“Open baby. I’ve been thinking about how sweet you’d taste all night.”
She barely contained a gasp at the words. No one had ever said something so bold to her before. It scared her how much it turned her on, how out of control she felt. How under his control. Her hands settled on top of his where they rested on her knees, stilling his actions before she forgot to stop him.
He seemed to sense her panic, leaning back on his ankles, his hands sliding away, leaving her wishing for them back. “It’s your fantasy, your rules. Tell me what you want.”
She bit her bottom lip. She wanted his hands back. She wanted…She knew what she wanted and, damn it, she would not be afraid to ask for it. She lifted her hips before she lost her courage, and slid her panties off, then reached for his hand and pressed them into his palm. “You forgot to take these off first,” she stated, amazed and pleased at the confident, sexy voice she issued the reprimand in.
Hunger—deep, dark and profoundly male—slid across his face, and she reveled at her achievement of having put it there. She shifted her skirt aside and opened her knees. “Now, where were we?”
With a look of pure, primal lust etching his chiseled face, he eased out of his jacket and tossed it aside. A slow, sensual smile slid onto his firm lips. “The part where I become your conquest, I believe.”
He wasted no time getting to work on her pleasure. His palms pressed a path up her legs, his thumbs teasing her sensitive inner thighs.
His body followed the path his hands were taking, his hips spreading her wider. She welcomed him closer, welcomed his warmth, her arms wrapping around his neck. His mouth found hers at the same instant his thumbs brushed her swollen nub. Caron gasped with shock, and he swallowed it with a slow drag of his mouth across hers. Then another.
His thumbs were replaced by long fingers sliding along the sleek, sensitive flesh of her core, and her hips jerked as one dipped inside her. “So wet, so hot,” he murmured against her mouth. His fingers parted her farther, entered her deeper.
“Do these lips taste as good as these?” he said, his teeth nipping at her mouth, his fingers doing something absolutely too good to be described before he added, “Why don’t I find out? Yes?”
At her boldest she would not have thought she would answer that question, yet she heard herself say, “Yes.”
He leaned back, stared down at her, that pure male hunger she’d seen when she handed him her panties back again. Apparently, he liked it when she asked for things. She’d have to remember that for later.
With satisfaction, she watched as he settled between her legs, the warm heat of his mouth closing down over her clit. Caron felt as if every nerve ending in her body exploded with that contact. Her back arched, her hips lifted, chest thrust in the air. And when her legs were suddenly over his shoulders—little pants of pleasure coming uncontrollably from her lips—she decided this asking-for-what-she-wanted thing was working out pretty nicely for her, as well.
He lapped at her, licking, suckling, teasing. Far more easily than she would have ever imagined, Caron found herself shivering into mindless bliss. She didn’t want him to stop. She grabbed for the back of the seat, stared down at his head between her legs. Moaned at the erotic sight it made. He suckled her clit into his mouth and slid a finger inside her, then another. She felt them search her inner wall, caressing, then pumping. Her eyes were heavy, her limbs weightless. Pumping against his hand, his mouth. She didn’t want him to stop.
Her hand went to his head but she bit her lip, forced herself not to cling. But that tongue. It was magic. It was…Her fingers laced into his hair. She couldn’t help herself. And hung on tight. She was afraid he would stop before she was ready. He couldn’t stop. Not yet. Something about the way he lavished her with long, silky strokes was just too good to end. She could feel that little bite of ache that had to be answered, and she pumped against his tongue, against his hand, panting with need. Soon, she shattered; the hard spasms rocked her with so much pleasure that her entire body shook.
With slow perfection, Baxter eased her body into relaxation, soothing her with slower strokes of his tongue, caressed her down to complete, utter satisfaction, and then, and only then, did he slide his fingers from inside her. He brought her knees together and then settled his hands on top of them, and Caron found herself embarrassed by the intensity of her response to this man.
“Even sweeter than I imagined,” he said softly. His words only intensified the heat rushing to her cheeks. Her lashes fluttered, lifted, and she fumbled for the right reply. Should she say thank you? She didn’t know. She’d never been given a mind-blowing orgasm like this one, let alone in a public place. “It was, um, nice.”
“Nice?” he asked, his features darkening instantly. “Did you just say it was ‘nice’?” He wasn’t pleased.
Okay. Try again. “Thank you?”
He lifted a brow. “Thank you?”
His eyes darkened, narrowed, and then he moved, his hands pressing into the leather on either side of her knees.
“Nice is how you describe the guy you’re fixing a friend up with. Nice is the guy you went out with and never want to see again. Was it nice?”
Okay. Bad choice of words. She shook her head, swallowed hard. Decided to say to heck with the Marilyn-style slyness and just speak her mind. “Mind-blowing,” she said. “It was mind-blowing. Couldn’t you tell?”
With a half-veiled look he studied her intently, then moved toward her to brush that firm mouth across hers. “Do you know what I want to do right now?”
Strip her naked and make love to her? “Tell me,” she whispered.
“Take you inside my apartment and make you come so many mind-blowing ways, you forget the word nice ever existed.”
She didn’t even know they had started driving, let alone arrived at his apartment. But it didn’t matter. His words—their meaning—were very clear.
“Oh.” She mouthed the word, realizing she’d just received her second lesson of the night. Lesson number one had been—tell him what she wanted and he would give it to her. Lesson number two—compliment him after a grand orgasm and he would give her more. Check. Not likely to forget that one.
“Just one special request,” he said.
Her heart fluttered, excitement spurring it into erratic action. What did he want? The return of pleasure? Here? Now? “Request?”
“Don’t ever use the word nice again.” And then he kissed her.
BAXTER KICKED THE DOOR of his twentieth-floor apartment shut. Lust, raw and heavy, settled in his gut as he watched Caron step to the edge of the shiny stairwell of six steps leading down to the grand-sized, open room of sleek black leather decor. His gaze swept that heart-shaped perky little ass and his groin tightened, expanding uncomfortably against the steel of his zipper. She was his now. They were alone. A back entrance to the building and well-trained staff had allowed a silent entry into the elite Financial District building. The manned security desk offered extra assurance that no one would reach them from there.
He busied himself with the security panel, reining in his passion, aware she was on unfamiliar ground. If he’d read her right—and he was pretty damn certain he had—she’d need a minute to feel in control. But that control would be as much a facade as her costume. This was his domain, his world, and that was why he’d brought her here despite his policy of never bringing women home. Here he could allow her all the freedom she wanted, without the concern that she’d bolt at any minute.He took a step toward her and she darted forward, out of reach.
“Nice place you have here,” she said, cautiously lifting her skirt as she took the stairs.
Baxter’s lips twisted with amusement, his cock thickening with the thrill of the chase as he sauntered down the stairs in willing pursuit. “Glad you approve,” he said, aware that bringing her here satisfied the deep possessive burn she created in him.
She stopped in the center of his living room beside the marble coffee table, the marble fireplace behin
d her adorned with family pictures. A corner wine display was to her right. A few sentimental trinkets were displayed in various locations. She took them all in, held her delicate hands by her sides. “Needs books, though.”
He smiled, amused, charmed—hungry to get his hands on her. “Says the librarian.” He stepped toward her.
She stepped backward, hit the bar, recovered by leaning back and resting her elbows on the granite surface. The action thrust her chest forward, offering him a lush view of her cleavage. His gaze stalled on her full, ripe breasts.
She kept talking. “Books are sexy,” she said, her voice hoarser now, affected by his inspection. “They make you smart. Smart is sexy.”
Baxter closed in on her, pressed one hand on the counter beside her. Inhaling the scent of aroused woman, every muscle in his body tensed with the need he felt for this woman.
“Sexy is you in that dress,” he said, a finger trailing the valley between her breasts. He could feel her heart racing beneath his touch, and it pleased him. “Sexier is you out of this dress.”
6
SEXIER IS YOU OUT OF this dress.
Caron cringed as she replayed those words in her mind—Baxter’s words—a sudden panic overtaking her. The idea of baring her cleavage had seemed grand, sexy, daring, until she had a realization. When the dress came off, so did the gel bra. Her mind raced. She had to keep the dress on or leave. And judging from her experience with Baxter, if he made any real persuasive effort, she’d be out of this dress.Intent on escaping, she tried to duck under his arm. He moved, captured her, his big legs pinning hers. His hands palmed her breasts, pushing them together. She looked down, studied her own amazing cleavage in awe and disbelief. If only they were real. His fingers rasped over the bare skin exposed by her skimpy top, the pleasure immense. He felt so damn good, his body, his hands, those lips. She tried to shake off the lusty fog. Desperately, she reached up and covered his hands with hers.
He kissed her, long, deep, and her body warmed. Her hands fell away from his and pressed to his chest, fingers sprawled out in wanton exploration. He was so hard, so strong, so unbelievably wonderful to touch.
Every nerve ending she owned was alive, aware, as his hands slowly traveled over her waist, slid along the curve of her backside. Slowly…as if he were savoring the touch, savoring her. It was amazingly sexy, overwhelmingly hot. He skimmed a path over her ribs before returning to her breasts. He shoved down the lace there, shamelessly exposing her nipples, and tugged them between his fingers before she could object. She moaned into the kiss, forgetting the bra, forgetting everything but how good the touch felt. His gentle touch turned a bit rough, rasping her nipples with calloused fingers and tight little tugs that had her core spasming.
He tore his mouth from hers, leaving her panting for more, as he stared down at the stiff peaks. “Beautiful,” he said. “I want to kiss them.”
Oh, please, yes. She wet her lips. “O…kay.” She squeezed her eyes shut at the ridiculous response. Where was her inner vixen when she needed her? How did anyone play coy when they wanted their nipples kissed?
But he didn’t kiss her nipples. Instead, he turned her around, leaned across her body, the hard proof of his arousal nuzzled beneath her backside. He drew down the zipper.
Panic anew arose inside her. She had no idea what to do. “Wait!” His palms slid beneath the open zipper, warm against her midsection, and she pressed into him, the straps of her dress falling down her shoulders.
His hands slid to her stomach as he tugged her gently to him, his lips near her ear. “I can’t wait.”
She didn’t want to wait, either. She didn’t want to care about the damn bra. She wished she’d never put it on so she wouldn’t be worried about taking it off. Her head fell back against his shoulder. She blinked up at him, distracted by his mouth. Wishing for a taste, for more than a taste. That thought fueled her vixen confidence.
“Prove it,” she challenged, asking for what she really wanted. Him naked. How had she gone this long without ripping this man’s clothes off? She rotated in his arms to face him, tugged on his shirt. “Take it off,” she ordered. “My rules, remember? No clothes for you.” Her clit throbbed just thinking about him naked, about him inside her. She was swollen, achy. Wanton in a way she’d never been in her life. And it felt good. So good.
“And you?” he rebutted, the raw desire etched across his features almost enough to make her strip right here and now. Almost. He was going first.
She lifted her chin defiantly. “After you,” she said, leaning against the bar to watch him undress, gown now back in place. It was his turn to be a little exposed, and she planned to enjoy every minute.
His pupils darkened, fierce with arousal, rich with a hunger that said he wanted to eat her alive, and she flashed back to the limo, to the intimate way he’d pleasured her, the brazen way she’d writhed in response.
He reached up and loosened his tie, quickly tossing it aside. Next came his shirt. A few buttons undone, then he pulled it over his head, as if he was as impatient as she.
Caron surveyed all that tawny skin, so taut over a spectacular chest sprinkled with dark hair, just begging for her hands. A six-pack of abdominal muscles intended for her mouth. And when, in one easy move, he dropped his pants and underwear, Caron was reminded quite clearly why a gel bra was not a good enough reason to miss this. Not by a long shot, not even close. Baxter was not to be missed.
He stood there, aroused, in all his magnificent, naked glory, all eight inches plus jutting out in front of him, and for the first time in her life, she wanted to go down on her knees. Wanted to. Not because she felt obligated, not because it seemed to be the thing to do. Wanted to take him in her mouth, to lick him up and down. To hear him moan and know she’d made it happen.
He held up a condom. “Care to do the honors.” Oh, yeah, she did, and she didn’t have to be asked twice. Nerves clamored in her stomach but they were secondary now, her desire to explore this man’s body far outreaching any fear of making a fool of herself. Tomorrow this was over. If she let fear win, she’d wake up with regrets.
She pushed off the counter and let the dress slide off her shoulders, suddenly finding it a cumbersome restraint better done away with. That left her with the bra, the hose, the shoes. She’d lost her panties in the limo.
Baxter’s hot stare seemed to drink her in with arousing detail. She flushed under the attention, a bit embarrassed, a lot aroused.
Caron went to him then, slid the condom from his hand. She’d never actually put a condom on a man, but she confidently wrapped her hand around his erection, enjoyed the feel of his width in her palm.
Easing to her knees, she touched the pool of liquid hovering on the tip of his swollen head with her tongue. He moaned, his hips jerking slightly. She smiled, enjoying this power she had over him. Her tongue explored the ridge of his erection before she closed her lips around him. The more she took of him, the more he responded, and the more she wanted him inside more than her mouth. The more her legs spread. The wetter she became. Responding to the needs of her body, Caron tore her mouth from his erection, ripped open the condom and rolled it down his steely length. She’d barely completed the task, when he picked her up and carried her to the couch.
A second later, he was sitting on the couch and she was straddling him, sliding down the long, hard reach of his cock until he was buried deep inside her.
He gently pulled at her wig. “It’s falling off,” he said. She tried to fix it, and he stopped her. “Get rid of it.”
She blinked, not sure what to do. That wig was her persona, the diva who’d allowed her to come there tonight. For just a moment, they sat there, bodies intimately merged, staring at one another. And she felt something in that moment, something intense, something that burned with erotic intensity, yet stripped away the need for emotional inhibition. She neither understood it, nor tried. It simply released her to freedom, pleasure.
Caron reached up and loosened the pins holding t
he wig, and tossed it onto the couch. Baxter pulled the clip holding her own hair on top of her head. She shook it out.
“I like you like this,” he said, twining his fingers in her hair and joining his lips to hers.
She didn’t know if he meant the words, didn’t even have time to consider the unveiling of Caron, the destruction of Marilyn. Because this was a kiss like none he had given her to this point, a kiss that consumed, as if he literally breathed her in, as if they were merging, becoming one. She felt him thicken inside her, felt the pulse of his arousal. Felt the first thrust of his hips as they began to sway together, rocking with a slow, sultry rhythm. They devoured one another, drank of one another, absorbed one another.
Somewhere along the line, she lost her bra and she didn’t care. He stared at her breasts as if they were beautiful, touched them with hot, needy hands. Caron forgot Marilyn, she forgot fear. She moved sensually with passion, with the ultimate hunt for that place of no return—where she exploded in a rush of frenzied action and clung to him as he shook with his own release.
Long minutes later, she buried her face in his shoulder, satisfied, reconnecting with herself. Which was when she started worrying about what came next.
As if he sensed her unease, Baxter stole her moment of fear, framing her face with his hands as he studied her. “Do you remember what you called that orgasm I gave you in the limousine?”
Her brows dipped. Was this a trick question? “Nice?”
His expression darkened. “That’s what I was afraid of. We have more work to do.” He stood up, her body still wrapped around his.
“What?” she asked. “Where are we going?”
“To the bedroom,” he said, holding her as if she were featherlight. “I told you I was going to make you come until you forget that word, and I meant it.”