He draws back, placing the strawberry between my lips. I bite down, moaning as flavor explodes on my tongue. After I chew and swallow the succulent fruit, Nick follows it up with a dollop of cream on the end of his finger.
I wrap my lips around the tip, our eyes locked as I suck him into my mouth and lick the cream away. Now he’s the one breathing heavily and moaning, his body growing tense and rigid as I swirl my tongue over the tip of his finger, then suck it hard inside my mouth.
On a low snarl, he pulls free, only to grasp my face in both hands and hold my head steady as his mouth descends on mine. He licks past my lips, his kiss hungered, scorching.
“I love the taste of cream on your tongue,” he rasps. “I loved watching you wrap this pretty mouth around my cock in the office the other day. Makes me so fucking hard to think about you sucking me dry like that.”
I’m already half mad with need for him, but hearing his desire-roughened voice, hearing him describe the things we’ve done together, makes my arousal almost unbearable. But he’s not ready to show me any relief just yet.
He draws back from me, a merciless glimmer in his eyes. “Open your mouth for me, baby. Tip your head back a little. That’s it. Now let me see that pretty pink tongue.”
I obey him, waiting with my hands secured behind me and my face tilted up to him like a supplicant at the altar. I hold my tongue out, watching as he lifts a small ladle of chocolate sauce and holds it an inch or two above my head. He pours it slowly, watching as I lap at the thick, rich stream, swallowing it down, sip after delicious sip.
It’s difficult to catch every drop. Some of it dribbles onto my lips, onto my chin. Nick doesn’t give me the chance to lick it up. He descends on me, kissing me deeply, his tongue erasing every errant drop.
I moan his name, unable to keep from shifting on my chair as my core floods with heat and longing. I want to reach for him, but the pearls restrict all but the most careful movement. My precious bonds are both a frustration and a titillation.
I’m panting when he breaks our kiss. My body feels electrified and throbbing with the need for relief. I can’t hold back my hopeful sigh when he reaches down to unfasten the tie at my waist, the only thing holding my simple wrap dress together. The garment loosens, and Nick sweeps the black fabric off my shoulders, baring my chest and torso.
“You wore the new bra for me,” he says, approval deep and dark in his thickened voice.
I can’t curb my smile. I’ve got another surprise for him, but since he’s taking so much pleasure tormenting me, I decide to keep the secret to myself for now.
He pets my breasts for a moment, clearly delighting in the way my nipples rise under his touch. Every nerve ending in my body belongs to him. Just as every gasp and sigh and pleasured sound I make is only for him too.
He removes my bra, unfastening the delicate front clasp and sliding the slackened straps down my biceps before his hands come back to me to knead and caress my naked breasts. He kisses my nipples, teasing them with his tongue and teeth until I’m writhing, desperate with stimulation.
Then he reaches for the ladle and scoops up another serving of chocolate sauce. His gaze scorching, he slowly pours the chocolate over my exposed breasts. Thin rivulets fall onto my skin, making my core tighten in reflexive response. I can hardly bear the erotic sensation of the warm spurts of chocolate raining down onto the swells of my flesh and the valley between them. He drizzles more onto the pebbled buds of my nipples, and I can see from the strained look on his handsome face that I’m not the only one being tormented and teetering at the edge of madness.
On a coarsely voiced curse, he sets the ladle aside and drops to his haunches to eat the chocolate off me. Licking, sucking, nipping with his teeth, he leaves me shuddering with desire.
“Not fair,” I say when he draws away from me and rises to his feet. I shake my head. “I want to taste you too.”
He doesn’t argue. From the look on his face, I’m not sure he’d have the will to try.
Unfastening his belt and pants, he pushes the tailored trousers and boxer briefs down his muscled thighs, then hastily removes his shirt. His cock stands hard and heavy in front of my face, more tempting than any of the succulent treats I’ve had tonight.
I lean forward, greedy for him, yet determined to take my time. I tease the soft, broad head with the tip of my tongue, then trace the veined underside of his shaft in a long, slow sweep. When I finally work my way back up and take him fully into my mouth, Nick’s curse is little more than a strangled groan from the bottom of his throat.
Gripping the edge of the table, he drops his head back for a moment, tendons jumping in the sides of his neck. I continue my unrushed exploration of his cock and balls, knowing it’s got to be driving him beyond insane that he can’t order me to put my hands on him now too.
His fingers spear into my unbound hair, fisting and flexing as I suck him deep into my mouth and tighten my cheeks around him, all the while holding his dark, hooded gaze.
Then he frees his hold on my hair, my name a harsh gasp as he reaches behind him for something on the table. The red silk runner. His eyes blaze with wicked intent as he brings the sash around in front of him, dangling the fringed edge of it over my bare shoulders.
Stroking the side of my face, he gently draws me away from his erect cock.
There is a question in his glittering eyes. I answer by holding still, allowing him to tie the silk around my head like a blindfold.
“You’re not finished with dessert yet,” he tells me, his voice my only anchor in my new molten-hued world.
I hear him move, followed by the soft clink of a spoon against a bowl. His fingers alight gently below my chin, guiding my mouth back to his cock and to whatever additional treat he intends to gift me with now. I know in that instant, when something sweet and sticky meets my tongue as I lick the crown of his penis.
Honey.
It slides down the sides of his thick shaft and I chase it with my tongue, with my lips, savoring the taste of him even more than the nectar that now coats his smooth, steely flesh.
“Mm,” I hum as I lap and suckle my way along every hard inch of him. “Now you’ve got me craving cream.”
His answering curse is profane, highly erotic. “I’m going to give you some, baby. Right after I sample the cream I’m craving.”
He crouches down in front of me and roughly lifts my skirt. I hear his sharp inhalation when he finds me bare beneath my dress. Bare and drenched and quivering for him.
“Jesus Christ. Your pussy’s been naked and waiting for me this whole time.” It hardly sounds like a complaint.
I can’t see his face, but I’m pretty sure his gaze is beyond fevered now. “If I had told you, we never would’ve made it past the champagne.”
“Baby, if you had told me, we never would’ve made it into the car.”
He goes down on me without warning, pushing my thighs apart and burying his face in my sex. I have no hope of staving off the orgasm that’s been on the verge of breaking ever since we began indulging in our decadent dessert. With his palms holding me aloft in my chair and keeping me steady against his wicked mouth, Nick makes me come in what seems like seconds.
I shudder against his tongue, pleasure arcing through me in wave after glorious wave.
I am boneless, still spiraling through my climax as he carefully lifts me from the chair, mindful of the pearls that still bind my hands behind my back.
With my blindfold in place, I have no choice but to surrender to him completely as he bends me over the table and spreads me open. I hear the soft rustle of the condom packet he retrieves from his pants pocket, and then I feel Nick’s heat against me as he guides his cock to my body’s entrance and pushes inside on a long, slow thrust.
“I want you to come for me again,” he demands harshly. “I want to hear you scream for me.”
And in those next moments, as he roars and bucks with the onslaught of a staggering release, I tumble over the edge wit
h him, his name torn from my throat like a prayer.
I can’t deny him. My body and my will are both at his mercy.
And so is my heart.
Chapter 11
I am sore in all the right places as I step out of the shower the next morning and towel off in the large master bathroom of the penthouse.
Nick is ahead of me by nearly an hour. His towel is damp on the heated chrome rack mounted on the wall where I now hang mine, and I can hear him talking to someone on Bluetooth as I slip into short silk kimono robe, then proceed to finger-comb and dry my hair. My makeup takes all of five minutes since I’m only going to the studio to work today and anything more than mascara and a little color on my lips is overkill around Lita and Matt.
I pad out of the bedroom barefoot and find Nick in the kitchen. “You let me oversleep.”
“I thought you might appreciate the extra rest this morning.”
To my surprise, I see that not only is he already dressed for his day in a pearl gray shirt and black slacks, he has also had time to make breakfast. As I approach, he puts a fluffy poached egg on a bed of crab meat, tomato, and spinach, then spoons some creamy yellow hollandaise over the whole thing.
“Hungry?”
“I shouldn’t be. But for one of your famous Benedicts? Always.”
He arches a dark brow. “I felt the need to reestablish my dominance in the kitchen after that meal Gavin put on for us last night. I don’t want you thinking about any other man today.”
“Dinner was incredible,” I admit. “But my body only knows one master.” I go up onto my toes to kiss his sexy mouth. “My stomach—and the rest of me—is all yours.”
He plates another serving and we carry our dishes to the table where he’s already laid out place settings for us. I get coffee for both of us while he pours two glasses of juice. It’s all very domestic and natural, and I can’t deny the feeling of contentment that sweeps over me as we sit together and have breakfast like any other normal couple.
I can’t deny how natural it feels to be with Nick, no matter what we’re doing. Whether that’s light bondage and food play or getting ready to start our daily routines together the morning after.
We settle into an easy rhythm at the table, enjoying our coffee and breakfast and making plans for the rest of the week. Nick’s phone chimes repeatedly with incoming texts and phone calls, all of which he pointedly ignores.
“Shouldn’t you answer?” I ask him over the rim of my coffee cup after we’ve both finished the last of our breakfast. “From what I’ve gathered, morning in this city doesn’t officially start until Dominic Baine says so.”
He gives me a wry smirk. “Careful, or you’ll inflate my ego.”
“I enjoy inflating your ego.” I lick my lips, grinning now. “Along with other things.”
He makes a low noise in the back of his throat, and for a moment I’m not sure if the dark, sensual glimmer in his eyes is a warning or a promise. Then he sets his napkin down beside his empty plate and gets up from the table.
I hold my breath as he walks over to me.
“Close your eyes.”
Visions of last night send streaks of desire racing into my veins. I glance back at him when he moves behind me in untenable silence.
“Close them, Avery.”
My lids drop and I wait, uncertain of his intentions and far too easily aroused by just the thought of what he might have in mind for me now.
Something silky brushes my cheek.
He’s tying something loosely around my neck from behind me. Then . . . something cold and metallic settles between my naked breasts.
I look down and find a key on the end of a long red silk cord.
I recognize the key immediately. It was the same one he used to open the door of the building last night.
“Nick, what—” I pivot around to gape at him. “What is this?”
“A gift.” He reaches down, touching the key that rests against my skin. “Your new private art studio.”
My own studio? I’m so incredulous, for a moment I can’t speak. “You said you were thinking of buying the building. You meant buying it . . . for me? That’s why you brought me there last night?”
He slowly shakes his head, sliding his palm around to my nape. I sigh against the warmth and comfort of his touch. “I also wanted to celebrate with you, like I said. So call it multitasking.”
His smile is so full of pride and affection, I feel light-headed as I stare up at him. “Nick, you shouldn’t have done this. I mean it.”
“The building is a solid investment. Besides, there’s no reason for you to spend your own money on shared space all the way across town when you can have your own private studio just five minutes from here.”
I glance down at the key, astonished that he would do something so generous. Then again, I shouldn’t be shocked. Nick may have earned a reputation as a cold, shrewd businessman—a heartless player in commerce and in life—but he’s never been that with me. Not with the people I care about either. He stepped in with Vendange when Tasha needed help. He’s even been pressing me lately to let him help with my mother’s situation.
He has given me more kindnesses than I can ever hope to repay.
But that’s not the entire reason I am hesitant now.
As much as I’ve dreamed of one day having my own space in which to work, I’ve never wanted the dream handed to me. My art is my own. It’s always been the one thing that’s belonged solely to me. My outlet. My haven.
The place I go when there is nowhere else I feel safe or understood.
I’m not ready to surrender that part of me.
Not even to Nick.
“Thank you for offering this to me,” I murmur. “I love that you want to help. But you’ve already given me too much. More than I can ever hope to repay.”
“Have I ever said anything about repaying me?” His voice takes on an edge as he looks at me now. “I want you to have it. You said yourself, you need somewhere to paint.”
“I have somewhere, Nick.” I pick up the silk cord and lift it over my head. “I hope you understand. When it comes to my art, I want to do it—I need to do it—on my own.”
He doesn’t move. Doesn’t open his hand to take the key when I hold it out to him. I set it down on the table between us, next to his phone. Then I fold my hands in my lap and wait for him to say something. It takes a long time.
Finally, he blows out a heavy sigh. “If you’re going to be making the trip to East Harlem on a regular basis, then do me the favor of allowing Patrick to take you and pick you up. I’d rather not spend most of the day wondering if you’re safe or if you’ve lost your damn phone somewhere and can’t reach me.”
“Okay.”
I nod, guessing this is about as decent a compromise as I can hope to win from him. He’s brooding, not happy with my rejection of his gift, but at least he’s talking to me.
When he caresses my cheek, his fingers are tender and affectionate against my face. “Your ride starts today. I’ll go with you, then Patrick can take me to my office.”
“All right.”
As he leans in to kiss me, his phone chimes again. He glances down at it, frowning. Andrew Beckham’s picture is on the display. Nick gives me a rueful look, then reaches over to swipes the screen lock.
“Yeah, Beck.”
“Sorry to call you at home.” The attorney’s baritone voice carries through the speaker. “You got a second? It’s about that condo project over in Brooklyn.”
Nick exhales, already stepping away from me. “I have to take this.”
“It’s okay. I’ve got all of this.”
I stand up and start clearing the dishes while he walks into the living room with his phone. I load the plates and silverware into the dishwasher, then wipe down the counter and table.
The key on its silken cord feels heavy and cold in my palm as I place it on the bar.
When I glance over at Nick, he’s watching me. He moves the phone awa
y from his mouth. “I need to head in now. How soon can you be ready?”
“Give me five minutes.”
He nods, retrieving his suit jacket from where it’s folded neatly over the back of the sofa. “I’ll meet you downstairs. Patrick will have the car waiting out front.”
“Is everything okay?”
“Just the usual schedule delays and contract bullshit. Nothing big, just things I need to take a look at personally.”
“All right. I’ll be right down.”
He goes back to his call, heading out the door as he speaks, and I walk into the bedroom to get dressed. A few minutes later, wearing jeans and a layered camisole and gauzy tunic, I step off the elevator and into the lobby.
Nick isn’t on the phone anymore. He’s standing just outside the building entrance, talking with a beautiful strawberry-blonde. Although the tall, elegant woman has her back to me and I don’t know her well, I would recognize her anywhere.
But I didn’t realize that Nick knew her too.
They both turn my way as Manny opens the door for me and I step out of the building.
“Hi, Avery!” Claire Prentice beams at me, as vivacious and stylish as I remember her.
“Hello,” I reply, as she draws me to her for an air kiss at the side of my face.
Four months ago we met for the first time at Vendange, after a friend who was supposed to housesit Claire’s apartment here at Park Place stood her up at the last minute. On her way out of the country for an acting job for several months and left with no one to watch her place while she was gone, Claire convinced me to move in to her apartment instead.
Actually, it was her five thousand dollars in cash that convinced me.
On top of the fact that I desperately needed to find a place to live, since the crappy apartment building where I rented a tiny one-bedroom hole in the wall had been sold out from under me.