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“It’s not for you,” Daniel answered, his cards forgotten facedown on the table. His balls clenched when his text pinged again.
Are u home?
His male instincts went crazy at the question, confirming exactly what kind of call this was. A primal instinct surged through him with a need to imprint her with his scent, his flesh; to fill her up with every drop of semen in his body. God, let him only replenish, so he could immediately fill her up again.
He was usually the one who dialed a couple of his usuals when he felt restless, but Monica had said she’d be the one calling, and he was on his feet so quick, he tumbled his drink. He texted back: Where are u?
Monica: Home.
Daniel: B there in 10
“Hey, you’re leaving? Is that a fucking booty call you’re answering? Who is it? Lexi, who are you servicing?” Luke demanded.
He smiled coldly and flipped him the finger. “Obviously not you.”
“I get your chips, it’s my pad tonight,” Cade said, already making a grab for Daniel’s pile. Cade was one lonely motherfucker, but he was also a moody one. There was really no woman who’d ever dared come within biting distance of him. With Cade, one had to be blunt straight away.
* * *
“Hands off, Scrooge. If I’m not back in an hour,” Daniel told Graves as he signaled at his chips, “you give it to my sister.”
“Count on it,” Graves said, waving him off.
“Confess, motherfucker! Who is the lady?” Luke yelled.
Daniel laughed as he strode out, grabbing his gabardine wool coat from the closet. He told himself it didn’t mean anything that his heart was in fast gear, that he just couldn’t push his foot farther on the pedal. It didn’t mean anything except they were friends, fucking, for the second time in twenty-four hours.
But it meant more than that, this booty call.
It meant Monica Davenport wanted him so much more than she was letting on.
* * *
Monica couldn’t understand this hot, reckless excitement. She paced around her beautiful apartment and she just couldn’t stop staring at the clock. She’d never expected to break down and call Daniel so soon. In fact last night, she’d even hoped her first session would have been enough.
Instead, today she’d felt charged and edgy at the office. Her sex pulsed and clenched when flashes of him interrupted her, even when she was speaking to her assistant, reviewing the new designs for next year.
She’d stared at e-mails while only thinking that she wanted his fingers, his mouth, his voice whispering in her ear. A strange hunger yawned open in her body. Suddenly it seemed imperative she appease this need, and the only way she could think of was to give in to exactly what it wanted.
When you were hungry, there would be no way to satiate your appetite but by eating. And Monica wouldn’t be able to sleep with this … this … sexual anxiety. But now that she’d called him, a wild tension gripped her every muscle, her nerves almost overwhelming her.
She gazed around her apartment, everything perfectly in order, the light earth tones having always calmed her. But she was
anything but calm. Once again, she padded into her enormous marble bathroom to eye herself in the full-length mirror.
She’d never worn something so … sheer before, especially when seduction had been out of the question and the last thing she’d wanted was to invite a man’s sexual advances. But today, she had herself a new arrangement, so she’d stopped at the Saks lingerie department to make a couple of extravagant purchases.
Trying on this flimsy sheer white peignoir at the store, she had imagined Daniel removing it, talking to her like he had last night, and her nipples had throbbed as they rasped against the material, just the thought of him getting her aroused.
The skirt fell in a waterfall down to her feet, parted in the middle and held only by three strategically placed satin ribbons, one at her collar, one between her breasts, and one at her waist.
The style was designed for her legs to peek out top to bottom as she walked, and if he dared to part the material, he would get a perfect view of her bare pussy. Which was already wet in anticipation.
She didn’t know if other women dressed up for their special friends, but then there was no way anyone had a friend like Daniel Lexington. He was the man every woman wanted to land, and he was on his way to Monica.
He, who’d been called “one of the country’s most eligible bachelors” by People magazine and “Prince of Chicago bluebloods” by Forbes, was on his way here. He, who’d held her when she was nineteen and had made her have every kind of fantasy a girl her age could have. All of them starring him. All of them scaring her to death.
Her body liked him. Very much. Too much.
