Microsoft Word - Seven Nights of Sin (13 page)

Reaching behind her neck, she slowly untied her slinky black halter top and found that letting it drop to her waist wasn’t so hard—because she wore a black strapless bra underneath. “Pretty,” he said, his expression fully sexual, devoid of all amusement. “Now more.”

Brenna pushed the halter over her denim mini and felt it drop around her red strappy heels. Then she reached behind her back and smoothly unhooked the lacy bra, letting it fall, as well.

Damon’s eyes locked on her breasts, making her already taut nipples tingle under his perusal. He’d seen them before, of course, in the closet, and after, as they’d slept together naked last night, but again, this felt more intense—to strip for him, to bare herself. It felt like baring her soul.

“Fucking beautiful,” he said.

And as a slow heat began to pervade her, as nervousness gave way to pure lust, Brenna found herself grazing her palms up over her bare stomach and onto the two mounds of flesh. She’d never touched herself this way in front of a man before, but instinct had driven her. To do what felt good. To do what she’d known he would like.

She first cupped the undersides of her breasts, letting their weight settle in her hands.

Then she let her palms close fully over them, sensually squeezing as she met Damon’s gaze, as she saw the fire there and felt the result in her already-damp-for-him panties.

“That’s so nice, babe,” he said, his voice a low growl.

She licked her upper lip, feeling the full power now, and the full longing that was taking her over. Still gently molding her breasts, she tweaked her nipples between thumbs and forefingers, feeling how hard they were and as if they elongated even more at her touch.

“Keep going,” he instructed.

And his wish was her command, she discovered—to her surprise, she actually liked him instructing her, telling her what to do. She liked the idea of being his play thing, his sex toy—the woman he wanted to fuck.

Lifting one foot to the tile step leading to the tub, she bent to undo the small buckle on her shoe.

“Not yet,” Damon said.

She looked up at him.

“Take those off last.”

A fresh whoosh of dirty pleasure rushed up her thighs and into her nether region. He wanted to see her naked but for the shoes. She was his sex toy. And she liked it more than she could easily understand.

Putting her foot back on the floor, Brenna undid the button on her skirt, which rested beneath her navel. Then she lowered the zipper and eased the denim over her hips until it hit the tile, leaving her in a black thong complete with embroidery and lace. She stepped free of the skirt and stood before him, drinking in his gaze, predatory and all male.

She had been careful not to drink much tonight—a total of two wine spritzers spread over the whole evening—but she felt drunk anyway, intoxicated by what she could only describe as animal desire. It grew from within, a raging force that defied logic or emotion.

She skimmed her palms up her thighs, then let them glide over her hips and back onto her ass, arching it into her hands as she thrust her breasts forward. Any remnants of nervousness were gone now—she was into this, into him.

Drawing her hands back around, she raked one middle finger teasingly over the front of her panties, then let it dip down inside. Her fingertip brushed briefly over her damp,

swollen clit before she extracted it.

“Jesus God,” Damon uttered, eyes glassy with want.

She bit her lip, feeling wholly seductive, like someone she’d never been before, someone entirely new. “Who’s prim and proper now?” she asked. She hadn’t realized their discussion at the pool had made her feel she had something to prove to him, but maybe she did.

Damon gave his head a slow shake. “Not you, honey. Not anymore.”

She let a naughty smile unfurl across her face.

And he offered a nasty little grin of his own in reply. “You’re a dirty girl, aren’t you?”

Was she? Or was this partly an act? “When I want to be,” she said. But the real answer, she decided, was: When I’m with you.

“Is your pussy wet?”

She nodded.

“Did it get your finger wet?”

She nodded again—then took a few steps forward, her heels clicking across the tile, and leaned down to slip her fingertip into his mouth.

They both moaned as his lips closed around it, and she felt his tongue, then the slight, suckling pull—felt him really tasting her. The sensation spiraled straight to the spot that was getting more drenched with each passing second.

When finally he released her finger, he said, “Now take off your panties. Show me that pretty little cunt.”

No longer shy about the raw unveiling of her body in the bright glow of the bathroom’s lights, Brenna faced away from him, eased her thumbs into the elastic at her hips, and smoothly peeled the thong down until it dropped to her ankles. Stepping free of it, she turned back around, naked.

Just as from the start of this little striptease, Damon wasn’t shy about planting his gaze right where his interest lay—and at the moment, he studied her crotch. His eyes seemed to physically burn into her flesh, and just like every time she’d seen him since arriving in  Las Vegas, he had a way of making her pussy feel like the greatest part of her, the part that dominated every action, every thought. And as much as she liked letting him look at her, she also wanted him inside her.

“Shoes now?” she asked. She wanted to get in the tub with him. She wanted to ride him,

hard.

He gave a slight nod—yet when she bent to remove one, he said, “But not like that.”

She looked up, confused.

“Sit on the edge of the tub.” He pointed toward the opposite end, by the faucet.

When she followed the instruction, unsure of his plan, he said, “Give me your right foot.”

Mmm.He was going to take off her shoes. Why was that sexy as hell?

Careful not to lose her balance, Brenna held her foot out to him. Damon set his wineglass aside and, for the first time, she noticed a second one on the tile enclosure for her. With one masculine hand, he cupped the back of her ankle; with the other, he grazed his

knuckles lightly down her inner calf. She shuddered at the pleasure darting upward but

kept watching him, not wanting to miss a thing.

Studying her foot, he ran cool fingertips over the thin red leather strap at her ankle, then overtop more criss-crossing leather before skimming his touch onto her toes, where the nails were painted to match her heels.

Then, oh-so-slowly, he undid the ankle strap and smoothly removed the shoe. She pulled her foot back as he set the sandal next to the wineglasses and prepared to offer him the other foot—but the angle would make the position more difficult to achieve without falling.

Damon tuned in to her quandary. “Bend your right knee and rest your right foot on the back edge of the tub.”

She did so. And realized the move spread her legs and put her pussy fully on display.  Their eyes met, acknowledging it, just before Damon’s gaze dropped. “Do you know what my favorite color is?” he asked.

no. What?” Huh? They were going to do the favorite-color, favorite-ice-cream-flavor thing now ? “Uh,

He studied the flesh between her thighs, unabashedly. “Pink.”

Her own gaze dropped to see that, in this position, indeed her slit had parted and the pink creases of her cunt were clearly visible. Raw heat consumed her. “Oh.”

“Other shoe,” he said, and when she looked back to him, he wore a wicked little grin,

having caught her looking at herself.

Carefully, she offered her left foot and absorbed the pleasure as Damon repeated the same motions as before, caressing her skin, gliding his fingertips over both shoe and skin, before finally removing the strappy, high-heeled sandal. This time, when the shoe was gone, he didn’t release her foot until he’d kissed the top of it, creating a tingling sensation that scurried all through her.

“Can I come into the tub now?” she asked.

He arched one arrogant brow. “Why do you want in the tub so bad?”

The playful question, clearly designed to make her declare her lust, earned a coquettish response instead. “Maybe I just need a bath. After all, you said I was a dirty girl.”

His gaze narrowed on her hotly. “Too bad.” Then he scooted toward her in the tub. “Stay where you are. That sweet little taste of your pussy made me want more.”

“Oh,” she murmured, just as he leaned in to rake his tongue firmly up the center of her

parted folds. Then, “Ohhh…”

The pleasure was almost overwhelming as he licked her again and again, from bottom to top, as if her cunt were an ice cream cone. “God, oh God,” she heard herself breathe as she involuntarily began to move against his mouth. “God, yeah.”

Soon, Damon lifted his hand from the water and eased two wet fingers into her already soaked opening, giving her the sense of having him inside her. It wasn’t his cock, of course, but his fingers were nice, too, especially when he began sliding them in and out in time with her undulations.

She watched him, amazed at the rawness of what she saw—again, she usually did this in the dark, and she wasn’t used to looking at it, looking at a man going down on her. She wasn’t sure she’d ever witnessed such an erotic sight.

That’s when a glance up from Damon, his face buried so sensually between her legs, reminded her of the mirrors lining the walls on two sides of the tub. They afforded her a view not only of her lover but of herself—with a man’s head moving between her parted thighs, her hips lifting slightly to meet him. Witnessing the passion etched across her own face, she felt as if she were in a porn movie come to life.

Next, she looked across the room, into the larger mirror over the vanity. Yet another view.  Damon’s thick dark hair. Her legs spread wide. Her breasts bouncing slightly with her motions.

When Damon’s attention narrowed, focusing more tightly on her clit, her breath came heavier, the pleasure building at her center. His skilled tongue swirled about the engorged nub, each move sending a fresh burst of heat exploding through her. The change drew her gaze from the mirrors back down to Damon, whose eyes were on her. He’d seen her watching them in the glass.

His mouth latched onto her clit then, pulling it inside, and his tongue thrust at it hard. Oh  God, the rough ministrations made her clench her teeth, her arms and legs growing weak.  She kept her eyes on his now, never wavering, and without planning it, she began to show him exactly how dirty she could be. “Suck me, baby,” she whispered hotly. “Suck my clit.  Suck it hard. Suck it. Suck it.”

Her naughty demands were the last thing she remembered before the orgasm hit, hard and fast, coming on before she even expected it. Arching her neck in response to the intense waves of sensation, she cried out softly as she drove her pussy against his mouth—yes, yes, yes—soaking in every pulse of pleasure to be had.

When it finally ebbed, she went still and Damon eased back from her. “You’re fucking gorgeous when you come,” he said from amid the bubbles, his eyes sparkling darkly.

Still breathing hard, she managed a smile. “Then you should make that happen often.”

“I intend to.”

In that moment, it struck her that their words were the kind that might be exchanged between people in an actual relationship, one that would last, go on—but she knew he only meant he intended to while they were in Vegas, and she brushed aside any hint of disappointment that might have produced to resume concentrating on the sexy, naked man in front of her.

“Can I come into the tub now ?” she asked, allowing a teasing bit of sarcasm to color her

voice.

He offered a slow, sexy grin, then reached for her hand. “Come on in, dirty girl, and let me clean you up.”

Once she was in the tub, facing him, her legs crossing over his beneath the water, Damon reached for the two wineglasses next to her shoes, passing her one.

“Where’d you get this?” she asked.

“Minibar,” he replied, then lifted his glass in a toast. “To my dirty little Brenna—who

surprises me more every day.”

She liked that, she thought, clinking her glass against his. Surprising him. And she wanted to keep doing it. So, without taking time to weigh it, she asked the question that had entered her mind a few minutes ago, watching him eat her. “What does it taste like?”

He looked confused and apparently decided she was talking about the wine. “Take a drink and see.”

But she shook her head. “No. My pussy. How does it taste?”

Once more, his gaze darkened, and she knew she’d succeeded at shocking—and exciting—him yet again.

In reply, he simply held out his free hand—toward her mouth. “Like this.” He touched two fingers to her lips, nudging—and after only a split second of doubt she parted them, letting him ease inside.

The taste on her tongue was strange—a bit salty, a bit sweet, somehow a little sour, and very pervasive. She didn’t like it, but it still turned her on to share such extreme intimacy with him.

“Well?” he asked.

“Frankly…yuck.” She made a face, then took a big drink of her wine.