by BETH KERY
“You’re wondering if I have the ability to appreciate you, aren’t you? If I’ll take you for granted as much as I might any of the other luxurious playthings that are scattered around me?”
She started slightly. She hadn’t expected him to say that. The realization also struck her that by “playthings” he might have been making a veiled reference to his other lovers. She laughed and set down her glass of wine.
“You don’t pull any punches, do you?”
“Would you like me to go easier on you?”
“No,” she said, shaking her head. Her smile faded. “Of course I’m wondering about it. I don’t really know how the mind of a brilliant, billionaire software magnate works.”
“Neither do I. Is there a handbook?”
“I’m just trying to figure you out, Jacob. Is that so terrible? You have asked me to sleep with you.”
He picked up his wineglass and took a sip, seemingly unaffected by her wryness. His gaze became hooded as he stared out at the sparkling water.
“What’s wrong?” she wondered, sensing his withdrawal. Had he changed his mind about what he’d offered last night? That he would help her forget her loss . . . for a little while, anyway. Now, as she wondered if he’d changed his mind, she suddenly was confident about her own decision.
He was rare. Different. Maybe she was acting out or behaving impulsively in the past year. Maybe she was just running away from the sense of meaninglessness and loss that had filled her life. But she experienced the opposite of loneliness and frustrated anger when she was with him.
She felt excitement and connection.
He was worth the risk.
“Nothing’s wrong,” he said, setting down his wineglass. “Have you decided, Harper?”
“I think so,” she said. She held his stare and nodded once firmly. A muscle twitched in his cheek.
“I think you should tell me more precisely exactly what it is you’re afraid of,” he said.
She hesitated, but then thought, What the hell. He asked, didn’t he?
“I have a history of getting involved with men like you, and regretting it.”
He leaned back in his chair.
“Men like me?”
“Powerful. Accomplished. Full of themselves.”
His brows went up. “That’s what you think of me?”
“No. Which has me a little confused, to be honest. I mean . . . you’re obviously powerful and accomplished.”
“It’s just the full of himself part that you’re unsure about?” She was glad to see his small smile. He hadn’t been offended by her admission.
“You’re confident. But that’s not the same thing, is it?”
“Why do you suppose that is?”
“What? Why are you confident?” she asked, confused.
“No. Why do you suppose you’re drawn to powerful men?” He put air quotes around the word powerful.
“I don’t know,” she admitted quietly. “I wish I wasn’t, to be honest. I was trying to reform my ways. And . . . then you walked up to me on that beach . . .”
He stood and reached for her hand, taking her off guard. She stood alongside him, her breath locked in her lungs.
“It’s a sexual thing. Your preference in men.”
She inhaled shakily at his typical conciseness. “I guess. Yes But it’s only a sexual thing. I don’t want to be run roughshod over or patronized or discounted outside the bedroom.”
“No one should be running roughshod over you or discounting you in the bedroom, either,” he said, his mouth going hard. “That’s not what your preference signifies.”
She could only stare up at him, mute. She wasn’t so sure she understood what he meant, but she was curious . . . no, hungry to know.
“And about what you said earlier: I don’t think it’s unusual that you want to know me,” he said, reaching up to cradle her jaw with both hands. He leaned down and brushed his mouth over hers. She inhaled his scent. Her body flickered in excitement. He’d held her that way last night, too, both hands cupping her face. It made her feel special, somehow. Cherished. Hot. “It’s just that I have a feeling you will know me,” he continued, his voice a deep, rich seduction. “Whether I like it or not. And I’m not so sure what I think about that, Harper. And as for the other? I can appreciate you. I do. And I will.”
“Sexually,” she clarified bluntly, struggling against the allure of his quiet voice, his possessive touch and his magnetic gaze.
“Yes,” he agreed without an ounce of apology. He kissed her lips again, plucking at her with firm, focused caresses.
Harper found herself responding wholesale. It was like sinking into a pool of warm, deep water. Letting go . . . but knowing that she could inhale a lungful of fresh air anytime she chose.
A breathless moment later, he lifted his head and peered down at her upturned face with a narrowed gaze. A small smile tilted his mouth at whatever he saw there.
“It’s a nice night. How about we go poolside?” he asked.
“Okay,” she whispered.
This is it. You’ve crossed the line now. Or perhaps she truly had last night, when she’d reached for his extended hand.
He turned away. Still holding her hand, he led her inside. Harper trailed him, listening to the drumbeat in her ears grow steadily louder.
Chapter Four
They walked up a flight of stairs to the pool deck. He led her over to a double chaise lounge that included a canopy. He felt customarily unsure . . . uncertain of what he planned to do. He wanted her. Like crazy. But he couldn’t take her in the ways to which he was accustomed. Not yet. He needed to seduce her.
He certainly needed to prove he was capable of something beyond that rush of heated lust he’d subjected her to last night. Just the recollection embarrassed him. It also aroused him. At the same time, how he usually proceeded with a woman, his matter-of-fact, bold dominance wasn’t any more appropriate than his out-of-control need had been.
He paused at the foot of the lounger, turned, and again cradled her jaw in his hands. She looked up at him, her gaze similar to that anxious yet aroused one he’d fantasized about while he masturbated twice last night . . . and again this morning.
Too similar.
She felt very delicate to him. She deserved to be cherished. Surely he could manage that, for Harper’s sake?
He kissed her mouth gently, coaxing her to open for him. When she did, her taste flooded him. It made him ache so quickly, when he’d thought himself calm. Recognizing what was happening, he forced himself to be patient as he penetrated her mouth, savoring her. She made him lose control, so he would learn her. He would learn how to master this need.
He wasn’t Jake Tharp anymore.
“Let’s get you out of these,” he murmured a moment later, forcing himself to break their increasingly fevered kiss. He began to unbutton her sweater, but instead paused to cup one full, firm breast.
“I’ve been wanting to do that all night,” he admitted gruffly, watching the progress of his stroking hand. “I kept thinking how soft your breasts would feel beneath this sweater . . . how good. It was driving me crazy.”
“Really?”
He glanced up to her face at the hint of surprise in her tone. “You were driving me crazy in it,” he corrected. He reached up and cradled both breasts in his hands, holding her stare. “I was wrong. You feel even better than I expected,” he murmured. He was being honest. The material was feathery soft and fit her breasts snugly. The sensation of her firm, feminine flesh beneath struck him as intensely erotic. He found the beading crests and rubbed them through her bra.
Her lips fell open. He liked when she looked that way. Dazed. Flushed. Entranced. He liked seeing the evidence of her arousal, especially when he himself had gone stone hard at the feeling of her in his hand.
“I hated not b
eing able to see you last night,” he said, continuing to massage her sweater-covered breasts.
“I know. Me, too. I mean . . . about you,” she said shakily.
“We have plenty of light now,” he said, referring to the brilliant summer evening. Holding her stare, he slowly unbuttoned the soft sweater, his anticipation shockingly sharp.
“Why are you smiling?” she asked as he unfastened the sweater to just above her waist. Instead of unfastening it all the way, he turned his attention to unbuttoning the dress beneath it.
He shook his head. “I was thinking I’m probably going to acquire some kind of fetish for fuzzy pink sweaters, thanks to you.”
She laughed. He glanced up at her face, even as his fingers continued to work the buttons, this time, of her dress, descending between the swells of her breasts. She looked radiant. She was made to bathe in the rosy, warm hues of the setting sun.
“You’re lovely.”
Her smile faded. She shook her head slightly, as if at a loss for words. “Thank you. I feel the same about you,” she whispered.
He parted the fabric of her dress, revealing an ivory bra that hugged her breasts snugly. He ran his fingers over the firm, plump globes, fully intent on his task. He’d always loved every part of a woman’s body, but he was known for having a thing for breasts in particular. It dawned on him in that moment that this female had perhaps been the very one to inspire that particular sexual preference so many years ago.
The realization stunned him. It amplified his lust, because here she was: the source of so many adolescent fantasies in the flesh.
The skin of her chest was flushed. He saw the spellbinding, quick throb of her pulse at her throat. It was a sweet tease, what he was doing, but suddenly he couldn’t take it anymore. He hooked his fingers inside the cups of fabric and peeled them back firmly over her nipples, plumping the flesh up over her bra and clothing. For a few seconds, he just stared, feeling his blood roaring in his veins and pulsing in his cock.
“Jesus,” he muttered in awe, touching both nipples at once with his fingertips. The crests were fairly large, but delicate. So pretty. They were a unique coral pink color. As he touched them, they puckered tight, the color deepening. The contrast of the color to her pale breasts was mouthwatering.
He wanted to eat her alive.
“Lie back on the chaise lounge,” he said, and he realized his tone had gone hard. Lust-bitten.
“You . . . you don’t want the rest of my clothes off?”
His gaze jerked to her face. “Of course I do,” he assured more evenly. “But I’ll take them off in a moment. Right now, just lie back.”
* * *
She sat on the edge of the lounge and scooted back, her heart thumping in her ears. She couldn’t get over the effect he had on her, his absolute focus. It was like she was the center of the universe in those lung-burning moments when he’d been touching her. Jacob Latimer was enough to make any woman go light-headed, just on his own, but combined with his intensity and the raw hunger in his eyes when he touched her . . . well, Harper was grateful he’d asked her to lie down. Her knees had gone weak.
When her feet were hanging over the ledge, he bent and removed her sandals. The skin of her ankles and feet still prickling from his light touch, she scooted back onto the many scattered pillows at the end of the lounger. Even before her head came to rest, he was coming down over her reclining form. He blocked out that sun itself, but the brilliant light shone around his dark form like a corona. Planting his left hip near her thigh, he slipped one arm beneath the small of her back. He cupped one of her breasts in his hand, holding it up for his inspection. She felt his narrow-eyed stare all the way to her sex. And then, with no further ado, he calmly leaned down and sucked her nipple into his mouth.
The contact sent a jolt of excitement through her. He sucked firmly. His tongue laved the captive nipple, as though he was determined to feel every tiny bump of the puckered flesh. Harper grasped at his head, sinking her fingers into his thick hair. Her sex went liquid and warm. She squirmed slightly against the cushion, instinctively trying to get pressure to alleviate the sharp ache at her core. His mouth moved rhythmically, drawing on her hungrily, pulling at some magical string that seemed to join her breast to her sex.
“Jacob,” she moaned.
He lifted his head, but only to resituate himself over her. He swung a long leg over her body and came up into a partial kneeling position over her. She watched, her mouth falling open. He looked so solemn staring down at her, holding both of her breasts in his hands. So beautiful. His thumb feathered a wet, erect nipple, drawing a whimper from her throat.
He glanced up at the sound. How could she express what she was feeling? Impossibly, he was making her feel like the only woman in existence.
She reached for him. He captured her outstretched wrists and pressed her hands on one of the pillows behind her. She cried out shakily at his gesture, surprised.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” he murmured, obviously mistaking her sound of startled arousal as fear.
“I’m not afraid of that.” And she wasn’t. She’d had lovers press her hands above her head in the heat of the moment before. For the most part, she’d liked it, the roughness of it, the spontaneity, although it had usually been done with some degree of hasty lust. But that wasn’t what Jacob was doing. He was restraining her firmly, but his hands were gentle. It was the deliberation of everything he did, the focused confidence and mastery of his touch, that made her so hot.
He lowered over her again, using his free hand to hold a breast. He sucked her other nipple into his mouth, treating it to the same firm suction and gentle thrashing he’d given the first. His hunger was a palpable thing. It created a sharp pain of need in a place deep inside her. After a moment, he lifted his head, kissing and nudging the swell of her breasts, running those shapely lips she’d lusted after repeatedly over her beading nipple, before he fastened on the other crest.
Harper lay there, panting and increasingly desperate, while he feasted on her like she was his first and last meal. His focused hunger and his patient, intent consumption of her made her wild. She writhed more strenuously on the cushion, calling his name, needing his mouth on hers, the feeling of his naked skin against her own and his cock filling her . . .
Just needing, so much.
He lifted his head from a glistening, swollen nipple and regarded her with a heavy-lidded stare. “Am I hurting you?”
“No. It feels so good,” she replied honestly.
He nodded and removed the hand that restrained her wrists. When she immediately began to move in order to touch him, his hand was back.
“Don’t move. Stay like that. You have no idea how exciting this is for me. You’re so beautiful. I want to play with you a little more. Okay?”
A gasp of surprise popped out of her throat. She nodded. What else could she do but agree? She felt his hand slide beneath her opened dress to her back, and her bra snapped open. His fingers slipped along her shoulder blades, dragging the straps of the bra down. He pushed the cups downward, completely freeing her breasts. Using both of his large hands, he grasped both the edges of her sweater and her breasts, plumping the mounds beneath the opening.
He glanced up at her, the small, devilish smile ghosting his lips freezing the air in her lungs.
“See, I told you. Pink sweater fetish in the making,” he said with dark amusement. She started to smile along with him, but then he lowered his head and sucked a nipple into his mouth, drawing on her more tautly than before. She moaned. His hands plumped and molded her breasts while he sucked on first one crest, then the other. He held them up for his consumption, pushing the shiny, reddened nipples together for his feasting mouth. It was relatively innocent, as far as ways of lovemaking went, but his intensity made it outrageously exciting.
Now past the point of desperation, Harper lifted her hips
off the cushion, needy of pressure on her sex. He’d been kneeling over her. His thighs bracketed her lower hips, but he’d kept his crotch several inches off her body. She made contact, pulsing her pelvis against the mind-blowing tease of his erection. He slipped his lips off her nipple. Harper gave a frustrated cry, partially because of the loss of his hot mouth, partially because of the feeling of how heavy and warm his cock felt through his jeans.
“Are you doing this to make up for last night, or are you just intent on driving me crazy?” she asked, panting.
A slow smile started across his handsome mouth. “Can’t it be a little of both?”
“Huh?” she asked, discombobulated. She jerked her gaze off the vision of his erect cock pressing against the front of his jeans. She watched him as he once again swung his leg over her and came down next to her on the lounge, reclining on his hip.
“Maybe you’re right,” he said, as if to himself. He unfastened the remaining buttons on her pink sweater and began working on her dress. “I could play with your breasts forever. They’re uncommonly pretty.” She gasped when he reached up and pinched a hard, swollen crest gently, his fingertips sliding with the wetness he’d left from his mouth. At the sound she made, he glanced up at her face. “Your cheeks are bright pink.”
“I can’t help it,” she managed, because his quick, adept hand was now moving down her belly as he unfastened her dress, and it was highly distracting. “It’s my coloring.”
She sensed his pleasure more than saw it displayed in any obvious way on his face.
“I like that. It means you can’t hide anything,” he said. Her breath stuck on an inhale when his long fingers paused at the last button of her dress, just an inch above her mons. He opened his hand over her bare stomach and caressed her.
“Breathe, Harper.”
Her eyelids popped open at his quietly uttered words. That eerie sense of familiarity came over her yet again. She forced her eyes to focus on him. Then he slipped two fingers beneath the elastic band of her panties and buried them between her labia, and the strange feeling was washed away by a flood of lust.