She cried out. His tongue. Oh God, he’d flicked his tongue once against her clit, and then stopped, and she was dying for more.
“I need more of you in my face,” he said, and it was half a command, and half him simply giving a play by play as he took the matter into his own hands, using his thumbs to spread her open for him. “Perfect,” he said, then returned to her heat, pressing his lips to her and diving in. Her vision went fuzzy. Her world turned into a black and silver blur. The feel of his mouth was breathtaking, and in an instant pleasure engulfed her body. The sweet oblivion of desire radiated throughout her entire being as he licked her like a ravenous man.
“So fucking delicious,” he whispered as he flicked his tongue against her swollen clit. She moaned so loudly she was sure someone would hear if they were anyplace but a hotel with soundproof walls designed for this kind of play.
His lips were soft, his tongue was divine, and he ate her pussy like he’d never had anything he wanted so much. Pleasure forked inside her, spinning from her belly to the tips of her fingers. He gripped her hips harder, holding her firmly in place, restraining her with his big hands as he consumed her wetness. He lapped up every drop of her, sending her spiraling into such a state of bliss that all she wanted was to come. The pressure built to a crescendo. She wanted to crash on through to the other side.
“Oh God, Nate,” she cried out. “I’m so—“
He cut her off. “You’re so close, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” she said, aware somewhere in her mind that this was part of the control. That he was in charge of everything.
“Work for it,” he said, then returned to her pussy, licking, teasing, but still resisting that final push.
She rocked back into him, desperate. “Please. Please, give me more.”
Another lick. Another deep, consuming kiss. She was so damn close to ecstasy.
“Please,” she cried out, desperately seeking orgasm.
“Please what?” he said on a quick pause.
“Please, don’t stop.”
“I like that you said please. Now be as loud as you want. I’m not going to stop ’til you’re coming on my lips.”
She moaned and lifted her hips higher, dropping down onto her elbows, giving him all the access he needed, making herself one hundred percent vulnerable. Giving in to him. Handing over all her control.
“I’m so close. Oh God, it’s so good.”
He licked and kissed her in a heated frenzy, his own moans so damn sexy that his sounds of pleasure set her off.
She shouted his name.
Her body detonated. Her climax swept through her, crashing over every square inch of her mind and body. She panted and moaned, and practically sang out with joy from the sheer intensity. She didn’t think it would ever stop as wave after wave spread through her, bathing her in ecstasy. He slowed as the orgasm ebbed away, giving her one final sweet kiss before he rose, pulled her gently up on the bed, and wrapped his arms around her, spooning her.
She brushed her hair away from her face, her bones still humming, her body awash in the afterglow. “Wow.”
He kissed the back of her neck, and she turned to meet his gaze. He looked, quite simply, happy.
“That was . . .”
“. . . amazing.”
She trailed her finger along his stubble. “Are we going to have sex now?”
He shook his head, and she dropped her jaw in surprise.
“But I thought—”
He cut her off. “I want to. I want nothing more than to take you. But waiting for it is part of letting go.”
* * *
That was true. It was completely true. If she wanted to learn to give up control, he had to withhold. But that wasn’t the only reason he planned to wait for another time.
Because it ensured another time.
CHAPTER SIX
35,000 feet, midday . . .
The black, white and brown beagle mix wagged its tail at his feet.
“No more begging, buddy. Back to your seat,” Nate said, pointing to one of the back rows in the plane where a year-old French Bulldog, a middle-aged Terrier, and some kind of Dachshund-mix lounged on a blanket spread across the seats. The Dachshund had been particularly well-behaved and Nate was thrilled for that, given the home that was picked out for him.
The Beagle didn’t listen. He kept wagging his tail, waiting for scraps from the chicken salad that had been served for lunch. Nate was sorely tempted to feed the little guy, especially when that tail started thumping wildly on the carpeted floor of the plane. But the dog would be better off in his new home if Nate didn’t indulge him in bad habits now.
“C’mon. Time to get back to the pack,” he said gently, gesturing once more to the dog’s companions.
“Psst,” Casey whispered, tapping his shoulder. “I think he might not understand English yet.”
Nate laughed, set down his nearly empty plate on the lacquered brown table, then scooped up the dog and carried him to the rear of the plane where a row of cushy seats had become the temporary quarters for the hounds on the flight. “Go back to sleep with your friends,” he said, gesturing to the other four-legged creatures who’d been conked out most of the ride. He stroked the dog between the ears and scratched his chin ’til he settled, curling up in a tight ball. The canine quartet of traveling companions was hitching a ride on his flight on their way to New York. The local shelter in New Orleans didn’t have room for all the dogs, and had made plans with a no-kill rescue in Brooklyn that had already matched these four pets with homes in the metro area, since New Yorkers often preferred smaller breeds. Nate was an animal lover and had grown up with dogs, so he regularly arranged to be an “escort” for animals in need, ferrying them from various locales around the country back to the Brooklyn shelter that served as the matchmaker.
One of the dogs—the Dachshund—was en route to his sister, Kat. She lived on the Upper East Side with her husband, his buddy Bryan, and the small dog was a gift for their twin daughters. Nate would have liked to have a dog himself, some kind of scrappy breed like a Border Collie that could catch Frisbees in the park and go for long runs along the West Side bike path with him. But he traveled far too often to be able to give a dog a good home. He did this instead; chauffeured pets in style to their new homes. His small contribution to the world.
He returned to his seat, the flight attendant having cleared their plates. Casey was wearing a short jean skirt and high-heeled sandals. He didn’t try as hard today to refrain from staring, but he did give himself a three-count for a quick perusal before returning his focus to her eyes.
“Some day, I’ll have a mutt of my own.” He nearly dropped his hand on top of hers, and clasped it, like they were on a date. He resisted, and, not for the first time on this flight, he wondered if she was refraining too. Not from holding hands, but from talking about the night before and the mind-blowing physical connection they’d shared. Neither one had mentioned it this morning. She’d rushed out of his room to shower and pack. He’d had early meetings on the property. While his trip to New Orleans had started a few days before hers had, he was done with business by mid-morning, so he’d simply made a few final calls and then they’d taken off for the airport.
The dogs had distracted them most of the flight. They’d barked on takeoff, then needed, understandably, some petting and comfort once airborne. Still, he wasn’t entirely sure what to say next to Casey. Or if anything needed to be said. He knew his way around women, but this project with Casey was a little . . . unconventional. Should he ask when their next lesson would be or simply tell her the time to arrive and what to wear?
Tight leather skirt, no panties, and heels. Oh hell, there went any semblance of concentration.
“When you get this mutt of your own someday, what will you name him?” she asked, twirling a strand of her hair around a finger. Maybe she was nervous, too. Wait, was he nervous? Hell no. Nate didn’t get nervous.
“Fred,” he said dryly.
“Or maybe just Mark. I always thought it would be funny to give a dog a completely human name, and then when you’re in Central Park to call him back to you. Not with C’mere Fido, or C’mere Max, but C’Mere Mark. Come on now, Ethan.”
Casey smiled and laughed, kicking her leg back and forth, like a pendulum. Okay, she was nervous. He needed to say something.
Instead, his brain tripped on the name he’d just shared. Ethan. “That reminds me. I haven’t seen Ethan Holmes in a while.”
“Ethan at the Victoria Hotels, right?”
He nodded. “Yeah. We worked together at the Luxe, back when I was VP of biz dev. He was in operations, and we were both up for the top job. Good guy, but I haven’t talked to him much since he left when he didn’t get the CEO gig.”
“I hear Victoria is trying to revamp its image a little. That the chain is seen as a bit stuffy, and they want to appeal to a younger crowd.”
“Yeah. I heard that too. I should check in. See if he wants to catch a Yankees game. We had a vendor who gave us tickets to his box seats. I’ll have to give him a shout when I get back.”
“So Ethan’s a no-go then for your future dog’s name,” she said with a wry smile.
He snapped his fingers. “I know what to name my future dog. Jim, after the comedian,” he mused, and her eyes lit up.
“His show was so great. Remember?” she said, nudging him. “We were laughing all night when I took you to see him.”
For his birthday last year when he’d turned thirty-two, she’d taken him to a Jim Gaffigan stand-up show, and they were nearly doubled over during his Hot Pockets bit. It occurred to him then that he was hunting for any sort of connection, and that even suggesting he’d name a dog someday after a gift she’d given him was his roundabout way of tying this conversation back to them.
But he didn’t plan to psychoanalyze the fact that he wasn’t sure what to say to the woman he’d made cry out his name last night. Deep down, he already knew why he was struggling to broach the topic. Because he could talk to her about anything—about dogs, and books, and business, and women, and men, and he’d been able to do that long before he’d seen her beautiful body bared just for him. He didn’t want last night to have messed up their ability to talk.
“Casey,” he said, turning to look her in the eyes.
“Yes?”
“About last night . . .”
Her eyes widened in fear. “You didn’t like it?”
His heartbeat quickened. That was the last thing he needed her to think. “Don’t even go there,” he said, scooting closer to her on the smooth leather seats in the plane. The big jet hummed quietly as it soared through blue skies. The attendant had retreated to the front of the cabin, giving them privacy.
She brought her hand to her chest and breathed out hard. “Good. Because I thought . . .”
“You thought what? That I was going to say you were too forward? Too direct?”
Red inched across her cheeks. She nodded.
“But you weren’t either of those,” he said, his lips curving up as he raised his hand, brushing a finger down her cheek. “You did great.”
“I did?”
He nodded. “Yes. What did you think? Did you enjoy yourself?”
“Yes. So much.”
“How did it feel to let go?”
“Honestly?” she asked, narrowing her eyes.
Uh-oh. Now it was his turn to worry. Maybe he should have finished things off last night because what if she didn’t enjoy the kind of sex she wanted to try? What if last night had been his only chance to be with her and he’d blown it by waiting? Fucking idiot. What kind of guy denies a woman who’s hot for a no-strings one-night stand? This one.
“Yes. Honestly,” he said, steeling himself.
She brought her face closer, their foreheads nearly touching. His chest tightened, and his nostrils flared as he inhaled her scent. Her sweet lips were so close to his ear, as she whispered, “Nate Harper, you gave me the best orgasm of my life last night. It was better than any of my toys, and that’s saying something, because those bad boys are top-notch.”
A bolt of lust tore through his chest, like lightning heating up the sky. Desire and pride surged in him, and he was ready to go again. Now. Tonight. Anytime. He wasn’t going to miss his chance.
But when she inched away from him, that sexy lustful look was gone and had been replaced by a studious, business-like one. “What about you? I mean, I know you didn’t come and all. But was it good for you?”
“It was spectacular, Casey.”
A smile lit up her face, and the moment turned oddly surreal again. “I think we should do it again. I did a little research this morning on things we can try.” She was the eager student, ready for more teaching.
He arched an eyebrow. “You did?”
“Yes. I thought it would be smart to prep if we’re going to do this. To do it properly,” she said and grabbed her mini iPad from her purse, snapped open the cover and tapped on the notepad icon. “Christian and Ana ran through a checklist in advance. It helped them,” she said, and when he scrunched up his brow, drawing a blank at the names, she added, “Christian Grey.”
“Ah, but of course. I should have been on a first-name basis with him.”
“Anyway, I grabbed a list from a website on kink and submission, and since we’re doing lessons, I thought perhaps we should discuss the curriculum in advance.”
He reined in a laugh. At least she was keen to continue. “Oh well, if Christian and Ana did it this way, we should too,” he said dryly.
“They’re the leading experts. But no red room of pain for us. And we don’t even need to discuss caning, whipping or flogging, because those are not going to be on the menu.”
“I won’t even try to order them a la carte,” he said, slashing his hand through the air.
“Let’s begin with . . . spanking,” she said, reading the list.
“I’m good with it. You?”
She nodded. “Absolutely.”
He peered at the list on the screen. “How about ropes?”
“I believe I won’t mind being tied up with you,” she said, raising an eyebrow at her double entendre. He nodded approvingly, both at the pun and the prospect of her restrained.
She pointed to the next item on the list. “Ball gag?” She cringed. “That’s not ever going to happen.”
“We’ll send it the way of the cane.”
She nodded vigorously, then dropped her voice to a confessional whisper. “But I might be open to a riding crop. I’m not sure, but I’d like to try.”
The situation in his jeans was getting tight. “I’d like to use a crop on you,” he said in a low and dirty voice. She gazed back at him, the look in her eyes saying she was willing.
“Hair pulling, biting, scratching. I’m pretty sure I’d like all those,” she said, miming checking them off the list.
“Always good to test them out to be safe though. What about handcuffs?”
“Only if you wear a cop uniform.”
He groaned appreciatively, then tapped the list. “Which gives me the answer to the next one. Role-playing. That’s a yes.”
“Definitely.” She gestured to the next item, and made a pout. “Orgasm denial? I don’t think I’d like that.”
“Oh, but I bet I could make you love it.”
She narrowed her eyes, then spoke in a sultry, suggestive tone. “But Nate, I love coming.”
Heat ran rampant in his body, like wildfire. This woman was going to be his undoing. She was flirty and dirty, and eager to give him the reins to her body. He was a lucky son-of-a-bitch.
“I don’t know what man would not want you to be direct. Because when you say things like that—direct and insanely sexy things—it just makes me want to make sure you come over and over,” he said.
She drew a quick breath, pushed her hair off her shoulders and mouthed thank you.
“Now,
onto blindfolds,” she said, returning to her workman-like attack of the list. “I think I can handle a blindfold. We sell them, you know.”
“Good. Why don’t you see if you can get the CEO discount? How about candles?” he asked, reading off another kinky option.
“Yeah. About that one,” she said, tapping her finger against her lips. “Do I want hot wax dripping between my breasts? Yes? No? Yes? No?”
She glanced down, then ran a fingertip along her cleavage, checking how it might feel. A groan worked its way up his chest as she traveled across her skin. She was driving him wild. So clinical, so logical, when all he wanted was . . . to drip hot wax between her breasts. He reached for her hand, the thing he’d wanted to do earlier, then laced his fingers tightly in hers, guiding her hand along her breasts, down her belly, and to her lap.
“I’ll do the testing,” he said as he let go of his grip. “But what I really want to know is this…”
He threaded his fingers through her hair, grabbing a fistful. He waited ’til she moaned softly, then he tugged hard, yanking her head back in one quick move. A muffled cry of pleasure gave him the answer.
“Now I’m picturing you on your hands and knees, your spine bowed, your hair spilling down your back. I won’t be able to resist pulling it hard then either,” he whispered roughly, as he gripped tightly in demonstration.
She shivered in response, and breathed out sharply. With one hand firmly in her hair, he dragged his other hand down her chest, trailing a finger from the hollow of her throat to the valley between her luscious tits.
“Now let’s address some other questions, Casey,” he said, as he continued his exploration, dropping his hand inside her powder blue bra to stroke her breast. “You like it when I play with your breasts. I learned that last night,” he said squeezing a dark pink nipple. She gasped in surprise. “But the one thing I’m not sure of is whether you like them to be sucked. Let’s find out,” he said, unbuttoning the top two buttons on her short-sleeved shirt, freeing a gorgeous globe of flesh. He groaned greedily, eager to taste her as he dropped his mouth to her hard nipple, drawing it between his teeth.
Forbidden Nights Page 5