“I’m sorry,” I whispered.
Chapter Four
I stared at Jake, my heart sinking. I’d defaced his walls. Blood rushed to my face.
He set the silver tray down. I noticed with the part of my mind that was numb that there were two cups of something hot; the steam rose as he put the tray on the floor. He stood up and crossed the room quickly, his strides long and determined.
I was stammering out another apology when he reached me.
He pushed me back against the wall. Kissed my neck. I barely had time to breathe before his hands moved down, yanking the robe from my shoulders.
“Oh!” I cried. “You’re getting paint on your—ah!”
He bit at my neck, a bite on the shoulder as though he was claiming me. He buried his face in my hair, his hands pinning my arms back. The paint was still wet behind me, and cold for only a second before he licked my neck and flames took my body whole.
My hands moved down to his chest, tentatively at first. I had paint all over me, and every touch smeared red and green and blue onto his suit. But it was ruined already, and when his hands found my ass I couldn’t care at all about it.
Kisses, kisses everywhere but my face. His hands gripped my ass and squeezed and I cried aloud.
He picked me up and shoved me against the wall. I wrapped my legs around his waist and he buried his head in the crook of my neck, pressing kisses all the way down from my ear to my collarbone.
I tried desperately to shift his mouth up to mine, but he would not kiss me directly. My lips burned.
“Kiss me,” I whispered. I wasn’t sure if I was allowed to speak during sex, but I wanted this so badly.
He pulled back and looked at me.
“Not yet, Lacey,” he said. There was a threat in his face that told me to take him seriously. I couldn’t help feeling a pang of rejection, but when his hands moved down over my body the pang turned to a violent shock of desire.
We were pressed against my paint, my art, but I didn’t care one bit if I was messing it up. I felt the paint smear over my back as he slid down slowly, easing me down by inches.
His ruined jacket flew back over his shoulder. He unbuttoned his shirt. One sleeve at a time, the clothes peeled away. He left on his white undershirt. I could see the fabric straining against the muscles of his arms.
Then I realized what he was doing.
He buried his face in between my legs. His hands gripped my thighs tightly and his teeth pulled my panties down. I was wet and the chill of the air was nothing compared to the burning desire that shot through my every nerve.
He licked me and I came instantly.
Bucking against his hard hands, the orgasm raced through me in thick waves of pleasure.
“Ohh!” I cried out, shaking so hard my head knocked against the wall. “Oh God, yes! YES!”
I shuddered again and again against his hot tongue that was still licking, pressing against me. He kissed my swollen sex and I jerked again as the last thrill of the orgasm rode through me. This—was this what sex was truly like? None of my masturbation sessions could hold a candle to the raging orgasms that Jake was able to tear from me so easily.
It had ripped through my body so quickly that I hadn’t even found the time to be embarrassed. My whole body shivered like it was made of liquid held together by the barest film. My chest heaved with breaths as I tried to gain enough air to stand on my own. Right now I was leaning against the wall and he was holding me up.
I blinked hard and looked down. He was still kneeling between my legs, and now shame came tumbling in.
How… why…? I had no answers. I didn’t even have the questions. I only knew that this wasn’t a fair game, that somehow he had gotten the upper hand again even as he knelt and pressed his cheek against my thigh.
He heard my breathing slow and turned his face up. He was smiling.
“Again,” he whispered.
It wasn’t a question, and although I struggled to break from his grip, my efforts were half-hearted. The orgasm was still shivering my body with its force as he whispered the word against my overly sensitive clit. His breath was warm and oh so tempting.
I put my hands down on his shoulders, meaning to press him away. The paint on my back was sticky; drops ran down the backs of my arms. He was spotted with paint, too, and the more I looked at him the more I noticed that my work had gotten all over him.
“Your suit,” I said in weak protest.
“It’s already done for,” he said, and he sounded as if he didn’t mind a bit. A bespoke suit, it probably had cost him thousands and thousands of dollars. And he tossed the jacket aside and smeared paint over the pants… for what?
For me.
Heat streaked down my legs as he pressed an open kiss against me down there. He hadn’t kissed me yet on the mouth and I wanted so badly to know what he tasted like.