by Penny Wylder
I say it like it’s a joke, and yet I know I have way too much riding on his answer. He doesn’t brush it off, and doesn’t laugh. He meets my eyes, that fiery heat rising through me as he stares. “Yet.”
The music changes again, faster and more urgent. I dare to ask the question, “Would you like to do something?”
Andrew spins me so my back is pressed against his chest, his arms holding me against him while we dance, hips and bodies in time with the music, and now his lips are at my ear. “You have no idea the kind of things I want to do.”
He slips his hand in the side of my dress, and I gasp. Blood rushes to my face as his hand strokes across my stomach, lifts to cup my breasts. “I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you since that night. You were absolutely everything, and it took everything in me not to fuck you right there in the middle of that gallery.”
“I would have let you,” I moan.
His chuckle makes me shiver. “I know. That’s why I had to leave. I couldn’t do it. I knew I wouldn’t be able to control myself if I were near you.”
His hand drops, teasing a little bit lower. “What changed?” I manage to ask. I can’t even think while his hands are on me.
“I’m tired of fighting it.”
I try to laugh, but it comes out as a moan. “Thank god.”
Andrew’s voice drops even lower. “I saw you that night. I saw how everything turned you on. You were in the middle of a room crowded with people and you didn’t care. You like to be watched.”
Heat rises to my cheeks and I shake my head. “No, not by everyone. Just you.”
“Is that so? Because I think you love it. I think that the idea of being caught with my hand inside your dress excites you.”
My eyes flutter closed, and I try to protest, but I can’t because he’s right. The idea that someone—anyone—in this crowd of dancers can see what he’s doing to me turns me on. “You’re already wet, aren’t you?” he whispers, not waiting for an answer he already knows. “You would have let me take you in the middle of that gallery. And now?”
I arch my back against him, “Please.” It comes out like a prayer, begging him to just give me this, even if there’s nothing else. I need to know what it feels like to have him touch me.
His hand slides further down my stomach, and I shudder. His hand is getting closer to where I want it, to where I need it. Andrew needs it too. I can feel how hard he is behind me, his hips pressing against my ass while we dance.
“You think I didn’t think about this when I gave you this dress to wear?” he asks, voice in my ear. “Because I did.” His hand slips lower, fingers dipping between my legs, teasing and searching. I thought about what it might be like to touch you, to feel that fire.” A finger slips inside me, and I bite my lip to keep from moaning. I close my eyes and let my head fall back against his shoulder like I’m enjoying the dance. But god it’s so much more than that. His finger is deep inside me. Andrew strokes his thumb across my clit. His whole hand moves, pressing against me and into me again and again, and I’m so wet that it’s dripping down my legs. How many nights have I thought about this? How many times have I done exactly what his hand is doing and wishing it were him?
“I’ve never done anything like this,” I breathe.
“What?” I can hear the smirk in his voice. “Danced?”
“Yes I’ve danced…” He moves his hand and my words run dry. Pleasure ripples through my body, and I can’t even take a breath. “I’ve never…”
He smiles against my skin, “Come in the middle of a crowded room.”
“I’m not going to do that.”
Andrew laughs, dark and sensual, “Oh, yes you are. And you’re going to fucking love it.” He slips a second finger inside me, and my knees buckle. The only thing keeping me standing is his arm around my waist and his fingers in my pussy. I’m not even dancing now, just standing pressed against Andrew, and no one has noticed. But they could. This dress is to thin not to see that his hand is inside it. Not to see the way his arm is moving, fucking me, grinding his palm against my clit.
It’s everything I wanted it to be. More. Pleasure coils in my gut, and spills over into my veins. I’m so close, I can feel it, and Andrew doesn’t slow down. He pumps his fingers into me, curling them deeper, hitting my G-spot so I’m panting with every movement. “Oh god,” I say, and I think I might scream with the mounting pleasure. If I scream everyone will know what’s happening and I’m not sure if I want to hide or if I want everyone to see and oh god this feels so good I can’t hold on.
Andrew growls in my ear. “Come. I want to feel you come on my hand. I want it dripping down your legs in the middle of all these people.”
His words send me over the edge and my body goes rigid with the orgasm. Fiery pleasure rips its way through me, and I bite my cheek to keep my voice inside. He keeps fucking me, letting my orgasm pour over his hand and down my legs and onto the floor. My body is covered in tiny spasms and aftershocks, each one caused by the way he keeps teasing my pussy. A stroke, a brush across my clit.
I try to gain control of my breathing. “I think it’s safe to say we’ve done something now.”
He chuckles, his tone low and full of promise. “Want to do some more?”
9
We crash into the small room off the club together, and before the door is even closed, Andrew’s mouth is on mine. I can feel him everywhere, his kiss running through my entire body, and even though he just gave me the best orgasm of my entire life, I want more.
“It’s my turn,” he says. “I’ve never done this before.”
It’s too easy. I smirk up at him, “What, sex?”
He laughs, loud in the small closet we’ve shoved ourselves into. “No, you were right before. I’ve never crossed this line with anyone that’s worked with me. I’ve never wanted to. But now…”
“Are you saying that I’m special?”
He presses me against the wall, his body on mine, and kisses me hard. I feel all that hunger pour into me in this kiss. “You’re more than special. You’re everything.”
This time I’m the one kissing him. I’m pulling at his suit because I want it off. I want him closer to me. I want all of him the way I’ve wanted him since that very first day. My hands find his belt, and I manage to get it undone while we’re still kissing. I reach inside his pants and feel him, hot and hard and long, and he groans into my mouth. “I want to see you,” I say. “All of you.”
“You will,” he promises as he rolls on a condom. “Later.”
He grabs the skirt of my dress and hikes it up around my waist, and then he’s lifting me and sliding in and oh god he’s so big and it feels so perfect. The rough cement of the club wall digs into my back as he starts to move inside me, strokes fast and desperate. He wants me just as I much as I want him, and even though I want more of him, I need this. This release of everything that’s built up between us for the last month. Long looks and pretending to come and my endless nights with my vibrator.
The vibrator will never compare to the real thing.
I wrap my legs around his waist as he fucks me breathless. I can’t speak, I can’t moan, only feel. The way he’s stretching me open as he presses deeper into me, his face buried in my neck. He’s never slept with one of his models before. I’m the first. The only one he’s wanted like this.
The thought runs through me to the core, and the realization rockets through me, spiking my arousal even higher. He’s risking his reputation to be with me, and he doesn’t care.
Andrew’s hands dig into my ass, pulling me against him as he thrusts, and his cock hits that spot deep inside me that sends off sparks and makes me see rainbows. He doesn’t stop, pounding steadily into me, and I come again. This time I do cry out. I say his name and yes and please more, and he gives it to me, fucking me into the wall as he comes too.
Neither of us moves, frozen in the moment with each other, simply breathing. “I don’t want to move,” I say.
&n
bsp; “I do and I don’t,” he says, giving me a smile. “I want to stay buried inside you forever, and I want to take you home and memorize your body with my mouth.”
My breath goes short and my fingers tighten on his shoulders. “I changed my mind,” I say. “Let’s do that.”
He chuckles. “Your friend won’t worry?”
“Are you kidding?” I roll my eyes. “She’ll throw us a fucking parade.”
He laughs, taking my hand and pulling me toward the back entrance.
Andrew’s apartment is predictably gorgeous. A downtown apartment overlooking the High Line with clean lines and a truly impressive number of windows. I can’t imagine how much it would cost to live here, but I’m going to enjoy it.
“Welcome,” Andrew says, ushering me inside. “Make yourself at home.”
Now that we’ve gotten the frenzy out of the way, there’s an ease between us. We’re going to fuck again, and I will make him keep that promise about his mouth, but there’s no rush now. We both know that we’ll get there.
He takes his jacket off and hangs it up, and steps into the kitchen. “Do you want something to drink?” he asks.
“Just water, thanks.” I peek my head into rooms, the apartment is spacious, and I have the urge to continue exploring until I poke my head into what is clearly his workspace. The entire room is covered in piles of fabric, swatches pinned to giant fabric boards on the walls. There are a couple of mannequins with finished designs and piles of sketches. It’s a huge contrast to what I’ve seen in his studio and the rest of the apartment. The creative frenzy and mess doesn’t even seem like him, yet here it is.
I wander closer to the pile of sketches and start to sift through them. It’s the beginning of the fall collection. Chunky off-the-shoulder sweaters, gorgeous trousers and dresses you can wear with boots and leggings. That classic fall aesthetic crossed with his own individual flare.
Andrew appears at my shoulder with a glass of water. “Do you like them?”
“I really do, not that my opinion matters.”
He turns me to face him. “Of course it matters. I hope that you’ll be wearing them, so I want your opinion. Also,” he says, giving me a stern look, “never sell yourself short. Your opinion should always matter. If it doesn’t, you’re in the wrong place.”
I duck my head at the sudden burst of emotion that surges through me at those words. “We barely know each other; you can’t know that.”
Andrew pulls me away from the sketches and into his living room where he settles us on a short couch, close enough to touch, big enough that we’re not crowded. “It might sound strange to say, but in fashion you learn to judge people quickly. People almost always reveal themselves with their clothes, even if they’re not honest. I’ve been doing this a long time, and have learned what to look for in the people I want to know better. The people I want to spend time with.” He smiles and it seems more relaxed than I’ve ever seen him. “All that to say that I saw who you were when you walked into that room, and I was blown away.”
I blush again, and he laughs. “I like it when you blush, though it’s funny that someone who has such a strong exhibitionist streak is so shy.”
“I’m not an exhibitionist,” I say, shaking my head.
He raises an eyebrow. “I’d say our experiences together show that that’s not true.”
“But it’s not them, it’s you,” I blurt out. “I was a mess in the exhibition until I saw you, felt you watching. The same at the gallery. I had no idea what I was doing, and then you were there and suddenly…you being the audience made everything make sense. I don’t care if people see me—only if you see me.” My blush deepens and I’m suddenly afraid of that admission which seems too deep and intimate despite the fact that we just had sex.
He reaches out, fingers brushing along my skin to cup the back of my neck. “And what if I had decided that I did want to fuck you in the middle of that gallery, in front of anyone. How would you have felt?”
“At that point, I honestly don’t think I would have cared.”
Andrew pulls me closer, a wicked grin on his face. “And tonight at the club? You’re going to tell me that it was only me touching you that was turning you on? Not the fact that we could be caught—could be seen—at any moment?”
I swallow, taking a breath. When I was close to coming I do remember those thoughts running through my head, that anyone could have seen his hand in my dress. I wanted them to see. “Oh my god,” I breathe.
Andrew chuckles and closes the distance between us to kiss me softly. “There’s nothing wrong with it. In case you haven’t noticed, I have a little flare for drama.” That makes me laugh. “And even though I would never let anyone touch you, I don’t mind if they watch.”
His hand slides up my thigh, under the fabric of the dress and higher. “In fact, I think you might like it.”
“I don’t know.”
His hands keep traveling upward and he lifts the dress over my head in one swift mention. “I bet I can convince you.”
My breath is shallow, heart pounding. “I have no doubt that you could.” I glance down as he runs his fingers between my breasts. “You’ve already seen almost all of me.”
“Seeing,” he says, smirk wicked, “and experiencing, are not the same thing. I believe the way I convinced you to leave the club was a certain promise involving my mouth. Another thing you should know about me—along with being honest, I always keep my promises.”
I let out a moan as his lips touch my neck, tongue exploring. He lays me back on the couch and shows me just how thoroughly he plans to keep his promise. His mouth is everywhere: in the hollow of my throat and across my collarbone. Sucking on the skin of my breasts and teasing me until my nipples are harder than they’ve ever been. His tongue follows the line of my stomach and the curves of my hips, fingers following, almost tickling but not quite. Everything is sensation and I can’t keep my eyes open as he works his way lower, past where I expect him to stop down to my thighs where he continues to explore.
I honestly never knew how sensitive thighs could be. His mouth kisses my legs open, nipping the skin and sending ripples to my already sensitive pussy. It’s been a while since I’ve had sex, let alone multiple times in one night. His hands smooth over my hips, gently opening me further, and I hold my breath as I feel him move closer. But he’s taking his time, moving around, a bite here and a soft lick there.
Finally, the barest touch of his tongue on my clit. I moan, back arching, I want more of him, all of him. He doesn’t give it to me, he goes in slow motion, almost emulating my vision at the gallery. Every inch of my pussy is touched by him, and I can’t even breathe. Sinking my hands into his hair, I pull him closer, showing him what I need. This time he obliges, moving faster, plunging his tongue deep inside me, moving across me in long strokes.
I’m so close that I’m panting his name, digging my fingers deep into his hair, lifting my hips to meet his mouth. Andrew’s hands are hard on my hips as he holds me still, plunging deeper, and I can’t hold on any longer. Pleasure explodes through me, and I cry out as I come. I’m shaking with the orgasm, unable to see or think in the cloud of sheer pleasure. There’s nothing in the universe except for Andrew’s mouth on me. It’s too good. Better than I ever imagined it would be, and as I come down from the high, I can barely catch my breath.
“Shit,” I say, and Andrew chuckles.
He crawls up my body, and I love the sight of him above me. “Did I keep my promise?”
“One of them,” I say, reaching for the buttons on his shirt. “You’ve seen all of me. I think it’s my turn.”
A mischievous light dances in his eyes, “What do you want? Do you want to undress me? Or do you want me to undress for you?”
I slide my hand down his chest, feeling the muscles underneath the fabric. “Show me,” I breathe.
Andrew takes time to kiss me first, so deep that I’m lightheaded before he stands, his hands going to the buttons of his shirt. Th
e smirk on his face is sexy as he undoes them, one by one, revealing a chest that could easily be in any fashion campaign. “Like what you see?”
I return his smirk. “Show me more.”
It is impossible that this is my life. With a playful smile on his face, Andrew undoes the buttons on his pants.
“Why aren’t you the model again?” He could model for any brand he wanted. Hell, he could be a nude model for art students and half the room would faint with desire. His pants fall, revealing slim hips complete with that V I find so sexy, and virtually perfect legs. Not to mention his cock, hard and thick, making my mouth go dry with the possibility of feeling that again.
He raises an eyebrow. “People already think I’m arrogant enough. I don’t think that modeling my own clothes would help that any.”
I can’t say anything because I’m too busy memorizing him. He’s perfect and I’m so glad he crossed this line—missing this view would be a goddamn tragedy. He approaches me again, that playful smile reappearing. “Now do you like what you see?”
Reaching out to touch him, I watch the muscles in his stomach jump and the way his jaw clenches. I smirk. “It’ll do. I think I can work with this.”
“Oh really,” he says, grabbing my wrist and pulling me to my feet. “Well if you’re going to work with this, I don’t think the couch is the place to do it.”
He sweeps me off my feet, and laughter bubbles out of my chest as he carries me toward the bedroom.
10
I come awake slowly, to brightness. The walls in Andrew’s bedroom are entirely glass, electric privacy shades half drawn to allow the morning sun in. I stretch slowly, languorously, feeling the tension in my body after last night. Even the thought of that makes me smile. I’m not sure what time it is, but I’m definitely not running on much sleep. There was too much to do, too much pent up sexual tension that we worked out. Over and over. And then once more for good measure.