by Blue Saffire
“The man I met at the club—the big one with the great smile…” She looks down, skimming her fork along the cake’s decorative ribbon of thick chocolate frosting, “how do you know him?”
Gray. She’s asking me about Gray. “He works at the club,” I say carefully. “He’s my employee.”
She shakes her head. “No, he’s not.” She lifts her fork, licking off the frosting that coats it. Watching her lave the tines with the flat of her tongue, I almost groan. Can feel the sensation of it, like phantom pains, running up the length of my cock. If she knows what’s she’s doing to me, she doesn’t show it. “At least that’s not all he is.” She narrows her eyes and points her fork at me. “He’s something to you. You’re something to each other.”
“Gray is my brother.” I don’t know why I tell her the truth. Everyone knows Jase. That he’s my brother. That we’re partners in about a dozen nightclubs in Manhattan. That while the nightclubs are nothing more than a hobby for me, they’re everything to Jase.
No one knows about Gray. He’d joined the Marines straight out of Brighton and only recently came home. No one knows him as anything other than my employee. Nothing more. Same with Logan.
“My turn,” I say, leaning into her just a little.
“Okay.”
“Is it really your birthday?” It surprises me, the question I ask. I could’ve asked her who she knows that lives in my building. Why she called my doorman Ted-o. About a dozen different things but I ask about her birthday because, right now, it’s the only thing that matters.
She laughs, shaking her head while giving me a look that tells me she’s just as surprised by my question as I am. “Yes,” she says, sliding a bite between her lips. “Actually…” She cocks her head, giving me a grimace. “I wasn’t even supposed to be at that club tonight. I was all cozied up on my couch, throwing myself a birthday party for one, when my sister showed-up with that ridiculous dress and dragged me out.”
“You have a sister?” I like knowing that. That she isn’t alone in the world.
She laughs. “I have four of them.”
“There’s four more of you?” My eyes must light up because she laughs even harder.
“We’re all very different, I assure you,” she says, taking another swipe at the cake with her fork. “Is Gray your only brother?”
“No.” That’s the only answer I give her because I want to give her more. I want to tell her everything. Instead, I change the subject completely.
“You know,” I tell her, pointing my fork at the bracelet on her arm before I sink it into the cake between us. “Most women would’ve gone on and on about how they couldn’t accept a gift like this from someone they barely know.”
“But I like it. It’s pretty.” She lifts her arm, flashing the bracelet at me. “And you probably have a dozen of them, stuffed in a drawer somewhere,” she says with a laugh. She’s wrong but I don’t dispute her assumption. “Besides, if you wanted typical, you would’ve stuck with the twiggy blonde you had in your lap half the night.”
“Twiggy blonde?” I laugh while I slide my fork through chocolate but instead of taking the bite, I lift it to her lips. “You noticed me?”
She rolls her eyes, opening her mouth so I can feed her like it’s the most normal, natural thing in the world. “Am I supposed to pretend I didn’t?” she says, giving me that eyebrow of hers while she chews.
And suddenly, I’m done. Finished. So far gone, in the blink of an eye, I’m practically shaking with the want I have for her. Standing up straight, I take her fork away, tossing it with mine in the direction of the sink.
Stepping into the soft, warm space between her thighs I grip her, pull her close. “No more cake,” I say, my voice tight, straining for control. “No more talking.”
“Finally,” She sighs, reaching up to wind her arms around my neck, her fingers threading through my hair. Capturing her mouth with mine, I slide my tongue past parted lips, tangling it with hers. She slants her mouth under mine, moaning softly.
There’s no hesitation. No pretense. She simply locks her legs around my hips, the heels of her bare feet digging into my ass, pulling me tight against her. I stroke the length of my erection against the unbearably hot center of her, loving the way she gasps. Arches into me. Asks for more.
Hips circling, she meets each of my strokes with hungry desperation. Welcoming me inside. Pulling me closer. Deeper, until something snaps loose inside my brain. Want is no longer want.
I don’t want.
I need.
I need her naked. Her taste in my mouth. The feel of her in my hands. Her slick heat wrapped around me.
I need her.
I need her now.
Gathering the hem of her sweater in my hands, she lifts her arms so I can jerk it up, over her head, tossing it aside with an impatient grunt.
Forcing myself to slow down, I skim my hands over her hips. The soft skin of her stomach. Fingers tracing the curve of her breasts, her nipples hot and swollen against my palms. As soon as I close my hands over them, she moans into my mouth, goosebumps breaking out across her skin.
Her reaction to me, what I’m doing to her, is the hottest thing I’ve ever experienced. “Fuck,” I groan, low and guttural, dipping my head to draw one of those hot, tight pebbles between my lips, sucking and licking until she’s panting and shaking against my mouth, her fingers in my hair, holding me close. Gripping me against her, so tight it almost hurts.
She smells like chocolate. Feels like perfection. Tastes like sin. Every part of her invading me, turning me inside out until I feel desperate. Shaky and strung out.
Reaching between us, I find a barrier I hadn’t expected. I don’t know what it is but it’s pissing me off. Keeping me from what I want. Finding an edge to them, I curl my fingers around it and yank and am instantly rewarded with the sound of rending fabric, followed by a sharp gasp.
And then she’s there, the slick heat of her under my hands. Hot and soft, like molten silk between my fingers.
Right where I need to be.
“Tobias.” She moans my name again, her head dropping back on her neck, the line of her throat taut, breathing harsh and shallow. “Please…”
The tail end of her plea drifts into a shuttering sigh as I slide my fingers past her folds, stroke her deep, brushing the pad of my thumb against the tight bundle of nerves at the top of her cleft.
“Oh god,” she whimpers, her arms sliding from around my neck. She uses them to brace herself up, back arched. Breasts pushed forward, swaying gently with the rhythmic stroke of my fingers between her thighs.
With a groan, I lean into her, taking what she’s offering. Capturing one her breasts with my free hand, I lave its tip with my tongue before pulling it into my mouth. Sucking and nipping, stroking and caressing until she’s shaking with her need for release.
Breaking contact with her breast, I press my forehead to her sternum, eyes squeezed shut against the sight and feel of her. “Not yet,” I say, my breath, harsh and labored, against her quivering belly.
“I can’t…” She moans her frustration. “please, Tobias.”
I almost give in. Give her what she wants. Let her come this way.
Instead I push her to the edge and keep her there. “Not yet,” I repeat, lifting my head to find her looking down at me, gray eyes glazed with passion, as dark as storm clouds. Lips, swollen from my mouth, slightly parted. “I need my mouth on you first.”
Sliding my hand upward, I wrap it around her shoulder, pushing her flat beneath me. Stretching her out, I kiss and lick my way between her breasts. Over her ribs. Across her belly getting a good look at what she’s wearing. Red silk boxers, ripped up the middle.
Seeing them give me a moment’s pause. Something about them… and then she’s lifting her hips, a silent plea to take them off.
9
Silver
Tobias jerks the ruined silk down my legs, seconds before I feel the press of his mouth on the inside of my thigh,
urging me to open them further. I don’t think about what I’m doing. That I’m doing it for a man I barely know. All I can think is yes.
Yes.
His tongue skates a trail along the seam of where my thigh joins my hip. “You’re going to taste so good,” he whispers, each word brushing his lips against my skin, closer and closer to my core.
Without warning, he drags his tongue slowly up the center of me. The contact, so intense, bows me up off the counter, strung so tight I can feel my spine crack, the sound ripping out of my throat barely human. He does it again, and again, until I’m shaking, writhing under the sweet assault of his mouth.
Reaching down to fist my hands in his hair, holding him in place one second, trying to pull him away from me the next. “Oh—oh my…” I pant out, eyes screwed shut against the bright, overhead bulbs. “Tobias, please—I can’t—”
Ignoring the desperate grip I have on him, he presses forward, the impossible width of his shoulder so forceful, it pushes me toward the opposite edge of the counter. Without letting up, he slips a hand under the small of my back while laying a heavy forearm across my lower belly, anchoring me in place. He makes a sound, low and ravenous, in the back of his throat before latching his mouth around the hot flesh between my thighs.
And then he devours me.
Licking and sucking. Nipping and swirling. Gentle one second, almost rough the next, Tobias consumes me until I can’t breathe. Can’t see. Can’t feel anything but him.
Even though I can feel the excruciating pleasure building inside me, the orgasm takes me by surprise, ripping through me like lightning. Galvanized, I feel like I’m spinning apart inside my own skin and my eyes pop wide as I let out a shuttering moan, shaped around his name.
“Tobias.”
And then I’m in his arms, dazed and still shaking, being carried across the empty expanse of his apartment, his legs eating the distance between the kitchen and his bedroom with long, purposeful strides.
Kicking the panel open with an impatient growl, he tosses me on the bed. Standing over me, his gaze, dark and feral, rakes over me as his hands go for his belt, pulling its tongue loose of its notch with an impatient jerk that draws my attention. His erection is enormous, pushing at the front of his pants, straining toward me against the teeth of his zipper. Remembering the way he felt pressed against me, the promise of him stroking me through my borrowed silk boxers tightens my nipples and dampens my core all over again.
Staring down at me, he reaches for his fly, ripping it open with a look of stark hunger that stalls the breath in my lungs.
And then he stops.
His hands go still and the air in his lungs pushes out in a fast rush. He mutters a curse, lifting his hands to his hair, running his fingers through it with a frustrated push. “I don’t have any condoms.”
The intrusion of reality is like a slap in the face. Pushing myself up on my elbows I look up at him. “What?” I say, hoping like hell I heard him wrong.
“I’ve never—” He cuts himself off from whatever he was about to say, letting his hands fall away from his hair. “I don’t keep condoms here.”
Oh.
Frowning slightly, he nods. “I’ll call Ang—”
Whatever he’s about to say, I don’t let him finish. Scrambling to my knees, I kneel on the bed in front of him to hook my fingers into the waistband of his pants, yanking them down around his hips to free his arousal.
Looking down at me, he seems almost confused, like he can’t figure out what I’m doing.
That changes when I wrap my hand around his shaft and slide the head of him past my open lips.
He groans, the sound of it low and heavy in his chest. Looking up at him through my lashes, I find him watching me lave and caress him with my mouth and tongue, an odd sort of fascination on his face, like he can’t figure out who I am or how we got here.
“Argenta…” he says my name, pushing his fingers through my hair, rocking his hips against the pressure of my mouth. “Jesus.” Closing his eyes, Tobias throws his head back, thick neck tight and corded with muscle. Jaw clenched, mouth lax against the shallow, uneven push of his breath as he fights for control.
“I’m—stop.” He pushed the word through clenched teeth, the hands in my hair becoming urgent, gripping so tight my scalp starts to tingle. “Wait.”
Remembering the relentless way he drove me toward orgasm, I don’t stop. I don’t wait. I pursue his pleasure as ruthlessly as he did mine, sucking and licking until I feel the tense and jerk of his release against the back of my throat. Taste the salt of it on my tongue.
10
Tobias
It’s got to be close to 3 AM by now. I should be getting up. Hitting the gym. Starting my day. Instead, I’m lying in bed—my bed—with a woman I barely know and I don’t want to leave.
If we’d been at the Hawthorne, I’d have been gone hours ago. Showered and dressed, instructions left with the concierge to deliver my guest an eight o’clock wake-up call, followed by breakfast at nine and a car to take her wherever she wanted to go.
I reason that I’m sticking around because I don’t want to leave her alone in my private space. That doing so would be a mistake. Send the wrong message. As if anything that’s happened over the past three hours sends the right one.
Like she knows exactly what I’m thinking, she sits up without warning, moving toward the edge of the bed, away from me. I watch her move around my room, dark hair licking at her lush hips. Full, soft breasts swaying as she leans down to gather up her discarded dress. Sinking down, she sits at the foot of the bed, shoulders sagging a bit. Like the prospect of putting it on is too much to even consider.
Let her go.
Let her leave.
“I can call Angus,” I say quietly, watching her back instantly stiffen at the sound of my voice. “Have him bring you something… easier to wear.”
She shoots me a wry smile over her shoulder. “Doesn’t poor Angus ever sleep?”
“I don’t pay him to sleep.” I sit up, swinging my legs over the side of the bed, intent on finding my cell phone. “I pay him for chocolate cake and midnight Tiffany runs.” When all I get for my joke is another half-smile I reach for my pants to dig out my phone.
“It’s okay, Tobias,” she says. “I don’t want you to—”
“Then come back to bed.” It comes out of nowhere and as soon as I say it I realize what I’m doing. My offer to call Angus wasn’t brought on by some altruistic need to help save her from a walk of shame. I offered to call him as a stall tactic. To keep her here a while longer because no matter what my brain keeps insisting, I don’t want her to leave.
Swiping my hand over my face I watch her, the way she chews on her bottom lip in consideration. The stiff set of her shoulders and back because I told her what to do and she doesn’t like it. “Come back to bed.” I say it again because I don’t care if she likes it or not.
Please.
The word is on my tongue, ready to be pushed out but she drops the dress on the ground and turns. “Only for a little while,” she tells me, crawling back in bed, headed for the opposite side of it. I reach out and snag her, wrapping my arm around her waist, turning her toward me to tuck her in tight against my side.
“Okay,” I say softly, playing with the ends of her hair. “Only for a little while.”
We lay here for a while, her head on my shoulder, her soft, warm body pressed against mine. Her breath on my neck. “What’s your middle name?” I say, aiming a look at the top of her head.
She lifts her head, stacking her hands on my chest before resting her chin on top of them. “You first.”
I give her a wry smile “James.”
She tips her head from side to side, like she’s trying it out in her head. Satisfied, she smiles. “Mine’s Danielle. Your favorite color?”
“You first,” I say, smiling while playing my fingertips up the length of her spine.
“Red.”
“Mine too,” I say, th
inking about the dress, lying somewhere on my bedroom floor. “Tell me something else,” Holding the tips of her hair like a brush, I run them along the slope of her shoulder. “Something no one else knows.” I don’t know what I’m asking for. Why I’m asking for it. I don’t want to know. Don’t what to examine the last few hours of my life too carefully.
“You first,” she says, the corner of her mouth lifting in challenge.
I look away, watch as the ends of her thick black hair skim the soft skin of her shoulder. “My mother died on my birthday.”
I feel the air between us change and I hate it. I didn’t mean to say it. Didn’t mean to tell her something like that. I could’ve told her anything. That I’m allergic to coconut or that I’m ambidextrous. I could’ve told her that I hate this apartment or that I’ve been going to the same shoe shine guy in Grand Central Station for six-years now because I like the way he says my name with his funny Russian accent. Anything. I could’ve told her anything, but I had to tell her that.
I had to tell her the truth.
“The last thing she ever said to me was, Happy birthday, Toby. This is going to be the most important day of your life… and then she died.” I force myself to look at her, expecting questions and teary eyes. She’ll look at me like I’m damaged. Like I need fixing.
But this woman keeps surprising me.
As soon as I look at her she gives me a sad smile. “I’m sorry, Tobias.”
That’s it. That’s all she says. No tears. No questions. No let me fix you.
“It was a long time ago,” I say, pushing my grief aside and burying it so deep it vanishes in an instant. “Your turn.”
“Okay...” She considers me for a few moments, like what she’s about to say is monumental, and I may not be worthy of such a prize. “I love pizza rolls.” The way she says it, in a quiet rush, tells me it’s something she considers blasphemous.
Relief courses through me. “You love pizza rolls?” I say, tipping my chin a bit to get a look at her face. “That’s your big secret? You love pizza rolls.”