I dispose of my flute and plate as a server comes by. Then I lean toward Jo. “Want to finish the rest of the pie?”
“What are my other options?” Mischief gleams in her eyes.
“A tour of Tony’s mansion? He put a lot of work in designing the place.”
“I think I’d like that.” Jo gives me a very direct look. “Is it…big?”
“Much larger than you’re probably thinking.” I extend a hand in invitation.
She holds my eyes, then puts her plate and champagne flute down on a coffee table and links her fingers with mine. “Let’s just go see.”
Chapter Three
Jo
My mouth is dry, and heat is slowly spreading in my veins like a cat stretching. It has nothing to do with the champagne. It was good, but I’ve had good stuff before.
It’s this man.
When Edgar seemed distracted and was giving me short answers, I thought I might have made a mistake—that the attraction was only one-way. He must’ve been with thousands of wealthy, sophisticated women before, and even though I look damned sophisticated, I don’t have the kind of wealth and education his previous girlfriends undoubtedly did.
Then he asked me what I do for living, like he was genuinely interested. He didn’t react like my job was frivolous…unlike a lot of guys. I was even a little flattered that he seemed to care what I think about the way he’s dressed. I hope he isn’t too bothered by the fact I fibbed a little. I couldn’t bring myself to admit he projects a power that makes me want to strip him and lick him all over. So I had to spend some time to come up with something more socially acceptable.
Edgar takes me through a huge, deserted hall, saying something about the floor material, then up the stairs. I follow him, anticipation cresting like a wave about to break. When we hit the top step, I turn him around. I don’t want to wait. If we don’t do what I know we’re about to do, I’m going to combust right now.
He’s obviously on exactly the same page, because his lips come swooping down, crashing against mine. I moan against them, reveling in the firmness. His mouth is surprisingly hot and carnal. The controlled demeanor he was projecting earlier in front of everyone was a lie.
And I love this—the intensity, the greed. He devours me like a man starved, uncontrolled and savage. And his need is driving me crazy. I can’t remember a time I was desired like this—like having me is the only thing that matters to him.
I wrap my hand around the back of his neck, and he pulls me closer. I gasp at the thick erection pressing against my belly. Then, because I can’t help myself, I sneak my free hand between us to feel him.
A low, rough groan tears from his throat. “You’re hard,” I whisper.
“Been that way since we shook hands.” He buries his head in the crook of my neck, his rough breath tickling me. “I wanted to lick the champagne off your lips, see if it tastes better than from the glass. Then I thought about tasting you.”
His words, that low, smooth voice…they shoot right through me. Talk about an aphrodisiac! Liquid heat gathers between my legs, and my God, it physically aches to stand here instead of doing something about the raw desire in his voice.
When he lifts his head, those malachite eyes nearly black with lust, I know he’s thinking about more than just getting a taste. And I want that. I want every dirty thing that’s going through his mind.
His gaze stays on mine, but he doesn’t make a move. The air between us crackles. I realize then he’s actually waiting for consent.
“Yes,” I say, and drag his gorgeous, all-too-serious face down for a kiss.
His tongue sweeps inside. I stroke it with mine, then whimper when his large hands grip my ass. I wrap my legs around his waist with ease, mentally blessing both this dress with its thigh-high slits and Kim for getting me started on barre a few years ago.
My hands on his shoulders, I rock against him. He might be able to tell I’m not wearing anything under my dress, but I don’t care. He’s going to know soon enough anyway, and I’m too lost in him—the hot sensations he’s making me feel.
I sense him moving, carrying me, his mouth still fused to mine. Excitement spreads with every pounding beat of my heart. I’ve never wanted a man this badly. There’s something about Edgar that pushes all the right buttons.
The lighting changes—I can feel it going dim through my closed eyelids. I open my eyes and note we’re in a huge bedroom.
“My room,” he explains. “I stay here every time I’m in town.” He hooks the door with his heel and shuts it.
Finally. We’re alone, free to do whatever we want, while the crowd can do whatever they want downstairs. He puts me down and reaches behind himself to lock the door, his eyes on mine.
Jittery, with need crackling at my nerve endings, I undo the side zipper on my dress and let it fall to the floor, revealing myself completely to him.
He lets out a rough sigh, his facial features growing tauter as he lets his gaze roam over my body.
“Fuck. You weren’t wearing anything underneath.”
I smile. “You can’t really wear lingerie with that dre—”
Then he’s on me, kissing me hard, his fingers tunneling into my hair, pushing me backward until I hit the bed and fall onto the cool, silken sheets. His mouth moves down my body, ravenous and greedy. I twist the sheet with my fingers, waiting with breathless anticipation to see where he’s going next. Then I feel it—his searing lips closing around my hard, beaded nipple. Before I have a chance to gasp at the blissful sensation, he sucks hard, making my back arch.
“Oh my God,” I moan.
He scrapes my nipple with his teeth, enough to produce a definite thrill but not so hard that it hurts. My blood is hot to the point that I can’t believe I’m not melting into a puddle of honey.
He lavishes the same unrestrained attention on my other breast, while moving his hand lower. His fingers brush the sensitive skin where my thighs come together, and I cry out softly, widening my legs. I’m so turned on that when he glides a finger between my folds, I can hear the wetness. But I’m past the point of embarrassment. I’m going to die if he doesn’t continue.
He pulls back, his hands on my knees, stares at the heated flesh and growls. “You’re so pink and pretty.” Then he moves me until my pelvis is resting on the edge of the mattress, my legs dangling.
I prop myself on my elbows so I can see him better. I’m totally nude except for my shoes and jewelry, while he’s fully clothed. His eyes are feral, raw with hunger, and he pushes my legs wider apart. Then he goes on his knees, presses his head closer and inhales. “You smell so good, too. Let’s see how you taste.”
Then his face is buried against me, his mouth on my most sensitive flesh. There’s something unbearably erotic about having a fully dressed man who exudes power and control kneeling on the floor and tonguing you like his very existence depends on it.
My toes curl, my vision going dim. The pleasure building inside me is overwhelming; I can hardly even draw in air. Dizziness overtakes me, and I whisper his name like a mantra as every inch of my skin grows tight and hot.
Then I arch my back and try to contain a scream as he pushes two fingers deep inside. Without giving me a chance to recover, he starts thrusting them in and out, driving me higher to another mind-shattering peak.