by Naima Simone
Her soft sigh roughened as he moved up her torso to the shadowed valley between her breasts. He lingered there, lapping at the silken flesh not covered by black lace. Trembling beneath his hands, she threaded her fingers through his hair, clutching him close. He received her telegraphed message: more. Images of the night on the stairs after the gala, her breasts bared to him and his touch, infiltrated his mind. Hell, yes, he wanted that. More. He wanted his mouth to explore what his hands had already navigated. But first…
“Kiss me.” He didn’t wait for her to comply but grasped the back of her neck and drew her down. Gold and brown spirals surrounded his face, brushed his cheeks, jaw, and neck. Enclosing them in a sensual world of taste, sighs, and lust. Groaning, he parted her full lips with his tongue, and she yielded to him. He couldn’t get enough of her mouth; he hadn’t lied when he’d told her how he adored it. Fucking fantasized about it. He swept inside, thrusting, daring—demanding—and she partnered him in the erotic dance.
With her flavor sharp on his palate, he reluctantly abandoned the kiss to trail down her chin, across her jaw, and down the slender column of her neck. Damn, he wanted to linger, to savor. But he was also impatient as hell. Hunger and need rode him hard, relentlessly. The control it required not to rip the remaining clothing from her body and plunge between her thighs, first with his mouth, then his cock… He deserved a gold medal.
Leaning back, he rested a fingertip on her bra’s front clasp. Lifted his gaze to hers. And waited. Only when she gave a tiny nod did he pop the closure and almost reverently peel back the cups. Sliding his fingers under the straps, he pushed the lace and satin down her arms.
“Beautiful,” he murmured, drinking in the curves that pronounced—hell, shouted—she was a woman. “You’re so damn beautiful.” Full, satiny smooth and crowned by nipples of the richest caramel. “So damn sweet.”
With a low rumble in his throat, he palmed her breasts, held one up to his lips, and sucked her into his mouth. Sydney cried out, jerked hard, but the grip on his hair tightened, grabbed him closer.
He coiled his tongue around the hard tip, licking it, savoring it. Worshipping it. She deserved to be worshipped, to be told even without words how gorgeous and sexy she was. Releasing her nipple, he switched to the other, lavishing the same attention on the peak while dragging his thumb back and forth across the wet, swollen nub he’d just enjoyed.
Small whimpers escaped her as she arched her back, offering him more of herself. Her hips rolled, wildly undulating, pleading. His cock pounded at the erotic sight of her hunger. Deftly, he switched their positions, flipping her onto the bed and her back. Quickly divesting her of her remaining clothing, he tossed the pants and matching black panties to the floor.
Desire pummeled the breath from his lungs. Slender shoulders, perfect breasts, and a small waist tapered into hips perfect for a man to dig his fingers into as he fucked with wild abandon. Toned, firm legs made for clasping a man’s waist or shoulders. And his. For at least a year, she was his to touch, stroke, pleasure.
Whipping his sweater over his head, he placed a knee on the mattress. He palmed her thighs, spread them farther apart. And farther still. Wide enough to accommodate his shoulders. Curls denser and darker than the spirals on her head shielded her sex from him. But as he slid his hands under her ass and lifted her to him, nothing could hide the plump, feminine core of her or the glossy evidence of her desire from him. This close, he could smell the sweet and spicy perfume of her flesh. He’d been right. The honeysuckle scent was thickest here. His mouth watered for a taste, even knowing a sampling wouldn’t satisfy the hunger burning a hole in his gut.
“Lucas,” she gasped, her fingers scrabbling at his shoulders.
“Luke,” he corrected, laying a kiss to the sensitive place where her thigh and torso connected. “In here, it’s Luke.” Why he pressed her on the less tangible but intimate connection of his shortened name, he couldn’t explain. He just knew he wanted—needed—to hear it on her lips. Right here when they were about to become as close as two people could be. “Say it, Sydney.”
A small hesitation, then, “Luke.” She clutched his head, her fingertips a blunt pressure against his scalp. “Please,” she breathed.
She didn’t have to plead with him to take what he desired to claim. With a growl, he dipped his head and licked a path from the small, clenching entrance to the nub at the top of her glistening folds. Gently, he circled his tongue around her clit, lapping at the tight, pulsing kernel of flesh. But soon, it wasn’t enough. Burrowing lower, he feasted. Sucked. Stroked. And thrust. Not one part of her remained a mystery to him. Even as her pleas and cries filled the room, he didn’t stop. Not until he drew on her clit, plunged two fingers deep into her core, and the lush, muscled walls convulsed around him. Sydney thrashed on the bed, writhing, arching under his hand and mouth. Coming apart in a tableau so erotic, so hot, so feminine, he almost exploded with her.
When the last contraction ebbed, he gritted his teeth and slid his fingers from her slick heat. He lurched to his feet, snatched his wallet from his back pocket, and removed a foil packet. Tossing the billfold to the bedside table, he rid himself of his jeans. Just the economical strokes of his hand to sheath himself in the latex shoved his control closer and closer to no man’s land. Stalking to the bed, he kneeled between her wide-spread thighs again, cupping the soft underside of them and pushing her legs back. Exposing her pink, swollen flesh to his ravenous gaze and his dick.
“Once isn’t going to be enough, sweetheart,” he warned her, nudging the tiny entrance to the heart of her with the round head of his cock. “Once I’m inside your”—he pushed, and indescribable pleasure nailed him in the base of the spine, squeezed his balls—“pussy, once is not going to be nearly enough,” he ground out. He withdrew, surged forward until half of the thick stem was submerged in her perfect, too-small core. “You’re so tight. So wet. And it’s for me.”
Staring at the place where she flowered around him, he drew back once more, then with an animal-like grunt, thrust. Ecstasy ripped the shout from his throat, mingling with her throaty scream. All of him. She squeezed and rippled around all of him. Damn. He held himself brutally still. Sweat slid down his temple, dotted his shoulders and chest. Every muscle in his body strained, railed at him to take, to plunge, to fuck. A couple more minutes. Just a couple more, and he could scrape enough control together…
Then she reared up, wrapped her arms around his neck. And bit him.
The tattered leash on his restraint snapped.
Palms slamming down on either side of her head, he claimed her mouth in a voracious kiss as he dragged his cock from her flesh until her folds kissed the head. Then drove back inside. Her sex sucked at him like a mouth, caressing him, clasping him. He gripped her knee, hiked it higher around his waist, opening her more. Allowing him deeper.
He rode her like a man possessed, chasing pleasure like Ahab after his white whale. Their wet skin smacking together, their harsh breaths and her soft whimpers punching the air. Harder. Faster. Deeper. Harder. Faster. Deeper. Harder…
She screamed, tensed. And came. Her walls clamped down on him, milking him. He swallowed the sounds of her rapture and stroked through it, maximizing and stretching the orgasm out until she wilted beneath him.
Only then did he follow her into oblivion.
…
“Where are you going?”
Sydney paused in the middle of tying the sash of her robe at the slightly slurred question. She glanced over her shoulder at the rumpled blankets and sheets and the sexy-as-sin man in the middle of them. His hooded gaze swept over her no doubt mess of curls and down her body, now covered from neck to mid-thigh by her robe. When that stare, heavy lidded from drowsiness and sex, met hers again, unbidden pleasure unfurled inside her chest and belly, spreading to all points north and south. Especially south. Good God. He’d just subjected her to the most cataclysmic, earth-shattering orgasm of her entire life, and already her body craved more.
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Dark waves falling around his face, he arched an eyebrow.
Right. He’d asked her a question. “For a drink of water. Are you thirsty?”
“No, but if you are, I’ll get it.” He threw the blankets aside and climbed from the bed. Within seconds, he had his jeans pulled over his lean hips, zipped but unbuttoned and leaving a tantalizing amount of skin exposed. Including the sensual vee of his hips that begged her tongue to trace.
Oh, God. Get a grip. Now.
“You don’t have to—”
He gripped the nape of her neck and tugged her close for a quick, blistering kiss. “Yes, I do.” He exited the room before she could mount an objection.
Several moments passed before she crossed the several steps that brought her to the bed and sank down to the mattress. Studying the dark blue sheets, she smoothed her fingertips across the soft material. Casting a quick glance at the partially closed door, she listened for the heavy fall of footsteps. Detecting nothing but quiet, she lifted the sheet to her nose and inhaled. Him. Her. Them. Sex. Pleasure. Pictures like a movie reel flashed on the back of her eyelids. His mouth on her breast. Between her thighs. The sharp angles of his face honed by lust as he rose over her, stroking inside her with a power and skill that stole her breath even now.
Heart pounding, she released the sheet. The floor would have to crack open and swallow her whole if he reentered the room to find her sniffing the blue cotton.
What did he think of her? Of her easy capitulation when she’d demanded time? Hell, what did she think of herself? The conversation on the boardwalk had planted a seed in her heart that she couldn’t root out. A suspicion that the resentment and hatred Lucas harbored for her father hadn’t been satisfied with their marriage. He was keeping secrets—secrets she feared would render her sacrifice null and void.
Yet when he’d shown up at her bedroom door, she’d surrendered to the need he’d instilled in her and nurtured with each touch, glance, and word. As soon as his mouth had covered hers, she’d been lost. And her submission had nothing to do with her father, contracts, or promises, and everything to do with pleasure and ecstasy only he could satisfy since only he had kindled it.
“What are you thinking about so hard?”
She started, pressing a hand to her chest. Either his predatory features extended to his movements or she’d been so deep in thought she hadn’t even noticed his return. She scanned his flat, unreadable expression. Probably a little of both.
“Nothing, really.”
“Ah.” He settled the tray loaded with a pitcher of ice water, cold slices of chicken, cheese cubes, grapes, and a medium-sized loaf of baked bread on the bed. “A woman’s ‘nothing’ is vastly different from a man’s. Which means it could be anything from the state of the union to how I royally screwed up.” He poured two glasses of water and placed them and the pitcher on the bedside table.
She scowled at him even as her stomach rumbled at the sight of the impromptu dinner. “That’s not sexist at all.”
He didn’t reply but ripped off a corner of the loaf, placed cheese and meat on the bread, and passed it to her. Her heart tripped over itself at the seemingly unconscious kindness. As she accepted the makeshift sandwich, he closed his fingers over hers.
“Regrets already, Sydney?” he asked, the question a low ripple in the silent room.
“No.” Once more she studied him. The piercing green-blue eyes that had blazed with scorching heat less than an hour ago but were now shuddered, impassive. The almost lush, sensual curve of his mouth that contrasted with the sharply hewn planes of his face. The hard, strong line of his jaw. The harsh imperfection of the scar that was perfect on him.
Confusion commingled, mated with the blush of arousal. Questions and concerns—she had dozens of those. But regret? No.
“Does it bother you?” He plucked up a slice of chicken and popped it into his mouth. God, it wasn’t fair that he made eating with his fingers sexy, too.
She blinked, refocusing on their conversation. But couldn’t follow. He’d lost her.
She frowned. “That we had sex?”
“No. The scar. You were staring at it. Does it bother you?” No emotion or inflection in the question, just a flat monotone that he could’ve used to ask the time of day.
Like the first time he’d asked that question three weeks ago—God, had it only been three weeks since he’d exploded into her life?—the quick “Not at all” rose to her tongue, hovered there. But at the last instant, she didn’t utter the three words. Because they would be a lie.
“Yes,” she murmured. Something flared in his gaze—something old and dark before it became as opaque as before. “But not for the reasons you probably think.” She turned more fully toward him, tucking her foot under her thigh. “When I first met you, of course I noticed the scar. But I wasn’t repulsed. I ached for you. For the pain you must’ve endured. It bothered me that you suffered.” A scowl started to crease his brow, and she shot up her hand, palm out. “I don’t pity you. No one who looks at you could ever feel sorry for you. You’re too…dangerous for that.” She huffed out a short bark of laughter. “I remember thinking you resembled a panther. Dark. Stunning. But predatory. The mark isn’t a sign of your weakness but your strength. Your power to fight and survive. I find it…” She paused, weighed the judgment of revealing this particular truth.
He watched her like the animal she’d mentioned, his scrutiny steady, unblinking, as if searching her for any hint of a lie. Sighing, she rose from the bed, careful not to jostle the tray. She approached him, moved between his legs, and cupped his face.
“I find it beautiful,” she whispered. Then laid a gentle kiss to the ridged flesh beneath his right eye before placing another on the twin scar that bisected his eyebrow. “I find you beautiful,” she confessed against his skin.
His hands clutched her waist. Other than the tiny flexing of his fingers, he remained as still as a statue. No, that wasn’t true. His eyes blazed with a fire that burned her.
Suddenly, he launched to his feet. In one explosive motion, he had her in the air, her legs wrapped around his waist. He strode across the room, and the moment her back touched the wall, he consumed her. His tongue dived between her lips, taking, conquering. The kiss was hard, explicit, primal. A clash of mouths, tongues, and teeth. She’d unleashed something wild in him, and it claimed her, branded her. Excitement and desire pumped through her veins, drenching the tender folds between her thighs. His chest pinning her, his hands forged a rough path down her sides and down to her thighs. He scraped her robe high, above her waist, before dropping his hand between her legs and shoving his pants down far enough to free his erection.
“Do I need a condom?” he growled against her mouth, the wide, flared head nudging her folds.
She clutched at his shoulders, tried to impale herself on his thick flesh. “I’m on the Pill,” she rasped. “Unless you…”
“I’m clean. I’ve never fucked without protection. But you…” He flexed his hips, thrust inside her and groaned, the hoarse sound one of pained pleasure. “You, I want to feel naked, bare against my dick. Squeezing me, drenching me in all this wet heat. I want you.”
And he took her.
Chapter Sixteen
“Congratulations,” Aiden announced as he strode into Lucas’s office, a sheaf of papers in his hand. He handed the stack to Lucas then dropped into the visitor’s chair in front of his desk, long legs sprawled wide. “You now own 46 percent of the Blake Corporation.” He paused. “And majority ownership.”
Lucas examined the purchase agreement for twenty thousand shares of Blake Corporation stock in the name of one of his insurance conglomerates. With this latest acquisition, he owned almost half of Jason’s company. Cold pleasure filled him, and he savored its icy embrace.
So close. He was so close to fulfilling the promise—ruining Jason Blake—he’d vowed over his father’s grave so many years ago.
“No red flags?” Lucas glanced up from the cont
ract.
“None. With you buying relatively small amounts through different corporations over the last couple of years, no one has caught on. As far as Jason Blake is concerned, he still retains the controlling shares in the company.”
And he had. Jason possessed 44 percent of Blake Corporation’s shares, the remaining split up between many stockholders. If any of the stock had been steadily scooped up by one entity, the company would have been put on alert that someone was attempting a possible takeover. But for two years, Lucas had been quietly purchasing stock as it became available through the many firms and businesses under the Bay Bridge Industries umbrella. As of today, he effectively owned controlling interest in Jason Blake’s company.
Fruition of his revenge dangled like an apple on a just-out-of-reach branch. His fingertips grazed the prize, but couldn’t grab it. Yet.
There remained one final step before he could claim victory. The step he relished above all the others.
“Have legal draw up a contract demanding Jason Blake resign as CEO and chairman of the board of directors of Blake Corporation.”
Even as he uttered the request, an unbidden image of Sydney appeared in his head. Her, standing at the railing of the Seattle home, glancing over her shoulder and gifting him with one of her rare, unguarded smiles.
“Have you told Sydney about your past with her father?”
Sometimes Lucas swore the other man was a mind reader. And those times—like now—were damn annoying.
“No.” Lucas tossed the contract on his desk. “I haven’t.”
Aiden scowled. “Why the hell not? So I guess you also haven’t informed her of your plan to buy out her father’s company from under him?”
“And risk her telling Jason? No. She has no loyalty toward me.”
“She might if you told her the truth. If you told her about why you’ve set this whole Machiavellian scheme in motion. But if you don’t at least give her the benefit of the doubt, you’re going to lose her.”