Strip You Bare

by Maisey Yates

  Twenty-four-year-old virgins had a lock being turned on and left unsatisfied. But that empty sensation was about to be banished, and that . . . well, that spurred her on when nerves might have told her to quit.

  Was she crazy? To want to lose it with a stranger?

  Hell yes.

  But she could never have done this with someone who knew her. Someone who expected her to be good.

  Micah wanted her dirty. Wanted her bad.

  She stopped at the head of the stairs, and for the first time, she looked back, down, at the man below her. He was still on the first floor, staring up at her, a hungry expression on his face.

  “Which bedroom?” she asked.

  A slow smile crossed his face and he started for the stairs, wrenching his shirt over his head, shrugging his jeans and boots off as he walked, leaving them behind, leaving himself completely naked.

  She’d never seen a man totally naked, up close and personal. No. All her experience was with half-opened pants, and shame, trying to get come off a guy’s slacks so no one would know what they’d been up to.

  Oh yeah, cleaning up the mess was always her problem. Because the mess was her fault.

  He’d never said that, but she’d known he felt it.

  Or she’d thought so back when she’d imagined he was as virginal as she was.

  She wasn’t thinking of him. Not again. Not for the rest of the night. Micah was here and he was blessedly naked. Hard and muscular and Lord almighty like nothing else she’d ever seen.

  The hard cut of his chest sprinkled with dark hair, his abs, and the glorious ink that covered acres of golden skin . . .

  And his cock. She wasn’t about to be prudish about it now. That was what he’d called it. It was dirty and raw, and not a word a lady would ever say.

  She liked it.

  More than that, she appreciated that part of him.

  And his thighs. His narrow hips. Basically, every masculine inch of him.

  She stood, frozen as he closed the distance between them, making his way up the stairs. And once he reached the top, he wrapped his arm around her waist, propelled them both backward and against the wall. Now they were skin to skin, his chest pressed against her breasts, his cock hot and hard between them.

  He gripped her hands, his fingers wrapping around her wrists like iron manacles, pressing her hands back, the plaster biting into her knuckles. He lowered his head, kissing her neck, his teeth scraping her tender skin.

  “Wait,” she said, her words a hoarse whisper.

  He didn’t. She knew he wouldn’t. She didn’t want him to.

  Instead, he lowered his head, blazing a trail down past her collarbone, to the plump curve of her breast. She ached for his attention. For whatever he would give. This was outside the realm of anything she’d experienced before. She had always been treated as a vessel, ready to pour ill-gotten pleasure out, while never receiving any of her own. But this was different. Micah was different, she could tell already. Could sense it in the way he moved against her with intent, the way he sought out the tightened bud that was burning for his attention and sucked it deep into his mouth, the way he moved his hand down her waist, her hip, sliding it back around to cup her ass. He squeezed her tight, followed by a hard smack she hadn’t been expecting.

  She made a sharp, shocked sound that he captured by pressing his lips to hers. It was a reminder. A reminder that he couldn’t be predicted, that he couldn’t be controlled. That he was several leagues beyond her experience, way out of her depth. And she was very likely to drown in this. In him. And she couldn’t bring herself to care.

  He transferred his attention to her other breast, swirling his tongue around her nipple before breathing across her skin, sending a ripple of goosebumps over her flesh. Every time she thought she could figure out what he might do next, he surprised her. Whenever she expected pain, he went feather soft. When she expected him to move slow, he moved quickly.

  The evidence of that came when he put his hand between her thighs without any preamble, sliding his fingers through her slick folds, moving his thumb across her clit, then pushing a finger deep inside of her without any hesitation. She gasped, the unfamiliar penetration taking her a moment to acclimate to.

  “Yes,” he whispered, pressing his lips to her neck as he continued to tease her.

  She felt frozen, rooted to the spot, unable to do anything but simply hold on to his shoulders and try to keep herself from sliding to the floor in an undignified heap. Maybe she should just let herself slide to the floor. Was there any room for dignity here? She didn’t think so. She didn’t care.

  She flexed her hips, pushing his finger in deeper, increasing the pressure of his thumb against that sensitized bundle of nerves. A ragged cry escaped her lips, and she did nothing to disguise it, nothing to quiet it.

  “We better move before I lose it and fuck you right here,” he growled.

  Dimly, through the haze, she recognized that wouldn’t be the best idea. Losing it up against a wall would probably be more pain than pleasure. But she wasn’t sure anymore if that was a bad thing. She lost perspective somewhere. Had lost a sense of what was bad, and what was good. She had a feeling pain at Micah’s hands would be better than pleasure from anyone else. She wasn’t sure where that thought had come from, but she believed it.

  “This bedroom.” He opened the door nearest them and propelled them both through it, scooping her into his arms before depositing her roughly at the center of the bed.

  He moved to the side of the bed, jerking open the drawer of the nightstand, producing a box of condoms. Her throat tightened, her heart thundering hard against her breastbone. This was happening. They were doing this. She was going to do this.

  The word no climbed her throat, settled there, lingered.

  He opened the box, pulled out a plastic packet. “Protection,” he said. “I always wear it when I ride. Leather in the streets, latex in the sheets.”

  She tried to laugh, but she couldn’t. He tore it open, placed the latex over the head of his cock, and sheathed himself. She swallowed hard, trying to swallow down the nerves, the building hysteria. Why hadn’t she had some of this reservation downstairs? Why hadn’t she had any of it before she decided to stay? Before he’d come back to the mansion.

  It was too late now.

  “First things first, though,” he said, dropping to his knees at the foot of the bed, grabbing hold of her hips and tugging her forward, her legs parted, the heart of her exposed to his hungry gaze. He flattened his hands over her stomach, his forearms tight over her hips, holding her steady, his fingers clasped. She was completely immobile. Trapped. At his mercy. “I’ve been starving for you since the moment I first saw you. It was always going to end here.”

  He lowered his head, taking a leisurely taste of her with the flat of his tongue. A deep, shuddering wave went through her body, and she reached behind her head, gripping hold of the duvet cover, looking for something to anchor herself. She arched her hips, tried to move away from him, but he held her fast. He didn’t ease her in, far from it. After that one, leisurely stroke, he moved full into his feast. He was like a starving man presented with dessert. She had never imagined it could be like this. Had never imagined a man could attend to a woman’s pleasure with so much fervor.

  He tightened his grip on her, pulled her more firmly against his mouth as he continued his assault. She felt like she was going to break out of her skin, split open like a butterfly escaping a cocoon and flutter away to escape the sensations that were rolling over her. It was too much. She couldn’t take it.

  She forced her fingers through his hair, tugging hard, trying to gain some of the control. He chuckled, his breath hot against her wet flesh. And all he did was pull against her, deepening his tasting. Sliding his tongue deep inside her body as he’d done earlier with his finger.

  She bucked against him, trying to escape, trying to get a handle on the motion, on the rhythm.

  “Micah,” she breathed, h
is name a thready whisper, “stop.”

  “No,” he said, “this is my game. These are my rules.” He took another long, slow taste before raising his head and looking at her. “And I’ll stop when I’m ready to stop.”

  He unlinked his hands, still keeping a firm grip on her while moving one hand between her thighs, penetrating her with two fingers this time, his tongue working in time with them. And everything went blank, a flash of fire, lightning over the bayou as she lost control completely and gave herself over to sensation.

  She was no stranger to orgasm, but this was something else entirely. This had been different. Out of her control, and stronger for it. And when it passed, when the pleasure finally subsided, she was left sweaty, shaking and begging him to stop. But he didn’t stop. Still.

  “Please,” she said, her voice sobbing now, “I can’t. Not again.”

  But he didn’t listen. And she didn’t want him to. She didn’t want to control. She didn’t want to be responsible. When the dust cleared, she wanted to be able to blame him. If that made her weak, then maybe she was weak. But she wanted to blame him for this sensual, insatiable monster that lived inside of her, that he had called out into the open.

  Wanted to blame him for the fact that she was writhing on his bed, saying no to another climax, when in truth, she wanted it more than her next breath.

  He circled her clit with the tip of his tongue, then sucked, and she came apart again. This time when she came back to herself, he was above her. Settled between her thighs, the blunt head of his arousal pressing against the entrance to her body.

  She forgot her nerves. Forgot to be worried about pain, or firsts. Because she was lost to this, utterly, completely. She was his. In this moment, he owned her. Owned her body. Owned her soul. There was no denying that.

  He slid his hand under her butt, raising her up from the mattress as he thrust hard inside of her. She gasped as he did, flinching against the fleeting, sharp pain that resulted from the invasion. He didn’t seem to notice, and after a moment it didn’t matter.

  He flexed his hips, going so deep she felt joined to him, part of him. She raised one hand, touching his biceps gingerly, looking at his face. He looked pained, tortured. He looked not so much like a stranger. A foreign, swelling sensation filled her chest, and she looked away, turned her focus to the taut muscles of his arms, to the ink swirled over his skin.

  And then she shut her eyes tight and gave herself over to sensation.

  She would have thought it impossible to climax again after two such intense experiences, but it didn’t take long for her to reach the summit again, the hard, insistent thrust of Micah’s body building a need that started so deep inside of her it stole her breath.

  She thought it would break her apart, thought it would destroy her absolutely from the inside out. She clenched her teeth, her eyes still shut tight, her fingernails digging into his skin as she clung to him, trying to keep herself together. Trying to keep herself in one piece.

  Just when she thought she would shatter, pleasure burst through her like water through a broken dam. She sucked in a sharp breath, air filling her lungs as pleasure rolled through her body, leaving her weightless, suspended in the waves, and she could do nothing but drift on the tide and ride it out until it was over.

  And on the heels of her own release, she felt his big, muscular body shiver, then freeze over her, a feral growl on his lips as the steady rhythm to his thrusts was lost, as he pumped into her, hard and wild, before he froze, giving himself up to his own orgasm.

  She was in awe. Utterly and completely captivated by what she had done to this man, in that moment. This powerful, strong, terrifying man reduced to trembling because of her.

  It was no less than he’d done to her. Really, it was only a fraction of what he’d done to her. But while she had accepted the moment she had surrendered herself to him that she was at his mercy, she had never once considered that she might hold some power of her own.

  She was still processing all of that when he rolled away from her, standing, and turning away.

  “Micah . . .”

  “You didn’t think to tell me you’d never fucked a guy before?”

  Heat lashed at her face, stinging her cheeks. “I . . . well, there wasn’t really a chance.”

  “Bullshit. I’ve heard about your Christmas party and your canceled wedding and your prick of a fiancé. I think you could have found a moment to mention that you were a virgin.”

  “The state of my sex life isn’t your business,” she said, reaching for a sheet and tugging it up over her breasts, trying desperately to wrap herself up—not just in the fabric but in the comfort of her façade.

  “Since I’m the sum-fucking-total of your sex life? I think it is my business.”

  “Fine. Was a virgin. Not now. Do I owe your cock a fee for the destruction of my hymen or are we even?” She clenched her teeth together to keep them from chattering, trying her damnedest to seem like she was impenetrable. In spite of the recent penetration.

  “Honey, if I would have known I was going to be the first, I’d have paid a prime fucking fee to get a piece. I just think you sold yourself cheap.”

  “Kiss my ass,” she said, starting to get out of bed, holding the sheet firmly against her body.

  “Nah. But later I might bite it. Lie down. We’re not done.”

  “Like hell we aren’t done. Why would I let you touch me again?”

  “Because I made you scream like you were dying and you loved every second of it.” He leaned in, planting his hands on either side of her. “You liked it even when you said no. I think,” he continued, a dark light in his eyes, “you like it best when you say no.”

  He straightened, leaving her shivering, cold thanks to his absence. Bastard.

  “I’m going to take a shower,” he said, turning and walking into the bathroom. She did her best not to stare at his ass.

  Her best wasn’t good enough.

  She had a feeling it was an invitation for her to join him. But she had to go. Needed to get her head on straight.

  She got out of bed and headed downstairs, gathering up her clothes. By the time he got out of the shower, she didn’t plan on being here.

  If he wanted any more sex tonight, it was going to have to come from his right hand.

  Chapter 8

  Well, fuck. She’d been a fucking virgin.

  He was torn between an uncharacteristic bout of guilt and the searing, slow burn of regret one might feel after knocking back expensive bourbon in one swallow because you’d been under the illusion it was cheap.

  Not that he’d ever imagined Sarah was cheap. It was part of the triumph he felt when she’d gone down on her knees in front of him, ready to obey his every command.

  But if he would’ve known he was the first man? He would’ve gone slower. Not for her, for him. He would have savored that. Even now, satisfied from the explosive release he just had, he felt himself getting hard again. The hot water from the shower sluiced over his skin, his hands following the trail, his own touch turning him on when coupled with the thoughts that were rioting through his head.

  He’d never screwed a virgin before. Not because of any moral scruples, but because virgins didn’t come looking for guys like him. At least, not usually. This one had been standing in the entry of a mansion, waiting for him like a beautifully wrapped gift.

  And being the kind of guy he was, he made his gift unwrap herself.

  His cock jerked as he wrapped his fist around his hardening length. Then he cursed and shut the water off. He wasn’t going to stand in here and jack off like a teenage boy. If he wanted some, he would go get some. Sarah was probably waiting outside, and if not, another woman would do.

  He hadn’t done anything like that in a long time. Gone from one woman to the next with barely a breath in between. Sometimes, all he’d had to do was roll over and another woman was already there, naked and waiting. But that was back in the clubhouse days. And while he couldn’t den
y he’d gotten a kick out of that kind of shit, most of those days were a dark, muddy blur in his memory. Days he didn’t really care to repeat. A man he didn’t really want to go back to being.

  But the man he’d become didn’t feel right here. He didn’t function here. His actions with Sarah just now proved that.

  That guy, the one who said all those things to her, who kept on going even when she told him to stop, was the man who’d come straight up out of poorest parts of the city, right into the neon of Bourbon Street to try to make something of himself.

  He’d never been content with poverty, though he imagined no one was. He’d been driven to escape. By any means necessary. That was why they called him Prince. Because he’d lusted after the finer things. Had always—transparently at first—desired to cross the velvet ropes that kept the common folk out of every place that glittered in the gritty swamp of the city.

  That’s why he’d gone to work, first running drugs, then joining up with the Deacons. To try and get a little piece of what people like the Delacroix had.

  Well, tonight you got a little piece of a Delacroix.

  Yeah, so he had. He got out of the shower and grabbed a towel, ruthlessly dragging it over his skin before casting it back down to the floor. He’d ordered all the necessary items for the mansion the first night he’d slept in it. If he had to abandon the luxury hotel where he’d been sleeping since he first arrived in New Orleans, he wasn’t about to downgrade.

  Ajax would think that was hilarious. The fact that Prince was too good to sleep on sheets that didn’t have a high enough thread count. If Ajax even knew what that meant. He hadn’t exactly had any heart-to-heart talks with his old brother about what the other man had been up to since leaving New Orleans, but he imagined he hadn’t gotten himself a luxury penthouse apartment.