Chapter 19
April
From the edge of the room, I watched Jordan as he engaged with people, particularly the ladies, not spending too much time in any one place. I also happened to notice an overt exchange of cards, which he tucked into the pocket of his charcoal gray suit jacket. I took another few minutes to admire him again. When I’d come out of my butler’s pantry and saw him pouring some water for himself, he’d looked so gorgeous in that perfectly tailored suit that he’d taken my breath away.
And that scruff…that delicious scruff was driving me insane. He was now on his third day of whisker growth, and he looked so yummy I wanted to eat him. I wasn’t the only one. Practically every other woman in this room had followed him with hungry gazes, and it made me want to bitch-slap each and every one of them.
I was so involved in watching him, I kept forgetting to take the time to mingle myself. Who, after all, would be there to speak to me? I was making small talk with another assistant when a woman stepped forward, attempting to get my attention.
“Excuse me,” she said. I turned to her. She was pretty, if a little ragged looking, as if she looked older than she actually was, even though I had no idea how old she really was. I judged maybe a few years older than me. She had pale blond hair with a fairly dark tan that obviously wasn’t natural, especially for someone who lived in a place like British Columbia—and according to her badge, Vancouver was listed as her hometown.
“Hey there. I’m April Weiss, Jordan Fawkes’s assistant. May I help you?”
“Cynthia Nolan, TED assistant media coordinator. I have a couple of journalists here who would like to schedule an interview with Mr. Fawkes.”
“Certainly. I can take care of that. Would you like me to introduce them now? Then we can coordinate a time later.”
Her eyes widened and she darted a glance in Jordan’s direction. “Uh…”
The woman beside her, with a badge noting that she was a journalist from USA Home Weekly, perked up. “That would be wonderful, thanks.”
With a wave of my hand, I escorted the small group toward where Jordan was now conversing with another guy in a business suit, a TED badge hanging from his lanyard. He was an assistant speaking director for the conference.
“Mr. Fawkes, I have some people here who’d like to meet briefly with you tomorrow. I thought I’d make introductions and then schedule some interview time for them after your talk?”
Jordan nodded and I began, drawing his attention to the assistant media coordinator. “This is Cynthia—”
“Cyndi?” Jordan said, his eyes widening. At that same moment, I noticed that Cynthia was wearing a short-sleeved dress. Around the top of her arm, just peeking out from one of the sleeves, was a band tattoo that looked very familiar—a stylized wave pattern in three different shades of blue. I’d seen an identical version of it around Jordan’s left arm. This one was on Cynthia’s right.
By the way these two had locked gazes, it was obvious they knew each other. Cynthia went white underneath her tan, but she smiled, her lips curving tremulously.
“Hey, Jordan. So good to see you.”
Jordan visibly swallowed. It took a minute for him to recover from his surprise, and by the look of him, it wasn’t the good kind of surprise. So I intervened. “These are the journalists from USA Home Weekly who would like to meet with you tomorrow. Will that work?”
Jordan was still staring at the blonde. “Uh, yeah. That sounds great.” His eyes finally drifted toward mine and they had a desperate edge to them. A server with a drink tray passed near us and Jordan waved him over, immediately grabbing a glass of wine and downing it in one gulp.
“Uh—how’s your mom?” Jordan asked her.
Cynthia, who looked as uncomfortable as he did, nodded and said, “She’s doing all right, considering. And your parents? I saw them last year…last time I was down.”
I turned to the journalists, motioning them back toward the edge of the room where we’d stood before, extracting my phone from my purse. “What time would you like to speak with Mr. Fawkes? He’s free from three o’clock on.”
My eyes cut to Jordan, who now had his head bent toward the blonde, peering at her through narrow eyes as if deep in concentration. He grabbed another drink off the tray, replacing his empty glass. I continued to watch them as I set up an appointment with the journalists and then waited patiently for the awkward-appearing conversation to end. When Jordan placed a hand on the woman’s arm—below the tattoo that matched his—she gestured toward him with her free arm and nodded. He smiled and pulled away.
Their conversation appeared to have been pleasant, if uncomfortable. He stepped away. His stiff smile evaporated the moment his back was turned, and he headed straight for me.
“We’re all done here,” he muttered as he walked past me. Cynthia watched Jordan go, a look of deep regret in her eyes. What the hell was that?
I spun and followed Jordan out the ballroom door, struggling to catch up to him as he took long strides toward the elevator.
“Hold up,” I called.
Without looking at me, he held an arm out to keep the elevator doors open until I stepped inside. He followed after me and pressed the button for the penthouse. As soon as the doors slid shut, he let out a breath and slumped against the back wall, running a hand through his hair and watching the numbers climb as we ascended. I watched him.
“You okay? You look a little shaken up.”
His cheek bulged where he clenched his jaw. He stuffed his hands in his pockets but said nothing to me, like I hadn’t asked him a thing.
Frowning, I turned back to face the door. Clearly, he didn’t want to talk about it. Fine. He could be that way. He was the Beast, after all. And flirty, gorgeous and charming or not, you never knew when a beast would turn on you. I vowed I wouldn’t become collateral damage for whatever eruption was about to take place.
The elevator dinged and then opened. I preceded him to our door, fumbling in my clutch for the card key. He came up beside me and swiped his instead.
I walked past him but hesitated near the door. Maybe I should hang out to make sure he was all right and then go barricade myself in my room. I’d never seen him this out of sorts before, except for maybe my first day working for him—the day all the shit had hit the fan with the sex video.
Jordan strode in past me with purpose and headed straight for the mini-bar. He didn’t even hesitate before opening a bottle of Jack Daniels and pouring it into a glass. Whiskey neat. Oh shit.
“Jordan…” I said as he lifted the glass of amber liquid to his lips. His eyes darted to mine and he paused with the glass at his lips. “You wanna talk about this?”
He hesitated only a minute before slamming the untouched glass down on the nearest table and moving to the living room, where he shoved his hands in his pockets and paced.
“No, not really.”
“Okay. Do you want to practice your talk?”
“No, not really,” he repeated in that same monotone. He stood there staring at the glass as if it held the answers to all of the world’s problems.
“Drinking that probably isn’t going to help. Not really.”
His brow went up. “Yeah, it actually will. And after, I want to chase it down with another one.”
Slowly, I walked toward him as he watched me with brooding eyes. “But you vowed no alcohol. And so did I. And I’d really like a drink right now, too.”
“Christ, we sound like we’re at an AA meeting. I also vowed I wasn’t going to be a serial manwhore, but all these vows are getting me is way too sober and sexually frustrated.”
I felt a rush inside my chest—a surge of happiness, perhaps—to hear about Jordan’s vow. I’d been wondering if he’d followed through on those sexts that he’d received. Or the Snapchat propositions, or any of the other ways in which women did not hesitate to throw themselves at him. It must have taken a lot of willpower and determination on his part to turn them down.
I frowned.
“What?” he said.
“Just curious about your vows of sobriety and chastity. Are you trying to join a monk order or something?”
He clenched his jaw. “Feels like it sometimes.”
He strode over and snatched up the glass of whiskey, then flipped on the fireplace switch and sank onto the couch. Silence hung in the air, but I didn’t want to pester him with another question. I didn’t want to let him off the hook, either.
He held the glass of whiskey between his open knees, swirling it and watching the play of light on the liquid. Slowly, I approached and settled beside him.
He didn’t look up but took a deep breath and started talking. “After the fuck-up with the video, I just had this epiphany, I guess. That and—well, it’s actually kind of weird, and if you ever breathe a word of this to him, I will utterly deny it. But watching everything Adam went through with Mia was a learning experience for me. It changed him. I think it was a good change.” He took another breath and then tilted his head with a shrug. “I didn’t like her at first. She reminded me of…someone.”
“Cynthia?” I supplied.
He darted a look at me out of the corner of his eyes and shakily raised the glass to his lips. He appeared to take a long sniff but didn’t drink before once again lowering the glass. His eyes, glaring into the firelight, were the color of butterscotch.
“Nice girls don’t stay nice girls. They do shitty things…” he muttered. I’d heard him make similar comments before but had no idea what to make of it. I kicked off my strappy heels and leaned back on the couch, tucking my feet underneath me.
“You two must have been pretty serious. You guys have matching tattoos.”
Tense silence. More whiskey swirling. I could hear nothing but the hiss of the gas fireplace and the distant, ever-present hum of the appliances in the penthouse. It was quiet and dark except for our tiny amber bubble of light.
Jordan was the epitome of tension, his broad shoulders stiff with it. He continued to fiddle with the glass. “I have known her my entire life. We grew up together,” he began in a hushed voice. “Our parents were friends—they still are, actually. We did everything together. School. Surfing. Hanging out at the beach. Homework. Everything.” He shook his head. “We were a lot of firsts for each other—first kiss, first girlfriend, first…” His voice died out and then he shrugged. “I hadn’t seen her for years. Had a vague idea that she had moved up north somewhere.”
I cleared my throat. “What happened?”
He rolled his shoulders, as if forcing them to relax. “I asked her to marry me before I left for college. We’re the same age but I’d finished a year and a half early due to the parental homeschooling indoctrination. The old man had pushed me into that engineering program he wanted me to start so badly. Christ, I was sixteen fucking years old. What did I know? She said yes, of course, and I left her behind. Drove back to SLO every chance I got…every weekend practically. And when she started at UCLA, I was ecstatic. We were only thirty minutes away from each other.”
“Then you met someone else?”
His features chilled and slowly, deliberately he placed the glass on the coffee table in front of him. His free hand clenched into a fist. “You assume it was me that cheated, hmm?”
I swallowed, my face flushing. “Oh, sorry. I thought that, given your proclivities and the text-harem…”
“That’s just great, Weiss. So because I’m the man, naturally I was the cheater.”
“Guess that was a sexist assumption on my part.”
“Yup.”
“Well, to be fair, it wasn’t just because you are a man. Your behavior toward her tonight was a little…I don’t know…kind of like you feel guilty.”
Those eyes found mine, the look in them so intense I found myself holding my breath. “I am—I do. I have a lot to feel guilty for when it comes to Cyndi. But I didn’t cheat on her. No, I surprised her one Friday afternoon at her dorm to take her out. Came through her door and found a tatted-up piece of shit biker dude on top of her in bed.”
“Oh, dear God,” I said, falling back against the couch. “Fuck, I’m so sorry.”
He winced and looked away. Scooting to the edge of the couch, he sloughed off his jacket and removed his tie. “It was six years ago. Ancient history.” He unbuttoned his cuffs and rolled up his sleeves. I could barely take my eyes off his powerful forearms, the strong veins lining them under his skin.
“But ancient history has a way of sticking with you…coming back to haunt you.”
“Yeah?” he bit out. His voice held a bitter edge. “What would you know about it? Did your fraternity boyfriend make out with your BFF?”
“No, he didn’t, fuck you very much. He married my mother.”
He let out a long breath that evolved into a shaky laugh. But when his eyes landed on my face, he could tell I wasn’t joking. He immediately sobered. “For real?”
“It’s okay. You can laugh. I know it’s fucked up and dysfunctional. My mom loves only one person in her whole world—herself. So I’m sure Gunnar is only husband number four in a string of eight or nine, maybe even a baker’s dozen.”
He frowned. “This happened recently?”
My eyes darted away from his to fixate on the fire. “Right before Comic-Con.”
“So your cougar mom swooped in and stole your boyfriend?”
“We’d been broken up. As far as I know, he didn’t sleep with her until after I broke it off with him. She flirted with all my boyfriends, so who knows? Apparently, I bored him in bed.”
Jordan blinked. “What?”
“That’s what he said when I broke up with him.”
“He’s a fuckin’ liar, Weiss. I hope you didn’t believe that shit.”
I shrugged, staring into the fire. I had to admit that I had believed it. But Jordan’s reaction was somewhat encouraging.
He shifted to face me, reaching out a hand. The back of his fingers skimmed along my jaw. The touch sizzled right through me—as it did every time this man touched me. I swallowed. He grasped my chin and turned my face toward his. “If he really thought that, then he’s the dimmest man on the planet. For real. Or maybe he bored you.”
My eyes held fast to his, which appeared darker since most of his face was in shadow now. I licked my lips. His eyes followed the movement and I saw his Adam’s apple bob. But instead of removing his hand, he brushed it along my cheek, pushing a strand of my hair behind my ear. I couldn’t control the shiver that trickled down my spine.
“So…so you didn’t think I was boring?” My voice was barely above a whisper.
Slowly, he shook his head, his eyes never leaving mine. I was enthralled by every move, every gesture. His fingers slid along my jaw again, his thumb caressing my cheek. Every breath in my chest was checked by a band of tension tightening around me, and each inhalation seemed harder to grasp than the last one.
The pad of his thumb smoothed over my bottom lip. The touch was light, slow, deliberate. Torturously erotic. I felt every ridge of that thumbprint smooth over my skin, permanently marking me.
“You were the complete opposite of boring,” he breathed in a voice so quiet I had to strain my ears to hear. His thumb pushed again and I pursed my lips, kissing it.
His eyes darkened, the thumb slipped between my lips and I caught it lightly in my teeth. “It was so not boring that I fight with myself to try to forget.” The tip of my tongue snaked out and molded around his invading thumb. His head moved, his face inches from mine, so close I could not see him clearly. “You don’t fight fair, Weiss.”
My lips closed around him and I sucked. There was a new feeling all over my body—fire on my skin and a cold, cold ache inside. I was an empty bowl, and I needed him to fill me up.
I drew back so I could speak. “Because I don’t want to fight it anymore,” I said.
His lips were on mine in an instant.
He tasted a little like the wine he had downed at the reception, but other than that, he tasted just as he had the night before. His warm lips covered mine, melded with them, our tongues uniting at the same time. His hand hooked around my neck, holding my head to his. He needn’t have bothered. It wasn’t like I was going anywhere.
I wanted this too much.
After minutes of our mouths pressed together, I felt like I had to remind myself to breathe. My eyes fluttered closed and I could barely think of anything but the feel of his lips traveling across my jaw, the scrape of whiskers against my cheek and neck. Now I was breathing too fast and I was too mindless to draw it back under my control.
My lips found the pulse on his sandpapery neck, and I sucked and licked him there. “You’re making this very difficult, Weiss,” he said.
“So are you.”
His mouth traveled down my neck, kissing along the low scoop of my neckline. I shivered. His hand that gripped my upper arm tightened. “I really want to peel you out of this dress.”
My hands laced through his soft hair as he kissed his way toward my cleavage, each touch of his mouth striking me like an arrow clear down to my core. God, the ache was so ferocious now, I was almost whimpering with it.
“I wouldn’t mind at all if you did that.”
“But I can’t—I shouldn’t. You’re the forbidden fruit.” His tongue dipped between my breasts, licking his way up my breastbone. I gasped. “But damned if you don’t taste so fucking good. What I really want to do is strip you naked and spread you out underneath me.”
“Also something I wouldn’t object to.” My voice trembled. The tension inside was building to near epic pressure levels. His mouth and hands were conjuring wicked, sinful spells, entrancing me willingly. He was far too good at this.
And I was forgetting every bit of sense I was born with. He was my boss. My business school recommendation depended on him. If anyone found out this was happening, he could lose his job.
“We shouldn’t be doing this,” he said, as if reading my thoughts. But at the same time, his fingers were dipping below the edge of the back of my dress.
Despite the alert in my brain that we should stop, my hand snaked up to unbutton his shirt. We both seemed to be having the problem of our hands and bodies functioning independently of our brains. I slipped my hand inside his shirt, smoothing across that hard, sculpted chest. He felt so good I could—
In seconds, his hand closed around my wrist, wrenching it out of his shirt. The other hand found my other wrist. The next second, he had abruptly pushed me back on the couch so that I was lying flat on my back and he was pinning me down with his body, my hands restrained above my head.
“If this goes any further, I won’t be able to stop. We aren’t just fooling around now,” he hissed between his teeth, his eyes flashing with both irritation and lust. “I want to fuck you so badly I can taste it—I can taste you. And fuck it all, I can’t taste anything else but you.”
I swallowed tightly. He wanted me to give him the out. He wanted me to talk sense into him. And he had a point. He was feeling vulnerable right now, and to seduce him like this was taking advantage. The thought seemed ludicrous because I doubted Jordan had ever been seduced against his will.
But…maybe I had a little power to shift his judgment. Maybe I had a responsibility to be the one to keep my wits about me.
“We shouldn’t because…we work together. It might threaten your job.” My voice hardly sounded committed to this, but shakily I continued. “Um. Maybe…maybe you regretted last time.”
His grip around my wrists tightened. “Stop it,” he groaned, his head lowering so that his forehead rested against mine. “The only thing I regretted was your goddamn video.”
I swallowed. “Maybe you don’t really want this.”
He shifted, pressing the large, hard bulge in his pants against my thigh. “Does it feel like I don’t really want this?”
My breath was quickening again. I wanted him inside me so badly that my thoughts and sense were now swirling around inside my head, roiling and bubbling over like a storybook cauldron. Lust burned through every synapse, every vein, every sinew. My hips shifted and I ground them against him.
“Jordan,” I breathed. “I want you.”
His mouth was on me again, his tongue tangling with mine. He clasped me so fiercely around the wrists that I was starting to lose feeling in my hands. Suddenly, he pulled back and sat straight up, releasing me.
Shit.
I wanted to scream at his sudden bout of self-control. The look he was giving me, though, was anything but controlled. He looked like a wild animal, his chest rising and falling.
His jaw set. “Stand up, April.”
I was one hundred percent certain I would not like whatever he was going to say. I sat up slowly and faced him.
“Stand,” he repeated, reaching to help me up. He rose along with me. “There are a number of indecent things I want to do to you right now—and in several different ways—but, despite what I said earlier, I didn’t bring condoms with me.”
I frowned. “That’s unfortunate.”
“Quite.”
“Perhaps it’s too much of a temptation, then, to inform you that condoms came in the suite’s hospitality basket.” I pointed over to the counter where the basket sat, untouched, since I’d glanced through it the day before.
He gazed at the basket, all the breath hissing out of his chest. He scrubbed his hands over his face. “Fuck, Weiss. You weren’t supposed to tell me that.”
We stared at each other for a long, tense minute. I tried to regulate my breathing. His eyes dropped to my chest, likely noting the aforementioned difficulty with drawing air into my lungs.
Abruptly, he spun and strode over to the bar, where he pulled out a bottle of water, uncapped it and took a long pull. With a deep breath, I turned my back on him and faced the fire. I wasn’t ready for this to be over yet. However, it took two to waltz and my dance partner was fleeing the ball. I blinked, frustrated.
But could I blame him? There were so many reasons—some that I hadn’t even named—that he shouldn’t be into me. Number one, that virus video from Hell. Number two, I was his intern and he loved his job. Number three, he should be preparing for his talk in the morning with practice and a good night’s sleep. Number four… I frowned, rubbing my forehead between my eyebrows. I couldn’t imagine what number four would be. I was sure there had to be a number four.
Then I heard him behind me and I froze. His body was so near, so warm—warmer than the heat of the fire in front of me because he was inches—maybe even millimeters—away. And there was something else…kind of like having a compass pointing toward the source of magnetism, I felt a mystical pull between my two shoulder blades. He was drawing me under his enchantment again, simply by standing close.
When I felt his warm breath on the back of my neck, shivers scurried down my spine. His strong fingers brushed my hair away, and slowly—ever so slowly—his lips touched at the juncture of my neck and back. With that scruff and those smooth, smooth lips, he brushed along the top of my shoulder. I gasped, unable to control myself.
One of his hands pressed against my belly, pulling me back against his chest while he kissed me. It was driving me wild with expectation. Yet another spell in his arsenal of sorcery.
My breathing froze and I was keenly aware of my heartbeat—everywhere—especially on that spot at the back of my neck where his lips were connecting with the sensitive skin.
“Well, well, lovely Snow White. Looks like the Big Bad Wolf is here to eat you all up,” he muttered against my flesh, his mouth simulating his words.
“Wrong fairytale,” I shakily replied.
“Well, I sure as hell am not Prince Charming, because I doubt he ever did to her what I am going to do to you,” he groaned.
His fingers slid through my hair then curled, and with a quick tug, my head jerked to the side, making more of my neck available to him. His hand tightened and his breath came fast. My scalp prickled with the pain that only served to turn me on even more. The only sound was the unzipping of my dress with one swift, determined tug.
“Yeah?” I asked. “And what are you going to do to me?”
“Nothing you aren’t going to thoroughly enjoy.”
That ache was growing, radiating from my center but increasing with each passing minute that he carefully wove his charm. With one quick flick of my wrist, I let the dress fall into an ice-blue puddle at my feet. I felt like the goddess rising from the waters in Botticelli’s famous painting, The Birth of Venus. And Jordan, with his lips of fire trailing across my skin, was a worshipper at my altar.
“I’ve been wanting to see you naked for months.”
I knew the feeling well. I faced him and his hand dropped from my hair. I stepped out of my dress and he bent to pick it up, then draped it over the back of a chair. I waited until he turned back to me to reach around and unhook my strapless bra. When it fell loose, I flung it so it landed on that same chair. Then, before I could lose my nerve, I slipped off my underwear and kicked it in the same direction. Now I was clothed only in the reflection of the fireplace flames and his hot gaze that slid over me.
Jordan, on the other hand, was still completely clothed. His partially unbuttoned white shirt, his suit pants—complete with taut bulge at the front. Even his shoes. As if reading my mind, he slid them off. Then he finished unbuttoning his shirt and dropped it on top of my discarded clothing on the chair. His biceps bulged with the action and the planes of his chest gleamed in the amber glow. I imagined feeling that hard, bare chest against mine. Skin rubbing on skin. My nipples hardened to points, and though his hand had dropped to his belt, he came over to me instead, pulling me firmly against him.
“You are so fucking beautiful,” he said. My hands went up to his chest, feeling every hard muscle, tracing every crease. My head dipped to do what I’d been craving ever since I’d seen him in the doorway of his beach house wearing nothing but a pair of swim trunks. I licked him, my mouth tracing the line of his collarbone, and he hissed out a breath. I felt him surge against my stomach and my hand dropped to his belt.
“I don’t want you to regret this…” he whispered.
I almost laughed at him. As if. The only thing I’d regret tonight was not having an orgasm. And I was pretty sure he wouldn’t let that happen.
“Fuck no,” I said. Right now I was so tightly wound that I was about ready to snap if he didn’t go through with this.
“But April…this can only be a one-time thing…we can’t continue this beyond tonight.”
I swallowed a sudden lump in my throat. I wasn’t thrilled about it, but I understood why it had to be. Jordan was giving himself an out, letting me know this was just about sex.
“I understand.” I unbuckled his belt and ran my hand down his fly, caressing him through the sleek material of his suit pants. His cock leapt under my touch and I grasped him. “I want you inside me again, Jordan.”
In an instant, he had us against the wall, his pants and his boxers pushed down. He was naked but standing too close for me to properly admire him. He had the necessary foil packet in his hand, courtesy of the hotel. I’d have to write a thank-you note to housekeeping for being so considerate.
With hardly any effort at all, he lifted me and pressed me against the cold wall so that our faces were level with each other. My legs locked around his waist and his tongue invaded my mouth with such ferocity that I could hardly breathe. I writhed against him and he came up for air, gasping before dipping his head and sucking my nipple into his mouth. Fucking hell, it felt so good. My fingernails dug into his shoulders, my eyes rolling back into my head.
His tongue and teeth were kneading the sensitive point of my nipple, driving me straight into ecstatic oblivion. I ground my hips against him and he grunted in response, switching to the other nipple.
“Oh my God, you are driving me insane,” I gasped.
“Nice to finally return the favor. You’ve been driving me insane for over a month.”
“You’ve just been making me hate you,” I said as I raked my nails down his shoulders and chest.
“Hmm—so mean of me. I should make up for that.” Slowly, he let me slide down the wall until I was on my feet again, but he kept sinking until he was on his knees and then sitting on the rug. I moved to go down with him, but he held my hips in place. He began applying those magical, heavenly, scruff-filled kisses to the tender skin on the inside of my thighs. I leaned back against the wall, opening my legs at his nudging, closing my eyes to savor the feel of him there. His hot mouth traveled up one thigh, then switched to the other, repeating its path. He gently pulled, prompting me to shift my weight to the other leg so I could drape one over his shoulder, opening myself to him.
“I can’t wait to find out what you taste like, Weiss.”
I gulped. None of my boyfriends had ever performed oral sex on me. They either had never offered or a few times my high school boyfriend’s efforts had been so awkward, I’d stopped him before he’d begun. I almost wanted to stop Jordan now. I’d never had this experience before and wasn’t sure this should be the first time, but I had no time to think or react before his mouth was at the juncture of my thighs, his fingers spreading me open to his attention.
His tongue slipped out to connect with my clit, and I had to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from yelping. The minute I could breathe, I let out a long moan and his shoulder tensed underneath my leg. He leaned forward, applying more pressure, and I was lost to him and the intoxicating movements of his tongue against my flesh. Each flick of his tongue felt like it was drawing every cell in my body tighter and tighter together. Soon he was sucking me into his mouth, consuming me, as he’d threatened to. And with that scruff and those muscles, I could easily picture him as the Big Bad Wolf, devouring me.
Every nerve ending in my body was alive and lusting for more attention from him and his bewitching mouth. He must have judged I was close, because his mouth pushed harder against me, his movements coming faster. Then a finger slipped inside me, pushing deep and curving upward, pressing against my most sensitive spot, as if it was an ‘on’ button and that was all I’d been waiting for.
In moments, I was climaxing in mind-blowing waves of pure screaming pleasure. I couldn’t hold back anymore. My one leg buckled and Jordan held me up as he continued to suck—every last drop of tension wringing from me until I was so sensitive it started to hurt.
“Please,” I gasped, pushing him away. “Oh God…”
Slowly, he let up as I fought to recover. He unhooked my leg from his shoulder, releasing my hips. My eyes were closed and my entire body was covered in perspiration. I tingled everywhere. Instead of satisfying me, that orgasm had made me hungry for more. I wanted to feel him moving inside me, filling me up. I wanted to hear him groan with his own need, taking his pleasure from my body.
When I opened my eyes, he was lying flat on his back, looking up at me with predatory eyes. I gingerly sank down on the carpet beside him, peppering his chest with hungry kisses.
“You are so unbelievably hot,” he muttered.
“I was just going to say that about you.”
Our mouths connected and when he pulled back, he muttered, “If I’m not inside you in the next two minutes, I’m going to fucking lose it.”
He grabbed the packet off the ground beside him and tore the foil, then slipped on the condom. This was the first chance I’d had to see him naked and he was beautiful—sculpted, lean, muscular legs from years of balancing on a surfboard, his firm abdomen, the ridge above his hips. I also got my first glimpse of his cock, and it was as magnificent as the rest of him. And large, just as I remembered—if I’d known what I’d been getting into last time, I might have run screaming.
“You really should be practicing your talk, you know,” I teased when he’d finished slipping on the condom.
“I’ll have time for that after I’ve used these condoms.” He rolled on his side and reached for me. I went willingly.
“I didn’t count…how many of them came in the basket?”
He grinned like the wolf he had likened himself to. “You’ll find out.”
With a gentle nudge, we both rolled and he pinned me down with his wide chest. A hand slipped down to press my knees apart and I opened to him.
He slipped in between my legs, and in one swift movement pushed himself inside me. I was slick, wet, ready for him, and though he was big, his entry was easy enough. I held my breath, enjoying the feel of him there, of his weight pushing me down into the carpet. He bent forward, pressed his mouth to my neck and began to move.
He found his rhythm quickly, resting on his elbows, holding my head in his hands as he continued to feast on my neck. I locked my legs around his swiveling hips, pulling him into me tight and not letting go.
“Jesus, Weiss, you’re killing me,” he muttered in a hoarse voice.
“Fuck me hard, Jordan.”
With a growl, he pushed up on his arms and did just that, slamming into me with rushed, quick strokes. The force of it took my breath away and almost hurt, but it also felt intensely good. Abruptly, he shifted the tempo and the angle at which he entered me, and I sucked in a breath, my body arching underneath him. He watched me closely, likely trying to gauge how close I was. I could barely catch my breath. It must have been pretty obvious I was close.
“Come on, April,” he ground out. “Come again.”
I closed my eyes, concentrating on nothing else but the feel of him moving inside me and against me, the friction of his solid chest rubbing against my nipples, the feel of his hands digging into my hips, his hot breath on my face and neck. All at once, I was up and over the edge, coming in breath-stealing gasps, completely shocked that I had come again so quickly.
But then I remembered… that night, the night of the video. I’d orgasmed more than once too. It had been the first time that had ever happened, and all because I’d been under the hands of a very skilled lover. Under Jordan’s hands.
He was still moving on top of me, his breath becoming more ragged until I felt him stiffen against me with one final push deep inside.
Behind my closed eyes, I was still seeing stars. That had been fan-fucking-tastic. Every bit as hot as the night of Comic-Con—no, even better. This time I could look into his handsome face and see his desire for me. I could feel his hot mouth moving over my neck, my face.
Holy shit.
As I floated back down to earth, I began to dread his words from earlier. April…this can only be a one-time thing…we can’t continue this beyond tonight.
A feeling of cold emptiness washed over me and I suppressed a shiver, an ache of loss.
Because already I was addicted.