Forbidden Nights

by Lauren Blakely

  He bit down.

  Instantly, her hands flew to his hair, tugging him closer. She arched into him, and he heard a hiss in her breath, as if she were trying to be quiet so the flight attendant up front wouldn’t hear. He flicked the tip of his tongue against her delicious nipple until she moaned so loudly he feared she’d wake up the sleeping dogs. He pressed his hand to her mouth, covering it tightly, shushing her as he sucked and tasted each breast until she was wriggling in the seat. He finished with a quick bite on each nipple.

  When he stopped, her wild untamed gaze told him everything he needed to know. “Yes, you like nipple play a hell of a lot, and that tells me you’ll love it when I drizzle hot wax between your breasts. It’ll get you so wet your panties will be useless, and you’ll be begging me to strip you down to nothing and take you,” he said, then grabbed her waist, and moved her on top of him. “But right now, we have another lesson.”

  “What’s the lesson?” she asked as she straddled him, knees tucked up on either side of his legs.

  “This one is called Don’t Wake the Dogs,” he said, then clasped one hand on her mouth yet again, and dipped his other hand underneath her skirt, sliding his fingers across the slick wetness on the panel of her panties. God, there was little he loved more than the evidence of a woman’s arousal. He slid his fingers inside, gliding across that silky wetness that made his whole body feel electric. Touching her at all was such a privilege; touching her in this heightened state was a gift.

  Her eyes glittered with lust as she rocked against his fingers. He couldn’t resist—he drew his hand away from her legs, brought his fingers to his mouth and sucked off her wetness. Her eyes flared as she watched him.

  “All morning, I could still taste you on me. I had to taste you again,” he said, then returned to her slick flesh, sliding through her slippery wetness that told him exactly how much she’d enjoyed having her breasts sucked.

  So much that his fingers were coated in her. She was some kind of live wire right now, and he intended to make her body sing. He ran his fingers across her heat, then zeroed in on her swollen clit. She muffled a moan against his palm. She wasn’t going to take long at all. My God, the things he could do with her body. The pleasure he intended to give her. The possibilities were endless.

  “Let me feel you all over my hand,” he said, his eyes on hers the whole time as he slid a finger into her, crooking so he could find that magic spot. She bowed her back in response to the penetration. Her slick walls gripped his finger, and he added one more, all the while rubbing his thumb across her clit. “Rock into my hand. Do it hard,” he commanded.

  She did as told, riding him, humping his fingers, fucking his hand furiously. She was a gorgeous sight, all wanton and naughty, and his lungs burned with desire for her; his dick ached to fill her. His body craved her climax. He wanted it badly, wanted her to fall apart for him in the sky.

  She tensed all over, her thighs gripping him, and her eyes squeezed shut. “Come quietly,” he whispered, urging her on. “I want to watch you come quietly.”

  She shuddered and dug her teeth into his palm, her body shaking before she collapsed into his arms.

  He held her.

  “Can I touch you now?” she said, her sweet voice melting him. He loved that she offered, that she seemed to want to, even if it wasn’t part of her “training.”

  He raised her chin so she could meet his eyes. “No.”

  She frowned. “Why? Are you into orgasm denial? That is no fun.”

  “Not in the least. But the answer is simple—I don’t want to be quiet. And I don’t want to wake the dogs, or annoy the flight attendant. That’s why I said no. But rest assured, when we’re back in New York we’ll get through some other items on your list.”

  She sighed happily, then wriggled against him, as if she wanted to be closer. Not wanting to deny her a thing on this earth, he roped his arms around her.

  “You’re amazing,” she whispered, her breathing still erratic as she floated down from her orgasm. Her praise sent a wicked thrill through him. Call it masculine pride. Call it ego. When a woman turns to you to teach her a new type of fucking, there’s nothing a man wants to hear more than amazing. Though, come to think of it, best orgasm of my life was just as good.

  “So are you,” he said softly, stroking her hair. He couldn’t believe she thought she needed to learn anything.

  “I can tell why women adore you,” she said, continuing her compliments.

  He tensed at the reminder of his playboy status, then told himself not to bristle. He was what he was. She hadn’t asked him for help because he batted ninth. He was a clean-up hitter, and so far with Casey he’d been belting home runs.

  “I’m just glad you enjoyed it. And, by the way, you take direction exceedingly well, so I don’t know why you’re fixated on this idea that you—” but then he stopped short before he finished the thought—can’t give up control. He wanted her to still need him, so he edited himself. “Need to change, but you’re doing a great job learning how to give up control. So we’ll just keep teaching you.”

  She moved off him, grabbed her iPad, and returned to her list. “Hmm,” she said, as she studied it. “I’m not sure which of the items I’m supposed to be checking off. What do you consider what we just did?”

  He gritted his teeth, annoyed with the idea of being an item on a list. But hell, he was the one who’d brought up the list a minute ago. “Ball gag. Consider that an impromptu ball gag, since you couldn’t speak,” he said, rising. He turned to face her. “Oh, and in case this helps you on your list, you can check that you liked it. Now if you’ll excuse me.”

  After a quick restroom trip to wash his hands, he visited with the dogs, giving each a soft pat, then returned to Casey. She was scrolling through an email.

  “There’s a note from Grant about getting together in a month,” she said, a happy look on her face as she read the message. He was ready to grab the iPad and smash the damn thing.

  “That’s great,” he said, closing his eyes, willing himself to not be irritated that she was excited. Grant was a man she could have a future with. Nate was a man who lived for the present.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  New York City, afternoon . . .

  Casey ran her thumb over the LolaRing, absently flicking it on as she chatted in her office with one of her top executives, Nelle O’Connor.

  The miniature vibrator buzzed against her thumb as Nelle shared the updates on the various partnerships Joy Delivered had struck in the last year—a deal with a high-class boutique in Stockholm, a partnership with a leading department store in Paris—courtesy of Jack’s new European contacts—and even a pair-up with an upscale pharmacy called Sofia’s in London that Casey had a meeting with in two weeks. Sofia’s was a first in England—not many high-end pharmacies carried pleasure toys, but Sofia’s took a chance, adding a few Joy Delivered products to its shelves, and the partnership had been a runaway success. Those retail outlets had also been carrying The Wild One, a twelve-speed vibrator introduced two years ago that had won legions of fans.

  Next up was the LolaRing.

  “Did you and Abbot hammer out any of the positioning details last week?” the no-nonsense Nelle asked, and Casey nearly dropped the toy in surprise from the unintended double meaning.

  “Not in great detail, but we’ll be doing that once he returns from Vietnam and Hong Kong,” she said, and was tempted to add among other things.

  Well, she was getting ahead of herself thinking of other things. They’d need to start with dinner, with more getting-to-know-you before they got to other things. She certainly hoped they had a good time at dinner. And that he was a good guy too. And, of course, that he treated her well. Would it be too much to also want him to be well hung?

  Like Nate.

  Who knew he’d been packing that kind of heat all along? She was a lucky lady to be able to turn to a man like him for her bedroom makeover project. Because that man did not have a textbook dic
k. His dick was so beautiful it needed a nickname. Like JackHammer. Or Plow Me Now. Or Mouthwateringly Delicious. Or Long, Tall Piece of Man Candy.

  Actually, those sounded more like marketing slogans that other sex toy makers might use, like her friends at Good Vibes. She loved that company and was in regular contact with the top execs, but they approached the market differently. Joy Delivered tried to operate at a cut above, but Nate had her stooping to all sorts of low levels. Like on her knees. Or maybe on her hands and knees next.

  Okay, time for her wandering mind to get out of its down and dirty gutter, and focus on catching up with her top employee on Monday afternoon.

  Nelle peered at Casey over the top of her fuchsia glasses. They were camped out on the purple couch in Casey’s office, the one she’d chosen for her brother when he was CEO, then reclaimed when he left for Paris.

  “I’ve got some ideas I’d like to share with you for how to promote the partnership. Perhaps they’ll come in handy as we prep. Contracts told me the paperwork has already been sent over, so we might as well get moving,” Nelle said. The woman was both efficient and creative. Those twin qualities rarely resided in one body, but they did in Nelle, who’d been overseeing the rollout plans for the LolaRing.

  The new toy had received through-the-roof reviews from The Happiest Ladies in the World, the product-testing group at the company. The toy marked an evolution in one of Joy Delivered’s most popular vibrators, the Lola, that simulated oral sex. It was an amazing device, and truly felt like the world’s most talented tongue. The LolaRing was a two-person toy, because it paired the Lola with a cock ring. Being man-free for the last year, Casey hadn’t been able to take the LolaRing for a test drive herself, but the Happiest Ladies had said in their product write-ups that it was “like being licked and fucked” at the same time. “Translation: Heaven, Absolute Heaven,” one of them had written.

  Casey was jealous as hell when she’d read those reviews.

  She tried to picture a man like Grant wanting to use this toy with her, but the image didn’t compute, and she wasn’t entirely sure why. She couldn’t put her finger on it. Maybe because she was putting the cart before the horse to think of him that way. She didn’t know if they were physically compatible, or emotionally compatible, for that matter. She didn’t even know how he kissed. And here she was, trying to change her ways for him.

  Was she crazy? Foolish? Or just plain stupid?

  But, she reasoned, even if Grant Abbot was a bust, she needed to try a different approach with the opposite sex in general. Her romantic life had been sorely in need of a shake-up. And that’s what she was giving it. These lessons with Nate would be useful whether she and Grant were a match, or she and the next guy.

  Right? Right.

  Funny how giving up control with Nate wasn’t as hard as she’d expected, but maybe that was because he knew her inside and out. She trusted him completely. Grant was a step up from a stranger. And that was all the more reason to keep up the lessons. She needed to be thoroughly schooled in how to let go.

  A hand waved broadly in her face. “Earth to Casey.”

  She snapped her attention back to Nelle, with her piercing dark eyes and straight black hair. “Sorry,” she said.

  “You went in space cadet mode there,” Nelle said with a smirk. “Worn out from New Orleans?”

  Worn out from great . . . almost sex. “Yes. Sorry. It was just such a quick trip. One night-turnaround and all,” she said, even though that was no excuse. She’d been back in New York for two full days now. She wasn’t known for zoning out during a one-on-one meeting with her right-hand woman. She pushed all men from her mind.

  When they finished the meeting, Nelle headed out, stopping briefly in the doorway. She rapped her knuckles on the wood. “Knock, knock.”

  Casey rolled her eyes, but happily replied with “Who’s there?” This was the side of Nelle that wasn’t no-nonsense. Her knock-knock side.

  “Ben Hur,” Nelle replied, deadpan style.

  “Ben Hur who?” Casey asked as she sank down into her desk chair.

  “Ben Hur over the table,” Nelle said, then doffed an imaginary top hat and bowed deeply before leaving on a trail of Casey’s amusement.

  Later that afternoon, Casey plowed through her emails, pleased to find a note from Grant.

  “Glad to see everything is moving along smoothly with our deal. I’m taking off for Asia this evening, so let me simply say I hope the next month flies by.”

  She grinned and the teeniest spark tried to light up in her chest at the thought of Grant. She concentrated on that small flame, tried to will it to flare, but it quickly died out. There’d be time for flames though, for roaring fires and burning heat. These were the first tentative steps. Clicking through her inbox, she stopped at a message from her brother that had arrived a few minutes ago, which was after midnight, his time. He’d always been a night owl, but he and Michelle had taken to the Paris lifestyle, dining out at 10 p.m. on most nights. They’d probably just returned from dinner.

  Michelle is calling you about your dress. Whatever she says, YOU LIKE IT.

  Casey tapped out a quick reply. But I DO like it!

  Moments later, her phone rang from the France country code.

  “Hi Michelle,” Casey said, as she swiveled around in her chair, giving herself a better view of her favorite office scenery—a replica of a Roy Lichtenstein painting, a comic book style rendering of a couple kissing. She had another one from the series at her home.

  “How did you know it was me, and not Jack?” Michelle asked curiously.

  “He just emailed and told me you were calling. He also told me to tell you no matter what that I like the dress. But I LOVE the bridesmaid dress, so I don’t have to fake it. And you should tell him he doesn’t have to say those things.”

  “Jack,” Michelle shouted. “You’re in so much trouble.”

  She heard him respond with, “The good kind of trouble?”

  Michelle laughed, then returned to the call. “Anyway, does it fit? I’m sorry it took so long to get it to you, but I wanted to find a perfect dress for an island wedding.”

  Casey scoffed. Loudly. Pointedly. “Island wedding? That’s what you call a wedding in Hawaii. Or the Caribbean. Your wedding is a paradise wedding. That’s what you call a wedding in the Maldives.”

  She swore she could hear Michelle smiling through the phone. “Well, can’t wait to see you in paradise then, in three weeks.”

  “Me too. Can you put Jack on?”

  There was a rustling sound from Michelle handing the phone to Jack, then his voice. “Thanks for getting me in trouble.”

  “You do it to yourself, Jack Sullivan. Whenever are you going to learn that the women in your life can see straight through you?”

  “Never. Probably never.”

  They chatted more, and she caught him up to speed on the latest news with Joy Delivered, then he told her about some projects he was working on. He’d become a strategy consultant for many European companies, advising them on the U.S. market. He’d started in related businesses to Joy Delivered, but had now expanded, and even had begun working with some investors who specialized in high-end goods, from diamonds to vintage cars to art.

  “You’re so fancy now,” she teased.

  “That’s me.”

  She told him she’d see him soon in the Maldives, and said goodbye.

  Soon in the Maldives.

  The words slammed her in the chest, like a linebacker knocking out the opponent’s air, as she connected all the dots that were in front of her.

  The wedding was taking place on the property of one of Nate’s hotels in the Maldives. He was the best man, and his wedding gift had been to arrange for a discounted block of rooms for the guests, friends and family. She’d be at her brother’s wedding, standing beside the bride and groom with the man whose hands and mouth and tongue had been exploring her. The man who was teaching her how to let go. How to give in. How to bend.

&nbs
p; She waved her hand in front of her face, like a fan. Hell, just the thought of him was turning her on. Grabbing her phone, she began to dial his number to find out when their next lesson was. But before she hit the final digit, a neon sign flashed through her brain, blaring: Let me pursue you.

  She had to do the same with Nate.

  Letting him lead this unconventional arrangement was part of her much-needed romantic transformation from intimidating to demure.

  She set down her phone and focused on work, eagerly diving into her projects. Because here, in the office, overseeing this company she’d loved and founded, she was allowed to be her true self—to pick and choose, to decide, to direct.

  Even so, as she stayed late, burning the midnight oil, she couldn’t deny that inside she was squirming, hoping he’d reach out soon. When she packed up to go, she stopped to consider the painting on her wall, a favorite of hers. She’d studied business in school, but had minored in art history.

  She ran her fingertips lightly over the illustrated lips, then touched her own lips, as she closed her eyes, remembering how Nate had kissed her. Like a field course in kissing. The kind of kisses scientists would study for years in an attempt to dissect all the elements of a perfect kiss. Sultry, possessive, as if he were claiming both sides of her—the side that wanted a tender, lingering touch and the side that wanted it rough and hard.

  * * *

  “He’s the perfect dog. The girls love him and he’s so obedient,” Kat said as she leashed up the Dachshund, who’d immediately burrowed into his sister’s arms when Nate dropped him off Saturday after the flight, and now, two days later, had clearly made himself at home with his new family.

  “He’s a chick magnet already,” Nate quipped and Kat flashed him a smile as they walked down the steps of her brownstone on Park Avenue.

  “I already picked a name for him,” she said as they reached the sidewalk.

  “You didn’t let Chloe and Cara name him?”