When they arrived at his apartment building, he told the driver to keep the change, then opened the door and held it open. When she exited, her body bumped against his.
He might have moved back, but instead he remained in place, his every sense attuned to her. To the contact of their bodies—the press of his painful erection against the side of her body as she slid to her full height. He wanted to press harder into her, so damned hard she would whimper in fear of him and the things he could do to her, and at the same time, he wanted to protect her from himself.
So he waited until she entered the lobby, and shut the door and followed her.
She was gazing at him nervously as they boarded the elevator, wetting her lips, watching as he pressed his fingerprint to the button with the number 33.
They rode in silence to his floor. Once the door opened, she followed him to a wide, shiny steel set of doors, and he pressed his thumb to the keypad.
The doors clanked and opened, and he saw her eyes widen.
“Lights on,” he barked, and the lights immediately obeyed, illuminating some key pieces of artwork all across his apartment.
He shut the doors behind them.
“Your place? What do you want me here for?” she demanded, following him into the library. “Ahh,” she said, as though suddenly inspired by his silence. “Am I supposed to scrub floors or windows first?”
“Shut up,” he said, softly. He poured himself a drink, then turned to her, trying to grasp his control. He’d never had sex without it. Control. He’d never had someone in anger. He’d never…let go like that. “You'd have to be very drunk or very stupid to mess with a man like me, Sandy,” he whispered, softly, taking a sip of his drink.
“You told me that years ago. I guess I'm stupid. Or maybe I'm not afraid of you. What? You're going to fuck me? I've been fucked before.”
“Not like this.”
He downed his glass, then set it aside, and started for her, but his eyes were already stripping her, already having her naked. Totally. Naked. At his mercy. His heart pounded at the thought, and Sandy’s eyes were wide and dilated.
“I’m going to have you, Sandy,” he said as he started to unbutton his shirt, all the time watching her as he crossed the library towards her. “But first you’re going to wash off the shit you threw on me.”
“Ha!” she said.
His eyebrows furrowed as he reached her, undoing his last button and then dropping his arms as he stood there, letting her feel his height, his nearness. He needed her to see him as a male. She did. He saw her eyes widen in alarm when he stepped into her comfort zone, then beyond it, until every rise of her chest pushed her nipples—her hard little nipples—against his diaphragm.
He stared down at her as he shrugged off his shirt, the currents of sexual tension crackling between them, the look in her eyes shocked and bewildered as she stared at his chest. “You’re going to wash off the shit you threw on me,” he repeated.
He reached down to take her hand in his, and she thrust her chin out haughtily as he stalked down the hall with her in tow. He opened the shower, and she was breathless and wide-eyed as he stepped inside and pulled her inside with him.
She gasped as the water started pummeling her, him in only his slacks, her still in that sexy-as-fuck dress.
With a hard smile, he shut the glass door behind her and kept his arm raised, caging her in as he let his gaze drift down her body, taking in the perky breasts encased in that tight sheath dress, the form-fitting fabric that hugged her shapely hips and displayed slim, beautiful legs. Her hair was loose. Long and curly, a rich sable, it now clung wetly down shoulders, and his fingers curled into his palms as his heart restarted with a vicious kick. Feather earrings clung from her little ears, dripping wet. And her topaz blue eyes…
When he brought his gaze up to her eyes and found them staring at him with fury, he could not think of anything but making her pay for every minute of suffering she’d caused him throughout his teenage years and more.
“My dress, you idiot!” she cried, flailing out with a fist. He caught it, aware of the heaviness in his loins, the tensing in his thigh muscles as he got close.
“Don’t worry,” he murmured into her ear, “I’ve got plenty of clothes for you.” Reaching out, he grabbed the soap and pressed it into her palm.
Sandy’s heart was pounding hard in anger as she set the soap aside and instead reached up to smear Beckham’s head with shampoo. She wanted to kick him in the nuts. She wanted to scream and claw at him. She raked her nails into his head and grumbled curse words as she ran her fingers through his scalp. He hunched his shoulders so that she could more easily reach him, and she pulled him lower just to put him at an awkward position. Bastard.
He pulled free and put his head under the spritz, the soapy bubbles sliding down his face, and Sandy stared at his wet chest, her anger morphing into the most uncomfortable lust she’d felt in her life. She could mark every muscle with a pencil, every ab muscle, the pectorals, the shoulders, biceps, triceps…
“Like what you see?”
Her eyes jerked up to find those bottomless night-eyes of his, heavy-lashed and watching her.
“Not really. I remembered you…younger,” she lied.
But the years had been too kind to him, he was all man. Still glowering down at her.
“Soap up my neck and back, the shit slid all the way down my collar.”
“Spoken like a true pampered millionaire who’s never had to get a little dirty,” she sniped angrily, and soaped up her hands to slide her fingers along his neck and down his back. His skin was slick and wet, and the contrast of its smoothness with the hard muscles beneath them for a moment captivated her. She slid the soap around his waist, and his ab muscles contracted under her touch. Her heart froze in her chest when she realized he’d gone super still, and suddenly she was agitated, but for a whole other reason.
She still wanted him.
Her nipples poked into her wet dress and the heat between her legs burned. Her insides clenched with yearning for his touch, her eyes wanting him to be facing her so she could admire his lips. He started turning, and she dropped her hands and put a scowl in place. She didn’t come for this. She didn’t want him to see. Did she? Well. Did she?
She wanted to prove to herself she didn’t want him, he no longer held any appeal. She’d been fifteen or sixteen or whatever and stupid, and he’d been everything she’d ever wanted. And now…
Water pounded on his shoulders, his hair slicked back and dark, drops dangling on his eyelashes. His eyes were turbulent black, fiercely studying her as he took a step and she took one back until she gasped, the coolness of the marble tile all along her back.
The intent in his gaze was so unmistakable, she flung the soap to his chest. It bounced and clattered, and he scowled once more, grabbing her arms and pinning them up over her head. “Why do you keep hitting me?”
Her teeth began to chatter, her braless nipples suddenly jutting out at attention in her dress. “Because I don’t like you.”
He lowered his head and opened his mouth to retort, his eyes glimmering in challenge, and she just couldn’t think anymore. He was close and wet and he was Beckham Winters. She went up on tiptoe and took his lips with a famished moan she couldn’t quite contain, sticking her tongue into his mouth. His hands convulsively clenched on her wrists as her mouth moved frantically against his, then he groaned and released her, grabbing face within his damp, hot hands, angling her head, and plunging into her mouth with force.
“Damn you.” He pulled her up against his hips, her arms coming around him as they explored each other’s mouths. “Damn you, let me see you.”
He yanked her dress down and pushed it down to her hips, then down her ankles, then sent it splattering to the floor, and she protested when he pulled his mouth free for the maneuver, so he brought it back to hers as he carried her out of the shower.
Her heart was speeding, her breath ragged as she found herself engulfed in a huge towel. She
saw him strip to his birthday suit—and what a gorgeous birthday suit he had!—and wrap one around his waist, then he was lifting her and carrying her to his ginormous bedroom, where in the center of it was a ginormous bed. He threw her down on it, following her down to smash her mouth once more. When his mouth joined hers at an angle, she disintegrated with need.
She’d never felt like this in years, in her entire life. She sank her nails into his shoulders as Beckham pulled the towel from underneath her and yanked off his own. When his body came back over hers, they were still slick with water, and a fever took hold of her.
She reached between them and caressed his cock—long and thick, smooth as velvet and as uncompromising as Beckham was, while he stroked his fingers across the wet lips of her pussy. She groaned; he growled. He curled one hand around her breast and pushed out the nipple so he could lave it with his tongue; and he pushed a finger inside her. “Oh,” she groaned in pleasure as her nails raked up his arms.
“That’s right, squeeze around my finger,” he whispered, husky, watching her as he pulled his finger out and rubbed the pad of his thumb over her clit.
This time when he fucked two fingers inside her, Sandy was ready for him to fill her; pleasure noises bubbled up her mouth, her eyes fluttering shut, her breasts pushing upward in offering and there—suddenly—was Beckham’s hungry mouth. Sucking one nipple, his fingers tweaking the other. Huskily whispering, “I knew you’d be like this, Sandy,” then, more fingering, more husky whispers against her other nipple as he moved his fingers inside her, “I knew you’d be fire in bed—you don’t do half-measures, do you? All passion, its either all or nothing for you. Now I get all of it, Sandy, all of you….”
Stroking her in the most delicious ways, Sandy tossed her head side to side, moaning.
“Stop talking, Beckham,” she groaned, clutching the back of his head to her breast. “I’m trying to pretend you’re someone else, okay?!” she lied, embarrassed that with his magical mouth and the probing of his finger, her whole body already tensed for orgasm.
His head shot up and he looked at her, shooting her his blackest look.
“Are you, really?” he asked thoughtfully. “Who?”
Oh, no. My orgasm. “No, not really,” she amended.
He grinned and oh, geez, she was in trouble. Suddenly he was inserting three fingers inside her. Three fingers stretching her vagina so wide she almost went off right then and there. She fought the muscular contractions but her eyes drifted shut out of their own will, and a bubbling sound escaped her. Beckham didn’t seem to like it. He growled, raspy and deep, “Open your eyes, Sandy. I want you to know at all times who’s doing this to you. Who you’re moaning for. Writhing for.”
She opened her eyes, her breath clogging somewhere in the middle of her windpipe at the sight that met her. Inside Beckham’s midnight black gaze was a sea of pure roiling desire as he watched what he did to her.
It’s true that he sometimes stared at her with a frown, a very mean glower, even, but right now all that she could see was the true, wild desire in his eyes, as if it came from somewhere so deep that he couldn’t control it. Could no longer deny it.
She went off instantly, crying out his name and clawing her fingers down the muscles of his arms.
“Oh, baby, that’s right,” Beckham said, working his fingers deeper inside her, caressing the most sensitive spot so that the waves retriggered all over again.
She was gasping when she was done, her breaths rising and falling with each breath. It took her a moment to realize Beckham was looking down at her in pure male pleasure, a rather ludicrously tender smile on his face.
“That looked quite exciting,” he teased her, his gaze so warm, she felt as if her bones melted.
“It was,” she admitted, smiling.
He eased down on the bed next to her. Only until now did she realize his bed was so plush, and smelled so good. His large warm body felt comforting as he drew her to his chest and looked down at her. He brushed her hair back, holding her gaze as he looked into her eyes. “Seeing you so undone does shit to me,” he huskily whispered.
“I can’t help it, you affect me,” she admitted, feeling herself blush as Beckham’s proud, sexy chuckle flitted through the air.
“Yeah? You do too, lady,” he said, scanning his eyes down her body as he kept running his hand down her hair, then down her shoulders, and her sides, the hunger in his eyes only making her want more. More of what he had just given her.
“Did you not want to have sex with me?” Sandy asked worriedly, suddenly her eyes flashing in anger. “What is this? Did you just want to prove how you can have me panting with just a touch, you fucking asshole?”
Surveying her small button lips, deliciously reddened, Beckham smiled to himself. Plush and heart-shaped, small and plump, they gave him unmentionable ideas of the things he could do with them tonight. Tomorrow night. And every night after.
“My, my, that mouth of yours, Sandy,” he clucked. Instead of answering, he continued with his visual feast, shifting up on one elbow so that he could get his fill of her.
Licking those lips, Sandy lifted wide, scared eyes to lock with his. There was a silence; the only audible sound was the air conditioning, and his own pounding heartbeat.
He reached the back of her head, touching her damp, lustrous ebony hair, and then he brought her down to his mouth, groaning low and in gut-wrenching pleasure when her lips softened under his and she returned his kiss in abandon.
All her anger morphed into passion, and he loved tasting it. Loved stoking it, taking it.
He’d never been so intoxicated with a woman before. But then he’d never denied himself a woman like he’d denied himself this one. He was a Harvard man, and it didn’t take his degree to know he’d be shooting himself in the damned foot if he messed with her right now.
But holy God, did he mess with her in his head. He’d fucked her once for every mile around the world already—and this was just counting tonight.
She tantalized his curiosity, something in her female piqued all of his male.
Seeing her again….
He’d never expected to feel this denied. This hungered.
Rolling onto his side, he brought her with him. Her skin broke out in goosebumps as his fingers trailed up her delicate spine, and she leaned even closer and made a sexy little sound that was about the most erotic thing he’d ever heard. She started to kiss his jaw, his temple, holding his jaw, leaving wet tracks all over his skin. Her breath was warm and sweet. All of her. She was so sweet. She was no longer a teenager, and she still blushed when he teased her. And Beckham loved teasing her.
He slid his hands between their bodies to cup her breast, and when she sat up to let him suckle it, he groaned.
Greedily, he stared at her breasts, the swells deliciously larger than in every dream. They bounced as she shifted to stroke his cock with her fingers and his cock jerked under the caress and a groan tore out of him.
He rolled her under his body and latched onto one coral nipple, hard as a ruby and just as pretty.
He laved her hungrily, his hand stroking her other breast, weighing and clenching. Sandy Brown was his greatest fantasy, the one woman he couldn’t have…The complicated shit he felt for her had been building, this attraction, for years.
Beckham was never going to touch her.
She was a complication he didn’t need.
But they were both so hot for it he wasn’t going to deny either of them what they wanted. This just might be the only solution to their problem….
As Sandy caressed him and brought him too close to climax for comfort, he growled and then delved between her thighs so he could eat her up alive. Her hips swiveled upward, her soft cry echoing in his ears as he buried his mouth in her.
Her pussy was wet and addictive. Sexy sounds left her throat as he sucked and pleasured her. When he sensed she was close to coming, he surged upward and kissed her, replacing his mouth with two of his fingers in her tig
ht little cunt.
Once more, she tensed, ready to orgasm.
Shit, he loved it, that she was so hot, so ready to unravel.
With a rough, primal sound, he pulled her arms up and wedged his hips between hers, then covered her sweet mouth with his again, feeling her soften under him, go loose and pliant under his kiss.
He kept her arms up in one arm while he eased on a condom and then he teased her sex with the tip of his swollen cock.
She was liquid heat underneath him. She began to whisper only please, in a way that made him incredibly aroused, her petite body undulating needily against his bigger one, and he couldn’t stop kissing her. Something about her taste intoxicated him, made him rabid for more. So fresh, so real.
He ducked to suckle more of her succulent breasts, feeling her stiffen, and then she burst into orgasm with that alone; with the tip of his cock brushing against her pussy lips and his tongue laving and lapping at her nipples.
She convulsed beneath him with a soft cry, and he released her hands and cupped her face, pushing his tongue as deep as he could into her mouth as she continued climaxing…
He twirled his tongue around hers, again and again, as he started penetrating her. Her grip was so tight, the pleasure so absolute as he plowed through her rippling muscular contractions, he growled and stiffened above her, suspended in the pinnacle of ecstasy as he only managed to thrust once. That was all it took. She was so goddamned tight, so swollen around his straining shaft, her pussy walls immediately squeezed and milked the juice out of him.
His orgasm hit like a tsunami, rocking through his system and tearing across his being. He spilled himself inside her, starting to pump and trying to get deeper, his kiss growing rougher as he dragged his cock in and out of her channel in complete excruciating pleasure.
When their tremors receded, he continued fighting for his breath as he rolled sideways and clutched her to his chest, too spent to notice how sweetly she wrapped herself around him.
Three
“Becks! Open up, Beckham!”