The Lick Series Boxed Set

by Naima Simone

  Quite appropriate since she was running. Running from the press. Running from her suddenly foreign and chaotic life. Running from herself. But who was she rushing headlong to?

  Sasha’s face flashed in her mind.

  No. Hell no. She didn’t know everything about him, but he didn’t strike her as the relationship type. And besides, she didn’t want one either. Not when her life consisted of ever-unfolding revelations about her family and rabid reporters on the hunt. One of the most important relationships in her life had been based on a lie. At this moment, the only thing she did trust was the response of her body to Sasha. Because she damn sure didn’t trust herself.

  Temporary. Temporary. She mentally repeated the word like a mantra. Sasha had stated their…relationship was too strong a word…sexual fling had a time limit, and she clung to that. He’d confessed the night before about dabbling in petty theft and less-than-legal ways to rebel and even provide for his family. In no way did she judge him by his past actions; she was the first one to admit she’d lived a privileged life and had never been forced to walk the paths he had. But it’d made her realize she knew next to nothing about Sasha other than that he owned a sex club. Correction—aphrodisiac club. For years, she’d thought she’d known her father inside and out. Falling for an enigmatic man, who parceled out information about himself like a kid learning to share his toys, scared her. So no. Temporary. Temporary.

  The door to the vestibule opened, and her thoughts scattered. Sasha entered, his tall, imposing body clothed in a white shirt and gray pants that complemented his big but lean frame. Her gaze lingered on his wide chest—the one he’d cradled her against—before dropping to his flat abdomen and strong thighs. Beautiful. The man was a study in masculine beauty, and she’d yet to stroke his body, kiss it. Impatience mixed with the lust simmering inside her.

  “You’re late,” Sasha said by way of greeting.

  “I know. Sorry about that.” She’d had to finish her sports column and turn it in to her editor at The Beantown Globe, a popular local e-zine, by her deadline. Since they’d never exchanged numbers, she hadn’t been able to call him. “I feel all Mission: Impossible with the secrecy,” she teased, attempting to switch the topic and ease the tension humming between them.

  “It’s necessary,” he said, his voice containing a touch of ice. So even after the night before when he’d opened up to her, they were back to the aloof Sasha? Disappointment wound through her. But then she remembered her vow in the taxi. She’d crack that reserve before the night was through. “Did you make sure you weren’t tailed? You followed my instructions? You didn’t tell anyone where you were coming tonight? Your family? Your friend?”

  “Yes,” she affirmed. “Well, no. I didn’t tell my mother or brothers I was leaving, and I haven’t spoken to Tara. I went to my neighborhood bar, slipped out the back, and called a cab to meet me a couple of blocks over.”

  His eyebrows slammed down into a scowl. “You walked the streets at night? Alone?” he growled.

  “Calm down. I had Mace. But yes”—she raised her voice when his lips parted to interrupt her—“I was careful.”

  He studied her for a long moment. “Good.”

  “You do know Tara would never sell me out to the press, don’t you? And my family doesn’t even talk to the reporters camped outside our house.” The greedy bastards were still there, circling like vultures over carrion.

  “I don’t know any of that,” he countered. “Besides, the media isn’t the only reason we have to be more than discreet. Corrine, you’re now aware of who your family is…of what they do and are capable of. Since we’ve opened Lick, we’ve fought to stay mob- and gang-free. If this”—he waved a hand between them—“however temporary, became public, it would expose us to a possible threat. You understand?”

  “Yes,” she whispered. Paused. Tried to read his reserved expression even as her mind turned over his reminder of how temporary they were. “Do you want me to leave?” Her heart thudded against her chest as she waited for his answer.

  “It’s a little late for that, lisichka,” he drawled, setting a palm on the small of her back and guiding her up the staircase. “Which is why all the precautions are necessary.”

  Silent and digesting what he’d revealed—you’re now aware of who your family is…of what they do and are capable of—she followed him up the stairs and into The Loft. Walking into the open area where people in various stages of undress engaged in sexual acts with complete abandon still jolted her. Some kind of bench that resembled a sawhorse had replaced the table Sasha had laid her on. A woman, her wrists and ankles cuffed in leather, bent over the padded bench, and a big, tattooed man spanked her with a paddle.

  “Come with me,” Sasha rumbled, and she hadn’t realized she’d stumbled to a halt. Sparing the scene one last glance, she trailed behind him.

  As they exited the playroom and headed down the corridor, she touched her face. Sasha hadn’t tied on the mask. She parted her lips to remind him when he paused in front of an orange door. He entered the room, waving her inside and shutting the door behind them.

  Apparently they wouldn’t need the mask.

  Her heart thudded against her rib cage, the sound echoing inside her head in a deafening roar. Silly to be nervous. Especially after all they’d already done together. But his eerie wolf gaze and silence added to the tension vibrating in the room like a plucked guitar string. She turned away from him and surveyed the room, attempting to calm the storm rioting inside her.

  A large four-poster bed dominated most of the room, and the longer she stared at it, the bigger it seemed to grow. Shifting her attention, she took in the tall, cherry-wood armoire in one corner, a chest of the same gleaming wood at the foot of the bed, a couple of bedside tables, and from the ceiling… Holy shit.

  A steel ring hung from the ceiling, and attached to it were two black cuffs.

  She’d never seen any kind of bondage equipment before, but just the sight of it clicked something on inside her. Something hot, strong, and powerful. Because it wasn’t her she’d envisioned strapped to and hanging from the ring.

  It was Sasha.

  His big body straining against the restraints, his sharp cheekbones flushed, his sensual mouth wearing a snarl as she controlled his pleasure, owned it.

  Slowly, she pivoted, returning her attention to Sasha, the image of him fresh and vibrant in her mind. She moved forward, and with each step toward him, strips of the old Corrine with her doubts, fears, and insecurities peeled away, leaving a newer, brighter, larger version in its place. This Corrine could tame the Russian warrior in front of her.

  Sasha remained still, watching her, but his hooded gaze was almost a physical caress on her face. This time, instead of turning away from it, she basked in it.

  “You know, I’ve been doing some thinking since leaving last night,” she murmured, brushing her fingertip over the top button of his shirt before slipping the small disc through its hole. She didn’t ask permission to remove his clothing, and he didn’t stop her either. His wolf gaze studied her, the hooded inspection heavy and hot on her face. “Either you have a third nipple or some other deformity. Or you’re deliberately avoiding my giving you the same pleasure you brought me.” With the last button freed, she tugged open the halves of his shirt. “Nope,” she breathed, swallowing a sigh at his masculine beauty. “No third nipple. So number two must be it. Why? What are you afraid of?” She tipped her head back, nailed him with her own gaze, and dared him to deny her. “Me?” she whispered.

  She smoothed her palms up his ridged abdomen and hard chest, humming in pleasure. This was her first time touching him, and God. Taut skin, muscle, and delicious power. It seemed to vibrate under her like an engine. And she had all of it, literally, in her hands.

  “Corrine,” he rumbled.

  “You’re so beautiful,” she interrupted, for a moment distracted by…him. She stroked her hands over his shoulders and down his arms, sliding the shirt off. Leaning forwa
rd, she placed her cheek against a firm bicep, then kissed it, sucked the almost non-existent give of skin between her teeth. If she hadn’t been so in tune with him, she might have missed the slight catch in his breath. But she didn’t. And she vowed to have more of those. Many, many more. “So perfect.” Rising on her tiptoes, she retraced the path her hands had just traveled—up his arm, over his shoulder, his chest. “So strong,” she praised, rubbing her mouth back and forth over his pectoral, sinking her teeth into the dense muscle. Savoring his soft grunt.

  She repeated the not-so-gentle nip, lifting her hand and toying with his flat, brown nipple. A flick of her fingernail, a sweep of her thumb, a hard pinch, and the nub tightened under her fingers.

  “Corrine.” Sasha groaned, gripping her waist, his fingers digging into her skin.

  “You like that,” she stated, not asking. His tight hold on her as well as the thick erection pressing into her stomach told her everything she needed to know. “More?” When he didn’t answer, she tugged harder on his nipple, dragging the edge of her teeth over it. His growl rumbled loud and rough in the room. “More?” she asked again.

  “Fuck, yes,” he ground out. “Harder, lisichka.”

  Taking him at his word, she bit harder, then soothed it with long, indulgent licks. One of his hands moved to the nape of her neck, holding her to him as she worked him over, sucking, stabbing the peak with the tip of her tongue, abrading him with her teeth. Switching to the other nipple, she treated it to the same sensual torture, losing herself in his taste—the woodsy, clean flavor mixed with his unique scent—drowning in his reactions, burning in lust.

  Soon it wasn’t enough. She gave his nipple one last lick before lowering to the ladder of muscle bridging his stomach. Closing her eyes, she traced each ridge, not leaving one section of him undiscovered. He was like a smorgasbord of beauty, and though her knowledge of art extended only to her favorite Mona Lisa coffee cup, she could appreciate the perfect sculpture of his body. Could easily envision it in a European gallery, wowing people with its magnificence.

  Her lips bumped the band of his pants, and she straightened, glancing toward the ring and cuffs on the other side of the room. When she returned her contemplation to him, his eyes blazed down at her as if reading her thoughts.

  Biting her lip, she slid around him, dropping one hand inside his pants, going lower and lower until her fingertips swept across coarse hairs at the bottom of his pelvic bone. The other hand, she trailed up his back…and around his throat. Cupping the strong column, she squeezed, not strong enough to cut off his air, but enough to let him know—he belonged to her tonight. He stiffened and didn’t speak—didn’t need to.

  After several seconds, she edged back, her hands going to the side zipper of her green minidress. She tugged it down and shrugged the garment off her shoulders and pushed it down her hips. When it lay in a pool of material at her feet, she stepped out of the circle and slipped each stiletto off, then stood before him in her lace bra and panties. Silence roared between them as they stared at each other across the small distance.

  Gooseflesh pebbled her skin, but not from cold or nerves. From need, from excitement. From him. She wanted him. On her terms. Under her control. Submitting to her will. Having this fierce, strong man bend to her was addictive…an aphrodisiac.

  “Come here,” she murmured. For a long, long moment he didn’t move. Some dark, conflicting emotion darkened his eyes, flattened his mouth, clenched his jaw. Disappointment crawled through her, and tendrils of doubt curled inside her. Okay, maybe she’d played this all wrong…

  He crossed the space separating them, not stopping until his chest brushed hers. Triumph surged within her, and she shivered at his nearness, not caring that he saw. She wanted him to see how he affected her. Besides, he’d had his fingers and his tongue inside her pussy; her desire for him wasn’t a well-kept secret.

  “What do you want from me, Corrine?” he asked, his voice low, harsh, a seductive lure and threat.

  “This.” She cupped his cock through his pants, squeezing the thick, rock-hard length. His hiss of breath mingled with her moan. Her flesh contracted, and the sense of emptiness inside her amplified, freaking echoed. “I want you in my mouth, down my throat.” She tightened her grip on him, observed the lust flare hotter, brighter in his eyes. Watched it firm his mouth into a grim line. “You would be the first, Sasha,” she taunted. “I’ve never let anyone else have me like that. Will you fuck my mouth, teach me how to make you come?”

  His chest rose and fell, and his nostrils flared. Savage lust sharpened every line and angle of his face. She’d pushed him too far. The thought whispered through her head, and she braced herself for his explosive reaction. But he didn’t pick her up and throw her on the bed. Not one muscle twitched except for the continued movement of his chest.

  “Get on your knees,” he ordered, the cost of his control serrating his voice.

  But she shook her head, once more glancing in the direction of the ring and cuffs. “Over there. I’ll let you use my mouth, but over there.”

  He didn’t answer, didn’t move. Just studied her in that unnerving, piercing way of his. His expression revealed nothing, but she could imagine the struggle taking place. This proud, dominant man had probably never submitted to anyone, much less agreed to an exchange of power during sex. The few times he’d yielded to her had been nothing compared to what she asked of him now—to be physically restrained, to be at her mercy, receiving what she decided to give him. It required trust. And because she doubted he’d rendered himself vulnerable for anyone else—another woman—it made her crave it even more.

  But the seconds stretched, and just as she accepted he wasn’t going to concede, he moved across the room and stopped under the suspension contraption. Slowly, he lifted his arms. Buckled his right wrist. Then, the give in the chain connecting the cuffs allowed him to fasten his left. That quick he was restrained… At her command.

  She stalked over to him, feeling his eyes on her skin like a physical caress. God, she loved it. Stopping in front of him, she stared. Even cuffed, power emanated from him. His muscles strained, and he was far from relaxed. But yet, he stood, letting her run this. Closing her eyes, she put her palms on his abdomen and again relished in the steely feel of him under her hands. She stroked up his chest, over his shoulders, and back down to his belt.

  Urgency nipped her. Anticipation and hunger flowed through her like a molten river. Kneeling, she focused on releasing his belt and, as she undid the buckle, couldn’t help but recall the last thing he did to her with his belt. Her pussy clenched in remembrance.

  Part of her whispered, Slow down, savor this. But the bigger, greedier part of her craved him in her hand, on her tongue. Hurried, with a hint of desperation, she tackled his pants, tugging down the zipper, and spreading the sides wide. A needy rumble she didn’t know she was capable of emitting rolled out of her as she pulled at his black boxer briefs and reached inside.

  Folded her fingers around his cock.

  Hot. Steel. Power.

  He pulsed in her hand, so big and hard. And, God, big.

  And beautiful. She’d never thought of a penis as lovely before. But this was Sasha. Nothing about him was imperfect. Not the long, thick length of him, corded with veins, or the wide, flared base surrounded by a dense crop of dark-blond curls. Or the swollen, almost brutish, ruddy cap. A cap that already gleamed with a drop of pre-cum.

  Her mouth watered for a taste. Had she ever been so hungry? Nothing had ever instilled this kind of craving. Humming low in her throat, she licked the slit, lapping up the moisture.

  Musky. Tangy. Him. And so good.

  Above her a dark, harsh groan reverberated.

  She glanced up, and his muscles stood out in stark relief, his sharply hewn face a mask of lust. His lips pulled into a grim line, the skin across his cheekbones taut, and his eyes… His eyes blazed down at her, and even with him cuffed to that ring, she felt like the rabbit hunted and cornered by the wolf.<
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  Keeping his gaze, she fisted the bottom half of his cock and pumped it, coaxing more cum to the tip. Once more she licked him clean, swirling her tongue around him, savoring him. And then she forgot about teasing him—she got lost in his flavor, in the heavy feel of him in her hand. And she needed more.

  Lowering her lashes, she parted her lips. Sucked him in. She arrowed his dick into her mouth, rolling her tongue around the flared edge. His hips jerked, thrusting more of his length into her, and she pulled back, releasing him, loosening her hold on his flesh.

  “Hold still, Sasha,” she murmured, rubbing her lips down the throbbing column. “You want to fuck my mouth, it’s going to be at my pace. So hold still and take it.”

  His jaw clenched tight, but he nodded.

  “Good. You’re so good,” she praised, taking him inside once more and rewarding him with a strong, hard suck. She took more of him, her stroking fist bumping her lips. She jerked his pants farther down his hips and slipped inside his boxers again, cupping his balls. She massaged the heavy weight, never easing up on his cock. Trying to take more and more of him. Sasha’s thighs trembled and strained, but he didn’t move his hips, as she’d ordered him. But now, only he could help her get what she needed. More of him.

  “Tell me what to do,” she said, even then, not asking. Telling. “Teach me how.”

  “Open wide, lisichka,” he grated. “Flatten your tongue and slide me forward. Fuck,” he groaned, when she did as he instructed. “Yes, baby, just like that. God, your mouth. So fucking good. Now close your lips around me.”

  She slid back and forth over his rock-hard flesh. There was so much of him he damn near filled her mouth. Caused her jaw to ache with the effort of containing him. And she wouldn’t have had it any other way. She knelt before him, but she was the one with the control. The power.

  “Relax your throat. Breathe through your nose, and control and relax your throat. You said you wanted me there. Said I could be the first,” he reminded her.