Wicked Page 6

  Having spent them with Rand was like something out of a wicked fantasy.

  He was more than she had ever hoped for, and then some.

  More than she had ever feared, too.

  Powerful, controlling, he knew every one of her hot buttons and pushed them like a master puppeteer. If he’d failed at just one of them, she would have smiled smugly and walked away knowing that Rand, like every other man she’d been with, just simply didn’t “get” her.

  He’d gotten her all right.

  Too well.

  She’d played right into his hands, coming apart like she had. Where had all her self-control gone? Couldn’t she have held back just a little? Did she have to have an orgasm every time he licked her, touched her, fucked her? One would think she’d been satisfied after the first one and could have lain there like a dead fish or something, just to let him know he wasn’t in as much control as he’d like to think he was.

  But oh, no. Her traitorous body had to go and respond with a resounding Yippee! I’m coming again! Every. Single. Time.

  She sighed and tried to scoot away. But like a thief caught sneaking out with the goods, escape was impossible. He snaked an arm around her middle and pulled her back against the powerful wall of his chest.

  Dammit, he made her feel safe, tucked into his body like this. It was warm and comfortable, and he was solid and strong. She felt protected, desired. Needed.

  Whoa. Way too much going on in her head right now. And all the wrong things.

  Rand was not the guy. He wasn’t. Not for her, anyway.

  “What are you thinking about?”

  The deep timbre of his voice sent her nerve endings skyrocketing in a million directions.

  “Nothing.”

  “Liar. Tell me what you’re thinking about.”

  He cupped her breast. Didn’t squeeze, like a lot of men did, just cupped it, his thumb dragging lightly over her nipple.

  Her clit took notice, and bells started ringing down south.

  Was she wired for Rand? Lord. One lazy little strum of his fingers, and her body took notice.

  Well, dammit, she was in charge of her body. Not him. And she was going to ignore his flicking of her nipple.

  “I was just thinking I was tired.”

  “You had a nap. An hour and a half.”

  An hour and a half curled in his arms. Sweet oblivion. “I’m still tired.”

  “No, you’re not. But I’m hungry, and I’ll bet you are, too. How about a shower and something to eat?”

  She shrugged, but her stomach rumbled, giving her away. He laughed and released her. “Go on and shower. Towels are in the closet next to the sink. I’ll start the grill, then jump in when you’re finished.”

  Shower? In some man’s bathroom? Without her makeup and blow dryer? What would she wear afterward? Did he have any idea what she looked like after a shower? She wasn’t prepared for this. She padded into the bathroom and flipped on the light, grimacing at how . . . manly it all looked. Stark white single sink. Clean enough, she supposed. The shower was, too, though where was the loofah? The little purple razor? The body wash? She’d bet he didn’t even have scented shampoo. He probably used something called Grizzly Peaks or Man Froth.

  Ick.

  She turned on the faucets, then rummaged through the linen closet, grateful to find a usable shampoo and conditioner. Thank God. And he did have nice, big soft towels. She scrubbed her makeup off, washed and rinsed, and stepped out just in time to find him standing outside the shower door stripping out of his jeans.

  “Fire’s blazing on the grill. Let me pop in while you’re drying off.”

  He skirted beside her and zipped into the shower stall while she finished drying.

  This was all so intimate. Something a couple that lived together would do.

  And she needed her comb.

  “Got a brush?” she hollered.

  “Third drawer down.”

  She pulled it out and grabbed a wide-toothed comb to drag through the tangles in her hair.

  “Don’t suppose you have a blow-dryer.”

  “Linen closet on the floor.”

  Yes! She ran to the closet and dragged out the blow-dryer. Not the fanciest, but it would do. She wasn’t even going to ask why he had one; she was just grateful he did. He finished his shower and stepped out, pulling a towel out of the closet and watching her dry her hair while he dried off.

  And she watched him watching her.

  And got hotter by the minute, especially when he wrapped the towel around his hips and grabbed a brush, then stood next to her while he brushed his hair. The towel rested low on his lean hips. She ogled the flat planes of his stomach, counted the ridged muscles there, drooled over his well-sculpted chest and arms, then mentally damned herself for staring so hard when he smiled at her in the mirror.

  How dare he be so sexy? She’d just ignore him.

  But dayum, he smelled good. She took a deep breath and inhaled him, resisting the urge to put the blow-dryer down, drop to her knees, and bury her face in his cock. Fortunately, he walked out of the bathroom before she could give in to her baser instincts. She turned off the dryer and followed him, checking out his fine, firm ass while he shrugged into a pair of jeans and a loose tank top.

  She grabbed her skirt and top from the chair next to the bed and slipped them on. Her panties were toast, and she didn’t even know where they were anyway.

  Rand watched her dress.

  “I like knowing you’re naked under that skirt,” he said, walking toward her and pulling her into his arms. He lifted her skirt and palmed her buttocks, slipping his fingers between them to tease her pussy lips. “I want to be able to play with you at will.”

  Her nipples rose and puckered against the stretchy fabric, alerting him to her state of arousal. He smiled down at her, fully aware of her reaction to his touch.

  “I also like that you cream when I touch you. It’s like this instant gush of fluid down there.”

  “Are you trying to embarrass me?”

  He arched a brow. “Embarrass? No. I’m trying to get you to loosen up. I intend to have you this weekend, Blair. Whenever and wherever. You’re going to relinquish complete control to me and learn to love it. Get used to it.”

  He smoothed her skirt over her buttocks, patted her ass, and walked out of the room.

  Humph. Whenever and wherever, like she was some cheap whore he’d hired to be at his beck and call. She’d see about that. She was no man’s plaything and especially not Rand’s. And while she might thoroughly enjoy fucking him, this mind game he was playing with her wasn’t going to work. She was here on a bet, and that was it.

  “Blair! Come on outside,” he hollered. “And bring us a bottle of red wine when you do.”

  She rolled her eyes, but stopped in the kitchen on her way out the back door into his yard, slipping her sandals on before she went.

  He had two steaks on the grill, along with vegetables on skewers and potatoes in foil. She handed him the bottle of red wine, which he opened and set aside to breathe for a moment.

  “Anything you need me to do?” she asked.

  “Yeah. Sit down and relax. You look tense,” he said, grinning at her.

  Rascal bounded over for a pat on the head and a scratching of the ears. Blair busied herself playing with the dog while Rand cooked. It was very . . . domestic and made her squirm uncomfortably.

  Sunset had breached the dense treetops on Rand’s property, obliterating the opressive heat a little. It was still going to be a warm night, with hardly a breeze to offer relief. She watched Rand as he cooked, picturing him in the expansive yard with a couple kids, more dogs, and a lot of noise. A few swing sets, toys all over, maybe a swimming pool and a hot tub.

  All he needed was a woman to share it with.

  Not that she was that woman.

  Nope, not her. That kin
d of life wasn’t her deal at all. She was forever single, happy and carefree. The whole fantasy of family and kids and acreage and a ranch house like Rand owned was someone else’s dream, not hers.

  Someday he’d find a nice, sweet woman to settle down with and give him that dream.

  So why did the thought make her stomach hurt?

  And why did she picture herself in the middle of this backyard, up to her waist in the pool, and laughing with kids or wrestling with dogs?

  It wasn’t her! She was a forever-single vixen, a career woman in charge of her own destiny, in utter control of her own life. And nowhere in that life was there a ranch house, a couple of kids, a dog, and a swimming pool.

  “You’re doing it again.”

  She looked up to find Rand sliding a plate in front of her.

  “Doing what?”

  He slid into the chair next to her and poured a glass of wine for each of them. “You’re lost in thought. What were you thinking about?”

  Attributing the flush on her face to the heat outside, she grabbed a napkin and faced the plate of food that had suddenly lost its appeal. “Nothing.”

  “Secrets again.” He started to eat but studied her, talking in between mouthfuls. “Maybe I’ll just try to guess.”

  Never in a million years would he figure it out.

  “Aren’t you wondering what I’m going to do with you after dinner?”

  “No.”

  “You should.” He slanted her a sly smile and resumed eating.

  And she started thinking while she ate. What was he going to do with her after dinner? By the time they finished eating and cleared away the dishes, she had imagined several scenarios. Thank God he didn’t have any chandeliers in his house.

  “Figure it out yet?” he asked as they loaded the last of the dishes into the dishwasher.

  Again, more domestic stuff. Comfortable things that she found easy and relaxing doing with him. It gave her the willies. She’d never done dishes with a man before.

  “Figure what out?”

  “What the plan is?”

  “No. But I assume you’re going to tell me eventually, so I see no point in wasting brain cells trying to decipher what’s going on in your warped mind.”

  He threw his head back and laughed, then refilled their wine-glasses and led them out onto the front porch. “Warped, huh?”

  The breeze was better out here, the sun finally having set. They sat in a white wooden porch swing. Swaying gently back and forth with him pushing off with his feet, she relaxed and curled her feet up under her and sipped her wine, staring out at the clear night.

  Out here in the country, the stars were clearly visible, something she never got to see in the crowded, brightly lit city.

  “You’re lulling me into a false sense of security,” she said.

  “Huh?”

  “This is just weird.” She didn’t know how else to explain it. “Wicked sex, then dinner, wine, and now swinging on the front porch? What the hell is up with this scenario, Rand? Let’s just get on with it.”

  He finished his wine and set it on the small table next to the swing. “You got a timetable or something?”

  Yes. I need to get the hell out of here before I start enjoying myself too much. “No.”

  “Then chill, Blair. Quit being in such a hurry. We have all night. You even had a nap. Let your stomach settle a little bit and just enjoy the night.”

  She’d hardly eaten a thing, so there wasn’t much to settle. She was as anxious and as unsettled as she could be. Anxiety skittered along her nerve endings. She wasn’t relaxed at all, despite the few glasses of wine she’d consumed. Thoughts of barbecues, backyards, swimming pools, and kids had screwed with her head. She needed to get through this weekend of wild debauchery with one thought in mind: fucking. Wicked fucking with Rand and fulfilling the terms of the bet. That was it.

  Sex, sex, and more sex. Now, that she could handle. And then obliterate it from her memories forever. Come Monday, her relationship with Rand would go back to the way it had been for the past fifteen years: antagonistic and distant.

  He slipped his arm behind her and toyed with her hair, massaging her scalp, gently pulling at the tendrils.

  Damn, she loved when a man played with her hair. It gave her goose bumps, turned her on. Her nipples hardened. She tilted her head into his hand for more. When her pulled a little harder, she shuddered, annoyed when her clit tingled.

  She was putty in his hands, damn him. He knew all the right buttons to push.

  He wound her hair around his fist and tugged, drawing her neck back, then pressed his lips against her throat. Her pulse pounded, her heart slamming against her chest. Whatever cool breeze she’d felt had evaporated under the assault of heat burning her from the inside out. He scorched a trail along her neck and jaw, then captured her mouth in a fiery kiss that exploded when he parted her lips and slid his tongue inside.

  Slow and easy, velvety strokes along her tongue, he explored the inner recesses of her mouth like he had all night to do this. And still, he held on to her hair, holding her head, mastering her. She thrilled to his control, the way he guided his tongue along hers, first gentle, then more insistent, pressing his lips more firmly against hers. He moved his body over hers, skimming her waist with his free hand and sliding his fingers under her shirt, lifting it over her breasts. He bent down and took her nipple between his teeth, nibbling light and easy. She clenched her teeth and lifted her hips in response, wanting him to do the same thing to her clit. There was enough light to watch him lick and bite her nipples, to see the way his tongue rolled over them, making them stand up, wet with his saliva, exposed to the air and begging for more attention.

  She shivered, but she sure as hell wasn’t cold. It was the way he looked at her when he lifted his head, the hunger and passion she saw reflected in his eyes. He kept his gaze focused on hers while he popped the button on his jeans and drew the zipper down, drawing his cock out. He fisted it, stroking it, making her mouth water for a taste.

  “Suck me, Blair.”

  Still holding on to her hair, he pushed her head toward his lap. Eager to take his cock in her mouth, she enveloped the head between her lips, licking at the fine drops of fluid gathered there, rewarded by his groan of delight.

  He might think he was in control, but in this she was the master. She flicked her tongue over the crest, then suctioned her mouth around him, sliding downward, inch by agonizing inch. He surged upward, feeding her, digging his fingers in her hair again as he moaned his pleasure and leaned back against the swing.

  She dug her nails into his denim-clad thighs, her pussy wet with her own desire and eager to impale herself on his cock. A wicked hunger consumed her, a need to pleasure him, to drag him with her to heights of unbearable need.

  “Oh, yeah,” he murmured. “Take it deep, Blair. Swallow it.”

  She no longer wanted to defy him. What was the point, when giving him pleasure would only heighten her own? He pushed forward, and she took him deep, all the way to her throat, swallowing him, constricting around him until he lifted off the swing and dug his fingers into her hair, pulling her off his cock.

  “Goddamn!” he said, jerking her head back and pulling her upright. He covered her mouth with his and ravaged it, fucking her mouth with his tongue. Hard and insistent, with a ravaging passion that left her lips bruised, her pussy swelling and aching with the need to be filled.

  She whimpered against his mouth, and he pulled his lips away, dragging her astride him, facing him.

  “Fuck me,” he commanded.

  She thrilled to the harsh tone in his voice and impaled herself on his cock, tilting her head back and moaning at the sheer pleasure of being filled with his thick shaft.

  “Yes,” she murmured, grasping his shoulders and lifting, then sank down on him, driving him balls deep into her pussy.

  She establis
hed the rhythm, riding him with slow strokes, every brush of her clit against his pelvis like a shock of lightning to her cunt.

  “I like you like this. Fucking you with your clothes on. It’s nasty. I like you a little nasty, Blair. Fuck me harder.”

  She complied, lifting and slamming down hard against him.

  “Yeah, drop down on my balls. Goddamn, that’s good.”

  He grabbed her buttocks and began to raise her up and down over his shaft. She lifted her skirt so she could watch the movements of his cock in and out of her pussy.

  “Touch your clit for me, baby. Make yourself come.”

  She reached between her legs and massaged her clit, knowing he had a perfect view of his cock disappearing between her pussy lips, of her hand rubbing her clit.

  “Damn, that’s pretty,” he said, his gaze glued to that spot where they were joined.

  His cock swelled, her contractions growing stronger as she gripped him in a tight vise that signaled she was close. She strummed her clit faster, racing toward her climax, watching his eyes darken, his lips part as he panted with her.

  “I’m going to come,” she whispered, her breath sawing out of her lungs in painful bursts. She arched her back and ground her pussy against him.

  His eyes were a dark storm, his lips parted, his half-lidded gaze so goddamn sexy she couldn’t stand it.

  “Come on my cock, Blair. Milk the come out of me and take me with you.”

  She gripped his shoulder with one hand and furiously rubbed her clit as the sensations seared her insides. Then it came, a sizzling peak that made her scream. She held on to his gaze as she came, felt him erupt at the same time, thrusting and jerking against her as he shot a hot load of come in her.

  They rocked the swing in a wild arc as they rode out their orgasms, then crashed together. Blair fell forward and clasped on to Rand’s shoulder, shuddering as the aftershocks of her orgasm continued to rock through her. He stroked her hair, her back, his motions gentling as they came down from the fury.

  Nestled in his embrace like this, Blair realized she had never felt more herself with a man than she did with Rand.