by Lydia Rowan
“What?” He stared at her incredulously.
“My da—One of the things I’ve learned is that you have to love, or at least tolerate, the little moments if you want to have a shot to survive one of these without reaching for the drain cleaner. So yeah, it can get tedious and people can be invasive, but I try to find the good.” Her eyes narrowed and took on a wicked gleam. “Like, did you see how Mrs. Richardson’s wig almost flew off when I introduced you as my husband? Tell me that wasn’t funny.” She paused for a split second. “See? You can’t.”
He couldn’t.
“So when you get stuck with someone who’s droning on—and you will—you can paste a friendly expression on your face and replay that picture in your mind.”
The whole thing was distasteful and he said so.
“That might come easy to people like your father, but I don’t have the patience or the inclination to indulge these spoiled idiots.”
She chuckled, seemingly despite herself.
“But isn’t this important to your business somehow?”
Slightly chagrined, he said, “No. That was bullshit. I thought it might be a good idea, but it’s by no means essential.”
A fetching little smile quirked her lips, and her eyes shone with humor, but she didn’t speak. Instead, she slid her arm into the crook of his elbow and walked toward the exit, and she nodded politely as they made their way through the doors they’d entered only minutes ago. After the valet had pulled the car around and they’d returned to the road, she let out a robust, husky laugh.
“What?” he said, glancing at her quickly before looking back at the road.
“That was amazing! I’m usually the last one to leave these things, and only after I’ve glad-handed everyone in the room. But this,” she practically beamed, “was de-lic-ious. Ha.” She reached out to pat his leg. “If we can keep this marriage thing going for a little while longer, you might help me convince people that I’m actually interesting. Who’d have thought?”
“You don’t think you’re interesting?”
“Not in the slightest, not to that crowd,” she said matter-of-factly, though traces of humor still laced her tone. “I’ve been to countless dinners, galas, soirees, balls, formals, birthdays, anniversaries, weddings, receptions, and miscellaneous events, had enough polite conversations to last a dozen lifetimes. I’m as interesting as table linen to those people and vice versa. But the mysterious, much-referenced Elah Avakian is a different matter altogether.”
Even from the corner of his eye, he could see how lively she was, how her body practically buzzed with her excitement. And in that moment, she went from slightly befuddling pawn in his battle with Trufant to lively, lovely, sensual woman. Would she be so bright and responsive in bed, letting her teasing, playful side take over as he kissed her, molded her curves under his hands?
Tonight he’d find out.
Chapter Nine
“I’m a little sad that you didn’t have the networking experience of your dreams,” she said as she bent down to remove her sandals.
When he didn’t respond, she turned and found him standing behind her, close, closer than he’d ever been before, expression still placid, unreadable, but his eyes glittering bright. If she didn’t know better, she’d think he was aroused. It couldn’t be that, though. Despite the tentative truce they’d forged, she had no illusions about her role in Elah’s life and in his mind. He thought her a spoiled socialite, a useless piece of fluff, only valued her as a pawn to be used against her father, and he had never given any indication that he saw her as anything but.
A thousand times she’d wished she was as detached as he, but no matter the circumstances or the coldness he sometimes cloaked himself in as a shield, she was drawn to him. Physically, yes, but on those occasions that he allowed brief glimpses into himself, emotionally as well. It was ridiculous; she had every reason to hate him. But she didn’t hate him. Not at all. The pounding of her heart, the moistening of her sex were proof of that.
He held her gaze with his, one second, then another, the intensity in his eyes something she’d never seen, especially directed toward her.
“Turn around.”
Her eyes widened. The words were spoken in that same calm that almost always marked his tone, evenly spaced and smooth, but there was an urgency in them, a firm command that had her obeying. She turned her back to him, and as she did, her heart rate spiked with the nervousness that gripped her. It was one thing to have his intense gaze on her, but having him out of her sight was as exciting as it was unnerving. The degree to which she was at his mercy had never been more apparent. To hear him, feel him behind her, yet not see him, left her unmoored.
She started when she felt the heat of his big body behind her. He’d stepped closer, so close that she could feel his breath against her neck, smell his flowery, masculine scent, but he had not touched her. Anticipation crawled along her nerve endings like a caress, making her wish she were a different woman, one who’d lean into him, press her back to his chest, her bottom to his crotch, one who’d take what she wanted him to give. But she wasn’t that woman, so she stood there, balanced on the edge, waiting for him to push her away or pull her close. A moan fell from her lips, and her core throbbed with need. And then finally, when she thought she might go crazy with the anticipation, she felt his lips graze her.
He tenderly kissed the skin where her neck and shoulder met, exhaled a deep breath, and she literally shivered at the sensation. The touch was simple, almost sweet, but it felt like a homecoming. They’d clashed, fought, had a relationship born in angst, but this uncomplicated caress broke the floodgates of the denial she’d tried so hard to maintain. She wanted him, had since that first day she saw him, but now, his lips pressed against her skin, rubbing, teasing, made the truth of that desire as plain and undeniable as the pleasure that coursed through her.
The weight of his hands on her hips added a new sensation, and she realized that he’d stopped kissing her. He pressed her hips, traced his hand up the curve of her waist and back down again. Then he slid his hand between her shoulder blades and then moved it down to rest right at the small of her back. With one finger, he traced a path up her zipper and settled it at the top of her dress. Then he pulled it down, and cool air rushed in to her heated skin. When he settled the zipper at the base of her spine, the fabric fell open farther and the dress started to fall down, exposing her shoulders and back.
At that moment she was grateful she was facing away from him; she knew she didn’t have the fortitude to look him in the eye right now.
“Eep,” she squeaked when he touched her exposed skin, settling his hands on her bare back.
He stroked up, the flesh-on-flesh contact setting off an inferno inside her. He stopped when he reached her bra and made quick work of the clasps, causing the material to fall away from her breasts to rest on her dress.
He leaned in and kissed her again, placing hot, openmouthed kisses on her shoulder blades, at the center of her back, at the base of her spine. He’d barely touched her, but she felt like she was in a whirlwind; her nipples pebbled and her womb ached with need for him.
“Turn around,” he said, his voice a little rougher than it had been before.
Again she complied, and while his voice had taken an edge, sharpened by the glimmer of heat in his gaze, he otherwise seemed entirely unaffected. He curved his hands up her arms and took hold of the top of the dress. Slowly, deliberately, he pulled it down, taking her bra with it. The cold air of the room had her nipples puckering even further, and she saw the faintest flare of his nostrils as he took in her exposed breasts. He tossed the bra aside and then continued to push down her dress. He didn’t stop when he reached her waist, and instead, latched his thumbs into the sides of her panties and pulled them down, letting them pool atop the dress that now rested on the floor.
“Step out,” he said.
Being exposed to him like this made it hard to breathe, let alone think and respond, but sti
ll she complied. As his gaze roamed over her naked body, she tried to see herself through his eyes, full breasts, not perky by a long shot but nicely shaped in her opinion, down her long torso, the nipped cut of her waist and the rise of her stomach, down her wide, rounded hips, not fashionable, but in her opinion feminine and nicely shaped, over the thick thatch of hair that covered her mound, thick thighs that were, like the rest of her, larger than was stylish but still firm, to her thin calves and ankles, the only parts of her that were too small to her eye. He traced the same path up again and finally betrayed some response, looked at her the way a man might look at a woman he desired. The brown of his eyes deepened, became liquid, and she couldn’t stop the smile that crossed her face or the flush that spread across her skin.
Standing before him entirely naked while he remained clothed should have unnerved her, but that tiny acknowledgment, that almost imperceptible hint that he had some reaction sent a surge of power through her that she’d never experienced before. That one small crack in his facade fueled her, gave her confidence, and she reached for him. The smooth, rich fabric of his tie felt cool beneath her fingers, and as she undid the knot and let the tie fall free and hang at his chest, she looked into his eyes, wondering if he noticed the irony of this scene as much as she did. Just a few hours ago, they’d played out a similar scenario and were now doing the same with much different ends.
And with much higher stakes, at least for her.
She made quick work of his shirt and undershirt, and let her hands roam the ridged planes of his chest and abdomen. She’d seen flashes of his naked chest and back, but had always averted her gaze. Not now. Now she looked, touching him and gazing at him openly as she’d imagined doing so many times before. He stood still, seeming content to let her explore, and when her hand drifted lower, past his belt buckle, over the prominent bulge in his pants, the slight tick of his jaw was his only reaction. But when she went to move her hand over him again, he grabbed her wrist, stilling the motion. She pulled her hand away, worried she’d done something wrong, but when she looked into his eyes, the hot, almost animalistic hunger curbed that fear.
Her gaze flew to his hands and stayed glued there as he unbuckled his pants and lowered them over his hips, revealing more of his flesh as he went. Her vision was filled first with the thick patches of curls, darker than his hair, and then his thick-based penis, its shaft heavily veined and the plum-shaped crown shiny with his arousal. A further examination revealed his heavy sac hanging below his shaft, his powerful, heavy thighs, and his strong calves. He was now as fully exposed to her as she to him, and his masculine pull, the faint scent of flowers that was so incongruous with the powerful, dominant man who stood before her but that seemed to be a part of him, drew her to him, so she stepped closer, desperate to feel his skin against hers.
Before she reached him, he lifted his arm and cupped her mound in his big hand, the touch blatant and unabashed, and she froze with the shock of the intimate touch. He chuckled low in his throat at her response, and before she could respond, he stroked his thumb across her clit and then pressed down on it. Shock morphed to pleasure and she moaned out loud and then moaned again when he slicked two fingers down her slit, gathering moisture as he went. She opened her thighs at the touch, burning for more, and the scent of her own arousal floated up to her nostrils, making her even wetter.
Leaning down, he stepped closer and took one nipple into his mouth and grasped the other between his fingers; then he tugged on both at the same time, and she gasped at the feeling, the tight pulling almost like there was an invisible string connecting her nipples to her clit. When her knees buckled, he grasped her around the waist and tucked the other arm around her knees, lifting her with an ease that didn’t seem possible. Any other time, she would have been impressed by his strength and the graceful way he maneuvered out of the pants that had pooled around his ankles while balancing her weight, but now, the only thought her mind could maintain was the near-unbearable excitement at the knowledge that she’d soon feel him inside her.
“Charlotte,” he said, his husky voice wrapping around her like a physical touch.
She’d been so far gone that she hadn’t noticed he’d laid her on the bed. When her gaze met his, he slowly kneeled between her open thighs, and she looked down, gaze stopping briefly on her breasts, then her abdomen before she finally made eye contact with him, the heat in his eyes making her feel even more exposed, as if such a thing was possible. Without breaking eye contact, he leaned in close, his breath flowing across her clit and making her squirm. And then he kissed her mound, the touch petal soft and tender, diametrically opposed to the feral heat that now gleamed in his eyes. He kissed her again, harder this time, teasing her lower lips apart with his, opening the most secret parts of her to him. The low thrum in her blood spiked when she felt his tongue enter her, alternating between sharp thrusts and languid licks.
She practically dripped now, and the need to feel him deep inside her had her arching off the bed, the need for more, the need for him, driving her. She had gripped the sheets tight, and in the frenzy of desire, she reached up, first grabbing at his broad shoulders and then moving her hands up to tangle in his hair, now disheveled, the ends hanging free over his forehead, hoping that the contact would show him her desire, her need, in a way that she couldn’t yet verbalize.
He exhaled what she assumed was a laugh and clamped his strong arms across her waist, forcing her hips back to the bed, but didn’t otherwise seem to be in any hurry to give her what she so desperately wanted. She tried to lift her hips, seeking more, but his iron grip didn’t allow her to move. No, she was at the mercy of his slow licks, sweet kisses, hard jabs at her clit, only able to take whatever he decided to give. After twisting again and still finding herself unable to move, she relaxed into the feeling, removed her hands from his hair and down to his shoulders, the tense, hard flesh unyielding under her touch, and just let herself feel. Blood rushed through her and she was almost light-headed. Never, never, had the need for completion been so urgent, yet so out of reach, entirely dependent on the whims of another person.
“Pl-please, Elah. I ne-need.” The thick, garbled voice that grated out of her throat was unrecognizable as her own, but she didn’t care. Nor did she care that she was practically begging. None of that mattered. All that did was having him ignite the spark that sizzled under her skin.
“Elah…”
Suddenly his motion changed and he moved up, swiping his tongue across her clit, the rough rasp making her moan. He repeated the motion again and again, making the tension rise higher and higher until she thought her heart would either stop or explode with it.
The dam broke and her climax hit her in a rush of pleasure that had her seeing stars. And through it all, he was there, holding her, tracing her slit with his tongue and mixing the touch with intermittent swipes against her clit. Her ragged moans rent the air, and shivers racked her body. As her climax ebbed, she noticed that he had pulled back and was dropping gentle kisses on the inside of her thighs. He placed another on her hair-covered mound and did the same as he moved up her body, pausing briefly to circle her navel with his tongue and up her body until they were face-to-face, his broad chest and shoulders caging her, his hips lined up with hers as his full, heavy cock pressed against her cunt. Her inner muscles clenched with the need for him, and she sighed at the thought that he would soon be filling her.
Without preamble, he leaned down and kissed her, demanding, taking, but giving just as much in return. The taste of herself on his lips combined with the flavor that could be only him had her blood heating all over again. As his tongue ravaged her mouth like it had her pussy, she roamed her hands over his biceps, which flexed as he pressed his hands down into the bed, across his muscled pecs, the wispy curls that covered them sending little sparks from her fingers and up her arms as she stroked them, down the rocky muscles of his abdomen.
After a breath, she reached farther, stroked across the thatch of hair nestle
d around his cock, and then up to touch the smooth, hot skin of his shaft. He exhaled a hard breath but didn’t break the kiss, a sign she viewed as permission to continue. So she did, running a finger from root to tip, tentatively at first, but between the passion of his kiss and the flames of desire that he had stoked to full force she grew bolder, wrapping her hand around his thick rod, moving it up and down, gathering the moisture that seeped from him.
The need for air forced her to break the kiss, but she kept her hand firmly wrapped around him. She looked up into his gaze, noted how his skin glistened with a fine sheen of perspiration, how his chest heaved with deep breaths. He rested his weight on one arm and raised the other hand to her face, tracing her lips with his thumb and then stroking her cheekbone. One moment, then two, elapsed before he whispered, “Charlotte, are you a virgin?”
Chapter Ten
The question hung between them, but Elah refused to move until she answered. Something in her sweet, shy touches had set off alarm bells in his head, alarm bells he’d been happy to push aside, so great was his desire for her. But when she broke the kiss, the expression in her bright eyes, a cross between wonder and the anticipation of discovery¸ demanded he ask. What was less clear was what he’d do with the answer. Part of him awaited a quick no, after which he’d slam himself into her and finally feel the warm grip of her walls as they clamped down on him. But the other, much bigger part of him simultaneously craved a yes and feared it in equal measure.
Feared because their lovemaking would take on a deeper dimension, mean something that he didn’t want to examine. But that greedy, possessive side of him wanted her yes, craved it, knew that it meant he’d have a part of her that no one else ever would, no matter what happened.
The way she pressed her lips together as he waited for her response made him lean down for a kiss, and again she gave in to him sweetly, yielding to his touch with the openness and honesty he had come to know was a part of her. This was so different than anything he’d experienced before. Even without the physical act, he felt a degree of closeness with her that he’d never shared with anyone. But he knew the feeling was disparate, would never be enough. For a split second, he regretted this whole charade. Charlotte had proven herself strong and true, the kind of woman who deserved a real husband, a real family. A man worthy of her kindness and of the gift of her body.