Bride by Chocolate (Death by Chocolate)

by Alexis Lusonne Montgomery

  Her not-quite-bare bottom…

  The black lace thong covered enough to have him groaning. The throbbing between his legs had him unbuckling his belt and unbuttoning his slacks for some relief. He leaned close and bit gently on the firm cheek, then kissing the same spot, he ran both hands up to cup her buttocks. He could pass out now and be content. Almost.

  Her hands settled above his own. She grasped the hemline of the dress and dragged it up. Up and over her head. And then she turned, tossing the garment aside. Two tiny black lace triangles barely covering straining nipples, a matching triangle at the apex of her thighs allowing a hint of red curls, and the lace-edged stockings wrapped a body that was all woman.

  “If I weren’t already on my knees—this would do it.” His guttural whisper and the stunned look he knew was on his face must have proven the truth of his statement. A pleased feminine smile lit her eyes, and she sank her fingers into his hair as she bent to kiss him.

  Sam pulled her down torso to torso, twisting to stretch out on the carpet. Bebe straddled his pelvis, her lace-covered breasts rasped across his chest hair, her tongue danced in erotic play with his own. He brought his knees up to press his straining rock-hard shaft against her lush buttocks, spreading her thighs even more. Running his hand from her hip, up her ribs, and then across her shoulder blade, he found the clasp keeping the bra in place. When he clicked it open, the straps slid down her arms.

  His tugging had her sitting up. “Need some help?”

  The lace patches slid out of the way.

  “No, thank you. This is my present. I’d rather unwrap it myself,” he said, easing her over and onto her back, bending over her to tongue the exposed peaks. Sam slid his hand down across her belly to cup the now-damp material covering her mound, groaning with the bone-deep possessiveness that overwhelmed him.

  Desperate to touch her, he grasped the lace and dragged the black thong down her legs, tossing it away. He smoothed his hand back between her thighs to the waiting heat.

  She excited him to a height of passion he’d never known he could feel. And yet he could tell from her tenuous touch and almost surprised expression that Bebe could not be called a woman of vast sexual experience. The women he’d dated were forward, and her hesitance was refreshing. Odd that that should please him, but it did.

  Everything about her enthralled him, especially the husky little sighs she made as he stroked his fingers along the delicate folds between her legs.

  He gently parted the plumping lips, sinking a finger into her warm, wet depth. Her honeyed response and the shallow pumping against his invasion proved her readiness. The pebble-hard nipple he flicked and sucked only heightened his feeling of melding into her. He needed to be inside her….

  Bebe’s insistent tugging at his collar, trying to pull his shirt off his shoulders, roused him to attention.

  “Take this off,” she demanded in a desperate whisper.

  Leaning away, he gazed the length of her, lying almost naked, almost under him. Only her stockings remained. “You are so beautiful.”

  “Ummm—thank you…” She tugged again on his shirt and then reached out and ran a hand down his bare chest. “Help me?”

  “Your wish is my command, princess.”

  Sam sat up, tore off his shirt, then shoved his already-undone slacks off, along with his shorts, shoes, and socks. Retrieving a condom from the bedside table drawer, he turned back to see her shy smile when he covered himself.

  He rose over her and pressed between her thighs. Nestling his erection into the heat of her flushed a hot tide through his body.

  “Oh, baby, let me in.” His entire body tensed, throbbing with the need to be inside her. With the anticipation, his heart pounded until he was sure she must hear it.

  Gazes locked, he probed for entrance, reaching down to part her folds. He eased into her. The arc of pleasure spiked like an electric jolt through his body, but Bebe stiffened, and her sharp gasp stopped him as she pushed against the invasion. She was so tight. He felt the resistance, but the wet heat of her drew him, even as she shoved against him.

  “Hold still, baby. It’ll get better.”

  The mutinous expression in her eyes said she didn’t believe him.

  “I knew you were too big.”

  A laugh choked Sam and the involuntary motion pushed him deeper into her. “Oh God, baby, don’t move. You feel so good. We’ll be perfect.” He eased out a little and eased back into her again, touching her with fingers wet from her aroused body. Flexing his fingers across her sensitive bud drove her to accept him until she was panting and pulling him closer, harder.

  “It’s better.” She tilted her hips upward, taking more of him. She closed her eyes as if testing the sensation. “Very—much—better—ahhh, yessss,” came out in a hiss of sound.

  Sam’s blood pulsed from his scalp to his toes. His cock was engorged beyond bearing, and his whole body felt like steel coils pushed way past tensile endurance. He thrust again, and then again, pushing to the rhythm thrumming between their two bodies, listening to each gasp of pleasure she made, like a siren song. He couldn’t take much more. His body reached for what it wanted, ready to ignore any control he might want to exert.

  With a sudden fierceness, her hands gripped his waist. She dug her nails into his back, flexing to the increased rocking of her pelvis against his. Her inner muscles tightened around him.

  “Bebe?”

  Her eyelids pressed down on flushed cheeks.

  “Baby, look at me.” He had a desperate need to see her soul when she went over the edge. To know she knew who drove her, that they were in this together.

  Her eyes opened and their gazes locked.

  He thrust again, and again. Powerful driving thrusts into her hot, wet depths, and each time she took him deeper.

  He could see it coming. Her eyelids narrowed, and her scent whirled around him like a perfume meant only for him. Suddenly she bucked hard against him and cried out. Her body’s fluttering contractions around his shaft pulled him in, searing him in her heat. Her knees clamped hard at his hips, her toes digging into his calves, she arched against his pelvis with all the strength her body had to give. Sam held hard on to her and rode her through her climax. Bebe let out a thin shriek and then took a huge breath, collapsing back onto the thick carpet.

  Sweat raced down his back, snaking rivulets down his chest, while he held himself suspended over Bebe’s spent body, staring into her surprised eyes.

  And then she smiled. “We fit perfectly.”

  “It’ll get better.”

  “I don’t see how that’s possible.”

  “Trust me on this.”

  “Always.”

  “I’ll hold you to that.”

  Sam drove into her, pulling her hips up to meet his thrusts with hard hands gripping her satin-smooth buttocks. Bebe responded to his touch, urging him on with her moans and hot hands. His eyes closed in the face of ecstasy. All he could recognize was the throbbing heat and the tormenting pressure in his own body. The exquisitely painful pleasure of moving inside her careened him into his own pounding orgasm seconds after Bebe cried out her own release.

  …

  Why had no one ever told her about this?

  Bebe lay flat on her back, eyes closed, unable to move.

  The big O. Wow!

  She could still feel the bone-deep electric shivers all the way to the tips of her fingers and toes.

  The plush pile carpet brushed with an almost erotic harshness against the length of her naked body. She took long swelling breaths that lifted her ribs, but other than that she was limp, her whole body turned to mush, including her brain. Especially her brain.

  A hard, hot finger making a path from the pulse in her throat, down between her breasts, to points south forced her eyes open. “A person could die doing this—couldn’t they?” she inquired with great effort.

  “Hmm?” Sam’s sexy satisfied grin turned her brain from mush to puree. “Are you okay?”
<
br />   “No. I can’t move. I feel like I’m never going to stop tingling inside. And I’m almost certain we’ve done something illegal.” His big hand rested on her belly and felt incredibly warm and impossibly arousing. Arousing? “Definitely illegal.”

  “Hmm.” Sam’s hand made slow circles lower and lower on her abdomen. “Does that mean you wouldn’t be interested in repeating the experience?”

  “Let me think about that. I’ll get back to you—”

  “Brat.” A big kiss on her bare breast startled her to laughter.

  Sam flopped back on the carpet next to her. She turned her head and gazed straight into his eyes, alight with humor and satiation. His hair was tousled across his forehead, and if she had the strength to lift a hand, she would have brushed it back just for the sheer pleasure of touching him.

  “Let me know when you feel like negotiating,” he said.

  “What are my options? I feel perfect. What’s left?”

  “Bubbles or bed?”

  Bebe considered her choices, then made an executive decision.

  “If you can carry me there, the choice is yours.” It seemed when it came to Sam, the thought of being picked up and carried had lost its angst. An anomaly, or was he the cure?

  “Hold that thought. I’ll be right back.”

  “What thought?”

  Bebe couldn’t believe he actually had the strength to get to his feet. He went into the bathroom, the toilet flushed, and the water roared.

  When he came back, he reached down and scooped her up, one arm around her shoulders and the other passing snugly between her thighs. Sam’s forearm flexing and his big hand spreading across her bare buttocks sent shock waves of pleasure through her belly. Her thighs squeezed tight, intensifying the sexy sensations until she thought she’d scream. She turned her face into Sam’s chest and bit down.

  “That will leave a mark, baby.”

  She licked the skin in a slow circular motion. “Feel free to return the favor.”

  “Never doubt it. It’ll just have to be the perfect spot.”

  Sam strolled into the en suite bathroom. He set her down on the wide ledge surrounding the sunken hot tub, which now bubbled deliciously and sent a steamy, fragrant mist toward the arched glass wall looking out over the bay.

  “Go ahead,” Sam said, holding her hand while she stepped down into the waist-deep tub. “The water’s not too hot, but it should feel great.”

  “Oh my God—this is heaven.”

  “I have another idea.”

  Bebe shot him a look of patent disbelief. “I think this body feels about as good as it could ever possibly feel—thanking you very much, so anything more would be overkill…or might actually kill me.”

  “Trust me on this. Lie back and relax. We need fluids.”

  Then with a wink he was gone. But for now she knew Sam would be back. How long he would stay with her was another question. One she chose not to consider at the moment. His track record as a serial dater was well documented. Why should she think she would be the one to hold him? Don’t go there…enjoy now for now.

  Bebe submerged herself in the hot bubbling water all the way to her chin and groaned in abject bliss. There was something to be said for living in the moment.

  Would Sam return in time to prevent her from drowning when she passed out from pleasure?

  She sank to the inner marble bench lining the tub and rested her head against the molded lip. Exerting just enough strength to open her eyes, she looked around the room.

  The monotone queen of decorators had struck again. This time she’d done shades of gray with silver accents. At least she’d done most of the tile and fixtures in a deep rich charcoal that looked masculine without being harsh.

  The room could really use a few red towels…

  “Here we are,” Sam said, coming through the door with a carafe of orange juice, a small bottle of champagne, and two crystal flutes. Somewhere along the way he’d collected a plush white towel that wrapped low on his hips. Very low.

  The plate he had balanced on his forearm held two kinds of cheese and fancy crackers. “Take this, will you, before I drop something?”

  “Start with the towel.” Bebe reached for the plate. “I’m starved. Mmm, good idea.” The image of Sam wearing nothing but champagne bubbles strolled across her mind’s eye, triggering all sorts of appetites. She set the plate down on the opposite ledge before she dumped it in the tub and turned her gaze to watch him step back into the swirling water.

  Sam shot her a sexy half smile and set the bottles and glasses on the tub’s edge. Bebe couldn’t stop staring at him. She watched him drop the towel—with deliberation—and step down into the tub. Without the least bit of self-consciousness, he sank inch by naked inch into the frothy water.

  She’d never realized how only looking at a naked man could turn a woman on.

  Broad shoulders, strongly muscled arms and chest, long hard thighs, well-developed calves. He even had strong, masculine feet. Who knew feet were sexy? Those feet pressed either side of her hips now that he’d sunk down across from her. When he sat up from dunking himself to his chin, the water ran in rivulets down his shoulders and chest.

  He grinned again, and all Bebe could do was grin back. Her insides quivered, and she clenched her thighs tight to survive the sensation.

  Mon Dieu, how had this happened?

  She had joined the ranks of all those women on the infamous list who pined after Sam Sugarman. And now she could muster a healthy sympathy for each one. And a healthy dose for herself.

  This is ridiculous, her inner voice lectured. He didn’t intend to seduce you—it just happened—you’re both mature adults—you wanted this as much as he did—get a grip—be in the moment—roulez! And worry about your sure-to-be-broken heart later…

  Sam worked on opening the bottle of champagne. She watched the muscles in his arms and shoulders flex, watched the water shimmer on his bronzed skin as he poured the orange juice and then champagne into the crystal.

  “Mimosa. My favorite,” she managed to say when he turned to hand her a flute.

  She could hardly think because Sam’s strong legs held her captive. Supersensitive to his slightest touch, she could feel every inch where his skin slid against her outer thighs. She sank into the wonder of just being with him, skin to skin.

  “Five bucks.”

  “What?” Bebe’s eyes popped open at the odd remark.

  “A penny for your thoughts didn’t seem like nearly enough. Whatever you were contemplating looked like the five-dollar variety. Care to share?”

  “I was thinking the mimosa is wonderful. Really.” She took another sip to illustrate. Not ready to admit to her lascivious thoughts, she concentrated on the bubbles—in the glass and in the tub—and contemplated where she should put her feet. Sam seemed to be taking up the whole tub…

  “I think you should stay here with me until we find out who’s responsible for all the trouble.”

  She’d rather think about Sam’s naked feet settled next to her naked bottom than think about burglars and hackers.

  “Right here in this tub? What a good idea.” And then she slid her feet up the inside of Sam’s strongly muscled thighs.

  “Ahh, baby. Now this is a good idea.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  The tease of brewing coffee roused him, reminding Sam Monday had arrived. The images floating in his brain from his dream, white sand beaches, see-through blue surf, a naked Bebe, and lots of coconut suntan oil had his body throbbing for release, and he wished it were still Sunday.

  Sunday had been a moment out of time. They’d slept late, awakened to enjoy each other again and again, and made plans for the following day. And now it was here. Well, damn.

  Sliding his hand across the still-warm sheet, he turned his face into the pillow scented with the vanilla and floral perfume she wore, but it did not ease his ache. He slid out of bed and tugged on a pair of sweatpants. Better to go in search of his pixie princess t
han suffer like a sixteen-year-old with a wet dream. He had a cure for what ailed him—he just had to find her. Follow the coffee.

  He found Bebe in the kitchen pouring the morning brew into two oversize mugs. His silk dress shirt looked a lot better on her than it ever had on him, even if it did fall well past her knees. The fabric clung and slid across her curves as though it loved touching her. He knew that feeling. He couldn’t get enough of touching her, either.

  “Hey, princess.” His voice sounded like a growl to his own ears and he grinned, feeling only a bit guilty for his need. He’d kept her awake most of the night and early morning, unable to satiate his desire for her for more than minutes at a time. Even now his thoughts ran to sitting her up on the marble counter, wrapping her legs tight around his hips, and sinking into her.

  She turned, smiled, and extended a steamy mug. Her burnished red curls danced precariously atop her head. Looking closer he realized she’d used a couple of wooden chopsticks, extras from the last time he’d ordered Chinese, to secure the tangled mass off her neck. Unable to resist, he took the offering and placed a lingering kiss just under her left ear. “My God, you smell good.”

  “Good morning to you, too,” she said.

  He thought she looked a bit shy, a little self-conscious. What should he say? Dammit, he’d rarely suffered through morning-afters, choosing to make a discreet retreat well before, to avoid just this kind of awkward scene no matter how many times he’d dated a particular woman. But he had no intention of ever doing that with his diminutive redhead. He intended to be in her bed, or she in his, when they fell asleep in each other’s arms and when they woke in the morning. Better to begin as he meant to go on—hadn’t someone said that?

  “You look absolutely edible in that shirt,” he said, bending to nibble the spot where delicate neck met silken shoulder.

  Her resulting sigh reassured him.

  “I take it you don’t mind that I borrowed your shirt.”

  “Never. Help yourself.”

  The phone’s warbling stopped his exploration of the tender flesh behind her ear. He swung around to the built-in communication center recessed into the wall at the end of the marble counter and lifted the receiver. “Sugarman.”