Get Lucky (11 page)

I kiss him, taste him, grow bolder.

“Oh, fuck. Fuck me with your mouth,” I whisper. The thrusts of his hand slow, then stop altogether. His thumb remains poised over my clit, just close enough for me to feel it.

He smiles. “Perfect,” he whispers.

Some mad genius decided to install this shower with a ledge, probably so Nate could ease me onto it and perch so readily between my wide, eager legs. He dips his head and runs that magic tongue around my nipple before swallowing my breast. He sucks hard enough to earn a whimper before pulling back again. Then he drags his mouth across my chest until his lips are at my other breast, his tongue licking away rivulets of water. He makes sure I know just how much he loves my breasts before slowly kissing his way down my body, alternating with licks and sucks here and there, trailing down my belly until . . . .

Yes. Right there, please.

Nate rubs my legs, his hands sweeping along my inner thigh and toward my aching cunt, but not touching me where I need him most. He leans down and exchanges his hands for his mouth, traces a line of kisses up my sensitive flesh, his stubble a teasing whisper. The sensation is glorious, electric, and enticing.

Then I feel his hot breath on my sex, and his tongue makes a playful lap of my clit. I gasp, but he holds me in place, still exploring, still teasing. He licks me again and drags his tongue in languid circles around my clit before drawing a line to the mouth of my pussy and pushing inside.

Oh fucking God, yes.

He strokes once, twice, then his fingers replace his tongue, which returns obediently to my clit, and I whimper louder. I feel myself tighten around his fingers, every inch of skin he touches seemingly on fire—a miracle since I’m sopping wet—and it’s so good I can’t look away. He plunges into me over and over, traces me with his tongue, sucks me with his mouth. I writhe, wiggling my hips, thrusting my pussy against his face, and he answers my call by wrapping his lips around my clit and giving a good tug. I throw my head back, my body whining when he pulls his fingers out of me, then screaming in joy when his tongue takes over, teasing flesh so sensitive it feels electric. I could ride his tongue for hours, but then his fingers are back, pushing, thrusting, and I could ride those, too. Especially when his mouth returns to my clit, circling and sucking.

I am right on the edge, seams full to bursting. Nate pauses for a moment, which makes me want to scream, but he looks up into my eyes. His gaze is magnificent, possessing me.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers, then his tongue is back on me, flattened, his fingers pushing inside me.

I’m shaking so hard I’m going to rupture, the sounds coming out of my mouth wild. I slap the wall to ground myself.

“Nate. Make me come. Please.” I groan.

He closes his lips around my clit and pulls again. And again. And again. His thrusting fingers slip in and out of me, and my stomach tightens as every muscle in my legs goes rigid. I’m cresting, riding the wave. I start to pant, the steam rising all around me, Nate’s tongue insistent and probing, driving me wild.

I cry out, screaming his name as I come, the world around me flashing and breaking apart like a shattered mirror. I go limp and slump forward. Nate stands and catches me, holding me against his chest. He kisses me, and I can taste myself on his lips, along with tequila and a little victory.

“Did that live up to your expectations?” he whispers.

It did. Looking up at him, the wild and aggressive light in his eyes is still intoxicating. He looks at me with need, with desire. I haven’t been wanted like that in a long time.

Come to think of it, I don’t think Drew ever gazed at me like that; like watching me come and scream his name was all he wanted, all he’d ever want.

I can’t remember feeling this happy.

“Exceeded my expectations, actually.” I grin as we kiss. “I think we should get out. I’m starting to prune.” I hold up my hands for his inspection, and he laughs.

“Still beautiful,” he says, kissing my palm. The water’s begun to cool a little bit, but I don’t really notice.

W
e’re lying
in bed now, the sheets tangled around us. Julia’s leg is over mine. The sensation of her skin is almost overwhelming. It’s soft, beautiful; hell, it’s perfect. What is it about this woman, where the barest contact gets me hard? Even though I got one of the best blowjobs of my life in the shower, I can feel myself ready to go again.

But first, sustenance. I sit up, passing a hand over my head to smooth my hair. It doesn’t take. I don’t really care.

“Ready for more champagne?” I ask Julia. The room service cart is still at the foot of the bed, an iced bottle of Veuve Clicquet waiting to pour another glass, a bowl of ripe strawberries beside it. Technically room service is closed, but it’s never out of service for the VIPs. Life’s good at the top of the world. Or the top of a Vegas hotel.

Either way, being me is fucking sweet right about now.

“You never say no to champagne. Especially when studly naked men are pouring. Mom always told me that,” Julia says, handing over her empty glass.

I get out of bed and pour, watching her appreciate my form. She looks damn good herself. Her tits are still on display, round and perfectly proportioned.

Why is it whenever I look at this woman, I feel myself losing control? I never liked that before. I never liked feeling that way with Phoebe. There’s something about Julia that gets me horny and makes me relax all at once.

I think this is what bliss feels like. I hand the fizzing glass back to her.

“She added the part about studly, naked men?” I ask.

Julia sips and luxuriates. She tilts her head back, a smile on her face, her eyes closed. I like a woman who appreciates things.

“Maybe those weren’t Mom’s precise words. Hey, I’m a writer. I take creative license,” she purrs, sitting up. The sight of her, naked and twined in the sheets, her hair cascading all around her flushed face . . . yep, there I go. My favorite body part has raised its flag, ready for another conquest. I haven’t felt like this since I was nineteen years old. We’re barely dry from the shower yet.

Julia grins, appreciating the view. “Good morning to you, too,” she says, flopping back onto the bed. I take that as an invitation and kiss her, tasting the champagne and strawberries on her lips. I trail kisses down her chest, her breasts, slipping back the sheets to reveal—

“Hold on, hold on. Don’t you believe in savoring things?” she asks, rolling away from me. Tease. But she laughs. From her, I don’t mind the laughing.

Was there ever a time when I thought the sound of it was annoying? I was an idiot.

“Lawyer, remember?” I point to myself. “I like to cut through the endless discussion and take charge.” I lie back next to her.

Julia puts her champagne glass on the bedside table and looks at me. There’s curiosity in her gaze. That and a little lust, which I’m happy to see.

“So no foreplay, Mr. Wexler? Or is it counselor Wexler? Barrister Wexler? Wexler the lawyer?” She props her chin up on her hand.

“I never said no foreplay. Far from it. I just don’t like endless talking.” I kiss her shoulder, her back . . . and she rolls away again.

Somehow, the teasing is turning me on even more.

“Well, again, writer here.” She points to herself. “My characters always start off with a little talk.”

I snort. Can’t help it. “Guys don’t really want that. The whole verbal thing before sex. That is pure female fantasy right there.”

She juts her chin in defiance. “You haven’t heard my characters yet.”

“All right.” I lie back and give her a challenging look. “Show me.”

“Huh?” She looks surprised. Gotcha.

“Grab one of your books and show me. You must have something written on your laptop.” I spy the case at the foot of the bed.

When the hell did we get that? Must’ve gone down to her room at some point. Shit, it’s not good that I’m having blackout moments.

Julia untangles herself from the sheets and pulls up her computer. For the first time, she looks at me shyly, almost like she’s embarrassed.

“Okay, I haven’t read this scene aloud yet. You’re the first to hear it.”

“You read your books aloud?” I don’t mean that to sound mocking, but she stiffens.
Idiot.
“I only meant that I didn’t know you spent that much time on them.”

“Wow. Condescension, thy name is Wexler,” she says dryly, booting up her laptop.

Shut the fuck up, Nate. You have a beautiful naked woman with a computer in your bed, and all you can do is give her shit?

“Asshole comes with the lawyer job. Sort of an accessory, like a Rolex watch or eating lunch at your desk.” I hold my hands up. “I’m trying to get rid of it.”

I think she accepts it, because she turns back to her screen.

“All right. So this is right before Archer and Lola have sex for the first time. I mean, like, not going down on each other. This is the full consummation.” She brushes hair out of her eyes and holds up her hands; she’s setting the scene. “Archer’s a billionaire with a dark secret, and Lola is trying to weasel it out of him. Industrial espionage, you know. But she’s falling in love with him, wants him to dominate her utterly, and he’s arousing in her all of these feelings she never knew she had, and he knows it. And he wants her to give in.” She peeks over at me. “Don’t laugh.”

“Scout’s honor,” I say, sitting up and propping myself against the pillowed headrest.

She clears her throat and starts reading. “ 
‘You’re a woman of secrets and shadows, Lola. You were born in the darkness, but that’s not where you belong. Don’t fight it. Don’t fight me.’ Archer passed his hand up Lola’s thigh, fingers toying at the lace edge of her panties. She stifled a moan, but a shudder ran through her body, betraying her.

“
 ‘A spy doesn’t do well in the sunlight,’ she replied, licking her lips partly out of nervousness, partly because she knew it would turn him on. The sharp intake of his breath told her she’d judged him correctly. His eyes darkened with need. Yet his fingers continued their exploration. She quivered, wanting to feel the thick length of him pushing inside her, thrusting, possessing her as she finally surrendered herself, body and soul. Archer pressed a kiss against her neck, gentle and yet amazingly cruel.

“
 ‘I want you to give yourself to me,’ he murmured, his breath hot against her throat. ‘I want to feel you beneath me, gasping as I slide myself into you. I want to feel you shudder as my cock fills you, stretches you. I want you to cry out as I move inside you, urging me on. Giving yourself to me fully, your body begging for me as I take you. I want to make you come. And I want it now.’ His hands moving freely down her back now. ‘Don’t you understand, Lola, that I always get what I want?’ He unzipped her Chanel dress deftly, and it pooled at her feet, a whisper of surrender.’ 
”

As she reads, Julia’s gaze softens. She’s lying on her stomach, chin cupped in her hand, the naked expanse of her back open to me. I’m looking at her now, fully appreciating her. The slight sunburn at her shoulder, the thin white tan line of her bra strap standing out in sharp contrast. The freckles that dust her back. The way she curls her hair idly around her finger as she reads. Her right foot bobbing up and down, keeping time with the lilt and lull of her voice. All of it, suddenly, seems beautiful to me. As I lie there, watching her, I realize that the waiting is beginning to kill me. I want her underneath me, but her voice, her words, are conjuring images in my mind. And I like it.

“ 
‘Do you always get what you want?’ she asked him breathlessly as his mouth met hers again. His fingers ghosted across the lace of her bra. He unclasped it, and it fell at his feet. The night air was a cold kiss against her breasts, and he took them in his hands. Drawing her closer, he allowed her to unbutton his dress shirt, which was still impeccably starched from the opera. Her hands traveled over his rock-hard abs, appreciating the contours. He claimed her lips, tasting her, taking everything from her, giving everything to her. She unbuttoned his pants, gasping with need, and reached down to seize him, urgent and throbbing in her hand. He—
”

“Stop,” I say. My voice is harsh, almost guttural. Julia looks up in wide-eyed surprise. I get on my knees, lean over, and flip the laptop lid closed. She gazes up at me, a playful, knowing light in her eyes.

“What’s the rush?” she whispers. I lean down and kiss her. When she tries to get up, I grip her around the waist.

“Right there,” I whisper, then lean over and bite her shoulder softly. Julia moans, and I reach over for the strip of condoms still laid out on the bedside table.

God bless bachelorette parties.

An instant later, my cock sheathed, I lower myself onto her, still holding her in place. I tease myself along her pussy, and she squirms, wiggling against me.

I slide a hand to cup her cunt, slipping between her sodden flesh, and spear a finger inside her. Thank fuck, she’s ready. I wonder idly if reading her own material turns her on, or if that happy job is mine alone, but then I find it doesn’t matter. I position my cock where I want it most and then—oh yes—I’m sliding inside her. Like before, she grips me, and it’d be so easy to sink to the hilt, but I want to tease her. I begin pumping, my pace unhurried, every nerve in my body on fucking overload.

When she gasps, I slip a hand between us again and finger her clit.

“Oh, fuck me,” she groans, putting her forehead onto the bed. “Don’t stop.”

“I will,” I say, “and I won’t.” Then I thrust my cock all the way in, root-deep. Her cunt grips me, squeezing and tight and oh so perfect. She moans, and something primal ripples through me.

Those sounds are mine. I pause, painful as it is, and breathe. Otherwise I’ll come right now, and I’m not ready for this to be over. I want to enjoy it. “You want it like this,” I growl as I begin moving, dragging my cock in and out of her, mesmerized by her silky, wet skin, the way she squeezes and pulls at me. “You want me to take you all the way.”

“Yes,” Julia gasps. She glances at me over her shoulder, and rolls her hips. Again. Again. She gives as good as she gets.

I fuck her hard, ride her, my thrusts accented by her staccato breaths. I tap her clit again before scaling my hands to cup her breasts, rubbing my palms against the perfect peaks of her nipples. Julia lifts her hips, and I slam into her, my muscles tightening, straining, but I’m so hungry for her it doesn’t matter. She meets me each time I pound inside, her pussy squeezing, burning me, and it feels so good it could make a grown man cry. My body is fueled with the need to feel her like this always, riding my cock, desperate for it, squeezing me to oblivion as I enter her again and again and again.

I want her to know I’ve been here, that she’s mine.

Each time I thrust inside, it’s to the hilt, so as much of me as possible is in her—she feels all of it, and I feel all of her. And fuck me, she loves it. Her face is flushed, her lips parted, her eyes closed. I drag my fingers around her nipples, pinch them. Then I slide one hand down her stomach, to the slick spot between her thighs, and find her clit again.

She starts keening. “Yes!” Her voice takes on a new, desperate pitch. “There, fuck, don’t stop!”

She grinds against me, licking her lips. Fuck. I’ve never wanted to come so hard in my life; I’ve also never wanted anything to last more than this, because every second is so goddamn good. She’s so tight, and she gets tighter, wetter, every time my cock hits home. She’s so fucking close now. So am I. I want to explode, detonate while I’m buried deep inside of her.

I fist her hair and pull her face to mine. Julia kisses me, her tongue searching my mouth, stroking my tongue as I massage her clit faster, pump inside her harder. She’s gasping. Fuck it, I’m about to come . . . .

“Not yet,” she whispers, her hips stilling.

I understand. Somehow, it comes through the haze. And I pull out. It’s torture, but I do it. I’m sitting up, and she gets to her knees, turns and straddles me. Then her perfect cunt, wet and pink and
mine
, lines up with my cock again, and I’m back inside of her. All the way in. A low growl throbs in my throat as her hips begin undulating. She works me in and out of her, her eyes cloudy, her lips parted. Her tits bounce with each spear of my cock inside her. Her eyes lock onto mine, and her pupils dilate as she begins riding me in earnest. I can tell she’s close, and fuck, so am I. Watching her face, her swaying breasts, the sweat lacing her skin—watching my cock, slick with her juices, disappear into her pussy again and again is enough to drive any man mad. I grip her by the waist and guide her, pumping up into her, meeting her motions perfectly.

We ride each other.

“God, you’re so fucking big,” she whispers against my lips, teasing me with a kiss.

“How is your pussy so tight?” I whisper, then take her breast into my mouth, feeling her nipple harden on my tongue.

God, I’m going to come so fast.

“A year without sex’ll do that.” She moans, and throws her head back.

I kiss up her neck.

“My ex was the last man I was with, before you,” she says.

“Your ex is a fucking moron,” I grunt. The scent of her skin, her sweat, the way her pussy clamps around my cock, it’s overwhelming. I can feel it, the tension, the orgasm building.

“Fuck the memory out of me,” she whispers, swallowing me in another kiss.

Let no one say I don’t accept challenges. I push her back onto the bed, falling on top of her, and thrust as hard and fast as my hips will allow. It’s a pounding rhythm, and when she begins to whisper my name, I know she’s on the verge of climax, and something inside me goes off. I jerk, coming hard inside her, the world around me shaking and collapsing, crying out as she comes right along with me. Her wail is high and perfect, her head tilted back, her body bucking against mine.

After a moment, I slow, and finally stop. I’m laying on top of her, breathing as hard as I can, her breasts pushed up against me. Julia sighs as I slide out of her, and soon my chest is at her back. My hand trails over her breasts, enjoying the sensation.

“Was that as good as your books?” I whisper in her ear. She nearly purrs in response.