One Night With Her (4 page)

A self-imposed monkhood, his sister had
called it.

But hell, he wasn’t thinking of his sister
right now.

He was thinking how much he’d like that dry
spell to end tonight. Maybe even in the next hour. Because this
woman was everything he wanted—sharp, clever, playful and hot as
fuck in that blouse and skirt. She had the perfect body for that
businesswoman look she had going on, with the skirt down to her
knees that made him think of her in a boardroom, crossing her
strong, sexy legs as she sat at the head of the table. She probably
ran her own business, and that made her even sexier. He was drawn
to the kind of confidence that a high-powered woman possessed. And
he particularly liked that this high-powered woman had no clue he
ran Joy Delivered, because that meant she was actually interested
in the guy she’d met tonight, and not the label that sometimes
lured others. With the years he’d spent in the military after
college as an army intelligence officer before founding this
company, he’d been labeled by the press as the
Soldier-Turned-Sex-Toy-Mogul. It wasn’t the sort of a title that
could be bestowed very often, but it was part and parcel of who he
was. Though it didn’t bother him one bit, he also didn’t mind
not
being that person tonight, along with the baggage
attached. He could be himself again. Not a man with a past tethered
to him, or a sandwich board slung on his chest.

And so the last half hour with Michelle with
two
L
s he’d been precisely that—himself. They’d polished off
another round of drinks and he’d held her hand, touching her in a
way he hoped was driving her wild, and enticing her as much as her
sexy librarian look and smart conversation was luring him in. The
business meeting with Henry and the councilman was in the rearview
mirror; he no longer had politics or problems on his mind. He and
Michelle had talked about baseball, and beaches they wanted to
visit, and Jack had even admitted that he had a buddy who’d made it
his mission to have unusual questions at the ready, should he meet
an interesting woman. Michelle didn’t seem bothered that he’d
borrowed his friend’s body part question.

“I like that you just confessed. It makes
you seem like you’re not just a smooth and polished James Bond
lookalike, all dashing and debonair and able to fire off witty
questions like that,” she said, snapping her fingers.

“James Bond,” he said, running his fingers
down his tie. “I’ll happily take that comparison. Dashing and
debonair, too—I like that as well.”

“Well, you are all of the above. So, Just
Jack, what exactly is it that you just do?”

Uh-oh.
The conversation he didn’t
want to have. “What do you think I do?” he fired back, hoping to
deflect.

“Obviously something that requires you to
wear a tie, so unless you’re a gigolo,” she said, and that drew a
deep laugh from inside his chest, “I’m going with businessman, and
you were here tonight working on a deal.”

He breathed a quiet sigh of relief.
Businessman. He could work with that.

“You are very good at putting clues
together.”

“That’s kind of my job.”

“Are you a detective?”

She shook her head and laughed. “Nope. But
some days it can feel that way.”

“So is this when I ask you what you do? Even
though we’re supposed to talk about far more interesting
things?”

“But, see, I find what people do interesting
and it says something about who they are,” she said, her brown eyes
hooked on him, her gaze confident and alluring.

“Then I’ll tell you what I do, because I
don’t want you to walk away and say you didn’t know anything about
who I was,” he said, figuring he could give her something without
telling her everything. “I am a businessman. I sell things—usually
online, sometimes in stores—that make people feel better.”

“What sort of things?”

“Toys.”

She laughed. “Toys,” she said, amusement in
her tone. “That is so damn cute.”

“Cute. Not exactly what I want a gorgeous
woman to call me.”

“What do you want a gorgeous woman to call
you?”

“
Oh, God,
at the top of her lungs,”
he said, watching her breath hitch with his words.

“You are naughty, Mr. Toy Salesman,” she
said, arching an eyebrow playfully. Fine, she thought he was a toy
salesman. He didn’t need to disabuse her of that notion. He did
sell toys, but tonight, he didn’t plan to use any because he was
going to show her that this toy salesman wasn’t dependent on his
products. He could use the tools he came with. Tools to make her
come, again and again. Before he could respond, she spoke again.
“So you want me to call you
Oh, God, Jack
,” she said, her
mouth falling open, her breath coming fast as she imitated an
orgasmic cry.

Like a shot of adrenaline to his groin. He
shifted in the chair, sure she could see his erection, and equally
sure he didn’t mind her knowing he was rock-hard for her. “As long
as you’re looking at me like that, you can call me anything you
want,” he said, watching her reaction as she pressed her lips
together as if she were holding back. He didn’t want her to hold
back. He wanted her to let go.

“Well,
Oh, God, Jack
, we’re in the
same field. I also help people feel better.”

She took another drink, and that seemed to
be the end to the obligatory “what do you do” conversation. He was
glad it was out of the way, that it had been handled without lies,
and that they could move on to more interesting topics. He segued
into something he’d wanted to ask all night. “Any chance you’d let
me make you feel better, Michelle?”

“What makes you think I feel bad?” she
countered.

“Nothing. But I think I could make you feel
a little bit better if, say, I did this,” he said, then brushed a
loose strand of her hair away from her shoulder, and leaned in. It
took five seconds for him to bend closer, and the air was charged,
heated with possibility. Then he pressed his lips to her neck,
barely there, brushing her soft, sweet skin that tasted faintly of
honey and vanilla, something entirely alluring that made him both
want to kiss her and rip her clothes off at the same time. A
feminine scent, but a thoroughly suggestive one, too, that hinted
at the way she might taste all over. “Mmm,” he murmured against her
skin, then pulled back to assess her response. The hazy look in her
eyes told him all he needed. More. She wanted more.

She breathed out hard through pursed lips.
“You know, I think, um, this spot,” she said, tapping her neck on
the other side, “might need to feel better too.”

“I have a treatment plan for that,” he said,
leaning in close to kiss her neck. He groaned faintly, heat rising
in his body because she tasted so good. The scent of her was beyond
arousing, and he wanted to know how she tasted everywhere. Her
hair, the back of her neck, her belly, her legs, between them . . .
he wanted his mouth all over her.

“What about here?” he asked, brushing a
fingertip across her bottom lip, watching her hitch in a breath.
That quick gasp signaled that she was losing control, and that was
how he wanted her to be. Lost in him.

She nodded. “Yes, my lips could stand to
feel better,” she said in a needy whisper.

“Then let me help you feel fantastic,” he
said, and he took his time, wanting to savor every single second of
not only kissing her, but the time before, when he was
about
to kiss her. He ran his fingers over a few loose strands of her
hair, so soft against his skin. He watched her, because he liked to
watch, and because he liked to record a woman’s reactions, and this
woman had him wanting her badly. Her brown eyes were clouded with
lust, and he was sure they matched the look in his. The only
difference was he would lead the kiss. He would set the pace. He
liked control, and he wanted to know how she felt melting against
him. He traced a finger down her jaw, and her lips parted. Her
breath was soft against his face, and then he pressed his lips to
hers. She tasted faintly of lipstick and vodka, and it was one of
his favorite taste combinations in the world. Running his tongue
across the seam of her lips, he teased at first, priming her for
how he wanted to kiss her properly. Hard, passionately, the kind of
kiss that would make her weak in the knees, and foggy in the head,
and leave her not only wanting, but desperately needing more.

A kiss that would make her wet.

She angled her body closer, her breasts
pressed against his chest, and soon her hands had found their way
to his hair. Their tongues tangled in a hot duet. The temperature
rose, the volume shot way up, and they were practically clawing
their way through the kiss, desperate for more. Teeth, lips, mouth,
tongue, all furious and fevered heat as her hands gripped his
hair.

He needed to have her. Had to take her. She
was hot as sin, smelled like lust, and radiated sexuality. Without
her even saying it directly, he knew she was a woman who had no
reservations about self-love. She’d pretty much admitted she had a
bit of a porn habit, and he could see her alone in her bed, eyes
fixed on filthy images online, spread out on a white comforter with
her legs spread and her fingers wrapped around a red vibrator,
thrusting in and out, bringing herself there.

Tonight, she didn’t need to go it solo.

He broke the kiss, and traveled to her ear,
whispering hotly, “If you were to go home right now, would you
touch yourself?”

“Obviously.”

“Why is it obvious?”

“Because I’m turned on as fuck, and it would
be a fantastic orgasm.”

“Would you think of me as you played with
yourself?” he asked, then licked the shell of her ear. She shivered
against him.

“You’re giving me pretty good fodder, so I’d
have to say that’d be a yes.”

“What would you imagine?” he asked, so
fucking eager to know what she wanted. He shifted back, looking at
her gorgeous face, her brown eyes hazy with lust. He was curious if
she’d say hands, lips, tongue, or cock. Dying to know what she
wanted next if she were to have her way.

She shot him a stare, her eyes hooking into
his. Something dark and naughty passed over her gaze.

“I would fantasize about you finishing what
you just started.”

His breath caught in his chest, and his
heart stopped for a moment. The air around them was heavy,
expectant, and suddenly it felt as if all the sound in the room had
both stopped and been sharpened. Everything collided into this—the
heavy pulsing sound of the music, the clink of glasses, the splash
of liquor being poured, and then this—her breath, her chest rising
and falling, and the heated look in her eyes that spelled unabashed
lust.

He was going to fuck her good tonight.

Stop, Don’t Stop

Her reflection in the brass doors of the
elevator would give her away. Her cheeks were rosy, her hair was
slipping from its clip, and the collar of her blouse already needed
readjusting. It was a look she hadn’t worn in years, but it was one
she found she liked on herself. The look of a woman about to have
hot, dirty sex with a man she barely knew. Michelle Milo was
getting some action tonight, and it wasn’t the battery-operated
kind.

A couple walked behind her. A man with slick
black hair had his arm draped around a young blonde. They were
wrapped up in each other, but seemed to check out Michelle before
they turned the corner.

She stood alone outside the elevators,
waiting for Jack to return from the front desk where he was getting
a room, and she practically wanted to pump her first, maybe even
high-five her own reflection.

But that would be premature, right? What if
he was bad in bed? What if he had a small peter? Man, what a drag
when that happened. You get all hot and bothered and raring to go,
and everything is clicking on all cylinders from the conversation
to the connection to the magical thing known as chemistry, then
bam
. Tiny revealed. She crossed her fingers and sent a
silent prayer to the universe—or maybe just to the Patron Saint of
Endowment, hoping that such a saint existed and if she didn’t, she
damn well should, because she’d have offerings of riches from women
the world over—that Jack had the kind of package that would make
her mouth water.

Then she chuckled to herself, almost shocked
at the thoughts racing through her head. What happened to serious,
focused, honest-to-a-fault Michelle who worked as a therapist and
prided herself on being direct, upfront, and open? Of course, she
wasn’t always upfront. She’d never told her friend Clay how she
felt about him all those years. Not that it would have made a
difference. He didn’t feel the same way, and who fucking cared
anymore? What a welcome bit of luck that at least, for this moment
in time, her mind was free of that unrequited love that had weighed
her down like a heavy rusted anchor on the sea floor.

Because right now, she was living in the
moment, and judging a man for the size of his cock. Or potential
size, really. Hell, it felt wickedly good to let this side of her
steer the ship. Far too often she was all-work-and-no-play
Michelle. But she was her after-hours self now, and she hoped this
man could match the ones in her fantasy. Or at the very least, the
size of the phalluses in her nightstand drawer.

Jack—or Just Jack as she now thought of
him—walked towards her, and he was the only one on her mind as she
took him in, his tie loosened, his white shirt rumpled, his pants .
. .

Her eyes had strayed there and she snapped
them up quickly.

He brandished a key, flashing it at her with
a knowing wink, then whispered in her ear, “Were you just checking
me out?”

A flush splashed across her cheeks in a
flurry. She nodded. “Caught red-handed.”