My Sinful Desire (Sinful Men Book 2) Page 4

  I learned she shared DNA with the lead detective reinvestigating my father’s murder. But that wasn’t exactly information that needed to be served up as small talk. “I learned you know everyone here, and can convince anyone to contribute to a worthy cause. Lots of money. Insane amounts.”

  She pursed her lips together. “That does sound like one of my skills,” she said playfully.

  “I learned you do it because you can. Because you made your mint already and now you give back.”

  “True, true. Does that bother you?”

  “That you made a mint?”

  She nodded. “Yes. That can intimidate some men. When a woman is successful.”

  I scoffed. “I’m not easily intimidated. And I happen to think successful women are”—I moved in closer, my lips daringly close to hers—“incredibly alluring.” I skimmed my hand from her shoulder down her arm, unable to resist touching her. “But that’s what I learned from your bio, Sophie. I know other things about you, just from these last ten minutes.”

  “What do you know?” she asked as the singer began a new tune and the purple lights swooshed across the dance floor.

  I ran a fingertip along her wrist, her chest rising as she drew in a quick breath. “That you like being touched.”

  She nodded. “If a man knows how.”

  “That you like to play games.”

  She frowned. “You make that sound bad.”

  “Games aren’t bad.” I lowered my voice to a whisper. “I bet you like to play pretend. Make believe. Role-play.”

  “I have an idea,” she said with a purr, as she roped her hands around my neck and trailed her fingertips across the back of it, her touch a jolt of pleasure. “We could pretend, say, that we just met and I’m curious about the man who has been in my thoughts. So, since you know what occupied my time in college, why don’t you tell me what occupied yours?”

  That was easy. I could tell her my college major without giving up too much. “History.”

  “Why history?”

  “I like to understand what motivates people. Why they do what they do.”

  “And did you learn what motivates people?”

  “Usually it’s a desire for property or money.”

  She smiled ruefully. “Sounds about right. What about sports? Did you play sports?”

  “Yes. Hockey. Right-wing.”

  “Did you cause fights?” she asked, curiosity dripping from her voice.

  I shook my head, my lips in a smirk, proud to be able to say no. “I was the one who stopped the fights.”

  Her eyes widened. “Interesting. Why is that?”

  “I like to be in control.”

  She inched her hands up toward my hair, and I grasped her wrists and returned them to my shoulders. “What line of business are you in?” she asked.

  “Security.”

  “What do you do in security? Watch over banks? Guard the mall?” she asked with lightness in her tone.

  I laughed and shook my head. “No. I run a security company.”

  “Do you love it?”

  “I do. It’s exactly what I want to be doing.”

  She danced her fingers down the front of my shirt. “I find men who know what they want a turn-on, more so than what they do.”

  “I know what I want.”

  “You do. You want me.”

  “So fucking much,” I growled. I tugged her in closer, aligning my body to hers, letting her feel how much I wanted her already. A sexy sigh escaped her lips as I brought her near to me. She fit in my arms perfectly. Like that, we danced and moved under the dim lights to the next few songs, chatting about Vegas and the event and the silent auction, as I asked her questions about the gala and the hospital it benefited.

  “See? You are a gentleman. Asking a woman questions. Getting to know her,” she said, then touched a lock of my hair that had fallen on my forehead. I caught her arm, my fingers wrapping tightly around her flesh. I bent my head and brushed my lips against her wrist.

  Our first kiss, and I was nowhere near her lips. But the skin of her arm had that same sultry, sexy scent as her neck. I let my lips linger on her wrist, then let go. “You taste fantastic,” I said, holding her eyes, letting my meaning register.

  “Do I?”

  “Yes. You do. I bet you taste delicious everywhere.”

  She waved a hand in front of her face. “It’s getting awfully hot out here. I’m afraid I might combust if we stay on the dance floor like this.” She tipped her head to the bar. “Drink?”

  I nodded and pressed my lips briefly to her neck, dusting a kiss on her collarbone. A soft moan floated to my ears. I was going to have a field day with Sophie Winston. She was a dream—every touch, every taste and she murmured, she sighed, she moaned.

  I hadn’t even properly kissed her yet.

  We threaded our way to the bar, where I asked for two champagnes. As I reached for the flutes, a woman in a high-necked maroon dress and a severe bun zeroed in on Sophie, commanding her focus to ask her opinion on how the children’s wing should be decorated. Sophie encouraged her to call her that week to discuss. As that woman finished, another darted in, declaring that she knew a building contractor, and she could up her donation if that would help secure the contract. Sophie was gracious with all of them, but after a few minutes, she tossed me a save me glance.

  I stepped in next to her, handed her a glass of champagne, and flashed a smile at the two ladies. “I hope you’ll forgive me for interrupting, but I have to leave shortly, since I’ve been called to the hospital to do an unplanned surgery.”

  The woman in maroon shot me a curious look. “Oh, you’re a surgeon?”

  I nodded. “I am. And I need two minutes with our Sophie before I have to go perform a bone graft.”

  The other woman eyed my champagne. I quickly thrust it at her. “Please. Take this from me. I can’t drink on surgery nights, of course. I don’t even know why the bartender gave it to me. But I hate to be rude,” I said, shaking my head as if I couldn’t bear the thought of turning down the man tending bar.

  “Of course you don’t want to be rude. You’re a respected surgeon,” the second woman said in a dramatic voice.

  “And we don’t want to be rude either,” the maroon woman added. “Please. Go on. We don’t want to keep you from your bone graft.”

  “Thank you so much,” I said, and turned to leave, the beautiful bombshell by my side, her lips pressed together so she wouldn’t laugh.

  “Bone graft?” she whispered out of the side of her mouth as we walked off.

  “I suppose bones, and the hardness of them, must be on my mind.” Then I shrugged. “Besides, I needed to come up with something, or we’d never have a moment alone.”

  “You want to be alone with me?”

  “Isn’t it abundantly apparent?”

  “From the hardness of your bones? Why, yes, it does seem quite abundant,” she said with an amused expression as she cast her eyes to my pants.

  I stopped at the side door, away from the crowds. I lowered my voice and spoke in a rough, husky tone. “You turned me on from the second I laid eyes on you this afternoon. You are gorgeous and beautiful, and everything about you arouses me. Abundantly.”

  Her chest rose and fell, and she exhaled heavily. “Oh God,” she whispered.

  “Can you get away?”

  She squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head. “I have to present a few awards on stage in—”

  Out of the corner of my eye, I spotted a woman in a sharp black dress marching purposefully in our direction. She pointed at Sophie.

  “I think someone’s looking for you.”

  The woman stopped when she reached us. “Sophie, you have seven minutes before we need you onstage again.”

  “Thank you so much, Kelley.”

  The woman spun efficiently on her heel and walked off.

  Sophie turned back to me. “I can’t get away.”

  “No. You can’t. Let me walk you backstage s
o you don’t miss your presentation.”

  6

  Sophie

  The black curtain hugged the small stage, shielding us from the crowds still dancing and enjoying the music. Here, off to the side in this section of the wings, I was all alone with my stranger.

  His eyes roamed my body. The look in them was predatory. He stalked me, and I backed up, step by step in my heels, until I hit the black wood wall. “You have six minutes now before you go out there,” he said in a hungry voice, his fingertips brushing the fabric of my dress along my thigh. “Do you know what I can do to you in six minutes to make you feel amazing?”

  The temperature inside me shot sky-high. A pulse beat between my legs. I was hot, and I was wet. I’d been turned on ever since he’d asked me to dance.

  “What can you do?” I asked, feeling both utterly vulnerable and completely aroused. It was a matchstick combination for me.

  “Do you want me to tell you?” He roamed his hand up the outside of my leg, reaching my waist, making me shudder.

  “I do,” I said breathily, my body on the cusp of something intense. Something I wanted desperately.

  “What I’ve been thinking about since I met you.” He raised his hand and cupped my cheek. His touch was both gentle and possessive. “First, I’m going to place my hand on your beautiful face, and your knees will go weak because I’ll finally be touching you the way you’ve been fantasizing about since this afternoon,” he said, his hot breath painting my skin.

  “Cocky.”

  “Yes,” he said with a nod as he ran his thumb along my jawline. “But also true. From the moment I met you, I knew I’d have my hands on you. You knew it too. Felt it too.”

  I nodded as I trembled from the trace of his finger. “I did feel it.”

  He brought his mouth to my ear and spoke softly. “If I ever do or say something you don’t like, tell me. Or smack me. I only want to bring you pleasure.” His words were both sexy and earnest. The combination sent flutters through my belly. “Immense pleasure.”

  “You already are. So tell me something else that’s true. Something else you know,” I said, loving the hot, dirty way he talked to me as he touched me.

  “I’m going to look into your eyes like I want to take you,” he said, his eyes blazing with desire. “That look will drive you wild. And you’ll swallow nervously because you don’t know me, and it’s odd wanting a stranger as much as you do.” He was reading me like a teenage diary. On the one hand, I was nervous. I didn’t know him at all. But I was also aroused beyond words. Beyond reason. Beyond any normal limits.

  For that same reason—because I didn’t know him.

  “Then, you’ll run a hand down my tie,” he told me, and I reached out instantly, doing exactly as he said, loving the directions he gave. I craved this kind of interaction. So much time was spent deciding and doing and planning. It drove my brain batty, and I longed for this kind of release from my everyday.

  “Do you know why you’re so fascinated with my tie?” he asked huskily, his eyes pinned on me. He practically fucked me with his gaze. It was so intense. His confidence set me on fire. It torched a path across my body, sizzling my skin.

  “Tell me,” I said, eager for more of his words. “Since you seem to know me so well, tell me.”

  He brushed the backs of his fingers against my cheek. Oh God, I was dying for him to kiss me. I was so eager to feel those lips. To taste him.

  He grasped my wrist with one hand, yanking it up his chest and loosely wrapping the end of his tie around my hand. “You want me to tie you up.”

  “How do you know that?” I asked, my voice stripped to the bone. He knew me. He read me. He could sense everything I wanted. He crowded me against the wall. Heaven Leigh belted out her song onstage while the inky black of the backstage cloaked us.

  “Am I wrong?” he asked, arching an eyebrow. “If I’m wrong, tell me and I’ll walk away.”

  I shook my head in answer, then glanced at his tie. “Are you going to take it off? Tie me up?” I asked in a voice that hardly sounded like me. It belonged to the part of me that had been untended for years.

  He grinned wickedly. “No. I have other ways to tie you up,” he said, and in a flash, he gripped my wrists in his big, strong hands, wrapping his fingers around me, binding me as he yanked my hands behind my back. Heat flared in my body, spinning through me, settling between my legs. My gorgeous, sexy panties were so damp right now they were useless.

  I ached for his touch. And I could do nothing but wait for it, since I was his hostage.

  He was so strong I couldn’t wriggle away if I wanted to. His thumbs dug into my wrist bones, pinning my hands above my ass, rendering me helpless. The pressure from the twist in my arms bordered on pain, and felt oh so good.

  There was no space between the two of us. Only breath. Only words and his bare, husky voice. “Do you know what else I’ve been thinking about all day?”

  I shook my head.

  He inched closer, his mouth mere centimeters from mine. My lips parted, so ready for him. God, I needed him to kiss me, badly, but he was making me wait for it, making me nearly ask for it. His mouth hovered so close I wanted to dart out my tongue and lick him. Draw him to me. His forehead brushed mine, and my breath fluttered.

  Somehow I managed a “Please.”

  “Please kiss you?” he asked. “Is that what you want me to do?”

  I nodded, too turned on to form another word, even a yes.

  “That’s exactly what I’ve been thinking about all day,” he whispered.

  Then he kissed me, and he wasn’t gentle. He wasn’t sweet. He was rough as he claimed my mouth, kissing hard. I moaned as he drew my bottom lip between his teeth then fused his mouth to mine.

  His stubble rubbed against my chin. I’d have whisker burn later. I longed for the redness, the proof, the evidence of his bruising kiss.

  The kiss lit me up. I felt it everywhere—in my toes, in my hair, in my belly.

  And, deliciously, between my legs.

  I ached for him there. I angled my hips closer as we kissed, desperately seeking contact with him. God, how I wanted him. And I didn’t even know his name.

  But he knew my body.

  He knew my desires.

  He held my hands so tightly they might as well be cuffed. In a flash, he changed his grip, holding both my wrists in one hand, keeping them pinned behind my back. He moved his free hand to the front of my dress and found his way up my skirt. He broke the kiss as his fingertips brushed above my knee, touching my stockings and garter. “Are you wet for me, Sophie?”

  “Yes,” I said on a pant.

  “Are you hot for me?” he asked, racing closer to my heat.

  “God, yes.”

  “Do you still want to ask me if I’m a good lover?” He flicked his finger against my clit. Ripples of pleasure spread through my body. I inhaled sharply and bit my lip so I wouldn’t cry out loud.

  “No. I don’t need to ask you,” I said as he stroked me through my black lace panties.

  “Why not?” he asked.

  “Because you’re showing me.”

  His fingers glided across the wet panel of my panties, stroking faster as I rocked into him. He kept a firm grip on my wrists as I greedily sought his friction. “That’s right,” he said roughly. “I’m showing you, Sophie. I’m showing you exactly what I can do to you.”

  He ran his fingers across the wet lace, narrowing in on where I wanted him. I was so close to the edge, and I needed him to keep touching me. I needed his fingers flying across my clit, touching me until I fell apart.

  “Beg for it,” he commanded.

  “Please,” I whispered in his ear, my knees shaking, desperate for release. “Please make me come.”

  He rubbed fast and expertly, and I rocked into his hand as bright white fireworks blasted in my brain, radiating throughout my body. Faintly, in the back of my mind, I heard the song nearing the end, and I knew I’d have to come in seconds to make it to
the stage on time.

  But seconds were all this man needed.

  “I want to taste your lips as you fuck my hand,” he said, then dropped his delicious mouth to mine once more, kissing me fiercely as I rode his fingers. He wasn’t even touching my flesh. He was getting me off through the lace. He was that good. I was that turned on. The tension in my body escalated, rising up like a roller-coaster car nearing the top of the hill. Then I reached it, hovered for beautiful seconds in that suspended state of bliss, then raced downhill as if it were an orgasmic joyride. As my own pleasure crashed into me, he ravaged my mouth with his lips, swallowing my moans, tasting my cries, and somehow it felt like kissing was coming, and coming was kissing.

  Only it was more. It was also being held back, restrained—a hint of all that I craved.

  I blinked and breathed hard as he pulled away. He arched an eyebrow, and let go of my wrists. My skin burned from his grip. I shook my right hand.

  Gently, he brought my wrist to his lips. He kissed it softly, erasing the sting, his lips traveling across the same territory where he’d held me tight moments ago.

  “Better?” he asked quietly.

  I nodded as he gave the same treatment to my other hand. All these sensations both rattled and delighted me—I didn’t know what to make of this man, and how he could talk and touch so roughly and harshly in the heat of the moment, then become so sweet in the afterglow.

  He lowered my hands to my sides, then tucked a loose strand of my hair behind my ear. “Beautiful,” he said, his eyes softer now as he looked me over.

  I smoothed a hand over my dress. My legs felt wobbly. My heart roared loudly. My body still sang.

  Clapping echoed loudly from beyond the curtains. The song was over. “Thank you so much,” the singer said from the stage.

  He tipped his head. “You better get out there.”

  I grabbed his tie and tugged him close. “Name. Tell me your name.”