Yours for the Night (9 page)

Her low moan vibrated in her chest. “It was a party, a big ballroom.” She jerked as he bit lightly, then put her hand to his head, holding him close. “We went out to the terrace.” She moaned. “Oh yes, don’t stop that.” He sucked harder, pinched her opposite peak. “I can’t remember now,” she laughed, cutting herself off mid-gasp.

He let her go long enough to ask, “What did he look like?” Not that he cared about other men, but he wanted an image.

“He was older, fifty-five maybe. Not too bad-looking.” She cupped his cheeks in her palms, held his gaze. “But not like you. Nothing like you.”

He liked knowing she found him more attractive. He popped the front clasp of her bra, and her breasts filled his hands. “They’re beautiful,” he said, with true reverence.

“Thank you.” She shimmied out of the lacy garment and threw that, too, just as she’d tossed her shirt.

“I like that you’re uninhibited.” He liked that she’d lost her earlier nervousness.

She laughed, low, huskier this time. “I’m not usually. But you’re different.”

He let himself believe her. “Tell me what you did out on the terrace.” Sliding his hands beneath the skirt, up her thighs, he stroked her ass. She held his shoulders, captured his gaze. “I put my hand down his pants and rubbed his cock. No kiss. No petting. Just right to it where anyone could have seen us.” Her hazel eyes deepened to the color of the ocean, and he knew that last part had turned her on the most. His cock throbbed in his pants.

“Did he come?”

“Oh yeah,” she whispered, her lips curving in a seductive smile. He couldn’t resist pinching her bottom, then gliding along the elastic band of her panties to palm her damp pussy. She didn’t balk or tell him he was moving too fast. Her skin was smooth, her belly slightly rounded, her pubic curls trimmed and soft to the touch. She shivered, and it flowed into him, until his body shuddered with need. “Did he touch you?”

She shook her head.

“Did you want him to?”

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She shook her head again.

“Why not? Because it was your first date with a man?” He didn’t stress the word, but they both knew it was a euphemism.

Her fingers flexed slightly on his shoulders. “Because I liked being in control of his orgasm.”

Heat streaked through him. He stroked her curls, lightly, without delving deeper. “I want to control yours.”

With her deep inhale, her breasts rose, begging him. He’d never been so entranced with a woman. It was the kinky act of paying for sex, the date being only about sex, the fact he hadn’t even thought about sex in over a year. Suddenly he was consumed by it. Yet there was also a connection. He’d revealed a tiny hint of his turmoil. She’d given him a glimpse of her insecurities. It made what passed between them now so much hotter.

He wanted to give her this, an orgasm that required nothing in return.

HOLDING HER GAZE, HE HOOKED HIS FINGERS ALONG HER WAISTBAND

and tugged her skirt, catching her panties, too. She blinked, bit her lip, but said nothing. Lifting, she allowed him to slide the material along her thighs, then rolling to the side, she shoved everything down her legs. Settling once more, completely nude in his lap, her skin flushed a rosy pink. Marianna shivered again, and it wasn’t cold. Oh no, she was hot all over. And terrified. A man she’d never met before, fully clothed. Her, totally naked, legs spread and vulnerable. She was wet. She’d never wanted anything more than she wanted this, and part of the allure was being at his mercy. With Brock, she’d been the one in control; at least that’s how she’d felt. With Chase, she had no control at all. And she loved it.

His hand hovered just over her mound, his green eyes seeming almost to glow like jewels. “May I touch you?”

“Yes.” Her voice cracked. It was one thing to slide your hand down a man’s pants, quite another to be totally exposed yourself. Yet she needed that orgasm badly. She wanted to give him her need, her desire, her control.

“Please touch me or I might go crazy.”

Sliding his hand between her legs, he parted her folds, and stroked her with two fingers. She almost cried out, it felt so damn good. Her head brushed the roof as she tipped back and let her body roll with his caress. It was better than 56

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fucking, gentler, sweeter.

He stopped. She opened her eyes without realizing she’d closed them. He slowly drew his fingers to his nose, scented them, then sucked one into his mouth. Oh God. She almost came watching him.

“I needed to taste you.”

She wanted to put her own hand on herself. Nothing had ever been so entirely about her, never had a man enjoyed her with such sensuality. Need made her dizzy. She didn’t care that she was the naked one. She wanted to come, she needed it now.

“Touch me, please, or I’ll do it myself.” She hardly recognized her own voice.

“Then do it while I watch.” His breath was sharp, harsh, his pupils dilated, and his cock bulged hard against his zipper.

“I was just joking about that. I want you to do it.” Yet the idea made her even creamier.

“It’ll be more wicked this way.” He used her own word against her. “Do it,”

he whispered.

The cash had been the prime motivator. Brock’s money had gotten her off in ways a physical orgasm couldn’t. But with Chase, it was him, the moment, her need, and money be damned. She dipped between her legs, and his gaze followed. His nostrils flared, his cock flexed. His reaction drove her higher. She’d masturbated for a man, but it had been mutual and just another bit of foreplay. Not like this.

Her body shuddered and shimmied against her fingers. His grip biting into her hips, he pulled her closer. The back of her fingers rubbed his cock with every frenzied stroke.

Then she felt his touch on her, his hand cupping hers, his fingers sliding inside her as she caressed her clit. He stroked deeply, slow, gaining speed, then she was riding his hand, the pleasure inside, outside, everywhere. The climb was unbelievably fast, like a rocket shooting her into space. All she saw was stars behind her lids, then her body imploded from the very center, and she cried out. His arms were around her as she trembled and jerked, then, for just a moment, she wasn’t in a car, she was in his bed, safe, warm, sated, wanting to sleep, wanting to wake in the morning to make him coffee and breakfast. Like a girlfriend.

He laid her across the seat and came down on top of her. 57

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She opened her eyes.

“I’m not sure what I want,” he said, his eyes dark, and the sky beyond the window black with clouds.

“Do you want to fuck me?” The harsh word ached in her throat, reducing what she’d just experienced to . . . sex for money.

“No.”

Was that good or bad? “Do you want me to blow you?”

He shook his head.

Do you want me to come home and sleep with you? She couldn’t say that.

“I don’t want to do you in the car.”

Her heart beat hard and fast. “Okay.”

“I don’t want to do you tonight.”

Her stomach turned over. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do.”

He shook his head, so imperceptibly she almost missed it. “Tomorrow night.”

He exhaled in a rush. “I want to see you again.”

“Yes.” She’d promised herself she’d have that orgasm. And Chase had made it spectacular.

Now, as with any drug, she needed more. She needed Chase’s taste in her mouth, his orgasm, and her name on his lips when he came. 58

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9

HER SCENT WAS ALL OVER HIS HANDS, HER TASTE ON HIS LIPS. HE could have had her. But when she came, crying out his name, Chase couldn’t do her in the backseat of his SUV like she was a hooker he’d hired. The hours he was with her had transported him back to a time when every moment wasn’t filled with guilt and should-haves.

It might not have been Marianna. Perhaps he’d been ready to let go, even if for a short time. Yet he couldn’t take the chance. He needed more of her. He wanted the fantasy she created for him.

He’d helped her dress. She’d smiled sweetly, then talked non-stop on the drive back to her car. About the housing market and how she’d never been able to afford her own home. “Yeah, my dad, he’s totally about net worth, so my not having a house . . .”

In the backseat, touching each other, insulated by the rain, they’d been in their own world. Now they’d come back to earth. Her anxiety exposed itself in the way she crossed and uncrossed her legs, how she clasped her hands, then a moment later laid them beside her on the seat, tucking them beneath her thighs. And kept talking.

“My sister, she’s got a gorgeous house and the most well-behaved teenagers. I know that’s an oxymoron, but . . .”

He didn’t have to answer. She most likely didn’t know how much she’d revealed about herself. Or how appealing he found her, insecurities and all. It put them on the same level, he with his guilt, she with her sense of never being good enough. Her revelations also made him evaluate his relationship with his daughter. He hoped to God he’d never made Krista feel less-than. Storing Marianna’s number in his cell, he told her he’d call in the morning, then the moment she drove away, he started planning where he’d take her tomorrow night. He had never, in his entire life, planned a date with the energy he expended on this one.

He needed to get ahold of Harve and find out how to book her for an evening. He’d take her any way he could get her, even if it meant paying for her.

MARIANNA HAD AN OPEN HOUSE THE NEXT DAY. JANUARY WASN’T usually 59

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a good month for sales. People tended to put things on the market in the spring, when the weather was nicer. But just as the flowers were starting to bloom early, the unseasonably warm days recently had encouraged sellers. Despite yesterday’s rain, the morning sun was now bright in a cloudless sky. That’s how she felt: bright, cheery. Despite having babbled like a dork the entire drive back to her car after their picnic. She’d had a momentary case of nerves. But he wanted another date. That changed everything. It was Chase who brought the sunniness out in her, not the twenty-five crisp one-hundred-dollar bills in the envelope on the vanity. She hadn’t even opened it until this morning. A little less than what Brock had given her, but more than what Jewel had called average. Marianna’s financial crisis had been averted. Yet she wouldn’t give up being a courtesan. If she did, she wouldn’t see Chase again. She liked him. Her heart skipped beats at a time when she thought of him. It was that special time when you meet a new and interesting man you can’t seem to stop thinking about. Her delight defied explanation. The cell rang in the bedroom. She’d been waiting for Chase’s call since the crack of dawn. Okay, slight exaggeration—but close. She jogged to the bedside table and checked caller ID. Isabel. Her heart skipped.

“You impressed him,” Isabel said after Marianna’s hello. Her heart rat-a-tatted. He said he’d call her; instead he’d called Isabel. She didn’t know what to think. “I had a nice time.”

Isabel’s laugh tinkled musically. “He’s requested another date tonight. Are you free?”

God, yes. She wouldn’t care why he’d called Isabel first. “I’ll check my calendar.” She counted to three. “I’m free.”

“He’s asked for a car to pick you up at six thirty.”

“Okay.” Excitement rippled through her. “Did he say what kind of engagement he’d like me to dress for?”

“Elegant dinner, then the symphony.”

Yes! A real date, not just a hotel room. She did a little happy dance around the bed, then stopped as if Isabel could see her being such an infatuated idiot.

“I also received a call from Brock Ransom. He’s asked for you again. Are you interested?”

Brock who? Yeah, yeah, she knew, but after Chase . . . “I can only handle dating one man at a time.”

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“That’s perfectly all right,” Isabel said.

Then Marianna’s mind started working overtime on what to wear. An elegant dinner. Dress up. Sexy high heels—she had a closet to choose from. Black stockings. That lacy red bra she’d bought a few months ago and never worn. Panties? Or no panties? Condoms, definitely. Should she have her hair done?