Deliciously Sinful

by Lilli Feisty

  She watched him as he swallowed. She fixated on the corded muscles of his neck, the way they moved. The ocean crashed against the shore. The fire shot up a blast of a spark. Nothing distracted her from him. From watching him. From simply being near him.

  Watching Nick eat was the sexiest thing she’d ever seen. She wondered if she’d ever be able to have their pre-dinner-rush meals together in the café without jumping his bones.

  Probably not. She was more at ease with the idea than she might like to be.

  She was totally unsure what normal actually consisted of anymore. This—this moment—felt nothing but normal. The sea, the fire, the food. Being with Nick. This feeling of excitement coursing through her. This was what felt good. Right.

  She let him feed her. Her eyes drifted shut, and she tasted the slick oyster as it slid into her mouth.

  “That’s my good girl,” he said. His voice was deep and husky. Her trembling moved from her limbs to her center. God, how she wanted him. She thought about the incident in the storage room, when he’d pushed her against the wall, pulled off her skirt, and spanked her.

  That feeling. He’d had total control over her. And yet she’d felt free for the first time since she could remember. That feeling was here. Right here. Right now.

  She could feel it. She was hovering over it. She craved it. She wanted to jump into it as if it were a pool of warm water.

  She unclasped her hands and put them to the zipper of her jacket. Meeting his gaze, she started to unzip her coat.

  “You want a good girl?” she asked.

  He quirked a brow, but his stare remained fixed on hers. Nailed to hers.

  “You like being my good girl, don’t you, Phoebe?” he asked.

  She pulled the zipper down and shrugged it off her shoulder. “I’m not yours.” Yet. She couldn’t help it; the word just popped into her brain, and she tried to poke it away. But it was like a bubble floating around, and no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t pop it.

  Yet.

  Her senses seemed to be amplified. The ocean sounds seemed like thunder, and the fire sparked like miniature bomb blasts. She thought her eardrums might explode. A crisp wind whispered against her warm cheeks and seemed to burn her skin. Her heart hammered in her chest, louder than any churning ocean waves.

  The moon burned through the fog, shadowing Nick’s face in chiaroscuro shadows that hollowed out his cheekbones and highlighted the angle of his long, thin nose.

  Do you want to be a good girl?

  Above the blare of noise around them, the question resonated. Deafening.

  Of course she did. She wanted to be Nick’s good girl. When she was playing that role, there was nothing else. No family, no restaurant, no farm. Just them.

  She tossed her jacket onto the sand and smiled. Crossing her arms near the hems of her sweater and T-shirt, she tugged the clothing up. The glow from the fire illuminated the newly exposed skin of her belly. She smiled at him.

  She lifted her sweater and shirt over her head and threw them on top of her jacket. Then she sat across from him. She smiled when she saw his gaze fall on her breasts, covered only in a cotton bra. She reached behind her back as she nibbled her lip.

  She unclasped her bra and tossed it aside, where it joined the pile of clothes on the sand. “Of course I want to be a good girl, Nick. But you have to make me.”

  As soon as the words left her mouth, her heart pounded a fraction faster. She’d just issued Nick Avalon a challenge. And she knew he wouldn’t back down.

  Holy shit.

  Nick’s mouth was dry. He couldn’t keep his gaze off Phoebe’s glowing skin. Looking at her taut breasts, he had to clench his hands to keep from feeling her up like a teenage boy at his first dance. Her nipples were rosy and tight in the open air, and he wanted to suck on them. Bite. He wanted to throw her down onto the sand and lick every inch of her exposed skin. He wanted to bury his hands in her hair as he ravished her mouth.

  He wanted to taste the flavor of oysters and tequila on her tongue.

  He wanted…What he wanted was to fuck her bloody brains out.

  But no. She’d thrown down a gauntlet, and Nick had never been the sort of man who shied away from a battle. And that’s what Phoebe was offering him. A battle. But it was just an act. He could see it in her eyes; she wanted to be taken over. By him.

  The thought gave him pause. Because he did feel a sense of possession over her, unlike what he’d felt for any of the women he’d been with before. In fact, the thought of anyone else touching her like he did made his stomach turn with the unfamiliar feeling of jealousy.

  But he wasn’t going to focus on that now. Not when he had something so beautiful right in front of him. Waiting for him.

  Shifting to give his aching cock some space, he slowly pulled the basket out of the fire and set it on a rock beside him. He glanced up to find her watching him. She was trying to look relaxed, but he could see the rapid rise and fall of her chest.

  He pushed himself off the rock and knelt before her.

  “What are you doing?” she asked.

  He lifted one of her feet and placed it on his knee. “You didn’t think you were just going to take off your shirt and leave the rest of your clothes on, did you?”

  The saucy thing leaned back on her hands, basically pushing her breasts out at him.

  Taking it slow was going to be a real problem.

  “Can you ever answer a simple question?” she asked.

  He began unlacing her boot. “Can you ever stop asking questions?”

  “Yes. I just often choose not to.”

  He threw her boot aside. “Now would be a really good time for you to practice the whole silence thing.”

  “Make me.”

  “Woman, you are driving me nuts.”

  “I think you’re already nuts.”

  He made quick work of her other boot and tugged it off her foot. “You definitely bring it out in me.”

  “Ditto.”

  Looking up at her face, he couldn’t help but smile. “You must have a death wish.”

  Her expression changed, and he saw a flicker of panic flash in her eyes.

  “Why do you say that?” she asked.

  He climbed onto his knees to pull off his sweater. Leaning into her, he watched her breath catch as he brought his face close to hers.

  He pushed himself against her body, and through the fabric of his T-shirt, he felt her hard nipples and the soft flesh of her breasts.

  “Nick. Why did you say I have a death wish?”

  He gently rubbed his lips against hers. Her breath was hot and sweet against his mouth.

  “Are you asking questions again?” he asked.

  She nodded. “So answer me.”

  “Sweetheart, you have a death wish because you fuck with me. No one else does that. And if they do, they heartily regret it.”

  “Is that so?”

  He pulled back an inch. “Are you laughing at me?”

  “No.” But she was biting her lip.

  “You are. You’re laughing at me.”

  “I swear, I’m not.” A bubble of laughter escaped her mouth.

  “You cheeky little bitch,” he said.

  “It’s just that, I mean, I can see why some people would think you’re all big and scary.” She said the words big and scary in a sarcastic tone that should have annoyed the heck out of him.

  “But I’m starting to think Nick Avalon isn’t very scary at all.”

  It was cute. She was trying to convince herself that he wasn’t scary. However, despite her steady voice, he could see her hands were shaking. It was all an act.

  “You keep telling yourself that, sweetheart.” He placed his hand on her breast and beaded a nipple between his fingers. She gasped.

  “Come on, love. You know damn well you’re frightened of me. That’s what you like about me.” He whispered the words against her lips and gave her nipple a twist.

  “Not. True.” But her words came
out as breathy gasps.

  He ran his tongue across her bottom lip. “You need to be scared of me, love. Trust me on that one.”

  “I’m not…I don’t.”

  He took her other breast in his free hand. Slowly he circled her nipple until he saw her breathing go more shallow. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes,” she whispered. “Yes…”

  Just when he could feel her entire body go soft, he released her breasts and grabbed her shoulders. Jerking her against him, he kissed her.

  Tongues collided. Teeth hit. Lips crushed. This kiss was churning, churning and as violent as the sea in the distance. And each second that passed, each second he held her to him and kissed her, he could feel the resistance draining out of her.

  She tried to act so tough. But it was so easy.

  He released her. Her eyelids drifted open, and she gazed up at him. Yeah. He could see it in her eyes. The spacey gleam that told him she was his.

  His. The very idea scared the shit out of him. Because the idea of Phoebe being his made something in his chest tighten with want. This woman. He did want her. He did want to own her.

  And, in return, he wanted her to own him back.

  Bad thoughts. He shook them away. Don’t think about that. Think about now. Sex. Fucking. Because in a few months this woman will hate you.

  His stomach turned at the thought. He ignored it.

  He grabbed the blanket that he’d tossed near their stuff, whipped it out, and threw it on the ground where it landed in a large square in the sand.

  In one fluid motion, he yanked Phoebe to her feet and pushed her down onto the blanket. He followed her down, covering her body with his.

  Instinctively, she placed her palms on his chest as if to push him off. He didn’t budge. Instead, he took her wrists in his hand and pulled her arms over her head.

  “I thought you wanted to be a good girl for me, love.”

  She squirmed, but he restrained her by shoving his need between her legs and holding her hands tight.

  She met his gaze. “I said I would if you could make me.”

  “Oh, I can make you, all right. You’re mine.”

  She just stared at him.

  As soon as he spoke the words, he wanted to kick himself. “You’re mine tonight, babe. Tonight.”

  She nodded. “Right. I knew what you meant.”

  Yeah, he could walk out on her business. But he had to make sure that he didn’t walk out on her. Or her heart. He had to keep being a dick so she didn’t develop feelings for him. At least she was a nice distraction. Even if she was too smart for her own good.

  Nick knew that Phoebe understood the score. That was good. Sure, she felt guilty about having sexual relations with Nick—an employee—but Nick thought that was an advantage. It was his safety net.

  Nick knew Phoebe would never want a guy like Nick, not in the long run. She needed someone reliable, someone who didn’t abhor small towns. And even if he was enjoying Redbolt and the sea more than he’d like to admit, he still knew he was never going to be local enough for her.

  She needed someone like Bear.

  The thought sent his blood rushing through him like boiling water, and he tried to turn off the heat. Instead, he focused on now. The present. Phoebe. At least for now, she was his.

  He reached into his pocket and pulled out a length of corded twine.

  When she saw what was in his hand, she gave him one of those looks he was getting to know.

  “Whatcha got there, Nick?”

  He dangled the edge of the rope, letting the soft edge caress the skin under her arm. “You’ve never been bound before?”

  She narrowed her gaze. “I try to reserve kitchen twine for Thanksgiving. You know, to truss a turkey.”

  Grinning, he placed a soft kiss on her lips. “Don’t worry, baby. I won’t eat you up. Unless, of course, you beg me to.”

  She struggled in his grasp, but he held tight. “You didn’t answer the question.” He kissed her again, and this time her arms relaxed in his grip. “Have. You. Ever. Been. Bound.” He punctuated each word with a kiss.

  Her hips moved beneath him, and he sank farther. His dick was hard, so hard it hurt to press against her. It hurt to feel the clothes separating them. It hurt to want her so fucking badly it made his chest constrict. It hurt to feel…

  Anything.

  And so he pulled her arms long and tight over her head. He kissed her. He ground his hard, hurting cock between her legs. He compartmentalized his brain so all he felt was the physical sensation of arousal. Nothing else.

  That was something he could do. That was something he knew how to do. Fuck. And that was what he was doing. Fucking.

  It was Phoebe. She was just a woman. A woman he wanted to fuck. It—she—was no different at all.

  His hand still held her arms over her head as he placed his free hand on the button of her jeans. He popped open the first button.

  “So, baby?” He undid another couple of buttons and pulled aside the waistband of her jeans. He skimmed his hands down from her waist, feeling the sharpness of her hip bones beneath soft skin.

  “Nick?” she said, her voice breathy. “Do whatever you want to me. Take me.” Her gaze was steady on his. “Fuck me.”

  “Yeah?” he said, his adrenaline pumping at her words.

  “Yes. Take me. I’m yours.”

  And for the rest of the night, she was.

  Chapter Twenty

  Jesse entered the house and shut the door behind her. “Hello?” she said. But she could tell no one was home. Everything was quiet and dark. She turned on the hallway light and kicked off her worn sandals.

  Looking down, she hitched a breath.

  There they were.

  Shiny, cherry-red, and so pretty…

  Glancing over her shoulder, she leaned down and then gingerly picked up one of Sherry’s red shoes.

  With her index finger, Jesse caressed the red patent leather across the toe. It made her heartbeat speed up. A lot.

  So pretty. So sophisticated. So shiny.

  Something about just holding the beautiful pumps in her hand gave her a sense of satisfaction. And want. She wanted to wear these shoes.

  Jesse knew the house was empty, but she glanced around anyway. Her pulse beat a nervous rhythm as she bent over and slipped the shoe onto her foot. Like Cinderella, it slid on perfectly. She put her foot on the floor and lifted the other foot to place her weight on the high-heeled foot. Wow. It was really uncomfortable.

  The skirt she was wearing that day was floral printed and fell just below her knee. When she looked down at her leg, she could see the way the shoe made her calf look long and streamlined. She could see the allure of such a sexy piece of footwear.

  It was obvious she really needed to try on the other pump. No one would ever know, and Jesse would always have the memory of knowing she’d actually worn a pair of shoes that probably cost more than she made in a week at the café.

  And so, before she knew it, she was standing there in both of the red shoes. Wobbling to the front door, she peered through the window to make sure no one had pulled in. She knew they hadn’t because she hadn’t heard anything, but she was being paranoid.

  Although she doubted Sherry would freak out if she caught her trying on her shoes, Jesse still thought it best to keep it a secret. After all, she didn’t need her family thinking she was developing some sort of creepy shoe-stealing fetish.

  But she really, really wanted to see what they looked like in a full-length mirror, and the only one was upstairs, in her room.

  She looked up the staircase. She’d never noticed how steep and long it was before. But before she knew it, she was walking toward the first step, the bottom of the shoes making sharp clicking noises on the hardwood floor. Her ankle twisted, and she caught the banister before she fell.

  Jesse’s opinion of Sherry multiplied ten times. Any woman who could manage to maneuver daily in high heels like these had to possess some sort of special skill
Jesse obviously didn’t own. And if it was all about practice, Jesse had even more respect for any woman who’d spend that much time learning how to walk in torture for the sole purpose of looking sexy.

  No, feeling sexy.

  As Jesse made her way up the stairs, there was no denying, even in her clumsiness, that she felt a little bit sexy. She didn’t think she’d ever experienced such a thing before. But it was pretty much impossible not to feel a little bit seductive when she walked with these beautiful, shiny, sophisticated pumps on her feet.

  Jesse made it to her room. Slowly she entered and approached the mirror nailed to the wall near the closet.

  Looking at her reflection, she couldn’t help the little jolt of excitement she got from seeing how amazing the shoes looked on her. Jesse spun around, looking over her shoulder to gaze at the back image of her reflection.

  Wow. Just wow. They may not be the most comfortable footwear in the world, but they were soooo worth it. Because the shoes were luscious, and the way they made her feel was so…feminine. Sexy. Confident.

  All from a pair of shoes? Who knew?

  She couldn’t stop staring at them.

  “Gorgeous, aren’t they?”

  Jesse whipped around and stumbled. She stopped herself from falling by catching herself on the post of her bed.

  The words had come from Sherry, who was watching her. Leaning against the doorway, her arms were crossed over her chest.

  Jesse felt her face burn from embarrassment. “Oh my God,” she said, reaching down to take off the shoes. “I’m so sorry.”

  Sherry pushed herself off the doorframe and entered the room. She waved a hand dismissively at Jesse and smiled. “No worries. Do they fit?”

  “Oh, I was just…” Jesse’s face burned like a roasted tomato. “But I shouldn’t have tried them, I know. But they were in the hallway, and I’ve never worn anything like them before, and I was going to put them right back. I swear.”

  “Honey, don’t worry about it! At home I share shoes with my girlfriends all the time. You never answered me. Do they fit?”

  “Um, yes.”

  “That’s great! We’re the same size! I let all my girlfriends borrow my shoes, so help yourself.”