by BETH KERY
He could easily become addicted to this woman.
He finally hovered above her pussy, shaking with desire at the anticipation of eating her again. His hands came up to cradle her restless hips, keeping her still for his attack. He flicked his tongue over her swollen labia quickly, gently. Even with such a darting caress he came away drenched with her cream.
When Vic’s brain registered that intoxicant, he lost it.
Niall felt like she was about to shatter into a million pieces. She couldn’t take the tension anymore. She couldn’t take being stretched on the rack of Vic’s singular brand of torture. She’d never been so focused on anything in her life as she was on Vic’s hands and mouth over the past several minutes. He’d taken away the possibility of fragmenting her attention from his sensual onslaught by tying her up. There was no way she could reciprocate . . . she could only take what he gave her.
Take . . . and anticipate what she would have to endure next. Take and receive.
Oh, God, did she receive. Her entire body had become an exquisite receptor of sensory stimuli.
Niall felt herself rise over the crest of orgasm as she watched Vic’s tongue flick ever so lightly against the sensitive folds of her outer sex. She tried to raise her hips to press herself against that elusive, teasing tongue, but he held her steady. A plea rose in her throat, but before she had a chance to release it, he abruptly plunged his stiffened tongue between her sensitive labia and licked everywhere, agitating her clit, lashing it, sucking the nerve-packed flesh without mercy.
She screamed as orgasm crashed violently into her. Her back arched off the bed. Her wrists pulled at her restraints, but she couldn’t escape Vic’s mouth. He continued to eat her, moving his jaws in a relentless rhythm, sucking her clit between his teeth, nipping, biting . . . abusing her delicate tissues.
And God, she loved it.
She writhed in an agony of pure ecstasy. The first climax that broke over her was almost too sharp to bear, but her tension level and his ruthless treatment of her hypersensitive tissues had her crashing in orgasm again almost before the spasms had waned from her previous climax.
After she’d quieted as much as she possibly could when Vic continued to slurp and suck at her, she whimpered for him to stop. She couldn’t take this anymore. Never in a million years would she have guessed that someone could make her feel so damn much.
Vic dimly heard her calling out to him. When he saw the desperation on Niall’s face, he forced himself to pull his tongue from between her luscious, swollen lips. He wouldn’t allow her to talk him out of plunging his tongue into her pussy several times, though, high and hard. He held her gaze while he did it. He loved how wide her eyes got as she watched his tongue fuck her almost as much as he did the flavor of her honeyed musk. She tasted so damn good that he wanted to keep it up, but his protesting cock wouldn’t let him.
He slapped her inner thigh lightly as he loomed over her.
“Spread your legs wide again,” he rasped. He grunted in appreciation when she opened her golden thighs so wide she was pretty damn near doing a split for him. Her pussy looked red and wet . . . like an invitation to his wildest fantasies. His eyes kept returning to the luscious sight while he rolled on another condom.
He knelt in front of her and lifted her up over his knees, holding her hips with one hand while the other arrowed his cock into that welcoming little tunnel. Their shouts entwined as pleasure jolted through both of them when he flexed his hips and plunged his length into her.
Vic’s gaze was on her when Niall opened her eyes after she’d absorbed the shock of his cock pushing into her body. His mouth twisted.
“Is that what you wanted, honey?” he taunted softly as he began to thrust in and out, keeping her thighs spread wide in the air. His pelvis smacked loudly and rapidly against her completely spread pussy and thighs. As exposed as she was, she felt like he stimulated every inch of her sensitive flesh . . . the defined, hard knob of his cock massaging the sweet spot deep in her body, his heavy balls slapping against moist, sensitive skin, his pelvis crashing against her tender lips and clit.
“God, yes,” she whispered breathlessly, barely able to speak as he pummeled her.
Vic’s eyes glowed with manic lust. He abruptly pushed her legs back, making her scream as he fixed her feet beneath the horizontal wrought-iron post of the bedstead.
“Keep ’em there,” he ordered before he rose over her, supporting his body on the bedstead. He pounded into her. The angle of the position that he forced her to take was as uncompromising as it was wickedly arousing. She couldn’t have maintained it for long, as hard as Vic drove into her, but Niall could tell by the fierce, wild expression on his face that his orgasm loomed.
“Fuck yeeaaahhh!” he grated out as he hammered into her one last time. He clenched his eyes shut and groaned in agonized pleasure.
Niall felt a genuine level of discomfort as she felt him swell inside her vagina. But by the time she felt him throb in climax within her, the angle making the sensation of him coming even more potent than ever before, her lust overcame her pain. She pressed against him tighter, tilting her hips up rhythmically to get the pressure she needed.
And she was exploding right there with him.
“Ah, baby, that’s so good,” he muttered. He pumped her hard throughout his orgasm. Finally, his upper body sagged against the bedstead as exhaustion overcame him.
Niall blinked her eyes open and took in the expression on his face. She released her feet. “Untie me, Vic,” she whispered. “I want to touch you.”
“Sorry,” he grunted sheepishly.
“Where are you going?” Niall asked in stunned disbelief when he suddenly got off her and stood.
“Hold your horses. I’ll be right back,” he assured her. He came back a few seconds later, carrying a large pair of scissors.
“Vic, what the hell . . . ?”
“Calm down,” he muttered with a grin. “It’s the only way I’m gonna get you loose. I tied off a tight fucker.”
She gasped when he matter-of-factly cut his belt in half, freeing her wrists and making the buckle clank loudly as it fell on the iron bed.
“Your belt is ruined,” she murmured huskily. She held out her arms for him. He tossed aside the scissors and clambered onto the bed.
“You think I care? That was a damn better use for a piece of leather than holding up my pants any time,” he said through a widening grin that he pressed repeatedly to her neck. She chuckled softly and lifted her hands to touch the smooth skin over his solid shoulder muscles. She closed her eyes and inhaled the sublimity of the sensation. A satisfied lethargy pervaded her. Because he let her indulge so infrequently in touching his beautiful body at her leisure, she appreciated doing it exponentially.
She sighed deeply.
Vic raised his head at the sound. She watched him through the narrow slit of eyelids that grew heavier by the second. She registered that he smiled . . . not wide, but enough for her to see his crooked front tooth.
And then she succumbed to a deep, profound sleep.
It should have been you, Niall. It should have been you!
The sharp, staccato cracking noise of gunshots followed by a muffled cry of terror—
Niall started into hyperalertness, knowing immediately that the sound of distress had been her own. She experienced this too frequently to think otherwise. Instinct told her that she lay alone in Vic’s bed. A beam of light glowed through a crack in the bedroom door. She rose and fumbled for her shirt and panties on the floor.
She noted her perspiration-glazed face when she looked into the mirror in Vic’s bathroom. This, too, came as no surprise. The nights that she didn’t awaken with her heart pounding in fear and her body drenched in sweat were becoming less frequent.
Still, good nights were the exception, not the rule.
She wet a washcloth with cool water and used the soap at the sink to repair the aftereffects of her nightmare and several rounds of phenomenal sex.
<
br /> It was nice to think of their lovemaking while her body still tried to recover from the bad dream. Her hand slowed as she washed her thighs. The slight soreness and tingling sensation at her breasts and sex strangely satisfied her instead of striking her as unpleasant.
A few moments later she padded barefoot into Vic’s living room. She paused next to the end of the couch when she saw him. She studied him while he worked, completely unaware of her presence.
He wore only a pair of black sweats tied low on his lean hips. His dark brown hair fell on his forehead as he leaned over in deep concentration. What looked like a typed manuscript lay in his lap. Other pieces of paper and tablets were scattered on the coffee table in front of him. He occasionally wrote on the pages with quick, almost angry movements of his pencil or turned a page briskly.
His glasses intrigued her. How could such a big, masculine man who looked like he would thrive in the brisk outdoors doing hard manual labor look so natural wearing glasses while he worked at his art with total focus?
A strange, unwelcome feeling overcame her. At that moment Vic Savian seemed so vast to her. She’d come to know only the tiniest part of him . . . the outer limits of the universe of his character.
Niall didn’t think that she’d moved or made a sound, but suddenly his chin shifted and his eyes pinned her. A feeling overcame her that took her a moment to recognize.
Shyness? She laughed at herself for that. Why would that feeling overwhelm her at this moment and not when he’d tied her to his bed and had his way with her as he had earlier?
“I’m sorry, I saw the light. I didn’t mean to bother you,” she said in a hushed voice that paid tribute to the early morning hour.
“Come here,” Vic said after a moment of silence.
Niall came around to sit on the sofa. She’d just seen something in his usually impassive expression that amazed her.
“You’re nervous, aren’t you? About the opening of your play next week?” she asked as she sat and folded her legs beneath her.
He yanked off his glasses and pressed his fingers into his clenched eyelids. Niall could almost feel the burn he must be experiencing. Had he slept at all?
“I always get nervous, but this fucking monster is gonna flop hard enough to give me whiplash. Forget about the damage it might do to the unsuspecting public,” he muttered after a few seconds.
He glanced up sharply when Niall chuckled.
“What’s so funny?” he asked sourly.
Niall refused to be cowed by his scowl. She’d been around artists since her undergraduate days, which meant she had plenty of exposure to the artistic temperament. “I just had this image of you madly flipping switches at a control panel behind the eyes of some kind of raging Godzilla monster. I have a feeling the citizens of Chicago will survive, Vic.”
He stared coldly at her a few seconds before he exhaled, the taut muscles of his abdomen relaxing slightly. “Not so sure I will, though.”
“You always have before.”
“That’s debatable,” he replied sullenly. His expression shifted as if he’d heard himself and hadn’t cared for the sound. He wore a small, sheepish grin by the time his gaze met hers. She returned the smile.
“What’s your play called?” she asked softly.
His eyes flickered over her bare legs. He reached for the knitted throw folded across the back of the couch. “Lie back,” he directed. When she did, he picked up the manuscript in his lap, replacing it with her feet. “Alias X,” he finally replied. “Do you want to see it? We’re having a run-through tomorrow night,” he said while he tucked the blanket around her.
“Are you worried I’ll get trampled by the fleeing crowd on opening night?” she murmured.
He palmed one of her thighs through the blanket. “You’ve got good legs. You’ll likely get out alive.” He smiled at her muffled snort of laughter. “You’re better off seeing it tomorrow night. No one likes to be around me on opening night. No one. Not even my mother.”
“Hmmm,” she hummed contentedly from inside her warm knit cocoon. “Godzilla’s night to rampage, huh?”
He gave her a glance of dark amusement before he briskly picked up the manuscript. Niall sensed he was finished chatting, but it didn’t feel like a dismissal. She found herself getting sleepy at the sound of his scratching pencil and the lulling sensations of his movements vibrating down into her feet.
“It’s gonna be great,” she muttered sleepily, more to herself than to him.
This time she slept without dreams.
SIX
Vic put two extra scoopfuls of coffee into the filter before he switched on the pot the next morning and headed toward the bathroom. He needed the extra caffeine. Niall’s sleeping form on the couch drew his gaze. His pace slowed and then stalled for a few seconds as he examined her. Her hair spread across a pillow and partially covered her face. The morning sunlight shimmered in the golden strands, almost making them seem alive. She looked so small huddled beneath the knit blanket. He could easily imagine how good it would feel having her soft, warm body mold against his as she slowly awakened to his touch. The fantasy was potent enough to make his cock lurch almost painfully against his sweatpants.
He forced himself to move away from her. He smiled as he turned on the shower in the bathroom. Niall hadn’t moved a millimeter since she’d fallen asleep last night. She must have been exhausted. Not too surprising after the great sex they’d had, Vic thought with a trace of smugness. He’d slept solidly himself for three and a half hours afterward—a small miracle, given Vic’s typical incessant restlessness in the weeks before an opening.
By the time he exited the bathroom door in a billow of steam ten minutes later, he felt fantastic—strong and full of purpose. As he poured himself a cup of coffee, he glanced up distractedly at the sound of someone pounding loudly on a door out in the hallway.
“Niall? Honey? Wake up!” a woman called.
Vic catiously set his cup on the counter and moved out into the hall of his apartment, ear cocked to catch the voices.
“Why didn’t she ever give us a key in case of an emergency?” the woman asked impatiently.
“She was supposed to have lived here for only two months. There wasn’t any need,” a man responded in a clipped voice. Another round of loud knocking ensued. Vic stepped back into the living room and gently brushed aside the hair from Niall’s face.
“Niall. Wake up, baby,” he ordered.
His mouth pressed into a hard line when she moved restlessly and then settled back into deep sleep. The people in the hall conversed in a tense tone before they started another round of door hammering that made his jaw clench in irritation.
“She’s not in there.”
Vic registered the amazed expressions on the couple’s faces when they turned around a moment later at his harsh proclamation.
Niall’s parents, he thought immediately when he saw the woman’s face. It was like looking into a magic mirror to see how Niall would look in twenty-odd years. If that was the case, Niall was one hell of a lucky woman. The woman who stood in front of him was a knockout—more polished than Niall, less approachable, diamond-hard . . . completely flawless. Vic found himself staring at her nose, not realizing until later that he searched for what he missed—the adorable imperfection of Niall’s freckles. Her eyes—not hazel like her daughter’s, but instead a startling shade of azure—flickered over his body. Vic forced his expression into neutrality.
Great. Stellar first impression. He wore only a towel.
“How do you know Niall isn’t in there?” the tall, distinguished-looking man barked sharply. “Did you hear her leave this morning?”
“No. She hasn’t left for work yet.”
The man glanced back uneasily at Niall’s front door. “But you said—”
“I’m right here, Dad.” Vic turned at the sound of Niall’s low, sleep-roughened voice. Sunlight flooded her from behind, making the exposed skin of her legs and face look ethereally pale.
Vic didn’t need to look at Niall’s parents in the tense seconds that followed to know that they were doing the equivalent of manually lifting their lower lips off the hallway carpet. Niall’s face, on the other hand, looked like it had been carved from marble.
“Is it an emergency?” Niall asked, dread lacing her tone.
Her father recovered first from his shock at seeing his daughter half-dressed in the company of a nearly naked man. “Yes, Niall. It is.”
Vic tensed unconsciously at Niall’s father’s tone of voice. Something in it seemed to imply that Niall was somehow responsible for whatever the emergency was. Vic didn’t take too kindly to that insinuation, especially when he saw that whatever tiny remnant of color Niall possessed in her cheeks had faded completely.
She ducked her head as she turned. “I’ll just get my things,” she murmured.
Vic glanced back at the hostile-looking couple before he let the door close heavily with them on the other side of it. Trying to make “nice-nice” with Niall’s parents at that moment would have been a big mistake.
“I’m sorry,” Niall said a few seconds later when she came out of his bedroom. She paused as she hastily zipped her leather boot. “I don’t think I’ll be able to make your play tonight.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Vic said from the doorway of the kitchen.
She gave him a harried look of apology before she started for the door.
“Niall,” he said, garnering her attention before her hand reached the knob. He waited until her big eyes met his. “I’ll call you later this afternoon,” he added pointedly.
Her gaze shifted away from his. “Don’t. I mean . . . it’s not necessary. I . . . I have to go.”
Vic stood there after she left, listening. No more voices from the hallway, just the sound of Niall’s keys rattling in the hostile silence.