He nudged his tongue into my folds, then up toward my clit. My back arched in anticipation. The fire between us that had built during the auction reignited, as though it had only been temporarily quenched by that first orgasm. Sam moaned against my sex, the vibrations scattering across my body. My hands threaded into his hair, urging him on. I wanted more, wanted whatever he could give me. “Yes.” My voice came out breathy and begging as he licked and pressed his flattened tongue against my clit. Wetness trickled out of me. We were going to ruin his couch.
The softness of his tongue on my clit mixed with the rough of his stubble on my thighs was too much sensation. I jerked and he placed his large palm on my stomach to hold me in place. Two fingers began to circle my entrance. I wanted them deeper, needed him inside me.
He knew that if he gave me what I needed, I’d be gone, pushed over the edge immediately. He wanted to tease me a little longer.
“More,” I cried out. As if my plea was what he’d been waiting for, he thrust his fingers into me, his tongue rounding my clit. It was too much. I gripped his hair, suddenly wanting him to hold off, but he was relentless. The teasing was over and he was going to make me come with a vengeance. The realization stirred my orgasm. I had no control. My body was his. Sensation ran down my thighs and they began to shake. He flicked his tongue over my clitoris and I was gone. I released my grip on his hair, my hands falling to my side as my back arched and I came in a violent wave.
Panting, I watched as he grinned up at me. “You taste amazing.”
I could barely breathe.
I couldn’t tell him that no man had ever made me come with his tongue before. I couldn’t say that sex with him was so different to sex with any one of my other boyfriends it was like comparing ice and diamonds. He was everything I shouldn’t want—everything I’d spent my life rejecting and here I was, wanting him so badly I could barely breathe.
Chapter Eleven
Sam
Grace seemed to have a rule that she ignore me the first three times I called her. Which was why I was pulling up her number for the fourth time in forty-eight hours. I looked out of my office window and down below at the street. The yellow of the crush of cabs reminded me of the prints we’d bid on at the auction but lost. I hadn’t minded not getting them even though I liked them. I’d just enjoyed being with Grace.
After the auction, the sex, the way I told her she owed me a tattoo, she’d left. And I’d wanted to ask her to stay but I couldn’t quite find the right words—a good reason. I’d spent the last two days trying to find an excuse to call her. She’d mentioned something about an exhibition she thought I might be interested in and I wanted to know more. About the exhibition. About her.
“Sam,” she answered.
“Come to my office at twelve,” I said, looking south across the buildings. Was she at the gallery? What was she wearing? Was her hair up or down? I liked the way some escaped when she wore it up. I wanted to see her.
“I’m busy,” she said, but I heard the grin in her voice. She didn’t hate the idea.
“Then unbusy yourself and come to my office at twelve.” I was supposed to have a lunch, but I could cancel. “I want your thoughts on dining tables.”
I needed another place to fuck her. A dining table would do nicely.
“I haven’t said yes to the tattoo,” she replied.
“You will,” I said. “I expect you here at twelve sharp.” I hung up.
I’d never had any difficulty walking away from women I’d had sex with. I knew it was better for them, and for me. I had no need to create emotional ties. But with Grace, I just couldn’t keep away. If I hadn’t called her, insisted on hiring her, I was pretty sure she wouldn’t have gotten in touch with me. She’d have made it easy for us to part ways.
Maybe that was why I was chasing after her like a teenage boy.
I busied myself, trying to get enough work done so that I didn’t have to come back to the office this afternoon, after I’d taken Grace to get her tattoo. Wanting to prove to myself that it was possible to spend an hour not thinking about Grace Astor.
At twelve fifteen my fingers hovered over the buttons on my phone. Should I call and make sure Grace was coming? I looked up at the knock on my office door as my assistant came through, followed by Grace. I stood up to greet Grace but she didn’t look at me. Her eyes were everywhere but on me, taking in my office, Rosemary, everything.
“Can I get you a cup of coffee or a glass of water?” Rosemary asked.
Grace smiled and shook her head, a strand of hair escaping from the way she had it fixed up. “No, thank you.”
“Nothing for me, Rosemary,” I said, rushing her out of my office. “Please close the door.”
I rounded my desk, heading toward Grace. How should I greet her? A kiss on the cheek? A nod of the head? Instead, my hand smoothed over her back and I guided her toward the conference table. “Please take a seat.”
“So, I’m here,” she said, her eyebrows raised as she sat down and finally looked at me.
I sat, returning her gaze. “Thank you for coming.” Did she not want to be here? I didn’t want her to think I was pressuring her. I wanted her to be as pleased to see me as I was to see her. Perhaps I should focus on our business relationship. “Tell me about the exhibition you mentioned when I last saw you.”
Grace paused before she said, “It’s for an up-and-coming artist.”
I knew she had a proclivity for rising stars. Was this one an ex-boyfriend, too?
“I think this will be his second exhibition out of art school. There was a really traditional feel to his last show, so I’m hoping you’re going to like it.” She gave a little half shrug as if to say What more do you want me to say?
I nodded. “If you think it’s worth my while.”
“You don’t have to come along,” she said. “I could go on my own, do a bit of research, take a few photos on my phone and then report back. I don’t know too much about the work, to be honest. I have to see it—it could be a disaster. I don’t want to waste your time. I know how busy you are.”
Didn’t she get it? The exhibition was just a reason to spend time with her. The art was secondary. “I’ll pick you up.”
She frowned. “You don’t need to do that. It’s not like it’s a date or something. I can meet you there.”
Not like it’s a date or something. The last time I’d been on a date was in high school, and I hadn’t realized it was a date until I arrived at the movie theater to discover it was just me and Jessica Warner. I’d kissed her, because why not? To this day, it had been the only date I’d ever been on.
Grace’s hands were folded neatly in her lap, belying her sexiness. If I was going to take anyone on a date, it was going to be Grace. “I’ll pick you up,” I said. “We can research together. Now, what about dining tables?” I asked, not ready for our meeting to be over.
“Maybe,” she said.
I didn’t understand. “Maybe?”
“If it’s small. And pretty like yours.”
It took a few seconds for me to realize that she was talking about her having a tattoo. “You think my tattoo is pretty?”
“Pretty wasn’t what you were going for?” She grinned at me.
“If you like it, I’ll take it,” I replied and her cheeks pinked.