“I want you inside me.” She blinks, startled by her own words. That makes two of us.
Then a slow smile tips the edges of her mouth, like a kid with her first taste of ice cream. She grabs hold of my waistband and leans close so her lips brush my earlobe. “Dax,” she whispers like she’s not sure how to say the words out loud. “Do me with my clothes on, please.”
My dick lunges like it’s trying to ram its way through my zipper, and it takes every ounce of self-control I own to give a measured response. “Yes, ma’am.”
As Lisa plants slow kisses in a path behind my ear, I stroke my thumbs over her nipples. She shudders in my hands as I release those gorgeous tits and inch my hands down her stomach. I keep going, gliding up her skirt and dipping the tips of my fingers into her panties. They’re a lacy wisp and probably expensive. I push the fabric aside and stroke inside her, groaning when I feel how wet she is.
“Christ,” I growl against her mouth. “How did that happen?”
Her giggle turns to a groan as I graze her clit with my knuckle. “You,” she gasps. “You did it to me.”
I keep doing it, skimming the pad of my thumb over her clit while my index and middle finger move inside her. She responds by fucking my hand, slowly at first, then with increasing intensity.
Her hips move like they have a mind of their own. She tilts back, arching against me with her eyes closed. “Oh my God, that feels amazing.”
My thumb strokes her clit again, and I’m rewarded with another moan. She’s moving faster now, her body tense and coiled. We’ve hardly gotten started, and I can already tell she’s close. Her eyes are closed, lips parted, her body tight like a bow.
“That’s it,” I murmur, kissing her throat. “Ride my hand. Show me how you like it.”
She obeys, hips moving to a rhythm only she can hear. I can feel it, though, bubbling up inside her as she rocks and writhes and pants on my lap. “Oh God!”
The orgasm seems to surprise her, and her eyes snap open, blazing green and wild. I clamp one hand on her hip, driving my fingers into her as I strum her clit with my thumb. She pumps her hips, arching against me as she cries out and comes so hard that I’m trembling with it.
Then she collapses against my chest, panting like she just ran a mile. A few seconds pass before she opens her eyes and leans back to give me a sheepish look. “Sorry. Let me just grab some tissues so you can—”
“No.” I slide my hand back, fingers slippery from being inside her. As she watches, I draw one finger into my mouth. Her lips part in shock as I suck deeply, tasting her sweetness.
“You’re delicious,” I tell her. “So fucking hot.”
She stares at me like no man has ever said this to her before. How is that possible? She’s squirming against me, moving like she’s ready to go again.
“Please, Dax.” She wriggles against me, fucking me through my clothes.
“Please what?”
Her lashes flutter, and I sense she’s turning shy again. “You know what I need.”
“I have a good idea,” I murmur, nuzzling her throat so she’s not forced to make eye contact. “But I want to hear you say it.”
I catch her earlobe between my teeth and run my tongue over the pearl stud. I wonder what it would feel like to stroke her sweet little clit with my mouth, and suddenly I’m harder than I ever thought possible.
“Do you want me to fuck you, Lisa?”
She draws back, eyes wide with surprise. I sense she hasn’t had a guy talk to her like this before. I also get the feeling she likes it. She nods, biting the edge of her lip.
“Yes,” she whispers. “Yes, please.”
“Please what?”
Her cheeks go pink, and she bites her lip harder. Okay, so she’s not ready to talk dirty yet. That’s cool with me. But something tells me she likes when I do it. I can tell by the way she’s squirming against me, watching my mouth for the next filthy invitation.
“You want me to shove my cock in you?” I murmur. “Is that what you want?”
She nods so fast I think her head might fall off. “Yes. Oh God, yes.”
Okay, then. No sense wasting any time.
I fumble into my back pocket, hoping to God I remembered to shove a condom in my wallet. I find the foil packet and yank it out, not caring that I just upended the contents of my billfold onto her spotless carpet.
Lisa reaches down between us, her fingers quick and clever on the button of my jeans. The denim is damp from her, and I half expect her to say something apologetic. Instead, she grabs my dick and pulls it out.
“Holy wow.” She blinks up at me. “I—um. Wow. That’s a little…uh…large.”
I stifle the urge to snort-laugh. She did say she wanted something different from her usual fare, and apparently she’s used to guys on the smaller end of the spectrum. “We can take it as slow as you want.”
She looks down again, skimming the tip of my cock with her thumb. A bead glistens on the tip, and she uses it to glide her finger around the throbbing head “It’s so…so…”
Big? Hard? I wait for one of the expected adjectives, one of the words she’s heard in dirty movies and thinks she’s supposed to say.
“Pretty.”
Huh?
She gives an embarrassed smile. “Is that not what guys like to hear?”
“You called my dick pretty?”
“Well it is.” She grips it in one hand, making my balls clench with need. She gives me a grin that shoots straight to my cock. “It’s like the perfect color and shape and—”
“Are you planning to fuck it or decorate a room with it?”
She dissolves into giggles, making her tits jostle pleasantly beneath her silk blouse. “Oh my God! I’m an interior designer, and you just gave me the best idea for a room designed entirely in penis motif. There’d be penis-shaped throw pillows and a pink fainting couch in one corner with—”
“I’m going to come in your hand if you don’t stop stroking me like that.”
She stops moving her hand and grins. “Well. We wouldn’t want that.”
Before I can say anything, she grabs the condom and tears open the packet. She rolls it on with expert hands, and I’ll admit I’m a little relieved she knows what she’s doing.
She starts to slide off my lap. “Let me just take off these—”
“No.” I grip her hips to hold her in place. Then I let go with one hand, and reach between us to shove aside the damp scrap of lace between her legs, baring her to me. Perfect pink lips glisten with wetness, and I ache with the urge to bury myself inside her.
I look up and meet her eyes again, wanting to be sure. “If this isn’t what you want, tell me now.”
She nods, then shifts her hips. Her hand is still on my cock, and I groan as she angles it toward her, trailing the tip through her wetness. “It’s what I want.”
Then she moves again, taking the first couple of inches inside. Her eyes widen, and I hold still. I could still stop now if I had to, and I brace for her to say it. But those aren’t the words that fall from those perfect lips.
“Oh my God, you feel unreal.”
I groan and skim my hands from her hips to her breasts. My thumbs tease her nipples, and I wait for her to make the next move. She’s in control, and I sense that’s what she needs right now.
“I want you to ride me,” I tell her. “Slow and soft or hard and fast—you call the shots.”
She nods, gaze locked with mine, almost like she’s mesmerized. Then she sinks down on me in one slick move.
“Oh my God.”
She’s the one who says that, but the words are in my head, too. Holy shit, she feels amazing.
She slides down again, breathless with pleasure as she begins to fuck me. Her hips move like there’s someone else driving them, like she’s been seized by some other force. She reaches behind me and grabs the back of the sofa, manicured claws sinking into the leather as she uses it for leverage.
“God, Dax.” My name comes out
of her mouth like a moan, and I can’t believe this is the same woman I met at the bar.
She’s thrusting and grinding and growling low in her throat. I start to reach between us to tickle her clit, but there’s no need. She’s already there.
“Oh. Oh Jesus, yes—”
She throws her head back and gives a primal scream I’m sure will have the neighbors summoning the cops. But there’s no time for that now, as shapes start to shimmer behind my eyelids and I realize I’m right there with her.
“Christ,” I groan as I let go.
We both come for what feels like forever, fucking and gasping and riding each other. When it’s over, Lisa collapses against my chest again.
I stroke her back through the silk blouse. She’s missing one of the buttons on her left sleeve, and I have no idea when that happened. Is she going to come down from the clouds and survey the scene, embarrassed? She’ll take in her disheveled clothes, her mussed hair, the uneducated lug on her sofa and will devise the politest, most tasteful way to ask me to please get the hell out of her house.
I wait for the words to fall from those full lips as she leans back and looks me in the eye.
“Dax,” she says. “I want you again.”
Chapter Five
Lisa
Dax gives me a startled look as he digests the words I’ve just spoken.
I want you again.
He stares at me for a few beats, seemingly at a loss for words. “I know you said some of this is new to you, but the male anatomy needs a little more time to—”
“I don’t mean right this second,” I say, waving aside the rest of his explanation. “I may be an uptight priss, but I’m not a virgin.”
He raises an eyebrow at me, and I feel awkward straddling his lap like this. Then I replay what he just suggested, and the awkwardness ratchets up. “Wait, did you think I was a virgin because I’m not very good at—at—at all this?”
I wave my hand again, hoping the gesture is enough to sum up what just happened here.
Like it could ever be enough.
Dax grins and grabs my wrist, then plants a kiss on my palm. He takes his time with it, sending a shiver that runs all the way from my hand to the point where our bodies are still joined. We should definitely get rid of the condom.
“Anyone ever accuse you of overthinking things?”
“Good Lord, yes,” I say. “I never stop thinking.”
He grins. “Smart girls are sexy as hell.” He plants another kiss on my palm. “Relax, Lisa,” he murmurs, and oddly enough, I do. “I didn’t peg you as a virgin, a priss, or a woman who doesn’t know how to fuck. You are none of those things.”
The word fuck rattles through me more pleasantly than it should, and I realize these walls have heard the word more times in the last hour than they have the entire time I’ve lived here.
It also occurs to me that I really should get off Dax’s lap. I try for solemn dignity, but feel ungainly as I swing one leg to the side and move back, smoothing my skirt down as I stand up. I do my best to straighten my blouse, making a vain attempt to tuck it back in before giving up and hurrying toward my bedroom.
“Give me just a minute to put myself back together,” I call over my shoulder as I slam the door behind me before turning to lean against it.
What the hell just happened?
Before I can stop it, a grin spreads across my face as I remember exactly what just happened. Every last detail, from Dax’s scruff against my throat to his hands on my ass to the thundering earthquake of orgasm. Orgasms.
Good Lord.
I can count on one hand the times Gary made me come more than once, and I’d have at least one finger left over. I use that finger now to make an obscene gesture in memory of that relationship and the asshole who left me standing there at the altar in my Vera Wang wedding gown and my Oscar de la Renta beaded peep-toes with—
Knock it off, I order myself. You just had the best sex of your life with a guy who’s the exact opposite of all that. Now get back out there and put the rest of the plan in action.
The rest of the plan is fuzzy in the back of my head, but it’s been percolating in my brain all evening. It begins to gel as I straighten my clothes, splash cool water on my face, and touch up my lip gloss.
When I return to the living room, Dax is standing in front of my stainless-steel wine chiller studying the bottles inside. It’s an impressive collection, with reds and whites in separate, temperature-controlled compartments. It’s one thing I fought for in my split with Gary, even though he kept the fancy house in the West Hills with the thousand-bottle underground wine cellar. This condo was mine to start with anyway, though I redecorated to remove any trace of Gary’s four-year influence on my life. I wanted something different.
I stare at Dax now. He’s certainly different.
“Hi,” I say.
Dax smiles at me, and I try to come up with something clever to say to the man who just banged me senseless.
“There’s an Evenstad Reserve from Domaine Serene in there,” I say.
Christ. Can I be a bigger snob?
But Dax just smiles. “I’ve only had the 2013, but I hear the 2014 was much oakier.”
I blink at him, dumbfounded. “It was sixty percent French Oak instead of fifty-seven. You know wine?”
The utter shock must be obvious on my face, and Dax straightens his shoulders.
He takes a step back from the wine chiller and holds my gaze, unblinking. “Sorry to kill your fantasy about having sex with a knuckle-dragging Neanderthal who can’t tell a decanter from a champagne flute and spells Cabernet with a K.”
“I—I—I never thought—”
“Yeah you did.” He gives me a small smile, and there’s no ice in his voice, but still. I can tell I hit a sore spot. I’m not sure what that’s about.
“Sorry,” I tell him, not sure what else to say.
“Not a problem,” he says. “It’s good to know wine for business, plus I happen to enjoy it.”
I glance away, embarrassed by my own assumptions. By the fact that I’ve judged him without really knowing him. It’s not the first time someone’s caught me in the act of being pretentious and judgmental, but it’s the first time it’s really stung. I start to swing my gaze back to Dax when it snags on his wallet upended on the floor. I stare for a few beats, pretty sure I’m seeing things.
“Holy shit.” I blink at the jet-black credit card fringed with silver, then look at Dax. “Who are you?”
He follows my gaze toward the couch, then gives a small, dry laugh. Taking his time, he ambles over and picks up his wallet. Then he walks back toward me, shoving cards and ID back in his wallet, but not that one. The black card he holds up, giving me a clearer view of it. I’ve never seen one up close.
“This? Is this what you mean?”
I nod, too surprised to play dumb. “I just—that’s an Amex Centurion Card. Isn’t it?”
He nods and shoves it back in his wallet. But I’ve already seen enough to know it’s the real deal. “Not to hang up on this or anything,” I say slowly, “but doesn’t that card have like a seventy-five hundred-dollar initiation fee and another twenty-five hundred in annual membership charges?”
He looks at me oddly. “Are you a banker?”
“No, but I almost married a stockbroker whose life’s ambition was to have one of those cards.”
Dax shrugs, not seeming too concerned. “I know you wanted to fuck a penniless dirtbag from the wrong side of the tracks,” he says. “If it makes you feel any better, that’s really where I come from.” He clears his throat. “And I really do know how to weld.”
And how to fuck, my brain adds, and I wonder when my subconscious started talking like a sailor.
I also wonder why he’s belaboring his point about my assumptions. “Look, I’ll admit I might have judged the book by the cover,” I say slowly. “But you have to admit you did the same thing with me.”
I have him there. I can tell by the way
his eyes narrow just a little, and I remember the conversation in the bar about grudge fucks. There’s a story behind that, but now’s not the time to push for it.
There’s something else I want.
I smooth my hands down my skirt, doing my best to regain my composure. “Let’s start again,” I say. “Thank you for the best sex of my life.”
He blinks, then starts to laugh so hard he grips the edge of the wine chiller to keep from doubling over.
“God, Lisa,” he says. “I’ve gotta hand it to you. You never say exactly what I expect you to.”
I’m not sure if that’s a compliment or insult, but it seems like a good sign he’s laughing.
“Right,” I say, wishing this were a little less awkward. “I wanted to propose something to you. Not marriage,” I clarify when I see him blanch. “Or a relationship of any kind, I promise. This is strictly a no-strings-attached kind of thing.”
His eyes glint with intrigue, and I take a step closer, thinking this conversation would be easier if we each had a glass of that damn Pinot Noir in hand. As I reach for the handle of the wine chiller, Dax catches my hand and lifts it to his mouth.
“Hey,” he murmurs. “You’re right—that was fucking amazing.”
I flush and try to mask how much that means to me. I’m used to people praising me for my skill at floral arranging or canapés or a hundred other things like that.
But not for crazyhawt monkey sex. He really looks like he means it.
I clear my throat and draw my hand back, grateful for the rush of cool air that hits me as I open the wine chiller. I take out the bottle and hold it up, pleased when he nods approval.
“Tell me where the glasses are,” he offers.
I direct him toward the hutch then busy myself opening the bottle and pouring it into a decanter. The whole thing feels so domestic. How do normal women conduct themselves after a casual hookup? I’ll have to ask my sister, Cassie.
When we’re finally seated back on the couch, I wait until he’s had his first sip to get down to business. “You enjoyed the sex?”
He sputters into his wineglass, then gives me a bemused nod. “Yes. Very much. Are we going to debrief now? Make a spreadsheet to highlight our favorite moves?”
The Test (The List series) Page 3