by Shayla Black
“Then why’d you disappear, Kate?” He hunches over, locking down my gaze with the hurt glints in his. He tightens his jaw, doing justice to my cement block metaphor. “After I asked you to stay…”
“Shit.” I frantically wet my lips. “You…you meant that?”
Just as swiftly, he answers me. But not in words. I’m helpless and brainless beneath the new pressure of his mouth, basking in the fervent force of his feelings, now communicated solely through our chaste contact. Well, mostly. At the very end, he sneaks in a mushy sweep of his tongue, as if he wants to remind me of the possibilities if we took this thing private.
This thing.
Is that even what it is now?
Of course not. I’ve jumped well past presumption. I’m in the damn realm of assumption—not a great leap for any situation, but least of all for this one. This could still just be a closure thing for him. Tying up a loose end we never had the time—or hung out in the same social stratospheres—to finish off back at Westview. Maybe I’m just the stylus helping him punch the rest of the bubbles on this part of the “curriculum” he never finished. Maybe I’m simply like summer school English Lit.
“Kate,” he murmurs then, dusting my jawline with soft, entrancing kisses. “Oh, Kate…you were the one I let get away. The path I should have explored a long time ago.” When he’s finally got his mouth against my ear, he drops his voice to a husk that makes me visibly shiver in response. “I refuse to let that happen again. Not this time.”
My whole body trembles again. As he releases my hand in order to tuck me tight and close, I circle his neck with my arms and grip him tight. Then tighter. As we kiss again, attempting to cage our moves in some semblance of propriety, my lungs labor for air and my mind strains for a shred of good sense.
A sensibility that tells me I can’t keep tasting him like this. Moaning with him like this.
A sensibility that screams at me to ignore the ridge at the center of his body, pressing incessantly against the side of my thigh.
A sensibility that points an invisible finger toward the rumbling thunder and flashes of lightning over the city skyscape in the distance. Jabbing at the obvious symbolism of it.
Danger. Danger. Danger.
“Shit.” Adan, clearly hearing that little memo from Mother Nature as well, draws back a little. “I’m sorry,” he mutters once more. “I’m turning into a goddamned drunk poetry post.”
His self-deprecation has my heart running to the edge of my own cement block—and longing to throw myself over the edge. Into the beautiful abyss of him. “All you need now is a great stock photo to go with it,” I tease.
“Bingo.” He laughs back. “Then everyone can put me on perma-mute.”
“Meh. Fuck ’em,” I drawl. “Just make your account private.”
As reward for that, I earn an affectionate kiss. When Adan’s done, he keeps his face close and his gaze intent. “We can keep this account private…if that’s what you want, Kate. Even if it’s just for tonight…” He brushes his knuckles down my cheek. “I know it’s a risk for you. Hell, I know it’s outright dangerous for you…”
“And for you too,” I point out.
“Not in the same ways,” he rebuts. “And I recognize that too. Hell, I don’t even know if this is what you want from me anymore, so—”
I stop him with a commanding slam of my lips. What the hell; it’s an excuse to get my mouth back on the firm fullness of his. “You remember what you said earlier?” I charge. “About idiot moves?”
As he rolls out a chuckle, more lightning and thunder crack and crawl across the night sky. Louder now. Closer. As Adan raises his head and scans the sky over the bright lights in the distance, I take the moment to admire his chiseled, bold profile.
Beautiful. He’s so strong and noble and beautiful.
And tonight, he’s really offering to be mine. In ways we’ve both dreaming of…fantasizing about…asking so many what-ifs over the years…
We need to find out.
We have to find out.
We’re going to find out.
As if my body’s been waiting for exactly that conclusion to sink in, I finally twist all the way to him. I delve a hand into his hair, hauling him down to me. Our lips crash just as lightning flares again across the sky. Our chests, heaving in and out, mash into each other. Our heartbeats pound together as thunder takes over the air, as loud and powerful and magical as our passion.
A full minute later, when we pull apart with heavy-hooded gazes, I send him a joyous smile. He doesn’t return the look, as he’s too busy grimacing from my commanding torque on his scalp.
“Mr. Tyler?” I murmur.
“Yes, Miss Casey?”
“Take me home…so I can take you to bed.”
6
Adan parks his car in my spot at my condo complex, completely oblivious to the gawks we get from Unit G-10’s Mrs. Hawley and the new guy in Unit K-7, a pierced-out blond who wears cardigans and has only introduced himself as Cosmo. I’ve left my Audi behind for the night, in the secured structure at the office—but that’s not the only weirdness about what I’m missing right now.
Sex Kitten Kate. Yeah, she’s not here either.
Now. When I need her the most, damn it.
She came out to play in Sausalito—but apparently was happy about staying behind, as well. I hope to crap she’s enjoying herself there, because the Kate entering my place right now, nervously flipping on lights and picking up clutter, is more nervous than First-Time-On-the-Rock-Wall Kate. But Sketch can be an insistent bastard when he wants to be, and plied me with a lot of wine after work one day, so up the wall I went.
Wine.
Great idea.
Especially when I turn around to check out Adan’s progress behind me—I can already feel him there, his presence more potent than the lord of the jungle entering a new lair—and find myself skittering backward.
“Ermmm…hi,” I stutter out.
“Hi.” Lord of the jungle, my ass. So now he’s more like the lord of the manor, lounging against the back of my sofa, not more than two feet behind me. For several seconds, I just stop and enjoy the view as he drops my gym bag, which he insisted on carrying up, and then crosses his impossibly long legs at the ankles.
“Anyone ever told you that you can move really quickly?”
“Upon a few occasions,” he answers past a smooth, lordly smile. “But I like slowing things down from time to time too.”
I feel my lips hitching upward. “That so?”
“That’s very so.” He concludes it with a contemplative hum while taking a long look around the living room. “I really like your place.”
“Well, thanks.” I’m back to being flustered. “It’s a straight shot up the street to work and the gym. Nice and easy.” And right now, also a mess. I was in a rush this morning. My bowl of yogurt is still sitting in the sink. There’s a pile of unfolded clothes on the couch. I haven’t dusted in a week. Did I even make the bed? Oh shit, shit, shit. He’s going to see my crazy concoction of a bed…
“I’ll bet you get great light during the day with it being structured around this atrium.”
“Hummm. Yep.”
Oh dear God. Please, Sex Kitten Kate, return to my psyche now. I’ll feed you cream and buy you cute sweaters. Because the lord of the manor is now turning up his allure, and all I’ve got to give him in return is one-word stammerings. Any second now, Duke Adan is going to find me out for the fraud I am. That I’m nothing near the duchess he really needs, even in secret and even for one night. He’s been carrying around a zillion expectations in his head—for eleven damn years—and has likely built me out to be the cultured, sophisticated woman who really can give him what he craves. Witty banter. Silken moves. Someone who’ll know exactly what to say in a moment like this, instead of hummm, yep.
“And the décor is your style too,” he goes on to remark. “Modern urban girl, but layered with softness.”
Well, I definitely can
’t hum yep to that one, though I buy myself a few seconds with an honest double take. “I think what you’re trying to say is ‘organized chaos,’ but I like your phrasing better, Mr. Tyler.”
There’s a lot of affection in his answering chuckle, though the mirth doesn’t make it to his eyes. They stay hooded and sensual, as dark as the thickening storm outside. As he unhooks his ankles and then hauls me tight between his legs, the first heavy drops of rain smack against the dining room windows.
“And I like the way you feel against me when it’s raining outside, Miss Casey.”
I long to tip my head back as he growls that into the side of my neck, but I also don’t want to stop looking at him. Marveling at the athletic splendor of him. Dying inside, in all the good ways, at the surreal presence of him. Part of me still can’t believe he’s here, his ass parked against my couch…roaming his hands to cup the corresponding part of my body. But as he massages both my back cheeks, grinding my tremoring center against his growing hardness, my disbelief dissolves beneath huger swells of awareness…of exhilaration…of pure, perfect arousal.
While flattening my hands across the steely planes of his pecs, I manage to cobble together a few coy words. “You know…after this, I’ll probably never be able to think of rainstorms the same way again.”
“You mean with the same thoughts they already give me?”
I push out heavy air. Inhale with even more force. The action fills my senses with his scent. Dear God, he smells good. I’m officially addicted to his pheromones. Seriously, I should bring up the possibility of Up-To-Eleven diversifying into men’s cologne. We could brand the flagship as Eau de Adan. I can already see the profits hitting the billions.
Who the hell am I kidding? I can barely see anything past the stars in my eyes right now, dancing and glittering around the resplendence of the man who’s drawn nearly all of me up against all of him. He intensifies the hypnosis by raking a hand up the center of my spine until splaying his mesmeric fingers against the back of my head. He digs his grip in, positioning my face at an angle that seems to please him. I part my lips, ready for his kiss, but he doesn’t deliver. Instead, he continues to simply hold me like this. Keeps exposing me to a long, torturous dose of his sultry, simmering scrutiny.
“Let me tell you about all of those thoughts, Katherine.” He dips in, grating the words along the edge of my face. His breath sends exquisite shivers down my neck…then lower. “About how every time I’m in a thunderstorm, my mind is consumed by what it was like to be with you that afternoon. About how every rumble reminds me of the roar in my ears as I kissed you the first time. And the second. And the third. About how the rain makes me think of your slick sex, welcoming the invasion of my fingers. About how the lightning is like the flashes of my mind when you climaxed for me…”
I force him to trail off by sliding my hands up around his neck. I grip him there, using those cords of strength to stay on my feet as a million lusty tremors take their toll on my equilibrium. “I…I almost begged you…to make it your cock.”
“And I almost did just that,” he husks back. “In my fantasies, over all the years, I’ve added that part.” He bucks his hips, and I feel every swollen inch of the erection that proves his point. “I’ve stroked my cock until it comes, thinking about what I’d do after that.”
I’m a fresh mess of shivers as he moves his hands to my hips, forcefully bracing me there. His arms bunch and coil, ropes of commanding strength. Holy crap, his arms. Their effortless power brings me to new gasps before he even jerks me close again, making sure every part of my chest is aware of the feral rumble from his. But despite my breathless and limp-limbed state, fate brings a miracle. Just in time, Sex Kitten Kate reemerges. She helps me writhe my hips in just the right way, resulting in Adan’s darker growl. She helps me caress his jawline with perfect little nibbles and meet the rich chocolate of his gaze.
Best of all, she brings me words to say. Words I want to say. Words I’m actually able to say without faltering. Okay, not much faltering.
“Tell me,” I softly plead. “Tell me, Adan. All about it. What you’d have done…if I’d asked for your cock that day.”
Once more, the man growls at me. But this time, there’s no nuance to the sound. He’s a hundred percent beast with it now, especially as that energy rolls down through his entire body. He wants to do wicked things to me. Secret, sinful things. Everything about him is a conveyance of the fact. His fingers, digging into my hips. His crotch, rolling and sweeping and sliding against mine. His molten stare, dipping to my panting lips…
Just before he takes over them with the brutal mash of his own.
Then spreading them.
Then breaching them.
Furiously conquering me. Gloriously invading me. Brilliantly spiraling me…higher and higher and higher…into a heaven where the clouds are made of fire and the skies are pulsing with passion…
Before plunging me.
And then falling with me.
Into a realm of darkness, desire, and relentless demand. Of unthinking need and unstoppable heat. Into a space as sacred as it is illicit, with boundaries defined only by him and me. Only here and now.
Boundaries he’s determined to stretch.
I see that intention across his face too.
I see it…because I recognize it. In every dark, naughty corner of my psyche.
But tonight, I don’t deny a single one of those yearnings. I don’t run from a single watt of their dazzling, daunting power. I no longer push away the plate of this hot hunger.
Because I’m with the magnificent god who showed me the feast in the first place.
Who guides me back to that bacchanal buffet now.
With the plunge of his tongue against mine…
With the dominance of his deep moan…
With the new thrust of his body, making me wonder if his erection is capable of searing through his clothes and mine…
With the complete, conquering command of his energy, taking over all my cells and senses and synapses, until I’m nothing but elation in his arms…
Until I’m a willing jumper into his abyss.
Oh so willing.
How I’ve wanted this. Fantasized about this. Envisioned him doing exactly this with me…for me…to me…
Just like he does right now, when pulling me all the way over onto the couch. When rolling me to the leather cushions beneath him. When snarling as we rush together in a fevered, frantic tangle of mouths and hands and limbs. When giving me more of the same as soon as I push a needy moan back into his mouth…
Until, suddenly, he’s not.
Adan’s shoved away, lurching all the way back to his feet. He’s dragging his hands through his hair before lacing his fingers at the back of his head. “Shit.” As he spins back around, his face is the visual version of a five-alarm fire. “Tarzan strikes again. Damn it.”
I sit up and impale him with a censuring frown. “Huh?”
“I’m handling you like an ape man again. And this time, it was intentional. Christ. What’s wrong with me?”
I bite my lip to tamp my full laugh. “Not a damn thing from where I’m standing.” And now, as I rise, I can say it and mean it. “For the record, wild boy, I kind of enjoy your intentions.”
As I stress the point by scratching fingertips through his rough stubble, Adan flares his nostrils. He dips in, setting me on fire again with a tongue-lasher kiss. “Hmmm. Maybe I’d better demand some more proof of concept for that.”
I delve both hands into his thick, gorgeous locks. Haul him down to me for a deeper mesh of our lips and tongues as he slips one of his massive thighs between the soft willingness of mine. When we finally part again, both of us gasping for air, I whisper, “Yeah. I think you should demand a lot of proof.”
His breath audibly hitches. He propels himself backward, onto his feet. In the same motion, he drags his shirt over his head and then pitches it into the corner. With his stance wide and his teeth gritted, he orde
rs, “In that case…make yourself naked for me, woman. Now.”
7
I don’t think twice.
I don’t have to.
This is Adan, who’s going to keep me safe.
Adan, who’s going to make it good.
So. Damn. Good.
The syllables are perfect certainties in my frontal lobe as soon as I lift my head to aim the wad of my panties toward the doorway of my bedroom. So much for worrying about him bearing witness to my clutter, though the concern is barely a blip on my mental radar now. Not with my gaze completely filled with Adan Tyler’s grand nudity. Not with the way my mouth waters—seriously, I have to lift a finger and wipe drops of drool—from the stunned bliss of beholding him like this. Muscles on top of muscles. Lean, striated splendor, all covered in sun-darkened skin that all but gleams as a new burst of lightning illuminates the room. But I don’t need any extra help with admiring the most magnificent part of him.
Not even my best fantasies contained a penis as perfect as this.
No, I’m not kidding.
He’s the ideal mix of length and girth, all encased in taut, burnished flesh that’s tracked by firm, full veins. His tip is a hard crown, the slit weeping with a new pearl of milky promise.
For a long stretch of a moment, I simply stare.
Then contemplate weeping with joy.
In place of that, I bubble over with giddy spurts. “Oh God,” I choke out. “I’m sorry, Adan. I’m so, so sorry. I’m just—it’s just—”
“What?” He chuckles it out too, stacking relief and paranoia on top of each other in my mind. Clearly, he sees the motivation beneath my volatile giggles—though that’s likely because he’s gotten this reaction before. From how many other women?
I refuse to mope about that answer.
This moment is about one action alone.
Celebration.
I’ve waited too damn long for it. And I’m ready to believe the look on Adan’s beautiful face—and the arousal in his decadent cock—that convey he has too.