“Some.” Some is a bit of an understatement. I have piles, a list that is growing the more that I think about it, the more that I try to match the man I know with the fetish I don’t.
“So ask.” He sets his mug on the side table and reaches down, pulling my legs onto his lap, his fingers working at the laces of my boots. There is an unnatural tightness to his body, and as nervous as I am about discussing this, he seems worse.
“We don’t have to talk about it. I know it’s personal.” I flex my toes as he pulls off the first boot, his chest brushing against my socked foot as he leans down and sets it on the floor.
He sits back up and moves to the next boot. “I want you to feel comfortable with it. I want us to be less…” He grimaces. “Less awkward about it.”
“Okay.” I watch as he frees my second foot. “Tell me about your first time. Like … did you always like that kind of thing?”
“My first time was when I was twenty-six. A bunch of us from work were out drinking. We drank too much, and my coworker offered for some of us to crash at her place.” He glances at me. “It was Mira. And me.” He pauses. “And this guy from the New York office.”
“Mira?” I sit up straighter, and some of my hot chocolate almost sloshes over the rim.
He chuckles. “Yes. Mira. She all but stripped us both naked and dragged us into her bedroom. And when I saw him there, when I saw him touch her…” He pauses, looks at me. “There was just this moment of possessiveness. Like he was touching someone of mine. It was like I was suddenly in high school again, with my hormones raging and my need—like a ravenous need to compete, to win.” He runs a hand slowly up my jeans, to my knee, and then back down again. “The guy didn’t understand. He didn’t get it. But Mira did. I remember her smiling at me as I fucked her. As he sat there with his dick in his hand. And at the end, she told me that she and I were going to have so much fun.”
A piece of the puzzle fits together. “Wait. That night, in Vegas…”
“I met her and Edward,” he confirmed.
“So Edward knew? She wasn’t cheating on him?”
He nods, and I try to picture dignified Edward in a threesome with Mira and Trey. I shake my head. “You’re full of shit.”
His hand stills along the top of my wool socks. “Excuse me?”
“There’s no way Edward would do anything like that.”
His eyes darken. “Because it’s disgusting.”
Yeah. Disgusting is a great word for it. But probably not the best time to say that. “It’s not disgusting,” I hedge. “It’s just … kinky. And Edward wasn’t like that.” He wasn’t. He was refined, and polite, and certainly wouldn’t have had Trey fuck his wife, much less join in on it.
“I assure you, Edward is very much like that.”
“But doesn’t he get jealous?”
“He’s a realist. He can’t fuck Mira and go down on her at the same time. And he can’t create the energy of two people, the attention of two people at once. With both of us, she has four hands, two mouths, two cocks.” He slides his hands down, under my socks, and pulls them off. “I’m not an emotional player in their life. I come in, we have fun, and I leave. It’s not messy. I get to please a woman, I release some sexual tension, and then I go back to life.”
He runs pressure along the bottom of my soles, and I almost close my eyes from the feeling. “I don’t understand.” He sighs, and I look toward him. “I’m serious. Are you doing this for the testosterone-fueled rush or for no-strings sex? Because you know you can hire a woman for that, right?”
“Paying a woman to have sex with me doesn’t turn me on in any way. And I don’t know exactly why I did it. All I know is that the idea of it, the buildup, the unknown of a new woman, the forbidden-ness … it all turned me on. The secondary piece to it is that I love to please women. And this lifestyle allowed me to do it without requiring me to have a relationship of my own.”
He’s talking in past tense, and I register that, yet still forge on. “Except for Chelsea.” God, I still dislike that woman. Even now, I can barely say her name without snarling.
“Ahh … Chelsea.” He frowns. “Chelsea was an experiment of sorts.”
“In monogamy?” So glad to know he failed that one.
“Actually, the opposite.” He doesn’t look at me, focusing on my feet, the gentle work of the muscles. God, if the lingerie business goes to shit, he could earn a million with just his hands. “I first met Chelsea in a threesome. I didn’t see her again until her interview. Things didn’t seem to have worked out with her last boyfriend. I thought that I would try the lifestyle from the other end. As a host, instead of a guest.”
“And?”
He pulls a blanket over my feet and tucks in the fabric underneath them. “I didn’t like it.” He looks at me. “And it made me realize how I’d feel if it was someone I really cared about.”
He’s not talking about me. I know he’s not talking about me but still, somewhere inside, a warm little flame lights. “Meaning what?” I say, in the most casual way a woman can ask a question.
He wraps his hands around my feet and brings them close to his chest, almost in the way that you would covet a tiny baby. “Meaning, if you and I ever date, I won’t want to do anything like that with you.”
Everything sort of stops. The crackle of the fire, the tightening of his hands, the movement of breath in my lungs.
“Ever?” I ask.
“Ever,” he confirms.
“But wouldn’t you miss it?”
“I can’t watch you walk into a room without getting hard. I wouldn’t need anything else.” He rubs a hand over his face. “Honestly, if I had any additional stimulation, it’d probably be an embarrassingly short experience.”
“That’s a common problem, you know. That men have with me.” I lift my mug to cover my smile. “It happens all the time.”
He scowls. “Put down that mug.”
“What?”
“Put it down.”
I carefully set it on the side table. “What’s wrong—” My question is cut off when he pulls me onto his lap, his hands firm on my hips, his eyes fierce with possession.
“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you the truth. About Mira. About Chelsea. About my sex life. I didn’t tell you the truth because I was worried I would lose any chance of us ever being together. And if I could go back to that first night, with Mira, I would. I would go back and never have stepped down that path. But I need to know if there is still a chance for us. If, knowing what you now know—and damn any risk to the company—if you will ever date me.”
Date. It sounds so trivial compared to everything we’ve been through. Would I date him? God, I’ve been in love with him for years. I’ve—
“Jesus Christ, Kate. You’re killing me.”
I look down, into his face, my eyes traveling over the edge of his jaw, the tensing of his lips as he swallows, the lines of worry that mark his forehead and gather at the corners of his eyes. Our gaze meets, and everything I know is there. “I want more than that,” I whisper.
I was going to continue, but I lose the words when he leans forward and captures my mouth with his.
Him
When a kiss waits for a thousand days, it erupts like a cyclone—a slow unfurling of lips, of tongues, hands ripping, clothes flying, hot swirls of breath met with a clash of frantic desire. I had always envisioned that I would take my time, that I would carefully taste her, my tongue sampling, a gentle moment that I would savor every second of. But in this kiss, we take a hundred seconds in every ten. I groan against her mouth and push her down onto my lap. Her knee moves, our hands fight to reconnect, then she is straddling me, and her hips grind down on me, and I break from her mouth just long enough to swear her name.
I’ve both feared and anticipated this moment for so long. I’ve wondered if we’d have chemistry or whether our tension was all a myth, the promise of the unattainable only hot because of i
ts impossibility.
It wasn’t a myth. I’ve never experienced chemistry like this, each taste of her tongue, each shift of her body, the yank of her hand in my hair—each one fans the flame, my cock pushing painfully against my zipper, my skin burning to have more of her, everywhere against me. I slide my hands down the back of her pants and grip her ass, rolling with her, until she falls back on the leather couch, her hair loose and wild, her eyes burning in a way I have never seen. I pause.
“What? What’s wrong?” she asks, her chest heaving, cheeks flushed.
“Don’t move,” I whisper.
“You’re not coming, are you?” Her eyes widen and God, I fucking love this woman.
“No.” I grin. “I am definitely not coming. I just…” I just want to savor this moment. I just want to remember, forever, how she looks right now, the way she reaches for me, pants for me. I want to remember how her lips are swollen from my kiss, her heart is pounding, the glow of her skin. I swallow. “I just want to tell you that I love you.”
She slides her hand under the waist of my jeans and grips my belt, pulling me down to her. “I love you too,” she whispers, her mouth lifting to mine. “But right now, I really need you to get naked.”
I can’t argue with that. I steal another kiss as her fingers pull at my shirt, our mouths breaking apart as she pulls the cotton henley over my head. I stand and yank at my belt, nodding at her jeans. “Take those off.”
I should take her to my bedroom, but that’s too far away, and this moment feels like a mirage, one that could dissolve at any moment, her head in play, her doubts kicking, my past too much for her mind to overcome. I unbutton my jeans and push them to the floor, dropping to my knees as I move to the edge of the couch, my hands pulling on the waist of her jeans, helping to slide them down her legs, her back settling into the couch cushion as she watches me through heavy eyes.
I don’t know what is under her shirt, but seeing the expensive thong as it is unveiled, the familiar style, knowing my name is against her skin—it does something to my heart. It’s not just mine, it’s ours, our labor of love, our late nights, our arguments, our passion. I spread her knees and settle in between her legs, my hands sliding up her thighs, toward the black triangle of lace. I run a reverent hand over the delicate material, tracing the details of it and then down, in between her beautiful legs. I lower my mouth to the lace and follow the path of my fingers, planting soft kisses from her hips to her mound, and I breathe in the scent of her, my tongue moving over the lines of the thong, teasing her through the fabric, a small whimper of pleasure coming from her as I hit her most sensitive places. She curves beneath me, and I hold her in place, supporting her up against my mouth, as I pull the thong aside and fully reveal her.
I’ve gone down on countless women. I’ve never tasted a woman I didn’t enjoy, and I’ve never met a pussy that didn’t make me hard. But Kate … I don’t have words for the feelings I have when she is open before me, her thighs twisting nervously, the thin strip of her hair wet and matted with her juices, all of her exposed. I take a moment, my finger rubbing softly across her, and I look up, watching her mouth open as I gently roll the pad of my thumb over her clit, her body curving for more, her pelvis tilting, like an offering to the gods. I bend down and feast.
chapter 19
Her
The light from the fire makes him glow, a god with strong shoulders and muscular arms that pin me down as his gorgeous profile bends over me, worshiping my pussy with his tongue, his jaw flexing, the soft movement of his tongue tasting me in ways that are destroying my thoughts, my resolve, my sanity. God, all of the things I have envisioned, all of the talents I have imagined—every time that tongue peeked out of his mouth, every time I caught a glimpse of it—all my fantasies have fallen short to this, the look of him, the feel of him. He pushes his tongue inside of me and all thought stops, his fingers digging into the cheeks of my ass, his mouth as aggressive as his touch. I don’t need to wonder how I taste, or if he is enjoying this. I close my eyes, release every inhibition, and let his tongue destroy my senses.
When I come, it is the kind of orgasm that changes lives. The kind where my nails scrape his scalp, my feet flex through the open air, and my scream is so loud it is silent. I scramble for footing, for reality, and in the hundredth call of his name, I tell him I love him.
He pulls me to the floor, my limbs loose and free, and I watch as he removes his underwear, his cock bobbing free.
Good Lord. And I thought he was sexy before.
I reach for him, and he lifts and positions me carefully on the floor. “Are you comfortable?” he asks, and I nod, his rug the impossibly soft type that you want to burrow into, one I have spent nights on before, but always in pajamas and never like this—never with the firelight flickering off his torso as he crawls above me, his mouth dropping to mine, and we kiss, this one different than the first, this one gentle and sweet, him tasting slightly of chocolate, each meeting of our tongues stirring my arousal, waking up my limbs, and I prop myself up on my elbows and reach for his neck, the drug of my orgasm wearing off, my body needing another hit.
Our tempo increases, layers of control shed as I tug at his head, our kiss deepening, his hips lowering. I wrap my legs around him, and a groan rumbles against my mouth, his bare cock hard against his stomach, and when he drags it over my damp panties, my sensitive clit, I gasp against his kiss. He pushes off his hands and sits back on his heels. In one quick movement, he grabs my legs and pulls me flush against his thighs, his hands reaching forward, and gripping the open neck of my flannel shirt, buttons popping and threads ripping.
A growl tears from his throat when he sees the matching balconet bra, the one from last season, his eyes scanning over my chest. He slides his palms up my stomach and over the swell of the sheer cups, all lace and underwire, his hands squeezing, fingers pulling at the top of it. “Fuck, you’re beautiful,” he breathes, and it is a moment of calm, a moment where his gaze drags over me, from knee to face, and our eyes meet and I’ve never felt so safe, so cherished, so beautiful. He swallows, and there is a catch to his words when he speaks. “I’ve always worn a condom. Every time. Always.” His eyes drop, and I tighten my legs at the vulnerability that crosses his face. “But with you, I can’t—I mean, I can, if it would make you—”
“I trust you.” My eyes drop to his cock and I can’t believe I’m actually seeing it, the most private piece of him, the beauty of its thick shaft, its lines and cuts, the twitch of it as I watch. I wet my lips. “Please. I need you.”
He hisses out a breath and reaches down, moving aside my panties, my body lifting slightly off the floor, and I’ve never been so eager before, never been so needy for something in my life. I lift my body to meet his, and when he wraps his hand around the base of his cock, his eyes flick up to meet mine, a silent question coming from those dark depths. “I can’t believe I’m about to do this.” His voice is hoarse, and he swallows. “You have no idea how much I’ve thought about this.” The hand on my panties moves, and my breath catches as something—his thumb—pushes inside. He swears, and suddenly, there is a break in his control, his hips thrusting forward, hand moving aside and I come up off the rug at the feel of him pushing, bare and thick, inside of me.
God, the slick, hard feel of him. The way he falls over me, his hands holding him up, breath jagged, hips pumping. He moves slowly, the first thrust difficult, the second easier, the third smooth and wet, a soft hiss leaving his mouth. I can feel his restraint, the careful way he slides above me, each stroke full and deep, then slow as he pulls out. Each movement gives me all of him, each retreat has my body craving. I claw at his back and beg him for more, and when he looks down into my face—I almost come apart.
It’s him. It’s Trey. It’s his gorgeous face, that tight scowl when he is concentrating on something, the familiar burn in his eyes when he is aroused, the look I’ve always moved away from, always avoided. Now, it’s more than a burn; it’s
a fire, his eyes devouring me, something so fiercely vulnerable in them, a look I recognize because I feel it—the terrifying realization that everything I’ve ever wanted is happening right now. Trey, my Trey, his mouth lowering to mine. His lips softly opening, his tongue against mine, my name a reverent whisper from his lips. His voice is thick when he tells me how incredibly fantastic I feel, when he tells me that he has wanted this for so long. Suddenly, he pauses, only the tip of him inside me, and my legs quake, and I curve my hips up for more, but he keeps me at bay, and there is the flash of his playful smile before it is gone, and he is all business, sitting back on his heels, his hand wrapping around the base of him as he pulls it out and gently, slowly, drags it over the top of me, my clit all but swooning from the slick feel of his head. “Tell me you love me,” he commands.
“I love you.” There is no hesitation in my words, only the hitch of breath right after, at the moment when he drops his cock and yanks at my panties, his strong hands shredding the fine lace, the ripping sound so raw and unrestrained, a slice of dirty pleasure sliding through me when he leaves the ruined fabric on my stomach. His hands move to my inner thighs, holding them open, holding me open, and he uses just his hips to guide the motion of his stiff shaft, his cock thrusting back and forth across the open spread of me, his grip keeping me in place, and I tremble at the hot, hard feel of him, slick from my juices, rolling with perfect pressure along my clit.
“Tell me that I am the only man for you.” He lifts his head and meets my eyes.
“You are.” It’s true. He has been since the day I walked into his building, since I had to move my desk just to concentrate on my work. Since I broke up with Craig in Hong Kong, since my heart hammered in my chest when Stephen told me that Trey wanted to fuck me. He has been the only man for me since the moment he uttered my name.
“Do you know—” His hands tighten on my thighs, and I move up on my elbows, needing to be closer to him, needing to see the hard length of him against my skin, the way he pushes it along my slit, my lips spreading a little around him. He looks so impossibly big, so masculine, so thick and virile, his strong hands biting into the soft skin of my inner thighs, the hard ridges of his stomach as those muscular thighs flex. “Do you know how fucking insane it made me to see you date other men?”
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