скачать книгу бесплатно
“People usually think of Italy for olive oil, but Spain produces some of the finest stuff out there. Good enough to sip like wine.” He lifted his hand to her mouth then ran slick fingers over her lips. “Or to kiss off of a beautiful woman.”
Before she had time to react, he lowered his head and captured her mouth in a slow, coaxing kiss. The fruity oil slid over their lips and mixed with the lingering flavor of sangria and something distinctly him. Her hands went to his chest, her fingers curling into his shirt. His lips were even more decadent than she’d imagined—soft and sexy and commanding. A vivid appetizer to what she suspected was going to be a very lavish meal. And it’d been so long since she’d been kissed—even longer since it’d been done with passion—that she found it hard to control her starved response. She craved more, needed it.
When he moved to pull back, she said his name like a plea.
Needing no further encouragement, he banded his arm around her waist as he kissed her again and backed her into the table without breaking their connection. Before she could lever herself upward, he lifted her onto the table and deepened the kiss. Their tongues touched and sparks seems to flare out along her nerve endings. She groaned into his mouth, overwhelmed by the all-encompassing response to such a simple act. Somehow Van had transported her back to her high-school days where everything was new and an openmouthed kiss was as erotic an experience as she could imagine.
She slid her arms around his neck and gave herself over completely, opening to him and surrendering to the moment. When he laid her back onto the table and unfastened the top button of her blouse, she was too far gone to worry about anything. She didn’t care that they were out in the open and anyone could walk in. She didn’t care that they were outdoors and only protected from the view of people on the street by a row of potted trees. And she forgot to worry whether or not she was in over her head.
Van finally broke the kiss to drag in a breath and worked a few more buttons to get her shirt fully open. His gaze traced over her simple lace bra with ravenous heat. “We’re going to burn the almonds.”
“I don’t care,” she said, slipping her shirt off.
With one swift movement, he reached over and turned off the burner, then he was back over her, holding the bottle of olive oil above her. “Take off your bra, Contessa. I need to taste you.”
She did as she was told with fumbling fingers and tossed the scrap of fabric aside. As soon as she lay back against the table, the drizzle of oil hit her skin, sliding over her nipples and down her belly. She closed her eyes and moaned softly, the sensual feel of the liquid against her conjuring images of Van taking himself in his hand and marking her skin with his release.
His hands trailed up and over her ribs, bringing oil with it, then he cupped her breasts, sliding his fingers over slippery skin and making her arch with need. He pinched her nipple between lubricated fingers. The desperate sound she made bordered on embarrassing. “Van, please.”
He let out a soft curse. “Baby, I want to take my time with you. But God, I can feel how near the edge you are already, and it’s driving me to the brink. I’ll never make it through a meal.”
“That makes two of us.”
He groaned and bent over her, taking her nipple in his mouth. The combination of the warming oil and his talented tongue had her back bowing up. Lord, she’d forgotten how lovely foreplay could be. Doug had been all about the end game, convinced that because he was well-endowed, that’d be enough for any woman. But size only went so far and getting to orgasm had always taken work on her part, a concerted effort. But right now, she felt like one stroke between her thighs and she’d go off.
His hand went to the hem of her skirt, slipping beneath it and gliding along her thigh with well-oiled fingers. She reached for him, her hands acting on their own volition, and gripped his thick hair, holding him against her breast and silently begging him to move his hand higher up her thigh.
He slipped free from her grip and lifted his head. “Just lie back, baby, and put your hands above your head. I’ll take care of you.”
She did as she was told and followed him with her eyes as he grabbed her blouse and wrapped it around her wrists. “What are you doing?”
“Exactly what I want,” he said simply, as if that were explanation enough. “I have a bit of a thing for control. You okay with that?”
A ripple of apprehension went through her. “I’m not sure. What do you mean?”
His lips curved. “Ever done anything kinky before, Contessa?”
She thought back to the time she’d bought risqué lingerie and a set of handcuffs to surprise Doug. He’d wrinkled his nose in disgust and told her to throw that crap out. “No.”
“How come?” he asked as he traced his fingers along the delicate skin of her forearms.
God, why the questions? Couldn’t they just get to it? She didn’t want to rehash those embarrassing memories.
“Because it’s for girls who try too hard,” she blurted, remembering how ridiculous Doug had made her feel as she stood there in that corset and heels. If I wanted to sleep with a cheap whore, I’d hire one, Tessa. Take that shit off.
Van came back into view, his eyes meeting hers, amusement touching his lips. “Is that right? Well, I hope I can change your mind on that one because you look very, very sexy stretched out and bound. But if you’re not on board, I’ll release your hands.”
Somehow the sincerity in his voice and the heated look on his face had her guards falling away. She found herself wanting to comply, wanting to be sexy for him. “It’s okay. I’ll try it.”
“Thank you.”
He leaned over and took her mouth in a languorous kiss, dipping his tongue deep and giving her another preview of just how skilled he was with his mouth. A moan caught in the back of her throat, and her hips lifted off the table involuntarily as need built low and fast. Lord, could she come from a kiss? Her body was begging for that to be true. It had been so long. But even though no orgasm came, by the time he pulled back, she was sure her muscles had liquefied and her bones had disintegrated.
He nipped her bottom lip. “Move your hands from this spot, and I’ll stop what I’m doing. Understand?”
She nodded quickly, ready to agree to anything if it meant he was going to touch her again. “Yes.”
The pleasure that flickered over his features at her acquiescence was its own reward. He walked back to the end of the table and gathered her skirt up her thighs, revealing her pink cotton panties—panties that were now damp and clinging. He ran the tip of his finger down her crease, rubbing the wet cotton against her most needy parts.
Oh, God.
“Look how pretty and wet you are for me already.” He outlined her clit with his fingertip using enough pressure to make her arch but not enough to send her over. “Do you need to come, baby?”
She gasped as his finger moved inside her, still covered with the fabric of her panties. The slight abrasiveness of the cotton only ratcheted up her sensitivity further. “God, yes.”
He moved his finger with gentle undulations. “It’s too bad that olive oil is bad for condoms. Otherwise, I could get you off with a few simple strokes of my hand.”
She whimpered. God, how could he tease her like this? Couldn’t he see she was about to lose it? She went to reach for him, but as soon as she moved her bound arms, he stopped the stimulation. She let out a sound of frustration. “Van, please.”
“Put your hands back where they’re supposed to be and maybe you’ll get what you want.”
The calmly uttered command almost undid her. She should’ve been rankled by his bossiness. He didn’t know her or have the right to order her to do anything. But for some reason, she found herself complying and burning even hotter.
When the backs of her hands landed on the table, Van yanked her panties down and off. “Good girl. Spread your knees for me.”
Feeling a blush work its way up her body at the vulnerability of her position, she did as she was told. Her eyes fixed on the vine-covered pergola above them and the twinkle lights, and she tried to breathe. If she didn’t calm down, she would come as soon as his mouth touched her skin and she wanted to enjoy this.
“So fucking sexy, baby,” Van said gruffly as he looked down at her. “I’ll take this as an amuse-bouche any day of the week. The food can wait.”
He locked his arms under her knees and pulled her to the end of the table, then lowered himself between her thighs. He draped her legs over his shoulders, and Tessa went liquid. That sinful mouth was against her in the next moment, and her entire body contracted with pleasure. His slid his hands under her bottom and lifted her closer, opening her with his tongue and kissing her pussy with the same single-minded focus he’d had with their kiss.
She writhed in his hold, her eyes wanting to roll back in her head at the sheer decadence of his tongue. But he wasn’t letting her wriggle away. Whether she could handle it or not, she knew he was going to get exactly what he wanted. And what he wanted was for her to fall apart. This wasn’t a tentative warm up or prelude. It was an annihilation of her control. His slick hands kneaded her ass as he feasted on her, the rough handling stimulating hot spots she hadn’t even been aware were there. The whole combination was hurtling her toward oblivion without brakes.
Her fists curled into her palms, the binding around her wrists tightening as she flexed. And a sudden shot of nerves went through her. “Van, I’m going to come. People will hear.”
Because there was no way she was going to be able to keep quiet.
In the span of two seconds, Van lifted away from her and reached for something from one of the bowls behind her. “Open and bite down.”
Her eyes widened, but she did what he said. He tucked a fat orange wedge between her lips, then was back in position like he’d never paused. His tongue glided over her center then he sucked her clit between his lips and tugged. She shattered. Her back lifted off the table and she bit down hard on the orange, the juice squirting into her mouth and dripping down the corners of her lips as she cried out. Van dug his fingers into her ass to hold her in place and his mouth dipped precariously lower, teasing a forbidden place that had never felt a man’s touch much less his tongue. Light broke behind her eyes, splintering into color, and she groaned low and deep.
Her orgasm climbed another step higher instead of relenting, and the orange fell from her mouth. She began to pant, trying to bank her noises, and her body shook with the force of a release that felt like it’d been building for months. “I can’t, I can’t …”
Van was over her before her next breath. He clamped his hand over her mouth, his eyes dark with desire. “Just let it have you, baby. I don’t give a damn who hears you. But I’ll help keep you quiet if you want me to.”
She nodded. He moved his hand away from her mouth and yanked his shirt tails from his pants, wiping the olive oil on it, then he pulled a foil packet from his back pocket. He ripped the condom wrapper open with his teeth and undid his pants.
“Give me one more, beautiful. I know you have it in you.”
With that, he positioned himself at her entrance and pushed inside. A gasp escaped her, the feel of him stretching her an exquisite shock to her system. Her body resisted despite her slickness—the feeling almost foreign again. But the edge of discomfort was the most decadent kind of pain. She wrapped her legs around his hips, trying to open herself fully. She needed all of him. Right. Now.
“Lord, baby, you’re gripping me so hard,” he groaned. “Am I hurting you?”
“Yes,” she said breathlessly. “A good hurt.”
The wicked gleam that flared in his eyes had her thoughts emptying.
“Mmm, my favorite kind.” He rocked forward, his eyes closing as his fingers dug into her hips, and he buried himself deep. His body shuddered along with hers, the remnants of her orgasm still sending aftershocks through her. “Oh, fuck, yes. You’re so hot around me. I can feel your pussy trying to milk my cock.”
She bit her lip, the dirty talk an unfamiliar experience but not an unwelcome one. To hear such a seemingly sophisticated man talk so coarsely did something to her, made her feel like she was seeing the primal version behind the curtain. “You have a filthy mouth, Van.”
“And you fucking love it,” he said, leaning down and licking the sticky orange juice at the corner of her mouth, as he thrust into her again. “You blush, but your eyes go hot. You’re not craving polite.”
She gasped as he angled just right inside her. “I don’t know what I crave.”
“Yes, you do.” He rocked into her harder and with more speed. “You said it yourself. You want to use and be used. Come again for me, baby. Use my cock. Let me feel you break apart beneath me.”
He braced one hand next to her head and tucked the other between them, stroking her clit with every thrust of his hips. Her lids fluttered shut as the tide of sensation built to a breaking point.
“Eyes on me, gorgeous. I want you to see who’s fucking you. And I want to watch you go under.”
She forced her gaze upward, the intensity of his stare burning through her. His dark blond hair had fallen forward and the twinkle lights sparkled above him, a fierce lion with a gilded mane. Then he smiled. And she lost it. The cry that roared up her vocal cords would’ve been loud enough to be heard at the restaurant downstairs, but he levered down and kissed her, capturing the desperate sound before it escaped. She poured everything she had into that kiss as her body went molten around him.
He pressed his palm against her bound wrists, pinning her to the table and pumping into her hard enough to rattle the bowls behind her. Her orgasm rolled through her in powerful, crushing waves and he tore away from the kiss, his groan of pleasure raking over her senses as he sunk deep and spilled inside her.
“Fuck, baby,” he said, letting his forehead meet hers, his chest rising and falling with panted breaths. “So much for the slow and easy evening I had imagined. I promise I at least planned to feed you first.”
She laughed beneath him, overcome with some weird combination of euphoria and the bizarreness of the whole situation. Here she was lying naked on a restaurant table with a perfect stranger slathered in olive oil and orange juice and drifting down from the best orgasm of her life. Who was this woman?
He chuckled along with her and reached up to untie her hands. “We’re a mess.”
“But my skin is now exceptionally moisturized, and I smell amazing,” she said, grinning.
“Indeed it is.” He pressed an openmouthed kiss to her sticky neck and inhaled. “And yes, you do. Citrus and sex, let’s bottle that.”
Her stomach flipped at the words. Citrus and sex were what her kitchen had smelled like after she’d found Doug. She’d thought she’d never be able to smell orange juice again without thinking of that horrible day. But Van had rewired her associations in a few mind-blowing moments. Now she wanted to roll around in that scent. “We’ll make millions.”
“No doubt.” Van gave her another quick kiss then eased out of her. He turned to discreetly strip off the condom and zipped up before looking back in her direction. “Remind me next time to not take no for an answer on bringing you back to my place. At least there I’d have a shower and towels to offer you.”
She rolled her wrists and then pushed up on her elbows, offering him a smile, but knowing there would be no next time. That’d been their agreement, her one condition. Tonight could only be an escape. A fantasy.
She couldn’t handle any more than that.
Especially with a guy who could make her feel like this. One who could make her feel this wanted and sexy, this … special. She knew she was definitely not the latter for him. Van was way too smooth and confident—a seducer. She doubted his bed was ever cold.
He was a playboy.
He was a temptation she couldn’t afford.
FOUR
Kade Vandergriff smiled when he heard soft snores coming from his left. Oh, how quickly a shitty day had morphed into an amazing evening. When he’d headed out tonight for location visits, all his frustration from a completely useless session with his attorney about their seemingly winless case had come along with him. It probably would’ve been wise to go home afterward to let himself settle down. But he hadn’t been able to stomach the thought of pacing the halls of his big, empty house for the night. The silence and space would’ve made him crazy.
So he’d driven into Dallas to visit his restaurants, hoping to channel all the crap from the day into a productive evening. But after only a few hours into his drop-in visits, his frustration hadn’t gone away but had instead morphed into nebulous, growing anger. By the time he’d arrived at Barcelona and discovered three of their most popular dishes had been eighty-sixed because of the manager’s oversight, Kade had been on the verge of a Gordon Ramsay moment.
But then Contessa had walked into the restaurant, chatting with her friend and looking like she wanted to be anywhere but there. Kade had stopped midsentence in his lecture to his manager and had forgotten why he was so damn pissed. He’d left his manager without another word and followed Contessa into the dating event, having no idea why he felt so compelled to follow her or what he was going to do once he got to her. But when her name hadn’t been on the list, he’d jumped at the opportunity to step in. A few minutes into their time upstairs, she’d made him forget every crappy thing that had happened that day. He’d gotten lost in the moment, lost in her.
He glanced over at his dozing companion. Contessa had curled up on one of the sofas in the bar to wait while he picked up the last of the food and dishes they’d used on their rooftop “un-date,” but exhaustion had apparently gotten the better of her. Or maybe it was the six-course meal, the three glasses of sangria, and the two bouts of amazing sex. Even he was feeling weary on his feet, and staying up until three A.M. was not a rare occurrence with his schedule.
Not for the first time, he wished they were back at his place where he could strip her down and tuck her into his bed for the night. Wake her up with his tongue between her thighs because damn the woman was sexy when she came. It was like each time it happened, she was surprised, like she didn’t think herself capable of that passionate of a response. And for some reason, she thought she wouldn’t like kink yet had responded to his commands with beautiful capitulation. Which, of course, only made him want to find out just how out of her mind he could drive her. They’d only scratched the surface tonight.
But he had a feeling he wasn’t going to get another chance. She’d laid it all out up front, refreshing but brutal in her honesty. She’d wanted an escape tonight. She’d wanted to use him for that, and he’d been happy to oblige. Hell, the one-night fantasy had become his specialty lately. Not that he was complaining. He’d enjoyed playing the third in a few scenes with his friends’ submissives at The Ranch, the private BDSM resort he belonged to. And he’d had his fair share of casual encounters over the past few years with kinky women, as well as vanilla ones. Fun nights. Exciting flings. Wild adventures.
But in the end, the result was always the same. After the initial rush, he lost interest. Since his divorce, even women who’d been open to considering moving the relationship to a more intense level—the level he desperately craved—he couldn’t seem to muster up the desire. Too often, it felt like those women were simply agreeing to his flavor of kink because of all the fringe benefits. He’d been down that road. Nothing like finding out the girlfriend you’re tying up and flogging actually hates pain and all things kink and is only taking it because she wants you to buy her that Coach purse or bring her on that trip to Maui.
But even the women who hadn’t been motivated for the wrong reasons had lost his interest in a month or two. The lifestyles reporter at the local paper had taken to calling him the Time Share Bachelor because his relationships had ended on such a predictable schedule. He never strayed, but he never stayed either. Sometimes he wondered if his divorce had rewired him to only be capable of the temporary. So perhaps it was best for all involved that Contessa walked away from him tonight. Clean. Easy. No attachments or regrets. Everyone could look golden in a one-night stand. A flawless fantasy night for both their memory banks.
Kade sighed as he carried an armful of bowls into the kitchen to rinse them out, unable to shake his desire for more time with Contessa despite his perfectly valid internal arguments. They’d spent hours together. He’d taken her twice. It should be enough. Plus, she was vanilla for God’s sake. This wasn’t like meeting some girl at The Ranch where he could imagine all the dirty things they could try out and mutually enjoy. Contessa, despite her little glimmers of bravado, had a shyness about her, like she was almost awkward about sex. When he’d pinned her hands above her head, her eyes had gone as wide as a virgin’s on prom night. She may’ve been married, but clearly her husband hadn’t given her any more than the basics.
A damn tragedy, that. Because the kind of eager responsiveness she’d shown upstairs proved the woman was built for pleasure, starved for it. And everything in his body was giving a battle cry to be the man to feed her. But there was no way in hell he was going to chase her for the chance. He didn’t chase. Period. He’d spent too many years when he was a kid doing that crap, and it only got you humiliated. Chasing. Pining. Fantasizing about girls he couldn’t have. Only to be turned down so she could go be with the jerk who treated her like shit.
Never again. He’d learned. Girls who wanted to be chased, wanted to be in control of you. And control is one thing he’d never relinquish again.
“Need any help?”
Kade looked up from dumping the last of the food into the trash bin, finding Contessa wearing a sleepy-eyed half smile. He shook his head, his whirling thoughts calming at the sight of her. “Nah, it’s been a while since I’ve been on clean-up duty in a kitchen, but I haven’t forgotten how to do it.”
“So are you a chef?” she asked.
He smiled, amused that she hadn’t bothered to ask his position up until this point. It was a nice change of pace. Most women knew his whole resume before ever saying word one to him. “I went to culinary school, so technically, yes, I could be a chef. But that isn’t my current position. I own this place.”
And many, many others. But he didn’t need to volunteer that at this point. He kind of liked her not knowing the whole restaurant mogul aspect of his career. No matter what, it changed how people interacted with him once they knew.
“Wow, impressive,” she said, though she sounded more wary than impressed. “So you were totally cheating when you said you wouldn’t have to pay for anything. Technically, you’re paying for everything, down to the electricity keeping this light on.”
He grinned. “Are you going to convict me on a technicality?”
“Totally.”
He sighed. “Tough jury. Well, I have handcuffs in the car. Let me finish cleaning up and then you can take me in.”
She laughed. “Somehow I don’t think you’re kidding about having handcuffs.”
He sent her a sly grin but went back to rinsing off the last of the dishes. Actually, he didn’t have any in the car, but at home … At home he had enough restraints to bind her in a hundred ways and never repeat a method. “A gentleman never reveals his secrets.”
She went quiet for a while after that, and he began to regret the off-the-cuff comment. The girl had just gotten out of a marriage where her husband was keeping the biggest secret of all, and here he was joking about secrets.
He wiped his hands on a towel and turned to her. “Sorry, I didn’t mean, with your husband—”
