Playboy

  I reach for him and he returns, this time with promise, an impassioned attitude that suggests whatever I want, I’ll have.

  This isn’t blind lust. I can plainly see. He wants to lead, but I’m too eager to follow.

  I. Need. His. Kiss. Need to be ravaged and cherished . . . I desperately need this void filled and yet I sense that there’s something more to these emotions, something dangerous right under the surface.

  It’s unfair to Cullen . . . because I don’t know why. Maybe because I’m looking at him and expecting him to save me. And he’s watching me as if to say, “Ask.”

  And I might.

  Ask, that is.

  We’re alone in a city built on sinners. And while it might be wrong and it might be immoral . . . I want to drink in the most primitive moments and bask in all transgressions because if I let myself experience the power of passion, I can be raw and naked.

  And then I’ll be free.

  This is what it’ll take to get over Emmett, I think, shaming myself for letting the memory of my ex almost spoil the moment.

  Why should I give him that? Why should I let him intrude here? I don’t want to think about the past. I don’t want to plan for anything more than this hour, minute, second.

  This. Man.

  I come up for air. “What’s the equivalent to the Mile High Club if you’re in a limo?” I breathe, my crazy ego letting me revel in the way he’s watching me.

  His hard cock is rocking his blue jeans and I can’t help but look. I’m dying to touch.

  “You’re beautiful,” he says, studying my lips. “And funny.”

  “Because the Mile High Club is a laughing matter?”

  “Because you want me to win the bet.” His hand guides mine lower, but he then lifts my arm and walks his mouth from my wrist to my elbow. “And I lose.”

  I laugh when it tickles and also melt from the top of my head to the tips of my toes. My nipples perk. The tips ping. What kind of kiss was that?

  I’m shuddering. He’s leaving me in ruins and I don’t know how this is possible.

  I try to keep my distance but he keeps pulling me closer.

  I’m salivating.

  I’m excited.

  Horny out of my mind.

  “We said you’d help me with gambling, I’d help with your job. We’d see whose job was better. And I lose completely. I want to taste you now,” Cullen says.

  I swallow. He leans forward. I do the same. I kiss him. He kisses me back.

  We tease, play.

  The give and take is competitive. It’s the gambler in him, the seductress in me.

  I pull back, gasping for breath. “Okay. I mean, I can’t be a sore winner.” I look deep into his eyes, absorbing the fires blazing in his gaze. “But are you sure you don’t need more proof? I thought—”

  “I have all the proof I need.”

  I’m flushed. He keeps my hand in his for the rest of our ride back, lifting it to torment me with delicious kisses on the inside of my arm that make my nipples ache, and I’m hot all over by the way he runs his lips all over me. “I was surprised you’d bet against me. I thought you were smarter than that,” I whisper, trying to keep a level head until we reach the room. Where I plan to jump him.

  “My slowest moment to date.” He covers my hand in his again and lowers them to his thigh and inclines his head playfully in agreement.

  I narrow my eyes, laughing and too nervous to name. I’m having my suspicions by the time we reach the hotel and head to the room. “Did you plan this, Cullen?”

  “Planning’s over,” he rasps, kicking the door shut behind us as he shrugs off his jacket, pulls his tie free.

  He grabs me by the hips and lifts me up in the air.

  “Up on the pool table.”

  He sets me down on the edge of the table.

  “Cullen—” I protest with a squeak. “I thought we would head back to Chicago so you can really see me in action.”

  “I already did. I know when I’ve lost a game.”

  “Really?” I say. Wow. I just can’t believe I won so easily.

  He nods somberly, those unreadable silver eyes drinking me in before he slowly bends.

  He nuzzles my stomach over my skirt, using his nose to tease my top upward. I pull it over my head and my lungs work overtime as he groans softly, his tongue flashing out to lick across my belly button. I tense as my whole body constricts in desire. Keeping his mouth on me, he unzips my skirt and grabs the sides of the waistband, tugging it down my hips as he licks a path around, and down, my belly button.

  Desire pools between my thighs.

  He runs his fingers up the back of my legs, caressing my skin as he bites the bow at the front of my panties and tugs it downward.

  Oh god. I clench my hands against the table beneath me as he drags my panties down, down my legs, using his teeth. I whimper when he removes them, grabs them in his hand, inhales them, and tosses them aside.

  “Cullen.”

  He comes back. His tongue flicks out to lick my skin as his hands wander the insides of my thighs.

  I’m so wet I’m embarrassed. He moves his thumb along my sex, and I arch my hips.

  He licks into me. I swivel my hips up, violently, unexpectedly. He thrusts his tongue more deeply into my sheath, moving it as I move my hips in need—passion, sexual frustration, everything he makes me feel.

  He slants his head, his hands sliding up to grip my waist, press me down so that he can fuck my sex with his mouth. And what started out as slow and easy is becoming wild and crazy, undoing me.

  I moan.

  He groans approvingly, the sound muffled by my folds.

  He grazes his teeth over my clit. I’m grabbing at his hair, both of us sort of out of control as he tastes me.

  He. Devours. Me.

  And I can’t think of anything except how much I want this—him—how much I ache all over. How good he smells, how much I love not thinking, how great his tongue is.

  Oh my, that sexy tongue.

  He spreads my legs wider. “No closing them, Red,” he says, caressing my pussy with his eyes before he settles between my legs, and continues to take his slow, sweet time devouring me.

  I groan because I want him. I want to pull him up to me. To feel him inside me. I want him to fuck me, I sort of crave him to be rough—but instead he pulls my hands away as I tug on his hair, and pins them at my sides, continuing to lick and eat from my pussy, his eyes opening and locking with mine.

  I can’t stand it, but I can’t stand not to have it. I want to watch. I need to see. Can’t believe what he’s doing to and for me.

  I’m just breathless. Hot. Dying.

  And yet right here, right now, I realize—I’ve never really lived. Not like this. Not with anyone else.

  Eyes locked, his are gleaming hot and silver as his mouth works between my thighs. I clench my thighs around his shoulders, and he pushes my legs apart again. My hips start swinging upward without rhythm. It has never felt this amazing. It does. It startles me, and my eyes widen, and Cullen shuts his eyes and pushes his tongue back into me.

  “Cullen,” I groan, tugging him by the hair again. Aching for his mouth on mine. Him inside me.

  I’m breathless, my voice raw with desire, my fingers cramped from tugging so hard on his hair.

  “I know I said no sex but I am dying to have you inside me.”

  It takes him a while to come up and ease his hand between my legs, then he rubs my clit with the pad of his thumb. Little circles. I’m shaking between the pool table and him, my legs skewing apart wider as he inserts his middle finger inside me.

  He groans at my moan, devouring it with his mouth.

  I kiss him back without restraint, our tongues going wild on each other.

  The tremors in my body won’t stop. Cullen’s breathing is fast as he fingers me, tearing his mouth free to watch me. His jaw clenches hard, a muscle working in the back, when he scoops me up and carries me to the bed.

  He
tosses me in the center, then jerks open his pants.

  I sit up. And whoa. Suddenly my windpipe is swollen with desire, my eyes wide as he strips off his shirt, slacks and boxers, and I drink in every ripped inch of his body.

  He crawls toward me—eyes predatory and determined. Excitement bubbles in my veins.

  I don’t expect his groan, the hungry way his tongue drives into my mouth as he bends his head, repeating the same rhythm of his finger, which is back between my legs. Easing deep into my sheath. I thrust my hips up, mewing softly at his touch.

  His voice, thick and guttural, as he inserts a second wicked finger inside me, gives me goose bumps. “Lie down, Wynn.”

  He bends, placing his mouth over mine, tasting the finger with me, then dropping his hand as his tongue and mine connect again. Twirl and lick again.

  My throat constricts with need.

  “Good girl.” He flicks open my bra and discards it, then grabs his cock. “Look what you get.” He’s fisting the base of his dick, and I watch as he drags the head of his cock up and down my folds, teasing my entry.

  My wet, aching, hurting, pulsing entrance.

  “Say you want it.”

  “I want it,” I beg.

  I’m waiting, panting, watching him grab me by the side of the thighs and drag me down to him, where he kneels at the center of the bed.

  I watch him position me. He splays my legs wider apart until his long, thick cock is right there, right there, then he grabs my arms and lifts them above my head. He secures both in one of his hands, and he uses the other to trace down my body, as if memorizing me. He keeps me pinned down, grabs the base of that glorious cock, gleaming with pre-cum, and in those five seconds, Cullen feeds it to me.

  One breath, I’m waiting and anxious. The next, I’m moaning and near exploding. I gasp from how good it feels—how amazing HE feels—and he drives out and then back in, a little deeper and harder. His cock so big my walls are stretched way beyond what I thought possible.

  I whimper a silent plea so he does it again. My pussy squeezes anxiously around his length, clutching him hard every time he drives out and stretching to welcome him when he rams back in.

  He looks gorgeous, a look of concentration on his face as he moves, his eyes more brilliant than ever. They look nearly white, the silver so shiny and bright. Expression taut and raw, his muscles flexing as he thrusts. He holds my wrists imprisoned in one hand, the other torturing me. Pinching my nipples. Caressing my clit as he drives in and out.

  “How good is it for you?” he asks me in a thick, raspy whisper.

  “It’s beyond good . . . don’t stop.” And I don’t want to talk. Not yet. Not now. I just want to watch and see and feel.

  He drives harder and my muscles tighten, nerves shatter.

  Each breath I take is one more than I thought I had.

  That low, guttural sound of his voice is toxic, so very, very toxic. He bends and suckles a breast into his mouth, suckling my nipple, teasing it with his wet, hungry tongue. His hand cupping the other. My sex grips as my orgasm builds and builds. “Cullen!” I cry as I tighten my arms around his neck, my head thrashing back as he gives me what I need. Fucks me like I need.

  “Cullen,” I groan, my muscles tightening more and more, the movements of my hips getting faster and more reckless as I roll them up to his.

  He groans deep in his chest in response, our bodies moving in unison. Faster. Faster. Harder. I’m too aroused, too out of my mind, he feels too good.

  We’re both losing it. Cullen grabbing the back of my head and kissing me like he’s out of breath and I’m oxygen. I cry out pleadingly, wanting, needing, my nails sinking into my palms as he restrains my wrists.

  His hands tighten as the tremors take over me, his muscles straining in his release as I twist beneath him, a thousand stars bursting before me.

  My body twists beneath his and I cry out, and I hold on to him as he drives me harder. His body tightens, his every muscle straining until he snaps, and then Cullen comes, his big body trashing against me, hips pumping, never taking his mouth off mine.

  We continue moving, our pelvises rocking as our orgasms start to recede. Cullen’s mouth gentles over mine, his body still taut with desire, warm with sweat, and more addictive than any addiction on this earth.

  I’m quaking even after my orgasm stops.

  He grabs my butt and rolls to his back, bringing me with him, before he rolls over yet again and sets me on my back. He grabs my hips and rolls me onto my stomach and props me up on all fours.

  I gasp in surprise, but when I realize what he’s doing, a new pool of moisture gathers between my thighs.

  I feel his cock bob against my ass as he reaches around me to caress and fondle my breasts.

  A low groan leaves me, and suddenly he folds the front of his body over the back of mine.

  And I don’t know how I ever survived the week without this.

  What the hell were you thinking, Wynn? Look what you missed!

  His muscles surrounding me, his breath on the back of my ear. “I’m not done with you,” he whispers, fingering my earlobe, bringing a strand of hair—wet with my sweat—behind it. “What do you say, Wynn?” he wants to know, his warm lips brushing my earlobe.

  “Please,” I breathe, so weak with desire I’m nearly incapable of remaining on my knees, on all fours. I start sliding down, and Cullen seizes my hips in both hands. He props me back up, eyeing my butt, caressing his warm, large palm over it.

  My breath comes in quick, fast bursts, and I hear his own coming in fast and haggard as he bends and starts dragging his tongue down my spine. I shudder, aware of my sex leaking wetness.

  A wetness he gets to taste over and over again because he lost our bet.

  Cullen grabs my hips and suddenly plunges back inside me, hard, deep, holding me still for every thrust. I mew, pushing back to meet him.

  “Cullen.”

  Low, guttural fucking sounds tear out of him, out of us both, as he takes me.

  I’ve never been taken like this. It feels animal, a little wild, and I can’t get enough of Cullen driving into me with his big, long, thick, ramming cock.

  I clench my fingers around the bedsheets beneath me, hanging on to my life.

  “Kiss me, Cullen,” I plead, out of my mind with pleasure.

  He tangles his fingers in my hair and twists my face halfway around, kissing me senseless as he clenches one of my hips in his hand and fucks me to orgasm.

  When we come yet again, this second orgasm lasting even longer than the first, we fall back in bed, struggling to recover our breaths.

  I feel like the hottest, most relaxed individual in the planet. Forget yoga, Zen, Mozart, and art, sex with Cullen Carmichael is the ticket.

  Hoolly . . . fuck . . . I can’t breathe. Sex . . . it just can’t get any better than this.

  I drape one leg around his and exhale, relaxed, fingering the muscles of his abs and dragging my fingers up his chest, to his sexy man nipples, his throat. Fingering his lips and their perfect, sensual shape. I watch his lips open and his teeth bite my fingertip, nibble on it.

  I smile, then watch him raise his head and lean over me, his lips coming closer and closer, down to take mine, and the lazy, satisfied moves of his tongue make me clench my thighs together again as I try to suppress the beginnings of another ache.

  God, he’s delicious.

  Addictive.

  What am I to do?

  Have him again . . . ?

  I can’t believe all this time I’ve believed that sex while in a relationship was better than flings and one-night stands. I can’t believe what I’ve been missing. And yet, I have to admit that I’m not sure it’s the relationship aspect that’s making sex good with this guy. It’s simply this guy. He knows what he’s doing. He’s also clearly very sexual and hungry, something which seems to drive me wild.

  Hell, this guy drives me wild without any effort at all. Even when he’s being annoying he makes me rather hot. Go f
igure. And no fair!

  But right now he’s nibbling on me, my throat. “Did you know they call me Great White sometimes?”

  “Why?”

  “Card shark.”

  I roll my eyes. “Okay, Great White.”

  “Jaws,” he husks out teasingly.

  I’m distracted by what he’s doing, and it takes me a second to reply. “God, you’re totally Jaws.” I laugh and let him bite me.

  * * *

  In the middle of the night, we still haven’t slept one bit. I stare around in the darkness, too happy to sleep. He’s dragging his fingers lazily up and down my arm while I spoon his side. And instead of shifting away from me to attempt to go to sleep, he sort of pulls me closer. It makes me giddy, giddy enough that I don’t want to ever stop feeling giddy.

  “Cullen?” My voice sounds almost loud in the darkness.

  “Hmm.” His voice rumbles against the top of my head.

  “Did you enjoy today? Or . . . um, last night? I have no idea what time it is.” I laugh.

  He pulls me back closer to him because the moment I laughed, I sort of almost sat up.

  “Immensely,” he answers slyly.

  “I mean the art and paintings.”

  “That too.” He chuckles, and I laugh softly, shifting up as I try to make out his features in the dark.

  “So you enjoyed it as much as I do gambling?”

  “You don’t like gambling,” he rumbles, pulling me back to his side. “You like watching me gamble.”

  “I like it,” I contradict, roaming the tip of my index finger along his hard abs. “It’s growing on me.”

  I feel something else growing against my abdomen and smile in the shadows.

  “So you enjoyed it?” I insist.

  “Yeah.” He moves me closer and shifts to face me, his hands wandering up and down my back. “I enjoyed watching you too.” His admission melts me as much as his wandering fingers do.

  “Do you still plan to come to my show in Chicago? Even if you already lost?”

  “Yeah. I plan to go. I should be finished tomorrow with the qualifier.”

  I smile. “I’d love to have you there and show you the art. It’s my biggest exhibit to date.”