“The contest…”
“I'll keep a much closer eye on it,” she says, determination etched on her face. I’d tell her that she looks very much like Yossef, but she’d probably hit me. “We’re attracting a lot of publicity with this contest. I've used my contacts to line up a production company that’s willing to film it. If it gets out that the contest is being rigged, the fallout would be terrible.”
A young man walks into the pub, looks around, catches sight of Rana, and heads toward us. “Is that Luke?”
She turns around, and her face splits in a smile. “Yes.”
I get to my feet. “Good, I'll leave you with him. I've got to find Dakota.”
“Of course, you do,” Ronna says teasingly. “I noticed you couldn't take your eyes off her during the contest either.”
“Will you cut it out?” I throw a twenty on the table, and head to the bar. Vicki's playing bartender tonight. There's an apron hanging on the hook behind her.
An apron.
She thinks you sabotaged her. She’s not going to cook naked for you.
Yet, hope is all I have. I point to the garment. “Mind if I borrow this?” I ask Vicki.
She gives me a harried glance. It’s Saturday night, it’s busy, and they’re short-staffed. She has no time to ask questions. “Not at all.”
I grab it and make my way to Dakota's house. Taking a deep breath, I ring the doorbell.
She answers the door on the second ring. When she sees me, her expression turns stony. “What you want, Julian? You don’t need to interrupt your date to give me some bullshit lie about how you didn’t ruin my sauce.”
My date? She thinks that was a date? For the love of…
I unclench my jaw. “Rana is the daughter of an old friend. She is not a date. If you walk by the Madison Brewpub right now, you'll see her having a drink with her age-appropriate boyfriend Luke.”
Doubt flashes over her face. “She's very pretty.”
“She is nine years younger than me. When I first met her, she was fourteen, and I was twenty-three. She wore pigtails, for fuck’s sake. Dating her would be creepy.” I stare into her eyes. “Once again, there's only one woman I'm interested in.”
She bites her lower lip.
From the town gossip, I know her father walked out of her life when she was eleven. Eleven, I remind myself. I don’t have the greatest relationship with my parents—they’re a little too obsessed with the idea that their only child become a lawyer just like them—but though they weren’t perfect, they provided me a steady childhood. They showed up to track meets. They didn’t get up one morning and disappear.
Of course, she’s gun-shy. I would be too, if I were in her shoes.
“I was a little homesick this evening. My friend Ward was supposed to visit this weekend, but his job got in the way.” I don’t like being vulnerable. I push through the fear. “Most of the time, I’m happy about my decision to leave Toronto and move to Madison, but every once a while, I miss my old life. When Rana invited me to join her and Luke for a drink, I went because she’s part of the life I left behind.”
“Oh.”
There’s another reason. This is Victoria Day weekend. This time last year, Dakota and I had hooked up. Three hundred and sixty-five days later, I still can’t forget her. I can’t get over her.
I don’t want to.
“I didn't put sugar in your sauce. I know what happened with the chili flakes was an accident. I was trying to be funny; I failed.”
“Okay.”
Her expression gives nothing away. I should turn around and leave, but I stay. There’s no room for misunderstandings here. Dakota is too important to me. “Does that mean you accept I didn’t sabotage your sauce?”
She nods wordlessly.
“You trust that Rana and I weren’t on a date?”
This time, her reply is so soft that I can barely hear her. “Okay.”
I take another deep breath. She doesn’t know it, but every time I flirt with her, I’m putting my heart on the line. She has no idea how much power she holds over me.
Man up, King. Nothing ventured, nothing gained.
“Excellent.” I pull the apron out of my jacket pocket. “Because we had a wager, and I won.” I hold her gaze. “If you want to get out of it, I'll give you one chance. You can tell me you're too chicken to carry through your end of the deal, and I'll leave.”
I hold my breath and wait for her to reply.
She gives me a long look. Then she reaches for the apron. “Come on in, Julian.”
15
Dakota
Who am I kidding? Of course, I'm going to invite him in.
For a year, I've been fantasizing about Julian. For a year, I've wanted another night with him. I'm tired of fighting how I feel. I'm tired of pretending I don't want this.
When I thought that Rana and Julian were on a date, I’d been upset and jealous. I'm not the jealous sort. When it comes to Julian King, my emotions are topsy-turvy. All my rationality goes flying out of the window.
Why is that?
There was no reason to believe that Rana and Julian are an item, and I'd still assumed the worst. There was no reason to think that Julian would have sabotaged my sauce, and yet, that's where my mind went.
I know why. I’m running scared. I throw up these barriers to drive a wedge between us.
It’s too late. I’m already in too deep.
Tomorrow morning, I’ll start over. Tomorrow morning, I’ll push him away.
Tonight, I don’t have the strength. He’s at my door, holding an apron in his hands. He’s told me something real about himself. It's a chink in the armor of Julian's overwhelming self-confidence, and it makes him human.
It makes him irresistible.
“I have some ground rules,” I tell him. “This thing, whatever it is, it's just for tonight. It doesn't change anything between us. You and me, we’re still in competition for that restaurant permit. I intend to beat the crap out of you. Tomorrow morning, we wake up, and go our separate ways.
Something flickers in his expression. “Okay.”
He's standing in my living room. I don't know how to play this. Exactly a year ago, Julian King had been in my home, and I’d had the best sex of my life. More than that. Julian had been everything I wanted in a man.
A year later, that hasn’t changed. I want him with painful intensity. My emotions are too close to the surface. My heart is exposed, and I'm terrified. It feels like I'm standing at the edge of an abyss, and I'm about to fall into a pit from which I cannot emerge.
I'm a minute away from turning into a blubbering mess. I’m fighting the urge to cling to Julian and beg him to never leave me, and I can't stand how vulnerable I feel.
He thought I was brave and fearless. I'm anything but that. If he only knew what a coward I really was, the look of admiration in his eyes will change to disgust. If he knew how fucked up I really am, he’d sneak out in the middle of the night. Just like my father.
Keep it light. Make a joke. This is Julian, remember? You can never go wrong with a sausage pun.
“So, Julian.” I paste a bright smile on my face. “Are you going to stuff your sausage meat into my casing?”
He groans out loud. “That is a terrible line, sweetness.”
“Admit it. You can dish it out, but you can't take it.”
His lips twitch. “Take off your clothes, Dakota,” he says with characteristic directness.
I take the navy-blue Madison Brewpub apron from him, my insides quaking with nerves. “I thought you said it was red and frilly.”
“The one I bought online was, but it's also in my house. A fifteen-minute drive there, a fifteen-minute drive back.” His eyes rest on me. “I was too impatient.”
Warmth snakes through me. He wants me, and he's making no effort to pretend otherwise.
“Do you want a drink?”
“No more small talk, Wilde. I don't want a drink. I'm not hungry. Let's put our cards on the table.
If you change into that apron, I'm going to spend the night, and I'm going to fuck you so hard that you will have trouble walking tomorrow. If you don't want that, if we’re not on the same page about this, say the word, and I'll leave.”
I have to give it to Julian; he doesn’t play games. His straightforward honesty is… nice. Refreshing.
“You’re saying that the whole ‘cook naked for me and serve me wearing nothing but an apron’ was just a pretext to get me into bed?”
He lifts his shoulders in a shrug. “Wasn't that obvious? Come on, Dakota. You aren't that naïve. We both know exactly what that bet was about. I want you, and you want me. Let’s stop pretending.”
“You’re an arrogant asshole, King.”
He grins. “You love that about me, Wilde.”
As much as I hate to admit he’s right, I do like this about Julian. I never have to pretend with him. I don’t have to watch what I say, I don’t have to hold back the snark, because he can take it. I’ve always been myself around Julian King.
He's egotistical and conceited, but I never have to worry about protecting his fragile male ego. Julian is perfectly comfortable in his skin. He doesn't need me to clap adoringly and flutter my eyelashes at him to feel good about himself. His self-confidence is really, really attractive.
The night we slept together, I could tell him what turned me on. I told him how I liked to be touched, how hard I liked my nipples pinched. I told him he needed to pet my clit, coaxing it into the mood instead of going straight for it like a woodpecker tapping on a tree trunk. Not that he needed that last bit of instruction.
It had been the best sex of my life.
If Julian King is a drug, then I want another hit.
This is the moment of truth.
I lift my t-shirt over my head. I’m naked underneath.
Julian inhales sharply, his eyes hot with lust. Without taking his gaze off me, he shrugs off his jacket and throws it on my couch. He unbuttons his shirt, and his gorgeous, muscled chest comes into view.
“Your turn again,” he says. “Lose the pants, Wilde.”
“If you’re going to order me around like this, you better deliver.”
“I’ll deliver.” Not even a hint of doubt in his voice. He wags his fingers at me rebukingly. “Pants, Dakota.”
Grr. Glaring at him, I push them down my hips.
His eyes turn hungry. “For a year,” he murmurs. “I’ve been masturbating to the memory of you.” He moves closer, and runs his hands over me, sliding past my waist to grasp my hips. His touch feels like fire. “The memory was amazing. The reality is so much better.”
The way he’s looking at me. The raw edge of need in his voice. I’m defenseless here. Need ignites in my blood. My knees shake. Anticipation grips me in its greedy claws.
“Now you.” There’s a quiver in my voice. My throat is dry. I’m soaking wet. My thighs clamp together. I’m so close to the edge, and he hasn’t even touched me.
This makes no sense.
Nobody should have this much power over me.
He shrugs out of his jeans. His cock bulges obscenely. He’s hard. Ready.
I don’t want him. I need him.
“You unravel me, Dakota.”
His words are simple. They echo through my mind and wrap around my heart. I tear them away. One night. Just one night.
His eyes glint wickedly. “Those are very sexy panties,” he growls. “Black lace. Very sexy. You can either take them off, or I can tear them off you. Your choice.”
A full body shudder runs through me.
He gets naked. His cock is thick. Huge. Hung like a horse, I’d called it, and my memory hasn’t exaggerated. My eyes go round. I can’t tear my gaze away from him as I shimmy my panties down my hips.
“Like what you see?”
“Conceited jackass.”
He laughs quietly. “Admit it, sweetheart. You’re soaked for me, aren’t you?”
“Not even a little,” I lie.
“Liar.” He yanks me into his body. My breasts grind into his muscled chest, and I shiver in arousal at the power in his grip. “You’re telling me,” he murmurs into my ear, “that if I pushed my finger into that tight little pussy of yours, I won’t find you dripping?”
I double down. What can I say? I like to live dangerously. “That’s exactly what I’m saying.”
His lips tease the curve of my neck. His thumb strokes my pulse. Then his mouth closes over mine, possessive, forceful, claiming. I gasp, and the last tatters of my resistance melt away. I kiss him back, moaning as need wraps around me, my entire body prickling with desire. I wrap my arms around his neck and rub myself over his thick bulge.
I’m shameless.
I don’t care.
His tongue slides into my mouth, demanding entry. I yield. My lips feel swollen and bruised, and oh-so-sensitive. His hand tightens in my hair, tugging every so slightly. My scalp pricks with sharp needles of delicious pain. Forbidden heat floods through me, and I moan my arousal into his mouth.
I feel his kiss everywhere. Every nerve ending in my body comes alive. My toes curl, and my core tightens, and my body ignites.
He pulls back. His hot, hungry eyes bore into me. His nostrils flare. “I can smell your juices, Dakota,” he says. “You know what happens to bad girls who lie about how wet they are?”
He picks me up and carries me to my dining table. Wooden, heavy, and sturdy, it’s the first piece of adult furniture I bought when I moved into this house. “I wanted to do this last year,” he growls. He sets me down on the table. “Lie back, baby, and spread those legs for me. I can’t wait to taste you.”
A shiver wracks my body.
Oh God. He’s going to eat me out.
He’s going to eat me out on my dining table, and I’m powerless to resist.
His big hands lock on my knees. He spreads me open, and his hot, hungry gaze snaps to my pussy. “So fucking pretty,” he murmurs. His fingers glide up my calves. Slowly, deliberately, he inches higher.
I writhe on the table, restless with need. Hurry up, Julian.
He spanks the insides of my thighs. “If you don’t stay still, sweetness, I will tie you up.”
Raw heat blazes from his eyes. His voice is saturated with dark promise, pouring gasoline on the flames of my arousal. I shiver again, ablaze with anticipation. “Julian,” I whimper.
He gives me a smile of smug male satisfaction. “Yes, Dakota?”
Grr. I fall stubbornly silent, and he laughs at me.
I’m about to get off the table and march upstairs. I own a vibrator, damn it. I don’t need to beg him for an orgasm.
Then his thumb presses against my aching clit. My back arches; I cry out. His touch sends me reeling.
Oh God.
Fuck the vibrator.
I’ll never admit it to him, but this is so much better.
Julian’s fingers shove deep into me. He strokes in and out of my pussy, his thumb pressing unerringly on my clit. Shivers wrack my body. I squirm on the table; I moan out loud. Intense need surges through me.
I feel the orgasm build at the edges.
I’m going to come so hard.
Then I feel his tongue swipes between my folds, and my arousal ratchets higher. Dangerously higher.
His mouth plunders me. His tongue dances over my aching, throbbing clit, exactly the way I like it. The speed is perfect. The pressure is magical.
Every muscle of my body clenches as I hurtle toward climax.
“Ask for it.” His growl shocks me out of my haze of desire. “You want to come, you’ll ask for permission.”
I’m too far gone to flip him off. The need claws at me now, a wild animal tugging at its leash. Any second, it’s going to break free and overwhelm me. Any second, this tsunami of pleasure is going to tug me under.
“Please…”
“Fuck, yes.” His voice is ragged. He lifts his head, and I can see raw need in his eyes. He’s making no effort to hide how much he wants me. “You
have no idea how much I needed to hear that, sweetness.” His gaze softens. “Come for me, Dakota.”
I explode for him, shaking, writhing, moaning as I shatter over the edge. Fireworks explode. I drown in pleasure, gasping for more.
Julian’s mouth stays on me. His talented fingers and mouth tease every quiver out of me, every moan, every shiver, until I can’t stand it anymore. He changes position, looming over me, his fat cock nudging my lips.
“Open wide, baby.”
Oh God, yes. I moan and lick my lips, wicked heat shuddering through my body. I want his cock down my throat. I want him to shove himself in my mouth and take his pleasure. I want to wreck him the way he wrecked me.
This angle, with him standing over me, I’m helpless to control how deep he plunges. Helpless to control how fast he thrusts. Thinking about it makes my insides twist and ache.
It’s just one night, Dakota. Don’t get used to this.
I swallow back the lump in my throat. “You want me to choke on your sausage?”
He groans. “Terrible,” he says. “Wrap those pretty little lips around my cock, baby. Take me deep.”
My tongue wets my lips. I open for him, and his fat head slide into my mouth. He throws his head back and groans, pleasure etched on his face.
That look on his face? It’s because of me. Because of what I’m doing to him.
I take him deeper. His fingers find my nipples, and he tweaks them hard. I whimper around his thick erection. He remembers exactly how I like it. He’s not being gentle; he’s not holding back.
Tomorrow morning, when I put on my bra, I’ll remember this moment.
When Julian King thrust down my throat and pinched my nipples hard enough to bruise them.
I keep my gaze on him. Opening my mouth wide, I take him as deep as I can, and his eyes blaze with heat. Over and over, he thrusts into my mouth, and I take him.
I feel naughty. Wicked. Powerful.
“Fuck,” he snarls, pulling away. He’s shaking. His control’s hanging on by a very thin thread. “Oh no, Dakota. As wonderful as it sounds, I’m not coming down your throat. I’ve waited a year to sink into that hot, tight pussy, baby.”
Sausage King: An Enemies to Lovers Romantic Comedy Page 9