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yanks out a condom, and rolls it down his still-impressive length. Will I ever stop wriggling when I see him eager and ready?
“You’re not moving,” he points out. “I’m waiting. Or is this just too adventurous for you?”
His smirk and his taunt tug me from my visual pleasure and get me focusing on what comes next. I drape myself across the bed and part my legs enough to tease him. “Of course not. This what you had in mind?”
He simply smiles and stabs the fork into the middle of the bread pudding, heaping it onto the tines. The warm sauce drips on my thigh and hip as he lifts the dessert toward my chest. He unloads it in the valley of my cleavage, reaches for the plate again, and retrieves a smaller bite.
“What are you doing?”
He cups the back of my head with one hand and lifts me enough to meet the fork waiting with a scrumptious bite in the other. I open my mouth and let him slide the dessert onto my tongue because this looks like the kind of epic sugar concoction that will never cross my lips again. One bite can’t hurt that much, right?
“I’m feeding you before I feed on you.”
My taste buds are in ecstasy. It melts on my tongue, dissolving into a cloud of pure delight, moistened by the creamy, rich sauce that’s sunken into every nook and cranny and made the consistency something close to heaven. I moan, and it’s not ladylike or delicate. This is a full-on groan of utter bliss. “That is amazing!”
“Glad to hear it. But I’m not going to take your word for it, Ella.”
Those words might have been slightly ominous if he didn’t break off part of the warm dessert nestled between my breasts and smear it over my nipples. The warmth hits my sensitive flesh first. It’s sticky, and if you had asked me yesterday if I wanted Carson Frost to smear stale baked bread mixed with liqueur all over my boobs, I would have laughed before I answered with a big hell no. But in these amazing hours before dawn, the only thing that seems important is the way we make each other feel. If he wants to eat off my body, I’m more than game. I’m excited.
In the back of my head, I realize I’m giving him a lot of myself, and that in a little over two weeks I’ll be packing up and heading home, probably never to see this man again. But that’s so seventeen days from now, and I have a suspicion we have a lot more pleasure to find together. When this assignment is over, maybe the glow I’m feeling with this surprising attachment will have dimmed. After all, what are the chances that the guy who hired me to jilt him would be my soul mate? And…I admit it, everything between us now feels too damn good to stop.
For Carson, I arch my back and lift my breasts to him. “I don’t think you should take my word for it. Why skip dessert when you’ve gone to all this trouble?”
With a snarl that lights me up, he pounces on me, practically inhaling my breast. With a low groan, he thoroughly licks it up one side, then drags his lips back down the other. He circles my nipple a few times, inching closer and closer to the aching tip without actually touching it. A whimper escapes my throat.
“Impatient, sweetheart?”
“Yes. Hurry, Carson.” In the fuzzy part of my brain, it occurs to me that, as much as he enjoys toying with me, he’s not going to give me what I want simply because I whine for it. He’s going to make me suffer, make me wait. He’ll make me earn it.
I’d never admit this aloud, but I wouldn’t want it any other way.
“But you have another breast covered in bread pudding that I haven’t even touched. You can’t expect me to rush through this. Dessert is the best part of any meal.”
He shifts his attention to my other mound, nibbling around my sensitive crest, laving my flesh as he increases my ache. I wriggle restlessly, but he won’t let up. He eats away at his dessert in an unhurried savoring that’s breaking down my composure. I really didn’t think he could arouse me again this much tonight. I lost count of the number of orgasms he’s already given me. I was certain I was totally sated.
I was wrong.
Finally, he decides he wants the next part of his sexy sugarfest, so he leans in and drags his tongue over one nipple, then the other, before sucking each deep onto his tongue in an unhurried, alternating rhythm. I gasp at the feel of his hot mouth enveloping me and frantically grab for strands of his short hair, trying to hang on to this seemingly endless descent into pleasure. It’s astonishing, the things he makes me feel. I never believed my nipples were sensitive until now. I never thought marathon sex was my thing, either. I have a bad feeling Carson has forever changed that—and me.
Once he’s licked clean all traces of the bread pudding, except one last heap between my breasts, he starts shifting his way down my body, dragging his lips as he sidles his way between my legs.
Oh, my god. I’m so aroused now that if he puts his mouth down there, I’m going to explode. “Carson…”
“You have to stop trying to come between a man and his dessert, sweetheart,” he teases.
Before I have time to say another word, he scoops up the last of the sugary-cakey goodness and spreads it across the pad of my pussy. Then he burrows his arms under my thighs and lifts my hips until my slit is inches from his mouth.
And he waits, licking his lips, staring at me with hungry blue eyes.
He wants me to offer myself to him or beg or something that I would normally never do. But Carson can wring me inside out sexually and make me behave in ways I normally wouldn’t.
Panting, my heart a harsh thud against my chest, I spread my legs a little wider. “You’re right. I should let you thoroughly enjoy everything you find sweet…”
With a shark’s grin, he nods. “I intend to.”
Then, as if words now bore him, Carson stops talking and starts feasting. At first he does nothing but lick the soft bread pudding from the apex above my slit. I feel the gentle nip of his teeth on the fleshy part of my pussy, my skin slicked by Frangelico and my own juices. But inevitably, he delves lower, sliding first his fingers, then the tip of his tongue over the hard button of my clit. It’s throbbing before he ever makes direct contact, and by the time he sucks it into his mouth to savor the last of his dessert, I’m squealing in delight, nearly bolting off the bed—and rocketing to an orgasm that blows my mind.
The last of the pulses have barely finished when he shimmies up my body, lips and fingers busy, then slams inside me completely, stealing my breath and wrapping himself around my heart as if he means to make away with that, too.
It’s too late to try resisting the pull between us. The time for that would have been before dessert. Hell, before I even got off the plane. This man is definitely going to be dangerous to my peace of mind and my skittish heart. And right now, he’s filling every space inside me, scraping my nerve endings and my emotions raw. I can’t seem to do anything but let the inevitable happen. My need climbs. His thrusts quicken. Our passion swells. He’s going to give me another head-spinning climax. I can feel it coming…
And I can’t do anything to stop the fact that he’ll take my soul with it.
Even knowing the truth, I open to him, wrap my arms around him, and give him everything. If he decides there’s nothing meaningful between us at the end of this job, I’ll at least know I couldn’t have tried harder to give him every part of myself.
That’s my last thought before pleasure rips me open, bursting wide, leaving me utterly exposed and bleeding out love.
Chapter Five
CARSON
Early Friday morning, I roll away from another ground-shaking orgasm with Ella, panting and staring at the ceiling and wondering—not for the first time—if I ever want her to go back to LA.
She melts against my side, hot cheek lying on my chest, hand splayed between my pecs. “Wow…”
“Yeah. Holy shit.” I kiss the top of her head.
In fact, I can’t not touch her in some way if I’m in a room with her. I can’t even stand not talking to her if she’s nearby. In the last two days, I’ve developed a ritual that begins with cuddling with her when I first
wake while we talk about our day. Eventually, that leads to sex because…well, when doesn’t something between us lead to sex? Then I call her from the car. I text her between meetings. I even ring her if someone has pissed me off at work. She’s always there. She always listens. She always offers empathy and good advice.
How am I supposed to do without all that when she returns to starving herself in a sea of shallow people in Southern California?
“We have to actually get a whole night’s sleep at some point,” she murmurs tiredly.
“Yeah. And probably a whole meal.”
She laughs. “We have been a little too impatient for food lately, haven’t we?”
When she lifts her gaze to me and our eyes meet, I swear I see her heart in her eyes. I feel that zing again. I’ve been feeling it since the night she arrived. Sometimes, I’m sure she feels it, too. I have a sneaking suspicion I know what’s brewing between us because every day, every time our stares tangle, it gets stronger.
I run a freaking billion-dollar company. I managed to hold off my wily business rival who’s also my prospective father-in-law with some quick words and a well-placed lie. Just yesterday, I verbally eviscerated a greedy supplier and one of my over-anxious creditors on the phone, no problem.
But I can’t seem to find the right words to ask Ella how she feels about me.
