Serving Pleasure (7 page)

The rush of wetness between her thighs would have been embarrassing, but when his fingers slicked over her entrance, he made such a guttural, appreciative sound of pleasure, she couldn’t be mortified.

His thumb found her clit, and he pressed, rotating exactly as she had shown him when she was lying on the floor downstairs. Quick study, this one.

“How many orgasms do you think you can have before you pass out?” he murmured. “That’s how many times I want to make you come.”

Oh, God, he was a
prince
among men. A leprechaun riding a unicorn holding a fairy. “What about you?” she managed.

His face was cloaked in shadows. “I’m going to enjoy myself. Trust me.”

Her eyes rolled back in her head when he slid two fingers inside her, and she arched her back, almost ready to agree to his proposal, even if she’d rather he replace those fingers with his cock. Argh. Responsibility wasn’t her thing, but she’d learned early how important it was to protect herself. Since she’d been celibate, she’d gotten lazy. Otherwise, she’d always kept a stash of condoms in her nightstand. Or in the cute purses she used to carry when she went out on the town, though she hadn’t had a reason to use those in a while, since she no longer went out…

Her eyes widened. Jackpot.

She reared up, dislodging Micah’s hand. “Get up. Get up, get up, get up.”

He pulled back immediately. “Sorry. Do you want me to leave, or…?”

“Leave?” She snorted as she awkwardly rolled out from under him. “No, you aren’t going anywhere, except inside of me.” Uncaring that she was naked and all her parts were jiggling, she darted to her closet and hit the switch to turn on the single bulb. It wasn’t a huge closet, but it held her extensive wardrobe well enough.

“But—”

“Shh.” She dug farther into her closet, shoving aside her haphazardly hung clothes and all her shoes, finally finding what she was looking for way in the back, in a heap of silk and satin and leather. She came out with her hands full of purses and threw them on her bed.

Micah still knelt in the middle of her king-sized mattress. He looked from her to the pile of purses. “I am not entirely certain what is happening.”

She gave him a mischievous smile, her humor restored now that she had a line on a way to get his dick inside her. “Don’t worry. This isn’t some sort of fetish. I mean, I might have a fetish for purses, but it’s not a sexual fetish.” She grabbed the gold Kate Spade clutch first and dug inside. A lipstick she’d thought she’d lost and a casino card. She hesitated and tossed the lipstick on the floor. She’d want that later.

Next came the teal Coach wristlet. Nothing but some crumpled receipts. “Come on,” she muttered, and grabbed the sequined black crossbody she’d discovered in a discount bin at a department store. As soon as she opened it, her fingers brushed over foil, and she almost wept in joy.

Thank God for her inherent sloppiness. She’d never clean out her handbags again.

She yanked out both condoms and checked them in the faint light from the closet. She pumped her fist. “Got ’em. And look at that, unexpire—”

“Rana.”

She glanced up, and her crowing died a quick death.

While she’d been searching her bags, Micah had been removing his shirt. He faced her, his face set in intense lines, his cock so ready for her it curved upward toward his belly. The muscles in his biceps bunched as he clenched the comforter. He held the other hand out to her, palm up. His gaze dipped over her body, lingering between her legs, before rising to meet hers. “Give me.”

Her hand shook as she dropped the condoms into his palm, their fingers brushing against each other. He threw one on the mattress and ripped the other one open.

He held the ring out to her. “Put it on me.”

She clambered back on the bed, accepting the rubber from him. This wasn’t her first rodeo, but she felt clumsy and uncertain as she grasped his cock with one hand. The snug latex seemed overly tight, hard to smooth over the fat tip of his cock. He moaned, and she looked up at him from under her lashes. “Does it hurt?”

“Yes,” he gritted out. “But not because of the condom.”

She finally managed to get the thing on him, and he wasted no time, pushing her to her back and creating a space for himself between her spread legs.

He placed his hand on her knee, his thumb stroking. “This will be rough. I won’t be able to help it.”

She wasn’t sure if that was supposed to be a warning or a promise. Either way… “I don’t mind.” What an understatement. She craved it rough. Wild. She wanted him to fuck her like he’d die if he didn’t.

He angled her hips, and eased inside. They both gasped; hers, a long shuddery sigh, and his, a sharp inhale of breath. He felt excessively thick. A pang of doubt assailed her as he pressed forward another inch, struggling to move even that much. Maybe she was too small and tender for this beast of a man.

“Fuck,” he said between set teeth. “So tight.”

Well, yeah. Because he was huge.

“So wet. Are you always this wet?”

She was wet, and the reminder of how much she wanted him made her relax. It was all for him, a result of the foreplay that had started months ago when she first spotted him. She ran her hand over his chest and around his neck, drawing him down so his lips hovered over hers. They hadn’t kissed, she realized. He’d licked her pussy like a starving man, but she hadn’t felt his tongue in her mouth. “If I said yes?”

His lashes fell, and he drew away, creating an inch of space between their mouths. She hated that inch. “I’d say I don’t know how I’ll ever stop fucking you.”

Ohhhh. They were sex words, designed to arouse. She knew that. Yet she couldn’t stop the small flutter in her heart.
No, this is only for you. No, don’t leave me.

He exhaled, the dusting of hair on his chest rasping her nipples, and he slowly pulled out, pushing forward again. It was easier this time, and she softened more, until his hips were pumping, working between her spread thighs, pistoning back and forth, driving rational thought from her head. He alternated his thrusts between deep and shallow, as if he couldn’t decide what to give her.

The friction tightened the ball of lust between her legs, her toes curling. She wrapped her arms and legs around him, clinging as his thrusts picked up a steady rhythm.

Yes, she had missed this, the driving force, the knot of tension aching to explode.

What she didn’t understand was how, since this was the first and only time they had been together, she could possibly feel like she had missed
him
.

He moaned and dropped his head to her neck. The sound was helpless, lost. Responding to the distress in him, she moved her hands from his shoulders to his back, coasting them down his sweat-slick skin.

He froze, a split-second she was only aware of because she was so concentrated on every move he was making. A heartbeat later, he exploded with a flurry of motion.

He grasped and manacled her wrists above her head in one of his hands, and used the other one to clutch her thigh and shove her leg farther to the side, deepening his thrusts. She came with a shriek, all of her muscles contracting and releasing. She didn’t bother to muffle her cries. Damn it, she wasn’t going to censor a single moment of tonight.

The sharp exhale of his breath came in puffs against her temple as she floated back to reality.

Micah didn’t give her a second to recover before he rolled over onto his back, taking her with him. He was still inside her, hard as iron. She scrambled for purchase at his shoulders, but they were slick with sweat, and her motor skills were still weak. “Wait,” she managed. “I need to…”

“Come,” he breathed, and thrust upward, hard. She gasped as the banked fire smoldered, instantly brought back to life by his body. “You get even tighter when you come. It’s the most delicious thing I’ve ever felt. Give it to me again.” He arched up, this time slower. Did he just intuitively
know
she needed the sensual tug and drag of flesh now instead of the rapid-fire fucking she’d wanted earlier?

“But you didn’t come,” she tried to protest. It was a weak protest. Like she’d actually stop him. Magical amazing unicorn leprechaun man.
Sigh.

“We have two condoms. I intend to use them well.”

Rana’s next words were lost when he rose and drew her nipple into his mouth, sucking lazily while his lower body fucked into her in easy, short strokes. She closed her eyes and arched her back. Really. Who was she to argue with this man?

M
icah didn’t want
to stop. He had to, though.

Rana’s dazed eyes had disappeared under a flutter of eyelashes. Her breathing was slow and regular, signaling a deeper sleep than the light dozing he had allowed her during the past several hours. How many orgasms had he given her now? Five? Six? He’d lost count.

If he had more condoms, he would keep at her until neither of them could walk.

He closed his eyes, practicing the meditation techniques they’d taught him after the incident. He’d originally learned the breathing exercises to recover from panic attacks, but they could surely work under circumstances like these, right? When his balls were drawn up tight, sexual frustration still clawing at his insides? Clear his mind, control his body.

In. Out. In. Out.

He winced. No, no. Bad choice of mental imagery.

One, two, three. One, two, three. One…

After several minutes of slow, measured breathing, he opened his eyes. His cock remained hard, but at least his mind was able to focus on something other than the demands of his body.

What time was it? His phone was in his pants pocket, but the sky was lightening, a paler shade of blue streaming in through the huge picture window. From the bed, he could see into his empty, sterile home. The studio was silent and still. The huge fabric-draped couch was a lump in the corner.

He’d bought the cheap couch at a discount store, more out of habit than anything else. His art had previously almost always focused on live models. His old studio had had couches and chairs and stools and all sorts of props.

He turned his head away, suddenly hating his studio, his couch, his house. He didn’t want to go back in there.

They’d kicked the blankets off the king-sized bed, but for the first time in a long time, he felt warm and comfortable. Part of the reason was because Rana seemed to have an affinity for a soothing, whimsical color palette in his favorite colors. The main reason, however, had nothing to do with the rich furnishings or blue and green decor, and everything to do with the woman lying next to him.

If at any time during the night she’d indicated she was done with him, he would have backed off. On the contrary, each time he stroked her body, she stunned him with her enthusiastic response. He felt a little more like a god every time she contracted around his cock, her climaxes making her vagina squeeze him so tight he thought he’d die.

The best sex of his life.

He couldn’t lie and say he only thought that because he hadn’t had it in so long. His memory was as good as ever. Something about this woman was simply different.

He shifted. She snuffled and rolled over, her body following the dip in the mattress made by his weight. He’d thought this was a big bed for a single woman, but her long body liked the space. She settled on her side, one leg bent, her breasts plumped. Her hand rested near her mouth, the fingers curled in. Her hair fell over her face, concealing most of it. He could spy her sleep-flushed cheeks and rosy lips through the strands.

It was cheesy to stare at her face or stroke her hair while she was sleeping, but he had to touch the soft mass one last time. If he was a different man, one who had the luxury of entangling his life with a woman, he would spend the whole day petting her. She looked...sweet when she was sleeping. Less sex kitten, without her short dress and high heels. More kitten.

He liked her either way.

He wound her hair tighter around his finger and let it go, allowing it to fall back into place before smoothing it back. The light in the room had changed to a hazy blue-gray that signaled morning.

The clock’s struck, Cinderella. Time to return to your hovel.

His head spun as he sat up. Probably because all the blood in his body was still in his dick. A cold shower, he promised himself. The second he got home, he was going to blast himself with freezing water.

You’ll be washing her away.

He clenched his jaw against the vague melancholy that thought brought.

He gathered his clothes as quietly as he could and dressed in his rumpled suit, not bothering to button his shirt. It was early enough no neighbors would be outside to witness his creeping back to his own house. Not that he cared what the neighbors thought. He didn’t know any of them. He bet Rana did, though. She probably checked up on the elderly ones, made them laugh with her irreverent sense of humor.

He couldn’t resist looking at her again. She hadn’t moved. Her ass gleamed in the shadowy dawn, the plush place between her legs obscured.

He padded over to the bed and grabbed the comforter and pillows from the floor where they’d kicked them off. He couldn’t do much about the sheets, but he could make sure she was comfortable for however long she chose to sleep. He drew the blanket over her and clumsily tucked it around her shoulders. She stirred when he lifted her head slightly to push an embroidered pillow under it, her lashes fluttering open. Mascara had smudged beneath her eyes, the delicate skin looking bruised. “Whaa—?”

“Shhh,” he whispered, hoping she would fall back asleep and let him tend to her.

Her eyes were blurry and uncomprehending as she stared at him, but she gave a sleepy smile that shot straight to his battered soul.

His ears still rung with her sobs and cries and moans. They would play in his mind on a never-ending loop for the indefinite future. It would have been nice if he could have gone at her with a little more finesse, less like a starving man facing a buffet of flesh, but he’d always been an earthy lover, and combined with his long celibacy…well, he was glad he’d managed to restrain himself as much as he had.

She graced him with another sweet smile, and he almost covered her lips with his and mounted her again. The only thing that stopped him was the fact that she would most assuredly be sore when she woke up. Well, that and the growing light filling the room.

So, instead, he stroked her hair with a touch that was dangerously possessive. She sniffed, and her eyes fell shut.

He straightened and made his way to the door. Halfway there, his bare feet fell on something silky and soft. He crouched and picked up the pile of Rana’s purses, the small feminine bags far too frilly and inconsequential in his hands. Carefully, he placed them on top of her dresser, his fingers lingering on an emerald-green purse. The color would look good on her. He could visualize her spread out on a green silk sheet, her body kissed by moonlight.

He wanted to see her naked form bathed in every light imaginable. The hazy blue of this predawn, the warmth of the sun, the pale gold of the moon, the bright fluorescent of his studio...

No. No. Not his studio. Frowning, he shook his head, as if to dispel the image from his mind. He wouldn’t be painting her. He hadn’t had a live model since…

Since.

One night. That’s all I want.

His lips turned down, and he placed the purse on the dresser with the others. He walked out and closed her bedroom door quietly behind him. He had agreed to her terms. Had said he wasn’t looking for anything permanent either. It wasn’t a lie. As much as he craved physical intimacy, as much as he wanted nothing more than to return to her bed, he knew he couldn’t have more. It wouldn’t be fair to her, not when she was a sweet, clever, generous woman, and he was…

Well. Whatever he was.