand was already moving to brush along his jaw line.

  His Adam’s apple bobbed, and he shook his head, his breathing labored. “Don’t touch me.”

  She couldn’t help it. Last night, before she’d gone to bed, she imagined a different outcome in the media room. When he had gripped her hair, he’d have brought his mouth down onto hers. Zora would have gotten to know what his tux had so beautifully outlined—his shoulders, his legs, his dick. She would have let her fingers play over the gold details on his mask because for the night he would have been her secret lover. A Roman god who had spread her wide and fucked her deep.

  She pulled her hand back and noticed her breathing matched his. What they shouldn’t feel had nothing to do with their current reality. She tore off her gloves, and when she reached for him again, she buried her hands in his silken strands. Maybe if he had made some sound of disagreement, tugged back—anything—she might have stopped herself from kissing him back, but Alastair’s body slammed hers harder against the building.

  What they did next she couldn’t call kissing. That word was reserved for lovemaking, caresses and soft sighs between lovers. They devoured each other, hungrily and without any intent to repent about it later.

  He bit into her lower lip and then ate her moans. A flash flood of sensations coursed through her. Dully, she realized his hands clawed at her—squeezing, gripping, kneading all the soft parts of her. Her own hands had found a way beneath his shirt and she scraped her nails down his back. He arched into the pain and grunted out his pleasure.

  Without words they communicated so much more than they ever had before. Her brain had shut down to all else but his mouth on hers, his teeth nipping at her neck, and then the high curve of her breasts as he yanked her shirt to better expose her. He’d only freed one breast in his hurry. His mouth was wet and hot as he took her nipple between his lips and tongued it.

  Her heart pounded like a raw drum beat. That’s what she should listen to. Not the voice whispering this was wrong. How could it be? Her bra, her skin felt too tight and uncomfortable. No. No. She just wanted him in her skin, making her feel tight. And wet. So wet.

  Air kissed her thighs. He’d lifted up her skirt and before she could process that wonderful predicament, Alastair tucked his fingers underneath her panty line. She think she helped to shake off the lacy material, but his hands clutched her ass in the next hazy thought. The roughness of his palms against her soft skin was all she could focus on.

  He stilled, and for the first time since this whole insanity had started, their gazes clashed. Something much more volatile than lust flickered in his eyes. She couldn’t name it but she could guess it’s what made them devour each other. They were suspended in that moment, caught between lust and longing. His jaw clenched, sha
ttering the stillness as he edged back. Her skirt fell back over her legs. He grasped her waist, turned her and pushed her into the wall.

  “I’m going to fuck you just like this.” He licked the shell of her ear and then nipped the lobe. “Put your hands against the wall and fuck me back.”

  She started to protest but the sound of his belt buckle clinking silenced her. Another rush of air on her legs and then his cock slipped between her thighs. She put her head on the wall, a gasp spilling from her lips. Her pussy clenched. It ached for him.

  He groaned and pressed his face into her neck. “You’re so wet for me.”

  She closed her eyes and slowly swayed her hips from side to side to nestle him better. The thickness of his cock, the promise of the first kiss of pain and pleasure almost made her purr. “Stop talking.”

  “And fuck you?”

  “Yes.”

  He swirled the tip of his cock in her arousal. He did it again, but this time he prodded her entrance, letting the head sink into her.

  “Yes.” She moaned.

  His teeth scraped along her neck right before he plunged inside her. She spread her legs more and arched her back to give him better access. The first few thrusts were hard and slow and then they were just hard. She braced one arm against the wall and did as he demanded and fucked him back.

  His groan sent goose flesh over her skin. He was thicker and longer than she’d expected, and it seemed with every stroke he reached a place no man before him had touched. Her legs started to tremble. She could think about consequences later. Now, right now, she needed to come. Apparently, it was something else they agreed on in the silence, because he balled her skirt and the hem of her jacket into his fists and used them both as leverage to slam her down on his cock harder and faster. A sob tore from her throat.

  The first quicken of an orgasm sent a delicious twist and pull straight into her stomach. She curled into it, losing her breath. Her nails dug into her palms, but she could no longer sense pain. Pleasure seemed too tame to describe the pinpricks of sensations pulsing through her, slamming into her in waves.

  Zora’s back bowed. Ecstasy, pure and blinding, cascaded over her as the orgasm tore into her. All she could do was let it. His thrusts became wild moments later and then his shout pierced the air. Within seconds, the moisture between her legs doubled. He’d come too.

  Her knees refused to hold her up. Alastair wrapped his arms around her stomach and propped them both up against the wall. Slowly, her surroundings dribbled back in. The building scratched against her skin. She was shivering from both the aftershocks of the orgasm and the cold drying the sweat on her forehead. Alastair’s heavy breathing filled her eardrum.

  Alastair. She’d just let him fuck her against a wall, outside. Alastair had dragged them to the brink and threw them over. And she’d loved it. Oh. God. She wanted to pretend, just for a moment, she’d had sex with another man. Incredible sex was only supposed to happen with a man you liked, at the very least. This exchange wasn’t normal or healthy. But, no. It was Alastair’s smell, now hers too, filling up the air. It was his tongue tracing her ear again, making it feel like if her heartbeat any harder it would explode.

  She moaned when he pulled out of her, unsure if the sound was from relief or regret. Probably both and that made it worse. How could she want him again? How in the hell had this happened in the first place? She tried to straighten and get her thoughts together so she could leave but her limbs felt too weak.

  “Be still, love.”

  Hearing those words for a second time, with his voice huskier and darker, made her tremble from need. His weight lifted from her, but not his warmth. He was touching her again. Soft brushes as he fixed her clothes. Sooner or later she’d have to face him. Later was preferable, but Zora had never been a coward. Since her legs were unsteady in the boots, she wobbled as she turned to face him. He grasped her arms and helped.

  She looked into his eyes and all the turmoil tightening her chest was right there in his gaze too. His hair was a mess. From her? Oh. God. She’d done that to him. What else had she done?

  What else do I want to do to him?

  Just as that thought skated across her mind, Zora saw the moment he stopped giving a fuck, likely chucking any sanity he had left. Alastair bent down and took her mouth like he needed to kiss her to breathe. Her hands found their way back to his hair and she gripped him. A few minutes later, he took her against the wall again. It was safe to say, she’d chucked her sanity too.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Three days later, Alastair elbowed his way through the packed banquet hall to find his assigned table. When he arrived at his seat, a lone woman sat with her back toward him. A tingling awareness started at his earlobes until his cock hardened. She bent over her mobile, displaying the delicate curve of her shoulders.

  He looked around the black tie affair and knew he wouldn’t find a reprieve from the woman’s company. Not at an event like this where diamonds and Rolexes were the norm, and he had the choice of either talking to a politician or a journalist. His paper had sent him because he was the only Brit on staff. They assumed he could butter up the British ambassador with talk of fish and chips. They hadn’t cared that this wasn’t Alastair’s usual beat, and since this was also a last minute invite, he had no chance of changing seats.

  “Fuck,” he muttered.

  Zora absently glanced around the hall and stopped on him. She froze. They hadn’t seen each other since Sunday. The last words they’d spoken were, “Gotta go” and “Yeah.” All the while they couldn’t quite meet each other’s eye. He didn’t know what to think about what had happened. Or why he suddenly wanted to do it all again.

  Sod it all.

  He strode to the table and settled in next to her. “Evening,” he greeted her with an ease he didn’t feel.

  She blinked as though surprised by his affable tone. “What are you doing here?”

  “Reporting. You?”

  “The same,” she said slowly, wariness clear on her features.

  Silence fell. What exactly was he supposed to say to her? How was he supposed to act? They didn’t usually see each other in a formal capacity. It’s why they emailed so often to trade insults.

  A waiter appeared from nowhere. “Wine?”

  “Yes, thank you.” He grabbed the glass and gulped down half of it in hopes it would wash down the memories flickering through his mind. Since Sunday, his brain had dredged up the sight of her moaning against her braced arm as he pounded into her from behind. Again and again and again. Her face had appeared unrecognizable as pleasure contorted her beautiful face. There had been no trace of irritation or anger, only euphoria as he ploughed his cock into her. He felt the experience had happened to another man, an unhinged one. He hadn’t fucked her because it was inevitable, but because he had needed to slam his frustration into her. Even now he wanted to do the same. He couldn’t quite reconcile that part of himself.

  Alastair cleared his throat once and then again. They couldn’t sit here all night pretending like the incident hadn’t happened. Did he want it to happen again? Fuck, yes. He flexed his hand and suddenly remembered how soft and full her arse had been in his wide palms.

  Fuck, yes.

  “Do you believe me now?” he asked without thinking.

  Her brows furrowed. “About?”

  “The story. Or that there was none.”

  “Oh.” She licked her lips and turned her attention to the podium for a second.

  From the frustrated expression crossing her face, he could tell she’d calculated how long this event would be and when she could duck out the doors. He did his best to hide his smile. It’s exactly what Alastair would have done if his mind could get out of the gutter.

  “No,” she said with a thread of caution. “I showed up Friday night. Turns out you were there since Wednesday. I missed my chance to see everyone you talked to.

  God. She was insufferable, but he had to respect her tenacity. “What’s the story t
hen? If you found out that much.”

  “Well…” She took in their table. They were the only journalists seated there, but still that didn’t mean they had privacy or that anyone wouldn’t eavesdrop. She hesitated before leaning closer and whispering, “There were baseball players.”

  He nodded. Sports didn’t welcome homosexual players. “Not my speed.”

  She pushed out an annoyed breath. “That’s all I managed to dig up before I ran out of money.”

  He laughed. “You pay your sources?”

  Her tone became defensive. “Not the everyday ones who like to gossip.”

  “I see.”

  She nibbled on her lip. “You don’t?”

  He shook his head. “Lunch.”

  “What?”

  “I’m guessing you paid off some bell boys and room service attendants. I take my sources out to lunch.”

  Zora gasped. “You woo them? With food?” She turned to him.

  This dress wasn’t half as provocative as the one she’d worn at the Den, but a split rode up her left leg. Maybe if he’d seen her completely unclothed his senses wouldn’t have narrowed, but both times they had sex all he’d seen was her ass, her pussy and her breasts. Apparently those peeks were not enough to sate his curiosity or the ache throbbing in his stomach. His cock started to tent his slacks. He shifted to hide that clear sign of attraction under the table.

  “Lunch makes people comfortable,” he said. “You find out who he or she is. There’s also a good emotion connected to you.”

  “And they don’t mind being seen with you in public?”

  “It’s lunch.” He considered how much to tell her, shrugged and added, “Also, it’s lunch at the counter in a bar. It feels clandestine yet innocent.”

  She scoffed. “And this works for you?”

  “The Krentz story,” was all he said.

  It was the second story he’d scooped. The way her eyes widened he knew she remembered. Their shared source was a soccer mom who didn’t get a lot of breaks and definitely didn’t get the chance to go out to eat and talk to other adults. Much less have a conversation that didn’t surround her children. A nice woman, but lonely and nosy.