by Elle Luckett
“I want you to touch me,” I whispered with more confidence than I felt.
Mark raised his brows at me.
“I need to feel your hands on me,” I reiterated breathlessly. There was no misunderstanding about where I wanted him to touch me, and the heat in his eyes told me he'd figured that out.
“You're not ready for me to touch you.”
I wasn't sure I agreed with him. I could think of nothing I wanted more at that moment. The insistent pulse in my clit and tightness that resided deep inside of me seemed to back me up.
“You're not ready,” Mark said again.
“Can we try?”
“No.”
“Mark.” The longing in my voice had me pausing before my need for more erased the thought.
Mark grunted and tucked himself back in his pants before rising and tossing the tissue he'd used into the trashcan. He made his way to the bed, his hand reaching out, knuckles gently running down my flushed cheek.
“Please.”
Rather than respond verbally, Mark's gentle touch moved from my face, and he gripped my hair roughly, pulling my head back so I was looking right at him. I stiffened. The sudden switch from gentle to rough made that neediness freeze and forced a chill to paint my flesh.
“You're not ready, Zara,” he replied softly, studying my eyes. The contrast between rough and gentle, only serving to confuse me further. Mark released his grip on my hair, then he swept my body into his arms as he dropped to the bed. I panicked only for a moment before he pulled me into his lap, his arms wound tightly around me. The comfort was something I hadn't known I'd needed until he'd given it to me.
“Healing takes time, little bird,” he offered gently, fingers tugging on the ends of my hair. “When I fuck you, I want you to feel it all. I want you to enjoy it, and when you scream my name again, it will be because you're thinking of nothing and nobody but me.”
The less petulant part of me knew he was right. If he touched me now, even as much as I longed for him, there was a chance that panic would push my mind back to the last time a man had taken what he'd wanted without my permission.
“You did well tonight. Don't push yourself too far too fast.” Mark rubbed his cheek against the top of my head affectionately. “But feel free to touch yourself again and keep me in mind while you do. Imagine me between your thighs, the heat of my breath on your pussy as my tongue seeks to taste you.”
“Oh, God.”
I could feel his smile against me.
“How many of my fingers could you take as I hunt down every little trigger in that beautiful pussy of yours? Are you tight? Would my cock stretch you wide?” He nuzzled against me until his lips brushed my earlobe, and my hips rolled, seeking friction. “The things I could do to your body, Zara. Whatever your imagination can conceive, just know, I will do better. I will go further. I will have you on your knees, begging for more.”
I already wanted it all, but the purr coming from him was making my skin flush and my nerves sing. On his lap, my legs fell apart, and the cool air against my damp folds made me shiver.
“Are you brave enough to make yourself come again while I'm this close?”
“I…” wanted to say I was halfway there already. I wanted to beg Mark to help. I wanted… I just wasn't sure I could follow through yet. “I want to try.”
“Good girl.”
My eyes slid closed at the odd sentiment of praise. It made its presence known everywhere. This was going to be a long night.
The smell on the sheets wasn't familiar when I stirred the next morning. It took me a while to remember where I was and who the body next to me belonged to. The panic began to rise in me until a gentle touch of rough fingers traced my hairline.
“You're safe with me.” Mark breathed calmly. I hated how easy I was to read—how predictable my reactions were.
My eyes were still closed, but the heat of his breath against my lips was there, and a whole different set of alarm bells went off. My eyes fluttered open as my hand slapped over my lips between us.
“What are you doing?” I asked from behind the protective barrier of my palm.
“I was going to kiss you,” Mark replied, eyes full of amusement.
“Before I brushed my teeth?”
“I could kiss you somewhere else.”
My hand twitched, as did that itch deep inside me that was screaming to be scratched again. I'd been the only one touching myself all night, and I was still in my dress, but he had been there, holding me, whispering to me, guiding me with his words in the most sensual and dirty way imaginable.
“Liar,” I teased.
“I don't think you'd mind so much anymore.” To punctuate his point, one of his hands slipped down over my belly, sliding under the split of my skirt before cupping my sex, his middle finger resting against my awakening clit. Rather than stiffen in fear, I melted into the mattress below me. With my brain and body focused on his fingers, my hand fell away from my mouth. That moment was all it took for his lips to crash against mine.
The kiss was aggressive and demanding, his lips taking control and guiding mine open so he could steal more and go deeper. When he pressed his finger against my clit, my back arched and my legs spread like butterfly wings, seeking more of his touch.
Mark obliged, his finger circling over the nerves until my stomach tightened with eager arousal, while his mouth assaulted mine in a violent appreciation. There was a cold spot somewhere in the back of my brain that was trying its best to spread, and it was impossible to breathe through it with Mark assaulting my mouth in sensual sweeps of his tongue and more pressure from his fingers. The tendrils of panic began to slide outward, but I ignored them, throwing my arms around his shoulders and pulling him closer.
I wanted more.
I wanted him.
I didn't want to give in to the panic anymore.
It was my body's betrayal that gave me away, and Mark slowed, his hand moving to my hips, lips pulling back just enough to rest against mine.
“One moment at a time.”
“Don't stop,” I whined.
Running his tongue along my bottom lip, Mark let his hand slide over to the chilled sheets to mine, his fingers circling my wrist gently as his lips curved. “If you don't want to stop, we can always shift your focus.”
“What…?” The rest of the sentence fell away as my hand pressed against his very prevalent erection. The heat from him had my hand circling, and instinct took over from there. My fingers traced the veins in a gentle slide as my eyes rose to meet his. Heat and arousal met me, even as his teeth sank into my bottom lip and bit down.
Taking my time, I explored every inch of his thick erection in gentle touches and slides of my fingers. My breath caught with his as my thumb brushed the head and felt that pearl of dampness.
My fingers curled around his length and worked him in slow strokes as the biting turned to another deep kiss, our eyes still locked together. Base to tip I stroked, a gentle twist of my wrist forcing his breath to come faster, while I fell deeper into the moment and watched the color of his eyes darken into a steely storm.
It wasn't long until his hips rose, and the two of us moved together. He fucked my hand in the same dominating way he did everything, but I never relinquished full control to him, my hand teasing and slowing when he pumped into it with rising arousal and tensed muscles. Every twitch and pulse of his cock in my grip was felt. I heard every grunt of satisfaction and growl of guidance, and I devoured the taste of his lips on mine as I pleasured him. My flesh felt alive, his pleasure like my own, and every stroke against the satin length of his cock made my own arousal and excitement rise, until our kisses were fused with breathless pants and moans for more, and faster.
Mark's hand covered mine when he got close. It wasn't the hand that worked his cock, but the other that was between my thighs, my fingers pumping inside me along with his.
Inside me... his fingers were inside me.
“Focus on me,” he demand
ed, moving his hips, so his cock rode the length of my stilled hand.
His command was all it took. The hardness of him in my hand was enough, and I focused on the tightness of satin around steel as we worked together in unison. I lost myself in the feel of him, the sound of him, and the tightening of my body as I met his eyes again.
“You're so fucking tight,” he said against my lips before biting and tugging on them with his teeth. “You're going to feel every inch of me when I fuck you, Zara.”
“Yes,” I whimpered.
“You want that.”
“Yes.”
Mark bit my lip harder and growled.
“Not today, little bird.”
“But…”
“You're going to come. You're going to come, and then you're going to put that sweet mouth around my cock.” He curled his finger inside me, making my whole body shudder, while my grip tightened in my downward stroke around him.
“Yes.”
“What's the safe word?”
“Red,” I said, stuttering off as his fingers twisted in the same motion as my hand. “And y-yellow.”
Pressing against my clit with his thumb, Mark stroked a place that felt so deep inside of me; my body jerked in a slow wave as white flashed behind my vision, and the earth fell apart around me.
There was no time to recover from the orgasm. In one of his smooth movements, Mark was straddling my legs, and his hand was in my hair holding me up while the blunt head of his cock pressed against my lips. I opened my mouth without question, gagging when his dick hit the back of my throat in one rough thrust.
It wasn't romantic.
It wasn't gentle.
With his hand in my hair, Mark guided me along the length of his cock and took control back as he fucked my mouth.
I didn't have time to think about anything but breathing, and the taste of him against my tongue. I kept my eyes open and on his as he stared down at me with determination and trust. One of my hands gripped his thighs to steady myself, while the other cupped his balls, stroking and squeezing.
The moment he tightened, I braced for the thrust that would come, and tried my best to relax my throat as he swung his hips and pushed deep, emptying himself into me with his eyes on mine and grunt of pleasure on his lips. He left me feeling more satisfied than I thought possible.
“You take direction well.”
I couldn't answer while he was still in my mouth. My tongue still cradled him, tracing his length as he pulled back with deliberate ease. I flicked the tip of his cock before he slid free and released his grip on my hair.
“When you're ready. I'm going fuck every hole you have.”
“I…”
“You're going to enjoy it, little bird.”
“I don't doubt that,” I whispered hoarsely, my throat aching from the pleasurable abuse it had just taken.
Mark brushed his fingers along my hairline from my forehead down to my ears, where he tucked the loose strands away and studied my face with rapt satisfaction. I wasn't sure what he was looking for; I wasn't sure I cared. My body ached, my muscles were trembling, and I didn’t know if I wanted to sleep wrapped around him like a kitten or climb to the roof and announce just how damn amazing I was feeling.
Chapter Eleven
“You're late.” Lane teased, heading down the corridor from her office. I'd barely had a moment to sit my ass down at my desk, but this was a non-verbal command for me to follow her. Walking communication seemed to be something she did in the club. She was always on the go, which meant conversations were had while she moved between destinations.
I chased after her, my new heels pinching slightly as I walked faster than they were designed to move.
“What's up?”
“You didn't come home last night.”
“Were you expecting me to?” I asked, finally keeping pace by her side. “And how the hell do you know? Weren't you on a date?” The corner of Lane's lips tipped up in a subtle smile, answering my question. “You came home for a shower this morning.”
“Did you?”
“Am I wearing a black dress?”
Lane's smile grew. “Tell me everything.”
My smile suddenly matched hers. “Did you know Mark owns restaurants?”
“Some of the best in New Orleans,” she responded, a hint of pride in her voice as she dropped a folder into one of the racks we passed. “I think he was up for an award of some kind. It was a big deal. There was a mention of a Michelin star, but they don't reward them to restaurants outside of New York or San Francisco.”
I had no idea what that meant, but it sounded like a big deal, and a flutter of pride brushed through me unexpectedly. I barely knew the guy, and here I was, proud of his achievements. Talk about fools rushing in.
“He has four in the French Quarter, each offering something slightly different. Did he take you to La Reine Bayou?”
I nodded.
“He's really trying to impress you.”
He hadn't needed to take me to one of his restaurants to do that. Being in that bed with him, touching him so intimately, and trusting him not to hurt me… that had been all I'd needed to be impressed by him.
“My God, you're smitten.”
“No,” I said too quickly to be interpreted as anything but defensive. I brushed my palm over my forehead, took a breath, and started again. “Let me try that once more. I'm not sure I can be that objective about what I'm feeling after last night. He…” I trailed off again.
“You had sex?”
“No.” I smiled goofily and shook my head. “We didn't. He said I wasn't ready.”
“If you didn't sleep with him, why do you look so satisfied?”
I drew in a long breath and held it before releasing it in a long stream. “He helped me overcome a couple of hurdles.”
“Tell me.”
“Lane,” I said, the last syllable of her name coming out on a chuckle.
“You're terrible at this girl talk stuff.”
“Hey! I'm out of practice. What's your excuse?”
The smile faded from Lane's lips immediately, and I regretted my words. There was no way to know that I'd just stepped onto a landmine. Lane never really spoke about her time with Thomas. She'd held it to her chest for so long I wasn't sure she knew how to let go of it. She was also convinced there was a limit on their time together.
“I'm sorry.”
“No,” she said, a shadow of her former smile returning. “At this point, I think I'm too afraid to explain how things are between us. He's… he's incredible. It's like he knows what I need before I do these days, but he's always holding himself back. There are parts of us that just don't align.”
“They could.”
Lane shook her head, lips falling into a thin line. I remembered that look from my childhood. That was the I'm done talking about this face she'd used on me more times than I could count.
“Anyway,” I said, nudging us in a different direction. “We ended up at Mark's place last night.”
“He took you home with him?” I nodded, waiting for her to go on. “That's interesting. I don't think many people know where he lives.”
“His place is stunning.”
“That's what Thomas said. He described it as New Orleans charm meets New York Chic.”
“He'd know better than I would. I was just kinda stunned. It has three floors and three kitchens. He told me how many bedrooms and bathrooms, but I think my brain switched off at that point. It has a wow factor to it.”
“Three kitchens?”
I snorted. “I know.”
“How many of his bedrooms did you see?”
With the mood lightening again, I gave her a gentle push and stopped walking. I'd spotted the club's theme rooms ahead of us, and it was time for me to turn back.
“I only needed to see one.” I held up one finger and grinned, spinning on my heel as she groaned in a way only a sister could.
It was a good day at work. Things mostly went smooth
ly in the club because Lane wouldn't have it any other way, but there were always interesting fires to put out. No matter how much control my sister had over the business, people were a variable she couldn't regulate, especially when a lot of those variables were dominant human beings with a stubborn streak and an I know better attitude.
In the weeks that I'd worked there, I'd only been intimidated into doing something they thought was better twice. The first had been a dominatrix who had insisted she'd needed a private room with a window facing Bourbon Street—something I later learned was impossible as there were only two and they belonged to the Hayward brothers. The second was caught trying to extract a number for one of the subs from me—something Lane had walked in on at just the right time. I hadn't been about to give it to him, but I had been close to crying. Some of them seemed to forget their mental strength.
I must have run around the place all day. My feet were sore, and my hair was falling free of the ponytail I'd swept it into sometime in the afternoon. I was happy to step into the humid heat of the Louisiana streets at the end of my shift, the thick air already feeling like home as I headed toward Lane's apartment building. The night was already in full swing, the smell of alcohol and spices filling the air, the acrid smell of less favorable parts of the city dancing around the edges as a constant reminder that the party was just getting started. I didn't think there was anything in the world that could prepare you for the volume and confusion of sound that comes from Bourbon Street. It's a layered symphony of music, the creole, jazz, rock, country, and electronica sounds all banding together with people yelling, club promoters making promises, people talking over the sheer volume, and of course, the city behind it. There was nowhere else like it in the world, and some nights I found myself drawn to it. Walking through the madness on my way home just to be a part of something so alive.
Tonight was one of those nights. I was so awake inside; I needed to feel it on my skin. I needed my ears to pound with the too-loud noises and that strange amalgamation of smells swirling around me.