WickedTakeover (8 page)

“Whoa.” She waved her hands. “What if someone else here
wants them?”

“Do you even know what they are?” Dante asked.

“No.”

“Dessert,” he said. “Like nothing you’ve ever tasted. If
heaven had a flavor, they’d be it. Give her all of them,” he ordered Ricardo.
“And whatever other sweets you have.”

“I can’t,” she said.

“Go,” Dante ordered his cousin. The young man took off.
“Who’s boss here?” Dante asked her.

She fought a smile. “Your uncle who owns this place?”

Dante moved his foot from hers. She followed it, resting her
toes on his again. “You?” she breathed.

Damn right.

A short time later, with her packages in hand and his free
arm around her waist, Dante led Lauren back to her car. Neither of them spoke during
the walk. So much promise and desire charged the air, it was an effort for him
to let her go so he could put the bags on her passenger seat.

“I can give you a ride to your place,” she said.

He went around the vehicle and crowded her until she was against
the door. “That’s not what I want from you.”

Her eyes sparkled in the faint night light. She whispered,
“No?”

No. Dante cupped her face and kissed her hard, deep and
long, his tongue filling her mouth, his cock nestled against her pussy. Lauren
wrapped her arms around his torso and held on. Good thing. By the time they
were finished, they had to support each other.

Breathing hard, Dante pressed his cheek against hers and
whispered, “Do you have any skirts? Not the office kind. Ones you wear when
you’re not working.”

She eased back and gave him an odd look. “I have a few.
Why?”

Dante suckled her throat. She giggled. He spoke softly,
“Start wearing them at the parlor.”

Her laughter paused. “We have a dress code now?”

“You do.” He gave her his last order of the evening. “No
underwear for you from now on. No stockings. I want you in a skirt nude from
the waist down when you’re around me.”

“Hey, cute,” Jasmina said. Stopped in the doorway of the
backroom, she smiled approvingly at Lauren’s gladiator sandals, black lace top
and gypsy skirt that was printed with striking designs in dark gold and bronze.

Lauren had found the outfit at a street fair a few years
back. Really pretty and super cheap, the top and skirt had spoken to her
practical nature rather than her sense of fashion. In this part of the world,
she figured neither would go out of style and would be comfortable to wear when
she had to shop for groceries or run errands.

She’d never considered how nude she’d feel even with the gauzy
fabric falling to her ankles. When Jasmina joined her at the fridge, Lauren
pressed her thighs together.

“You look gorgeous,” Jasmina said in a low voice. She put a
new stash of Dove bars and a box of Fudgsicles in the freezer. “You planning to
make your move on Dante?”

Jasmina should have asked her that last night. Then, she’d
been up for anything.

In the harsh light of day, dressed as she was, that suddenly
seemed like an incredibly dumb idea to Lauren. Their lovemaking and dinner had
been so enchanting, she’d arrived at the parlor earlier than usual, figuring
Dante would already be here to take control, using her as they both wanted.

He hadn’t been.

There were no voicemails or emails saying where he was or
when he’d show up. He’d never been this late before. For the first hour, Lauren
had worried. After that, a cold dread settled on her. Probably no different
from what her mother had felt when Frank had failed to return decades ago.

Lauren had almost read her father’s note when she’d returned
to her condo last night but got sidetracked by the treats Dante had bought her.
Turrōnes
, a confection of honey and toasted almonds.
Brazo gitano
,
sponge cake with mango marmalade. And
churros
, a deep-fried pastry
rolled in granulated sugar.

Lauren hadn’t had so much to eat since she’d lost her job.
Never had she tasted food as good. Stuffed, relaxed and happy, she’d gone to
bed, recalling her toes stroking Dante’s. His impassioned kiss at her car. His
hard body smacking against hers as he plunged his cock into her wet and willing
cunt. His directive that she not wear panties to work any longer. Remembering
that, she’d giggled like a teenager then slept better than she had in months.

Now it was time to wake up.

“Will Van Gogh be able to take all the bookings today?”
Lauren asked, sounding surprisingly casual despite her growing conviction that
Dante wouldn’t show up.

He wouldn’t disappear as Frank had, but he’d probably call
in sick, stay away for a few days then waltz back in here and pretend nothing
had happened between them. Not even some really great sex.

That was all it was,
Lauren warned herself. They’d
been caught up in the moment. Her more than him, and he was regretting it.

“Why would Van Gogh have to?” Jasmina asked then sucked in a
breath. “Oh my god, did you fire Dante?”

“No. Of course not. Why would I?”

Jasmina looked reluctant to say.

Lauren suspected what Jasmina was thinking. That she’d
finally asked Dante for a date, he’d turned her down and she’d terminated him
because of it. God, this was worse than high school. Finally, she stated the
obvious, “He’s not here. He’s never been this late. He’s probably going to call
in and take a couple of days off.”

Jasmina made a face. “He told you that?”

“He didn’t tell me anything,” Lauren shot back. “He’s not
here.”

“He will be,” she said. “No doubt about it.”

“How would you know?”

“He’s just at his meeting with a new vendor who’ll help us
cut costs. He told Van Gogh and me about it yesterday. He didn’t mention it to you?”

Lauren wasn’t certain if he had. Yesterday was a blur until
they’d gone at each other in the hall. Every moment after that was etched
indelibly in her mind. “I guess I forgot.”

“Want me to tell you when he gets here so you can finally
ask him out?”

Oh lord.
“No.” Lauren backed away. Her skirt
fluttered around her legs. Jasmina looked at it again. Before she saw more than
she should, Lauren hurried down the hall to Frank’s office.

She closed the door, sank to her chair and ordered herself
to get a grip. This was so unlike her. The last time she’d behaved as foolishly
was when she’d spent Christmas Day in bed rather than looking for work. She’d
wasted time that she wouldn’t get back.

Unlike Dante, who probably had countless relatives eager to
help him, Lauren didn’t have anyone.

It’s okay. You’re strong. You’ll survive.

Like there was a choice.

She posted numerous ads on free online sites, offering the
parlor for sale. The last batch she’d placed at other sites was answered by
young tattoo artists even more strapped for cash than she was. The callers all
expected Lauren to carry them as they made minimum payments on the debt.

“It’ll be like what you do with a credit card,” one guy had
explained. “You can trust me. I’m good for it.”

Sure.

Next, she scoured the job boards for HR jobs. There were a
couple of great openings, dovetailing perfectly with her skills. As she
fine-tuned her resume, the parlor started hopping. Men’s and women’s voices
drifted down the hall. She heard Jasmina’s cheery greetings, Van Gogh’s subdued
hellos, but not Dante’s deep voice.

Maybe it took a lot of time to strong-arm a vendor for a
cheaper price. Could be he’d stopped at Castillo’s for a plate of
boliche
,
asking for it in Spanish.

Lauren sagged in her chair, recalling how his smooth, deep
voice had sounded wrapped around words she hadn’t understood. No wonder they
called Spanish a romance language. Even thinking about his lilting conversation
with Ricardo made her toes curl and her heart sink. Dante had given her the
best night of her life and Lauren didn’t trust that it would last. Mainly
because it wouldn’t.

Sighing deeply, she returned to the various drafts of her
resume, proofread each dozens of times, spell- and grammar-checked them then
suffered through the lengthy online forms. She was about to hit send on the
last one when there was a firm knock on her door.

Lauren’s heart shot to her throat while the rest of her went
weak with desire. “Yeah?” she asked then winched at how her voice caught.

Jasmina opened the door, mouthed something and smiled.

Lauren frowned. “What?”

Two bikers lumbered down the hall, their heads turning at
Jasmina’s short cut-offs and long legs. When they stopped to ogle her, Van Gogh
called out, “That’s the office. Your appointments are back here with me.”

“Go on,” Jasmina ordered the guys sweetly but firmly then
hurried to Lauren’s desk and whispered. “Dante’s back. He doesn’t have a
booking for an hour. Go for it.” Without waiting for an answer, she took off,
closing the door behind her.

Lauren held her breath, listened hard and heard nothing
except Selena’s
Dreaming of You,
loud male laughter—no doubt from the
bikers—and the rush of blood in her ears.

“Go for it,”
Jasmina had said.

For what? A few minutes of fun? Dante’s weight pressing into
her, his heat and scent offering comfort?

Wasn’t enough. She’d want more. She’d yearn and would lose
her focus, allowing herself to be open to hurt. That wasn’t the woman she was.

Lauren hit send, shooting her application through
cyberspace.

“Hey,” Dante said to someone just outside her door.

Lauren stopped breathing again.

“How’s it going?” Dante added.

A man’s voice answered, too low for her to hear what he’d
said. She stared at the door, expecting it to open. Sweat broke out on the back
of her neck. Her stomach fluttered.

There were more footfalls in the hall. Jasmina’s voice.
Selena finished her sweet song. An earthy, vibrant instrumental replaced it.

Lauren’s legs bounced. She tried to keep them still but
couldn’t. What was Dante doing out there? If he was still in the hall. If not,
why hadn’t he come inside the office before he’d left?

Uh-uh. She didn’t want to know. Wouldn’t think about it. She
had stuff to work on.

Her job application had gone through. There was the standard
“congratulations, your resume is being processed” notification on her computer
screen. She glanced over as someone walked by her door. Not Dante. The
footfalls were too light. Probably a woman. Possibly his first client of the
day.

Wait. Jasmina had said he wasn’t booked for an hour.

Lauren turned back to her screen. More footfalls. Voices.
Music.

Hell. She left her office and went into Dante’s workstation.
His back was to her, his attention on his computer screen, probably his client
bookings for today. His thick, dark hair looked freshly shampooed. The room
smelled of his clean, masculine scent. Lightheaded, Lauren closed the door and
locked it.

He turned at the sound and smiled.

Her legs went rubbery. Everything she’d warned herself about
seconds before evaporated like a bad dream. She could tell he was honestly glad
to see her. Tomorrow or next week might be different. He might bolt then, but
not now. She wasn’t going to let him.

Lauren crossed the space, sank to her knees and undid the
button on his jeans.

Dante covered her hand with his and whispered, “What are you
doing?”

She pushed his hand away. Once she’d lowered his fly, Lauren
tugged his jeans and stretchy boxers to his knees.

Someone rushed down the hall. Possibly Jasmina, the steps
were light. Van Gogh’s voice drifted from his workstation into here, his words
too quiet to understand.

Lauren rubbed her nose in the fragrant hair above Dante’s
cock, thinking how nice it’d be if she could bottle his musk and smell it
whenever she felt alone.

He babbled something that sounded turned-on.

Looking up, she whispered, “You better be quiet or they’ll
hear you.”

He sagged against the counter, his face up, Adam’s apple
bobbing with his hard swallow. “What?”

“Shhh.” She swirled her tongue over the tip of his cock.

He grunted loudly.

“Quiet,” she warned, “or I’ll stop.”

He lowered his face, his eyes narrowed. “You’ll what?”

“You heard me.” She ran her hand up and down his shaft,
working it as her cunt would. Dante’s frown fell away. His head sagged back on
his shoulders.

That’s it, baby. Let me take care of you.

Playfully, she lapped the root of his cock and tugged his
pubic hair with her teeth. Soft laughter rumbled in his chest. Encouraged, she
ran her tongue down his awesome length and flicked the back of his crown. He
gasped quietly this time, as though he didn’t want to risk having her stop.

Pleased at her power over him, Lauren lifted his rod and
took his right ball into her mouth.

Dante lost all of his air and pushed to his toes. “Holy
fuck,” he rasped pretty damn loud.

Thankfully, the music had drowned out the sounds of his
passion. Drums beat away, trumpets blared. Someone in the hall laughed loudly.
The phone rang. A plane rumbled overhead.

A couple of times Dante’s knees buckled. Huffing, he fought
to keep standing.

Finished with loving his right ball, Lauren eased his left
into her mouth. She tongued the short, dark hairs then licked the wrinkly skin,
loving its faint salty taste.

He gripped the lip of the counter but still squirmed, his
grunts and groans surprisingly muffled. As though he remembered someone might
hear and knock on the door, which would interrupt his pleasure.

Determined to give him as much enjoyment as she could,
Lauren drew her thumb over the small opening in his crown, wet with pre-cum.
She ran the silky liquid to the back of his cock, the bumpy skin that was the
most sensitive part of any man.

Dante shot back to his toes. Lauren straightened, following
him. After giving his ball one last lick, she released it. As he sank back
down, gulping air, Lauren eased his shaft into her mouth. All the way to the
back of her throat until her nose touched his hairy groin.

He spoke in a combination of Spanish and English, none of it
making sense. His body language was another matter entirely. Lauren knew she
was killing him—in a good way. Purring in delight, she drew back then moved
closer, working his hard rod with her mouth and tongue in a way her pussy never
could.

He made a strangled noise and cradled her head in his hands,
keeping Lauren at the task for minutes, clearly fighting his climax.

That wouldn’t do. Obsessed with driving him wild, Lauren
sucked slow then fast. She added a little twist when she reached his crown then
cupped his testicles in her hand and ran her fingers down the silky furrow
between his cheeks. The moment she reached his anus, she stroked it.

Several things happened at once. Dante went stiff as stone,
his cock thickened in her mouth, his balls plumped even more, he stopped
breathing then shuddered.

His creamy cum spurted into Lauren’s mouth. Thick. Salty.
Delicious. Lovingly, she drank it down and fondled his balls.

Shuddering again, he grabbed her wrist and pulled her hand
away from his sac.

Lauren released his cock from her mouth and looked up. His
face was down, his complexion darkened with lust, his hair dangling over his
beard-shadowed cheeks.

Poor baby.

“You don’t like this?” she teased, cradling his balls in her
other palm.

He muttered an oath beneath his breath and pulled her hand
away from his nuts. “Not now.” He paused to swallow and haul in another breath.
“Later.”

“Oh. Okay.” She pushed to her feet, pivoted and headed for
the door.

Dante must have grabbed the hem of her skirt, because he
used it to reel her in. With one arm around her waist, he snaked his hand
beneath the thin fabric and cupped her ass.