by Lauren Layne
The kiss wasn’t sweet. It wasn’t kind. It certainly wasn’t loving.
“Jules?”
She groaned.
“Jules!”
It took her several minutes for the voice to permeate the sexual fog. Someone was calling her name. Not Mitchell.
She pulled back from Mitchell’s kiss, breathing hard. She put a hand to her lips, knowing they were swollen and wet.
“Hey, I thought it was you.”
She glanced up and saw a handsome, familiar face. “Cam!”
The newcomer gave a wide smile and sat down uninvited. Julie peeked at Mitchell, who looked somewhere between annoyed and aroused.
Good.
“Cam, this is Mitchell Forbes. He’s um … we were …”
Cam grinned. “Yeah, I can see what you were. I think the temperature’s about ten degrees hotter around your table.”
The two men shook hands, and if Cam noticed that Mitchell was trying to burn him alive with his glare, he didn’t show it.
“Hey, Jules, Katie Ann is having a party at Blink next weekend. You should come.”
Julie tilted her head. “Do I know Katie Ann?”
“No. But you know me.” Cam’s hand settled on her knee, and Julie gave a nervous glance. She and Cam had dated for like, five minutes a few years ago, but other than occasionally dancing if they ran into each other, there was nothing between them.
“So what do you think, Jules? You think you’ll stop by? For old times’ sake?”
His gaze roamed over her body, letting her know exactly which old times he wanted to relive.
Julie hesitated. Attending a party at Blink for a girl she didn’t know was the last thing she wanted to do, and yet … what the hell else would she have going on? Certainly not Mitchell.
“Sure,” she said with a shrug. “I’ll stop by.”
“She won’t,” Mitchell said, his arm dropping on Julie’s shoulder as his eyes fixed on Cam’s hand on her leg.
Cam gave an easy smile and quickly removed his hand. “Sorry, dude. Didn’t know it was like that.”
“It’s not—” Julie began.
“It is,” Mitchell said, cutting her off.
Cam whistled and stood up. “Can’t say I ever thought anyone would tame Julie Greene, but congrats, man. That’s quite the feat.”
He gave her a wink and was on to the next table before Julie could process what had just happened. Finally she turned to Mitchell, glaring fiercely into unreadable eyes. “Are you serious right now?”
“I hate that phrase. It sounds like something a teenager would say.”
Julie’s anger was roaring so loudly she could barely hear the music. “What the hell was that, Mitchell? You tell me I’m just a fling, and yet you won’t let me go to a party?”
“You know full well that’s not what that loser was after.”
“What was he after?”
Mitchell’s gaze flicked down to her skimpy outfit. “He was after whatever you’re selling.”
Julie itched to slap him. “Well, he’s more than free to shop here, because I’m not taken.”
“Wrong.” And then he kissed her again, his lips savage and hungry.
Mitchell moved suddenly, jerking Julie to her feet. She wanted to ask where they were going, but she could barely think, much less speak. Anger warred with confusion, and both emotions battled against her aching want for this man and whatever game he was playing with her.
To her surprise, he led her to the dance floor, weaving her adeptly through the mob of bodies until it felt like they were in the very center of the crowd.
Julie let out an involuntary gasp as he yanked her close. For a nightclub novice, he certainly understood how this kind of dancing worked. As in, it wasn’t really dancing at all. At least not in the way any of their parents would define the word.
It was more like hot, frantic writhing.
And Julie found she really liked writhing with Mitchell.
His hands moved briefly over her neck, pushing her hair back over her shoulders and skimming a finger over each shoulder blade, the gentle touch conflicting with his savage expression. Slowly his hands crept around to her back, and she cried out softly as his fingers curled into the ends of her long hair and pulled her head backward, exposing her throat and forcing her to meet his gaze. The look in his eyes was feral and dangerous, and yet she found she couldn’t look away.
Instead she moved her hands restlessly over his chest, wanting … something. Anything.
And then his hands moved to her hips and he began to move.
Julie was no stranger to the intimate nature of the Pair dance floor, but never before had it felt quite so distinctly like sex. The press of strangers on every side of them, the sound of the DJ’s voice, the high-pitched cackling of women there for a drunken bachelorette party—it all faded away.
There was nothing but her and Mitchell, hip to hip, chest to chest.
Eye to eye.
The tempo of the music changed from something fun and upbeat to something sultry and driving, and he pulled her even closer, his hands roaming over every inch of her body that he could touch. She intentionally tilted her hips up until she was rubbing against him, her eyes locked on his.
Her hands slid up behind his neck, her nails scraping lightly at his skin as though wanting to mark him. She wanted to leave a mark on him. Mark him the way he seemed to be marking her very soul. Mitchell growled before his mouth slammed down on hers.
Julie gave back as much as she took, using her own tongue to tease and torture. She had no idea how long they stood there, all pretense of dancing abandoned except for the subtle grind of hips. She couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t do anything but try to bring him ever closer, only to realize that there was no way to get close enough. Not while they were still wearing clothes.
“Get a room,” screeched a girl next to them, elbowing Julie roughly. They pulled back, breathing harshly as they stared at each other.
“God,” he whispered.
He moved before she could try to lighten the moment, tugging her off the dance floor with less finesse than when they’d entered the crowd.
Mitchell stopped by their table, pausing only long enough to throw down a wad of bills and shove her purse at her.
“We just got here!” she said in his ear, yelling to be heard over the noise. She wasn’t ready to be alone with him. Not yet.
He ignored her, moving steadily toward the exit.
“Where are we going?” she asked, feeling oddly terrified. The controlled, self-aware Mitchell she could handle. But this wild, pagan version? She had no defenses against this one. Didn’t know how to guard herself.
She dug her heels into the floor like a belligerent child until he finally spun around.
“Wait, can we talk about this?” she yelled.
In answer, he cupped a hand around the back of her neck, and stamped a kiss on her lips, hard. He pulled back to search her eyes. “Tell me you want me.”
She licked her lips to buy time, trying to read him.
“Tell me,” he said again. His voice was harsh.
“I want you,” she said softly. Don’t break my heart.
His eyes blazed hot and fierce. “I’m taking you home.”
* * *
He was on her as soon as the door to her apartment closed behind them.
For a second it reminded her of that first time after that run in Central Park, but this was different.
They knew each other now. Knew just where to stroke, when to tease. What made the other person gasp and moan.
His fingers pinched her nipples just the way that she liked, and she knew that he had her number. Then her teeth sank into his shoulder and he swore. She had his number too.
“This skirt is too short.” His hands slid up the back of her thighs, shoving the skirt up around her waist as his fingers toyed with the lacy edge of her thong. “I like it.”
He shoved her against the door, his hands cupping
her ass as they kissed, tongues tangling as though trying to one-up each other. He moved his hands only long enough to tug at the string of her halter top, growling as he realized she wasn’t wearing a bra. In less than thirty seconds, her shirt and skirt were on the floor at her ankles. She stood before him clad only in ridiculously high heels and a tiny blue thong.
Even through her surge of want, she couldn’t help the flash of satisfaction at the stunned lust on his face as he took her in. Bet your movie-night girls don’t look like this.
Mitchell ran a reverent finger from hip bone to hip bone, tracing the low-cut top of her panties. “You’re beautiful.”
Julie’s breath hitched. Beautiful. Not hot.
The words tried to wriggle into her heart, but she pushed them out. She couldn’t afford to make room for the pain. Instead she settled for raw, animal passion. She launched herself at him, and just like that, she was once again pinned against the door, their mouths fused so tightly they shared the same breath. It was like they’d never left the club dance floor. His tongue moved in her mouth, moving in perfect sync with his hips as he ground against her. She locked her ankles behind his waist, matching him thrust for thrust even as she tore at his shirt, desperate to feel skin on skin.
Her fingers fumbled with each and every button until she was able to shove his shirt off his shoulders. “That shirt’s all wrong for you, you know,” she said, running her tongue over his nipple.
He grunted. “I bought it based on the pictures of your various gigolos.”
She smiled at that, for in spite of it all, he’d tried to please her, tried to be what he thought she wanted. Her fingers found his belt. “None of them wear their jeans quite like this.”
He ground against her. “Liar. We both know that half the chumps you date are pretty-boy models.”
She gave a husky laugh and tilted her head back to give him access to her neck. “And they screw like them too.”
He paused for half a beat, processing what she had said. Then he pulled back and stared at her, looking oddly pleased by her statement. “Well then, let’s get you properly fucked.”
And then she was on her back on the middle of her bed, Mitchell’s hard body on top of her. Two fingers snaked inside before she’d even realized that he’d removed her thong, and she let out a low, keening cry as he rubbed her with his thumb.
She let him tease and play but pushed him away before she got too close. If she was going to die from sexual exhaustion, she’d take him with her. His hands reached for his belt buckle and she ran her hands over his chest, scraping lightly with her nails. But Mitchell was done with teasing, and as soon as he’d gotten the pants past his hips, he grabbed her wrists in one hand and shoved her back onto the bed, pinning her arms above her head.
She shook her head slightly, trying to reconcile the fierce, pagan lover on top of her with the calm, bespectacled suit of that first night. “Wall Street?”
In response he shoved inside her, setting a fast and furious pace as she met him thrust for thrust. It had never been like this. Never been so rough and hard and right. She relished the animalistic sound of two sweaty bodies slamming together over and over, his fierce rhythm driving her up into the headboard.
“Come,” he ordered, his mouth wet against her breast.
But she was already exploding, her nails digging into his back as she shuddered around him. His own release followed, and he shouted her name as he came in long, shuddering jerks.
Neither moved for several minutes, the air filled with the smell of sex and sweat and the sounds of their gasping breath. It took him longer than usual to lift his weight off her, and the delay was reassuring. She wasn’t the only one who couldn’t fathom the idea of moving.
When he finally lifted his body off hers, Julie quickly rolled to her side, facing away from him. She didn’t know whether she wanted to laugh, scream, or cry, but she was leaning toward the last of those.
Mitchell moved behind her, and she expected him to begin gathering his clothes. They were both angry. That had been evident from the way they’d just set the sheets on fire. He probably needed space just as much as she did. Especially after what she’d told him: I’m tired of being the short-term girl.
Julie jumped in surprise when she felt a hand stroke her waist. The touch was gentle, not at all resembling the way he’d just ravaged her moments before.
“Julie,” he whispered.
She turned to face him, and for several minutes they did nothing but look.
“What now?” she asked, feeling tired and broken.
In response he reached for her hand, uncurling her fingers and planting a warm, sweet kiss on her palm. After the ferocity of their lovemaking, the gesture was gentle. Unexpected. Too much.
She felt a suspicious tickle behind her eyelids and she rolled away. His hand found her waist again, and then his arm wrapped around her, pulling her against him.
Julie didn’t know how long they lay there, not speaking. But when she finally heard his breath ease into the slow rhythm of sleep, she let the first tears fall.
It was never supposed to be like this.
Chapter Eleven
As if Mitchell needed another reminder that Julie wasn’t the woman for him, fate delivered.
Julie snored.
Not a cute little snuffle either, but snorts worthy of an overweight truck driver named Bubba.
Neither was she a cuddler. They’d fallen asleep tangled together. But at some point during the night, the indelicate little tank had rolled onto her back and splayed all limbs as far as she could reach.
Mitchell reached out and toyed with a silky strand of mussed hair. He couldn’t help it. He was charmed.
Of course, it didn’t hurt that she was completely bare-ass naked and that she had love bites on the side of her breast. A naked sleeper could snore in bed any old time she wanted.
As long as the naked sleeper was Julie.
Mitchell frowned at the sentimental thought, rolling over and planting his feet on the bed as he tried to orient himself to Julie’s dark bedroom. He hadn’t meant to sleep over. He should be back on the Upper East Side, halfway through his Saturday morning run by now, after which he’d tackle personal email while watching whatever sports game he’d recorded last night. A sports game he would have missed because he would have been doing whatever Evelyn had scheduled for them. A fund-raiser, the latest dreary Broadway drama … movie night.
Instead he’d been decked out like a gigolo at a nightclub where he’d simultaneously tried to impress and push away a woman who was getting far too deep under his skin. Not to mention the way he’d gone all caveman on her, grunting at her playboy friend and then rutting all over her on the dance floor.
He’d hurt her. It had been written all over her perfectly made-up face, and it showed now in her puffy eyes.
His heart twisted with regret. He’d made a mistake. A big one. He’d realized it the second that guy Cam had put a hand on her.
Nobody put a hand on Mitchell’s woman.
And Julie Greene was definitely his.
Mitchell quietly wandered around the dark apartment until he found his discarded black shirt, lip curling in disgust. He hadn’t liked the shirt even when it had been freshly pressed. Now that it was wrinkled, it might as well have “walk of shame” scrawled across the front in large neon letters.
Stepping into his jeans, he surveyed the contents of Julie’s fridge. Nothing that could have passed as breakfast. Not that he would have been much help if there were. His cooking skills tapped out at cereal, and her milk was four days past its sell-by date.
But his stomach was reminding him that he hadn’t eaten last night, and the stale box of Triscuits on her shelf wasn’t going to cut it. He crept back into the bedroom to retrieve his shoes and socks, amused to see that Julie had flung herself onto her stomach, kicking the covers off and displaying one very fine ass to his admiring eyes. Reluctantly he tugged the sheet up to her waist. The sight of two perfectly ro
und butt cheeks had made him hard again, and after the way he’d used her body last night, he at least owed her a lazy morning.
She stirred slightly and began snoring again, and Mitchell shook his head. He’d have to make a concentrated effort to beat her to sleep if they were going to spend the night together again.
And he wanted to spend the night together again.
The question was whether she’d give him the chance.
Mitchell backed out of the bedroom and, after putting his shoes on, pulled out his cell to search for breakfast. There was a bagel place around the corner, and with any luck they’d have decent coffee, since Julie had a pot but no actual coffee.
Reluctantly he picked up the clutch Julie had dropped by her front door and rummaged among half a dozen lip products before finding her keys and dropping them into his pocket.
Most of the city didn’t rise until ten on weekends, especially in this part of town, so there was virtually no line. Fifteen minutes later, he was creeping back into Julie’s apartment, armed with two toasted sesame bagels and large coffees.
He set Julie’s cup and bagel on the nightstand, planning to eat his in the kitchen so as not to wake her. But the scent of coffee snuck under the veil of sleep and had her blinking at him in groggy surprise.
“You’re still here,” she said, looking adorably baffled.
“Yeah,” he said with a small smile. The surprise on her face wounded him, even though he knew it was justified. Last night he’d all but told her that she was a booty call and then fucked her five ways to Sunday before passing out in her bed.
She had every reason to expect he’d slink home in the early morning hours. And that killed him.
“I didn’t want to go home.” His eyes caught hers and held them, and he saw immediately that she knew what his presence here meant.
Knew that the breakfast was an apology. Or at least the start of one.
She looked away and started to reach for the coffee, but winced. “I feel like I got hit by a bus. I think I used muscles I didn’t even know I had.”