He didn’t notice the desk clerk or anyone else—if they even passed others—as they made their way to their room. All he could think about was that he was finally going to be able to put his hands on her again.
Finally. As though they hadn’t been nearly naked with his fingers inside her just hours ago. Doing something he’d never allowed himself to do with another client. Something that, with anyone other than Victoria, would have been risky, what with the act’s inherent intimacy that could surpass intercourse in the right situation.
He definitely didn’t suffer from any feelings of regret.
He closed the bedroom door behind them and flipped on the light switch right beside it. She turned, and her greedy gaze roved all over him, stopping at—what he knew now after many nights—were her favorites: the hollow of his throat, his chest, his thighs. Then, back up, and up, and up her gaze went again until it met his.
Slowly, she raised her hand and pulled her ponytail free. Thick, honey hair tumbled down around her shoulders, whispering against the soft skin covering her clavicle—one of his favorite spots. One he wanted to be licking and biting right this second.
He pushed away from the door, and her pupils expanded, gobbling up that sweet, rich brown as he strode toward her. Needing the control it would buy him, he would undress himself, first. He knew the moment she was naked, he was going to have the fight of his life ahead of him to keep calm and make sure this was slow. Sweet.
Because, for some reason, he wanted slow and sweet more than he wanted anything in the world right now.
When he popped the button beneath his throat, Victoria’s lips parted. Her gaze darted to his fingers and held, then followed them as they made their way down the rest of his buttons. He half expected her to brush his hands away and do it herself—something she’d done each time they’d been together, as though she couldn’t wait to see him. But, against all his expectations, she simply watched raptly.
Maybe it was the same for her, the barely contained control. Maybe she was as conflicted as he was, and this was one way she was holding on to her restraint. He could hope at least. And he really liked the idea of her seething beneath the surface, needing him more than she knew how to handle.
He shrugged the shirt from his shoulders. Her doe-eyed gaze followed it to the floor, and by the time it rose again, his fingers were working at his belt buckle.
The slow, steady rise and fall of her breasts began to accelerate. His fingers stuttered at his zipper, his focus too embroiled with what he knew lay beneath her blouse. He rallied and shucked his pants, his erection springing free.
A soft noise slipped through her parted lips, and he heard it with an echoing clench in his gut. His erection bobbed; her throat did as well.
And, still, she didn’t touch him with anything other than her gaze.
He stepped toward her, and the crown of his cock brushed against the soft satin of her blouse, momentarily distracting him with a shock of soft pleasure. He wanted to thrust there, feel her warm skin beneath cool, silky fabric. Instead, he raised hands that trembled slightly, making slow, clumsy work of her small, pearl buttons.
He was growing obsessed with her buttons. Each blouse she wore had them. Tiny, delicate. Hiding such wicked feminine decadence. For the rest of his life, Kip knew he would picture these buttons when he thought about the most arousing sights he’d ever seen. He untucked her blouse, then smoothed his palms over her shoulders, pushing the blouse down.
He’d seen her red lace thong before dinner; he had not seen the matching red lace bra. It was so sheer, he could see her mouthwatering, rose-colored nipples beneath. They pressed into the lace, straining it to miraculous lengths. The bra pushed her full breasts up to nearly the spilling point.
With a harsh swallow, he unhooked the clasp between her breasts, freeing them to his gaze.
“Oh, Christ.” His erection kicked again, this time brushing against the soft skin of her belly instead of her blouse. It left a trail of pre-cum behind, the tip of him sliding against her. He muttered her name—how many times, he wasn’t sure, but hopefully it was just once—and then cupped her breasts, savoring the soft scrape of her nipples against his palms.
His control shuddered.
He needed it too desperately to concede it now. He allowed himself only one gentle squeeze before he dropped his hands to her pants along with his gaze. If he looked at her breasts any longer, he was a goner.
Her stomach dipped as his fingertips brushed against it, and her breath fanned across his chest, quick and erratic.
He knelt and pulled her pants and underwear with him, skimming his fingers down the fronts of her thighs as he did so until he got to her knees. Once there, he stroked the sensitive back of her knee, raising first one and then the other as he took off the last of her clothes.
Then, he stood once more, allowing himself the unmitigated pleasure of looking at Victoria Hastings completely bare to him. He held stock still as his gaze hungrily devoured her, but not even that stillness lasted long. His hand found his cock, and without his permission, gave a stroke that curled his toes into the carpet.
He stopped himself, pulling his hand away and extending it toward her. With no sound other than her harsh breathing, Victoria again placed her hand in his. He swallowed hard as he led her over to the full-length mirror in the dressing area.
God, he wanted to look at her, to look his fill. But with her completely naked, with him completely naked. With the closeness he was feeling. With three enormous words clawing to get out of him.
He needed a little distance.
He stopped them beside the vanity. Her back was to the mirror, and she gazed up at him with complete and utter trust—a gift he knew she hadn’t bestowed on any man in a long time. It touched him deeply. With gentle hands, he grasped her shoulders and turned her until she faced the mirror as well.
Their gazes connected through the glass, and, just like he’d hoped, the intensity was less. Still more powerful than he’d ever felt with someone else, but manageable. If he took her here, in front of this mirror, he could have his soft and sweet. Would be able to give that to her instead of the frantic fucking they’d had every night since they’d met.
As he held her gaze, he threaded his hands through the space between her arms and hips, skimming his fingers across that delicate nip of her waist and to her stomach. Like a dream, she leaned back against him, capturing his throbbing erection in the small of her back and resting her head against his chest.
He skated his fingers up to her delicate ribs, counting each one he passed, and—finally—he cupped her breasts once more. This time, he couldn’t stop from groaning. Gave himself up to it, his hips thrusting, grinding his dick against her.
She moaned, too, arching her back into the touch, pressing herself further into his palms. He squeezed, and she moaned again. When he pinched her nipples, she cried out, and for a moment, he worried he’d been the same rough Kip he’d always been with her. Worried, even, that he’d hurt her. But her head rocked back and forth against his chest. She raised her own hands and covered his with them, and then she forced him to pinch her again, more firmly this time.
He bit out a curse. “Victoria.” He plumped her breasts. Pinched and teased her nipples. Within seconds, she was squirming against him. He relinquished one of her breasts. Wrapping his arm around her ribs in an embrace, he palmed her right breast with his left hand. With his now free hand, he circled her navel and then ventured down to her sex. Her arousal slicked his fingers, and, with a groan, he pressed a kiss to her shoulder.
“Please, Kip,” she moaned.
Yes. Anything you ask.
With his foot, he snagged the small, upholstered bench from the vanity. It traveled across the floor with a very unsuave screech. Once he had it where he wanted it, he leaned down. Grasping her behind the knee, he raised her leg until she planted her foot on the bench.
In the mirror, paradise opened for him. “Fuck.” He used his fingers to spread he
r farther. So soft and pink. So mine.
Just for tonight.
She moaned again and chased his touch with a small, frantic bucking of her hips. With a soft nip to the back of her neck, Kip eased his hips back. Bending his knees, he grasped his erection, directed it just where he wanted it, and . . .
Her eyes widened as he slid into her. That brown gaze of hers narrowed in the mirror, and she watched as her body took every inch of him into her. “Kip.” His name was desperate and barely audible.
The soft, silken clasp of her sex around his wrenched a groan from him, and then he froze. It was too good. Too silken.
“Condom,” he bit out from between tight lips. He couldn’t move, because if he did, he wasn’t going to have the strength to pull out of her.
She shook her head, her hair catching against his rough jaw. “On the pill.” She pulled in a ragged breath. “Clean.”
In an ordinary situation, with all his mental faculties firing, Kip would have pulled out, gotten a condom, and arranged for them to exchange medical histories outside a sexual situation. He would never, never take a woman’s word for it, nor would he expect her to take his. But with Victoria?
“Me, too.” He shook with the effort of holding still as their gazes connected once again in the mirror.
“Then fuck me.” She rocked back against him and he bit back a groan. “God, please fuck me.”
This time, he couldn’t bite back the groan, and when it rumbled up from his chest, it carried surrender. He thrust up into her, and pleasure lit all throughout his body.
He couldn’t remember the last time he’d gone without a condom. It certainly hadn’t been in a professional capacity, which meant it had been years. And whomever it had been with, it dimmed to nothing in comparison to the feel of Victoria around him, squeezing him with her body, drawing him deeper than he’d thought he could go.
He thrust again, and she moaned. Then she brought her arms up, filling his palm with her breast even more, and wrapped them around the back of his neck.
Her fingers played with the hair at the base of his hairline, and she rocked back on him, grinding against him the only way she could in this position.
The sight of all that pink, swollen flesh in the mirror made Kip’s balls ache and semen climb his shaft within seconds. He wound his arm over her propped up leg and found her clit with his fingers. Pressing two over it, he circled firmly.
Her sex clenched in response, and he nipped her shoulder, trying desperately to delay the inevitable for minutes, even seconds more. “Victoria,” he groaned. He rubbed her clit again. And again. And then, praise God, her sex clenched and began undulating against him.
“Kip!”
He raised his head, catching sight of her rapturous face in the mirror. Her eyes were closed, her lips parted. Her breasts heaved and her stomach quivered. His name left her lips over and over.
He tightened the arm beneath her breasts, needing to be as close to her as possible. He pumped into her once, twice, and then froze as pleasure cascaded through him. He groaned her name as he began to jet inside her.
I love you.
Had he said the words out loud? “Oh, God.” He forced his head up from where his forehead was pressed into her shoulder, scanning Victoria’s face for any signs of horror.
Her eyes were still closed. Her upthrust breasts still bobbed against his arm. She moaned softly as her orgasm abated.
She showed no signs of hearing the words that had been screaming inside his skull as he’d emptied himself inside her.
Her knee buckled, and she slouched against him. Because he held her around the ribs, all he had to do to keep her from slinking to the ground was tighten his hold. His sweat-slicked chest slid across her back, and when he peered at her closer in the mirror, he could see a fine sheen of perspiration on her as well.
That pulled him from his funk with a small smile. Job well done.
Though, he frowned again, it had definitely not felt like a job. Hell, it hadn’t felt like a job since night one. And now, it was over.
To shut out his thoughts, he slowly pulled from the warm clench of her sex, unable to stop from groaning as he did so. There was one more thing he could do to delay the inevitable. One last, desperate bid for a few more minutes together. She gasped as he scooped her up in his arms and walked the few feet to the massive glass shower. Switching her weight to one arm, he reached in and started the spray, turning the dial three quarters of the way to hot.
It was too soon for the water to have heated up, but he nevertheless carried Victoria inside the shower, turning his back to the water so the ice-cold hit him instead of her. It was a much-needed slap of reality, and as goose bumps crawled all over his body and his nipples grew so hard they could cut diamonds, he gritted his teeth and welcomed it.
Victoria sighed and nestled her cheek against his chest. Despite the cold water, he felt warmed from the inside out.
When the water finally did warm up, Kip turned and sat on the bench, settling her across his thighs. He glanced down at her. She hadn’t moved at all since he’d scooped her into his arms. Her eyes were still closed, and now her thick eyelashes were dotted with droplets of spray from the showerhead, lending her an otherworldly quality that made him want to sit and stare at her even more than he normally did. She was so still she might be asleep.
At the thought, he cradled her closer, racked with the most absurd urge to rock her. Instead of that idiocy, he smoothed a palm over her hair, wetting it. Then, he reached over and snagged a bottle of shampoo and set about the unmistakable but unexpected pleasure of washing a woman’s hair.
It was a bit awkward with only one truly free hand, but as he scraped his fingertips across her scalp, she moaned deeply and snuggled in against him even closer, so . . .
Awkward be damned, he’d wash her hair all night long if that’s what she wanted.
However, with a sigh, her eyelids fluttered open. He smiled down at her, and when she smiled back, he realized he’d never seen her so utterly relaxed.
He’d done that to her. For her.
Something surged in his chest. He sat a little straighter.
“Want me to wash yours, too?”
Her hands on him again? “Yep.”
She breathed a laugh, and then she straightened. He immediately regretted his quick agreement if it meant she was leaving his arms. But then, things got even better. She turned toward him, and in a short series of moves, ended up straddling his lap, her knees planted on the tile bench at either side of his hips.
He gulped and immediately shot hard as titanium. She dipped a glance down at the erection now pressing into her inner thigh, and she wore a sly grin.
But she didn’t do anything else. Didn’t take him inside her, like he was half hoping she would. Didn’t make any sort of comment. Instead, she simply began washing his hair.
Despite the fact that this made her breasts bob right in front of his face—his mouth, for God’s sake—he didn’t wish she’d chosen a different action than what she had.
The first time a woman’s touched me in years without sexual intent.
Why did that rock him to the core? Why did the simple act of her washing his hair mean almost more to him than the hours he’d spent with this same woman in a knot of sweaty sheets? Why did his hands go to her waist and squeeze, just because he wanted to hold on to her? Feel her beneath his hands without having her body beneath his?
“Your hair is so thick.”
He blinked up at her. “What?”
She smirked again, and, swear to God, he wanted to kiss that smirk right off her face. What had she said? “Oh.” His hair. “Right.” He stroked up her back and liked it so much, he decided to stroke back down, too. So soft and silky. He did it again.
She moved slightly out of the way so the spray could hit his hair and rinse out the shampoo, and her shifted balance did amazing things to her breasts, which he had quickly grown obsessed with.
To keep his hands behaving
, he reached for the bar of soap to his left. A perfect excuse to keep touching her, and a purpose that would hopefully keep his hands occupied. He started by soaping up her back, since his hands were already there. Far too soon, that task was accomplished, and he had to move his hands to much more treacherous ground.
As he washed her arms—a safe enough place to start—she sighed again and settled her bottom more firmly against his thighs.
I could get used to this. He washed her breasts next, and—damn him—he lingered. There was no way to avoid it. But just as her breathing started to hitch every other breath, and just as her skin started to pinken across the top of her chest, he forced his hands to safer ground, sweeping the soap across her belly and then thighs.
Last, he washed her gently between her legs—something he’d never had to do before with another client, thanks to his fastidious condom use. He braced for regret to course through him. He had violated a personal code of ethics, after all.
But as he washed his semen from Victoria’s pink, still-swollen flesh, he felt nothing but a completion that was as terrifying as it was gratifying.
By the time she was clean, she was also nodding, her eyes drifting open and closed in longer blinks. He held her against his chest, quickly rinsed himself off as best he could around her, and then carried her to the bed, snatching two fluffy towels on the way.
Propping her in one arm again, he spread one towel and then gently lowered Victoria to the bed atop it. She immediately spread out like the world’s most adorable, naked starfish, and Kip had to bite his lip to keep from chuckling and waking her up. He soaked up the rest of the water dotting her skin with the spare towel, and when she was dry, wrapped it around his waist.
He pulled the covers up to her chin, spread the wet hair he’d washed across her pillow. And then he stepped back.
This was always when he left. Hell, with another client, he’d have been out the door as soon as they’d finished.
He located his clothes with his eyes. They were in the same heap where he’d discarded them before taking Victoria’s clothes off her as soon as they got into the hotel room.
Hard Work Page 15