He’s holding back. Because we’re in public? Or is he putting me in my place?
There’s only one solution to this sort of relentless attraction—only one way to dull the throb pounding its way from my gut to the space between my legs.
I finger his bottom lip and cock my head to one side.
“I’ve decided on a package,” I say loud enough for him to hear.
“That so?”
I nod, lick my lips, and say, “The full package.”
His grin lights the room, but instead of taking my hand and leading me out of here, he surprises me by saying, “Let’s finish this dance first.”
He continues the slow, intentional swaying body to body to the beat of the music. Not that I don’t enjoy it, but I’d enjoy it a lot more if we were moving like this naked.
I thread my fingers together behind his neck and lean in to tease him. “Are we slow-dancing because you have no rhythm?”
I pull back to see his lips quirk, his eyelids heavy.
“Don’t be embarrassed if you can’t dance, Davis. Lots of guys have two left feet.”
The beat of the music shifts into another fast song. Without warning, he braces my hips with both hands and begins to move. Like…really move. He crushes me close and backs me across the floor, his eyes on mine. I’m forced to follow his lead or face-plant on the floor.
I keep up—barely.
He spins me, pressing my back to his front. He hoists my arms overhead and literally does the Dirty Dancing move where he drags his fingers down the side of my breast and over my ribs. His solid chest presses against my back as he moves.
His pelvis grinds into my ass before he spins me again to face him. I keep rhythm with him, matching his steps. He wears an expression of sheer smug satisfaction, and I’m so impressed I can’t dredge up so much as a believable eye-roll.
The beat thumps on, but before the song ends, he dips me—a literal dip. The club flips upside down as I give him my weight and drop my head back.
Everyone watches.
When the world rights itself, my head is slightly dizzy and the crowd breaks into applause.
Davis is grinning, knowing he has me.
I like that he has me.
At his side I exit the floor, his hand in mine.
This time he doesn’t hesitate to walk to the door.
Davis
Grace’s name is apt. The woman moves gracefully. Seamlessly.
I watched her on that dance floor as I tried to enjoy the pathetic excuse for a beer I was forced to order in lieu of my usual. I watched the angle of her head as she shook her curls. The elegant line of her neck leading to her arms and down to the bell curve of hips that popped and swayed to the beat. I hadn’t planned on joining her until she shot me a smile.
That was as good as an invitation.
Surprising her with a few of my smooth moves was fun, but watching her keep up was infinitely more fun. It made me wonder if our sparring and one-upping would continue in the bedroom. There, in those few sweaty minutes amid a crowd of drunken clubgoers, challenge lurked in Grace’s green eyes.
If the way she moved on the dance floor is any indication of what she’s like in bed, we’re both in for a treat. I gave her a good preview of the way I could move, and I’m ready to show her more.
I start kissing Grace outside my apartment and briefly unseal my lips from hers to unlock the door. We stumble inside and Grace pushes my jacket off my shoulders as I shut and lock the door behind her. I take her black wrap and purse and set them aside on the foyer table. I toss my keys into a bowl and slip my jacket off, throwing it over the banister.
Her breasts lift and my eyes go to the pendant resting between them. She watches me hungrily for a few seconds as she comes to me again. Before she can blot out my brain with another of her drugging kisses, I turn her hips and point her upstairs.
Her butt sways in the black fabric and I follow, knowing she’s adding an extra wiggle for my benefit. At the landing she turns as I loosen my tie. She reaches to help, yanking the length of silk free and unbuttoning the first few buttons of my shirt.
I halt her hands with one of mine.
“Can I get you a drink? Water? Wine? I might have champagne.”
A crease dents the space between her eyebrows as her hands flatten on my chest. I’ve confused her. Grace thinks tonight is going to go a certain way. She believes she’s calling the shots. At the dance club, she implied that sex was next on the agenda, and she assumes her yes means I’m going to strip her naked and fuck her against the wall, my pants around my ankles and her dress hiked high on her waist.
I have a different plan in mind.
“Are you serious?” she asks, that dent deepening. I nearly grin.
“About the champagne?” I ask, purposely being obtuse. I lift her hand to my lips and kiss her fingers before moving to the refrigerator. “Let me check.”
I emerge with a chilled, corked bottle. “Champagne.”
Her shoulders droop, and the smile she wears is uncertain. I like her uncertain. I like surprising her, and I can’t surprise her if I do what she expects.
I brandish two flutes from the cabinet and fill them halfway with the sparkling wine. I hand over her glass and we toast silently, tapping the edges of the glasses together before drinking. Grace glances around my place and I wonder what she’s thinking. I don’t have to wonder long.
“You have a clean sense of style.” She walks to the living room, running her fingers along the arm of my L-shaped gray couch. She pauses in front of the glass coffee table and a decorative bowl filled with large smooth rocks to admire my view. My apartment window faces a park. It’s closed this time of night but you can usually spot the end of a lit cigarette or dark silhouettes walking through the trees.
I click on a lamp in the living room. “The windows are tinted. No one can see in.”
She peers at me over her shoulder, her uncertainty fading some.
“You know, if you were interested in”—I take her glass and set it down with mine on the coffee table—“making faces at the people below or something.”
Grace offers a light laugh as I touch her waist. Her hands cover mine and when she studies me with her cool, green stare, she’s the Grace I remember from the first time I spotted her in McGreevy’s.
Bawdy.
Confident.
Brash.
The women I normally date are demure and unsure and use their sexuality as a way of getting what they want. Grace isn’t like that. She doesn’t try to be sexual to get something. She is sexual. It’s part of her identity, interwoven with the way she carries herself, the way she moves closer to me.
“What’s your game, Davis?”
See? Bawdy. Told you.
“No game.”
“Why aren’t we naked yet?” She fingers the open placket of my shirt, stroking my collarbone.
I lift my eyebrows. “Are you in a hurry?”
“I—” Her mouth opens, then closes before she frowns in thought. “I just thought—”
“You thought you had me figured out.”
“I’m pretty good at categorizing men, yes.”
“Let’s hear it, then. Who is Davis Price?” I deliberately pull away from her an inch.
“Okay. Um…” Her eyes skate across the room and to the darkened upstairs before meeting mine again. “You live alone. No pets. You are a serial dater and bring home lots of blond women. Lots of drunk blond women,” she adds in a whisper.
I maintain my poker face. She’s not getting a comment from me until she’s through.
“I know part of your MO. Drinks at McGreevy’s and sometimes they choose one of your packages. Judging by what I’ve seen, your dates find you charming. You come back to your place after clarifying the rules of your hookup….Jury’s out on if there are contracts involved or not.”
Smart-ass.
“Then the sex happens.” She shrugs. “From there, you tire of them and they go away forever. Unle
ss one of them approaches you at the gym for a repeat.”
I was right about her jealousy over the gym girl. I bite the inside of my lip to keep from rewarding her with a smile for her quick wit and abject charm.
“Am I close?” she asks.
“Spot on.”
She blanches, her gaze jerking left then right.
“And now you’re wondering why you’re not getting that same treatment,” I guess.
“Okay. Fine. I am wondering that.”
I move her arms so that they wrap around my waist. Pushing her hair away from her ear, I lower my lips to kiss her lobe, then pepper kisses down the side of her neck. Grace tilts her head, giving me room to explore. I taste her skin, closing my teeth over her pulse before soothing the bite with a wet, soft kiss.
“You requested the full package, Gracie,” I whisper in her ear. “You’re getting it.”
Her hands tighten at my waist, wadding my shirt in her fists. I return to kissing her neck, drawing slow circles with my tongue, skimming my hands up her rib cage and stopping short of cupping the swells of her breasts.
Her breaths grow shorter, a moan coming from deep in her throat as I grip her neck and run my tongue over her ear. She whimpers and I know she doesn’t mean to. A woman like Grace would never play up her pleasure for a man’s sake. I prove myself right when I pull back. The confusion in her eyes is her trying to reconcile what she thought would happen with what is happening.
I bend at the knees and run my fingers up the inside of her knee to her inner thigh. Her eyes widen as I grasp the back of her neck and tilt her face to mine. My lips hover over hers as I inch my hand higher, higher.
“You’re soaking wet,” I mutter. The lace of her panties is damp against the pads of my fingertips and I stroke her once. Twice.
When her mouth opens and her eyes close, I slide my tongue along hers and continue teasing her most private part with my fingers.
“Davis,” she moans into my mouth. I want her to say it again, but her palm cups the front of my pants, gripping my hardening cock.
I grunt, biting back a growl of pleasure. She gives me a gentle squeeze and then the she-devil smiles, certain she has the upper hand.
Little does she know.
I slide her panties aside and find her bare skin. I nudge her arm aside as I slip a finger inside. Grace’s hands fist my collar as she holds on. Her knees give, just slightly, and that’s when I stop.
“Davis.” That was a protest.
“Don’t worry. I’m not done.” I back her to the couch, where she sits, releasing me to reach for the zipper at the back of her dress. So impatient, this one.
I’m a lucky son of a bitch.
I pull the zipper down and whip the dress over her head. In two seconds flat, Grace is wearing nothing but transparent black lace—the bra and panties she teased me with at her house.
She doesn’t look as confident now. She’s perched on my couch, nervous and unsure. It’s such a foreign expression for her, it takes me by surprise.
“You’re beautiful,” I tell her. She’s a divine, exquisite creature. I cup her breast, thumbing her nipple through the sheer material as her eyelids close. “Lie back.”
She does as I say. I run my hand down her stomach and to her panties, yanking them from her hips and shimmying them down her legs.
A thin line of auburn hair is the only barrier standing between my tongue and a flooring orgasm for Grace.
She watches me, propped on her elbows, as I remove my shirt.
My belt.
My pants.
Then I lower between her legs to help myself.
Chapter 6
Grace
“Wait.”
Moments before Davis lowers his lips to my…well, you know…I stop him cold with that one word. His hand is looped around one of my ankles—my high-heeled shoe still strapped in place.
“I’m waiting,” he states before resting my calf on one round, muscular shoulder. He maintains eye contact, which is incredible. Since I’m naked from the waist down, he’s closer to looking my vulva in the eye than me.
“Um…”
He waits, eyebrows raised.
I bite down on my lip, weirdly embarrassed. “You don’t have to…do that.”
I mean, this is sort of Sex 202 stuff, right? First-date sex is usually had quickly—standing up…or in the back of a car.
Davis’s eyebrows crash over his nose. “You don’t want me to do this?”
“I didn’t say that.” I clear my throat, my face heating. We’re having the world’s most awkward conversation.
“Then why don’t you get comfortable, Gracie?” He winks and throws my other leg over his other shoulder, wedging himself into place between my thighs. “I’m not in the habit of doing things I don’t want to do, so no worries.”
“But—”
A wink precedes him lowering his face and giving me one long, slow, mind-bending lick.
I forget what I was going to say.
The result is like lightning striking—every part of me tightens in anticipation of the inevitable thunderclap. Davis glances up, a cocky smile on his face. But he doesn’t plead his case. He just does it again.
And again.
Soon my fingers are wound in his hair, my hips thrusting toward his seeking mouth. He takes his sweet time, squeezing my thighs as he administers his perfect licks. I’ve been so close for so long, I have no idea how much time has passed since he started.
I’m getting antsy—and not because Davis is doing anything wrong. Because my stupid brain won’t shut off enough to give me the pleasure the rest of my body is begging for.
So close.
So freaking close.
“Dammit,” I huff in frustration, tossing an arm over my eyes.
But Davis isn’t ready to give up. His fingers nudge, then slide deep, filling me, as his tongue finds my clit.
I incinerate on contact. Heat blooms low in my belly as he delivers blow after decadent blow. By the time he reaches up to cup my breast, I’m writhing. Then he tilts my hips and I’m totally gone.
The orgasm hits me mercilessly, shocking my entire system. I grab whatever’s close—a pillow from Davis’s couch—and smother my cries with it. As my hips pump their helpless rhythm, I’m aware of Davis leaving the cradle of my legs. I use the break to push my knees together, roll to my side, and cuddle the pillow against my chest.
When I finally open my eyes, Davis is on his knees by the couch in front of me. Not gonna lie, I half expected him to be rolling on a condom.
He pushes a lock of red hair from my eye and smiles proudly. “It’s okay if you’re nervous about performing, Gracie.” He lifts a haughty brow. “I’m a pro. You can trust me to get you there.”
I respond by lifting the pillow and smacking him in the face with it. When it bounces off his perfect jawline, he’s squinting one eye and his hair is falling over his forehead. He looks puckish and laid-back.
“Want some more?” he asks so sincerely, so sweetly.
“I want you,” I answer with my own sincere sweetness.
We lock eyes for a beat and a small part of my brain asks: Are we in uncharted territory?
I clasp his neck and tug him to me. I’m rewarded by his kiss—another intentional onslaught, slow and effective in its delivery.
“I have a condom in my purse,” I whisper when we part.
He grins, then puts a kiss on the tip of my nose. “Your purse is too far away.”
He turns behind him and lifts one of the stones from his decorative bowl, opens a little compartment, and extracts a condom.
I gape.
“A hide-a-key?” I say of the fake rock.
“I call it a hide-a-condom.” He tears the foil with his teeth as I giggle.
Damn. I’m not a giggler, but here I am—feeling warm and effervescent all over.
“You rendered me a giggler.” I shake my head in mock shame as he pushes his boxer briefs to the ground.
; Then I lose my train of thought.
Davis’s penis stands erect—thick and long. I press my knees together in anticipation. I don’t normally categorize dicks as beautiful, but there’s something about the shape and heft of his that closely resembles a work of art. I’m speechless.
“I don’t mind giggling, Grace,” he says as he rolls the condom down his length. “As long as you know the appropriate time to giggle.”
He’s hovering over me a moment later, making room on his couch for both of us. I wrap my legs around his lower back.
“Now,” he murmurs, his lips very close to mine, “is not the time to giggle.”
With that said, he tilts his hips and pushes inside me. Once he’s settled, I realize I was remiss when I thought his fingers filled me. This kind of fullness is oh, so much better. Then he moves and I swear I’ve died and gone to heaven.
Like we did on the dance floor, we glide. He moves with intention and purpose and I return each of his forward thrusts with an upward shift of my hips.
He fits.
“Damn, Gracie,” he says on a harsh breath.
Palms flat on his pecs, I savor the firmness there before running both hands down his torso. His golden skin is stretched over taut muscles and firm abs.
“God, you’re gorgeous,” I say on an expelled breath.
His laugh blows my hair off my face before he lowers his lips and kisses me. The levity is quickly replaced by something much more intense—much more intimate. His kiss grows hungrier and I cling to his back as he picks up the pace and rides me.
I’m lost in the sound of our intermingling breath and bodies coming together—up to the point we actually come together. I squeeze him from within and he relinquishes his release on a growl.
My hands in his hair, I pull his delicious mouth to mine again, savoring the feel of him inside me. He can hardly keep our mouths sealed—each of his exhalations radiates gratification.
His breaths gradually slow along with mine. He lowers his elbows to either side of my body. Gently, ever so gently, he moves my hair from my forehead and watches me in the silence stretching out between us.
Arm Candy Page 5