But as Zoe continued to chat with Picasso, he relaxed in her presence. The long she held on to him, the long he wanted her to hold on. In fact, in the last twelve hours, he’d found himself wishing Zoe would lean on him more. Want him more. Need him more.
“I’ve made your boyfriend an offer I hope you’ll seriously consider.” Picasso pulled a business-card-size piece of paper from his pocket and slipped the corner into the edge of her bra, peeking out from beneath the turquoise sheath. “You can reach me at this number for the next twenty-four hours. I sincerely hope you will.”
ZOE’S BREATHING had almost returned to normal, but it picked up again as confusion raced through her brain. Picasso walked toward the door with Cantos, Vasquez, and the three gorillas surrounding him like he was the freaking president of the United States.
She snatched the card from her bra and frowned up at Taft. “Walker, he’s leaving.”
He had a look on his face she’d never seen. Beyond angry, annoyed, or confused, something gnawed at him. He gripped her wrist and pulled it from his waist. “I have to help with these customers.”
He pivoted toward the register and the growing line. The store buzzed with more activity than it had since she’d been there, and she’d just come off a high of performing pretty damn well…considering. Pole dancing also had the side effect of leaving her wildly sexually aroused, and she’d been ready to take Taft in the back room for a quick ride, which, of course, she couldn’t.
She pulled on his arm. “Walker,” she said, keeping her voice low. His gaze met hers with a warning light. Fuck that. “What offer?”
He surprised her by putting one hand to her face in a gesture far too tender for his exterior mood. His thumb skimmed her cheek. “We’ll talk about it when everyone’s gone.” He lowered his lips to hers for a quick, chaste kiss, but when he looked into her eyes again, his gaze was just as troubled as it had been a moment ago. “You were… I don’t even have words, Brooks. I thought I was impressed before your show. Now I’m just…in awe.”
He kissed her forehead and walked away.
Zoe’s heart floated high in her chest and clogged her throat. Her eyes stung with the threat of tears. His approval shouldn’t mean so much to her. Not after meeting him just two days ago. She refocused on getting the customers helped and the store shut down.
She locked the door thirty minutes later and was just peering through the glass toward Fumar to see if she could catch sight of Cantos or any of the others when the store lights went out.
Zoe spun, her gaze toward the counter where Taft had been. He moved around the display, his figure shadowed in the dim lights left on in a few cabinets throughout the store for night security.
“You’re ready to leave?” she asked.
“You sound disappointed. Is this place growing on you?”
No, he was growing on her, and she didn’t want to go home to an empty house. An empty bed. And think about where he was and what he was doing all night.
He approached her with that amble he sometimes had when he was evaluating the situation and biding his time.
“We still need to talk,” Zoe said.
He stopped close and caressed her cheekbone with his knuckles. “I thought we could do that over dinner, go back to my house. It’s not put together as nice as yours, but…”
A familiar knot tangled in Zoe’s guts. “Walker I…”
“We’re alone,” he said and lowered his hand. “Say my name, Zoe.”
Shit. She hated this part. But the thought of going over to his house, that awkwardness of being in someone else’s space, of filling—or not filling—every minute of time together. Did she go into the refrigerator without asking? Did she ask about those family pictures on the wall? If she didn’t, would he think she was rude? Then there was waking up together, which just about made Zoe cringe. And the whole morning-after thing in the kitchen. Coffee or no coffee? Breakfast or no breakfast? Shower together or separate? The intimacy of it all made her stomach corkscrew.
There was always that remote nagging fear—could he have cameras planted somewhere…? No. The chances were nil.
But Brent had been law enforcement too. Brent had never been tagged as a perv. Brent had been a nice guy.
And Zoe obviously still couldn’t quite trust…
She wanted to let her shoulders sag but lifted her eyes to the ceiling with the dread of it.
“I can see that idea isn’t winning any prizes,” he said.
“I’m not…much of a sleepover kind of girl.” She looked away and dragged her lip between her teeth. “And that sounded really…”
“Honest,” Taft finished for her.
“I was going to say slutty, but I like honest better.”
His mouth tilted up in a sad half grin, and he turned away to stroll around the store, straightening a box here, a display there. “Is it too soon or…are you just not interested at all?”
“Oh, the interest is definitely there.” She took a deep breath. “I, um…I think I have commitment issues.”
She frowned at the floor. Hearing the words aloud, all her problems packaged into such a neat little box seemed both overwhelming and somehow manageable at the same time. How did one get over the fear to commit?
“I can relate,” Taft said, softly. After a beat, he continued in a stronger voice, “The deal Picasso offered was twenty grand to watch us have sex for three hours—doing whatever he’d like us to do. If we’re not up for that, he’ll do you himself for ten grand.”
Her frown remained. She crossed her arms. “I think I’m insulted.” She glanced around and thought about it. “Yep, I am. Insulted.”
Taft laughed and wandered into the adjoining room opposite the dildo mecca, where restraints and whips and blindfolds abounded. He paused at a display case holding sterling silver, platinum, and jeweled chokers.
And studded dog collars with matching leashes.
“He did offer another ten grand if you danced for him first.”
“Not bad. I feel better.”
He leaned over and crossed his forearms on the glass, gazing inside. The light from the display illuminated his face. His male beauty made Zoe ache to touch him. Kiss him. But was that all? Was this completely physical? She felt more; she just wasn’t sure what. And didn’t know what to do about it.
Zoe hugged herself and wandered past Taft and the display case. She paused at the last of three stools and eased to the edge, hooking the spike of one boot in the bottom rung.
“It’s a good ruse to get Picasso alone,” she said. “What did you tell him?”
“When he asked if I’d share you, I told him no,” he said, his voice soft but firm. “That you were special. When the other offers came, I told him he could get porn free on the Internet.”
“Hey.” She uncrossed her arms, pressed her palms to the back of the stool and shot him a teasingly sultry look. “Not with the likes of me.”
“That’s what he said.”
She and Taft laughed at the same time and a new intimacy seemed to fill the space. The sight of his smile did sweet, twisty things to Zoe’s heart.
She cared, dammit. She cared a lot. He was sucking her in.
“I love it when you look at me like that.”
Taft’s murmur made her conscious of her expression, which, of course, made her conscious of all the gooey warmth flowing inside her for a man she barely knew.
Zoe closed her eyes and pressed her fingers to tired eyelids.
“I was afraid that would happen if I said anything.” Taft’s hands closed on her shoulders from behind and squeezed.
Once the tension ebbed, the strange feeling of his fingers registered. She reached for one of his hands and turned it over. His favorite toy covered all five fingertips in vibrating pads. Only they weren’t shivering, which made him more like…
She smirked up at him over her shoulder. “Frog man.”
Laughing, he lowered his head and kissed her. But not one of those teasing pecks he s
ometimes planted on her lips. This time his mouth was open and his tongue generous on the first pass.
All the arousal she’d banked from pole dancing blazed back to life, and she groaned with need.
He pulled back, grinning, and murmured, “Wait, let me start them up. Then I’ll get my sexy Spidey on.”
But Zoe didn’t give a crap about his stupid Spidey-fingers. Now that she’d tasted him again, she was ravenous. Hunger broke out low in her pelvis. She opened her mouth to him, arched her back to stretch and reach for more of his lips, his tongue. Of everything. She just needed more.
Lots more.
CHAPTER TEN
TAFT’S MOUTH SLID FROM HERS and latched on to her throat. She had both her arms around his neck and pulled him down, tried to turn toward him on the stool, but his arms were tight around her waist and she couldn’t move.
“Taft…”
“Open your legs,” he growled against her throat.
“Fire me first.”
His head came up. “What?”
“Just do it.”
His grin came slow and hot. “You’re so fired.”
“Thank you,” she breathed in relief and parted her thighs. Just the simple action turned her on. Knowing she was opening so he could touch her made her hot and wet. Made her ache. Leaning back against his chest, she tipped her head and kissed his jaw. Moved her hands low and found the line of his erection beneath his jeans.
He made a needy sound in his throat and pressed his hands to the insides of her knees. Zoe relented to his pressure, opening.
“More,” he whispered. “Wide. Like you did on the pole. That was fucking hot.”
The pads on his fingers sent steady shivers through her skin and straight into her sex. “Oh…”
She looked down and instantly thrilled at the sight of his big hands and dark arms on her open thighs. A whine leaked from her throat, and she couldn’t keep from wriggling on the stool. She dropped her head back, found his mouth. Massaged him through the rough fabric of his pants.
He only let her have his mouth for a moment before nuzzling her hair off her shoulder and biting gently. “You make me high.” His rough voice at her throat tickled her skin. “Are you always this insatiable?”
She was already half out of her mind with need. “It’s you.”
His fingers climbed her inner thighs, and the vibrations intensified until Zoe couldn’t think. Couldn’t focus on anything else. She couldn’t keep her hands moving on his cock, so she just took hold as the orgasm built. Even before he touched her between her legs, Zoe felt the wave crest. Her body arched, anticipating his touch, and when he finally raked all five fingers over her sex, Zoe exploded with an orgasm so intense, she screamed—in shock and pleasure and the slightest edge of pain.
Her muscles quivered and her teeth clenched. Taft covered her hands with his and pried her fingers off his cock, pressing them to the edge of the stool. “This is a better place for them right now.”
“Oh…my God,” she panted as she came off the high as quickly as it burst inside her. And as the intensity dimmed, the pleasure expanded into a delicious and constant current and made her feel drunk. “What…the hell…?”
Zoe slumped back against him, waiting for her brain synapses to start firing again. His hands continued to travel over her, all ten fingers vibrating—across her belly, up her sides, over her ribs, down her back. He kissed her jaw, nibbled at her neck. It was crazy to judge after so little time together, but Zoe knew he was her best lover to date. And it wasn’t just that super-exciting-first-time-with-a-new-guy syndrome either. No man, however wonderful or unselfish or experienced, had ever focused on her pleasure so acutely. For Taft, pleasing her also brought him pleasure.
“I have a problem,” she whispered.
His hands paused. He gazed into her eyes. “What, baby?”
“I think…I might be addicted.”
He stared a long moment, stone serious, then suddenly dropped his head to her shoulder and burst out laughing.
“Sweetheart,” he said when he finally stopped, “this is just the beginning.” He kissed her throat, cupping her through the lace of her bra, the tips of his fingers shooting sensation deep into her breasts. “Welcome to the great big world of sex toys.”
Sex toys with Taft. That was the addiction. Not the sex toys themselves.
“You were so beautiful tonight,” he murmured, “it hurt to look at you and not be able to touch you.” His fingers slid beneath the lace of her bra, and vibrations attacked raw skin. Her nipples squeezed into taut, painful peaks.
Zoe arched into his hands, and Taft drew languid circles, pinched, massaged. Each touch seemed to have ten times the normal intensity as the vibrations penetrated deep into her body, and as if her nipples and her clit were distantly connected, Zoe climbed toward climax.
He slowly bit a gentle path around the edge of her ear. “Will you dance for me sometime? Just me?”
“Yes,” came out on a breath. “Taft…”
“Even if I can’t pay you ten grand?” he teased.
She couldn’t take the pressure building fast and hot and covered his hands with hers, pushing them harder against her breasts.
“I like it when you show me,” he breathed, low and husky.
She forced her lids open and looked up and into his eyes. They were whiskey on fire.
“I’m crazy about you, Zoe. Do you know that?”
She couldn’t manage a smile. Couldn’t speak. But nodded.
“And not only for the sex, amazing as it is. I’m crazy about you.”
She couldn’t assimilate the words. Her sex surged with wetness, warmth. Her heavy lids closed, and she pushed against the rungs of the stool, lifting her hips, still searching for…pressure.
“The way you move is the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.” His quick breaths fanned her cheek. He was watching himself touch her, watching her writhe. That added gasoline to her inferno.
“Taft, touch me…”
“Sorry, baby.” There was a wicked edge to his tone. “I’m busy. But maybe this will help.”
He rolled both nipples between three vibrating fingers, pinching hard. A tiny spear of pain stabbed deep into the center of her breasts. The sensation traveled straight to her sex and detonated.
The orgasm gripped her with both hands and twisted. Zoe arched on a gasp, then bucked and screamed with the release. Her brain flashed white. Her body filled with blinding sensation. And it lasted. Extended. Hovered.
Intense. Naughty. Decadent. Abandoned.
No. She’d never come like that before.
Definitely not like that.
Taft gently laid her back across the three stools. She would have been looking at the ceiling if she’d been able to open her eyes. He slipped her panties off over her hips and down her thighs, then pressed her knees wide with his hips and kissed her belly. Zoe sighed and threaded her fingers through the soft strands of his hair. The jingle of metal touched her ears in the supreme quiet, the rasp of a zipper, the rip of packaging.
Zoe smiled, the longing to be filled with him tugging deep inside her.
“Tell me about your tattoos,” Taft murmured, leaning over her, his fingers sliding gently over her birdcage. “Not really for your grandmother, are they?”
“Mmm, no. All four of my grandparents are alive and healthy. And no one is named Zelda.”
He chuckled against her skin.
“I got this when I was promoted to supervisor at Border Patrol. I’d lived at home through college. Did everything my parents wanted. Tried to be the son my father craved. Even after I moved here, I found myself holding on to lifestyle patterns that weren’t mine. But there came a time when I just needed to be…Zoe.”
He leaned down and kissed a path along the edged of the ink. “I like this Zoe,” he whispered. “Where did you get it done? It’s really nice work.”
“Las Vegas,” she said. “Went with a few girlfriends to celebrate the promotion. I had it all des
igned ahead of time, consulted with the artist while I was sober. Then my friends got me good and drunk and took me in. But looking back, I think I should have been drunk the whole time. The guy—the artist—looked all of twelve. Okay, maybe fifteen.”
Taft looked up, grinning, and rested his chin on her belly. “How old was he?”
She ran her fingers through Taft’s hair, sinking deep into the comfort of his touch, his kiss, his presence. “Nineteen at the time, but God, he looked young to me. He was some freakishly gifted artist who is now supposedly famous as shit, but at the time, all I kept thinking was, I’m going to let this baby put a needle and ink to my body?”
Taft laughed, and those vibrating fingers skimmed her hip. “His name wasn’t Rush Merrick, was it?”
Zoe lifted her head and looked down at him. “Yeah, pretty sure that was it. How do you know him?”
“Like you said, he’s famous as shit. I’ve been thinking about getting a tat, and when I mention it, my friends say I gotta have him do it. But I guess he’s impossible to get an appointment with.”
“Oh, well.” Zoe smiled. “I happen to know that he gives all his starter clients, which would include me, special access for additional work. So…if you’re really, really, really nice to me…I might be able to get you in to see him.”
“Really.” Taft’s voice lowered with insinuation. His vibrating fingertips skimmed down her thigh and dipped between her legs. “Good to know.”
When two vibrating fingers stroked her outer labia, Zoe gasped.
“Is that really, really, really nice, Zoe?”
“Mmm.” She couldn’t speak, it was so nice.
He stroked higher, closer to her clit, and a lightning strike of pleasure struck Zoe’s sex. She curled forward in a half sit-up and grasped Taft’s arms. “Jesus…”
Her gaze focused on his cock and the reflective silver bulbous…thing…extending off the head. “What…is that? You’re…big enough already.”
“This is for length.”
“You don’t need length either.”
Wicked Firsts Page 49