by Talyn Scott
“I’m not grieving,” she whispered.
Drake’s voice turned to venom. “Your fiancé has gotten on my bad side. Not a good place for him.”
“I can’t stay here anymore.”
Evan’s chin lowered on top of her head, rubbing. “You can’t?”
Vania inhaled his scent, not mistaking the hopefulness in his voice. “Not in Matt’s house.”
“Ah, well,” Drake said, “I know of this great hotel that’s close to your work.”
Chapter 7
“Vania, I need to open the door or I won’t get you inside,” Drake warned. He shifted the bag of wine in one hand, steadied a drunken Vania in the other, and tried to slide his master key through the villa’s card slot for the third time.
Evan, Vania, and Drake spent the last hour inside The Easton Hotel’s by membership only bar, The Compromise, one of the few places on the property any paparazzi would be sliced at the knees. And the attending patrons, who also attended Julian’s sex club, Level 69, wouldn’t risk offending Drake and Evan by snapping candid shots with their phones. This was a good thing, considering Vania enjoyed the bar immensely.
“I’ll stop playing around.” She blinked those innocent blue eyes behind her glasses. Her hand came around his waist and petted his stomach in ball-tightening circles. “Cause I want you inside.”
He dropped the key.
“Allow me, Mr. Easton.”
“Vania, I wouldn’t be a gentleman if I allowed you to bend over…” He leaned back, taking in the sight of that damned skirt molding over her ass. Who would have thought little Vania had all that going on beneath a skirt? When at work, just one look from Vania Lange scorched his skin. Amazingly enough, she had no idea that she was doing it to him.
Or to Evan.
But Avery had threatened everyone, particularly Evan, not to touch the delectable morsel before he’d left for his honeymoon. According to Avery, Vania had worked the hardest to make the top floor, and Avery didn’t want anyone screwing it up for her.
After all, if any of them fucked her and moved on, the awkwardness for her would be unbearable. And at this point, transferring Vania back to any other floor would be a demotion. Not to forget that if she got pissed off enough, Vania could try to sue them on erroneous charges.
Right now, Drake couldn't care less about any of that shit.
The mind wanted.
The body craved.
The heart threatened to follow.
And all three were pointing right at Vania with the magical rigidity of a diving rod.
“Here it is.” Vania waved the card key as she straightened.
Were those pink garters she wore, holding up nude-colored stockings? He swallowed a few times as he took the key from her hand. “Thank you.”
“Sure.” She wobbled in her heels, so he secured her again in the crook of his arm.
“We need to take off your shoes.” He took another moment to appreciate Vania without her knowledge. Those legs of hers sure were short, but there was something to be said for shapely curves. And her breasts were large and bouncy. Not fake, his practiced eye decided.
He got Vania inside without her tumbling to the floor. Wine bottles clinked inside the bag as Drake herded her through the villa’s foyer. “I ordered your suitcase unpacked and your cat locked in the second bedroom.”
“Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
“This is amazing,” she said, but not in the greedy way of most women that he’d enjoyed. “The colors are brighter than what I expected.” Her speech was starting to slur. “Not that I expected anything other than a standard room.”
“The staff knows I would never take a standard room, Vania. Even so, this is for you. I wanted you to enjoy luxury. You deserve it.”
The way she felt pressed against him was too much. Her delicate scent of honeysuckles made his mouth water. Vania Lange was too great a temptation, would open herself easily to him while on the rebound and suffering no inhibitions from her current state of drunkenness. Drake needed to get her to bed, so he could put necessary distance between them.
“I’m not hung up on luxury,” Vania said as they entered the master suite. “Sometimes I find it uncomfortable.”
“Become comfortable, Vania.” Another waft of her delicate perfume, mixed with Vania’s natural scent, roused him, making Drake salivate for a taste of her bare skin. Just a lick, a tiny nibble… “Your attendance is required at most company functions now.” He tried to focus on tomorrow’s board meeting bullet points to settle his stiff cock. “Plus those of our resorts. You’ll find the stipulations in your latest contract.”
“I’ve attended functions for Avery already.” She tumbled headfirst toward the wall but he caught her. “Kept me on my toes guessing which fork to use for each fancy course.”
“Cutlery can be annoying.”
Vania adjusted her glasses, swinging her arm out for balance before grabbing the bag of wine from his hand. “Give me saltines, a bowl of chili, and a decent movie playing on TV and I would call it a perfect night.”
Drake stared down at her. He loved fine dining, worked hard to afford the opulence, but he could see himself sharing a simple bowl of chili with Vania. “Casual dining has its perks.”
“Especially if it includes brownies.”
“We’ll eat brownies together soon. For tonight, try to rest.” Drake assured her, “I’m right here if you need me.”
Settling on a brocade sofa facing open French doors, Drake focused on the ocean waves, where the moon sparkled across the foamy tops. They breathed in and out, in and out…
He clenched his teeth while his dick grew harder. He couldn’t stay here under this sort of temptation. No one could. But Drake couldn’t leave her, either, particularly since she’d just opened a bottle of wine.
“I don’t know if that’s wise.”
She shook her head. “I’m starting to remember again.”
“Kick that bastard from your mind.”
“Hard thing to do.”
Drake sighed. “I know.”
“Where’s Evan?”
“Talking to Singapore.” Hopefully, Evan would show up soon so Drake could walk off his hard-on, or slip inside the bathroom and take himself in hand. “Remember the deal we’re working on?”
She nodded. “Maybe you should transfer me there or anywhere overseas.”
“Haven’t you heard that running away isn’t the answer?”
“Cliches are made up by people who consider themselves smarter than everyone else.”
Oh, yeah, she was wasted.
Then Avery’s sweet and proficient assistant tipped a thirty-two hundred dollar Krug Clos d’Ambonnay to her lush lips and took a healthy swig. He watched the line of her throat move as the wine seeped in her delectable body. He barely concealed his laughter when she came up for air with a less than feminine burp.
Vania wiped her mouth on the back of her hand. “That’s pretty tasty for wine.”
“I guess so.” Harder than granite now, his cock would be wearing an impression of his zipper for days. “I haven’t seen a woman drink with such, ah, enthusiasm since my college days.” He loosened his tie. “Don’t chip your teeth on the bottle.”
She narrowed her eyes on him while taking another long pull. Her tiny hands were shaking, and Drake thought the wine might drop and explode over the gold threaded rug at any second.
With a few drinks in her, Vania relaxed enough at The Compromise earlier to tell Evan and Drake that her fiancé had been cheating on her for quite some time. Sadly, tonight she’d received the startling evidence firsthand.
Even a man in Drake’s position wouldn’t begin to know how to deal that level of emotional hell. After all, he slammed his problems head-on, without backing off until he obliterated them. Yet Vania’s problem was a monster that couldn’t be obliterated. She could only cancel her wedding plans and walk away, hopefully not falling into the bastard’s arms again.
&
nbsp; The pain of betrayal always left scars, but Vania was made of stern stuff. To Drake, an intelligent and strong woman was sexier than anything.
Unless she was stripping…
“Vania?” Drake stretched his legs in front of him and leaned his head back, fighting not to slam it on the wall behind him. She already had her blouse unbuttoned halfway, one hand pulling her shirttails from her tight skirt, the other working her uptight bun from her head. “What are you doing?”
She narrowed those blue eyes again, this time dipping her chin and staring over her glasses at him. “What does it look like?”
“Any number of things,” he said, “all of them unacceptable for tonight.”
“Uh-huh.” Not listening, Vania grabbed her cellphone from the nightstand. She fiddled around while finger combing her hair, releasing those long, dark blonde waves to tumble around her shoulders and breasts.
Drake took a deep breath and forced his hands to grip the back of the sofa. “We’re not having sex, Vania.”
A sudden blast of music got her hips swinging.
Right when Evan walked into the room. His mouth dropped open at the sight of Vania. “Oh my —"
“Of course we’re not having sex.” She smiled at Evan then bent over, which effectively lifted her skirt and displayed those damn pink garter straps that ran up the back of her pale legs. Vania shook her head from side to side, her mane of hair whipping around her legs. “I’m going to dance for you.”
Evan bit back a groan.
Her head stayed down as she spread her legs impossibly wide. Then her face reappeared between her thighs, her hair sweeping the carpet, and she smiled so sheepishly that Drake wanted to scoop her up and tell her to stop.
That is, until she lifted her skirt higher.
Apparently, those hot pink garter straps were attached to a corset slip, and the panties beneath were so sheer, Vania might as well not wear them. But didn’t everyone love wrapped gifts?
If he kept his hands to himself… “No, I don't see any harm in a dance.” He fought through what he needed to say next, forming the words again and again on his tongue until they were set free. “A single dance,” he qualified, “as long as you keep on your lingerie.”
Evan ambled to the sofa, sitting next to Drake. He stayed uncharacteristically quiet, though the bulge in his pants spoke volumes.
With a roll of her decadent ass, Vania straightened and guzzled down the rest of the bottle. When she wiped her mouth with the back of her hand again, Drake wanted to kiss her, to suck the wine from her tongue.
Evan must’ve been thinking the same thing for he licked his lips and fisted his hands on his knees.
After returning the bottle to the nightstand, she brought her fingers to her half buttoned blouse and freed the rest of the buttons. When the garment floated to her feet, Evan put his hand on his crotch and tried in vain to adjust himself.
Drake didn’t bother. He knew adjusting himself wouldn’t work when Vania started cupping her breasts in rhythmic time to the music.
“Don’t forget the skirt,” Evan rasped.
Drake gave him a look.
“What?” Evan snapped hoarsely, his eyes darker than sin. “As long as we don’t touch her, what’s the harm?”
Vania pinched her nipples over the lace, letting the fabric abrade her sensitive buds.
“Beautiful,” Evan encouraged. “You are perfect.”
She lifted her hands overhead and shimmied through a raunchier beat, shaking her tits until they half spilled over her lace cups. Then slowly, ever so slowly, her hands slid over her throat, bypassed her breasts, and landed on her skirt zipper.
Drake swallowed his tongue at the sound of her zipper lowering. “Let it fall,” he caught himself saying.
“Right at your feet,” Evan demanded.
The skirt pooled at her feet a second later. She kicked it away, the same with her blouse. Then after leaning on the nightstand, her hands glided over her torso and landed between her legs. Succulent swipes followed. Her eyes closed, a hiss of pleasure leaving her parted lips.
“Vania.”
Chapter 8
Vania moved her hands back up her body and opened her hungry eyes. So Drake kept the sofa in a death grip. If he removed his hands, he might begin to touch Vania where she left off. “Bring the other wine bottle here, Love.”
A bead of sweat trickled down Evan’s temple. “And walk slowly.” Because he needed to see how those amazing legs moved in slow motion. “I don’t want you to fall.”
She prowled across the floor, coming towards them with bottle and opener in hand. Evan and Drake took great pleasure in what they saw. From the tip of her chin to the tips of her painted toes, Vania Lange was a dangerous creature, one who could fool any man into thinking she was the innocent girl-next-door type.
Until the man got her nearly naked.
“Here you go.”
Drake nodded his thanks and opened the wine in record time. He watched Vania straddle Evan and expertly gyrate to another song. Evan’s moans grew louder, filling the bedroom with his desperation to have her. Though the effort looked like it pained him, Evan remained a gentleman, only touching Vania when necessary to keep her from falling.
Drake should stay a gentleman, too, by reminding Vania they’d agreed only to one dance. But wouldn’t that be rude? So he sat back and guzzled the Krug Clos d’Ambonnay in the same fashion as Vania. Though the wine was one of his favorites, it went down like water. With his current view of Vania, however, Drake realized his mind simply couldn’t process anything but the curves of Vania’s ass and breasts. Hell, he could’ve been drinking acid and he wouldn’t have noticed.
“Do that again,” Drake directed, “with your… Oh, yeah.”
After another minute, Vania left Evan hard as stone and sauntered over to Drake. Moving right in the center of his legs, she took the bottle from his hands. He’d already killed most of it, but she greedily finished the last few ounces. The way her lips worked the mouth of the bottle as sweat trickled down her cleavage, forced his hands back on the sofa, where he held on until his bones creaked in protest.
She dumped the empty bottle to the floor, straddled his bulging cock, and pressed her knees on either side of his hips.
Drake watched Vania toy with the lace-up tie on her corset. To his left, he could sense Evan’s tightly leashed lust, knew that it was taking everything for his stepbrother not to lick up Vania. And play and pet and…
Drake zeroed in on her sheer panties, which displayed the plump mound of her pussy to perfection, the flimsy cloth sticking to her delicate skin by her slickness. Had he ever been this hungry? His mouth parted on its own volition, his tongue drooling for a taste of her wet heat.
Vania slid her palms up her thighs, molding her hands over that generous ass and giving it a biting squeeze.
“Oh, fuck.” Evan sucked in a sharp breath. “I want to slide my tongue down her spine, and then stop for a while to feast right in the crevice of her…”
“This must be a conspiracy,” Drake interrupted. “The board hired her to kill me.” Her hair fell down her back, tempting him to fist. He hadn’t been this horny since his first lay.
“This is my final dance, Mr. Easton,” Vania said to Drake while giving him some hip action. She winked at Evan. “I guess you’ll have to watch, Sir.”
Evan’s hands curled back into fists.
Drake clenched his jaw and pulled his gaze away from her pussy to lock eyes with her. He could see his reflection in her glasses, and what he saw was unrecognizable: a man on threadbare control.
“Yes.” Drake took a steadying breath. He always maintained control. What the hell was Vania Lange doing to him? “This must be your final dance.”
She grabbed his shirt collar, tightening her little fingers until he nearly choked, and kissed him so hard on the mouth that Drake tasted blood. His or hers? He didn’t know. But one thing was for certain, Vania had been holding out on herself, had been suppressing what
her body was begging for.
But why?
Then it dawned on him.
That schmuck of a fiancé hadn’t satisfied her.
Drake could easily change that for Vania.
So could Evan.
She kissed her way down his jaw. “I always want to lick the skin on your throat, right above your collar.” Then she proceeded to do just that, making his hips jump off the sofa, which forced his cock against her sweet piece. “It.” Lick. “Drives.” Lick. “Me.” Lick. “Nuts sometimes, wondering how you taste.” Her tongue curled out, flicking at her lips. “Now, I know.”
He pulsated several times, his dick threatening to detonate in his pants. Drake accepted another full mouth kiss, sucking on her tongue the way he’d wanted to earlier.
Though his hungry eyes stayed on Vania, Evan jumped off the sofa, walked to the French doors, and started pacing.
“You really wanted to know how I tasted?”
“Don’t be coy, Mr. Easton.” Vania lifted her leg with the next beat and placed her ankle over his shoulder. She leaned backward on a decadent slide between his legs and pressed her full breasts forward. He could see the rosy tips slip from her corset.
With her legs spread until her slit opened beneath her sheer panties, he could hardly speak. “I’m coy?”
“You know I want you.” She used his shoulder to loosen her shoe from her left foot, letting the heel drop to the sofa. She sent the opposite heel flying over her head.
Evan ducked, his eyes widening when the shoe hit the wall right above his head with a dull thud.
“You may want me now,” Drake told her. He no longer fucked while drunk, refused to take a woman in that condition, too. “Doesn’t mean you will come morning. Alcohol dulls inhibitions.”
“Inhibitions suck.” She undid her garters teasingly before thrusting her fingers underneath the lace of her stockings and spreading them wide. “Want to yank these off the rest of the way?”