Sweet Sinful Nights(22)

To come.

* * *

She was hotter than she'd ever been. Slippery wetness coated his fingers. Her slick heat was all over him. Her panties were useless. He was dying to rip them off her, hoist her up on this railing, spread her wide and properly worship her perfect pussy. But this was a high, too-her, ramrod straight, hiding her pleasure, fighting back her screams. It was such a thrill. Her need to come was intoxicating. Her ability to stay quiet was so impressive, when he knew how much she wanted to move. He slid his fingers across those delicious pussy lips, wet and warm and inviting. She trembled against him as he stroked up and down, then focused on her swollen clit, so needy, so hungry for his touch. He rubbed his finger against her, and he could feel the way tension tightened in her body as she neared the edge.

"Don't move, Shan," he commanded. "I know you want to. I know you want to ride my hand so badly right now, don't you?"                       
       
           


///
       

She nodded the back of her head against his chest.

"You want to fuck my hand like the wild woman you are."

Another nod.

"And it'll be even harder for you to hold back when I slide my fingers into you," he said. Her shoulders rose up in a sharp line of tension. Her beautiful body was strung tight, stretched to the limits of her own desire, her own sexuality. He loved knowing how to play her, how to touch her, how to send her into a land of bliss.

So he did as promised as the sprays of water soared higher, and the music grew louder. Crowds surrounded them, but he didn't care. No one could tell his hand was in his favorite place, and no one knew the gorgeous brunette in his arms was seconds away from nirvana. He slid two fingers deep into her. She gripped him and started to move her hips.

He brushed his mouth against her ear, and spoke sharply. "You move, I stop. You want me to stop?"

"No," she said, breathy, so desperate.

"You want to come?" he growled.

"Yes," she whispered.

"I'm not going to cover your mouth," he said, in a warning. "And I'm not going to let you bite down on my arm. You're just going to be quiet. Got it?"

She murmured something that sounded close to a yes. He thrust deeper, his thumb rubbing her gorgeous clit, and her body tightened. "Yeah, babe. Come on my fingers. Let me feel you come all over my hand," he said, and she clenched tightly around him, her body shuddering in his arms.

He watched her face, her gorgeous, beautiful face, as she squeezed her eyes shut, and nearly sealed her lips together to zip up her cries as she came on his fingers.

As she trembled, he uncurled her fist from around the lollipop she'd been gripping tightly in her hand. He brought the candy to his mouth and licked it once, smacking his lips.

"Mmm. You're right. That is delicious."

* * *

Later, as he walked her to her ride, he didn't press. He didn't ask again if he was forgiven. Instead, he kept moving forward, because that was what they were doing.

"When I was in New York, I saw a sign for the Alvin Ailey dance company on tour," he said.

Her eyes lit up. "I love Alvin Ailey. It was my dream to win a spot in Alvin Ailey."

"I know. And I remember in college you wanted me to go with you. But I had a gig so I cancelled on you."

Her smile erased itself. The memory of another one of his dick moves must have just returned to her. He kept talking, eager to right that wrong from years ago. "So I bought tickets to see them here next week. I'd really like to take you. And I will keep my promise to take you."

She looped her arms around his neck. "Yes. I would love to go with you."

He wanted to pump his fist in the air, to shout a victorious yes. Then he wanted to close his eyes and groan in pleasure, because she was running her fingers through his hair. He loved the feel of her hands in his hair.

"You really know how to treat a woman you used to go out with, don't you?"

"Speaking of that," he said, pulling back and cupping his hands on her shoulders. Tonight had gone so well, and he wanted to build on it. To keep up the momentum. To do that, they'd need to let go of the old wounds. "Shan, how would you feel if we agreed to move on from the past?"

"To put it behind us?"

He nodded. "Yes."

"Are you asking if you're forgiven?"

"Kind of," he admitted with a small grin, hoping it might help his cause.

She looked him square in the eyes. The corners of her lips curved up, as if she was considering his request. He held his breath, waiting for her answer. Then it came, as she nodded. "I think we could both use a fresh start, so let's focus on the here and now, not the way things were."

He smiled broadly. "Good. So we're dating then," he said as they reached the front of the Bellagio where her ride was pulling up. He'd parked his Indian Dark Horse there, too.

"I think it's best if we don't label what's happening between us."

He could live with not labeling. But he couldn't live with the possibility that someone else might try to date her. He had to lay down one ground rule. "I'm fine with not labeling, as long as the not-label includes not dating other men."

She arched an eyebrow. "Or other women."

"Yes. That, too. I don't want you dating men or women. Good point," he said, in mock seriousness.

She wagged a finger at him. "You know exactly what I meant."

As he said goodnight, he couldn't help but hold tight to those words-what's happening between us.                       
       
           


///
       

Labels or not, something was definitely happening. As he straddled his bike, and tugged on his helmet to ride home, he was determined to make sure nothing stood in the way of him loving this woman again.





CHAPTER THIRTEEN


Not labeling what was happening was pointless.

They were clearly dating again. Shannon couldn't even try to pretend it was anything but real, honest-to-goodness dating. As if they had just met, and were so taken with each other they had to see each other every day. That kind of dating.

It was scary and amazingly fun at the same time.

On Monday, she visited Edge in the morning with her assistant choreographer, Christine, to make notes on the space, since the layout was similar to the club in San Francisco. James showed them around, but Brent popped out of his office to say hello.

"Hey, Shay. Good to see you," he said, as he walked to the other end of the club. While she wasn't worried for her safety per se, or that clients would pull contracts if they learned her real name, she simply preferred the new one in business matters. The fact that Brent moved fluidly between the two warmed her heart. After they reviewed the plans for the show, Christine said she needed to return to the studio to rehearse the dancers, and James had other meetings to attend.

As Shannon walked to the exit, Brent caught up with her. "Can I interest you in lunch?"

"You can definitely interest me in lunch."

Saying yes was easy. Saying yes felt right.

After they finished pho and chicken dumplings at an upscale Vietnamese restaurant on the Luxe's property, he told her he had a gift for her.

"You really don't have to give me anything," she said as the waiter cleared their plates, even though inside she was delighted. She adored his zest for giving her sweet little things.

"I know, but truth be told, it's not something I can control. My desire to give you gifts, that is." He reached into the pocket of his jeans. "I come from a long line of gift-giving men. It's in my blood and it can't be bred out of me."

He handed her a small, champagne-colored drawstring pouch. She'd never had much growing up, and she'd learned to live with that. But perhaps that was why Brent's generosity had thrilled her so much-it was all so new and fresh and fun.

It still was. With quick, eager fingers, she untied the bag and plucked out a pretty rose-gold bracelet. She gasped. It matched the silver one that she wore every day. It wasn't too gangly or too busy. Simple and stylish, it was just right for her, and for how she chose to dress these days.

"I noticed you started wearing bracelets," he said as he stretched his arm across the back of the booth, looking so casual and confident, but also hopeful. He clearly wanted her to like his gift. "You never did before, but you do now, so I picked this out for you."

"I love it," she said softly, her gaze on him. "So much."

His brown eyes seemed to sparkle at her response, and warmth rushed through her from knowing this simple give and take, this little back and forth, seemed to matter. It was only lunch, but it was suddenly more.

She held out her wrist, letting him clasp the jewelry on her. Instantly, the moment shot her back in time to another night when he gave her jewelry. A ring.

The night he'd proposed he'd taken her ice-skating. It was a sport she could still do well enough in spite of her injury. She'd shown off for him, gliding and spinning across the rink while he'd skated … well, the way most men who weren't hockey players or professional skaters skate. Clumsily.