Crazy About Curves: 10 Luscious Reads

by Adriana Hunter

  His gaze jumped from my face to my pussy, his head dipping occasionally to roughly kiss me, his tongue an invading force not to be denied.

  I froze, my ass hovering half a foot above the seat cushion, my legs and torso vibrating with the strength of my release.

  “Blake!”

  “Pippa, love.” He squeezed my mound, his mouth claiming mine again. More rhythmic squeezes followed, extending my pleasure, leaving me gasping for air between his kisses. “Beautiful, baby. So fucking beautiful and all mine.”

  Dessert

  I was so lost in Blake's touch that I failed to notice it was not my home we were driving to but his Manhattan penthouse. Tucked against his shoulder, I realized the limo was pulling into an underground garage.

  I lifted my head to look at him, certain my gaze was wide-eyed and terrified. “Why are we here?”

  “Really, Pippa.” Pulling the hem of my dress back down and smoothing the fabric, Blake hesitated. “Am I supposed to be the kind of man who would propose to his fiancée and then not immediately spend the night with her?”

  Damn it—he was throwing his brand back at me again. Worse than that, he was right. “What do you mean, spend the night?”

  He laughed, brushed his cheek against mine and whispered, “Relax. It's just for show, baby.”

  The vibration running through his throat didn't sound like this was for show. He sounded famished. When he looked at me again, his gaze sized me up like I was a slab of prime rib.

  I didn’t know what to believe!

  Still, I couldn't argue with his logic, nor could I escape the fact that leaving his place now that he'd brought me here would be disastrous if anyone noticed. I let him lead me from the limousine to the private elevator. The doors opened onto a small foyer with two chairs, a side table and a heavy oak door with a deadbolt.

  Blake fished a key from his pocket, reached inside and punched a code into the security system. I took a step forward, but he halted me with a light touch on my shoulder.

  “Let's do this right.” He bent down, one arm braced against my lower back while the other gently knocked my legs out from under me, impressing me once again with his strength. He lifted me, then stepped inside and thumbed the lock on the deadbolt.

  “What-what are you doing?” I tried to swing my legs down, but he only lifted me higher, throwing me off balance so that I had to wrap my arms around his neck to keep from landing us both on the floor.

  “Taking you to my—our—bed.”

  Mortified, I buried my face against his chest.

  Blake chuckled. “Aren't you tired, baby?”

  Tired? Yeah, right!

  Sleep was the last thing Cross had on his mind. He placed me center of the mattress and stripped the strappy silver sandals from my feet. Gray eyes flashing like polished gun metal, he climbed up the bed, pushing the bottom of the tube dress up.

  Exposing my soaked panties, he brushed his lip over the fabric. “God, I wanted to taste you so bad in the limo, PJ.”

  My stomach clenched—this time with nerves. The limo had been dark, just the faint glow of the back seat electronics and two small floor lights illuminating me. Here, the room’s light on, every last roll and dimple of flesh was exposed.

  I tried to push the hem down.

  He captured my hands and held them against the mattress as he nosed the fabric back up. “Baby, you are not hiding this from me.” He took a gentle bite of my thigh. “I want to see every last, luscious inch you have to offer before I taste you.”

  Releasing my wrists, he untied the wrap and then he pressed down on the mattress to create a small pocket of space. He slid his hands under me, his agile fingers working to unzip the dress. He stripped it and the wrap off, tugging both up over my pliant arms to leave me trembling in just my panties.

  I watched his face, knowing my gaze was anxious as hell but unable to pretend otherwise. He licked his lips, first the bottom and then the top, everything in slow motion as his gaze darted, then lingered, then darted again to take all of me in.

  His attention settled at last on my breasts. His mouth descended, releasing a soft moan before he latched onto one straining nipple. The massage of his hands along my hips turned to tugs as he stripped the panties from me.

  “Blake—” I choked down an excited groan as the suction on my nipple intensified. “Blake, you said we'd talk about this with your attorney...”

  Releasing my breast with a wet pop, he looked up as he slid down my body. A famished grin broke across his face. Lifting a brow, he looked down at the wet parting of my thighs. His tongue snaked out to wet his top, then bottom, lip again as he slowly shook his head side to side.

  “No, baby.” His head dipped lower, his nose brushing the line of my cunt before his hot gaze pinned me to the mattress. “I said we'd talk about 'that'—T-H-A-T.”

  He took his first slow lick, groaning as his eyes fluttered shut. “I never said we'd talk about 'this.'”

  Pleasure whipped through me as his lips settled against my clit. He sucked the swollen dangle of flesh into his mouth. His tongue traced tight circles. I convulsed, my flesh already hypersensitive from the orgasm he'd delivered in the back seat of his limousine.

  “Blake...” I brought my hands down to the black tangle of curls crowning his head, intent on pushing him away. Another exquisitely long lick of his tongue from the top of my clit down to my quivering hole changed my mind and left me knotting my fingers in his thick hair.

  His hands followed his tongue, the tips of his fingers dragging inside me against the back of my clit in a little “come here” gesture that had me swooning and moaning his name. He repeated the motion, his tongue teasing the glans hiding under the hood of my clit at the same time.

  He was going to make me come again, just as hard as the first time. It was an alien sensation—not the climax, but at the hands of a man. I had allowed few lovers into my bed and, apparently, Blake was right. They’d been amateurs. Selfish amateurs, their critical gazes comparing me to the women who had dumped them and finding me not worth their time to please. Dive in, pump a few times and get the hell out.

  Not Blake. He took his time. All part of his brand—customer satisfaction and a famous, meticulous attention to detail. He nibbled, sucked, stroked, his gaze raking my flesh before locking on my face.

  Holy fuck—I was not going to NOT enjoy this, not when he was looking at me like that, his expression fierce as he devoured my cunt, licking, slurping, driving me right up and over the edge.

  I tightened around his fingers, trying to halt the onrush of my climax. Blake pushed deeper, three fingers wide as his shoulders wedged my thighs open. My ass lifted from the mattress, my pussy cresting against his mouth as he delivered another deep stroke. My stomach rippled, the muscles of my pussy causing it to roll up and down as the rest of my body locked in place.

  His hand took up a steady rhythm, his tongue and lips matching the pace as the first wave of my climax slammed through me. I cried out, my palms thrust open and pressing down on his skull.

  “Yes, Blake...oh...right there...”

  Right. Fucking. There.

  Another wave slammed through me, faster and harder than the first. The undertow tugged at my hips, pulling me down for a second before the next wave buoyed me back up. His name ripped from my throat one last time before I collapsed in a shuddering, sticky mess of ecstasy.

  Blake surged up the mattress. He rolled me onto my side, his chest pressed against my back. He was still clothed, only his shoes abandoned. I gripped the side of his pant leg, my nails threatening to shred the fabric as my ass bounced against his cock.

  “Shhh, baby.” He reached around, cupping and squeezing my mound in an effort to control me. His teeth scraped along my neck before gently biting down. “You can't keep moving like that, Pippa.”

  He squeezed again, his fingers dipping into the wet pulse of my hole to trace the ring of muscle as I groaned into the pillow. “You keep moving against me and I'm going to tak
e you—right now.”

  I wanted him to take me, could feel through the cloth how thick and hard he was. I wiggled my ass, pressed it tighter against him.

  “No baby.” His breath vibrated hot along my throat as a shudder rolled through him.

  “Blake...please.” A whimper, a wiggle. I tried to reach between our bodies to find and palm his cock, to stroke the hard shaft until his will crumbled and he was buried balls deep inside me.

  He captured my wrists, brought my hands up to cross my breasts as he threw a leg over my lower body.

  “I promised you, love, you're in good hands. Don't make me break my word.”

  I tried to do just that but, in the end, he wrestled me into submission. Fatigue claimed me soon afterwards and I slept through to morning, waking to find a single rose on the pillow beside me and a fresh change of clothes.

  A Long Line of Women

  The clothes were a perfect fit and further evidence that he’d shopped in advance of coming to my office the day before. The pale gray skirt was loose flowing. He had paired it with an equally pale pink blouse with full sleeves and a plunging neckline. Pink lace bra and panties for underneath and gray suede flat-heeled pumps, finished the outfit.

  The master bathroom was stocked with unopened toiletries and cosmetics. For the makeup, there was one each of the major brands. The thoughtfulness seemed excessive, but then I wondered if he kept it supplied for the line of women he likely had over the course of the average week.

  “Ick.” I stepped into the shower, turning the water on cold and letting it stream over me until the queasiness passed. Switching to hot, I quickly finished. I wasn’t sure what time it was and my flesh was still sensitive from where he had so thoroughly touched me.

  Dried and dressed, I went in search of my purse and Cross—or at least a note from him. He was as notorious for being in the office before eight as he was for anything else.

  “Good morning, Miss Jones.”

  I froze, like a drunk waking up in the wrong house or a thief discovering the homeowner wasn't on vacation. Slowly, I turned to find a woman in her mid-fifties smiling at me. She had a tray and what looked like a cup of coffee from all the steam rising up from it.

  “Mr. Cross said you take it black. Would you like some breakfast?”

  I looked at the clock a few feet to her right. It was almost ten. I had slept very late, the first full night of sleep I’d had since my discovery of Gorman's theft. I was surprised by how well I had slept. While Blake’s money meant I would be able to keep the business afloat while I sorted out the mess, the deal came with its own set of problems that should have kept me awake through the night.

  That is, if Blake hadn’t kissed and sucked and licked me to post-climactic slumber. Falling asleep the night before, I had felt like I was floating in his arms, his strong, masculine scent surrounding me and making me feel safe.

  I shook my head—I was anything but safe around Blake Cross. “I really need to get into my office—they probably think I've been kidnapped or something.”

  “Oh, I think your employees know where you're at.”

  Her tone had been completely innocent but reality slammed into me.

  The Post!

  “Do you have the morning paper?”

  She hesitated a second and then shook her head.

  “Was it that bad?” My stomach clenching, I started to look around for my clutch. “I really need to get into the office.”

  What I really needed was get to a paper or the browser on my phone and find out just what horrid things they’d printed on Page Six.

  Her face went all funny and I knew at that moment she was a woman who had been raised not only to be truthful but to keep her mouth shut if there was nothing good to report. Not answering my question, she turned and guided me with a tilt of her head and the disappearing cup of coffee into the next room. She set the tray down on a massive mahogany desktop, and picked up an envelope.

  Handing it to me, she nodded at my clothes.

  “Stunning outfit.” She followed the envelope with a warm mug of coffee that she pressed into my hand. “I would wager Mr. Cross picked it out himself. I'm Abigail, by the way.”

  Thanking her, I took a sip. Sumatra Black Satin Roast—I kept fresh beans on hand at the firm for Blake's visits. Abigail handed me a small ivory card with her name printed above a cell phone number and email.

  “Anything you want me to pick up for the kitchen, bathrooms—whatever will make your stay more comfortable, just send me a little message and it's done.” She covered my stunned silence with an efficient grace. “I didn’t know what to buy for the bathroom yesterday, so I got a little bit of everything. Whatever you don’t want I’ll take to the women’s shelter.”

  Opening the envelope, my gaze skipped over the rows of books lining the walls. Business, finance, design, art, psychology, tactical warfare. Not a volume of fiction or biographies that I could see.

  “I'm surprised it's not all digital.” I nodded at the books as I shook out three keys. The first I recognized as my own. I assumed the second two were for the elevator and deadbolt to the penthouse. A sheet of paper held security codes and an address and time for the meeting with Blake's attorney to go over the prenuptial agreement.

  Abigail pulled a book down from the nearest shelf and let it fall open to a well-worn page. “He'd have to get someone to transpose his notes first.”

  She handed me the book and I looked inside to find margin after margin filled with the same bold hand that had written down the attorney's address. She practically beamed at me.

  “He didn't finish his degree but he could teach all those fancy MBAs a great deal more than a thing or two.”

  I nodded. I knew Blake's history—on paper at least. Out of money, his father and grandmother dead, his mother long gone from his life, he'd quit college in the middle of his third year. He then sold pretty much everything he had to make samples of his first product. From there, he went from boutique to boutique, coaxing pre-orders out of the owners, most of them women unable to resist the charming, dead sexy twenty-something.

  With the orders in hand, he sold a note on the receivables for half the value just to buy the material to fill them. Day after day he'd kept pushing that snowball up the hill, hoping it wouldn't finally roll back down and crush him.

  I turned back to Abigail to find her moist-eyed and smiling. She reached forward, her hand brushing my shoulder for an instant before she dabbed at her eyes. My confusion must have shown in my face.

  “I'm just so happy Mr. Cross has fallen in love. Seven years I've worked for him and...” She looked up, shook her head as if she was asking the Lord to have mercy on Blake Cross.

  “A lot of women have passed through, I know.”

  “Come now, you've seen through that facade of his or you wouldn't be marrying him.” Abigail laughed, shook her head again. “I just knew something was up, all the questions he’s been asking...would you believe I even found him reading an issue of Cosmo that wasn’t about him!”

  I smiled. She had a soft spot for him, a mother's blindness almost. If the Blake Cross the rest of the world knew was reading Cosmo, it was because of the cleavage on the front. Still, I was curious. “What kind of questions?”

  “Oh, you know!” She waved a hand at me and started moving around the room, straightening the rows of books. “Like when did I first know I was actually in love with my husband, what drew me to him...all of a sudden Mr. Cross went from having business on his mind 24/7 to love. It was like stepping into a room where a tiger has been living and finding a puppy has taken over. Adorable, really.”

  Abigail looked me over, her gaze approving as a fresh smile lit her face. “I can see why he is so taken with you, too, if you don't mind my saying.”

  She was either mistaken as to Blake’s feelings or the identity of the woman with whom he had fallen in love. Some masochistic streak had me itching to know which it was. “And when did you first suspect this?”

 
; “Oh, a good six months I'd say.”

  I swallowed the number down, its texture like broken glass sliding through my throat to slice open my stomach, my guts falling onto Blake’s polished slate floor. It was six months ago that Anna Burke had turned in her resignation.

  Last night in the limo and in his bedroom flashed through my mind. I'd enjoyed every second of his touch but it had been a slow building consent. He didn't ask if he could kiss me or put his hand on my thigh—he just did. Was that it? Had Blake confessed his love to Anna Burke, his hands and mouth roaming her body until she'd been forced to turn in her resignation to escape his advances?

  An image of the sleek, towering blonde rose up in my mind. Hair extensions, false eyelashes, surgically enlarged breasts—she had a harsh couture appeal, beautiful even if one had an aversion to artifice.

  Frowning, I tried to think the scenario through. It wasn't that I couldn't imagine Blake lusting after Anna. Hell, he’d been all over me last night and I wasn’t even his type. It was just that I couldn't imagine her turning him down. Maybe I was projecting my own desires, but even if she didn’t find him handsome and absolutely thrilling, Blake definitely had something Anna found irresistible.

  Money.

  Lots and lots of money.

  “Is anything wrong, Miss Jones?” Abigail stared at me, her brows knitting together as she pressed one hand against her chest.

  Realizing I was scowling, I forced a smile onto my face. I flashed the sheet of paper with the attorney's address on it. “I'm just worried I'll be late for the appointment, I need to call a cab. And please, I'd prefer it if you call me Pippa.”

  “Oh, is that all, dear?” She waved her hand at me. “The limo is parked downstairs, at your disposal. No more smelly New York cabs for you!”

  She was right. No more cabs—at least until Blake no longer needed me in his little war against Anna Burke.

  Sign on the Dotted Line

  The drive to the attorney’s office was a long one. My cell phone wouldn’t pull up a data signal and Carson politely told me he was under strict orders not to stop for anything once we left Blake’s building.