Men like sexy women, no doubt about it. But, it turns out, most of them are also afraid of us. Once I came to understand that one truth, everything changed. I began to understand my sex appeal, and how to use it to my advantage. I’ve spent years honing it into a razor-sharp blade that most don’t feel slice into them until it’s far too late.
It’s my protection, my salvation, in this business that eats so many women up and spits them out without a second glance. I can’t survive without it. Can’t even think about facing the world without the armor it gives me.
Which means—now that I’ve gotten into this situation—that I have to do what I do best to get out of it. I have to do what Ian specifically asked me not to just a little while ago.
I have to pretend.
He’s looking at me now, his dark eyes questioning as he waits for my answer. For my definitive list of what I like and how I like it—any good diva has one, I’m sure. But since I don’t and since that’s very definitely not going to happen, I do the only thing I can do. I throw the question back to him.
“Why don’t you tell me what you like instead?” I suggest, leaning forward and pressing kisses to his neck and the little triangle of skin I can see at the top of his dress shirt. “And I’ll give it to you.” I deliberately repeat his words back to him.
“I’m easy,” he answers with a sexy grin that somehow makes him even more attractive. “I like everything.”
“Everything?” I arch a brow as I slide my hands up his chest and start slowly, deliberately, unbuttoning his shirt. I watch his face carefully as I do it, noticing the light flush that stains his cheekbones as I stroke my hands down his bare chest, the way his eyes darken as I flick my thumbnails back and forth across his nipples.
“Just about, yeah.” He’s not content to just let me touch him, however. Before I’m ready for it, his hands are on my shirt, tugging it over my head before I can even think to protest. Seconds later, my bra goes the same way and then his mouth is on my breast, his tongue circling my areola.
Normally this does nothing for me—my breasts aren’t very sensitive—but there’s something about the contrast between the wet, soft warmth of his tongue and the sharp scratchiness of his five o’clock shadow that rekindles the first sparks of desire within me. My knees nearly sag with relief and I throw myself into it, arching my back, pressing my breast more firmly against both his mouth and his scruff. Trying my best to concentrate on the pleasure. On just that and nothing else.
But then his hand is on my ass, sliding beneath my jeans and my panties, and all I can think about is what comes next. And how I’m going to fuck it all up.
No, I promise myself as I wiggle until he has no choice but to let me go. I started this to control him and I’m going to finish it the exact same way. “I want to touch you, too.”
“I didn’t realize it was an either-or situation,” he teases, but he doesn’t stop me when I reach for his belt and slowly, carefully unbuckle it.
But when I start to unbutton his pants, to pull his zipper down, he stops me by threading his hands through mine. “I’m past ready, baby. Let me help you catch up.”
And then he’s dropping to his knees in front of me, his long, nimble fingers peeling my jeans down my legs as he goes.
“Wait,” I tell him, suddenly frantic. “You don’t have to do that.”
“I don’t have to do anything,” he says, looking at me a little strangely. “Doesn’t mean I don’t want to.”
He leans forward, trails hot kisses over my navel, my abdomen, my mons.
Hooks his fingers in the straps of my bikini panties and wiggles them down my legs.
Presses his face against my sex and just breathes me in for several long seconds. “I don’t know what perfume you wear, but it’s been driving me crazy since I met you yesterday.”
I start to say Givenchy—like it even matters—but before I can unstick my tongue from the roof of my mouth, he’s lifting one of my legs and resting it on his shoulder. Then he’s leaning forward and delivering one long, slow lick to my clit.
Pleasure crashes through me and I gasp, clutch at his hair for some kind of anchor. He laughs a little even as he wraps his hands around my ass and brings me even closer. “I like that sound. Let’s see if we can get you to make it again.” And then he’s circling my clit with his tongue, licking his way along my slit, delving deep inside my sex.
It’s arousing and terrifying and completely unexpected. Completely overwhelming. I struggle to assimilate all the emotions running through me, but it’s hard to think as heat unfurls inside me a little more with each swipe of his tongue.
It’s a slow build, from a flicker into a roaring flame, but it’s there. I don’t know how, don’t know why, and right now I’m not even sure I care. How can I when he’s carefully, carefully, carefully stoking the blaze.