CHAPTER 6
AFTER ALL THAT, IT WOULD be pure recklessness to invite March Ulrich into her hotel room. "Crap," she said as they stood outside the door. "I can’t believe I’m considering this." Have considered it. Decided.
She couldn’t even really blame impulse. If she were honest with herself, she'd been thinking about this from the moment he'd kissed her back at the apartment building.
His hand settled on her waist. "In case it sways you in my favor, how about this...I’ll give you a bonus if you don’t let me in."
She frowned in astonishment. If she didn't let him in.
"It's the polar opposite of sexual harassment, you see. I reward you for not inviting me inside your hotel room. Thus I'm exerting pressure for you to refuse me."
"You think this is a joke." She fumbled to get the door open.
He sighed. "A joke? Absolutely not. I’m just trying to point out that that’s not what’s happening here."
"So you’re saying I don’t have to have sex with you to keep my job." She was stalling for time as she faced him, blocking him from entering.
"Of course not. Frankly, Lia, if money could have swayed you to go out with me, I'd have offered you half a million dollars in bribes by now. But your hands-off signals reach me loud and clear. Trading work favors for sex is repellent." He paused. "I will admit to filing work orders to get you to come within my orbit."
"So you do know how to change a light bulb...you bastard."
"I could if it came down to the wire," he said cautiously. "Fuck. Have I made you feel uncomfortable? Afraid for your job?"
"Uncomfortable, yeah. But not because of the job."
"You sure about that? I don't want a single doubt in your mind."
"Well...you bother me all the time, but...I mean I've never felt like you've been creepy or anything, if that's what you're asking."
He nodded. "If anybody ever does anything you aren't comfortable with, you have their carcass in court. Including me. I don't need you at a disadvantage. You'd never let me taste you again."
"You're right about that." Now she was even more confused than ever.
His eyes brightened. "Let's make it official." A moment later he was speaking into his phone. "I hereby state that Lia Halpern can refuse to get naked for me and I’ll never treat her shittily and I’ll even sign over the deed of my apartment building to her unconditionally to prove it on the off-chance she’ll give me an opportunity to non-financially incentivize her to let me kiss her sweet mouth again. On this day of—what date is it?"
"You fool!" Laughing, she tried to take the phone out of his hand. The man had to be drunk, with all the nonsense he was spouting. She hadn't realized. And she'd let him drive!
He spoke into the phone using further mumbo-jumbo, signing off with what sounded impressively like a verbal legal flourish. Then, letting her see exactly what he was doing, he sent the recording to her, then sent it to the legal firm he had on retainer.
"You are a complete nutcase!" she gasped. "I don't want your stupid building."
"But why not? It makes perfect sense," he said smugly. "I’m eliminating all the reasons you have to dislike me, one by one."
"Why do you assume I dislike you so much? Maybe I'm just naturally grumpy." She stepped back, allowing him to follow her inside.
He raised his brows at her to convey you have to be out of your mind. "I've only ever seen you snark at me. You were even pleasant to my buddy Karl when his guest threw up all over your boots. You have endless patience, except for with me."
She shut the door and leaned back against it. "I guess you do get on my nerves sometimes. I—" Her eyes caught the full scope of the room then. "Oh, man. This is way overkill."
The "room" was actually two rooms, joined in an L shape. Hanging over a fireplace was an original carved-framed painting, plus another on the opposite wall. When she walked over and drew the blinds, she got a shadowy view of rolling wheat fields and scablands that she knew in the morning would turn out to be covered in a blue-white blanket of snow.
"What’s overkill?" he said, his voice velvety soft. "Me or the room?"
"The room." She turned and looked straight at him. "And you." She looked him up and down. "I'm hearing you. That kiss was...yeah, it was special. And you say we have things in common. But even dressed like that in those jeans, you can't act like we're the same. I'm one way, and you're...well, your whole world is different. It's not just the way you talk, with that rich person accent, it's the work you do, the people you spend your time with, your job, the places you go…"
He looked intrigued. "Go on." He began to shrug out of his coat.
Her heart began to pound at the penetrating way his eyes were wandering over her features.
"Maybe you think all that doesn't matter...you say you’ve wanted to talk to me...I just don’t get it."
He’d been walking toward her, but now he halted. "What is it you don’t get? You don't believe I turn into a buffoon around you, that you take me back to my adolescence? That you're fun to be around? Because you're right, none of that other shit matters to me. Your toxic friend back there? Unfortunately she's everywhere. This town is overrun with her brand of snob. I work with them, I even play with them when I can't avoid it. But people like you...there aren't enough people like you, Lia. You're fascinating. You're lovely and real and to be honest, intimidating. I've wanted to get to know you, dig beneath that tough shell of yours, for a long time."
"O-okay, but what do you want? Well, I mean you want to bang me, clearly. But all that stuff you said, it just makes me more confused."
He sighed. "Tell you what. Why don't you tell me what you want."
She stared. "Me?"
"Mm-hm." His coat flew onto an armchair covered in soft, gleaming leather. He grasped the hem of his sweater and raised it over his head, yanking it off to reveal a midnight blue tee shirt. It clung to a sculpted chest that proclaimed him a sinner, since only a wicked soul would hide that beautiful work of art under fancy dress clothes the way he did.
"Well? What do you want, Lia?"
She couldn't decide if his question was sincere or pure provocation, like the way he'd just taken off his sweater and tossed it on the settee. The move was just loaded with sneaky, sexy intention. She crossed her arms over her chest. "What do I want? I guess I wouldn’t mind doing you."
He drew in a sharp breath. She was awed to see his face flood with color. "Nice, Halpern. You wouldn't mind doing me. Real flattering. This is related to the way I want to bang you, I presume."
She joined him in flushing. Okay, so that bit of bravado hadn’t gone over so well. What did he expect? For her to lie?
Or tell the truth...tell him she could resist the physical temptation he presented just fine; it was all the rest of him she was unexpectedly vulnerable to.
No way. Just because he was throwing out compliments wasn’t any reason to let down her guard. Most guys would act this way if it meant getting laid.
"So you can't stand me, but you’re up for a roll in the hay with me," he drawled, a dangerous glint in his eyes. "Tell me then, what do you have in mind?"
"Now, wait, I didn't say—"
"Nuh-uh, let's get it all out there. What do you like? What does it for you? Straitlaced? Freaky? Wild monkey sex? I’m curious what your banging preference is."
"I haven’t really thought about it."
Lie, humongous lie. She’d thought about jumping him. About tussling with him until one of them ended up on top. She’d thought about his reaction if she told him his sarcastic smiles were as sexy as they were irritating. She opened her mouth.
His eyes dared her to say it.
But then his tee shirt flew off, landing on the sweater, revealing a chest so exquisitely cut she got derailed. The shape. The hair. Oh, damn, it was perfection.
"Look, I'm sorry. That was rude of me to say it like that."
"Apology accepted." He advanced toward her.
He was too close! "You seem to be presuming a lot. I said I wouldn’t mind, I didn’t say we were—ah, we—ah, that we were actually going to." So then why are you stepping even closer to him instead of backing up against the window?
"I’m aware of that. So, darling...are we?" Only inches separated them now.
There was that darling again. It made her ache a little to hear it. "Maybe. Maybe not."
"I see. You should know my official vote is an adamant yes."
"Uh-huh, I'll bet." She tensed at the heated contact of his palm on her cheek. "So…"
"So, for your information, if we were to do each other, as you so eloquently put it, it wouldn’t end there. I’m not here for some slap and tickle like you apparently are."
"I didn't say that."
"No? Then stop blowing me off. Don't dismiss this like you've been doing all year. That snowstorm might have pushed things to a head, but this was going to happen. Take a good hard look at us and tell me it wasn't."
And again...speechless. "I...don't know. I'll think about it."
"You do that." He nodded at her lower half. "What are those things, duffel bags?"
"Sweatpants and long underwear. You got a problem with what I'm wearing?" No need to mention the long johns in question were getting damp in embarrassing places.
He captured her hand. "Not in the least. It just occurred to me that if you like your banging sex straitlaced and efficient, I can simply pull your pants down to your knees and do this politely. One, two, three, we’re done. You hate rudeness so you'll love that."
She muttered something, ignoring his broadening smile.
"What’s that?"
"I said I don’t like it straitlaced!"
"No, really, I don’t mind fucking you all neat and tidy. We could even wear bibs if it makes you feel comforted."
"You really are a sarcastic bastard, aren't you? I thought you said you were trying to eliminate reasons for me to dislike you."
"Oh, right. Well, then," his thumb stroked her jaw, "I could simply rip off your clothes, kiss you until we choke and throw you on the bed to have my wicked way with you."
Wait.
Conservative, prissy March Ulrich was offering that?
Her brain all but exploded.
"Yeah, okay. Th-th-that." And naturally she had to sputter it out like a fool.
He smirked. "So just to make sure, you’re saying you prefer it sweaty and barbaric. You want the bed squeaking and the entire wing of this hotel to hear you scream out your orgasm." His voice caressed her skin with its huskiness. "You want me to fuck the fucking hell out of you. You want to pass out with pleasure."
"Um, yeah." She had it together now, had found her maturity. "Yes. Good plan. That works for me."
"Your wish is my command."
BURNING UP. SHE WAS BURNING up standing before March Ulrich, impatiently waiting for him to rip off her clothes and jump on her like a madman as promised. Yet after kissing her just like he’d said, with all the passion and intensity she craved, he’d drawn back. It confused her when he started carefully peeling off all her layers, dropping kisses on each section of skin he revealed.
He was achingly slow. And way too gentle. He pecked her here, there, everywhere, never lingering. He planted light, tantalizing kisses on each of her nipples. Which were blatantly swollen, no less.
As he dragged down her red long johns, he knelt before her. This made her feel both uncomfortable and powerful. She was a little embarrassed by how toned and rounded her thighs were—they weren’t skinny.
March hissed in a breath, then leaned forward to kiss both of her thighs. It wasn’t only her shapely quadriceps he was looking at. She saw him swallow and lick his lips. "God. Right. You—how long has it been for you?"
"Really long," she’d said. So he could tell how desperate she was. Great.
"You like sex? Are you experienced?"
"Yeah, pretty much." She waited for him to comment. Insult her, maybe, either for not being innocent or the opposite, not being as sultry as she should be.
But he wasn’t an asshole about it. No, the man actually growled, pressing one kiss directly on her trimmed mound. "I'll be taking care of that for you from now on."
Once she was completely naked, he picked her up—like she was a delicate freaking flower—and set her tenderly on the velour duvet. Then he stood looking down at her with his hands curled into fists at his sides.
She squirmed. "Well, so?" she said impatiently.
"Hmm," he said vaguely.
"You’re not ripping anything off."
"Yeah, sorry. Turns out I’m not doing that. Trust me, it’s better this way."
"That’s so lame. Can I rip yours off?"
He rolled his eyes. "I'm in worse shape than you. Go right ahead if you want me to blow my top."
Her eyes flew to the crotch of his jeans.
Oh.
He was right. If she was a lot wet, then he was a lot hard.
And well, well, well worth waiting for.
Fine. She could wait. If he could, she could.
She silently urged him to hurry up as he stripped off his jeans. He was perfunctory as he did it, all his attention on her body. Not exactly the vain lover she’d imagined. He yanked down his white briefs and tossed them onto the floor, caught her breathless "oh, shit," and paused, his narrowed eyes returning to her face. "Problem?"
"No—o." Yes. She was naked. March was naked. And his body...he was lean, long, pale, not overly bulky but tightly contoured, just the way she liked a guy, with more dark hair than she expected...just bone-meltingly sexy. His cock was absolutely raging, this angry and impatient part of him. From top to bottom he looked tense, hard, delicious.
Aaaaand...she'd been patient long enough. She scrambled off the bed and slammed into him.
He held her off, laughing a little, his nostrils flaring. "Would you believe I didn’t plan this, woman? That I was just going to show you something when I came in here?"
"Whatever. I don’t care." She tried to press in close.
His chest jerked. "How about you get back on the bed and…"
"No. I can’t wait for you to get done with all your dilly-dallying. Not with you being so pretty."
"I can't decide, was that an insult or a compliment?" he panted.
"Oh, come on, you know how good-looking you are, the way you dress, your hair. You know you're hot."
There came that growl again and his hands dug into her bottom and they were suddenly pressed tightly together. Yet he continued peering calmly down at her. Yeah, he was very calm...except for the stab of his erection.
"You do realize I’m hanging by a thread here, I'm about two seconds from embarrassing myself, and telling me you think I'm handsome isn't helping matters."
"I didn't say handsome, I said...look, Mr. Ulrich, you’re not the only one who’s been thinking about this a while. I didn't expect you to be quite so pretty under all your tailored clothes, that's all. Don't let it go to your head."
His hands tightened in her flesh. "You're going with Mr. Ulrich. Really."
"Okay, okay, March."
"Fucking finally."
"Finally...?"
"Finally she admits I have a name other than you there and sir."
"I never know what to call you."
"Not Lord Suave, please. Or the Pricklord. That is me, isn't it?"
She nodded. "I also use Sir Dickside and Sir Bastardia on special days. But I guess I can go with March."
"I appreciate that. May I call you George?"
"Fine." She felt like a fool. Here he was, hard and claiming to be crazy with need for her but still joking around, while she was inhaling his male aroma, aching, pulsating, hurting in her core. This man had warmed her up, given her food, made her tearful, made her laugh, and now she needed him inside her so badly she was about to howl.
He caught his breath and it was like he read her mind because his hand moved, his fingers pressing into her from behind, sliding through her slick folds.
They both groaned at the same time.
"Lia...you are not making this easy."
"I don’t care. Come on! Do it rough like you said, okay?"
"Fuck, you’re so turned on, so soft and hot. I have to…"
And then March Ulrich was advancing, easing her backward until she fell onto the bed, propping himself up on his arms over her, shadowing out the light, bending to kiss her mouth.
Yet still he held back. He’d promised her savage, but she had to tug him down to her. It was, to be honest, something of a thrill to be with a man this controlled. She was strong, stronger than some of the guys she'd been to bed with, but not March. He shoved her smoothly by her armpits further along the bed, all the way to the headboard. She didn’t mind a bit. All he had to do was lightly stroke her thighs and she was spreading them wide.
He made no secret of his appreciation of every visible inch. "Dear fucking lord, you’re beautiful, woman."
"Get a condom," she commanded.
"Sure, I’ll get right on that." He sank to his forearms, taking an intimate position between her legs, and slowly, reverently parted her with his blunt fingers. A few moments of silence were followed by a strangled sound. "Wow, Lia...ready much?"
Damn the man! He was a beast! She released a frustrated noise, arched...
And felt one hand slide up her body to palm a violently sensitive nipple.
Need exploded in her, followed by panic. She couldn't bear that light, rubbing touch for long without going insane. She grabbed his hand. "Don't."
"Does it hurt?"
"No, I can't stand it. I want—" She couldn't quite bring herself to say the words. Not to any man and definitely not to this man.
"You want me to lick you between your legs?"
He'd said...Light seemed to explode in her vision.
"Yes."
"Say my name then. I need to hear it, Lia."
"March, dammit."
"Again."
"March."
Once again he spread her and then lowered his head with unmistakable intention. But just when she thought it was happening, he hesitated. "With my tongue, right?"
Oh, for fuck's sake. She was going to murder him. As it was, she gave his hair a hard yank. "Yes."
He let out a groaning laugh. "Promise I'm going to do this just as soon as I know I'm not going to explode the literal second I taste you."
"This century?" she choked.
"Hopefully." He blew on her exposed flesh. "Can I have a ‘please, March’ first maybe?"
Gahr! "You jerk!"
"Work with me here. Please, March, with a cherry—"
"Oh, God, stop teasing me, you—ahhhh." As the tip of his wicked tongue dabbed over her.
She heard him groan, then curse, then groan. He shifted. And then his tongue was there, touching all the places...all of them, it seemed, except the spot that craved pressure, the place she needed him.
"My name, beautiful," he rasped. "Keep saying it for me. I need to hear it. You have no idea how long I've wanted this...say my name and I'll make you feel so good."
That did it. She writhed. Lost control, began to chant his name. His fingers clamped down on her inner thighs, keeping her still while he mouthed her. That mouth...in contrast with the firmness of his hold, it was so delicate. Flick, flick, circle...and then he laid one achingly gentle kiss directly upon the heart of her.
She tried to utter something other than his name, something embarrassingly close to begging...but for some reason she needed a stupid dictionary to remember words right now.
He finally latched onto her clit, using strong suction. She finally managed yes, yes, yes. Cried it aloud, just like in a nun porno she’d once seen.
But that was okay. Better than okay. He wasn't a jerk anymore. He was an angel. He suckled and licked luxuriantly and he hadn't lied. He'd been modest. This was better than good. This was everything she needed. Beyond that.
He kissed her up the seam of her center, up to the curve of her belly, petting her thighs....and raised his head, his voice rough, thick. "I love this, how you feel, how you smell, fuck, Lia, your whole body," and then she felt one finger slowly penetrate her. It was like being electrically prodded. He eased in another and her reaction was as before, with a whimper added. But it wasn’t until he dipped his head down again and took her stiff nub between his teeth that the thought crossed her mind: March Ulrich was completely focused on her pleasure.
It was a new experience. Guys were usually all about their dicks. They didn't care if they had to use half a tube of lube to have sex with her. Not this guy.
It was so crazy that it was March Ulrich doing this to her. His voice rumbled through her flesh, but this time she had no idea, no clue what he was saying. She was lost to the shimmering pleasure. Her body clenched, tighter and tighter, the spasms running out of control, and she gripped his head, threading his hair through her fingers. This was it; she was finally about to come with a guy for the first time in ages, and it was happening with this man.
And then it washed over her, a wave billowing deep inside, so long and so hard it was almost too much. She couldn't believe what B.S. this was, that spoiled, sarcastic March would be the one who could do this to her, give her the sweetest orgasm of her life, not just in the way the convulsions rippled everywhere but also in the way she could just let go and yell while he took her there and held her.
Which he did, again and again. She knew he was probably watching her; he'd said something about wanting to see her lose her composure...and she didn't even care. In fact she found the idea freeing.
He released her once the last undulations had gone. His voice was impatient, harsh as she had never heard it. "Where the fuck is the fucking condom?"
She found herself laughing as he flailed around trying to find his pants. It was a novelty to see him lose his composure. She loved it.
Then he was back over her, eyes darting from her face to her breasts and lower. Yep, just like that, following the diamond—one, two, three, just like a guy. He didn't look like a pretty boy anymore. He looked taut and wild. The press of his swollen cock against her belly was a distraction before he smoothed her hair back from her forehead. "Are you sure?"
She nodded.
"I could wait—"
"No!" she protested.
His fingertips brushed her eyelids closed. "There’s no way I can be gentle...you're still on my tongue. I want to pound you."
"Okay." Promises, promises.
"Fucking pound you. But I’ll try to—"
"No, don’t. Just do it. Do it hard."
He grunted, nipped at her lips, then rose up and braced himself. The instant she felt the pressure at her entrance, her spine arched and her legs tensed in invitation. For a few endless moments, he remained poised just inside, gearing up for battle, his eyes blazing into hers. She liked that. It made him seem...open and vulnerable for once. Then with one long, unyielding push, he was all the way in.
Stretching her severely.
It had been a long time.
Shit, shit, shit...
His deep groan drowned out her own throttled sounds. They both froze. And then the shock of it hit her and she writhed like a stuck butterfly.
"Fuck, I can't—do you need—fuck, woman—"
She opened her mouth, couldn't vocalize beyond a gurgle, shook her head. She'd expected a bit of pain. Instead her body had convulsed in another orgasm. Just from the squeeze of penetration. She clasped him with legs and arms and drove him deeper, with a mental mantra: Yes, yes, yes, yes...
"So I assume—that's a green light—
At last the powerful ripples eased up, leaving her a wet, throbbing mess...and she snarled, "Move, dammit."
And that was all it took.