Beauty and the Bachelor(17)

"Have I mentioned how much I adore your mouth?" he murmured. Her swift  intake of breath urged him closer still. Provoked him to capture the  gasp for his own, taste it with his tongue. "I do. It was one of the  first things I noticed about you. Your pretty, wide, sexy-as-hell mouth.  I've lain awake nights wondering … how would your lips feel on my skin?  How would they look stretching for me, taking me? How much could you  take?" Fire raced over his nerves, along his veins, turning him into the  damn Human Torch. Needing a deeper, firmer touch, he pressed the tender  flesh of her lip against the ridge of her teeth. Studied her for any  sign of discomfort. And wondered if he would ease up or push her for  more. "I've had your kiss. I know what you taste like, and that's only  worsened the need. Made me crave more."

Their harsh breaths filled the room. This close, she couldn't hide  behind her aloof facade. Couldn't conceal the desire darkening her eyes.  Couldn't mask the flush across her patrician cheekbones. A low groan  rumbled in his throat as he lowered his head …

"Is this your way of shutting me up, then?"

The cold, out-of-left-field accusation froze him faster than a January Chicago wind.

"What are you talking about?" he demanded, dropping his hand from her face as if burned.

Though the heat of arousal still stained her golden complexion, a  distinct chill invaded her voice, as cutting as her words. "If I speak  out of turn," she mocked, her lips twisted into a bitter caricature of a  smile, "will you put me in my place with humiliating, vulgar talk?  Shame me into being quiet?"

"First," he said, lowering his voice and allowing the throb of need in  his cock to vibrate in his voice, "you can lie to yourself if it makes  you feel better, but your body betrays you every time. You like my  vulgar talk, sweetheart. Probably too much, which is why you're trying  to verbally castrate me now. Understand one thing, though." He lowered  his head until their noses bumped, and the soft, quick pants escaping  her lips bathed his. The rigid length of his cock nudged her stomach,  but he didn't retreat, didn't pretend like she didn't harden his body  until he resembled a fucking statue. And she didn't back away, either.  Her strength and stubbornness only stoked the flame inside him higher.  "Yes, I can be ruthless, unforgiving, and a manipulative bastard. But I  don't play games with sex."

It was one of the two areas in his life where he didn't lie-business  being the other. He'd witnessed his mother exploiting her sexuality to  control his father and other men too many times to ever use sex as a  weapon or tool. There was no way she could comprehend how deeply that  particular accusation cut.

"If I say I want you, then I want you. No lies, no ulterior motives.  And, sweetheart … " He shifted back, dragged his gaze down the wet dream  of her body deceptively clothed in a simple V-neck sweater and jeans.  Shaking his head, he returned his eyes to hers. "I want to fuck you  until neither one of us can move."





Chapter Nine


I want to fuck you until neither one of us can move.

The words spooled through Sydney's head like a never-ending reel. Or  maybe her mind kept hitting repeat to hear the raw, erotic statement on a  permanent loop in her head. Probably the former. She shifted on the  black leather seat of the limo as a shiver coursed through her even  nearly forty-five minutes after leaving the community center. Because in  his blunt, I-don't-give-a-damn manner, Lucas had nailed the effect he  had on her. The brutally honest admission of his lust and how he  imagined them together-How would they look stretching for me, taking me?  How much could you take?-had shaken her to the core. Literally. Her sex  had fluttered, contracted, swelled as if preparing itself for what her  brain stubbornly resisted. Even now, sitting in the limousine across  from his large frame, inhaling his fresh scent with every breath, she  ached with a nagging emptiness between her thighs.

Damn him.

Panic hurtled through her like a flash flood. Since acquiescing to his  blackmail, she'd been so certain she'd walk away from this arrangement  unscathed. That she could portray the pleasant, content public face  she'd learned to maintain from the cradle. And in private, she could  skate through the year by continuing the  two-ships-passing-in-a-brownstone coexistence of the past week. She'd  convinced herself the kiss in his office had been an aberration, and  that sex with him would be the same as it'd been for her in the past.  Nice, but not that greedy, insane lust that had gripped her whenever he  was near her.         

     



 

Bullshit.

Lucas hadn't even kissed her. Just touched her and whispered in  unadorned, explicit detail what he wanted. Her. Under him. Over him.  Shattered by his special brand of pleasure.

And if she allowed herself to become lost to his brand of consuming  lust-let herself forget the cost-in a year's time, that's exactly what  she would be. Well and truly shattered.

Free of guilt. School. Autonomy. Freedom.

These were the things awaiting her once her year of indentured service  was up. As long as she kept them in mind, she wouldn't waver. Wouldn't  start to fall for the smoke and mirrors called passion or love.

"I have something for you."

She jerked her attention from the window and the blur of traffic to the  enigmatic, sensual, and dangerous man sharing her space. He'd lain aside  the tablet he'd picked up as soon as they'd entered the luxury vehicle,  granting her first easy breath since she'd glanced up to see him  standing in the doorway of the center's classroom. After years of being  casually dismissed by her father in favor of business, she'd become  accustomed to this kind of preoccupation. In a strange and admittedly  dysfunctional way, the familiarity of his ignoring her had steadied her.  But now that incisive turquoise gaze had refocused on her, the full  impact of his personality and intensity behind it.

Hiking her composure before her like a shield, she arched an eyebrow in  silent inquiry. His full lips tightened as if the gesture irritated him.  Without releasing her from his scrutiny, he dipped his hand inside the  interior pocket of his suit jacket. Seconds later, he extended his palm,  and a small black box rested on the center.

Unable to control the fine tremble in her fingers, she plucked up the velvet case. An engagement ring. "Lucas, I-"

But a knot of emotion balled in her throat. She hadn't expected a ring,  even though she should've, considering they would be married. But to  her, the piece of jewelry represented commitment, unity, and respect.  She might not have loved Tyler, but they had shared those values. She  and Lucas had a contract signed in blackmail and ink.

Yet …

Yet as he opened the box, grasped her hand in a surprisingly gentle  hold, then slid the ring onto her finger … the moment stole her breath  away.

A large canary-yellow diamond cut in the shape of a rosebud bloomed from  a cluster of smaller white diamonds and gold. Unlike Tyler's engagement  ring-elegant, exquisite, and perfect for the socialite daughter of  Jason Blake-this spoke of passion, life, of her. As if uppermost in his  mind had been choosing a piece of jewelry she would love instead of  selecting an ostentatious showpiece for the sake of oohs and ahs.

She blinked, stunned by the sudden sting of tears. Stop it. It's silly  to be moved by a ring when the engagement it represents is a farce. So  true. Now if only her stomach would quit executing backflips as if she'd  just received a letterman's jacket from the high school football  captain.

"Thank you," she whispered. "It's beautiful." The most beautiful thing  anyone's ever given me. She curled her fingers as if trapping its  heat … or preventing anyone from taking it from her.

"Yes, it is," he said softly. But those startling eyes weren't trained  on the ring but her face. He lowered his head, freeing her from the  brilliant captivity of his gaze. But when his lips opened over her hand,  his tongue tracing the length of her ring finger, he tossed her into a  new prison. One with bars of blazing need and a lock that could only be  opened by the pleasure of his touch. She shivered, arousal winding  through her veins like a slow-moving river on a hot summer day.

His dark, surprisingly soft hair fell on either side of his face,  brushing her skin as he swirled his tongue around her fingertip, sucking  lightly. Jesus. As if a thin wire connected her hand and her sex, each  tug echoed between her legs, causing her flesh to swell, dampen. Deftly,  he flipped her palm up and slowly placed an openmouthed kiss to the  sensitive skin. She whimpered, squirming, trying to get away from the  wicked caress … or get closer. His grip tightened, refusing to release her  from the torture. The tip of his tongue traced invisible patterns,  throwing kindling on the need burning in her stomach and lower. Good  God. Who the hell would've known the tender skin between her fingers now  receiving his attention were erogenous zones?