by Jo Leigh
Charlie put the rice down, but his leg, his hip, his side were pressed warm against her. He smelled like spice and beer and her eyes closed as she inhaled. “I don’t like beer. To drink. But I really like how it tastes when—”
He waited, not five inches between them, maybe not even three. “When…?”
“When I do this,” she whispered right before their lips touched.
CHARLIE WANTED TO PULL her into his arms and kiss her until she cried uncle, but he held himself back, every muscle in his body on a hair trigger. Her lips were soft against his, brushing, teasing. Her breath came in gentle puffs, scented with galangal and heat, and no matter how fervently he thought now, now, now, he let her call it, let her make this decision. What the hell was wrong with him?
The whole night had been one bizarre thing after another. He didn’t miss premieres. He didn’t sit still for three goddamn hours just so he wouldn’t disturb someone’s sleep. He wasn’t nice. Nice wasn’t even a part of the equation, so what was happening? What was he doing?
A touch, fingers, small, cool, delicate on the back of his neck, and he became very aware of his cock. Not for the first time since they’d landed on the couch together. In another bid to make this the weirdest night ever, he’d found himself cycling through stages of hardness. From that first moment she’d leaned into him all sleepy and mumbling, he hadn’t been completely soft. Not hard as a rock, either. Which was fine. He’d only touched himself the one time, and that was an adjustment. Even though this whole scenario was as close to an erotic dream as he’d ever had without sleeping.
She tugged his hair, pulled him closer, deepened the kiss. Little licks against his bottom lip, then the top, as if he were ice cream, a caramel apple. His cock filled, pressed against his fly. He should have taken off the tux, but it was too late to worry about that now. Not when she slipped her tongue inside and he tasted her for the first time since the party at Chelsea Piers.
Instantly he realized it was a mistake. A hormone driven error that would come back and bite him in the ass. He’d known better, but had he pulled away? Hell no.
He adjusted his head so they fit together better, then started his own exploration. He was not delicate or tentative. In fact, it was all he could do to stop himself from showing her just how ruthless he could be.
He opened his mouth and claimed her, sucked on her tongue, thrust with his own, and the sound she made, holy god…now he was getting the kind of hard that meant business. With determination and the endgame in sight, he pulled back. “Bedroom?” he asked. Hoped.
She blinked at him. Charlie realized he’d abandoned his beer and taken hold of her upper arms, the silk of the kimono warm beneath his fingers. She was virtually naked under that kimono; he knew that. He could see the push of her hard nipples against the silk. Maybe he’d been hit in the head or something, because this was not his style. This felt reckless, and he hadn’t been reckless since his teens.
Her nod let him breathe again. He kissed her once more. It started out thankful and turned desperate with one slick of his tongue against hers.
They stood as they’d been sitting, his hands lifting her up, their mouths working together to remember, relearn, discover.
He had them halfway across the room before they had to take a real breath.
One of Bree’s hands was in his hair, the other under his tuxedo jacket on the small of his back, as if they were doing some crazy waltz. “This is a bad idea,” she said before she kissed his chin.
“Terrible. We decided.” He captured her mouth again, amazed at how she let him guide her, backward, through the space. How, even with the height difference, the important parts matched, like her breasts against his chest and her lips within his reach. He only had to move a single muscle for her to react exactly as she needed to. It was a dance, not crazy, just theirs.
“Five years,” she said, in a rush of air and half a moan.
“What’s five years?” The hallway was coming, so they shifted slightly to the left.
“My plan.” Her hand moved down right over his ass as they maneuvered the turn, and he pushed her back into the wall. Her “umph” made him swing her around as he stood straighter, the graceful equilibrium between them going down the drain.
“You okay?”
“Where’s the damn bedroom?”
“Close,” he said. Speeding them there would have been the smart move. He kissed her instead. The pull was too much, knowing he shouldn’t, they shouldn’t.
The hand that had been in his hair was now on his chest, rubbing in vague circles.
“What plan?” he said, his voice as husky as a pack-a-day smoker’s. “To take over the world? To bring me to my knees? You don’t need five years for either.”
She laughed, stepped on his toe with her bare foot. It didn’t hurt. “I’m going to be a cross between Tim Gunn and Tina Brown,” she said, stumbling on the kimono.
If they didn’t kill each other before they made it to the bedroom, it would be a miracle. “Good for you. You’ll be great.”
“Not if I can’t say no to you.”
He looked at her then, at her darkened eyes filled with a heat that could burn a house down. “You can.”
She breathed in, then there was silence. Only his heartbeat loud in his ears.
“Please don’t make me,” she whispered.
A dark sound came out of his throat as he bent over and lifted her into his arms. It was ridiculous, something he never did, would never do, but he’d had enough walking, enough of everything but stripping her bare, burying himself inside her for as long as he could, as deeply as he could.
“Charlie,” she said, working her arm around his neck. “We’re insane.”
“I know.” The door was there, right there, and it was open. He had her inside in a flash, over the bed in two, but he had to kiss her one more time before he let her go.
She pulled back from the kiss first, but she barely moved. Her breath brushed his face, soft panting, a faint-as-a-whisper tremor.
He lowered her slowly, head on the pillow, the shoulder of the kimono slipping down enough for him to see the crease where her arm pressed next to her side. It made his cock jerk and he wanted her so badly he didn’t know what to do.
“It’s my turn,” she said.
“What?” He pulled his gaze from that patch of heretofore ordinary skin. “Your turn?”
Her normally very sweet smile and her big innocent eyes turned wicked as she looked him over. “Strip for me. Slowly.”
He had to grin. She’d said the words like a crime boss, like a vixen. And then she shrugged that partially bared shoulder until the kimono… He could see the edge of her hardened nipple. Only the edge.
BREE BIT HER LOWER LIP hard as Charlie took off his jacket. He’d taken her at her word, so his movements were unhurried, but his technique? Bless his heart, he had no clue how to do a sexy striptease. He kept checking to make sure he wasn’t going to trip and he tried to take both arms out of his sleeves at once and that made him cuss, and start again. She didn’t want to laugh because, oh, God, he was trying so hard. Her whole body ached with how adorable he was, how the normally smooth, completely controlled internet mogul looked exactly like a seventeen-year-old virgin trying to impress the prom queen. They both relaxed when the jacket hit the floor. She wasn’t about to put him through it again with his shirt and trousers.
“Come here,” she said, patting the bed. “You needed a fedora for that move. Besides, you’re too far away.”
“Now look who’s being nice,” he said as he sat beside her.
Her fingers were working on his buttons. They looked fantastic—it was Armani, after all—but they were small and round and not easy with shaking fingers. By button three, she was tempted to rip the damn shirt open, but she could never abuse quality fashion like that. It would be like shooting Bambi.
Charlie ended up helping, and every time their fingers brushed she gasped. Couldn’t help it. Now that he wasn’t even
trying, his unbuttoned shirt slid off his shoulders as if choreographed, and holy crap, he was half-naked, and so was she.
“This is going to be bad,” she said, her perfectly painted fingernails trailing up his beautifully sculpted chest. Somehow, his muscles, his whole body, had been made to her specifications. Enough definition and muscle to be a gorgeous surprise, an ass to die for, and all of it belonging to the same Charlie who’d let her sleep, who made sure she ate, who’d given her a shot at her dreams. “It’s everything I want,” she went on, “and that never ends well.” She finished the sentence with her lips on his chest.
His fingers smoothed through her hair, his inhalation loud in the quiet room. She kissed him again, moving over the warm flesh in front of her, sneaking her free hand to his slacks, only to realize she’d never get him naked like this. He couldn’t have picked a more perfect tuxedo for the night. Stunning and sinfully elegant, and yet everything that kept the structure together— buttons, snaps, zippers—were as complicated as menswear could get. She wondered if somehow he’d found boxer briefs that needed a password to come off.
His fingers cupped her chin, and he lifted her up and away from his chest. “We can stop,” he said. “I’ll have to excuse myself for a few minutes, but we can stop right now.”
She nodded, knowing it was the right thing to do, but when he sighed his disappointment, she grabbed for his hand to keep him from going. “There are too many things,” she said.
“I’m not—”
“I keep thinking of all the things we didn’t do that one time. How we wouldn’t get another chance, and I’d never know…” She felt the blush and marveled at her absurd Midwestern shyness.
“Like what?” he asked, leaning over her more closely, his free hand moving to his difficult trousers.
She captured his index finger between her lips. Then she flicked the pad with her tongue before she sucked the digit into her mouth. She tasted him, fluttered her tongue against his flesh, made him understand.
His moan had her squeezing her legs together. She released his finger, but only so he could finish undressing. To say he was eager was an understatement, and he must have worn that tux often to be so adept, but she never blinked as the trousers hit the floor, followed by his sleek black blessedly uncomplicated briefs. Somewhere along the way, he’d toed off his socks, and there he stood. Oh, so hard. His cock painting a wet trail on his stomach as his chest rose and fell in harsh, quick pants.
“You thought about that?” he asked.
She nodded. Ran her hand up between the folds of the kimono, slowing as she traced her bared nipple. “I would really like it if you’d lie down. Soon.”
His smile was as erotic as his erection, and both of them together made her squirm. He obliged, not without stealing a kiss that lasted a long, long time. Finally he was spread out next to her, and she could do whatever she liked. Taste, lick, nibble, tease.
She may have said it before, but this time she meant it. No more sex after this, because as she slipped off her panties on her way to straddling Charlie’s hips, she realized that it wasn’t exactly the smile or the erection or the meals or the clothes. It was everything she wanted. He was. Charlie. There was no use pretending, not anymore. This was no crush.
HE WAS GOING TO BURST into flames. There’d be nothing left but ash, and it would be worth it. Naked Bree straddling his waist was exactly the last view he wanted. The smile was a bonus, her bending over to kiss him more than a mortal man could take.
The kiss wasn’t half as sweet as her grin. In fact, it was kind of a mess, full of tongue and teeth and saliva and his hips lifted her straight up off the bed it was so hot. Her hands on his chest steadied her, but before they had to break for the next breath, her fingers found his nipples. He loved nipple play, but the woman on top gave him two synchronized twitches that forced his head back, his eyes to widen then slam shut and he wasn’t even going to try to explain the noise he made.
“This is fun,” she said in the most wicked voice ever.
“You’re killing me.”
“Don’t be such a baby. You can take it.”
“I’m not used to this kind of insolence,” he said, giving her his most imperious stare.
She raised her left eyebrow as she sat up. He only noticed she’d moved her hand around back when she gripped his cock.
He roared up again, thrusting his hips, her, everything, for more. Now. Please.
Then she pumped. Once.
He already knew she weighed next to nothing. He could simply lift her up, reseat her again in a more agreeable position. Because being inside her in the next ten seconds was the most important thing that would ever happen to him, ever, for his whole life, no exceptions.
When she let go he wanted to cry, and would have if he wasn’t such a manly man.
Then she scooted back, lifting herself over his cock until she was settled on his thighs, and shit, the view, her bare-naked pussy spread obscenely exactly where he couldn’t touch it.
One finger touched the base of his cock and she drew the finger up and up, and his back arched along with it. The crazy thing was, the whole time, he was looking at her, staring into her eyes, and she was laughing. Not out loud, not mean or taunting, just…delighted. Like a kid with the best toy ever. Jesus.
Her mouth opened in a big smile just before she bent over, and engulfed the head of his prick.
His shout came all the way from his balls, and it was everything he could do not to come right then and there.
Game on, he thought. Then he gave up thinking completely.
SHE HAD NO IDEA HOW LONG she’d been on the edge, but it had to have been hours. It was torture, how he’d bring her right there to that place where she held her breath, where she trembled and moaned and prayed, only to pull her over into a quivering mess, and then rev her up again until she couldn’t think straight, until she’d pulled the fitted sheet off its corners, until she’d begged herself hoarse.
He came twice.
She lost count.
13
HE COULDN’T POSSIBLY be getting hard again this quickly, especially after a doubleheader, but his body was giving it a hell of a try. Charlie couldn’t remember the last time sex had been this…intense. If it ever had.
He liked sex and he liked women, and he had liked some of the women he’d had sex with very much, but this, with Bree, felt different somehow.
He kept staring at her, his pulse quickening as her breasts, the nipples still hard and very pink, rose and fell. While the flush that infused her face and chest was slowly fading, her skin, like his, still glistened with sweat. He needed to get up, get clean. Offer her water, see if she wanted a shower, see if she wanted to go home, although he doubted that. It was crazy late.
His other hand reached over and touched her arm. She turned her head and grinned at him. “That was. Wow.”
He grinned back. “Well said.”
“I’m surprised I’m speaking English. With real words and stuff.”
He laughed, squeezed her arm. “I have to do things,” he said.
“Well, you’re on your own. I can’t move.”
He nodded, or at least he thought he nodded.
“Here’s what I don’t understand,” she said.
“Only one thing?”
“Ha. No. I don’t understand a gazillion things. Starting with what we were thinking. Not that I’m complaining, mind you. But we did decide not to do this.”
“Yeah, well. I blame you.”
“What? You can’t blame me. It wasn’t even my fault.”
“It was so. You kissed me.”
“You ordered an entire Thai restaurant for dinner.”
“You were naked under the robe.”
“I had on a thong.”
He looked at her again and found she was already staring. “You fell asleep.”
“You didn’t wake me,” she said, only not as quickly. The gleam of laughter fading from her eyes.
“You need
ed rest,” he said, his voice low, soft.
She swallowed, then turned over a little. She wasn’t facing him full on, but her body leaned toward him. “You could have gone by yourself.”
Whatever he’d thought she was going to say, that wasn’t it. Because she was right. He could have. He should have. He could have gone alone. Called any number of women he knew who could have been red carpet ready in a heartbeat if he’d wanted company.
“Why didn’t you go alone, Charlie?” she asked.
He pounced on the first answer that came to him. “I didn’t want to wake you.”
Bree’s eyebrows lowered. If she was trying to figure out the hidden meaning in his words, she’d be at it for a long while because there was no meaning. No answer. No explanation. It hadn’t occurred to him. Not once in three hours had he entertained the thought of leaving her to sleep so he could do his job.
Shit.
He let go of her arm, flung off his sheet then practically flew off the bed. Naked and really wishing he wasn’t, he turned to Bree. “You want some water?”
She blinked, then nodded. “Sure. Thanks.”
He got her a bottle from the mini fridge in his closet. When she took it, he headed for the bathroom. After he’d closed the door behind him, he realized he should have said something. Nothing important, just the typical, “Be back in a minute,” or something equally mundane. According to Bree, he was supposed to be nice. What he was, in fact, was panicked.
He busied himself with cleaning up, but his thoughts were as scattered as shattered glass. He kept trolling for reasons, for a string of logic that would explain why he was standing in his bathroom washing the come off his dick when he should have been in his office finishing up his notes on the movie premiere and planning his morning blog. Alone. With no Bree in his bed or even in his apartment.
Nothing. It may not have been his idea to stop the sex when they agreed to work together, but he’d agreed. It only made sense. They’d had their one night, and even that had been questionable. It was completely out of character for him to change the rules like this. Something must be wrong with him.