Wild Nights Read online

  After tonight he’d never see her again, so why not? It wasn’t like he had anyone else remotely close to open up to about things like sex. No way would his male friends understand how a man who got as much pussy as he did could possibly be dissatisfied with his sex life.

  “People always wonder about me,” she said. “Why I opened this club. How I must have suffered some sexual trauma that made me want to explore the wild side of sex, when the truth of the matter is, I always felt sex should be openly celebrated. I’ve always enjoyed it. There is no dark history in my life—no rape, no incest, no horrors in my past that caused me to want to investigate my deviant side. I just love sex. That’s why I moved here and started this club.

  “As I mentioned, I was dissatisfied with those who preached morality that sex was something to be hidden as if it were bad. There’s nothing bad about sex as long as it’s consensual.

  “But the problem is, when you engage in so much open and free sexuality, when you can have anything you want anytime you want it, you become desensitized to it. Then what does it take to be satisfied?”

  “Is that why you don’t partake of the fun and games at Wild Nights?” he asked, curious whether it was choice or just part of the mystique.

  She shifted, stared out at the lights of Las Vegas again. “Partly. I have responsibilities at the club and if I spend all my time engaged, I can’t cater to my clientele. But yes, I’ve also become a bit jaded. I used to play a lot more than I do now. Because I’ve done it all. It doesn’t have the allure it once did.”

  “When you’ve experienced everything, and more than once, there’s no thrill.”

  She looked at him. “Yes. That’s it exactly. I sometimes wonder if I’ll ever find the one man who’ll be able to touch me the way no man has been able to touch me before.”

  He smiled. “Oh, that guy.”

  “What guy?”

  “The perfect man. He doesn’t exist.”

  She returned his smile. “Nor does that perfect woman you’re looking for.”

  “We’re both alike, Grace. Looking for something or someone who can’t be found.”

  “So what do we do about that?”

  God she was beautiful. Her hair shined like blue-black magic in the lights from the strip. The silk of her skirt and top clung to her body like shrink-wrap, molding to her breasts and hips. He wanted a taste, a touch, to sink inside her and see if she held the magic key to what was missing in his life. He hadn’t felt this comfortable with a woman in too long.

  Or maybe he just wanted to avoid what was going on downstairs. Maybe it didn’t have the allure he thought it would. In that, he’d been honest with her.

  What he really wanted to explore was sitting right next to him. Grace had fired his engines in a big way. Her intellect, her free spirit, her honesty and her beauty—all of them intrigued him more than any woman had in a long time.

  “One night. Give me one night with you. No promises other than enjoying each other.”

  “We both know we’re not going to find what we’re looking for,” she said, her gaze betraying nothing of her emotions at the moment.

  “I know, but I like being with you. Isn’t that enough?”

  “Is it?”

  “I’ve been honest with you, Grace. That’s really all I can offer.”

  He watched her face as she absorbed his words, wondering if she’d toss him out and deny him, and herself, a chance for a night together. She knew him. Okay, that was wrong. She didn’t know him, but he figured she knew hundreds of guys just like him. Men who’d had lots of women. She probably thought he was looking at her as just another conquest.

  When he first came here tonight that’s exactly what she’d been. Another challenge. But she’d rocked him back on his heels and gut punched everything he thought he wanted. She saw right through his bullshit. He needed a woman like that.

  She stood. “Let’s just take this slow, see how things go.”

  He nodded, instinctively understanding that was important to her. “However you want to set the ground rules.”

  “I don’t really like rules, per se…and I haven’t said yes to anything yet.”

  Her voice had gone smoky and the atmosphere in the room changed in an instant. From polite conversation to something more elemental—something definitely darker, with more promise.

  “I think I want you to sit over there—in that chair.” She motioned with her head to the black leather chair directly across from her.

  Mike moved, sat down and placed his arms on the chair, keeping his gaze riveted on Grace. She moved to the other side of the room and flipped a switch, filling the room with soft, sexy jazz music, then headed back toward him, all long limbs and polished refinement. Even in the way she walked, she hitched his pulse up a notch. Nothing hurried, nothing hesitant in her movements. She stopped a foot in front of him and parted her legs.

  “Don’t move. Don’t get up and don’t touch me unless I ask you to.”

  “However you want it.” His cock twitched in anticipation of what was to come. His heart began to pump a fast beat and the room grew warmer. He didn’t know what kind of game she was gearing up to play, but he was definitely all in.

  “People rush into sex, as if fucking is the grand prize,” she started. “No one takes the time for mystery, for teasing or seduction. All the joy leading up to sex has gone by the wayside, and it’s such a shame, because the buildup can be as intense as the act itself.”

  She sucked her bottom lip between her teeth and smoothed her hands up her arms, then across her neck and collarbone. Light, fingertip touches, avoiding her breasts. Slow and easy, like an exploration. Mike took a breath, waiting for her to fondle herself, to caress the hard points of her nipples peeking through the thin silk of her blouse. He knew she wanted to touch them. He wanted to touch them, could almost feel the tight buds between his fingers. Instead, she skimmed her hands down over her waist.

  “The fine art of taking one’s time in pleasing a lover has been lost in the haste for ultimate satisfaction. We forget to simply touch, breathe, watch.”

  Mike was definitely watching. Riveted, wondering what she was going to do next. A slow dance of seduction so unlike what he was used to with sex. Grace was right. It was usually a rush of mouths and hands and bodies tangling together—a race to penetration and orgasm. There was no time taken to explore. No agonizing temptation. Nothing like what he was forced to endure as she skimmed her hand across her ribcage, then dipped it inside her skirt.

  Her eyelids fluttered closed as she found the target. Still clothed, all he could do was envision her hand covering her pussy. Was she bare down there or was there a tuft of dark hair over her mound? Would she glisten completely naked under his gaze, her body open and bare in the moonlight?

  He’d never been so desperate to see before.

  But he could smell her. All woman. He took a deep breath. She was so close he picked up the scent of her musky, deep desire.

  “Ahh,” she moaned. “So warm. My skin is soft, wet, aching for touch. My pussy quivers in anticipation of a climax.” She opened her eyes and met his gaze. “I need to come, Mike.”

  She felt everything. He could only imagine, and his synapses were firing overtime. All he could see was her hand moving up and down under her skirt. It was driving him crazy. He wanted to lean her back against the couch, lift her silk skirt and plant his mouth over her steaming cunt, then lick her until she screamed, flooding his mouth with her come.

  But this was her game, and she was in charge. It would be so easy to take his cock out and jack off watching her, but he wanted this to be for her. He wanted her to be the center of attention and no matter how rock hard his dick got, no matter how tightly his balls knotted up, he wasn’t going to get off. Not yet, anyway.

  That was going to happen later, when he was inside her. So he was just going to have to grip the edge of the chair with both hands and ride this out for as long as it took. Or as long as she took. And frankly, drink
ing in the sight of her, watching her move her hand farther down between her legs, not being able to see but knowing exactly what she was doing…

  It was insane. Fucking hot and crazy. He’d wanted to do something he’d never done before? This was it. This wasn’t “Get down to it and fuck hard.” It wasn’t “Do it ten different ways upside down or hanging from the ceiling.” This was slow seduction. A woman who knew her body and how to pleasure herself and her man. A torturous tease, fully clothed.

  Yeah, he’d never had it like this before. He dug his fingers into the thick leather chair and hung on for the ride. Her face flushed, the lights from the city casting her in a blue glow as she moved her hips in a sinuous rhythm to the slow, rhythmic jazz playing on the radio. She was like a classy stripper, only no clothes were coming off and it was driving him to the brink. She taunted him with what he couldn’t see—just the stroking movements of her hand under her skirt.

  But then he heard it—the sound of her fingers slipping inside her pussy. Wet, sucking sounds as she fucked herself, followed by her low moan.

  Fuck!

  “Do you hear it?” she asked, her voice tight with strain.

  “Yes.”

  “My pussy’s so wet, Mike.”

  “Tell me how many fingers you have inside yourself.”

  “Two. It feels so good. Oh, it feels so damn good.”

  Her lips were parted and she was breathing through her mouth now. Panting, actually. He wanted to be where she was. He wanted his fingers inside her, making her feel that good. He wasn’t sure he’d ever wanted anything more in his life.

  The undulations under her skirt grew faster. She tucked her other hand in her skirt, then shifted her hips forward.

  “My clit’s swollen.”

  “Tell me what you’re doing.” He had to know. His cock was near bursting. He’d never felt such pain before, so much excitement.

  “Fucking myself. One hand. Rubbing my clit with the other.”

  She could barely speak through her panting breaths now. He found himself fighting for breath, too, as he watched her, forcing himself to keep his seat instead of leaping out of it to tear her skirt away and bury his face in her pussy. The scent of her was driving him mad. He hadn’t come in his pants since he was a kid, but she was bringing him pretty close.

  “Oh, oh, God I need to—”

  “Do it, Grace. Come for me.” He couldn’t wait one more goddamn minute, and if she didn’t have an orgasm soon, he wasn’t sure he could hold to his part of the bargain.

  She squeezed her eyes shut, tilted her head back and let out a cry as she released, her hands moving fast and furious under her skirt. Mike drank in every sound, every jerk her body made as she shuddered and moaned through her climax. It was amazing, ratcheting up his excitement like nothing he’d ever seen.

  When she was finished she opened her eyes and looked at him, pulled her hands out of her skirt and licked her lips, blowing out a deep breath.

  “Wow,” she whispered, then sat on the couch and dipped her chin to her chest. She was still panting.

  He was still hard. Aching, painfully hard.

  And in awe of a woman who could make him feel things he hadn’t felt in far too long. He moved out of his chair and next to her, lifting her hand and bringing it to his lips. The scent of her pussy was all over her. Sweet, musky, driving into his senses and wrapping around his brain.

  He kissed her hand, licked her fingertips. Sweet, salty flavor on his tongue as he sucked each digit into his mouth. She didn’t take her gaze from his lips as he licked her clean, her violet eyes going dark as she watched him.

  “You were incredible,” he finally said. “I’ve never experienced anything like it.”

  Her gaze drifted to his lap, where the outline of his swollen cock was more than evident against his jeans. He was big. Really big. It wasn’t like he could hide it. He’d been teased about the Nottingham Monster ever since he hit puberty. After a while the teasing became admiration from women, jealousy from other guys.

  Her eyes widened before moving back up to his face.

  “I’ve never done that for a man before.”

  He arched a brow. “Seriously?”

  “I don’t lie, Mike. Especially about sex.”

  “Then, thank you. Because I really enjoyed it. I’ve never seen anything so hot.”

  She tilted her head, her expression skeptical. “With your kind of experience? I find that hard to believe.”

  He still had hold of her hand and placed it over his throbbing shaft. “Experience has nothing to do with turn-ons, Grace. Experience has nothing to do with finding something new and exciting that gives you a rush. You’ve been around the block a few times. You should know that.

  “What you did just now made me so goddamn hot I almost came without touching myself. I’m so hard right now it hurts. Feel me. I’m hot, I’m aching and I need you. And I’m not lying about that.”

  FOUR

  Grace hadn’t intended to put on that show of masturbation. She hadn’t planned for any of this to happen, but it had. And now that it had, she wanted more.

  She laid her palm over the rigid length of Mike’s sizeable cock, feeling the sweet slide of wetness between her legs in response. Masturbating for him had been an incredible experience and brought about an orgasm so intense she could barely remain standing through it. She hadn’t come that hard in far too long.

  But it had been all her. Mike’s restraint amazed her. He hadn’t leaped out of the chair to join in. He didn’t even unzip his pants to jack off. He’d just watched. And that was the biggest turn-on of all. She got off on his hot eyes, the way he followed the movements of her hand. He wasn’t out for himself—he was invested in her pleasure, in her orgasm. She’d never enjoyed teasing a man so much, had never become so aroused pleasuring herself—both for her own benefit and for someone else’s.

  And now that she had, she could well imagine his patience had worn thin. His cock was steel beneath the denim of his jeans, pulsing and rigid and hot. He was ready for a good fuck. Hard and deep and fast. Probably right here on the couch and right now.

  She couldn’t really blame him, since she’d teased him so badly.

  “I know what you’re thinking,” he said.

  Her gaze swept from his shaft to his eyes. “You do?”

  He nodded. “Yeah.”

  “Okay. Tell me what I’m thinking.”

  “I’d wager the men you meet want to fuck you long and hard. When they get a chance with you, they want to assure you they’re the best the fuck you’ve ever had.”

  She resisted the laugh bubbling up in the back of her throat. “Uh, you might be right about that.” Actually, that was exactly what happened with most men she met at the club. That’s why she rarely selected strangers and kept to men she knew, men she could count on to give her the release she needed, then discreetly leave. She didn’t have time for he-men shows of prowess.

  “I don’t think that’s what you need.”

  “You don’t.”

  He shook his head and stood, reaching for her hand. “No.”

  Curious as to what he thought she did need, she slipped her hand in his and allowed him to pull her to her feet.

  “Show me to your bedroom.”

  Bedroom? Now that was a first. She’d been taken on the couch, bent over by the window, on the kitchen counter and table, on the floor and across the coffee table—typically anywhere but the bedroom. In fact, if a helicopter from the National Enquirer were hovering by her picture window while she was being fucked, snapping photos for the next cover story, that would make the men who screwed her ecstatic. She was, after all, a prize and had to be shown off.

  Her bedroom was her private sanctuary. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d actually had a man in there. Entertaining was usually done in the living room, even with the men she knew. Yet she found herself leading Mike down the hallway to the double doors to her bedroom.

  He opened them and pulled
her inside, flipping on the light.

  “King-size bed?”

  “Yeah. Just in case I want to have two or three people in the bed with me.”

  He arched a brow, then laughed. Okay, so he doubted she was serious about that. He was right—she wasn’t. For someone who enjoyed sex as much as she did, or at least as much as she had over the past years, she really hadn’t had much lately.

  Burnout. That had to be it. Too much stimulation for too long. Just like Mike had said—she’d seen it all, done it all, and it had lost its allure.

  So why was the simple act of holding Mike’s hand making her toes curl? Why, when he dragged her against his chest, did her heart slam against her ribs? She was hardly new at this seduction thing. Yet feeling her body pressed to his made her nipples harden and her breath catch. Being in his arms felt…right, felt good, stirred her into a rippling awareness of every movement, every touch of his fingers along her back.

  Why did the simple scent of his soap cause her senses to go haywire?

  Why did she feel a rush of panic when he bent his lips to hers? Because this wasn’t scripted, because she didn’t know exactly what was going to happen and how? Because so far tonight Mike Nottingham had proven to be anything but predictable?

  The brush of his mouth was a slow assault, not at all what she was used to. It wasn’t an attack, it was sweet. Just a whisper of a kiss—meant to entice, not ravage. He paused, his breath warm against her lips. It was a question. Mike was asking, not taking, placing the onus on her to make the decision whether to go further or put the brakes on.

  A millisecond of indecision crossed her mind. The way he made her feel was dangerous. She could stop and they could simply talk. She enjoyed talking to him.

  But why? When she’d wanted sex with a man before, she’d had it. She’d never been afraid of her feelings. Mike was a stranger. An attractive, sexy, compelling man, but not one she intended to see beyond tonight. So why wouldn’t she indulge her desires?