by Anthology
His eyes gleamed. Cheeks flushed. His mouth was wetter than it had been before, and he swiped his tongue across it. "Let me taste you."
Without waiting for an answer, he tugged her panties down and buried his face between her legs. Maura's hand went automatically to the top of Ian's head, her fingers digging into his thick, dark hair. He flickered his tongue along her clit until she whimpered.
"Sit," he said, and snaked an arm to pull the rocking chair close enough for her to obey.
She fucking loved it when he took charge like that. Maura sat, the curved wood cold on her bare ass. Ian pulled her hips to bring her to the very edge of the seat.
"Hold the arms."
She did. When he pushed her legs apart, she arched her back, giving into whatever he wanted to do to her. Ian's mouth on her was magic; everything about him had always been magic.
"You taste so sweet. You're so wet already. For me?"
"Yes, Ian, for you. Always for you."
She caught sight of a very pleased look on his face before he bent back to rub his mouth along the seam of her pussy. He parted her with his tongue, then focused again on her clit. Maura's grip tightened on the arms of the chair, but she didn't let go. She let her ass slide a little closer to the edge of the chair.
Still kneeling, Ian covered her clit with his mouth and began to rock the chair. A little bit, just enough to move her body back and forth beneath him while he stayed still. The sensation was so new, so different, and pleasure arced through her like crackling sparks. The muscles of her belly and inner thighs leaped. She had a hard time staying still.
"You like this?" He murmured muffled, and the motion of his mouth forming words sent another coil of desire spiraling through her.
"Yes."
"You want me inside you?"
She wanted that more than anything at that moment. Ian teased her, though. Instead of pushing inside her with his delicious cock, he slipped a finger inside her. Then another. Fucking slowly back and forth, he timed his strokes to the back-and-forth motion of the chair and the sliding of his tongue.
Her body contracted around him, and Ian groaned. "Fuck, that's so hot. I can feel you getting tight around me. I want to feel you come, Maura."
She was close, but not quite there. All she could manage was a shaky, "mmmm." When he fucked deeper into her with his fingers, curling them upward to get at her G-spot, she shook so hard the chair's rockers squeaked on the hardwood floor.
"Easy girl," he whispered against her. "Let it go. Come for me."
It was too much, almost. This pleasure. So fierce it took her breath away, so concentrated, so targeted. Ian curled his fingers again.
"Oh. Oh, my God," Maura said. "Oh, Ian, that's..."
"This?" Ian said, still suckling at her clit while he rocked her against his curling fingers.
Maura was lost. Tipping over. Pleasure overtook her, sweeping her into a whirlwind of ecstasy. Her vision focused to a narrow pinhole, and all she could hear was the sound of her own voice, begging him to let her come. And still he teased her, holding off, while the sensation built and built in her clit, her cunt, everything contracting until she could stand it no longer.
Her orgasm ripped through her with blunted edges, the pleasure of it edged with the pain of how strong it was. She cried his name. Her hips bucked. The wooden rocking chair creaked and protested, but it didn't matter because everything felt so good, she thought she might die.
A minute or so passed while her breathing slowed and she could focus again. Ian had laid his head on her thigh to look up at her, and Maura uncurled her stiff and aching fingers from the grip she'd had on the chairs arms. Most of her body ached from the somewhat awkward position, but the heat and gloriousness of her orgasm made every odd pain insignificant.
"I want you," she told him. "Inside me. Your cock, not your fingers --"
"I thought you liked that," Ian interrupted, and she swatted at him. He stood, pulling her to her feet, before turning to take her place in the seat. "Get on my lap."
At first she wasn't sure how to do it, but then she put her legs through the openings under the chairs arms. She could get her feet flat on the floor that way. Her hands on Ian's shoulders, Maura lowered herself onto him, slowly, inch by inch. He groaned when she'd seated herself completely.
"You feel so good inside me."
"I'm not sure how long I can last," Ian admitted. "You're so fucking wet, Maura, I'm about to go out of my mind."
"Shhhh," she told him. "Easy."
They laughed, and it was pure pleasure. Maura pushed off the floor with her feet, setting the chair to rocking. It moved him inside her. Back and forth, they rocked, while she kissed his mouth. Adding a little roll of her hips brought her clit to rub his belly, and that felt good. She'd come so hard, she was sure there wasn't another one left in her, but that didn't mean she wasn't going to try.
This position meant neither of them had to do a lot of gymnastics to keep moving, and they rocked that way for a long time. Every time Ian started to shake, Maura eased the pace. Kissing him, she lost herself in every sensation. His hair on her face when she nibbled his neck, the points of his nipples beneath her palms, the jut of his hipbones pressing into her thighs when she squeezed him with her legs. She'd thought she knew everything about Ian's body, but there was always something new to explore. Some new way to make him sigh.
Tucking herself against him, her face against his neck, Maura rocked the chair. Ian's breathing grew raspy. Under her palm, his heart beat harder, faster. Knowing how close he was turned her on, and she reached a hand between them to give her clit just enough extra pressure...
"Oh, God," she breathed. "That feels..."
"So good," Ian said. "I'm gonna..."
"Me too."
"Come with me," Ian said. "I want to feel you clench around my dick."
It could've sounded crude, but it was what finally tipped her over the edge again. Maura rode him, the chair creaking its protests for the second time. She came in slow, shaking waves. Ian cried out, fucking upward so hard it lifted her feet off the floor. He bit at her throat until she cried out again. He finished within seconds of her, and the chair slowed, slowed...stopped.
"I love you," Ian said against her skin. "I'm sorry it took me so long to figure it out."
She wasn't going to cry, not even happy tears. Swallowing the tightness in her throat, Maura looked at him, cupping his face. "All that matters is that you did. And you're here. And we can try."
"It's all anyone can do, right?"
"Yes, Ian."
He smiled, and she fell in love with him all over again. "You sure you want this? I'm cranky, especially when I'm not sure things are going to work out, and I can be hard to deal with --"
"Shut up, Ian." She stopped his words with a kiss. "This is it. You don't get to back out now."
He paused to look at her, his smile going solemn. "No. I don't want that. Not at all."
"I love you." Maura ran her fingers through his hair. "And no, it's not supposed to work with us. I know it's taking a chance. I know it's being reckless..."
"Perfectly," Ian interrupted, and after that, there was more kissing.
Lots of it.
<<<<>>>>
About Megan Hart
I was born and then I lived a while and I did some stuff. Then I did some things and whatnot. Now, I mostly write books. You can find out more about me at my website,
http://meganhart.com/,
follow me on Twitter at
http://www.twitter.com/megan_hart
or
friend me on Facebook at
http://www.facebook.com/megan.hart.
Seduce Me
J. Kenner
Dear Reader,
In 2012 I had the pleasure of meeting former tennis star turned billionaire entrepreneur Damien Stark when he leaped full-blown into my imagination. When the first book featuring Damien Stark and Nikki Fairchild hit shelves in January 2013, I was thrilled to discover that so
many readers loved these characters as much as I did. Loved them so much in fact, that readers and I both wanted to see more of Nikki and Damien even after their romance concluded in book 3 of the original Stark Trilogy (Release Me, Claim Me, and Complete Me).
Thus, "Stark Ever After" novellas were born. These novellas have allowed me to spend more time with these characters who I so love writing, and readers to spend more time with them as well, getting extra peeks inside their life "after happily ever after."
Seduce Me is the fourth Stark Ever After novella, and because it is part of the Sweet Seduction anthology, I have tried to write it in a way that any reader can follow and enjoy the story, whether or not he or she has met Nikki and Damien on the page before.
If you are already a fan of the series, this story falls chronologically after Play My Game (Stark Ever After) and before Say My Name (Book One of the new Stark International Trilogy of which Damien and Nikki are secondary characters).
For those of you who are already familiar with Nikki and Damien, I hope you enjoy this short novella that peeks into their lives. For new readers, I hope the characters intrigue you and you check out the series.
Either way, thank you for purchasing this anthology and lending your support to the fight against juvenile diabetes. It matters. It really does.
XXOO
J. Kenner
CHAPTER ONE
I scowl at my calendar for today and wonder how I am possibly going to be able to cram everything into one workday. I have three meetings, half a dozen phone calls to return, a lunch appointment, and plans to meet my best friend, Jamie, for drinks at seven. And somewhere in there I have to schedule time to actually get work done.
Frankly, I'm not sure if it's possible without the aid of time travel devices or, at the very least, a part time assistant.
I'm tapping the end of my pencil against the overfull sheet--because despite owning my own web and mobile app development company, I print my schedule every morning--when Damien approaches.
I know that he is there even though he has yet to say a word. Perhaps I heard his bare feet on the wooden floor. Perhaps the air shifted as he passed. Or perhaps he is simply Damien Stark, and I could no more fail to notice his presence than I could miss a tidal wave.
But more likely, I think it is because he has so thoroughly claimed me that there is never a time when I am not blissfully and totally aware of him.
I am in the library on the mezzanine of the exceptional Malibu house that was still under construction when I first started dating Damien. Now it is our home, and each place within these walls is precious to me. I'm at the desk near the section where Damien has shelved his sci-fi/fantasy collection, with tattered paperbacks tucked in with pristine, signed first editions. A few feet away, the newest addition to our household is curled up into a tiny ball of orange fluff in one of the comfy leather chairs.
This is Damien's favorite place to work, and that's part of why I come here almost every morning--I like to feel close to him.
Right now, I feel very close indeed.
"You're amazing, you know." I speak without turning around, then smile when I hear his soft chuckle behind me.
"Because I can sneak up on you?" This time I do hear his footsteps as he moves even closer.
"I knew you were there. By definition, that isn't sneaking. Or, at least, it's not successful sneaking."
"You make a good point, Mrs. Stark." His hands press gently on my shoulders, and I close my eyes, just soaking up the feel of him. It's more potent than coffee, and if I could bottle this feeling, I'd be richer than my husband.
I haven't yet turned to look at him, but I don't need to. I've long ago memorized every delicious inch of him. His raven-black hair, so familiar to my fingers. His perfectly sculpted face, softened by the slightest shadow of beard stubble. His lean, well-muscled athlete's body that looks equally exceptional in jeans or a tux. And, of course, his dual-colored eyes that can look right to my core and see all my secrets.
It is not yet seven on a Friday morning and though I'm still in my typical morning uniform of a T-shirt and baggy shorts, I know that he is already dressed. I inhale, confirming that assumption. I smell the soap from his shower. The hint of musk from the cologne I bought him in Paris on our honeymoon just a few months ago.
"So tell me, why am I amazing?"
"To answer that, I'd need Power Point, a projector, and at least two days." I tilt my head back so that I can grin at him, and my heart skitters when I see his face, even more perfect then the picture I keep tucked away in my mind. "But in this particular instance, I was referring to your time management skills." Damien accomplishes more in a day than most people do in a year. Frankly, I think it's highly likely that superpowers are involved.
"Busy day?"
"By human standards. For you, it's probably a cakewalk. For me, I'm going to have to do some juggling."
I push the chair away from the desk and stand, then lean back so that I'm half-sitting on it, my rear pressed against the edge. Damien's attention is entirely on my face, and there is such a look of hunger in his eyes that I have to smile. "Careful, or you'll be late for work."
"I find that's one of the perks of running my own company. There's no one to slap my hand when I break the rules."
I hear the thread of playfulness in his voice and match it. "Do you break the rules often, Mr. Stark?"
He lifts his hand, then brushes my hair away from my neck so that his fingertips can stroke my tender skin, then trace down along my collarbone. "As often as possible," he says.
I try very hard to continue breathing normally as his fingers drift lower, over the swell of my breast to linger on my nipple, now pebble-hard beneath the threadbare cotton of my favorite University of Texas T-shirt. He flicks it lightly, causing me to gasp. Causing a hell of a lot more than that, actually, as every nerve ending in my body suddenly seems to be connected to my breast by some sensual map that his touch has illuminated.
I say nothing, biting my lower lip in defense against the instinct to cry out his name in demand and longing. He meets my eyes, his crinkling at the corners as his mouth curves up into a grin. He understands perfectly what I am not saying--what he is doing to me. He holds my gaze, his clever fingers traveling lower and lower until he slides his hand between my leg, cupping me intimately and making me moan. "What do you say?" he murmurs. "Want to break some rules with me?"
"Desperately," I admit.
He makes a low noise of approval, then eases closer, taking his hand away so that I can feel the length of his erection hard between my legs. He pulls me fully upright, his hands now cupping my rear as he grinds against me, a slow, sensual movement like a sexy slow dance in a dimly lit nightclub.
I tilt my head back, and he bends to press a kiss to the corner of my mouth, that simple contact as wildly erotic as the deepest kiss, the hardest fuck. And though the brush of his lips against my skin is feather soft, I feel the hard, demanding weight of it between my legs, and I press my hips tighter against his in silent, desperate demand.
He brushes his lips over my cheek to my ear, the sensation sending shivers of pleasure through me.
"I appreciate the sentiment, Mrs. Stark," he whispers. "But we'll have to wait to be naughty."
It takes a moment for my sex-fogged mind to process his words, and when I do, I turn my head to look at him, and see both heat and laughter on his face. I pull back, narrowing my eyes. "Will we?"
"The helicopter will be here soon. I have to be in San Diego by ten."
"You, Damien Stark, are a very cruel man."
"I can be." He steps back, fully breaking the contact between us and leaving me feeling soft and needy and very, very turned on. "But isn't it nice to know that your schedule is more flexible than you thought?"
I cock my head. "You're not off the hook, mister. There will be blowback."
"I look forward to your most creative punishment. Tonight, perhaps?" he says, and the eagerness in his voice makes me laugh o
ut loud.
I'm about to tell him that he has no idea how creative I can be when my cell phone chirps in time with his. It's the automatic signal that is sent when someone uses a code to operate the gated entry to the property. He pulls his phone out of his pocket and glances at the screen. "Jamie."
"Really?" Jamie Archer is my best friend, and I have no problems with her popping by unexpectedly. I'm just not sure why she would. After all, she lives in Studio City, which is almost an hour away. More in morning rush hour, and in Los Angeles, morning rush hour lasts until about lunch. Texting is more Jamie's speed, and so by the time she has let herself in the front door and is calling my name, my imagination is running wild with all sorts of horrible scenarios.
"What's wrong?" I call.
"Nothing. I've got news."
I glance at Damien, relieved. "Then meet me in the kitchen. I'll be right there."
The house has two kitchens, but I have never actually used the one on the first floor, which is so huge and tricked out with so many amazing gadgets it would make Gordon Ramsey proud, not to mention easily serve up an intimate dinner party for two or three hundred.
I much prefer the normal sized kitchen on the third floor. It was designed to be a space for caterers, as it is connected to the open area that is meant for entertaining. But it has become the kitchen that Damien and I use regularly.
From the mezzanine, I take the stairs that lead to an alcove near the kitchen. Damien and I hurry up, and arrive in the breakfast nook right as Jamie is helping herself to a cup of coffee.
"Okay," she says, "this is seriously awesome."
"The coffee?" I ask, and my best friend rolls her eyes.
"Gloria Myers. Do you remember me mentioning her?"
I scour my memory, but nothing comes to mind.
"She's the head of programming for the network affiliate in Dallas that offered me a job. You guys were on your honeymoon."