A Gentleman in the Street (8 page)

His rough, agile tongue rasped over her pussy in a long lick. Whatever thoughts and concerns she had in her brain vaporized into mist as he settled in to feast on her cunt, his tongue fucking into her. She’d been eaten out before, but never like this. He wasn’t an expert, but he was so damn enthusiastic he could be forgiven minor technical errors.

Of course, she wasn’t averse to helping him correct his form. She tangled one hand in his hair, tugging him away from her pussy. He snarled at her, an animalistic noise, like a dog denied a treat. “My clit,” she gasped. “Lick it. Suck it.”

He obeyed instantly, two fingers plunging inside to replace his tongue while he licked and sucked and toyed with her clit. She had to swallow her cry when he shifted and inadvertently rasped his beard over her sensitive flesh. He paused, as if gauging her reaction, and did it again. And again, directing that roughness right over her hard clit.

A fast learner. God bless him.

His motions grew less refined as he became more aroused, somehow turning her on more than the most choreographed cunnilingus. He groaned, long and low, and the vibration against her cunt tipped her over the ledge, her leg wrapping around his back, a silent scream emerging from her throat. He kept his fingers tight inside her, filling her while his lips delivered soft kisses over her labia.

Her chest was working like she’d run a marathon, her limbs loose and ready to sink into the carpet. Usually sex revved her up, brought all her senses to laser sharpness, but right now all she wanted to do was curl up and take a nap.

Correction: all she wanted to do was curl up next to Jacob’s big body, take a nap, and have him wake her up with his more-than-talented tongue in the morning.

Her lips tilted up, and she let out an airy chuckle. She felt light enough to float away, something strange and large expanding within her chest. “My God,” she said, unable to think of anything else to say. “You could make a fortune off your tongue.”

At her words, his scratchy face rose from where it rested on her thigh, and even without looking at him, she could pinpoint with sickening dread the second he came to his senses.

Closing her eyes didn’t help. It couldn’t stop him. Each gesture of withdrawal—his fingers pulling out of her, his body heat leaving hers—shattered something inside her.

The lightness vanished, a cold weight taking its place. She counted to ten before she opened her eyes, not cowardly enough to hide away. He had moved a solid foot away, his body language hunched over and unwelcoming.

Her legs were still spread lewdly open. For the sake of principle, she took her time closing them, but didn’t bother to shove her skirt down. When she rose to balance herself on her elbows, her ruined shirt gaped over her breasts.

He looked up from his contemplation of the rug, his gaze flying over her exposed body. She wanted to cover up. Which was exactly why she didn’t.

Thankfully, she had braced herself, so she managed not to reel from the horror clearly written all over him. “My God,” he echoed.

Jacob scrubbed his hand over his mouth, before pulling it away and staring down at it as if he’d been singed.

She smirked. Her juices were all over his face. She hoped they set him on fire. She hoped she was imprinted on him forever.

“This shouldn’t have… This can’t happen again.”

You didn’t deserve to have this happen.
Not a muscle twitched in her face. She made sure of it. “You started it,” she reminded him. Mild. Uninterested. Like he hadn’t just blown her mind.

He raked his hands through his hair and launched to his feet. “I know. I’m sorry. I don’t know… I have no idea what I was thinking.”

“Probably not with your brain.” She was proud of herself.
Just get through this. Get rid of him.
“Don’t worry,” she said, her tone as dry as she could make it. “I won’t take this little incident as a sign you like me or anything.”

The look of anguish he gave her cut her to the quick. This was that painful for him? Really? “It’s not you—” he started to say, his vocal cords rough.

“Shut up.” God, she couldn’t, wouldn’t sit here and listen to him tell her that inane, blatantly false platitude. Of course it was her. It was always her. “Just. Shut. Up.”

“I’m sorry. It can’t…It won’t happen again. Please, just…forget it.” He backed away as he spoke, looking everywhere but directly at her. His hand groped behind him, and he found the door handle. “Goodbye.”

The door shut behind his hasty exit. Akira stared at the door, aware she needed to rise, clean up, change into the spare clothes she kept in the office.

But all she could do was sit there, in the wreckage of her garments, her defenses stripped, simultaneously satisfied and hungry for more. Hungry for him. Even when he made it perfectly clear how disgusting he found her.

Underneath the frozen layer of calm she had adopted as a stopgap measure to keep him from guessing her true emotions, a small, hot kernel of rage bloomed.

He should have stayed home.

One of the joys of Jacob’s career—other than wearing sweatpants to work—was that he rarely needed to interact with humans unless it was absolutely required. Parties and socializing could be kept to a minimum.

It wasn’t that he hated people. Jacob rolled his shoulders, the bow tie around his neck foreign and uncomfortable. He simply didn’t like most of them as much as he enjoyed his own company.

And when he’d spent the better part of a week turned inside out thanks to a certain beautiful woman and certain explosive events that had happened on the rug in her office, the last thing he wanted to do was put on a tux and mingle with people he barely knew.

However, he had committed to this particular dinner months ago. After his father had died of a sudden heart attack, he’d started contributing his time to this heart disease prevention charity. Stephen King he wasn’t, but Jacob supposed he had become something of a public figure in the past couple of years as his books grew in popularity.

He settled himself against the wall, a watered-down scotch in his hands. He had made some halfhearted bids in the silent auction and greeted the organizers. Once he finished this second drink, he would slip out and head home.

His lips twisted. Home, where he could deal with Kati’s continued silent treatment and try not to wallow in guilt and self-disgust over his lapse in control five days ago.

Like that was possible. If he wasn’t kicking himself for kissing Akira in the first place, he was tearing himself apart over how he had run out on her like his ass was on fire.

After multiple sleepless nights dissecting the encounter down to its guts, he still didn’t know what had possessed him to take her in his arms. At the time, he’d had some vague notion he had to fix the pain bringing Akira to her knees. Seeing her stripped of her sass and strength was wrong. He hadn’t thought before he’d gathered her up, desperate to restore balance to his universe.

As to why he’d kissed her and all the rest…he didn’t know. He’d only had platonic intentions, until her tongue had flicked his thumb. And then all of the willpower he’d employed for over fourteen long years had gone up in smoke.

Should never have touched her.
He gave a humorless laugh. No shit.

He ought to apologize, his guilty conscience whispered. He already had, during his stumbled rush out the door, but it wasn’t enough.

But she was far too dangerous for him to seek out, even to apologize. He now had a proven disastrous track record around her.

“Jacob?”

Disturbed from his introspection, he started, relaxing when he recognized the statuesque blonde woman a couple feet away. “Elizabeth.”

“Oh my God,” she said. “It is you. I thought surely the hermit hadn’t left his house.”

His smile was genuine. Elizabeth and he had dated casually for a couple months a few years ago. Their relationship had fizzled, and their breakup had been amicable. Jacob’s breakups were always amicable.

That was a good thing, idiot.

“The hermit pokes his head out when he’s paying hundreds of dollars a head for rubbery chicken. Take a picture, these sightings are rare.”

She chuckled. “Aw. There’s the deadpan sense of humor I loved. It’s so good to see you.” They exchanged a quick embrace. She smelled like lavender. Familiar.

“Good to see you too.”

“You look great.” Her blue eyes were admiring.

He should be returning her regard. She was beautiful and smart, and they had enjoyed a spark once before. If he was clever, that was exactly what he would do. “You too. Can I get you a drink?”

“Nah. I’m here representing the firm tonight, and I’m saving my allotted glass of wine for dinner so I can numb the pain when one of our senior partners starts to canoodle with his wife.” She cocked her head. “I actually have an extra seat next to me, if you’d like to enjoy your rubbery chicken at my table.”

He should accept. Any other man would.

The fact that a larger part of him would still rather go home and sit alone in his house didn’t bode well for their prospects, though.

He opened his mouth to politely decline and make a smooth exit, but a flash of red in his peripheral vision caught his attention. Was that…? No, it couldn’t be. She couldn’t be here.

But it was. Akira’s blue-black hair shone under the light of the dozen chandeliers. Amidst the sea of women wearing floor-length gowns in muted colors, Akira’s bright red strapless satin dress was like a crimson flag. The slippery material was cut low in the back, hugged her breasts and small waist, and only came as far as mid-thigh.

Her jewelry was minimal, not that she needed any more adornment. She was already packaged like the perfect present. Hell, her fancy fuck-me shoes even had little bows wrapped around her ankles.

What he wouldn’t give to pull those satin bows free with his teeth. Or trace the delicate bumps of her spine with his tongue. Between her bare arms, legs and back, there was too much Akira on display for his sanity.

Light flashed off the diamond studs in her ears as she turned slightly. Black eyes met his.

Jacob didn’t need a mirror to know he was probably staring at her agog. In stark contrast, there was zero shock on her face.

A corner of her red-painted mouth kicked up. While his heart pounded triple-time, she treated him to a languorous study before giving him a mocking salute.

The man at her side leaned in to whisper something to her, and her attention shifted. God damn it, who was that man? Her date?

She had never brought an escort to any of her mother’s parties—strange, since that would have been an ideal way to annoy the other woman—but she had often found companionship when she got there. He’d become an expert at finding excuses to leave the room or avert his gaze when she sidled close to someone, an intimate look in her eyes.

It stirred too much inside him to watch her trail her fingers over another man’s arm or face. Envy, because of the man’s right to stand so close to her, to touch her and be touched. Lust, over thoughts of what she would do to the stranger when she got him alone. Greed, because he wanted to both be the object of her desire and have a front row seat to it.

He felt all those things now when the man’s perfect face pressed far too close to Akira’s. But he couldn’t look away. Not this time.

Not even when she offered the man a blinding smile and pressed her body against his. Or when she snaked her hand through the crook of his arm.

They slipped away from the crowd surrounding them as if they were accustomed to sneaking off on their own. Just before they disappeared through a doorway, Akira turned her head, the tips of her hair brushing over her spine, and made eye contact. She lifted her hand languidly.

And crooked a finger at him.

With a sultry smile, she disappeared.

“Jacob?”

Spell broken, he jerked, startled, and looked at Elizabeth, who was studying him with curiosity.

He should forget about Akira and her bizarre beckoning. He should spend the evening with proper, safe Elizabeth, and wipe Akira from his mind entirely.

He had done it before, all those other times she had disappeared with some other man. He’d buried his desire down deep and soldiered on.

Not tonight.

The thought came unexpectedly, but once it took hold in his brain, he couldn’t shake it off. He couldn’t march away like a good boy. This time, he was going to feed all those emotions swirling in his chest.

“Excuse me,” he said to Elizabeth, aware he was a shade too abrupt, but unable to correct his behavior. “I’m sorry. I have to go.”

She patted him on the shoulder and said something to him. Perhaps he agreed to see her later. He couldn’t quite recall.

He was too intent on finding his prey.

A deserted hallway lay beyond the door Akira and her man had exited through. Like Akira’s office building, this place was another converted mansion, used for events instead of offices. As he moved down the hallway, the sounds of the party became muted, assisted by the thick carpeting and solid walls.

There was nothing, in fact, to disguise the noise that made him stop in his tracks, his muscles locking.

Surely she wouldn’t…

He took another couple of steps and heard it again, a feminine gasp followed quickly by a man’s sigh.

Moth to a flame, a magnet to metal…there was nothing that could prevent him from following that sound. The door was ajar. He only had to nudge it open so he could peek inside. Bare and plain, the room beyond was an unremarkable storage closet.

What made it remarkable was the woman leaning against the shelf. Dark eyes clashed with his, daring him to…do something. What, he wasn’t sure. He was fairly certain he had no blood left in his brain to manage any sort of cognitive functions.

Akira’s dress was peeled down to her waist, her small, firm breasts propped up on the shelf of her black corset. The dim light from the bare bulb hanging from the ceiling gleamed on her date’s head as he sucked one long brown nipple into his mouth, his cheeks hollowing with each motion.

Red-tipped fingers tightened on the fine fabric of the tux covering the man’s shoulders. “If you’re going to watch, come in and shut the door,” she drawled.