Project Virgin (6 page)

“And less of that expression, please.” Now he was laughing
at me. “What if you get stuck that way?”

“It would be your fault. How do I…?”

“Scottie.” His voice wrapped around me. It was like a shot of whiskey, a smooth fire all over me and deep into me, too, igniting everything it touched. “Don’t argue. Just do it.”

Rule number one
, he’d said.
Do what I tell you to do
.

I eyed him, trying to work out the mechanics of it. To do what he wanted me to do
I’d have to brace my hands on the back of the sofa and angle myself down from my high heels, precarious and careful, to that marvelous mouth. Why he wanted me to do something so awkward, I couldn’t imagine. I opened my mouth to ask him.

Rule number two,
he’d said.
When in doubt, do it anyway.

So I shut my mouth, aware that he bit back another smile when I did. That emboldened me. I widened my
stance and leaned over, grabbing the back of the sofa with one hand. I realized my legs didn’t quite work, so I moved, shifting so I straddled one of his outstretched legs without touching it. Still. The fact that any part of him was between my legs was… everything.

The position was as ridiculous as I’d feared. My ass was in the air, my hair was tumbling everywhere, and I had to concentrate to
lower myself toward him without simply collapsing and writhing against him the way I wanted.

But his mouth.
His mouth.
He tilted his head back and it was
right there
. It was temptation and sin. I could smell him—a hint of something spicy and a certain underlying maleness that was all him. I could feel the heat coming off of his skin.

My own mouth watered.

Between my legs, a sweet fire bloomed
into a volcano.

Then I lowered myself down and fit my mouth to his.

He let me kiss him. His mouth was firm and dangerous, but he kissed me back almost sweetly. It was like a balancing act over a cliff, and every time I angled my head for a better fit I felt my stomach drop, as if I was that close to toppling to my death.

I wasn’t sure I’d mind.

He tasted like I’d died and gone to heaven—but
he pulled away. I wasn’t ready. I didn’t recognize the noise that came out of my throat. I didn’t understand what was happening. I’d thought I’d known what desperation was, before tonight. Before Damon.

I hadn’t had a clue.

“Is that how you like to kiss?” he asked me, that erotic knowledge in his eyes and something rougher in his voice. It made my heart sing inside my chest. “Is that what you
want?”

I tried to answer him. I could only shake my head, begging him for something I didn’t even understand with nothing but my gaze.

His softened. Slightly.

“Get on my lap,” he ordered me.

I would have done anything at that moment, including parade naked through the higher levels of Granger & Knox right in front of the senior partners, if it meant more of this. More of what I’d barely tasted.

I didn’t argue. I slid onto his lap as best I could in my pencil skirt, shifting my legs to one side and then letting out a small sigh when his hard cock, tucked away in his trousers, rubbed against my ass. God, I wanted that. I wanted him.

I wanted everything.

He moved then. He tugged me into a slightly different position so my legs sprawled down the sofa to the side and his cock was pressed
tight against the seam of my ass. And he held me so my head fell back toward one strong shoulder.

“That wasn’t much of a kiss,” he said, and there was laughter in his voice, though his expression was serious, as if he was giving me a performance review.

“I did what you told me,” I protested, though I could hardly concentrate. He was running one hand along the outside of my leg, from my knee
to my thigh, then smoothing it over my hip. Then he found his way to my camisole, tugging it from the waistband of my skirt. He didn’t seem to notice the way my breath caught, or the way I let it out in a rush when his fingers dipped beneath the silky material and found my bare skin. He traced a pattern there, light and lazy, as if it was an afterthought.

“So you did,” he agreed. “Let’s try something
else.”

He bent to capture my mouth with his, and everything exploded.

Holy shit.

I’d been kissed before. Some years, that was all Alexander and I had done. I’d kissed a lot, and artfully. But never in my life had I ever been kissed like this.

Damon didn’t play. He took.

He was like a hurricane, taking me over and shaking me down, and I loved it. He ate at my mouth. He plundered me, until
I was lost in the heat of it, the slide of his tongue and the clamor of my heart.

Until I thought I might die or I had died, and still there was nothing but that delicious ferocity as he made me his, our tongues tangled together and that fire like a wild thing all around us, burning down the world.

And then the hand he’d slid beneath my camisole closed over my breast, not entirely gently, and
I stopped thinking altogether.

Damon pulled his mouth away from mine, but he left his hand where it was, his palm moving to gently abrade my nipple. The sensation was a wild tumult, a line of fire that shot straight from my breast to my clit and set me ablaze, and I couldn’t seem to do a thing in the world but arch into him.

He laughed, then let go, claiming my mouth again as he did.

The music
in the club swelled around us, the high notes chasing each other through the insistent bass, and it was as if it was inside me, too. I was lost there, the music a delirious throb within me, Damon around me and beneath me, and his mouth moving against mine.

He kissed as if it was the most carnal and intimate of sex acts. As if it was neither a prelude to something else nor a lesser version of
something real, but the main act. He was dirty and demanding, greedy and slick and hot.

He made me wonder if I was a true innocent after all, that I could be so undone by a kiss. If I’d been kidding myself.

Hours could have passed and I wouldn’t have known it, and then he shifted so he could come up over me, and slide that free hand of his beneath my skirt. My whole body shook in anticipation.

Damon kept exploring my mouth as his fingers trailed over my inner thigh, and he laughed slightly when I had to tear my mouth from his to try to breathe. Or maybe I wasn’t breathing. Maybe I was just making that high-pitched noise and breathing had nothing to do with it.

Higher he went, then higher still, until he cupped my pussy with his big, hard hand.

I trembled. Hard.

The club raged around
us, right there on the other side of the balcony that shielded us, but I wouldn’t have cared if we were in the center of the dance floor and lit up by a set of spotlights.

“Please…” I whispered.

As if he’d been waiting for that, Damon smiled.

Then he slid his fingers beneath the crotch of my panties, sliding them deep into my soft, wet heat.

I bucked against him, flushed hot and needy as he
murmured words of approval against my temple. I was open to him, desperate and greedy, and he didn’t disappoint me. He stroked my pussy, learning its shape from the slick heat of my folds to my needy clit, and my hips moved to meet him of their own accord.

“You’re perfect,” he growled against my mouth, and then he claimed my mouth again as he drove two fingers deep into me.

I’d come before of
course, me and my hand or a toy at the ready, but this was something else. This was different. This was a tearing apart. An awakening. I convulsed against him, going stiff as my hips tried to pound themselves against his hand, my head thrown back and my wild cries swallowed up by the loud club around us.

Damon laughed, a sound of rich male delight.

Then he claimed my mouth with his.

And he
did it all over again.

‡

I
’d never know
how long we stayed there like that. I didn’t care if it was whole years. I hoped it was at least a few decades.

I was lost in the wizardry of Damon’s hands, the wild talent of his mouth. The way he could make me shake apart again and again, as if he knew more about my body than I did. He swallowed my
cries each time he threw me over that edge, until I couldn’t tell where I ended and he began.

I came and came and came again.

At some point he shifted, leaving me flushed and soft in his arms. His dark blue eyes were nearly black, and his mouth was damp from mine, and if possible, he was even more gorgeous than before.

He pulled his hand from beneath my skirt, smiling slightly as I made a noise
that I couldn’t pretend was anything but dismay at the loss of his touch. I could still feel him, hot and ready, beneath me. I moved my hips, rubbing my ass against him with abandon, and was rewarded by his swift intake of breath.

But then he moved, tipping me out of his lap as he rose to his feet. “None of that.”

“I thought
that
was the point.”

Damon didn’t mention that I sounded completely
unlike myself. I sounded instead like someone who had spent God knew how long coming apart in his hands. Literally.

Instead, he kept his blue gaze trained on me as he licked his fingers clean. It nearly made me come again right there where I stood, my knees almost too shaky to hold me up.

I thought he’d laugh at me the way he’d been doing all night, all of that male confidence and awareness
simmering in his gaze, but he didn’t. If anything, he looked… strained.

“It’s time to take this somewhere more private.” His voice was a rasp and I wanted that to
mean things.
I wanted him to be as thrown by this as I was—but I knew that was crazy. The entire point of this, of this whole evening and the very fact I was standing here with him at all, was that Damon Patrick wasn’t thrown by anything.

Certainly not a naïve little fool like me.

Really, I should find that liberating.

I laughed then. The whole situation struck me as ridiculous, suddenly—or maybe that was a very different emotion sweeping over me, sharp and bright. I didn’t want to name it.

“
Now
you want privacy?” I shook my head, which only made me aware that my hair was a thick, messy curtain all around me, styled by his greedy,
careless, beautiful fingers. “Why did I think you were completely without boundaries?”

Damon’s mouth curved, and he reached over to tug on another long tendril of my hair. Not entirely gently. It should have irritated me. It didn’t.

“It’s not about my boundaries, Scottie. It’s about yours.”

“I think I’ve already proved I have none where you’re concerned.”

“Sure. Here and now.” He swept up
his jacket and mine, then nodded toward the door. “But tomorrow, a week from now, you might regret that. You waited for this for a long time. You deserve better than a couch in a club.”

I frowned at him, but I obeyed him anyway, walking toward the door and hoping my legs were a bit steadier than they felt beneath me, especially when I could feel him close behind me. I stopped at the door that
led out into the rest of the packed club.

“You seem a lot more concerned about this than I am. I was considering a bathroom in a terrible bar. A couch in a club is an upgrade.”

I could feel his laughter, his perfect chest pressed to my back as I stood there in the entrance, some part of me worried that leaving here meant nothing more than this would ever happen between us. And don’t get me wrong—I
loved everything that had happened.

But I was greedy. I wanted more.

“I’m the upgrade,” Damon told me, his voice a low rumble directly in my ear that wound its way through me and coiled tight low in my belly and the soft pulse between my legs. “You need to trust me, okay?”

“I don’t want to trust you. I want to fuck you.”

Again, he laughed, and it followed the same blazing path inside me until
it was like his hand on my pussy again, working its magic. My breath came out hard and desperate. I shifted from one foot to the other.

“They’re related,” Damon assured me. “I promise.”

And then he was propelling me through the crowd once again.

Once outside, the San Francisco night was a welcome slap of cool, misty air against my overheated skin. I felt like myself again in a rush of sea air
and autumn chill, and it was hard for me to believe that I’d spent the last hour or so melting and melting all over this man’s lap. What kind of spell had Damon Patrick cast on me?

He didn’t do anything,
a voice inside of me that sounded a lot like Holly’s told me matter-of-factly
. All he needs to do is want you and you’d give him anything.

I didn’t have to analyze that. I knew it was true.

Damon was watching me, his phone in his hand, when I finally forced myself to look at him.

“Second thoughts?” he asked, and though his voice was easy I could see something much darker in his blue eyes. Something that matched the tumult inside of me, and I couldn’t pretend I didn’t like that. Of course I liked it.

And I was having approximately nine thousand second thoughts, but they all disappeared
at that hint that he wasn’t as cool and calm as he’d seemed earlier. At my fevered little fantasy that he might feel some of the same impossible things I did.