The primary benefit of a convenient arrangement was the ability to schedule time with the opposite sex, much like one scheduled a workout or a meeting or a dental exam. That worked if your mind wasn’t consumed by the woman, but it was problematic when you couldn’t convince your mind to stop obsessing about the little curve above her lip. The tiny spot Leo liked to nibble, which caused the loveliest of moans to come from Gwen’s throat.
My God, where was that woman? Just standing in the room waiting for her and fantasizing about her mouth nearly had him undone. No, this was not convenient, not convenient at all. He walked to the window and peered out at Manhattan. The sky was grey and snow threatened. He’d cleared his schedule for the rest of the day and most of tomorrow morning. He hoped that he might convince Gwen to do the same.
A knock sounded at the door.
“It’s open,” he called.
The doorknob turned. Gwen walked in.
His heart thudded and his sex hardened. Her hair was pulled back and her bright blue eyes shone. The high heels, black skirt, and creamy silk blouse showed off the curves of her body. His hands itched to run along her sweet lush curves, to cup her breasts and kiss her long luxe neck.
Her eyes widened and her gaze swept the suite. The place was pretty spectacular. This suite had housed presidents, heads of state, and the business tycoons of the world. The suite also housed the Travati brothers when they so desired.
She raised one eyebrow and tilted her head. A slight smile curved her lips. “This is our lunch spot?”
“You requested discretion.”
“This? A twenty-five-thousand-dollar-a-night penthouse is your version of discretion?”
“I’d much prefer taking you out, but so far you’ve said no to my every request.”
Gwen didn’t respond, but her lips tightened for an instant. Was this secret difficult for her? Was she having a hard time believing he didn’t think of this, what they were doing, as disposable? And yet…he couldn’t promise her permanence either, if she asked for or needed it.
She slid the strap of her bag from her shoulder and dropped it and the coat she carried over her arm onto the couch. She walked across the room and stood at the window, taking in the view. “It’s pretty spectacular.”
“It is.” He walked up behind her, his arms circling around her waist. She relaxed into his embrace.
Lemons. Lemons and lavender. Her copper-red mane was infused with the smell. She’d left her scent on his sheets, his skin, his clothes. She leaned against him, her back to his chest, and his muscles responded. His stiff cock pressed to her lusciously full backside, and his lips grazed her hair.
Damn it, he’d wanted to show restraint, to have lunch with her, maybe a conversation, but her body, her scent, the heat of her pressed to him swept away any discipline he’d wished to impose on his body.
“You ordered lunch.” Her voice was low, rough with desire. Ah, yes, so her own resolve was weak. She too felt this unflagging passion between them. His hand drifted over her belly and gently rubbed the front of her skirt, where that lush vee, the pathway to pleasure, was buried beneath fabric.
“I did,” he whispered into her ear.
Her breath came in jagged bursts. He kissed the ivory skin of her neck and cupped his hand around her breast. Her hips pushed back against his hard sex as his lips worked down the soft curve of her neck. “Are you hungry?” He circled a taut nipple beneath her blouse.
Her hips ground against him in response. His hand clutched the fabric of her skirt and pulled it up until her legs, her hips, and the sweet round curve of her ass were exposed. Now only the lace of her panties separated his fingertips from the pleasure spot between her legs.
“I could eat,” she breathed, barely able to form the words.
“So could I.” He wound the lace string of her panties around his hand, and with a twist of his wrist, the thin thread gave way. He laid her back onto the couch and spread her legs. The sweetness of her pussy, her scent, aroused him, overwhelmed him. He pressed his lips to her, needed to have her, to eat her, to lick her, to make her call his name. My God, he could barely stand to be away from her. She lifted her hips upward, her mound meeting his lips. He pulled her clit deep into his mouth as his fingers slid into her core.
“Leo, my God.” One hand tangled in his hair, while her other hand yanked at the back of his shirt, her nails scraping against the cloth, pulling it up until his back was exposed. Her nails raked across his flesh, and the sweet pain of her possession only fueled his desire.
His tongue swept over her clit and he rolled the sweet flesh, teasing her, every hitch of her hips spurring him on. The desire to see her come, to give her pleasure, was nearly as strong as his own need to be deep inside her body.