Hidden Depths(9)

He whipped his shirt over his head. “Never mind. You want to fuck? Let’s fuck. But if you really want to play the whore, you’ll have to do a little more work than you did the other night.”

“I was under the impression you enjoyed our interlude. But of course what did you expect? You get what you pay for and it was free, after all.”

He closed the distance between them, shoving her to lie back on the bed and climbing on top of her. “Oh I was perfectly fine with it.” He echoed her earlier words. “I like fucking whores. But I was in a bit of a rush, as you might recall, and we can elaborate on the scenario tonight. Let’s see if you enjoy it not only when you’re treated like a whore but when you act like one as well.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“How many guys have you slept with, Andrea?”

For some reason, that question seemed to penetrate her cool. She colored, a dusky rose appearing on those creamy pale cheekbones. “Not as many as whoever you were expecting that night, I’m sure. Did she eventually show up, by the way?”

He reached down to tug her dress up a little so he could better fit between her thighs and she widened them obligingly. “She did, as a matter of fact. But you’d already spoiled me for her.”

One smooth brown eyebrow arched. “Given your vigor, I admit I’m surprised by that.”

His “vigor” was asserting itself right now in the cradle of her legs as he held her hands high above her head, and he smiled. “I don’t mean I couldn’t get it up with her. I mean after you, I didn’t want to.”

“You’ll turn my head with compliments like that.”

He kissed her, slow and long and thorough. And she responded, tugging her hands free to bring them to the back of his neck, sifting through the hair at his nape, causing him to shiver. She didn’t taste chocolaty as he imagined she would have if he had kissed her at the hospital. She tasted fresh and clean and lemony, as if she’d had hot tea before she came here.

Pulling back a fraction, he whispered, “I want to feel your hands on me.”

Her breathing was low and fast.

“Your mouth on me,” he added, kissing her again in soft, teasing caresses. “Would you like that?” he murmured. “That’s all I meant. I want to know you’re into this.” He led her hand to the buttons on his jeans. “So help me out here. I like to fuck naked. Remember?”

She unbuttoned his jeans slowly, not dropping eye contact, and he relished the focus of her dark-blue eyes combined with her attentions below. By the time she was done his cock was throbbing so hard through his briefs he could have mounted her with them still on. He’d fucked her so fast and so eagerly last time that he hadn’t even paid attention to whether she’d come. He was going to remedy that this time. And they had all night.

Though her long fingers were delicately strumming the length of him through the cotton, causing him almost mesmerizing shivers of excitement, he took a deep breath and forced himself to roll off her, sitting up.

“I thought you wanted me to undress you,” she said softly.

“I do.” He urged her to sit up as well. “Just not yet. I kind of liked the stripping part last time. You stripping. Let’s do that again.”

She hesitated and he prompted, “Whatever worked for you last time, it involved you taking orders. Maybe you’re used to that with your job or whatever. I don’t want to speculate.”

“Then don’t.” She showed a little more fire than he expected Michael saw. But ordering her around in bed appealed to him. He supposed he had more of the old man’s genes in him than he had thought.

“All I’m saying is if it ain’t broke don’t fix it. You’re here. Just go with it. Stand up.”

She did, after no more than a second.

“You’re beautiful in that dress. Did you wear it for me?”

“No. I had to personally cry off an appointment Mr. Reynolds had with the head of a delegation from—”

“I don’t care where they were from.”

She shrugged.

“So you wore it for them, but you’ll take it off for me.”

Her blue eyes wide, she did, leaving it in a dark shimmery pool on the floor. The dress might not have been for him, but he had the feeling the underwear was. It wasn’t the demure white she had worn under her pink dress at the party. It was red this time. Fuck-me red, although he had interpreted her white underwear as fuck-me white as well, so he supposed Andrea’s body in underwear no matter what the color said fuck me to Evan.

The red silk was nice, though, the barest of cups for the bra and the slightest of strings for the hips. There was a tiny triangle of red silk at her pubis, which was waxed clean. He hadn’t been surprised by that when he thought she was a professional, but he was now.