No Perfect Princess (14 page)

So much.

Too much.

Not enough.

His nearness eroded what little resistance the alcohol had left for me to cling to. I couldn’t fight it anymore. I needed more of him. So much more.
Now
.

“Michael.”

“Yeah, sugar.” The words were so hot on my neck…his body so huge behind mine…

Shit.
Shit.

“Please…” Instincts, urgent and primal, took over. I slid my ass against his crotch, a wordless plea for him to understand…to read the thoughts, the needs, the urges that pitched to overwhelming intensity.

His breath, now ragged, skated along the back of my neck. “Please what, beautiful girl?” When I only moaned and pressed and writhed, he gripped my hair with his other hand, jerking my head in the other direction so he could access the opposite side of my neck. “Just say it, Margaux. I need to hear it. To know I haven’t really just fallen asleep on that couch and am dreaming of you like this…my fantasy come to life.”

Shivers. Then heat. So much more heat. Blissful, hot, stabbing blades of torturous, torrid fire, through every damn inch of me. “C-can’t you—tell? D-don’t you—know?”

“Give me the words.” he snarled it into my ear, as merciless with the order as he was with his hold. The hand around my waist fanned against my stomach. Began to trail lower. Lower… “Anything I have is yours…but I want the words.”

Beautiful, bold man. He knew exactly what he was doing. Making it all right by throwing down the ultimatum. Making me put all the noise in my head aside for nothing but the needs of my body. “I—I want to…be with you. Now. Here. Tonight. And I don’t want to fight anymore. I just—”

“Okay,” he soothed to my needy whimper. “Okay, okay. Ssshhh; I’ve got you, remember?” He tilted my head against his shoulder and pressed his lips to my forehead. “Why don’t you tell Andre you’re staying for a while? I can drive you home when you’re ready to leave.”

I pushed up but only to turn around, meeting his gaze directly. Lines of pure desire gave new definition to his hewn features. I longed to run my fingers through his dark gold scruff, to explore every chiseled crevice in adoring detail.

“What if I don’t want to leave at all?” I pulled off sultry with the tone but the champagne made it tough to gauge if I looked convincing or just stupid. I felt so gawky, unsure. It was scary—and thrilling.

“That’s fine, too.” He eased the moment with a slow wink and a lusty half-smile, finally letting me free to dig my phone from my bag and let Andre know he could clock out for the night.

I expected a shitload of gloating chortles from Andre but he simply answered with a firm “Be safe,” inciting a soft smile as I slipped the phone away again.

“Aha,” Michael said, watching me drop the red Gucci to the coffee table.

“Aha?”

“
There
it is.”

“There what is?”

“Your smile. I was beginning to think I’d lost it forever.”

“Very funny, Pearson.”

“I’m not joking.”

He clearly wasn’t. But he sure as hell was sexy, standing there like an idol carved of gold, the devil’s own henchman sent out to seduce a woman into the most wicked of sins. Well, it was past time to dance with the devil, if I had anything to do with it.

“My smile has been right here all along,” I finally whispered. “Waiting for you. Like the rest of me.”

He stepped toward me again—though there was an air of wariness to his approach, as if I were a cobra ready to strike. Slowly, he lifted a finger up to my lips. Then another. Traced along the curves of them with careful, feathering strokes. “I was a goddamn fool, wasn’t I?”

I parted my lips—only enough to return his caress with the brush of my breath. “It doesn’t matter anymore.”

His eyes slid briefly shut. He didn’t have to do more. I heard his gratitude louder than as if he’d voiced it. “So what now?”

I tilted my head again. No bullshit monitor this time, only a guide to help the turn-around for the rest of me. Once my back was to him again, I lifted my hair up and softly requested, “Unzip me first, maybe?” As his fingers grazed my skin before he worked the metal enclosure, I added, “Do you…have a T-shirt I can borrow?”

He coughed harshly. Cleared his throat pointedly. I gave in to a giggle and glanced back over my shoulder, still clutching the dress to me as he choked, “Yeah. Sure. Uh…yeah.”

“Michael?” I prompted it after he passed half a minute standing there, mutely gaping at my bared shoulders and naked back. And looking at him, looking at me…holy
hell
. The center of my thighs was wetter by the second, and
that
stare was the sole cause. Before I’d revealed anything remotely important!

“Uhhh…huh?”

“I don’t bite. Unless that’s what you’re into.”

He swallowed hard. Then again. “Fuck me, woman. You really
do
like shaking things up, don’t you?”

I managed—barely—a kittenish smile. “Does that mean I get a T-shirt?”

“You want me to be a gentleman or a pig about that answer?” He nonetheless swung toward an open doorway between the dining room and the patio slider, a logically-placed entrance to the bedroom.

Naturally, I followed him on silent feet. Thankfully, Andrea had forced me into all those years of ballet. The stealthy result served me well as an adult.

His bedroom was all dark wood, clean lines, and Ansel Adams prints, lightened by cream-colored rugs and a pillow-top bed accented by coffee-colored throw pillows—all squares and rectangles, fitted to each other like a Tetris grid. I leaned in the doorway, still clutching my dress to my chest, as he pulled a neatly folded black tee from a drawer.

The look on his face was priceless when he discovered I’d been watching him. He stopped, tongue working over his lips, feet braced like a kid wondering if the shot was going to hurt.

Weirdly, I battled the same nerves.

Ohhh, God. You’ve got his attention now.

Showtime
.

With the lighting from the living room as a backdrop, I dropped my hold on the fabric.
Swish.
The dress fell away, leaving me exposed in the underthings I’d taken care in selecting this morning. Karma whispering in my ear? Interesting theory, considering I’d thought my behavior odd at the time—while being unable to stop myself from slipping into the scarlet corset, matching satin panties, and coordinated garter belt, finished off with nude thigh highs.

He got rid of the uneasy kid right away. Fully embraced his man-beast side again, his jaw constricting, his briefs tightening, his lips moving with heavy, grated words.

“Holy…fuck.”

This all couldn’t have worked out better. I reveled in where I had him now—nibbling out of the palm of my hand—though every other second there were two of him, thanks to the bubbles still battling each other in my blood like bitches at a Prada clearance sale. At least the buzz lent more bravado for this saucy little strip act I’d started, yet another first in the name of pursuing Mr. Pearson. I was a tie-me-up-and-do-me-hard girl, not a see-anything-you-like-big-boy girl.

Suuuuure
.

“See anything you like?”

Oh, that
had
to have sounded as ludicrous as it felt.

“I see a whole lot of things I like.”

Apparently not.

Thank God Claire had forced me to watch a few rom coms lately. Borrowing another “sexy” move from Reese, Jennifer, or Cameron—don’t think I
even
remembered which one—I slid my hand up the molding of the door frame. Well. Guess they called this one a classic for a reason. It actually felt a little sexy—and helped stabilize the spinning of the room, which intensified with every heated sweep of Michael’s stare up and down my body.

“Then I’m all yours,” I told him. “And I want to make every single second count.”

He raised a finger. “I’ll second every word of…that.”

The last of it was nothing but a strangle from him, as I turned and pressed my back to the jamb. The move forced my breasts and hips out in a pose that dropped his jaw—then brought him sprinting close. Closer. Ohhhh, yes.
That
was it…

He pressed in, hovering just inches away, staring down with those fantastic eyes of his. When his nostrils flared and his lips parted, the demon turned all man again. All desire. All need and hunger and desire he couldn’t restrain any longer. Thank God.
Thank God.
Finally.
Finally
.

He pressed in more. Our hips formed to each other. The heat beneath his underwear pressed into the wetness beneath mine. He curved one hand to my waist. Raised the other to the jamb over my head. Leaned in. Kissed me. Again.
Ohhh, again.

He began softly, flicking in only the tip of his tongue, rocking gently against me. Pulled back, just out of reach, when I reached for him. Let out the devil’s own chuckle. “So impatient, little one.”

“Impatient?” I shot both brows up. “Who you working that line on, mister? I’ve waited six damn months. I should be suing you for torture.”

His eyes glittered—right before he surged back in again, with one word spilling off his lips in a growl. “Torture.”

No more teasing. Forget about gentle. He slammed our mouths together, opening me up, filling me. It was invasion more than kiss, mind-bending with passion and force. Skyrockets. C-4. Implosions in my blood—and beyond. Every stupid, silly, romantic classifier that I’d ever made fun of now lined up to bite me in the ass. Kind of hilarious, since even my ass trembled. I had no idea how my knees didn’t buckle.

Ohhhh Christ, could this man kiss.

But I still needed more. If he was simply using this as the precursor for more “making out” and dry humping, he’d have a full riot on his hands, proudly sponsored by my libido. One flick of my hand and the man would be naked, anyway—but no, too easy, too simple. I wanted to unspool him. Unglue him as thoroughly as he pried off all my moorings. Make him feel every pounding, exploding, hot, horny degree of desire tormenting the River Styx now doubling as my bloodstream…

I moaned softly into his mouth as our tongues continued to duel. He was winning, but only because I let him. And yes, dammit, I loved letting him. I never—
never
—let a man take the lead on this end of things. As if any of them knew what the hell they were doing, anyway.

But Michael Adam Pearson…

Was different. So beautifully, magnificently different.

Decadent.

Decisive.

Powerful.

Passionate.

And God, so arrogant. But self-aware of it. And so openly, brazenly sexy about his promise to deliver on that arrogance.
Yeah
, his golden gaze declared,
you’re going to sample my sinful side tonight, sugar—and you’re going to fucking love it.

It was a bold promise, and not many had fulfilled it with me. But hell, I wanted to let him try. Craved a thorough, brutal unraveling at his magical hands. Needed him to solve my puzzle, piece by complicated piece…

He was off to an amazing start. His lips traveled across my jaw, under my ear then against it, suffusing me with the heat of his heavy breaths, his open-mouthed kisses.

“You want me to do filthy things to you tonight, don’t you?” he snarled at a volume meant only for me…and my throbbing body. “You want me to take this cock out, fit it into your aching pussy then ram it over and over until it hurts?
Tell me,
Margaux. Yes or no.
Now
.”

“Y-yes. Oh hell—yes!” I gasped for air, rocking my head back. Wow.
Wow
. I’d always known the guy had a wicked side to him, but this was—
good.
So damn good. Beyond anything I’d dared to dream.

He scraped his teeth along my jaw again, marking my skin with his stubble as he pulled my head to the other side, clearing my other ear for his dirty, delicious words. “I was holding back, thinking a woman like you needed to be handled like fine china…but you’re the china that likes to be shattered, aren’t you? Splintered into a thousand tiny pieces…then ground up again, until you dissolve into dust.”

I nodded, but realized that wouldn’t be good enough. Swallowing to get enough air into my throat, I rasped, “Yes. Break me. Hard.
Hard.
” I’d waited so long to hear these words—from
him
. Had damn near given up that I ever would.

Good things come to those who wait. And learn to live with a lover named Hitachi. And take a lot of freezing showers. For six goddamn months.

No more waiting. This was happening. My head whirled with desire. My body sizzled with awareness. I couldn’t wait for his next words…the next naughty thing my ears could translate straight to my clit, now grinding against his thigh in open, wanton need.

“I want you on my bed, Margaux.”

“Yeah,” I rasped. “Bed. Good…idea.”

“Go there now.” Incredibly, his voice dove deeper with command. “In the center. On your knees. Waiting for me.” He rocked back, scouring his gaze over every inch of me, rubbing his forefingers against his thumbs as if warming his fingers for what he wanted to do to me next. “And keep those shoes on. They’re fucking hot.”

At first, I didn’t move.
Process. Process. Did he really just say…
?

I lifted my head to meet his stare. He’d just questioned if I was an apparition from a dream but now I wondered if
he’d
invaded
mine
—especially since I cocked a glare of open sass, expecting to back him down with it, only to make his eyes narrow and his stance stiffen.

“What are you waiting for? Do it.”

Forget the Jell-O knees. Everything south of my navel turned to soup. I attempted recovery by tossing my head and pushing a finger into the middle of his chest. God, how I wanted to just slide it down, between the twin ladders of his abs, following that incredible V of muscle…

Soon.

“Fine, fine. Just don’t expect me to call you ‘Sir’ and all that shit.”

His laugh was warm and full. “Not a chance, sugar. I don’t do all that shit, either. But putting you in your place every now and then will be my thorough pleasure.
And
yours.”