by Lara Adrian
But this kiss is something new. It’s unrushed and deep, a languorous melding of his lips over mine. This slow, masterful kiss seduces me even more than the ones that came before it. He’s tasting, testing . . . and it nearly unravels me right where I sit.
On a low curse, he pulls back only far enough to separate our mouths. We’re both breathing erratically now. I can feel the drum of his heartbeat beneath the hand I have pressed against his chest. He lowers his head to mine, resting our foreheads lightly together. His blue eyes are dark but smoldering as they hold my gaze. “Are you ready, Avery?”
I swallow and try to find my voice. “Yes.”
God, yes. I’m on the verge of combusting.
He gets out of the car in fluid motion, then walks around to open my door before I have the chance to do it for myself. It’s gentlemanly and proper, and I feel a blush creep into my cheeks in response. Which is ridiculous considering where this night began and where we both know it will end.
“Thanks,” I murmur, accepting his hand as he helps me climb out.
We head inside the building, then into one of the elevator cars waiting at the garage level. Nick types a code on the numbered panel, then we begin our smooth ascent. I’m anxious now, conscious of his distance as he leans back against the wall of the elevator, facing me. Studying me.
I can see the hunger in his hooded gaze. Lower still, I can see the evidence of his desire in the immense bulge in his tailored pants. My entire body responds to that heat, my skin tightening, breasts tingling with my arousal. I want to kiss him again. I want his hands on me, right here in the elevator. I just want . . . him.
When I don’t think I can take another second of the torturous waiting, a soft chime announces we’ve arrived. I see the letters PH on the digital display, but that doesn’t prepare me for the jaw-dropping apartment that we step into as we exit the elevator.
Subdued lighting barely illuminates the mirrorlike marble floors of the foyer and the clean, masculine lines of his furnishings. The penthouse is open-concept and spacious, a mixture of gleaming metals, rich, exotic woods, and crisp white furniture. He’s got the same massive windows that Claire has in her fifth-floor apartment, except there are more of them up here. With glass on three sides of the enormous living room, the view from the penthouse nothing short of spectacular.
“Come in.” Nick’s fingers brush mine in a gesture for me to follow him inside.
I trail along at his side, awestruck by everything in my line of sight—including the incredibly sexy man leading me into his domain. He takes my jacket and purse, setting both on one of the trio of sofas that outfit an elegant U-shaped conversation area that overlooks Central Park in one direction and, on the other, most of Manhattan and beyond.
I can’t keep my gaze from straying to the constellation of city lights spread out before me as far as my eyes can see. Hundreds of tall buildings glitter and twinkle in the dark beside the iconic landmarks of New York’s skyline and the pair of rivers running parallel on either side of the tower-spiked slice of land.
I stare out with delight at the illuminated Art Deco spire of the Chrysler Building, my favorite of them all. To the right, the tall needle of the Empire State Building is unmistakable. Both of the goliath skyscrapers seem dwarfed from this penthouse view.
I’m gaping in amazement and there’s nothing I can do about it. “My God. What does someone have to do to get a view like this?”
He chuckles. “Write a really big check.”
“I can imagine,” I say. But truly, I can’t imagine how much an apartment like this penthouse, in this exclusive building, with this incredible view, must cost. Many multiple millions. Probably close to a hundred of them if I had to guess.
I glance back to find him still standing near the sofa, his attention fixed on me. “What do you do for a living?” I ask. “Or did you inherit this seat at the top of the world?” I try to make a joke of it, but I’m genuinely curious. “Please tell me you’re not one of those insufferable trust fund brats.”
“No trust fund,” he says, the seriousness of his expression at war with the lightness of his tone. “My business interests are varied. Investments and corporate finance, mainly. Real estate, on occasion. Art, when it suits me.”
I nod as if I understand completely, then avert my gaze before he can guess just how far out of my depth I am right now.
“What about you, Avery?”
“Oh, I . . . I’m in public relations.” It’s somewhat true, considering my work behind the bar at Vendange is nothing but dealing with the public and keeping them happy.
Nick doesn’t question me any further, even though I can feel his eyes on me, studying me.
A small twinge of guilt rides me as I stare out at the glittering lights. This would be the time to confess that virtually nothing I’ve told him about myself tonight is true. But I rationalize that my little lies have all been harmless enough. They’re self-protective . . . and, yes, admittedly, they are selfish too.
If I thought for one second I would see Nick Baine again after tonight, aside from random passings through the lobby here and there these next four months, I might be tempted to take off my mask with him now. There’s a part of me that wonders if he can see through it anyway.
Inexplicably, I want him to try—the way he’d done back at the gallery in front of Beauty.
Dangerous thinking, especially when I can’t risk letting anyone get too close. I won’t risk it.
Especially with a man like Nick.
I tilt my head for a better look at the city below, and to escape the weight of all my secrets. Between the champagne that’s still swimming in my stomach and the vertigo-inducing height of the penthouse, I have to press my hand to my abdomen to ward off the feeling that I could fall. “What floor are we on?”
“Ninety-three,” he replies, his breath sifting in my hair. “Welcome to the top of the world.”
My words, served back to me in seductive invitation. He’s directly behind me now, having moved there soundlessly. As awestruck as I am by the incredible view, the feel of his warmth at my back—the knowledge that he’s close enough to touch me again—is a distraction to my senses that I can’t deny.
“Do you like it?” he murmurs, his hands coming to rest on my shoulders.
“Oh, yes.” I sigh the words as renewed heat chases through my veins.
He makes a low noise in the back of his throat as he frees the loose knot of my scarf and pulls the gauzy fabric away from my neck. My heated skin feels chilled, exposed. But only for a moment.
Skating one of his hands toward my neck, he gathers up my hair, sweeping it over my other shoulder to bare my nape to him. His mouth presses against that sensitive skin in a slow, sensual kiss. I moan with the pleasure of it, with the twisting anticipation of what’s to come.
His tongue teases my skin, one hand stroking my hair, the other moving around to the front of me to caress my breast over my sweater. His touch, his kiss, the warm, hard press of his athletic frame at my back . . . it’s all making me crazy with need. I suck in a ragged breath, my sex clenching with every heartbeat, my arousal turning molten all over again.
I can’t take the torment. He’s had me on the verge of coming since he touched me in the alley outside the gallery. Before then, if I’m being honest with myself. He’s had me thinking about getting naked with him since that first hot clash in the lobby downstairs.
I want to touch him too. I want his bare skin on mine. I want to feel his hard flesh inside me where the ache is becoming anguish. Dammit, I need to.
With trembling fingers, I reach down for the button on my jeans, intending to speed this along before I completely lose my nerve. Or my mind.
I fumble for less than a second before his hand closes over mine, stilling me. “I’ll do that.” He draws my hand away, bringing it to my side. “When I’m ready.”
I frown at the soft, but stern, correction. I’d expected him to pounce on me in frantic lust once we arrived
in his place. I thought we’d fuck, fast and furious, no need for foreplay after the steam we’re still carrying with us from the gallery.
I’d been prepared for that.
But not for this. He’s taking his time.
No—he’s not. He’s taking control.
Part of me bristles at the idea. He can’t know how deeply that unsettles me—the thought of surrendering my will to him or to any man—but right now it’s impossible to disapprove of anything Nick’s doing. My body is his, even if my thoughts flinch in rebellion.
Slowly, his body intimately close behind mine, he reaches for the hem of my sweater and slips his warm hands beneath it. The first skate of his palms on my skin makes me tremble. I pull air into my lungs, then release it on a shaky sigh as his touch moves higher, over my stomach, then up my rib cage to the filmy satin of my bra.
He cups my breasts, kneading both in his hands, his thumbs flicking over my erect nipples. I can’t bite back my moan as he caresses me into a state of quivering, shameless desire. I want more. Need more.
My sweater is gone in an instant, peeled off me and discarded beside us on the floor. He removes my bra with sure, agile fingers. Then he slowly turns me around to face him.
“Beautiful,” he utters in a thick rasp.
His face is all shadows and hard angles in the subdued light of the city behind us. But I see the flare of hunger in his eyes as they roam over me in slow, appraising study. He lifts one of my breasts in his palm, then bends his dark head and takes my nipple into his mouth. Pleasure arrows straight to my sex as he sucks and teases me with his tongue.
I bring my hands up to his hair and tunnel my fingers into the silky waves, holding on as he leaves one breast to torment the other. The ache between my thighs coils tighter with every flick of his tongue and each sharp, unexpected nip of his teeth. By the time he releases me, I’m panting swiftly, squirming where I stand and desperate to alleviate the yearning of my body for his.
Nick’s breath is racing too. He exhales a curse that sounds like a growl as he catches my mouth in a scorching kiss. His hands slide down to the front waistband of my jeans. I feel the pop of the button, the hard yank of the zipper. Then the caress of his strong fingers as he shoves the denim over my hips, along with my panties.
I reach for him, but he sinks down in front of me to remove my leather boots and peel my jeans the rest of the way off my legs. I’m naked in front of him now, and although I can’t ignore the sense of vulnerability that rushes over me, I feel no shyness whatsoever. How can I, when his gaze rakes my nude length with a hunger that I can feel in every electrified nerve ending in my body?
Kneeling in front of me, he skims his hands slowly up the outsides of my bare legs. “Christ, Avery. You’re so lovely.” His caress moves inward, his fingertips drifting over the patch of trimmed curls between my thighs. “So soft.”
He plays there for a moment, making me crazy for more. When his fingers delve into my slick cleft, I whimper, helpless to bite it back.
He groans as he strokes my folds. His thumb grazes my clit, just enough to make me mad for more. Then I feel him enter me, his fingers sinking deep. I cry out as he fucks me slowly with his hand. “Your pussy is so wet and hot. I knew it would be.” He strokes me some more, nearly to my breaking point, before withdrawing on a low groan. “Open for me, Avery. Before I fuck you, I need to know how sweet you taste. I want to make you come.”
My head tips back as he guides my legs apart, then presses his mouth to my sex. His tongue slips wetly over my clit, swirling around the hard bundle of nerves in a rhythm that makes my vision blur with ecstasy. His lips drive me wild, mindless. And then his fingers join his mouth and I am lost.
“Oh, God,” I gasp, as my orgasm crashes over me in a violent wave. I clutch Nick’s hair in my fists as my hips buck against his mouth and my body shudders with release.
It’s so good.
He is so good.
And he’s relentless, wringing every last quiver and cry from me with the masterful play of his hands and lips and tongue against my sensitive flesh.
This night is going to spoil me for any other man. I think I knew that even before he put his skillful mouth on me.
If I’m not careful, Nick Baine is going to be my ruin.
But I don’t want to be careful with him.
And as he rises up to take my hand and lead me out of the living room, I have to admit that right now, being careful is just about the last thing on my mind.
Chapter 10
His hand engulfing mine, Nick brings me into his palatial bedroom. Crisp, modern furnishings and walls of windows define this space as well. Not that I have much chance to notice the details. As soon as we enter, he wheels me around to face him. His movements have an almost predatory grace and control as he catches me against the solid wall of his clothed body and his arms encircle my back, powerful and warm.
He takes my mouth in a consuming kiss. I can taste his need, his demand. I can taste myself too, in the lingering sweetness on his lips, on his tongue. I sink into his strength on a strangled cry, my nerve endings still vibrating from my orgasm a moment ago.
Still kissing me, Nick starts stepping me backward, toward the massive king-sized bed that I glimpsed from the door. With hands roaming, our kiss unbroken as we move, it’s as if we’re dancing, not walking. Legs entwined, arms wrapped around each other, our bodies refuse to part as he guides me through the darkened room.
I’m growing dizzy and hot all over again, my breath sawing out of my lungs in tempo with his as we reach the edge of a soft area rug near the bed. My bare feet sink into luxurious softness that feels as decadent as fleece beneath my soles. Another two paces and the backs of my thighs meet the side of the bed.
Nick has me caged in his arms, his hands burying in my loose hair as he greedily devours my mouth.
“Oh, fuck,” I whisper harshly as the rush of another orgasm begins to boil inside me.
My cleft is soaking wet, both from the climax he gave me and from the unbearable need to have him inside me. I need it now. I want him so desperately, it staggers me.
Clutching him to hold myself upright, I tip my head back on a gasp as his kiss leaves my mouth and heads for my throat, his tongue dipping into the sensitive hollow above my sternum. His hands caress me with growing urgency now, descending my spine, curving around the swell of my naked ass. He squeezes my flesh, parting me, kneading me as his mouth trails fire onto my breasts.
He drags me closer, grinding our hips together. The huge ridge of his erection is a delicious pressure that speeds my pulse and leaves me shaking. He knows what he’s doing to me, of course. He knows what I crave. Sliding his fingers between my thighs, he flicks my clit until I’m nearly frenzied with sensation.
I need to touch him too. I reach between us and feel him as strong as steel beneath the fine fabric of his pants. I squeeze and stroke his shaft over his clothing, reveling in the power that surges against my palm and fingers.
His answering groan only makes me hotter. Bolder. I unfasten the button closure and unzip enough so I can slide my hand inside. God, he’s immense. Long and thick and pulsing. Slick moisture coats my fingers as I skim them over the head of his cock. His hips thrust and my sex clenches in response. I can’t take the waiting for another second.
I squirm and shift in his arms, shocked at how easily this man can turn me molten.
“Nick.” His name boils out of me on a low moan. “Nick, please . . . fuck me.”
His reply is wordless, a tight snarl that gusts against my parted lips. He lowers his head and stares at me from under the slashes of his brows, his hooded gaze primal and ravenous. His face is taut with visible strain, his squared jaw rigid as his nostrils flare with every ragged breath.
His hands come up to rest on my shoulders. Although his touch is gentle, I can tell his control is at its limit when he gives me a little shove, pushing me down onto my back on the mattress.
I scoot toward the center, quaki
ng with anticipation. My fingers have made his dark hair a wild crown of disheveled waves that gleam bluish-black under the twinkling city lights outside the large bedroom windows as he begins to strip out of his clothing. His hands move roughly over the buttons of his shirt as he steps out of his shoes. The shirt is tossed aside a second later, revealing broad shoulders and a muscled chest that tapers to a perfectly cut abdomen. His pants go next, followed by dark boxer briefs that barely contain his engorged cock. He finishes undressing and stands before me naked and mouth-wateringly erect.
He is handsome from head to toe. In fact, he’s magnificent.
I realize I’m gaping, trying to decide what part of him I want to lick first.
I wait for him to climb onto the bed with me, but instead he seizes my ankles and drags me back to the edge of the mattress. His palms burn me where they settle on the tender insides of my thighs. He spreads me open. Then he lowers himself between my parted thighs and feasts on me with rough abandon.
“Oh God,” I whimper, thrashing under the skill of his mouth. It’s too much, and I’m too near the edge already. Pleasure ripples from my clit to my core. I’m breaking apart. About to shatter. “Oh, fuck. Nick, please . . . I’m going to come . . .”
“Yes,” he murmurs against my wet, quivering flesh. “Many times before we’re finished here tonight.”
True to his word, he shows me no mercy now. As I splinter in ecstasy against the ruthless stroking of his tongue, I distantly register the quiet rustle of a condom being opened. Then he’s at the soaking entrance of my body, the head of his cock pushing inside me.
He’s big and I’m long out of practice. Even primed for him by a pair of pretty amazing orgasms, I arch off the mattress on a soft cry as he thrusts inside. He stretches my tender walls, filling me completely.
“Ah, Christ, you’re tight,” he hisses beside my ear as he begins to piston above me. “Feels so fucking good. So hot and wet.”