Chapter 5
Have My Cake And Eat It Too
Tia
Oh god. The way he was looking at her, a man whose name she didn’t even know, was hot enough to melt steel. What the hell did I get myself into? She had no idea, but she wasn’t sure she wanted to get herself out of it either. Lord, she didn’t even know his damn name.
His hand hit her shoulder, warm and hot and she forgot about propriety and how being on a first name basis might make what she was about to do seem that much less… slutty. No, not slutty. I’m a grown ass woman. Certainly I can have one night of fun in my whole damn life.
“You’re thinking too hard.” His words, whispered lethally right near her earlobe, kicked Tia’s heart into overdrive.
“I…” she thought hard again and came up with nothing. It was as though her brain was a blank slate that had been wiped completely clean.
His hand moved, strong and sure and talented as hell, slipping one strap of her dress down her arm. The other wasn’t long in following. Because it was barely being held up by those two paper thins trips of fabric, the thing pooled to her waist in one brief whisper.
“You- you aren’t wearing a bra.”
She rolled her eyes. “No. Did you see how low this thing was cut. That left pretty little choice when it came to bras. And- well- I don’t have much in that department anyway…”
His gaze fell to her breasts, which were creamy and white, her nipples pink, hard little buds. The light in the entrance way gave him quite a show. She had the urge to cover herself, but he caught her hand in his. He twined his larger, warmer, stronger fingers through hers and held fast.
“No way. Don’t you dare. And as to what you have, sometimes just enough for a handful is nice. You have beautiful tits. They’re perfect and perky and they suit you perfectly.”
Tia went completely rigid. What kind of a thing is that to say? And who uses the words tits anymore?
“That dress was completely inappropriate for a Christmas party anyway.”
“Thanks mom,” Tia said dryly.
His voice, the stranger’s voice, hit her ear again and sent a thousand racing shivers racing through her. “It looks much better on the floor.”
With that, his hands helped the fabric the rest of the way. Suddenly she was standing there, her dress around her ankles, a red scrap of a thong all that she had on. The stranger let out a low, feral growl that heated her blood to the point of near boiling.
“What? Did you expect a pair of granny panties?”
“I don’t know what I expected. Truth is, I wondered if you’d maybe skipped out on that too. The underwear… but I like this. It’s very, very sexy.” His hand fell, alarmingly, to cover the scrap of fabric in question.
Tia jolted so hard she nearly rocketed right off the stairs. There was little doubt that the guy’s hand was far too talented. He’d probably done this a few too many times for her liking. But then again, did she actually care? She was never going to see the guy again? What would a few hours of pleasure really hurt?
“You’re thinking again. My guess is that you never do this. That you really are a good girl, the kind who waits for a relationship and stays in it long after the sex has gone stale. That is to say, if it was exciting in the first place.”
His words sent a chill down her spine. Tia’s eyes flew to his face, ready to give him a stern dressing down, but those stormy blue eyes of his, shining with humor and dark with undisguised lust, sealed her lips shut.
“And you’re probably the kind of guy who can’t handle a relationship. Because you’re too scared of feeling anything other than this.”
The stranger’s index finger slid over her panties, right on top of her clit. A white hot shard of pleasure zinged through her. The guy- she really had to come up with something better to call him- shrugged. Sex god. Sinner. Bad boy. Those were all terrible names that weren’t names at all. They were descriptors, just like stranger or him. Paris? If it wasn’t such a- well- feminine sounding name, that one might have suited. This guy would sure as hell start the ruin of an entire city over the love- no- the want, of one beautiful woman.
He caressed her again, a wide, sweeping touch that explored her from front to back. He swirled his finger there, right above her entrance. Tia almost died when she realized how wet she was. The lace panties wouldn’t have soaked anything up, but hell, even a damn mop wouldn’t stand a chance.
“I like this,” the stranger purred. The lifted his finger to her face and ran it over her lips. She froze, her breath trapped in lungs that felt ready to explode. Her insides twisted into a wild, squirming mass. And that was before he parted her lips and thrust the tip of his finger into her mouth.
Her gasp of surprise mingled with his groan of desire. The spicy musk of her own arousal flooded her mouth. No one had ever done anything like that to her before. The stranger’s eyes said he knew as much.
He pulled his finger away and this time, when he lowered it back to the lace covering, he leaned in and crushed his mouth to hers. Her legs buckled and she went down hard, the kiss melting away the last shard of her resistance.
Tia had spent pretty much her whole life avoiding guys like him. Guys who bore the brand of player. Or at least those she judged to. As her senses careened into overdrive, and the stranger’s hard, still clothed weight fell on top of her, she realized that she needed this. She didn’t just want it. She damn well deserved it. And who better to do it with than a guy who knew what he was doing? A guy who wouldn’t fumble around.
The stranger tore his mouth from hers. “You taste so fucking good,” he groaned before he bent his head and moved to her breasts. His hand still traced dizzying patterns down- down there, and when his mouth clamped onto her nipple and he suckled her, Tia’s back jacked right off the damn stairs.
She buried her fingers through the guy’s blonde hair. It was longer than most people wore it, shaved at the sides, but flowing on top. Well, flowing might have been a stretch. Her fingers smoothed through the hair oil that he used to keep everything in place and even that was somehow wildly exciting.
“You have the most- perfect tits.” As if to prove it, the guy dusted a path of erotic kisses over to her right breast and claimed her other nipple.
Tia whimpered. Loudly. She’d never heard a sound like that come out of herself before. She almost forgave him for calling them tits when he could make her feel like that.
When the guy removed his mouth from her nipple, which was shiny and hard and aching furiously, he looked up at her.
“You’re watching me,” he drawled in that sexy, sinful, deep voice of his. “I like that. I like that a lot. Maybe deep down you have some bad girl in you after all.”
I’m doing this aren’t I? On the damn stairs… isn’t that proof enough? She inhaled deeply, scenting the dark, spicy scent of cologne or aftershave and something wilder, sexier, more primal, something distinctly male. It made her senses swim. She realized what was missing. The smell of regret. The taste of it was curiously absent as well. There was no bad taste in her mouth. Just the taste of him, the lingering tang of some kind of hard alcohol mixed with glorious dark, sinful, male and her own feminine musk.
The stranger’s eyes darkened and his brow creased as he frowned. Even that frown was so sexy her knees would have gone weak if they weren’t pinned underneath of him. He braced himself on the knee that was planted between her legs and pushed upwards just enough that he was able to easily shed his jacket. Her eyes widened as she watched him work open the buttons on his black dress shirt, first at the sleeves and then at the collar and down, down further, down all the way.
He shrugged the shirt off and cast it carelessly aside and lord… if she was wet before, there was probably an entire fucking river on her stairs.
The guy was jacked. Not in that disgusting lump of muscles kind of way either. No, he obviously worked out, but his muscles were sleek and streamlined, like a damn panther about to devour her. His skin was golden bronze, but what did she expect? It was Florida after all. Crisp blonde hairs stood out on his pecs, which were absolutely amazing, the prettiest male pecs she’d ever seen. His nipples were a dark pink, and nearly as hard as her own. The golden hairs trailed off right around where his phenomenal ridged abs began. She wanted to touch those abs, run her fingers over them. No, she wanted to taste them. Run her damn tongue over his soft skin and the hard muscles below. A trail of hairs resumed around his naval and disappeared under his pants.
Fuck me. Literally. Her mouth watered at the sight of his body, and her hands itched to undo his belt and shed those damn pants and-
“You like what you see, darlin’?”
She froze at his adopted fake accent. Of course, it actually sounded good on him, that dusky southern twang that was completely fabricated.
“Yes,” she panted, because she counted help herself. Her hands reached for his belt, but he brushed them away, a smug grin on his face.
“Not yet, sweetheart. It’s not nearly time for that. I want to have my cake and eat it too.”
She had no idea what the hell he was talking about until he shifted down a few damn stairs, hooked his arms beneath her legs and spread them apart. When his mouth hit her overheated sex, all she could do was throw back her head, close her eyes, and moan. She’d never been so happy to be compared to cake in her damn life.