“Christ.” Elijah bit out a curse when, without warning, Samantha hollowed her cheeks and sucked him down with more force than he’d thought she possessed. His fingers pressed into her scalp, holding her head in place as she worked her tongue and lips around him.
What she lacked in technique and experience, she made up for in enthusiasm. Far quicker than he had thought possible, Elijah felt his body drawing tight, warning him that he was close to losing control.
Once more gathering her hair in his hands, he pulled until she had no choice but to release him. Elijah winced, feeling something very near to pain, when those full lips slid off the rigid length of his erection.
“On your hands and knees,” he repeated, noting that she’d worked so hard on his cock that her lips were swollen and her eyes had teared. And still she looked excited, aroused, just when he’d thought that she would have been second-guessing their encounter.
It only made him harder.
Her lips were silent, but her eyes spoke volumes, sparking with dangerous heat as she slowly turned and did as he asked.
Elijah’s palms itched to deliver a light spank to the perfect globes of her ass. But the roar of the furnace intruded into his thoughts, reminded him that they were outside, in the doorway of her studio, and that this wasn’t a scene that he needed to plan meticulously.
He wanted to plunge inside her slick heat. There was no reason to draw it out any longer.
“Lower.” Dropping to his knees behind her, Elijah smoothed a hand over the curves of her behind, unable to resist touching that pale, perfect skin.
With a quick glance over her shoulder, Samantha did as he asked, shifting her weight from her palms to her elbows. It caused her back to arch, to present her ass and her pouting lower lips to him in a way that made him want to bury his face between her thighs.
Later. He couldn’t wait any longer.
“Lower,” he rasped out, and savored the shudder of her body as she pressed her weight into her shoulders, her face turning so that one cheek pressed into the dry grass of the yard. Removing a condom from his pocket, he quickly sheathed himself, then took her wrists together in one hand, holding them behind her back.
“Elijah,” Samantha whispered as he took his latex-sheathed cock in his free hand, ready to slide it into her slick folds. He paused for a moment to assess her body language.
She trembled, but not with fear. She wanted him as badly as he wanted her.
He guided his cock to her entrance and pushed the head against her tight heat.
“Aah!” Samantha’s back arched and she clamped down around him like a velvet glove.
“Shit, you’re tight.” Elijah ground his teeth together as he tried to give her a moment to adjust to his intrusion. But her heat massaged him, lured him like a siren’s call, and he knew he didn’t have the willpower to resist. “I’m not going to be gentle.”
In response, she pushed back against him, taking him in another inch. Elijah’s fingers tightened around her wrists, on the skin of her hip.
Then he inhaled deeply, savoring that scent of wildflowers and smoke that seemed to come from her very skin, and seated himself the rest of the way in one rough thrust.
Samantha cried out and pulled against him, trying, he assumed, to relieve herself of some of his length.
“Give it a minute.” He fought the need to press her to the ground and simply fuck her as hard as he could. The gyrations she was doing on his cock as she tried to find a measure of comfort had his orgasm gathering at the base of his spine again. “It will feel good in a minute.”
He pulled back an inch, heard her exhalation of relief from beneath him. But he drove forward again just as quickly, heard her cry out as the head of his cock pressed against her womb.
“Open your legs wider,” he commanded, and bent over her as she did what he said. Working his free hand between her taut belly and the ground, he pressed down, feeling himself moving through her slickness, tightening the passage even further.
“I—I can’t—” When he began to truly fuck, to move back and forth hard and deep, Samantha shifted wildly beneath him. He could feel her flesh gripping him, milking him every time he filled her, begging him to claim her completely. He hadn’t even touched her clit yet, and she was as wet as the ocean, the scent of her arousal warming in the golden sun that slanted over the skin of her back.
“You can.” He shoved in all the way and, at the same time, slid his hand between her legs. Sliding through her wetness, he lubricated his fingers, then moved unerringly to the hard, tight bud of her clit.
“Elijah!” Samantha’s cry echoed across the yard, and Elijah couldn’t hold back a grin. Years in the lifestyle had taken away any inhibitions he might once have had about public sex.
But if he wasn’t mistaken, the fact that they were outside—that someone could drive by at any second—only excited the hot woman beneath him even more.
“Come for me. Now. Now—while I fuck you as hard as I can.” Increasing the pace of his movements, Elijah began to play his fingers over Samantha’s clit, rubbing in a slow but firm circle around its edges, brushing the entire pad of his finger over the top every few strokes.
Her breathing grew more ragged; so did his. She vibrated around him as her climax approached, and Elijah felt the sensation all the way down to the base of his cock. When she cried out and he felt her inner walls clamp down around him, hot and tight, he had no choice but to follow her into the heat of complete pleasure.
“Fuck!” Her voice was high with need as her thigh muscles clenched tightly, pressing back against his as her orgasm played over her body like the lash from a whip. The waves milked Elijah’s erection, buried deep inside her, and that tension at the base of his spine drew down into his testicles and he exploded.
He squeezed his eyes shut, letting sensation take him over as they rode out their orgasms.
When the pleasure finally faded away, Elijah found himself bent over Samantha, his cheek pressed against her shoulder blade. Beneath him she exhaled, her breath slow and steady, her body lax and spent.
“Wow.” Moved to press a kiss against the stripe of her spine, Elijah released Samantha’s wrists and massaged her hands to get the blood flowing again. He pulled her up, held her in his arms for a moment, unable to hold back a deep chuckle as he brushed gravel and dust off of her clothing.
“What’s funny?” Worming her way out of his arms, Samantha looked back over her shoulder at him. Elijah found it interesting that the woman who had initiated this entire encounter, the one who had seemed so in charge of her own pleasure only moments before, now seemed unsure, even a bit embarrassed by her actions.
He cocked his head, curious, as she reached for her clothing and began to dress.
“I’m not laughing at you, Samantha.” Unabashed in his nakedness, Elijah rose to his feet, stretching before stripping the condom off his semierect cock, tying a knot in the end, then reaching for his own clothing. He saw Samantha’s eyes flicker over him, and he couldn’t hold back a grin.
“I’m amused with myself, because I don’t normally enjoy vanilla sex so much.”
Bending to hitch his shorts back up over his hips, he nearly missed Samantha’s incredulity.
“That was vanilla?” she asked, then blushed. As if trying to hide the reaction, she tugged her tank top over her head. Elijah scowled when her creamy breasts disappeared from view.
“Vanilla sex refers to sex without any of the trappings of BDSM.” His eyes on hers, he pulled his shirt over his head, then stalked toward her, following her into the studio when she retreated.
“That doesn’t mean it can’t be mind-blowing. But adding other . . . things . . . can make it into so much more.” Curiosity sparked in her eyes, and Elijah felt his cock pay attention, never mind that he was spent.
He moved closer, watched as arousal and wariness colored Samantha’s eyes. She moved backward, and he followed her back into the small studio.
“Let me show you.”
He wanted her to say yes—needed her to. Whether she was submissive or not, if things were this good between them without anything but the two of them and a condom, he wasn’t about to be denied the pleasure of her again and again.
He still wasn’t sure what exactly she was searching for. But he wanted to be the one to answer her questions, to help her explore whatever hidden kinks she had.
Samantha closed her eyes, and he studied the creamy lids. When she opened them again, he could see that her fierce stubbornness was out in full force.
“I can’t.” Disappointment warred with irritation. Elijah had never understood—would never understand—why people felt the need to deny their true desires. Life was too short . . . And what had just happened showed that they wanted each other badly. Hell, he still had his ace in the hole. He hadn’t thought he’d have to use it after they’d had each other once, but now he saw he would. Narrowing his eyes intently, he studied her face until she flushed under his stare.
“What?” Her tone was waspish, which only made Elijah grin.
When it came to getting what he wanted, he was more than willing to play dirty. He hadn’t gotten as rich as he was by rolling over every time he heard the word no.
Again inhaling that smoky scent that was so uniquely her, Elijah dipped his head until their lips were only a whisper apart. This close, he could see the trembling inhalation of her nervous breath, could see the beat of her pulse against the delicate white skin of her jaw.
He pressed his lips to hers with a quick, brief touch like the flutter of butterfly wings. He could smell himself mixed with her, and a primitive sense of possession clouded his mind.
A choked sound escaped from her throat when he drew back, triumph flooding him at her response.
“I want to commission a piece from you.” Drawing back fully, Elijah slid his hands into the pockets of his shorts. The whisper of a kiss had brought his cock to full attention again, and there was nothing he could do to hide it. So he accepted it for what it was: evidence of his unquenchable desire for her.
Samantha’s eyes flicked down, then back up, widening as she met his eyes again.
“I don’t do commissions.” He found he was pleased when she drew up, raised her chin, and regarded him saucily. “I work for myself.”
“I had an offer on your sculpture at the show last night.” Elijah rocked back on his heels as Samantha inhaled sharply.
“I’m not selling that piece. It’s mine.” Her eyes practically shot green sparks, and he held out a hand to settle her.
“I’m responsible for relaying all offers.” If she had been willing to sell it, he would have outbid anyone and claimed the piece for himself. “I didn’t think you would sell such a personal piece. But I’m interested in commissioning another in a similar vein.”
“I don’t make duplicates.” Her temper was up; he could tell. “Nor could I. Each piece of glass is completely unique.”
“I said in a similar vein, not a copy.” Her irritation brought a pretty flush of pink to her skin. “I would just request that you . . . keep the same thoughts in your head while you create the second piece.”
He’d succeeded in shocking her; her mouth fell open in response. She quickly composed herself, glaring at him heatedly.
“You couldn’t afford what it would cost for me to create a custom piece.”
Elijah fought the urge to smirk.
He always used his not inconsiderable computer skills to find out some background information on women he was interested in. He knew that Samantha had a sister in Colorado to whom she frequently sent money.
She wasn’t going to turn this down.
“The offer on your sculpture was ten thousand American dollars.” A hint of smugness warmed him as Samantha gasped at the amount. He didn’t think she was caught speechless often. “Since it’s a commissioned work, I think it’s only fair to offer more. If you’ll create this piece, I’ll pay you fifteen thousand.”
• • •
Samantha couldn’t breathe. This man—who had just played her body like a virtuoso, who had wrung more pleasure from her than she had ever thought possible with nothing but his hands and his cock—was offering her more money than she’d ever seen at one time in her life, and by all appearances seemed certain that she would accept it.
She thought that maybe she should have felt like a whore, with him extending this offer after he’d just fucked her senseless. But she thought that one had nothing to do with the other, that he had planned to offer this to her before the heat between them had threatened to incinerate them.
To make matters more surreal, he was wearing a pink polo shirt. He should have looked ridiculous. Instead he looked like exactly what he professed to be: a dominant male, facing a female he wanted.
Her eyes dipped to the erection that was plainly obvious through the light fabric of his shorts. Given the intensity of the orgasms they had just shared, it seemed impossible that he could be hard again. But he was.
He was hard for her. It might have been stupid, but she was flattered, and ridiculously pleased.
“Fifteen thousand up front?” Each of her carefully constructed defenses began to dissolve. So much money—she could pay off at least half of Beth’s student loans, and could buy her more than a year’s worth of her supplies as well.
“Half up front.” Elijah nodded sharply, and she saw a hint of the tycoon emerge. “Half on delivery.”
To ensure I deliver, Samantha knew. And it was so incredibly tempting.
But . . .
“I need to think about it.” More, she needed to work through the nausea that roiled in her gut at the thought of accepting such an offer. She already knew she would—her personal feelings could be put aside if it meant some financial security for her sister.
But she wanted to be very, very sure that she could live with the decision.
And being paid that much money by a man who had been inside her—well, she wanted to be absolutely certain that he didn’t expect her “services” in return. Though if she told the truth, she was mighty tempted to continue sleeping with him. But there couldn’t be any money tied to it.
“Day after tomorrow, Samantha.” Before she could protest, Elijah bent his head and pressed his lips to hers. The kiss was short, but hot and hard, as different as it could be from that soft brush of his lips by the kiln before they’d gotten naked.
She was gasping for breath when he pulled away and nodded with apparent satisfaction.
“You’ll give me your answer by the day after tomorrow.” With a smile so devastatingly sexy that she was pretty sure it was illegal, Elijah turned on his heel and walked to the door. As she slowly followed him she greedily inhaled the outside air that rushed in, air that held the heat of a Mexican afternoon but was still cooler, fresher than the air in the studio.
“Day after tomorrow.” Frowning, she hurried after him. “How do I contact you?”
He already had a business card in his hand when he turned. “Call my cell. I’ll answer.” She took the card in fingers that were suddenly trembling.
“Samantha.” She looked up to find all traces of the predatory businessman gone. The dominance was still there, and she wondered if he turned it on and off, or if it was an integral part of him, written into his DNA.
She wondered if submission manifested the same way.
“And call me if you have any other questions,” he said. Samantha knew exactly what he was referring to.
Questions about things that weren’t . . . What had he called it? Things that weren’t vanilla.
“I won’t.” She did have questions, millions of them, but Elijah pushed her buttons in a way that made her stubborn streak come out.
“We’ll see.” There was that sexy grin again, and then he was gone, crunching across the gravel of her yard to a low-slung sports car that glinted in the late-afternoon sun.
“Samantha?” Elijah tossed her name over his shoulder as he opened the driver’s-side door. She leaned agains
t the frame of her studio door and raised a questioning eyebrow in response.
“I want that vase too. I’m going to get hard every time I look at it.” He grinned smugly at her stunned expression, then left her to ponder that as he drove away.
He’d given her a lot to think about, and Samantha didn’t think she was going to sleep any better that night than she had the night before.
CHAPTER THREE
Samantha took a large sip of steaming coffee from a thick glass mug that had been one of the very first things she’d ever made. Mexican coffee was more bitter than its American counterpart, a fact that couldn’t be hidden even with copious amounts of sugar and cream, but she’d become accustomed to its taste.
Two full cups and she was almost ready for the phone call she needed to make. She dialed her sister’s number as she tugged on the ragged hem of the T-shirt she slept in. She’d been up for a good chunk of the night, and was exhausted.
Being awake in the wee hours wasn’t anything new for her—she often worked until her hands cramped and she couldn’t see straight—but last night none of the creative spark had come to her. Instead she’d tossed and turned as images of bright blue eyes, of leather and chains and bodies straining haunted her waking thoughts.
She was going to accept the commission, though she cringed at the thought. She had two reasons for overcoming her hesitation.
One was because Elijah Masterson was the only man who had truly pulled at her, ever. The memory of his hands playing over her body had aroused her all night long.
He’d seduced her in her backyard, in the middle of the afternoon, while her garden gnomes watched with impish glee on their faces. He’d proven that what he wanted, he got.
It scared the hell out of her. And it also made her hot. She wasn’t ready to refuse more time in his presence.
The second reason was answering her phone call with a voice blurred by sleep.
“Sam? Why are you calling so early?” Beth was only four years younger than Samantha’s own twenty-six, but because of their upbringing, Samantha often felt that four was more like fourteen. She could hear in the ragged husk of Beth’s voice that her sister had been out late.
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