Just One Taste...(7)

His throat, just at eye level, begged for her touch. His lips, no doubt  sweet and smoky from the drink, glistened. His erection, pressing  against his pants, certainly had its own pleasurable agenda.

He tossed back the rest of his whiskey, then set his glass aside and  didn't make a move to get more. She could already taste him on her  tongue.

With charm, money and looks like his, he was undoubtedly used to women  throwing themselves at him. She was certainly one in a long line. But  she didn't care.

She had a package of condoms in her purse.

"I like the taste of whiskey better like this," she said, then she  cupped the back of his head and pulled him toward her waiting mouth.





3



AS VANESSA'S TONGUE SLID PAST his lips, Lucas pulled her hard against  his chest, barely able to believe he finally had her alone. She at his  mercy; he at hers.She was glorious and beautiful. Smart and funny. Sexy  and sassy. She tested his hard-won control, pushing him to impatience  and recklessness. He'd overcome those weaknesses. He had to remember  he'd moved beyond his ugly past. Though the intensity of his need for  her scared him, he had no intention of turning back. Probably couldn't  even if he wanted to.

He wondered if she'd ever dreamed about the man she'd just described. He  wondered if she cared about his money-or how he'd made it.

One night would never be enough, he knew that now, even if he'd tried to  deny it when he'd first seen her. But when morning came, when she  learned about him as he wanted to know her, would she understand? Or  would she snub him?

Somehow, he didn't think snubbing was in her. Certainly not because she  was the hired help-she hadn't started life that way. She'd bought his  veneer of sophistication, as many had before, so she recognized the type  of person he'd become. Without a doubt, there was a trust fund in her  past. Maybe she was a caterer due to passion or hard times, but he had  no doubt he'd find blue blood if she cut her finger.                       
       
           



       

Unlike the lovely Vanessa, he knew how to read people. And read them well.

He wondered whether she'd laugh or recoil if she knew how he'd become  successful. He wondered if she'd appreciate or pull away from his need  for control. Inevitably, he also considered whether she'd tangle her  tongue with his quite so enthusiastically if she knew his true story.  His true self.

"Nervous?" she asked as she pulled back with a gasp.

His gaze locked on her lips. He wanted them on his again. Had to have them. Had to have her.

And she wanted to talk.

She doesn't know you. The whispered words of his conscience fought their  way through his baser desires. Women-even a lovely rebel in a red  dress-needed connections. He had to listen to the instincts that had  served him well for so many years.

Making an effort to focus, he cupped her backside, pulling her tight against his erection. "No, I'm not nervous." I'm dying.

Her gaze searching his, she gripped the back of his neck. "But you were."

Vaguely, he remembered telling her that just before they'd left the  country-club parking lot. A lapse, he realized now, though at the time  he'd simply been trying to put her at ease. She'd been understandably  uncomfortable about leaving with a stranger, and he'd wanted her to know  his own nerves weren't quite so calm.

Because I wanted you to like me.

He could hardly say that. Admitting a weakness, as he'd learned many  times in the past, was always a mistake. "I'm not now." Rubbing his  thumb across her bottom lip, he added, "Let me show you."

He trailed kisses along her jaw, reveling in the softness of her skin,  inhaling the seductive aroma of strawberries and chocolate. Was that  scent in his head, or did she really smell so sweet?

He fought the building tide of need coursing through his body, the ache  that started between his legs and shimmered outward in waves of  trembling desire. He'd made himself into something more than  trailer-park trash, and he intended to prove it.

Slow down. Seduce her gently.

If he aroused her with enough skill, she wouldn't think clearly enough  to question their chemistry, to wonder if she might be making a mistake.  He didn't want her to think and question. He wanted the openness he'd  sensed in her from the beginning.

He wanted her hot. Needy. Panting.

He flicked his tongue over her earlobe, and she gasped.

Mmm … progress.

"What, what are you feeling now?" she asked, her breath hitching.

"Hard." He scraped his teeth against the soft skin behind her ear. "Impatient."

More than impatient. He wanted to drown in her, to forget the past and  the future. His need for her touch, her sighs of pleasure, had become  vital.

Her hands slid down his chest, her fingers curling into his shirt. "I  want you, Lucas." She slid her thigh between his legs, pressing up  against his hardness. "I probably shouldn't, but I do."

His erection pulsed almost to the point of pain. Having her was a  compulsion, a mission that must succeed. The sugary scent of her  surrounded him, enveloping him in a fog of lust so acute his world had  narrowed only to her face and the warmth and pleasure her body offered.

He cupped the back of her neck. Her eyes glittered with hunger as she  stared back at him. "You should." Angling his head, he covered her mouth  with his.

Dive. Drown. Never surface.

As he swept his tongue into her mouth, she kneaded his shirt in her fist  and rolled her hips, the warmth between her legs heating his thigh.

He turned, leaning against the balcony wall, making sure she still  straddled his thigh. She rubbed herself against him, a moan and gasp  escaping her lips when their mouths parted. He could only imagine the  flesh scraping his leg, but he knew he wanted a taste.

He slid his hands down her back, across her enticingly curvy butt, down  to the hem of her racy red dress-which he bunched in his hands, then  raised. When he encountered the miniscule thong panty beneath her  clothes, he nearly dropped to his knees. He should have expected such  freedom from his impulsive, tattooed caterer, but that didn't lessen the  jolt of erotic heat that hit him, knowing so much naked flesh lay  barely concealed by her dress.                       
       
           



       

Trailing his lips over her chin and down her throat, he kneaded her bare  skin and felt a shiver sweep her body, exposed to the night air.

Fast losing control, but knowing he had to hold on, he suppressed the  desire to rip away her miniscule panties and drive himself into her  tight, wet warmth. To assuage the hunger pulsing through him. Still, he  had to touch her.

He hooked his thumbs beneath the seam of her panties.

She moaned.

And he smiled.

Moving around her hip bones, he slid his index finger slowly,  deliberately toward the juncture of her thighs, the coarse hairs  covering her sex teasing him. He let his finger dip briefly into the  moist, soft heat.

Her breathing grew shallow, broken … needy, and he had to grit his teeth  to keep from exploding on the spot. Just watching the pleasure skim  across her face was its own form of torture and satisfaction.

With his other hand, he moved his palm over her bare behind, gripping  the skinny thong fabric that fit between her cheeks. Holding both sides  of the panties, he slid the fabric back and forth, gliding it between  the lips of her sex.

"Oh, my," she gasped.

"Oh, yes."

She gripped his shoulders, then flung back her head, her long, blond  hair spilling down as she let a long, low hum of need escape her lips.

Mercilessly, he worked the fabric. She rocked her hips in time to his  erotic rhythm. He watched her in a fascinated daze. He'd anticipated  being inside her as he brought her to the first orgasm they'd share, but  he wasn't complaining. Pleasure skated across her face with obvious  abandon.

He switched their positions, pinning her against the balcony wall and  hooking her leg around his waist. "Let go, lovely Vanessa," he panted in  her ear as he leaned forward.

"I'm … working on it," she said, her voice hitching.

He pressed his hard cock between her legs as he dipped his head and  tongued her earlobe. "We'll get naked. I'm dying to taste you." He  kissed the top of her shoulder. "Everywhere."

Then, letting go of the panties, he pressed his thumb against the bare nub of flesh centered around her desire.

Her body went rigid.

He knew she hung on the precipice. Knew he had the power to send her over. "What do you want?" he rasped in her ear.

"You."

He rolled his thumb up, then down. "What do you want me to do?"

"That again."

"My pleasure." He rolled again.

"But faster."

Smiling, he complied, noting her breathing quickened, her skin flushed.  Watching her, gaining wild pleasure from her pleasure, he noted the  small butterfly tattoo on the back of her shoulder. He smiled, never  broke his stroking rhythm and laid his lips lightly over the spot.