Untamed (5 page)

“Don’t you?”

I don’t answer for a moment. “Not
here
.”

“You’re lying,” he says, grinning. “I can always tell when you lie. You definitely want to here.”

“I’m not lying,” I say, making a face at him. “And I wouldn’t want to do it
here.
”

“You and I both know we’re not talking about
here
here.”

“If not here here, then
where
here?”

But he just looks at me, those supremely kissable lips pried to the side, those azure eyes on mine.

“Seriously, Dad’s got a big stick up his ass today. Meeting the other bosses always makes him nervous.”

He ignores my warning, and says in a low voice, “I’ve been thinking about you all day.” His eyes travel up and down my body, linger on my every curve in hungry adulation. They settle on the skin of my neck, and his breathing quickens, and his pupils widen.

Despite my earlier protestation, I indulge him: “What kind of thoughts, exactly?”

“Oh, don’t worry, nothing pure.”

I shake my head and laugh.

“I haven’t seen you in twelve hours. I counted.”

“You can count that high?”

That pulls a deep and quiet chuckle from him.

“Why so long today, Dee?”

I sigh. “Classes ran late. And actually it’s pretty normal for people to not see each other for twelve hours.”

“Even couples?”

“Even couples.”

“Even secret couples?”

I roll my eyes. “
Especially
secret couples.”

“But not you and me,” he says.

“No,” I say after a pause. He’s right. “Not you and me. But when I don’t see you, it can be for months at a time. Or in one case, two years, though I guess that doesn’t really count.”

“But you left me with something in Thailand.”

“What’s that?”

“A reason to work my ass off.”

“Why’s that?”

“Did I ever tell you this before?”

“No.”

He hesitates for a moment, licks his lips. “Because I knew it’d be the only way to see you again.”

“So I made you a better fighter, huh?” I ask through a smile.

He pauses.

“What?”

“No, Dee. You made me a better person.”

Now
I
pause.

“Come on,” he says, getting up.

“I haven’t finished my drink yet.”

“Finish it, then.”

“Hold on,” I say, freely indignant. Nobody, not even Duncan, is going to rush me. “I’ll drink at my own pace, and where exactly are we going?”

“The fuck out of here.”

“We can’t just leave. Dad will go crazy.”

“Fuck your dad.”

Normally, I would agree. I had enough of Dad’s shit a long time ago, but tonight of all nights is not the night to test him.

“Fuck him,” Duncan says, and that defiant smile and gorgeous, commanding eyes are an inch away from winning me over.

“You should be mingling with his friends.”

“I don’t give a fuck about his friends. I want to mingle with you.” He leans forward, whispers, “Inside you.”

I suppress my groan. “They’re the ones who keep you fighting, you know.”

“Exactly,” he growls. “If you don’t come with me right now, I’m going to pick you up and carry you out. Not like a newlywed bride, but over my shoulder.”

“You can’t!” I hiss. “Everybody will see and then everybody will know.”

He smirks. “Then let’s go.”

We walk together, shoulder to shoulder, through the crowd. I want to reach out and take his hand, and it’s a battle not to do so. I realize, with a kind of distant horror, how easy it would be to slip up, to hold onto his arm, or run my arm around his waist before dipping lower to grab his tight ass.

I do these things all the time, but in public, with people watching, with Dad watching, I have to constantly remember not to.

What if, one time, I forget? Or he does? How quickly everything would break apart!

People murmur things at us as we wade through the sea of bodies, and we reply politely, but we’re bee-lining straight for the door.

I’m considering this entire hotel, booked out, empty, and Duncan says to me, as if reading my mind, “Time to go exploring.”

Once we’re out of the doors of the main function room, which doubles as a ballroom or banquet hall, we grin at each other.

He takes my hand then, leads me quickly through the winding, empty hallways until I’m sure we’re totally lost, and then he backs me up against a wall, pins my arms above my head, and he just looks at me.

His gaze runs down the back of my arms, and his lips part as he sweeps his eyes over my armpit, along the line of my shoulders, inward toward my chest.

He brings his lips close to my ear, whispers, “I want you right fucking now.”

I grip onto his fingers tight, and his hot breath on my earlobe stirs up something inside of me. I can smell him now that he’s so close to me, really
him
, beneath the cologne, and I love it.

His body is tense, hard, and I can feel the electricity in his every breath. He takes my earlobe into his mouth, bites it gently with his teeth, and then he smells my neck before laying a smoldering trail of kisses all the way to my shoulder, leaving me quivering.

“God, you look sexy with your hair like this. What do you call it?”

“It’s just a braided bun,” I tell him. “Don’t you know anything?”

“I know how to make you feel good.”

“That’s just biology.”

“I love it when I can see your neck, Dee.” He traces a finger from my ear to my collar bone, then runs along it to the middle. “And here,” he says. “I love it when I can see you here.”

He meets my eyes, and I see that familiar demon in his. He takes my hand, holds it against his thigh, and I gasp when I feel him, hard as a steel bar, straining against his suit pants.

“Just like that,” he tells me. “Just one smell, just one touch.”

I hold onto him, rub him slowly, draw a tortured look of lust from him. “Just one man with a one-track mind,” I whisper.

“No,” he tells me. He takes my face in his huge hand, and I feel the heat in his palms, press my cheek into it. “Only you do this to me.”

After a moment I ask him, “You going to kiss me or what?”

He smirks. “Do I really have to?”

“You assho—”

He kisses me, crushes his lips against mine, brings me up to the tips of my toes. I wrap my arms around him, heart thumping wildly in my chest as I feel his desire for me in the fervor of his kisses.

I run my hands through his hair, hold onto him, press myself against his body, as if suddenly a crack in the dam has burst. I’m as desperate for him as he is for me.

He gropes me hungrily, and I pull at his hair, and our bodies are touching all the way up and down, and I’m melting in his arms, falling into him…

“Not here,” I whisper, breaking the kiss. “We’re still too close.”

We look around, then start walking down the hallway again. As if on cue a staff member of the hotel walks past us the other way, his eyes lingering on Duncan’s crotch for a moment, a look of embarrassment stretching out his face.

I lean forward, and when I see Duncan’s tented pants I cover my mouth and laugh.

“You look ridiculous.”

“It’s your fault.”

“We are we going, anyway?”

He points up at some signage as we walk. I read it:
Indoor swimming pool
.

“Swimming?” I ask. “In what?”

“Use your imagination.”

“In our underwear?”

“If you want.”

“But I’m not wearing a bra.”

He smirks at me. “Neither am I.”

I slap his shoulder.

“Come on, Dee. Live a little.”

We arrive at the pool, open the glass door, and find it completely empty. It’s a heated pool, it steams, and the lighting is dim, and the pool casts shards of wavy light against the walls.

Duncan closes the door behind us, and I hear the click of a lock. He opens a digital keypad flap, touches a button, and the glass door turns opaque instantly.

“How did you know it would do that?”

“You mean because I’m just some dumb fighter?” he asks, taking me into his arms and pulling me against him.

“You are a fighter,” I tell him. “And sometimes, you can be dumb.”

“The button said ‘privacy’. I took a chance.”

“How brave of you.”

I grin, pull away from him, walk up the side of the pool. It’s small, meant for private parties.

I walk to a storage cupboard sitting flush almost invisibly in the wall. It slides into a recess, and I pull out a fresh towel, and lay it down on one of the deck chairs.

Duncan starts to approach me, but I stop him with an outstretched hand.

“Uh-uh,” I say. I slowly take off my heels, let him watch me, and then lie down on the deck chair, get comfortable. “Take off your clothes for me. Let me watch.”

He licks his lips.

“Come on,” I say, daring him with my eyes. “Show me what you got, champ.”

He pulls off his jacket without hesitation, folds it in half lengthways, tosses it at the deck chair next to me.

“Your turn,” he says.

I shake my head at him, and so he starts at his vest, undoing the buttons one by one, his eyes never leaving mine. They’re bluer than the water in the pool.

He tosses the vest, too, then loosens his tie, slides it off, his eyes ablaze with a lustful, singular intensity.

“Your turn,” he says.

I take my left cap sleeve, pull it down over my shoulder, and then return my eyes to Duncan and flash my eyebrows at him.

He laughs, and begins to undo the buttons to his shirt. I watch, eyes wide, as his muscular chest comes into view first, darkened on his left side by the solid tattoo of a house silhouetted – the windows are squares of uninked skin – and on the right side a leaping tiger.

Then I see his stomach, hard, flat, cut, like any fighter’s body should be.

But it just looks so much hotter on him.

He leaves his shirt still tucked in at the bottom, but runs his hands slowly down over his stomach, fingers dipping below the line of his pants for just a moment. As he pulls it down, I see the buzz of his neatly trimmed pubic hair.

“More,” I tell him.

He pulls out his shirt, rolls it off his shoulders then lets it drop down his arms. His arms are sheathed in coiling black tattoos, nothing defined, just impressions, like inked emotion. Some of those lines are sharp and severe, others calm and curved.

When he catches his shirt behind him, turns slightly to toss it onto the deck chair, I get a glimpse of the lines and lines of blessing script he has tattooed on his back.

I soak up the sight of his body, broad shoulders, narrow waist, an Adonis belt at his hips that takes my breath away, the kind that makes smart girls stupid.

God, he’s drop-dead gorgeous, and it still gets me even now.

“More,” I say, humming a grin at him. He doesn’t move, and so I crane my neck to the side, rub a hand down it, bite my lip at him.

“You are so fucking sexy,” he growls in defeat, his hands going to his belt. He unbuckles it deftly, pulls out the leather, then wraps it around one open hand until it’s a tight coil, tosses it at the deck chair.

“Your turn,” he says. “I’m serious this time.”

I grin, reach my hands behind me over my head to pull the zip down to my dress. His eyes linger on my underarms, and he swallows, his Adam’s apple jumping up and down.

“You look fucking hot in that dress, especially when it’s coming off.”

I pull the zip down a little, then lower my other sleeve over my other shoulder.

“Who said anything about coming off? Your turn. I’m serious this time.”

The quick smudge of red-pink that is his tongue wetting his lips steals my attention, before I focus on his hands as he unbuttons and unzips his pants, pulls the flaps open to either side, and I can see his black boxer briefs beneath, his bulge.

He hooks a thumb into the elastic, slowly teases it down, reveals the base of his wide shaft. He stops, looks at me, lips slightly parted so I can see the tips of his teeth.

“More,” I whisper at him.

Millimeter by millimeter he pulls down, and more of his manhood comes into view. I gasp as he finally springs out, as he tucks his underwear beneath his smooth balls.

His eyes never leave mine, and he begins to slowly stroke himself.

“Just looking at you is enough, Dee,” he groans, his body tightening.

I breathe unsteadily, let the straps of my dress fall lower.

“Show yourself to me now,” he says. No, he orders.

I pull the dress lower down, and my breasts come into view, and he sucks in air, and his body goes tighter still, and he begins to pump himself faster.

“God damn I love your breasts,” he growls, stepping closer to me. “Now pull your dress up.”

I reach for the sleeves hung down my shoulders, but he stops me with a sharp command.

“No, not there. Lower.”

“Oh, you meant there,” I tease.

I reach down, and begin to pull my dress up, over my knees, and his cobalt eyes eat up the sight of my skin. Just by looking at me he makes me tingle, raises my temperature, makes me feel so sexy.

I see nothing but desire for me in his eyes.

Duncan strokes his manhood, leans back a little, crunches his stomach.

“Higher,” he groans.

I pull the dress higher.

“Now spread those sexy thighs. Let me see you.”

I open my legs for him, my dress now bunched around my hips, and it’s like he can’t take it anymore, like something snaps.

He comes to me fast, takes my lips, claims them, pulls moans from my mouth while he kisses me fiercely, while he massages my breasts and thumbs my nipples.

I grab onto him with my legs and pull his hips toward me, and I mewl when I feel him at my entrance through my underwear.

“You’re so hard,” I whisper at him, reaching down and holding him.

“It’s you, Dee. Always.”

He kisses me again, this time just my lower lip, and when I try to kiss him back, try to taste him again, he pulls away, that sexy-as-sin smirk bringing his lips to one side.

“Don’t move,” he says, and I obey him. He traces a finger down in between my breasts, lower still, and a soft moan escapes my mouth as I feel his hand on my thigh, coming up to my center. He cups my sex, and I gasp.