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His mouth is wet with my juices, those full, sensual lips held in a way that tells me he’s just as fevered as I am. More, because while my climax is still echoing through me, his own is banked and burning. Waiting to be set loose.
On a wordless growl, he tugs me down to meet his kiss. His mouth ravishes mine. There’s no gentleness in it. No gentleness in his hard grasp on my arms as he urges me to my knees before him now, his meaning unmistakable.
I fumble with the buckle on his smooth leather belt. I expect the metal to be cool, but it’s heated from the inferno of his body. As I unfasten it and slide his zipper down, Nick’s tongue thrusts deep into my mouth, sweet and musky, the taste of me still lingering there.
My fingers work quickly to free him, spurred by the awareness of his need and my own ravenous hunger to have him in my mouth. Thick and hot and heavy, he fills my greedy hands. I break away from our kiss on a moan, starving to feast my eyes on him.
His big cock thrusts out of his open trousers, jutting high against his abdomen. My core clenches at the sight. My mouth waters shamelessly. I lick my lips, then lower my head to take the broad crown into my mouth.
Usually, I like to tease him a little at first, but I have no patience for that now. Neither one of us does. I take all of him in a long, slow sli
de, not stopping until he hits the back of my throat.
“Ah, Christ.” Nick’s words are strangled, uttered through clenched teeth.
When I draw up to his tip, his pelvis bucks reflexively, a shudder racking him. His hands roam over the back of my head, tangling in my hair, his fingers flexing and contracting with every inch of him I devour as I go even deeper with him this time.
“Baby,” he groans. “Yeah . . . take all of it. God, that’s so fucking good.”
I hum in response to his praise, bobbing my head faster, harder, taking him as deep into my throat as I can bear. I’ve never cared much for sucking a man off, and considering my history, that’s probably little wonder. But I can’t get enough of Nick. I can’t get enough of his pleasure, or knowing that I have the power to deliver it.
His growl tells me he’s close. Slick, salty liquid beads against my tongue as I reach the tip of him once more. He thrusts into my mouth, hissing a curse as I tighten my lips around him and lower my head down to his groin.
“Avery . . .”
I don’t let up for a moment. I’m obsessed with the need to make him come. Caressing his balls with one hand, I wrap the other around the hard stalk of his shaft, pumping him firmly while I lick and suck and worship every delicious inch of him.
His breath races out of his lungs, heavy pants that sharpen as I continue to work him. “Ah, fuck, baby. Your mouth is amazing.”
His hands hold my head in place, his arms trembling with the force of his need. As I slide my mouth up to the crown of his cock again, his hips jerk, then begin to piston hard and fast and tight. A low roar builds inside him as he fucks my mouth.
When he shouts my name again, it’s raw, jagged. And then the first hot burst of his semen erupts on my tongue. It jets against the back of my throat, thick and scalding, almost more than I can handle. I swallow and he fills my mouth again and again, his hips still bucking in a wild rhythm, his hands still fisted in my hair.
We’re both panting, both spent and languid, when the last of his aftershocks have faded. Sagged against the leather cushion at his back, he pulls me up beside him. Tenderly, he cups my face in his hands and draws me close for an unrushed kiss. My lips are swollen, pulsing from the fevered intensity of our passion and the force of his climax.
Nick’s tongue sweeps over mine in slow, gentling strokes. For long moments, we simply kiss and caress and hold each other. When he releases me, I nestle naked against his side, my legs drawn up onto the sofa.
I tip my head up and meet his hooded gaze. “So much for the private lingerie show you wanted.”
He grunts, a smile tugging at the corner of his sinful mouth. “What are you talking about? I thought this was only the pre-show.”
I laugh, my fingers toying idly in his mussed dark hair. His crisp white shirt is wrinkled and askew, his bespoke suit pants undone and bunched around his hips. “You look awfully sexy like this Mr. Baine, all spent and disheveled.”
One black brow wings up in dark amusement. “Who says I’m spent?”
He leans toward me and cups my breast, flicking his thumb over the nipple and making a low sound of approval when the bud tightens in response to even that brief touch. Raising my chin on the tips of his fingers, he brushes his mouth over mine in a tender kiss that leaves me sighing for more. When he draws away from me a moment later, I can’t curb my frown.
“Evidently I’m not the only one who’s not spent just yet.” He tweaks my nipple, then takes my hand and draws me up off the sofa. “Come with me.”
“Where to?”
“To freshen up,” he says. “Then I’m going to take you out for lunch. Eventually.”
Chapter 5
Nearly two hours later, Nick and I are seated at a cozy corner table, enjoying a late lunch in one of the finest restaurants in the Upper East Side. Even at the midafternoon hour, the dining room is packed. Because I’ve worked in the business for some time, I’m well aware that the wait for a reservation in any of the star chef’s handful of locations around the city can be days or even a week or more in advance.
Yet Nick and I sailed right in moments after we arrived. And although the maitre d’ was infinitely discreet as he led us away from the crowd of people waiting at the front of the house for their reservations, I don’t doubt for a second that a table “just happens to be available” whenever Dominic Baine steps through the door.
