Seducing the Stranger Read online

  It seems impossible that, after one endless kiss and a barely thirty seconds of his knee against my sensitive flesh, I would be not only aching but on the edge of climax. I can’t deny it, though. I feel it—blood pooling, need gathering—right between my legs.

  I grip his big shoulders through his dress shirt, nails digging in as he tunnels into my mouth relentlessly again and increases the pressure against my throbbing sex. Pleading mewls escape me. I’ve never heard myself make those sounds. I don’t think anything has ever made me whimper so needily. But I can’t stop myself, not any more than I can stop squirming on his hard leg to chase the climax just out of reach.

  “Come,” he growls.

  As if his voice opened my floodgates, I suddenly can’t hold the orgasm back. I let go against him, my entire body jolting and shuddering as he swallows my long, agonized groan of satisfaction with his greedy mouth, holding me suspended during the shocking, unfightable ecstasy.

  It’s a long moment before I fall limply in his arms, gasping for breath.

  “How do you feel?” I can’t miss the satisfied smile on his face as he steps back and smooths my skirt down my thighs, just in time to hear the elevator ding. The car jolts to a stop.

  I blink up at him, wondering who the hell he is and what kind of man is capable of making me—buttoned-up Calla Blair—orgasm in a potentially public place, much less so quickly.

  “Stunned,” I whisper. “I should be afraid.”

  “Are you?”

  “No.”

  The elevator doors rush open. The stranger takes my hand and leads me past a trio of waiting businessmen who instantly cease their animated conversation to stare. I have no doubt my blouse is wrinkled, my cheeks are flushed, and my lips are swollen. They know what we’ve been doing.

  For once, I don’t care.

  The stranger wraps a protective arm around me and glares their way. Instantly, all three look elsewhere and settle into an uncomfortable silence as they shuffle into the car we just vacated.

  How does he have that effect on people? His presence seems to simply overwhelm everyone around him. They seemingly give in to his silent will with a mere glance. What is that? And why?

  The elevator doors shut behind us, then his hands tighten on me again. He plucks me off my feet and lifts me against his body. It’s a self-preservation instinct to wrap my legs around his waist and hold on for dear life.

  “What are you doing?” I demand.

  He looks at me, those black eyes glinting. “Jesus, I can already tell you’re going to be sweet and I’ll have a hard time keeping my mouth off you.”

  “You can kiss me,” I say because he looks like he wants to.

  The smile that splits his face can only be called filthy. “I wasn’t talking about your lips, angel.”

  It only takes a second for his intimation to hit my brain. My eyes widen. “Oh.”

  “If the wet spot on my thigh is any indication, your pussy is beyond juicy. So, hell yeah, I’m going to get my mouth on it.”

  As much as I’m horrified by the thought I’ve stained his pants, I’m even more excited by the notion of having his head between my legs. Of having his tongue against the most intimate flesh on my body.

  But… “Fair warning. I’ve never, um…responded much to that in the past.”

  He snorts. “Then someone was doing it wrong, and I’ll be happy to prove he was an idiot.”

  As the stranger stops in front of a door in the middle of the hall, he sets me on my feet to dig a key card from his pocket. He doesn’t waste more breath telling me how good he can make it or that I should give him a chance. He simply inserts the key, sweeps the door open, and urges me inside with a hand at the small of my back.

  The second the door shuts behind us with a thud, he attacks the buttons of his gray dress shirt. Vaguely, I’m aware that I should do something besides stare. But I can’t. I just watch as he reveals inch after bronzed inch of steely, muscled flesh.

  As he shrugs off the garment and hangs it over the back of the nearby desk chair, I gulp. His torso is like something out of a magazine. Broad shoulders bulge and give way to thickly corded arms. The hard pecs between swell with powerful strength. His ridged abs are a testament to a fit life and a very clean diet. My stare drifts down, down—and I find myself gaping at his obvious erection. It’s as big and rigid as the rest of him.

  Even looking at him, I feel faint.

  “I’ve died and gone to heaven.” The words slip out before I can stop myself.

  He laughs. “Or I might torment the hell out of you, angel. And by morning, you’ll know every inch of the devil.”

  Oh, pretty please…

  “Got any objections?” He prowls toward me and lifts the strap of my purse from my shoulder, then sets it on the nearby dresser.

  “No.” I shake my head. “None.”

  “Good. I want you naked. And I want to hear your scream as you come for me.”

  His words make me hot all over. But I shiver and swallow back the assertion that he probably can’t make me come twice in one night. No man has ever managed to. Even my trusty battery-operated boyfriend struggles at times.

  Suddenly, I don’t doubt this stranger. I’m convinced he can melt me, make me putty in his big hands, and manipulate my body to do whatever he wants.

  “I’m going to take your blouse off,” he mutters as he skates a hand up my torso and skims his knuckles against the side of my breast before zipping his thumb across the taut crest.

  Sensation zings through my body. I suck in a sharp breath. My nipples have never been particularly sensitive. But for him? One touch, and I’m ready to beg.

  What else is this stranger going to be able to do to me before the sun comes up? I don’t know, but I have a feeling it will change my entire concept of sex.

  Chapter Two

  Quint

  I can’t stop staring at Calla’s exquisite face. Regardless of what she says, she’s an angel, and it’s taking every bit of my will not to ravage her where she stands. If she doesn’t open her tempting, red-painted lips and say something soon, I’m going to grind my teeth into goddamn dust. Or toss her on the bed, root deep inside her, and keep at her until she cries her throat raw.

  “Calla?”

  “Yes,” she breathes. “Please. Take it off.”

  Thank fuck.

  Less than thirty minutes ago, I headed into the bar for a much-needed drink, but I stayed for her. To stare at her. To talk to her. To touch her. I didn’t think she’d actually agree to let me fuck her. Sure, I said that sex would calm me, but being near her only revs my libido. I feel like a rabid dog jerking against its chain. My need to consume this delicious panting morsel of female is bordering on dangerous.

  There’s something about her I can’t walk away from.

  I drop my hands to the winking pearl buttons down the front of her blouse, taunting me. One by one, I unfasten them, never taking my eyes off her. It’s gratifying as hell to hear her breathing pick up, see her cheeks flush, and watch her pulse pound at her neck. I don’t know who she’s been to bed with in the past, but I’m determined to make her forget every one of those bastards. I don’t know why. The urge is completely irrational. But if I put all my focus into making her scream for me all night, maybe I’ll forget—at least for a while—that my dad is stubbornly set on making the biggest mistake of his life tomorrow.

  And maybe I’ll be the best fuck she’s ever had. Maybe she’ll never forget me.

  I unmoor the last button at the bottom of her white blouse and push the garment off her shoulders. She’s wearing a sensible tan-colored bra. No lace. No embellishments. The size of her breasts is average, which is fine because, first, I’m an ass-man. And second, nothing about the rest of her seems average at all. Her skin is like velvet. The lines of her body are lithe, almost graceful. I’m craving the chance to explore her.

  “Lose the shoes and skirt,” I demand.

  She bites her lip and kicks off her heels as I head to the floor-to-ceiling window and draw the sheers beneath the black-out drapes. I have a sick view of the Strip, which is great. But I won’t allow some perv in one of the nearby towers to peek in and see what’s mine right now. On the other hand, I want to bathe Calla in light. I want to see her halo encircling her as I fuck her dirty and raw.

  By the time I turn back, she’s stepped out of her skirt and draped it over my shirt on the back of the chair. Her panties match her bra—modest and practical—but her breathless stare threatens to strip away what little composure I have left.

  I pad back across the room, reveling in the way her nipples get harder the closer I come. “Don’t look at me like that.”

  “Like what?” She frowns.

  “Like you’re waiting for me to touch you.”

  “But I am,” she murmurs, making me sizzle hot. “I’m just sorry I’m not wearing something sexy.”

  “You’re in your skin, aren’t you?”

  A little smile flits across her lips. “I’ll bet you’re a real smooth talker.”

  “No.” I don’t normally waste my time. “I want you naked, Calla.”

  “What about you?”

  Maybe she doesn’t realize that her shy, flirty question is only torquing me up. That everything about her makes my cock impatient and hard. Or that once I take my pants off, I’ll be shoving my way inside her.

  She’ll figure it out.

  “Trust me. You’re going to get every inch.” I take her by the shoulders—fuck, she’s so soft—and peer into her face, deep into those blue eyes. “Any hard limits? Things you won’t do in bed?”

  “No.”

  Oh, fuck. She might as well have just lit me on fire. “You might regret that answer, angel.”

  “You might,” she counters. “I’m not usually very…sexual.”

  Her words ping around my brain. Not very sexual? Says who?

  “But for some reason,” she continues as she reaches behind her back and unclasps her bra, “I feel different with you.”

  Yeah, I feel different with her, too. More dialed in. More…connected. More determined to give her a better experience than she’s ever had.

  As she slides the underwire garment down her arms, I hold my breath. It falls to the floor. Then she’s standing half-naked before me, golden tresses tumbling well past her trembling shoulders. I lose my goddamn mind.

  Her tits are perky. The round undercurves look lush above her rib cage. Her button nipples are topped with hard candy crests. I want them—in my hands, in my mouth, surrounding my cock.

  I crook my finger at her. “Come here.”

  On graceful footfalls, she complies, her stare fused to mine. When she stops in front of me, she raises a soft hand and skims her fingertips over my shoulder. Her free hand lifts to the other, and her touch turns to a caress. I have to try not to shudder. I have to work even harder not to throw her flat on her back and bury myself inside her. Since I plan to do a lot of thoroughly filthy things to her tonight, I let her take me in and get comfortable with my body, with the feel of my skin on hers.

  “I want to touch you everywhere,” she whispers.

  “I won’t stop you.”

  A smile skips across her face as her fingertips skate down my pecs, float over my ribs, trail down my abs…and flirt with my waistband.

  I suck in a breath. “Angel…”

  “What?” She plucks at the button of my pants.

  “You’re playing with fire.”

  Her smile widens. “Am I?”

  Oh, so she’s trying to tease me? “You know you are.”

  And two can play that game.

  “Are you going to let me?” She pops my button free and reaches for my zipper.

  I grip her wrist. “Be very sure.”

  She ignores me and eases my fly open with a quiet hiss, then slips her hand inside to wrap around my cock. “I think your bark is worse than your bite.”

  Her touch burns in the best way. I suck air in through my teeth to counter the sizzle. “If you keep that up, you’re going to find out how wrong you are.”

  “That sounds ominous.” But her sultry stare from under the fringe of her dark lashes says otherwise. So does the way she leans in to press butterfly kisses along my pecs and shoulders.

  “Calla…”

  “Yes?” She strokes me softly, rhythmically, as her little pink tongue peeks out to lave my shoulder before she nips it. “You keep warning me. I don’t think you mean it.”

  “You’re dead fucking wrong.”

  I wrap my hands around her small waist and lift her off the floor. She yelps and releases me, blinking and sputtering as I shove the duvet aside and plant her, back flat, on my sheets. Before she’s even stopped bouncing, I hook my fingers into the waistband of her panties and yank them down, tearing them past her feet and sailing them across the room with an absent flick of my wrist.

  All my attention is on her slender thighs and the soft, sweet pussy in between. The dusting of blond hair tells me the pale tresses on her head that hang in gentle waves damn near to her waist are natural. She’s slick, her folds puffy.

  “Fuck, you’re like a buffet. It all looks so good I can’t decide where to start.”

  A little blush steals up her cheeks, and I’m fucking glad no other pervert has corrupted her. Suddenly, I’m wishing I had more time to do the job properly, but I’ll damn sure make good use of tonight.

  “What do you want?” Her silky feminine voice taunts me.

  To let you know who’s boss in the bedroom. “I want to spank your ass.”

  I don’t give her even an instant to respond, merely sit beside her and lift her squirming form facedown over my lap.

  She lifts her gaze to me, eyes wide with shock. “You’re serious?”

  “Never been spanked?”

  “Of course not. Men really do this?”

  She’s so innocent, I have to laugh. But all hint of humor dies the instant I see her world-class ass across my lap. Taut, round, firm, pale. Kissable. Edible. Fuckable.

  I start to sweat.

  I don’t know who the fuck she’s been dating or why he hasn’t managed to locate his dick, but… “Oh, yeah. Men definitely do this, angel. Get ready.”

  With a nudge, I steady her by planting one hand on the small of her back. With the other, I smooth and squeeze the luscious globes—testing, prepping, fondling.

  “Will it hurt?”

  Since I’m a dirty, degenerate son of a bitch, the tremble in her voice only turns me on more. “Sting. For a minute. After that… Well, you’ll see.”

  “O-okay.”

  I wonder at the trust she’s placing in me. She still doesn’t even know my name. But for some reason, she’s willing to surrender everything to me.

  Does she feel that inexplicable tug between us, too?

  She must. It’s the only explanation.

  I would never hurt Calla, but make her feel? Push her to the limit? Abso-fucking-lutely.

  Breath held, I lift my hand, then bring it down with a soft smack to her left cheek. I do the same to her right, then settle into a rhythm. Every time I land my hand, the blow turns a little harder, a little louder, until her cheeks begin to turn satisfyingly pink.

  At first she tenses, then—a few spanks in—she starts to gasp and soften. Wiggling follows. When I pause to press my palms against her hot, stinging flesh, she moans. I smile. Then, fuck yes, I hasten the pace and the intensity of each smack until she starts breathing heavily, her ass slowly turns red, and she lifts herself to me for more.

  I rub and squeeze her tormented cheeks until she hisses. “If you want me to keep going, Calla, ask for it.”

  The long, heavenly hair bobbing around my feet tells me she’s nodding. “More,” she gasps. “I don’t know why, but I need it.”

  She probably doesn’t know. I do. She’s proving to be the softly sexual yin to my dirty-as-fuck yang. Even if I’d special ordered her, I’m not sure I could have found a woman who dovetails as nicely with my proclivities as this one. I’m eager as hell to show her everything she’s been missing.

  “Good girl,” I praise as I pinch and knead her sensitive backside.

  When she whimpers, I swat her with more force and sting than before. She jerks again. Her keening gets louder. I get even fucking harder.

  Minutes slide by. My palm stings. Her backside looks sunburned red. And I wait. I suspect I’m approaching the edge of her tolerance, but I may not be quite there yet. I hope, anyway. I’m enjoying the hell out of seeing my bronzed hand connect with her pale, supple ass, hearing her groans and gasps, feeling her wriggle and jolt. I suspect she loves this every bit as much as I do.

  “More?”

  “Yes.” The word rushes out with her audible exhalation. “Yes.”

  “You’re going to be sore.” And because I’m perverse and I can’t resist, I give my fingernails a gentle drag down her flushed skin.

  She sucks in a sharp breath. “I don’t care.”

  I smile. She will care a lot more tomorrow when she tries to sit down, but if she remembers me a bit longer, I’m all for it.

  “I warned you…” Then I don’t give her a chance to change her mind, just unleash a fresh dozen blows on her throbbing ass, loving the way she rocks and digs her nails into my calf as her voice lifts to broken, strangled cries every time I lay my palm across her sensitive flesh.

  When I stop, she’s shuddering and struggling to catch her breath. A light sheen of perspiration covers her skin. Her ass is all but glowing. I could happily keep going for half the night. But whether Calla knows it or not, she’s had enough. And her well-being comes first.

  Even so, I can’t resist the opportunity to kiss her backside, which throbs hot under my tongue. I run the tip up one blistering cheek, then nip at it until she yelps and begs.

  “Oh. My god. Do something…” She struggles to sit up.

  I plant my palm on her back more firmly to hold her in place. “Why?”

  I know the reason, but I want to hear her say it.

  “I’m on fire. I’m dying…”

  That makes me grin. She really is perfect.