Tease Me (The Temptation Duet Book 2)

by Roxy Sloane

  I shiver with anticipation, wondering what he’s planned for tonight.

  Keely frowns. “I thought you guys got together at the end of September?”

  “Not that anniversary,” I explain. “He likes to celebrate the first night we got together, at the end of law school.”

  “Oh my God, that’s so romantic.”

  “Well, commemorating the first time we fucked isn’t usually romantic.”

  Keely smiles. “You guys have your own thing. I think it’s great.”

  “You know what? It is. The best.” I beam. The past months living in New York have been the best of my life. I love my job at the fashion label, and discovering the city with Ash is amazing, too. It’s not just the mind-blowing sex either. We’ve explored every neighborhood around, and I love grabbing dinner and a glass of wine with him after work and talking about our days. Our relationship has become so much deeper and more connected than I ever imagined, and I love knowing that he’s there for me no matter what.

  “You’ve got a great job, a great man, the best BFF, and the most amazing new apartment,” Keely says, raising her glass to me. I toast her, beaming.

  “We didn’t do too badly, did we?”

  “No, we didn’t,” she laughs.

  I take a cab home, texting Ash that I’m on my way. He calls me back right away.

  “I’ve been waiting for you,” his voice is low and rich. I squirm in my seat, already damp in anticipation for him.

  “Naked, I hope.”

  He chuckles. “Patience, darling. I have a surprise for you.”

  “Is it eight inches long and very hard?” I tease.

  “Getting to be. What do you want me to do with it?”

  “Give it to me,” I breathe, not caring if the cab driver overhears. “I want your cock pounding deep inside me. I’m already wet for you, just waiting to feel you stretch me wide open.”

  “I can do that,” he murmurs. “But I can also make you wait. Tie you up and tease those pretty pink nipples of yours. Suck you ‘til you’re begging, lick that juicy pussy raw.”

  I moan, imagining his lips on me. His mouth, his hands.

  I slide my hand between my legs and imagine it belongs to him.

  “And when you’re wet and begging, when you can’t take any more, that’s when I’ll fuck you slowly. Deep, darling, so fucking deep you can’t take another inch. I’ll hold you down and feed my cock into that wet mouth, fuck those lips of yours until I come all over your tits.”

  I’m panting now, feverish at the thought. “Can’t this cab go any faster?” I ask through the partition.

  “We’re here,” he says, braking the taxi to a stop.

  “Come upstairs,” Ash says in the phone. “Then come.”

  He hangs up. I pay the driver and leap out of the car. After the nightmare with Bea at the townhouse, Ash didn’t want to set foot in the place again. He put it on the market right away and bought us a new place, where we can make memories from scratch. This apartment is a swanky converted loft in a hip neighborhood downtown. I love the energy and vibe around here – and the fact we have no neighbors to hear me moan in pleasure.

  I enter the security code and take the elevator up. When I step into the hallway, I find a card on the floor.

  Undress.

  I smile, and shimmy out of my dress. Peeling off my underwear and bra, I push the door open, totally naked, as my already tingling nipples chill and stiffen.

  The apartment is dark, flickering with the warm glow of a hundred candles. Music is playing softly, but it’s too dark to see anything else.

  “Walk to the beam,” Ash’s voice comes from beside me. “Put your hands above your head and spread those gorgeous legs.”

  I smile. I love these games, love how I’m still completely crazy about him.

  I do as he says, obediently positioning myself against the concrete pillar in the middle of the room.

  Ash’s hands slide over my naked skin. I shudder at his touch.

  “You weren’t lying,” he murmurs, slipping his fingers softly between my legs from behind. “You’re so wet for me.”

  “Always,” I breathe. “Whenever I think of you.”

  “I’ve been hard all day, imagining you like this,” his voice breathes in my ear, so sexy and raw. His fingers dip just inside my lips, and I rock eagerly against his hand with a mewl.

  He strokes me, increasing the heat running deep in my veins.

  “I could watch you like this forever,” he growls.

  I turn my head to look at him, and see the dark lust in his eyes.

  “Don’t just look,” I tell him. “Do something.”

  With a growl, Ash grabs my waist and shoves me against the pillar. My breasts crush against the cool concrete, I revel at the sensation for a brief moment before he pulls my hips back towards him, and slams inside me in a single stroke.

  I scream with pleasure.

  He fucks me hard and fast, grinding deep the way I love. I grip the pillar and thrust back, matching his strokes, forcing him even deeper. Our panting mingles in the silence, turning into grunts and moans. There’s no need to talk. Our bodies know each other by heart. He knows the slick thrust I need, and fuck, I’m so, so close…

  “Goddamn, JJ,” Ash growls, shoving me against the pillar with every thrust. “You feel so fucking good.”

  “Harder,” I moan. Every thick stroke is incredible, rubbing my walls from the inside, a fierce friction I can hardly stand. “God, Ash, fuck me harder!”

  He pulls me back and drags us to our knees on the plush rug, spearing deep into me from behind. I drive back, gasping as I fall on my elbows, loving the slick slide of our bodies and the slapping sound of his flesh on mine as he pounds into me, over and over.

  My muscles clench tight and tighter. I can feel my ecstasy rise. “Yes!” I scream, in time with his brutal pounding. “Oh God, right there, yes!”

  Ash lands a stinging slap on my ass, spanking me hard in time with his thrusts. “You want it, darling?” he demands. “You want it all?”

  “Yes! Please, yes.” The sensations crashing through me are incredible. He’s filling me up, so deep and sweet, overwhelming me with pleasure. “More,” I groan, feeling a fire like no other. “Oh, God, more.”

  I feel him part my ass cheeks, and then his finger is pressing into me, sliding into the coil of hot nerves. I moan again, delirious. He nudges deeper, slick with my juices, pulsing inside me as his cock stretches my pussy wide open.

  God, I’m so full. He’s everywhere, commanding me. Riding me harder, his breath hot in my ear.

  “You’re mine, darling. Every last inch of you.” He punctuates each word with a thrust, a nudge, a fiery oblivion building deep in my bones.

  “Yours,” I echo, gasping. I’m in freefall, so close, and all I need is—

  Ash withdraws almost all the way, then slowly eases back into me.

  Fuck.

  Now the pace has changed. Slow. Deep. Deeper still. I’m shuddering, collapsed, I can’t take much more.

  “My darling,” Ash breathes, whispering to me as he grinds inside. “My beautiful filthy girl.”

  He slides another finger inside me and thrusts hard. God, yes. It’s too much.

  I shatter, crying out as the first wave of climax hits me, but he doesn’t stop. He keeps pumping his gorgeous cock into my pussy, grinding up high. The explosions keep coming, over and over, until I’m sobbing in his arms.

  “This is for you, my sweet,” he tells me, reaching around to stroke my clit. “All for you. All of me.”

  Holy shit, I didn’t think I could come this hard, this long, but he’s riding out my orgasm. Filling my cunt, my ass, playing with my clit until a final earth-shattering wave rips through my body, more powerful than anything I’ve ever felt before.

  Ash thrusts again with a deep moan, exploding inside me, spurting hotly into my pussy. We collapse together on the floor in a sweaty heap.

  “Was that the surprise?” I ask, wh
en I finally get my voice back. I’m so dizzy from pleasure, I don’t think I’ll walk for days.

  He chuckles.

  “No. That was just for fun. Your surprise is over there.”

  I look. He’s pointing to the coffee table. “Can’t…move…” I groan.

  He crawls over and grabs something, then returns to collapse beside me again. Naked.

  Fuck, he’s hot.

  “Happy anniversary.” He hands me a medium-sized box.

  I sit up and open it. Inside, there’s a card and a smaller box.

  I open the card.

  “Wear me,” it says.

  I open the box and gasp.

  A fuck-off diamond ring is nestled inside.

  I look at Ash. “Is this…?”

  He smiles. “Yes. What do you say?”

  “Hmmm,” I pretend to think. I slide the ring on my finger and admire the sparkle of the diamond. “I’ll have to think about that one.”

  Ash suddenly grabs me, and wrestles me to the floor. He thrusts inside me, and I gasp.

  “Answer me,” he demands, pinning my wrists to the ground. He thrusts again, fuck, so good.

  “I didn’t hear the question,” I point out, still teasing.

  His eyes flash dark above me. God, he’s perfect. Sweet and sexy, smart and kind. And the dirtiest, most thrilling sex of my life.

  A lifetime with all of this right here? There’s no doubt in my mind, but I still want to hear him say it.

  “Marry me,” Ash pants, thrusting deep inside me again. “Marry me, JJ. Will you?”

  “Yes,” I answer, my laugh turning to a moan. “Fuck, yes.”

  THE END

  Read on to discover the other filthy, thrilling books by Roxy Sloane.

  If you can’t wait for another taste of Roxy’s alpha heroes and sexy page-turning reads, why not check out her series THE EXPOSE? Available now!

  The Exposé Series

  CHAPTER ONE

  ZOEY

  What do you wear to an interview at a sex club?

  I rifle through my crappy wardrobe and groan in despair. I’ve been living in jeans all through college; I’m out in the ‘real world’ now, but without any cash to buy a new wardrobe, I’m stuck with a laundry basket of sweatshirts and a couple of glittery Forever 21 tops that are shedding sparkles over everything they touch. I’m all out of luck.

  I catch sight of myself in the mirror. I look like a fresh-faced kid who just got out of school—not the kind of classy, sexy woman Dax Ryan would hire. But I need this job, it could be the break I’ve been working for.

  Time for plan B.

  “Hey, Tasha?” I call to my roommate. I don’t have to call far. In our shoebox of an apartment, her tiny bedroom is right across the narrow hall.

  Her door swings open. “What’s up?”

  Tasha is leaning over her dresser, applying eyeliner with the kind of concentration I’ve only ever used for finals and new episodes of The Bachelor. She’s squeezed into a skin-tight mini-dress, with her long brunette hair styled into a perfect sleek cascade that only forty minutes with a hairdryer can achieve.

  I would know. I’m the one who helps her get it just right when she can’t reach the back.

  “Can I borrow something to wear?” I beg. “Pretty please? I’ve got my interview at the club,” I explain, “And I don’t have anything that’s right for it.”

  Tasha’s eyes drift over me. “You can say that again.” She tuts at the sight of my ratty old sweatpants and stretched out T-shirt. Even at home, she always looks like she just stepped out of a Victoria’s Secret ad, in tiny shorty shorts and silky tanks. But under all her mascara and lipgloss, Tasha is really a sweetheart, which is why she takes pity on me tonight.

  “Try this.” She says, pulling down a tiny tube of black fabric and tossing it across the hall. “You’re taller than me, but a little extra leg never hurt anyone, especially when it comes to tips.”

  I struggle into the dress. It’s a glorified band-aid, with half the back missing and black straps wound all across the bodice.

  “Don’t forget the girls!” Tasha says, throwing me a strapless padded bra that could double as a flotation device. But it does the trick: when I yank everything into place and check out my reflection, I could almost pass for someone with curves. The dress is cut low on my chest, and high on my legs, and with the straps and some boots, it’s a sexy, kind of a bondage look.

  Perfect for where I’m going tonight.

  “Thanks girl,” I tell Tasha gratefully. “And I promise, I’ll have the rent by the end of the week.”

  “No worries,” she says sunnily. Her brand new iPhone buzzes on the dresser, and she lights up. “Ooh, here’s my ride. Have fun!”

  Tasha picks up her Coach purse, slides her feet into a pair of epic designer heels, and grabs a leather jacket that probably cost more than my entire possessions. “Remember, you’ve got to wiggle in that thing,” she tells me on her way out the door. “Walk like you’re trying to keep a watermelon clenched between your thighs.”

  She winks and swans out.

  I head to my window. Down on the sidewalk, five flights below our Brooklyn walk-up, an anonymous black town car is waiting for her.

  I let the old bedsheet I’m using as a curtain fall closed. I don’t ask where my roommate gets her money, but I’m pretty sure auditioning for Broadway shows isn’t paying for those new shoes. She’s got a different date every night of the week, but she always meets them at some fancy hotel downtown, and never brings anyone home.

  You do the math.

  Still, I can’t judge. At least she’s able to pay rent on our rodent-infested shoebox. I’m the one a month behind and still no closer to getting a job.

  I flop back on the bed with a sigh—landing right on a loose spring.

  “Oww,” I curse, rolling over. “Dammit!”

  It wasn’t supposed to be like this. I graduated college with a portfolio full of student newspaper clips and dreams of being the next big thing in journalism. My boyfriend, Troy, was a year ahead of me. He already moved to NYC and got a great gig at a news blog; he said as soon as I came out, we’d get a place together and he’d help hook me up with a job.

  But I guess his plans changed. Because when I arrived on his doorstep with my beat-up old Civic packed full of my worldly possessions, he had a change of heart.

  And that change was a six-foot model-slash-DJ named Anya.

  “I didn’t think we were serious,” he said, shrugging off every long-distance promise he’d ever made. “It was just talk, you know?”

  I sold the Honda, found a roommate and a waitressing gig, and turned all my rejection and anger into pure determination. I’d show him exactly what I’m made of. I applied for every job going and papered the city with my resume, certain my big break was just around the corner. But here I am, two months later, I can’t even get an interview for an unpaid internship, let alone a real job.

  ‘We’re not hiring.’

  ‘Your application has been added to our list.’

  ‘We’re seeking candidates with more experience.’

  It’s a catch-22: I can’t get experience if nobody’s willing to hire me, and nobody’s hiring me because I don’t have experience! I spent four years on my college paper, working my way up to editor. I freelanced for blogs, even had a couple of stories published in the local newspaper, but here in New York City, all that work means nothing.

  I’m back at square one.

  Today was my last hope—and my best shot. The New York Daily called me in for an interview: my first time actually getting in the door. I was so excited, I walked through the newsroom and felt the buzz of all the ringing phones and people typing at their computers. But my high lasted about as long as it took for the news editor, Charlie Granger, to glance at my portfolio and toss it on his desk.

  “I’m sorry, we’re cutting back staff right now, not hiring more.”

  I blinked at him, my hopes crashing to the ground. “But,
why did you even call me in if there’s no job available?”

  He gave me a sympathetic smile. “Look, I like your clips. You’ve got some good stories here. Good instincts. But I can’t use instincts. What I need is stories. Bring me something good, something juicy, and maybe I can swing something.”

  Which is why I’m trussing myself up in this ridiculous outfit, layering on the mascara and squeezing my feet into Tasha’s knee-high stiletto boots. Because I need the story of a lifetime to get my career off the ground, and right now, getting this hostess position is the best chance I’ve got.

  I grab my purse and go downstairs, wincing at the boots digging into my toes. But my budget doesn’t stretch to a cab, so the subway it is for me tonight. I head for the station, my stomach jittering with nerves.

  What kind of interview is this going to be? Will I have to do regular hostess things like showing customers to a table and checking for reservations, or does the position come with other demands? I mean, it’s not a regular club. The Underground is a super-secretive sex club, catering to the most exclusive clientele.

  It was Tasha who turned me on to the place. She heard about a sex club uptown, private members only. The place where New York’s elite go to indulge their dirty secrets. Where politicians, celebrities, and Wall Street hide away under the cover of darkness and let their inhibitions go.

  She laughed it off like it was an urban legend, but I did some digging, and found it’s the real deal. Ruled over by Dax Ryan, the club is totally secretive, completely exclusive—and my ticket to the biggest scoop in town.

  If I can get a job here, I’ll be able to snoop around and discover everything that’s going down. If I can get proof of a few big names who use this place, and just what kind of scandals they’re hiding that should be more than enough to get me a job at the paper, and my first big byline as well.