Only for a Night (Lick) (4 page)

Grim satisfaction prowled through him as he unhooked her bra strap and slid his hands inside the dress, smoothing his palms over her skin.
Hell yes
. He clenched his teeth, trapping the deep groan that rose in his chest. So soft. Exactly as he remembered. He almost snatched his hands from her, worried they would bruise her. Only her earlier assurance that she could take whatever he dealt her kept him from reacting… That, and the arousal blasting his insides like a blowtorch.

Pressing his temple to hers, he once again cupped her, slipping under her loosened bra. Flesh to flesh. Skin to skin. She jolted, arching into palms, fingernails digging into his nape. Relishing the bite of pain, he kneaded her breasts and pinched her nipples into tight, hard tips. Dipping his head, he trailed his lips up the elegant column of her neck and continued to torment them both. God, he wanted to jerk the dress down to her waist, bare her to his eyes and mouth. Instead he tugged on the peaks, rolling and flicking them. Harper twisted and writhed under his touch, her whimpers and low moans like a sensual symphony. She was his instrument to pluck, to play.

Once more, he wished for his camera. Fuck, what he wouldn’t give to photograph her right now. To capture the sweet undulations of her petite body and the passion that tore gasps from her parted lips and clouded her beautiful eyes.

Eyes that were closed.

“Open your eyes,” he ordered, giving her breasts one last squeeze before removing his hands from her dress and gripping her hips. “Look at them.”

Her lashes fluttered, her head rising off his shoulder. Together, they watched the man deliver another long lick to his lover’s folds, pausing to tease her clit with the tip of his tongue. Then he rose and crawled over her, his muscled form crouched over her much slimmer one. He shifted her body, so their audience had the perfect view of his back, ass…and her flushed, shining pussy.

“Rion,” she whispered.

Rion tightened his hold on her, guiding her to an armchair tucked in the deeper shadows a couple of feet away. Instead of seating her on the cushion, he led her behind the chair, and tangling her fingers with his, curled them over the back. She twisted, glancing at him over her shoulder, but he grasped her chin and gently, but firmly, turned her forward again. With the tip of his shoe, he nudged her feet wider, and with a palm to her lower back, silently ordered her to lean forward.

“Watch,” he murmured, lowering his hands to the hem of her dress. He fisted the material, drawing the skirt up her slim legs, once more baring her inch by slow inch. She trembled, the quivers like aftershocks coursing through her and vibrating against him. With a low growl, he brushed his lips down her spine, and the shivers intensified. He straightened, fierce pleasure and satisfaction that he could make her shake and shudder pulsed inside him like a heartbeat. Determined to earn more, he finished bunching her dress around her hips, exposing her to his hungry stare.

Sin and innocence wrapped in black lace. Not the thongs most women of his acquaintance wore, but delicate lace cut high at her smooth thighs, again teasing him with glimpses of flesh underneath. One hand holding her skirt in place, he smoothed the other over one ass cheek, cupping it, squeezing it.
Yeah, I’m touching her
. That damn awe again. He trailed his fingers down the crease, hiding the tiny hole he wanted to caress, lick, and fuck…

She jerked. “Rion,” she rasped his name and reached back and cuffed his wrist. The restraint was either in objection to him baring her from the waist down or to the illicit stroke. “I’m not—” she stammered.

“You okay, baby?” he rasped, pausing. No one paid them attention, but he had to make sure she was comfortable, that she felt only pleasure, not embarrassment or, worse, shame. “You good with this?”

“Yes,” she breathed. After a moment, she returned her hand to the back of the chair. “Yes.”

“Good,” he praised, pressing his chest to her back, covering her. His thighs brushed the insides of hers, preventing her from closing her legs. Rocking his hips forward, he stroked his dick against her ass like he’d wanted to do earlier. He nipped her earlobe in both praise and punishment at the pleasure she gave him. “Look at how wet she is. She’s soaked. But not just for him. Because she knows all these eyes are on her. Because
your
eyes are on her.” He flattened a palm to her belly and slid the other one down and over her hip. She sucked in a breath. “You’re giving her pleasure just by watching, by getting hot and drenched. And you are wet, aren’t you, Harper?” He teased the band of her panties, slipping just his fingertips underneath. Soft, springy hair grazed his skin, and he ground his dick harder against her. Gritting his teeth, he growled, “Harper? Answer me.”

“Yes.” The word exploded from between her lips on a gasp. Tilting her head back, she rocked her ass up and down, rubbing over his dick, and dragging a groan out of him. “God, I am. Please, Rion. Just…”

He plunged two fingers inside her at the same time the man on the other side of the glass buried himself inside his lover’s pussy. A low, keening wail erupted from her, drowning out his hoarse “fuuuuuck.”

Slick, muscular walls. Hot like a furnace. Liquid heat that, by all rights, should be scalding him. She spasmed around his fingers, quivering as her flesh accustomed itself to the invasion. Goddamn, she was small. Tight. Perfect.

His cock throbbed as if jealous, and hell, it should be. Pushing inside her would be hell…and the only glimpse of heaven he would ever be granted.

Withdrawing his fingers, he glided them through her slit, and over her engorged little clit. Harper bucked against his hand, wild sounds spilling out of her. Jesus, she was hot. Just one thrust and caress and, that fast, she was on the verge of coming undone. With a snarl, he grasped her chin, tilted it down, forcing her attention on the fucking in front of them.

The man pounded into his woman, his dick disappearing in her thrust after thrust. The slap of flesh filled the room even through the glass. And the sighs and grunts from the others in the room, as well as from the woman in his arms, steadily rose.

“That’s what I’m going to do to you,” he growled, wrapping his arm around her waist, holding her still as he rocketed his fingers back into her sex. Like a good girl, she didn’t move her hands from the chair, but she writhed against him, voluntarily spreading her legs wider so he could have more of her. Setting up a fast, steady pace, he pumped into her, lust like a clawing beast digging at his gut every time her lush walls squeezed him. “I’m going to fuck you into the bed. Hard. Deep. Imagine this”—he twisted his wrist, corkscrewing his fingers and ripping a cry free of her—“is my dick, riding you, screwing you, branding this pretty, tight as hell pussy. You’re going to scream for me, baby. Again.” He thrust into her. “And again.” Thrust. “And again.”

He dipped his other hand between her thighs and circled the taut bud at the top of her thighs, torturing the engorged bundle of nerves with firm strokes. His fist bumped the soft skin of her inner thighs as he slammed his fingers into her, pushing her closer and closer to orgasm.

“Come, baby,” he whispered, rubbing her clit as he plunged hard and high within her sex. “Come with her. Give it to me and her.”

She came, strangling his fingers in a vise-like grip. She shook with the force of it, and he didn’t let up on his thrusts or caresses to her clit until every last shudder quieted. Behind the partition, the woman’s cries rebounded off the glass, her legs splayed wide as her man rode her through the release. Harper whimpered with her as she slumped back against him, her chest rising and falling on her still harsh breaths.

Slowly, he eased his fingers from inside her, reluctant to leave. Still feeling the death-grip of her pussy, he slid them into his mouth, humming as the first taste of her exotic flavor exploded across his senses. Damn. Sweet. Tangy. Fucking addicting. He sucked her cream clean. And it only whetted his appetite for more.

Lust beat inside him. He needed to be inside her. Her mouth, her pussy, her ass—just
inside
. But this—this dip into voyeurism—had been for her…for her to let go. To realize she could. Reluctant pride surged within.

Tangling his fingers in her hair, he gathered it to the side and pressed a kiss to her neck, murmuring her name. She started, ducking her head, the movement quick. And it smacked of guilt. Lifting his gaze, he followed the line of direction where hers had been before he’d surprised her. It didn’t take long to discover what had held her fascination.

Across the room, a woman with enough curves to shame Botticelli’s Venus lay sprawled over the arm of one of the couches. And most of those curves were on full display. But he’d bet his left nut it wasn’t her bared tits that had snared Harper’s attention. Two men bent over the woman. One cradled a breast in his hand, sucking hard on the nipple, his fingers toying with the other. And the second man knelt between her spread thighs, his face buried in her pussy. Absolute carnal ecstasy suffused her face, twisting it into a mask of lust and arousal.

Is it the thought of my cock that has your pussy hot? Or would any do?
The question he’d asked Harper in his office ghosted across his mind. As did the flicker of emotion in her eyes that he couldn’t identify…then. Now he understood. Lust. Furtive and quickly hidden, but it’d been lust he’d glimpsed. Yeah, Harper wanted him—the force of her orgasm and his drenched fingers was proof of that. But she wanted
more
.

An image wavered and solidified in his head, and his gut tightened with need. Harper, splayed out on the couch, her face hard with pleasure as Rion ate her pussy while another man played with those pretty breasts.

Need, greedy and hot, surged through him.

“Do you want that, Harper?” Her head jerked up, and he studied her face. Caught the surprise and shame that flashed across her expression before she concealed it. He hated that guilt. Had seen it one too many times tonight. She, with her beauty, her passion, had nothing to be ashamed about. To feel dirty about. She parted her lips, but he waylaid her reply. “Honesty, baby,” he reminded her.

“I…” She inhaled, slicked the tip of her tongue over her lips. With another quick peek at the trio, she shrugged a shoulder. “I don’t know.”

She knew. Was just afraid to voice the fantasy.

“Okay,” he said, allowing her the lie…for now. “Are you ready?”

He didn’t wait for her reply but tugged her skirt down, for now concealing what he considered his, even if only for the next few hours. Without bothering to zip her dress, he extended his hand to her, and once her smaller one pressed to his, he led her out of the room. As if attuned to some internal clock, he could feel the minutes ticking away. Soon his time with her would come to an end. But not before he made every second count.

Made every one of them a memory.

Chapter Five

“In here.”

Harper walked past Rion and entered another room, noting the green door. Green. The color of youth, rebirth. Maybe that should’ve been the paint on the first room. Because damn, she’d been reborn in there. She’d discovered that all her life she’d been living in hues of gray, her world muted, placid. But now…now those blinders had been ripped away, and the colors were so vibrant, technicolor, alive, that it almost hurt. In that room, with the couple performing for them—no, not performing, because there had been no artifice between them. In that room, with the couple fucking for their pleasure, Rion had shattered her.

And the fear that had been missing when he’d warned her about what to expect, about what he planned to do to her, rushed in like a flood, crashing against her.

Because she didn’t know if she would ever be able to pick up all those pieces she’d splintered into and reshape herself into something recognizable.

Still, if it was just the fear, she could recover quickly. Or at least fake it until the unsettling sense of foreboding dissipated. But the shame dogging fear’s heels like a yipping dog refused to be silenced. Guilt’s sibilant hiss filled her ears as it wound an oily, thick path through her veins, coating her heart.

“Are those second thoughts making a belated appearance?” Rion stood in front of her, and she focused her attention on the wide expanse of his chest, unable to meet his eyes.

“No.”

“You were always a horrible liar,” he mocked, shifting closer until she breathed in his dark, delicious scent. “Look at me, Harper.”

Though soft, the tone brooked no argument or resistance. And she obeyed without hesitation. But this wasn’t the resented acquiescence she’d given Terrance. With Rion, she
wanted
to surrender, trusting that her safety, her needs, her pleasure was first and foremost for him. She could entrust her body into his care without worry.

It was her heart that she couldn’t risk.

It had been broken too many times and even now was held together by emotional duct tape.

He cocked his head to the side, studied her. “What was our agreement earlier? I don’t use anything we do against you, and you give me what in return?”

“Honesty,” she murmured.

“You haven’t held up your end of the bargain, and I’ve let it go. But not now. What’s wrong? This doesn’t go any further until you tell me what you’re thinking.”

The urge to utter “rosebud,” her safe word, rose within her, hovered on her tongue. She hadn’t used it when he’d hiked her dress up in a room full of people and finger-fucked her. Yet, she was willing to say it because he pushed her to expose secrets she’d never intended for him to discover. Humiliation strangled her.

Coward
.

Her own insult beat at her. She’d come to Lick to jump-start her life, to find the woman who had dreamed of one day owning a book store and café, who had defied her parents to befriend a boy who moved in the dangerous, murky world of the mob. Uncover the woman she was meant to be. She hadn’t backed down or given up when Rion had first rejected her. But now, at the thought of stripping free of her heart rather than her clothes, she was ready to turn tail and run.

Closing her eyes, she reached for the courage of that woman. “That—what we just did—it was…dirty.”

“Yeah, it was.”

Shocked, she met his hooded gaze.

“What?” he pressed. “It was dirty, hot, and good as hell. And you enjoyed every minute of it.”

She shook her head, fighting the guilt, frustration, and burning arousal twisting inside her. His eyes narrowed.

“Are you going to try and claim you didn’t love it?”

“No.” Again she shook her head. “No, I did. I’ve never—”
Come like that before
. She bit the telltale admission off. “Just because I-I liked it doesn’t make me a slut.”

He recoiled, his head jerking back as if slapped by a phantom palm. Pinching the bridge of her nose, she sighed. God, she was mucking this explanation up. With a low growl, Rion crowded her, his chest and thighs pressed to hers. Fury had chased away the surprise, and it darkened his eyes, firmed the sensual curves of his lips into a flat, grim line.

“Hell no, it doesn’t make you a slut. Who said it did?” Before she could reply, he slowly nodded, his lips twisting into a hard smile. “No, let me guess. Terrance. What happened? You asked for something more than missionary?”

Jesus
. Embarrassment crawled over her, prickling her skin. Crossing her arms, she rubbed them, cringing inside from his question.

“Harper.” That tone again. The one that demanded her honesty. Her truth. No matter how humiliating it was.

“I wanted to use…toys in bed. But that offended him, because it was basically saying he wasn’t satisfying me. Then I asked him if we could watch…” She paused, squeezed her arms tighter. “…Movies together. If we could have sex while they were on. I thought it would be sexy. But he told me I wasn’t a whore. That only whores wanted what I did.” A dangerous, dark rumble of sound emanated from Rion, but she continued. “One Friday, he’d left home for his monthly poker game with friends. He usually stayed out until very late, so I put in a movie I’d secretly bought. In the middle of it, he returned home early and caught me. He…” She shifted her attention to the far wall over Rion’s shoulder. “He lost it. Trashed the DVD player. Called me a slut and more horrible names. Said I was dirty. After that, I never asked him for anything more. Not even…”

Not even after she became pregnant, and he stopped having sex with her, treating her like some untouchable Madonna instead of a woman. She bit her lip, trapping the words in. That particular secret—her pregnancy, Carlie—she wasn’t ready to share. Never would be.

“Not even, what?” Rion pushed, of course catching her reluctance to continue.

“Not even when I felt invisible as a woman. Unattractive. Undesirable. For so long, I’ve been a wife”—
a mother
—“a silent partner, a title rather than a person. For once, I just want to be desired, to be needed. To be…”

“Free,” he supplied, his quiet tone a stark contradiction to hers.

She nodded, dropping her arms. “Free,” she repeated just as softly, surprised he’d remembered her earlier admission in his office.

“Why did you marry him?”

Because you didn’t stop me
. She bit back the accusation. “We’d dated for a while,” she began, hesitant. Careful not to admit too much. Like, she’d started seeing Terrance after Rion had rejected her. She’d accepted that first date with Terrance out of her desperation to overcome her insane and fruitless fascination with Rion. “So when he asked, I said yes.” She shrugged. “Like you pointed out then, Terrance was a good man. He had a great job with his father at their accounting firm. I’d just graduated from college. And I…was ready to start my life.”

Had she been in all-consuming insta-love and lust with Terrance like she’d been with Rion from the moment he’d warned those asshole bullies that he’d fuck them up if they came near her again? No. But she had loved and respected Terrance. And they’d shared common values and goals in life. Her parents had based their thirty-year marriage on the same foundation.

Besides, she’d wasted years wanting Rion. After he’d told her he didn’t do relationships, refused to leave the life that would one day steal his, and had distanced himself from her, she’d had to move on as best as she could.

“But it wasn’t what you wanted,” he stated, tone flat.

“We weren’t married long, but…no. I found out too late that Terrance wanted a homemaker, not a career woman as a wife, so I never used my business degree, thinking I could wear him down eventually. Then…” She shut down the thought of their baby with a teeth-jarring slam. “After a while, I just wanted peace and not to live in strife, so I went along. I mean, plans change all the time. But now, I know that peace at any cost isn’t peace at all.”

“Is that the reason behind your hard limits? No gags or masks?”

Once more, he surprised her. But then again, he was the most intuitive person she’d ever known, always watching people with that steady, piercing gray stare. At some point, he’d even seen past her we’re-just-friends facade and guessed how much she craved him.

“Yes,” she murmured. “I spent most of my marriage silent and wearing one figurative mask or another. I couldn’t stand that here, between us.”

He slipped a hand around her neck, cupping the nape in his big palm. She shivered under his masculine, dominant hold. He’d bared her in a room full of people, touched her, whispered dirty things to her, had made her come on his fingers, and yet, she’d never felt more sexy, wanted, and protected.

“Harper, wanting sex that doesn’t fit into a narrow mold doesn’t make you depraved or sinful or any of those other stupid labels people with sexual hang-ups try to tack onto others. You are a gorgeous, sensual woman who isn’t afraid to explore her body or indulge in pleasure not just for herself, but her partner. You are giving and unselfish, and I damn near came from just watching you in that room. You’re rare, and your curiosity, your passion deserves to be encouraged and cherished, not shamed. Terrance was wrong for making you feel like you were immoral. He was intimidated by you, by your needs and instead of being a considerate, selfless lover, he tried to make you feel guilty. It’s probably a serious breach in etiquette to speak ill of the dead, but he had a gift, and he’s a fucking fool for not appreciating it.”

She sucked in a breath. No one had ever spoken to her like that. Her heart slammed against her rib cage. But beneath the clamor crept hope of maybe, just maybe, someone saw the real her—the flawed, stubborn her who fantasized about being corrupted…dirtied.

And even more, he accepted her.

“Thank you,” she whispered.

“You want to thank me,” he said, stroking a hand up her thigh and cupping her, the heel of his palm pressing against her clit. She gasped, heat flooding to her sex, bringing a now familiar ache with it. “Then let me taste what my fingers have already touched.”

Lust stole her ability to speak. Not that she would’ve said no. And maybe he’d guessed her answer because he released her neck and slid that hand under her dress as well. He hooked his fingers in the band of her panties and slid them down her legs. Then stepped back, his stormy scrutiny like a brand.

“Undress for me,” he ordered.

A protest leaped to her lips. Him stripping her was one thing; he had the control. He was doing it
to
her. But if she removed her clothes, she would be laying herself bare. In more ways than one. Baring not just her skin but her insecurities and vulnerability. She was a far cry from the women who strutted around downstairs with their tight, barely clothed, model-thin bodies. The women he was probably used to fucking.

What if he was…disappointed?

“Whatever you’re thinking,” he said, “don’t. Be brave with me, baby.”

The words bolstered her flagging courage and confidence like nothing else could. Inhaling a deep breath, she stepped out of the pool of black lace at her feet and removed her shoes. Though he stood a short distance away, silent as a statue, his tall frame and powerful shoulders seemed to dwarf her. The disparity in their heights was even more pronounced without her stilettoes. Her pulse hammering, she eased the straps of her dress and loosened bra down her shoulders. With one shove of the material over her hips, she was completely naked.

She fought the urge to cover her breasts and sex like some Victorian virgin. And succeeded. But she could do nothing about the blush that scalded her face, neck, and chest. Rion didn’t ease her discomfort. His hooded stare roamed every inch of her from her tousled hair, over her breasts and pebbling nipples, down her tad-less-than-flat belly, lingering on the trimmed triangle of hair between her legs, and lower to her bare, unpainted toes.
Say something
. The plea remained trapped behind her clenched teeth, but it ricocheted off the walls of her head. Still, his expression revealed nothing.

No. That wasn’t true. When his eyes returned to hers, she almost flinched from the heat. It smoldered like dark, roiling storm clouds. Intense, hot…dangerous.

“On the bed.” The low, growled order reverberated in the room and danced over her skin.

Turning, she headed for the large, four-poster bed and climbed onto the mattress, conscious of his attention on the line of her spine, her bared behind, the exposed folds of her sex, and even the backs of her knees. She shouldn’t have been able to practically
feel
his scrutiny—fanciful thoughts like that belonged to romance novels and science fiction—but damn if she didn’t. It marked her.

She propped up on her elbows and snatched the opportunity to scan the room. Anything to give herself a few moments before meeting that all-too-perceptive stare. The king-size bed dominated the room that was pretty spartan compared to the other places she’d already visited in the club. A huge oak armoire that wouldn’t have been out of place in the Beast’s castle from
Beauty and the Beast
sat in a corner while two big armchairs flanked a banked fireplace. An ornate lamp on the bedside table provided the only light, but it cast enough illumination for her to glimpse the mural adorning the wall directly behind Rion. Her breath caught. Painted in variations of green, gold, and white, a couple with their arms and legs entwined lay on a carpet of grass. Vines and flowers twisted around their nude bodies in a sensual embrace. It was gorgeous. Magical. And while on the surface too whimsical for this den of sex and hedonism, it fit perfectly.

“Eyes on me,” Rion instructed and, unable to resist, she fixed her attention on him. The flutters in her belly morphed into rapid beating, and if she could move, she would’ve flattened her palm against her stomach to still it.

Dark, intense beauty. Barely leashed power. Seething sexuality. He overwhelmed her.

He stripped out of his jacket and unbuttoned his shirt, revealing inch after inch of taut, golden skin, firm, ripped muscle…and tattoos. Heavy black swirls and stark patterns mixed with dark reds, blues, and purples. He shrugged free of the shirt and tossed it on the chest, revealing that the ink continued over both shoulders and down his right arm to his wrist. The need to study each line and drawing up close, trace them with her tongue, whipped through her. Was it possible to come just from looking at a man? Her tight nipples and damp, clenching sex volunteered a resounding yes. As did her pounding heart.