by Aimee Carson
She slowly shook her head, quaking with need. “You’ll let me?” Obviously the man required a little more humbling. With a deep breath, Alyssa stood, bringing a startled look to Paulo’s face, and she bit back a grin. “I should check on the staff.” Fingers trembling, she drained the last of her champagne, trying to appear nonchalant. “Besides, I think it would do you some good to wait a little longer.” She sent him a small smile. “You know, heighten the anticipation a little.”
He stared at her blankly, as if she was speaking Greek. “You gotta be kidding me.”
His expression was priceless. Working hard to keep her composure, she enjoyed the sensation of power, and her smile got bigger. “Why, Mr. Domingues, where is that infamous patience of yours?”
His eyes narrowed with growing suspicion. “Is this some sort of payback?”
Chuckling, she leaned forward, bringing her lips within inches of his. “Of course.” She raised a brow, dropping her gaze to his mouth and enjoying her effect on him way too much. “Afraid I’ll change my mind?”
“Hell, yeah,” Paulo growled back, his eyes black with desire.
“You should be.” Alyssa straightened up and sent Paulo a coy look. “I’ll come find you when I’m done.”
CHAPTER FIVE
AS THE last of the staff left the building, Alyssa glanced at her watch.
Almost 1:00 a.m.
Fatigue settled in her chest like dead weight. The moving crew had hauled away the rental furniture, and she had just finished her survey of the reception room and was on her way to the pool for its final inspection. As she crossed the lobby, she wondered where Paulo had wandered off to.
Maybe he had given up on her and gone home. Disappointment rose at the thought. But as she entered the elevator footsteps sounded behind her. Alyssa looked up and caught Paulo’s reflection in the mirrored wall.
Her fatigue vanished as the doors slid shut behind him, and the elevator waited patiently for someone to push a button. But patience was the furthest thing from her mind. Still keyed up from their earlier encounter, she was a conflicted mass of nerves and need. “Where are you taking me?”
“The first time?” Paulo’s eyes held hers in the mirror as he stepped closer. “Here.”
Her mind balked at the answer, but her body didn’t care as it began a chant of encouragement. She stared at Paulo’s reflection, and then at her suit, unsure what to do next. The coy feeling of control from before was long gone.
It had been fun.
It had also been an act.
He must have seen her concern. “No more thinking about your work.” He lowered his mouth to nuzzle her neck. “Now it’s just you and me.” Nipping a path toward her jaw, each rake of his teeth made her sizzle. But the starkly vivid vision of them in the mirror was too much, so she tried to turn in his arms for a kiss.
He stopped her by pulling her flat against his muscular frame, his erection hard against her backside. Moisture flooded her panties, and her heart thudded harder, as if pumping blood to all those suddenly engorged parts of her body took extra work.
“I know what you want,” he said at her ear. “And we’ll get to that, I promise.” His arms encircled her, his cheek level with hers, his dark hair tickling her face. “But first…” Holding her gaze in the mirror, he began to undo her jacket, winding her tighter with every release of a button. “I want you to see yourself as I do.”
Though awash in a sea of longing, she blinked twice, suddenly petrified. She knew how the guys in college had seen her. As trashy. Cheap.
A guaranteed lay.
Shame churned her stomach. She’d been hit on repeatedly, and with as much delicacy as a freight train, while they’d tried to prove the rumors true.
“How do you see me?” she said hoarsely. She was almost afraid to hear.
With a grasp of her lapels, Paulo peeled her coat down her arms, the fabric falling to the floor. “I see a lady who wears a crisp business suit,” he said.
Her nerve slipped lower as he released the catch on her skirt. With a push, it landed at her feet, leaving her in just her camisole and panties.
A wolfish grin appeared. “With a daring red thong beneath.”
Daring. The frantic beat of her heart made the term kind of ridiculous.
“Not so daring if no one sees it,” she said quietly.
“I see it.” Hooking her panties with his thumbs, he dragged the scrap of lace past her hips. Once her thong joined her skirt, with her help, he lifted her camisole and tossed it aside. Eyes devouring her, the grin on his face died. And so did the last of her frayed nerves.
Paralyzed, Alyssa stared at her reflection. A woman about to engage in a sexual exploit in an elevator.
She felt bared. Stripped of her constricting clothes. But without them she wasn’t the cool business owner. The competent careerwoman. Her suit, her identity—her armor—lay in a pile at her feet.
And the moment was so blatantly sensual, so highly charged, it was overwhelming. Sure she’d make a fool of herself, she turned her face away from her image, trying for a light tone. “I just see a naked lady.”
Holding her chin, he gently turned her face toward the mirror again. “A very sexy lady,” Paulo said.
Her nipples tightened, and she knew Paulo noticed by his voice.
“One capable of great passion,” he murmured huskily.
Was she? Her usual insistence on darkened bedrooms sometimes left her satisfied. Kind of. Then again, it always afforded her some measure of cover. And protection. But this…?
He slid his hands down and around to the front of her thighs, her eyes growing wider as he went. Fingers threading through her curls, he brushed his thumb across her clitoris. As the pleasure pierced her, she gripped her cheek between her teeth, staring at the risqué vision of the two of them.
No man had ever watched her reaction, and the scrutiny heightened the anticipation. Made it more acute. Left her edgy. But it was almost too erotic. And when he brushed her again, shooting sparks down her limbs, her thigh muscles clinched reflexively. She couldn’t…
“It’s okay,” Paulo said. “Relax and enjoy the moment.”
The pounding in her chest hurt. “It’s not so easy for me,” she whispered.
“I’ll take care of you,” he said. “Just open your legs.”
Her breath hitched at his words, and she instinctively parted her thighs. Eyes on her face, he slid two fingers between her wet folds, and her jaw went slack at the sweet pressure. His free hand cupped her breast, caressing the tip.
Her senses were keyed up. Wired. And those magical hands were strong, sure, and so adept she wanted to weep from the pleasure.
“More,” he demanded.
Mesmerized by his touch, she did as told and spread her legs wider, finally letting him in. Allowing him complete access. Placing herself in his care. Never had she had a moment where the attention was so purely on her needs. Just the freedom to be. To feel.
And, dear God, did she feel.
Thumb stroking her nub, he took the ecstasy higher, until it was sweet torture. Every nerve-ending was eager. Every touch, smell, even the sound of their breathing was amplified. And he played her body until it hummed. As the delicious rhythm bombarded her with volley after volley of need, she clutched his wrist, mouth open, frozen, afraid if she moved she’d break the spell. But Paulo would have none of that.
“Stop holding back,” he said roughly against her ear. “Take what you want.”
“I can’t.”
“Yes.” Paulo’s gaze bored into hers as he increased the pressure of his thumb. “You can.”
She choked back a cry of pleasure, and tentatively began to rock her hips in time with his hand.
It was too much and not enough, all at once. A flame of desire shot straight between her legs, where his thumb captured it and stroked it even higher. Every sensation built on the one before, magnifying it.
Until her need teetered so high, so precariously, it was frightening.
The bone-melting heat in his eyes and the building tension left her trembling, her knees shaky. Driving her into sensual oblivion while he watched. She couldn’t look away, trapped by his gaze and their reflection in the mirror, Paulo’s one hand between her thighs, the other on her breast. Lips parted, a gasp escaped her throat with every in-and-out slide of his fingers.
“Make some noise, Alyssa.” His hazel eyes looked black. “Just let go.”
And suddenly she was tired of holding back.
Tired of denying herself.
Releasing the last of her doubt, Alyssa groaned and lifted her arms to thread her fingers through his hair. Cheeks hot, hair damp at the nape of her neck, she arched her hips.
Her movements grew stronger. Desperate. Wanting more. Demanding more. Her consciousness slipped to a higher level, a new state where she existed outside herself. A state of bliss. Euphoria.
And the mirror contributed to the out of body experience. Paulo, eyes on hers, whispered shockingly explicit words of encouragement in her ear as her body, in sync with his, moved with complete abandon. Uninhibited. Wanton.
Until, with a burst of light, the orgasm finally hit. The pressure of pleasure exploded outward, shocking in its ferocity. Her muscles convulsed around him, driving her hips to a frantic pace, riding the waves as she repeatedly cried out his name, the loud words echoing in the small space.
The silence that followed was marred only by her labored breaths. She closed her eyes and let go of his head. Every cell throbbed with each erratic thump of her heart.
“That was beautiful,” Paulo said, kissing her damp temple. “You are beautiful.”
She opened her eyes, still wrapped in Paulo’s arms, her legs limp. If he let go, she would surely slump to the floor in a heap.
“Was it worth waiting for?” Paulo asked.
All she could manage was a whisper. “Yes.” And then some.
Paulo looked at her with intense scrutiny. “Hmm. No snappy comeback. No sharp retort to keep my ego in line.” A slight lift of his lips. “Little Alyssa must have been moved.”
Moved? Good Lord, she’d been rocked to the core. Her muscles still ached from the force of her climax, as if she’d just spent the day running through deep sand. How was she going to make it to the hotel room now? “I don’t think I can move.”
Paulo chuckled as he released her. “No problem.” He began to undo the buttons on his shirt. “You don’t have to.”
Doubt overcame her weakness, and she whipped around to face him. What was he planning now? “Aren’t we going to a bed?” With a lift of an eyebrow, Paulo reached for the bottom button. Her voice sounded strangled. “But—”
The word died when he peeled off his shirt. His chest was lean. The abdomen taut. She stared up at him, the wave of need returning. Because she wanted him again. With a fierceness that was alarming. As if the most amazing orgasm she’d ever experienced wasn’t enough. Paulo pulled a condom from his pocket and then pushed his pants and briefs to the floor, kicking them aside. Now he was gloriously naked, his erection in full view, and desire sent her heart rate soaring again. But how…?
When Alyssa glanced at the marble floor, the uncertainty in her face was adorable, and Paulo felt compelled to reassure her. His little event manager had so much to learn. “No hard floors, I promise.” Staring at her, he rolled on the condom, fascinated by the pink tint to her cheeks. “We’ll do this standing up.”
Her color rose higher. “That’s impossible.”
Paulo stepped forward to cradle her breasts. “It absolutely is possible,” he said softly.
He brushed his thumbs across her nipples, and her mouth opened with a groan, wiping away her doubtful look. Satisfied, Paulo took her lips, slaking his across hers. And hers were warm. Sweet. Passionate, and yet surprisingly submissive. The aggressive, take-charge attitude was replaced with an eagerness to follow his lead. And the sense of power was exhilarating.
The mating tongues filled his mind with the image of what he wanted. Paulo lifted one of her thighs, wrapping her leg around his waist. The tip of his erection nudged her, a very frustrating touch too high. Grasping her buttocks, he shifted her up.
She pulled her mouth from his, her chest heaving. “Paulo, I don’t think this will work—”
Her words ended when he thrust inside, and they both went still, staring at each other.
She was hot. Wet.
And so, so tight.
Struggling for breath, senses reeling, he pressed his forehead to hers as he fought the urge to pound into her, the feeling violent. The self-induced, masochistic plan to concentrate purely on her pleasure, to immerse her in sensation, had backfired. Now his own need was so great he was afraid he would hurt her. Jaw clenched, hands on her buttocks, he pinned her against the mirror and began to gently rock his hips.
But with every dig deeper Paulo felt his greed grow.
With every thrust inside his tempo increased.
Until the buck of his hips was strong. Hard. He’d never get enough of her. He burned with the fire she lit in him. Cheeks flushed, her mouth slack in a silent cry, careening sounds of pleasure began to slip from her throat. He recognized the call. The sharp bite of her fingernails on his shoulders. She was close.
Unfortunately he was closer. He wanted her with him when he peaked, to feel her shatter around him again. For some inexplicable reason, if she wasn’t experiencing that same powerful force his release wouldn’t be as satisfying.
One hand supporting her, he reached between her legs to caress her slick center. The tip of his index finger landed where his shaft stroked her body, and the sense of possession was so fierce he almost came.
Gritting his teeth, embedded deep inside her, he paused again, his heart pounding. And as he stared at her it hit him. This was about more than simple satisfaction. More than just moving beyond a frustrating obsession. He had advanced, and she had retreated. He had thrust, and she had parried.
But right now, in this moment and time, she was his.
He reached up to pull her hand from his shoulder and press it between them, his fingers on top of hers, so she could feel where they were joined. Alyssa inched her leg higher on his hip, offering him more. At her silent acknowledgment he began to move again. High on the double pleasure of knowing she was experiencing the taking of her body in two ways, not just one. Thrusting harder and harder between her legs. Demanding. Rough. Ruthless in his pursuit of their pleasure, pushing it higher.
And when Alyssa let out a cry that bounced off the walls, her body clenching, the sound of her letting go drove him wild.
The feel of her orgasm made him crazy.
And with a flash of blinding light he followed her into oblivion.
Two days later Alyssa stood at the end of the staff hallway, watching the sunshine stream through the arched floor-to-ceiling windows of the Samba lobby. The tinkle of stemware and murmur of conversation filled the room. In the corner, the band played soft Latin music. The grand opening was well underway. And Paulo, in khakis and a dress shirt, mingled with the guests, looking relaxed and at ease.
Alyssa was anything but.
Because she couldn’t delay the inevitable any longer.
When Paulo had finished with her in the elevator, he’d carried her to the penthouse. And what had come next was stupefyingly unbelievable. Alyssa had eagerly followed along wherever he led her, over and over again, leaving her limp from the pleasure. It had been more than she could have imagined. Better than what she’d heard. But when she’d opened her eyes in the morning she’d been handed a major reality check.
She’d slept with a client. A man who had never asked her for a date. Heck, she didn’t even know where he lived.
And as her gaze had roamed the dim hotel room, the heavy brocade curtains blocking the light, an uneasy feeling had welled inside. The penthouse bedroom was beautiful. Opulent. But coldly formal. Completely lacking in any reflection of Paulo’s personality.
But the worst par
t had been, even after a long night in his arms, she was hungry for more.
She’d turned her gaze to his beautiful face as he slept peacefully, his long, muscular legs tangled in the sheets. And the craving to wake him by sliding her tongue up his thigh and taking him in her mouth had been strong. Shocking in its intensity. She’d stared at him, struck dumb and utterly, utterly aroused, lost in the daydream.
And tortured by what it would say about her.
She was supposed to be a professional. And her sleek, polished air was hard to maintain when holed up in a dark, impersonal hotel room, preparing to throw herself at a man like a naughty nymphomaniac.
With fumbling fingers she’d dressed and quietly slipped from the room. After changing into the spare outfit she kept at her office, she had found the hired crew and thrown herself into the middle of the cleaning frenzy to prepare for today. Frantic for some space to regain her equilibrium.
But there was no avoiding him now. Of course their first meeting would be easier if she knew whether they’d just had a one-night stand or if Paulo intended for it to happen again.
And what would she say if he did? Or if he didn’t? And why couldn’t she decide which was worse?
She bit the tip of her fingernail, hating the feeling of uncertainty her life was filled with of late. Normally she set her sights on a goal and pursued it with the determined focus of a pitbull on Ritalin. Sometimes to her own downfall, as her mother loved to remind her.
And then, as if conjured by her thoughts, she heard her mom call her name.
Alyssa turned to watch her mother approach. With her voluptuous figure brazenly accentuated in a suede skirt, fringed Western shirt, fancy boots and her best cowboy hat, Cherise Hunt looked like a middle-aged rodeo queen.
All she needed now was a sash emblazoned with the words “Alyssa’s Mother.”
After all these years Alyssa was used to her dramatic entrances, but this one was particularly spectacular. She held back a dry smile as her mom drew closer. “Nice outfit.”