“When it comes to you, I’m very possessive.” He nipped her earlobe again and then nibbled a path down the column of her throat. “And insatiable.”
“And talkative, it seems.”
“Is that your subtle way of telling me to hurry up and undress you?”
She chuckled. “Yes. And this is my not-so-subtle way. Hurry up and undress me, Thomas.”
“Done.”
He removed her clothes, exploring every inch of smooth skin he revealed with his lips and tongue and teeth.
“Your tongue is incredible,” she moaned as he licked her newly uncovered folds with deliberately slow swipes.
“Just my tongue?” He slipped a finger inside her, stroking the sweetest spot on her inner walls.
She whimpered, eyes closed, hands balling the duvet.
He lowered his head and flicked his tongue over her clit, teasing the tiny sensitive button of nerves as he moved his finger quickly inside her.
Her hips bucked upward. “I’m going…I’m going…” She shuddered, her words dissolving into moans.
He lost himself in the pleasure of her release until she cried out his name and came again.
Body thrumming, he rose up, skimming his palms over the curves and dips of her torso. “Is it wrong to say how much I get off on the sounds you make when I make you come?”
Her eyes fluttered open, and she let out a husky laugh. “I don’t care if it is.”
He smiled.
“You’re preening, St. Clair.”
“Don’t fucking care.”
“Good.” She bent her knees and planted the soles of her feet on his chest. “Now get your clothes off so I can make love to you.”
He laughed, allowing her to push him backward onto his haunches. “Ah, you think you’re in charge right now, babe? No way. That was just foreplay.”
Her breasts rose as she pulled in a deep breath. She licked her lips. “You have an insane idea of foreplay.”
He climbed off the bed, snagged her right ankle, and spread her legs wider. “I’m a high achiever myself, Mila. When it comes to making you come, twice is not even close to enough.”
A hitching whimper fell from her.
“Don’t move.” He released her ankle, tracing his fingertip up the inside of her leg as he moved along the side of the bed.
“Why not?”
His cock pulsed at her playful challenge.
“Because if you move, I won’t get my favorite tie.”
She frowned. “I don’t…”
He chuckled. “To blindfold you.”
Her eyebrows lifted.
He brushed the tip of her right nipple with his fingers. “We can go shopping for actual blindfolds tomorrow if you like. Velvet ones, or leather, if you prefer. For now…we improvise.”
…
Stomach fluttering, breath shallow, Mila swallowed.
Letting Thomas blindfold her as he made love to her? To remove one of her senses, to hand over that kind of control…
A tight heat twisted through her very core, and a liquid pulse throbbed in her sex. Hell, had she ever been more aroused?
At the side of the bed, Thomas studied her, his expression unreadable. “If you don’t want me to, I won’t. I know it’s a big step. Lots of trust involved. If you’d rather I just—”
She drew a slow breath and met his gaze. “Blindfold me, Thomas.”
His chest heaved as he walked to his closet.
She closed her eyes and opened them again a few seconds later when his fingers whispered over her hipbone.
He held up a black silk tie shot through with vibrant purple. “Are you sure?”
Without a word, she repositioned herself on her knees facing him, removed her glasses and tossed them aside, and then closed her eyes. “Is this answer enough?”
His low chuckle played with her senses a heartbeat before the cool silk of his tie pressed to her eyelids.
Light disappeared as Thomas knotted the tie behind her head with gentle pressure.
A ripple of anticipation sank into the pit of her stomach. Her nipples hardened.
She waited, balancing on the cusp. The soft rustle of fabric against fabric quickened her breath.
Was he undressing? Her mouth grew dry as she drew her mental gaze over his body, his broad shoulders, muscular form, lean hips, and corded thighs. Her fingers tingled with the need to skim over the dark hair on his wide chest, up his neck, along his square jaw and its dark stubble. What did it mean she could picture him perfectly without looking at him?
You know what it means.
Ignoring her own mocking rebuke, she drew a slow breath. His distinct scent teased her, her body responding. She pulled a deeper breath even as every nerve ending sparked and charged, waiting for his touch.
It came, surprising her. A gentle cool stream of air down the side of her neck.
A shiver rippled through her, and she let out a hitching noise.
The cool air moved over her breasts, her nipples, to her belly. Lower.
She swayed toward the gentle stream, reaching for his head blindly.
“No, no,” he admonished with a low laugh. “No touching. No cheating.”
She groaned. Or maybe she growled. Was it possible to be turned on by the anticipation even as she was impatient with it? “Hurry up.”
He laughed again, the sound close to her left ear. “Bossy much?”
Before she could respond, he nipped at the top of her shoulder and then kissed the spot with tender suction.
Another shiver claimed her, this one sending a finger of tight heat into her very center.
For a silent moment—a heartbeat? A minute? A lifetime?—there was nothing, and then his lips charted a path down over her rib cage to the curve of her hip, his hands feathering over her breasts, her butt.
“Oh, Thomas…” His name turned to a ragged sigh as he closed his mouth over her right nipple and sucked gently on it.
She reached for him again, tangling her fingers in his hair.
With a gentle pop, he released her nipple and snared her wrists in his hands. “If you must cheat,” he murmured in her ear, the heat from his body seeping into hers, “if you must touch, then touch properly.”
He moved her right hand from his hair, down over his bare chest, abs…and lower. Her heart slammed faster at the knowledge he was, indeed, as naked as she was.
As aroused as she was.
His hard length pressed to her palm and, without hesitation, she closed her fingers around its impressive girth.
“Hmmm, how can such a simple act feel so fucking good?” His breath fanned her collarbone a second before his lips replaced it.
A smile curled the edges of her lips. “I’d say you’re putty in my hands, St. Clair, but there is nothing pliant or soft about what I’m holding right now.”
He moaned. “Goddamn, I love your wit, your brain, just as much as I…”
He didn’t finish. Good thing? Bad? She didn’t care. Not at that moment. Not when his lips were nibbling at her throat the way they were, wicked little bites that sent pleasure shearing through her.
She squeezed his shaft, her sex contracting at its solid, engorged heat. How soon before it was embedded deep within her, propelling her closer and closer to another orgasm with each sublime thrust?
Not soon enough.
“Thomas…” She tightened her other hand in his hair. “I need you inside me. Now.”
He released her nipple, kissing and biting his way up to her ear. “Not yet.”
He stepped backward, groaning as she instinctually gripped his cock with more pressure a second before letting him slip free of her fingers.
“Damn you,” she complained, aching for him.
He chuckled. From a few feet away. And behind her.
She turned, seeking him out with the senses not deprived of her.
The sound of a drawer opening danced in the air, followed by the faint crinkle of a packet.
Liquid heat flowed into h
er sex. Condom packet.
Soon.
The mattress dipped and suddenly warm lips journeyed up the back of her right thigh, over the curve of her right butt cheek, up the line of her spine.
She trembled and then gasped as sure fingers parted her folds from behind and dipped into her wet entry.
“Oh God.” She leaned back into his body, rolling her head as he captured her breast with his other hand.
“Gods,” he corrected against the side of her neck, his fingers slowly inching deeper into her. “The writing gods—plural, no capital—are to be praised and worshipped for bringing you to me.”
She let out a low laugh and hissed in a breath as he pinched her nipple.
And then he was gone again, leaving her straining for his touch, his kiss…
A hot tongue traced over her stomach and then her nipples. She moaned, almost undone. Where would he lick and bite her next?
Fingers skimmed and feathered over her shoulders, down the length of her arms. He returned her hand to his length, his grip loose on her wrist as she pumped and explored his hard flesh. Her sex constricted with impatient need and realization as her thumb encountered the tiny bead of moisture anointing the crown of his erection.
No condom. Not yet.
How incredible would it be to have him sink into her without it? Flesh sliding against flesh? With nothing separating them?
That’s a dangerous thought. Too dangerous. Too intimate. Too enticing.
Another cool stream of breath travelled up her throat, her cheek, before he captured her lips with his.
She surrendered to the kiss, to him.
When he gently pressed her to her back on the bed, his solid length nudging at her folds, his hands palming her breast and gripping her hip, she could barely think. She was overwhelmed by pleasure and anticipation.
“Please, Thomas.” Was that her begging?
Once again, the mattress shifted as he moved off her and the bed.
Her breath quickened at the sound of the condom packet tearing. With his teeth?
Warm, firm hands smoothed up the inside of her calves, her thighs. She shivered, body thrumming. “Please put me out of my misery, St. Clair.”
He laughed. “Oh well, seeing as you asked so nicely…”
The mattress dipped a second before his sublime body nestled against hers.
Oh yes.
The round head of his erection parted her sex as he drew her knee up toward her ribs with a gentle but firm hand. “I’m going to bury myself inside you now, babe. But I need to look into your eyes while I do so.”
Too intimate. Too personal. Too dangerous.
“Please?”
She arched beneath him, craving what was about to happen. What she couldn’t deny. “Yes. I want that as well.”
He tugged his tie from her eyes, cupped the side of her face in his hand, and—gaze holding hers—sank completely into her with one fluid stroke.
Connected. In every way, on every level.
Moving as one, in perfect rhythm, in perfect harmony.
And when she orgasmed a third time, undone by the sheer pleasure he gave her, he came with her. Holding her. Moaning her name. Telling her over and over with each powerful thrust, she was his, she was his, she was his.
It was incredible. Sublime. Beautiful.
If only his declaration could, one day, be true.
If only.
Chapter Seventeen
Two weeks of dinner dates, and he was killing his deadline.
Two weeks of Mila arriving at his house after six o’clock, looking like every sinful teacher fantasy he’d ever had, what with her glasses, ponytail, simple dress, sensible shoes, and battered leather satchel.
Sometimes they would end up in his bed before they ate.
Sometimes he couldn’t help but pull her into his arms and make love to her against the wall.
Sometimes she’d give him one of her looks—right eyebrow arched slightly, gaze direct and pointed—and he would know they were getting down to the business side of things straight away.
Truth be known, he enjoyed those evenings just as much.
Those evenings, he made it his mission to make her laugh, to see her relaxed and totally at ease in his life, to show her the kind of life he suspected her teacher existence didn’t know.
One night, they went out for dinner with Sebastian and his brother, a technology genius reinventing the way mankind functioned one app at a time. They ate at New York’s most expensive, exclusive restaurant. Mila had both Sebastian and Harrison in stitches as she bluntly corrected the grammar of the paparazzi who approached them outside.
Another evening, they joined a tourist group and climbed the Statue of Liberty. The awe and quiet reverence Mila exuded as they stood at Lady Liberty’s feet… Thomas would never forget how beautiful she looked that night, with her hair tossing about on a gentle breeze, her eyes shining, her cheeks pink. Ever. It had been goddamn near impossible to stop at the soft kiss he’d stolen.
They stayed in often, ignoring the world outside. His favorite of those evenings was the night he made grilled cheese for them both, opened a bottle of shiraz, and he wrote on his laptop at the dining table while she graded assignments. He wrote more than ever that night, a deep calm radiating through him, knowing all he needed to do was lift his focus from his work for a heartbeat to see her.
No matter how often he asked, she never stayed the night. Not since that first time when she’d left him a typical Mila note. He asked every damn time he saw her.
That was the only real disappointment she’d brought into his life. That and the fact she still wouldn’t tell him where she taught or what her surname was.
The last two, he would get out of her soon.
The first, he intended to amend this evening.
For the first time since starting work on Blood Angel, he was ahead of his projected writing schedule.
“Tonight, Reap.” Reaper’s barks bounced around the bathroom as Thomas lathered shaving cream all over his jaw and chin. “Tonight, I’m going to get her to stay.”
It was a Saturday, after all. She didn’t have school the next day. She had no reason to go. He was going to sweep her off her feet all day. He was going to make the mere thought of not being with him so ridiculous she couldn’t even begin to contemplate leaving his bed for hers.
“Stay tonight.” He held his fingers under the running tap. “Stay the weekend. Stay the rest of the whole week.”
That was the plan. Mila. Staying. With him. Not just so he could write, but just because he liked having her around.
He liked it a lot.
Reaper jumped up onto the toilet seat and barked again.
Thomas grinned and picked up his razor. “Couldn’t have said it better myself, buddy.”
The doorbell rang before he could put blade to bristle.
“She’s early.” He put down the razor, wiped the untouched foam from his face, and headed downstairs.
Sebastian Hart grinned up at him from the foyer. “G’day, mate. Look who I found outside, letting herself in.”
He stepped aside.
Thomas bit back a curse.
Shelby smirked at him. “Nice to see you as well, author of mine who refuses to take my calls or answer my emails.”
“Shelby.” Continuing to the bottom of the stairs, he plucked the spare set of his house keys he’d given to her years ago from her fingers. “Seeing as I now pay a dog sitter to look after Reap when I’m on a book tour, you don’t need these anymore, do you?”
Sebastian laughed. “Told you he wasn’t going to be impressed.”
Shelby narrowed her eyes at Thomas. Five-foot nothing and one hundred and ten pounds wringing wet, she hardly appeared intimidating or threatening. When it came to her job, however, intimidating was an understatement. In the years since she’d signed him as her first author, she’d become a powerhouse in the publishing world.
Authors, publishers, editors, reviewers…didn’t m
atter who you were, you didn’t fuck with Shelby Newell. Even at the start of her career, she’d made that clear. M.E. Elderkin had been the first head on Shelby’s block, and the example set.
She walked past both Sebastian and Thomas and into the living room. “And I told you I didn’t care.”
Sebastian curled his nose at the cloud of Chanel No. 5 left in her wake. “Remind me again why we like her?”
“You don’t like her. You call her a pretentious Yank with an ego bigger than Uluru.” He grinned at Sebastian. “I, however, do like her. She keeps my money rolling in and the jackals at bay.”
“Am I one of those jackals?”
“Sometimes.”
“Bewdy.”
Thomas snorted and rolled his eyes. “I’ve noticed your Australianisms only come out when you want to piss someone off. Who is it today? Me, or Shelby?”
“Shelby. She told me outside if I didn’t have any information to share with her about your muse, she wasn’t interested in talking to me.” He frowned. “She does realize who I am, right? The guy who made you a household name the world over.”
“Funny. I thought I did that.”
Sebastian waved a dismissive hand. “You made yourself a household name with the reading world. I made everyone else without their nose stuck in a book know who you are.”
Thomas chuckled. “It’s a good thing I know the real you. The one who’s not a…how do you Aussies put it? A wanker?”
“You like me because I’m a wanker. One who turns your incredible books into incredible movies. Now, how quickly can we get rid of the soulless ghoul and hit the pub? I’m flying back to Sydney in twelve hours, and I want to spend some time with my mate before I do.”
“The soulless ghoul requires some time with her author,” Shelby’s call came from the living room. “The Australian wanker can stay if he’s got something constructive to add to the conversation. Like convincing Thomas to let me investigate the mysterious Mila.”
Letting out a ragged sigh, Thomas dragged his hands through his hair. Great. Shelby was on a protective rampage again.
“Want me to pay her to go away?” Sebastian grinned at him. “I have more money than her. I mean, I could.”
The Mistaken Billionaire (the Muse series) Page 16