One Night Only: An After Dark Standalone in The Extravagant Series Page 5

  “You like this, beautiful? You like being eaten right where you make all those important decisions?”

  “I think I do.”

  He hikes up my legs and sets my high-heeled feet on the edge of the desk. I’m wearing nothing but ridiculously expensive shoes, he’s fully dressed, and I relish the imbalance. I crave it, him in his white shirt, tie, and crisp slacks.

  “I love that I’ve seen you at this desk, in these Louboutins, making calls, telling people what to do. But right now, your sexy body is begging for me,” he says.

  The look in his eyes is dark, intense. I see everything in them I’ve been hoping to find—longing, lust, all the desire that matches my own and then some.

  As he bends his face to my thigh, my body hums with need. I’m awash with a desire so powerful it feels like it’s going to eat me alive. “Now. Please. Make me feel dirty. Make me feel a little pain, then make it turn to pleasure.”

  He looks up, his expression wicked. “You are dirty. And I can make it hurt so good.”

  He turns his face to my inner thigh, grazing me with his lips, and I arch my back, turned on beyond words, beyond measure. He licks my right thigh, then moves to my left. “So soft. So smooth. You smell delicious,” he murmurs against my center, then he blows a gentle gust of breath over my clit.

  I bow my back, moaning like a cat.

  It feels good, this teasing, and the tingles are spreading over my skin. But I need more. I need more than softness. I need—

  He nips my inner thigh, and I gasp.

  “Yes!” His teeth. My God, the sharp sting is so good I shiver.

  He moves higher, murmuring against me, nipping as he travels along my skin. “Like that, beautiful?”

  “Yes. Oh, God, I do,” I say, and my brain is buzzy and happy as he works his way up and down my thighs, kissing and biting.

  I’m pulsing between my legs, and I need his mouth so damn soon. And, bless him, he gives it to me. Sliding his lips across my wetness in a bone-melting kiss.

  That’s the only way to describe it—he doesn’t lick or stroke.

  He French-kisses my pussy. He feasts on me, bestowing a hot, open-mouthed kiss right where I want him most, then he flicks his tongue against my clit.

  I buck up, seeking more of his mouth, more of his tongue, craving a little extra something.

  “More,” I plead softly.

  I’m not sure what I’m asking for. I just know that as good as this is, it won’t be enough unless he makes it hurt a little bit.

  He slides his hands under my ass. His big hands curl over the flesh, grabbing tight, squeezing hard. The way I’ve imagined. The way I’ve never quite had it before. The way I only recently realized I crave desperately.

  “Oh God,” I gasp.

  He looks up, his eyes blazing with lust. “You want it even harder? Rougher?”

  “I do. I do, so much.”

  He grips me, twisting, tugging at my flesh as he licks and kisses me.

  And the twin sensations rocket through my body—the sheer ecstatic bliss of his lips on my center coupled with his powerful hands grabbing, kneading. Leaving marks.

  His fingers inch closer to my ass, and he’s pulling at my cheeks, digging his fingers in.

  A bolt of lust crashes into me.

  I arch against his face, rocking against his wicked mouth, seeking more contact, and more friction too.

  Grabbing at my body, he works me over with pleasure and a touch of pain.

  Together, they knock out all my worries, all my tension, all the litany of things I have to do, decide, attend to.

  Right now, I don’t have to do anything but be consumed, be worshipped, and be taken hard by a man who knows how.

  His tongue flicks over my clit as he puts a finger against my ass, pushing, pressing, all while squeezing me harder still.

  Pleasure coils low and tight in my stomach, a wild pulsing sensation gathering strength and power. It’s building, rising, and in seconds, it yanks me under as I toss my head back and lose myself in the bliss of his tongue, his hands, him.

  “Oh God, I’m coming. Coming so hard.”

  I shudder, my whole body shaking. I’m practically convulsing on my desk as an orgasm rips through me. And the aftershocks are so powerful they nearly knock out the Las Vegas electrical grid.

  At least it feels that way to me.

  I’m so blissed out from the way the climax ravages my body that it takes me a minute to realize what he’s doing.

  My eyes flutter open to find Callum unzipping his charcoal pants, taking out his cock, and stroking it.

  My mouth falls open. A moan comes from the very depths of my soul. I bite my lips as I watch him run his hand up and down his length.

  Like he knows this is my guilty pleasure, this is my paradise.

  I love nothing more than men jacking off.

  Big, powerful, muscular men taking their thick cocks in their hands. Shuttling their fists up and down their lengths. And then coming all over the women they want to have.

  I gush, the lust in me kicking up a thousand more notches, even after that wild climax he wrung from me with his mouth.

  “Fuck me and come on me,” I blurt out.

  “Whatever you want, beautiful. Whatever you want, you’ll get.”

  He grips his dick, rough and tight, sliding a fist down it, and I shudder from the erotic thrill of watching one of my top fantasies unfurl before my eyes. He slows at the head, brushing a bead of liquid, catching it with his thumb.

  I say nothing.

  Nor does Callum.

  Words aren’t needed.

  He knows what I want.

  He’s always anticipated my needs, and with sex it seems no different. He brings his thumb to my mouth, sliding the evidence of his arousal along my lips. I move with him, savoring his salty taste and moaning around it, then I draw in his thumb, nipping it, and he pushes all the way in my mouth.

  I groan around him, relishing the way he pushes farther into me with his thumb as his other hand strokes his thick length.

  Soon, I’m writhing on my desk again, an ache between my legs as I stare shamelessly at his hand moving up and down his length.

  He removes his thumb, brings his mouth to mine, and crushes my lips in a fierce kiss before he pulls back, reaches for his wallet and pulls out a condom. “You need to bend over your desk now.”

  I slide off, stand, and turn around. He presses a firm hand on the center of my back. Down, down, down I go.

  He pushes my face against the hard, wooden desk, rolls on a condom, then presses the head against my wetness, and I cry out.

  It feels so good.

  And I need it so much.

  The rightness of it. The wrongness of it. The forbiddenness of us.

  We cross all the lines in my suite atop the hotel, the lights of the Las Vegas Strip twinkling below us as Callum jerks up my hips, spreads me open, and slides into my hot, wet center.

  I close my eyes, sinking into this feeling, this wild sensation of hot sex with my bodyguard in my office, no one knowing what we’re doing. He curls his strong frame over mine, covering me completely. And he sinks in, burying his cock deep inside me.

  It’s intense, and it’s nearly everything I fantasized about.

  It’s almost, almost all my dirty dreams.

  Then, as he slides his hands around me and up my body, he grabs my breasts, and yes, holy hell, yes.

  Now it’s everything.

  Now it’s all I want. Pleasure and pain, pain and pleasure. A cocktail of both flooding my mind, sweeping over my body.

  He’s not gentle. Not at all. He squeezes my breasts without mercy. Ruthlessly. Pinching my nipples so damn hard that I yelp.

  “Tell me if it hurts.”

  “It hurts, and I love it,” I say, my mind going all kinds of hazy and warm, like it’s bathing in endorphins, like I’ve taken a shot of liquid intoxication.

  I moan like an animal, my face against the desk, sensations washing through m
e.

  He grips my breasts harder, rolling and pinching my nipples, then he lets go of one of my breasts and his hand travels down my body.

  He lifts his palm and swats my ass.

  Smack!

  The noise is resounding. I cry out from the pain, but the pain ignites me. It shoots through me, transforming into a world of pleasure.

  Then endless pleasure, as he does it again and again, stroking, going deeper each time. Soon, all the sensations spiral into a filthy, beautiful storm. And I’m not thinking at all anymore. I’m not making any choices.

  Except for this one. To let him take me there, as the desire inside of me builds and crests.

  Then it breaks beautifully as I come hard, without any words, with only incoherent sounds and noises of ecstasy in a strangled voice.

  I moan and cry out till I’m so far gone I almost forget what I want most.

  But he doesn’t.

  Because he pulls out, rips off the condom, and grunts. “Watch me. Watch me now.”

  I crane my neck, thrilling at the hottest sight ever. Callum with his hand furiously stroking his length, his forearm muscles flexing as he moves at a fevered pace, his hips bucking. He shuts his eyes, his jaw clenched, then he grits out my name as he comes hard on my ass, groaning as he covers me in his release.

  When he opens his eyes, he takes one big palm and smears his come all over my skin.

  And I swear that sight is as intense as the two orgasms he wrung from the very center of my soul.

  Maybe more.

  Because it’s what I get off to every night.

  It’s as perfect as a night can be.

  The problem is, I don’t know how we’ll return to normal tomorrow.

  Or what normal is after that kind of intimacy.

  8

  Callum

  This is wrong.

  So damn wrong.

  And I should get the hell away from her before I touch her again, take her again.

  I should be far, far away from the irresistible Ivy Carmichael.

  Because once was not enough.

  That did not sate me.

  But it would be more wrong to leave.

  Besides, I know what she needs now, and I want her to feel good, to fully, completely relax. I pull up my pants, grab a tissue, and clean her back, then lift her into my arms. “Come here, beautiful. Let’s run you a bath.”

  “Mmm,” she murmurs against my chest, as I carry her from her office across the plush sapphire-blue carpeting to the massive bathroom in her penthouse suite—a bathroom that’s bigger than some homes.

  I set her on the edge of the spacious tub, and she’s still blissed-out, sex-drunk and happy. God, it’s a great look, and I’d love to put it on her face again and again.

  That’s the trouble.

  I reach for the tap, turning it on.

  “This is perfect,” she says, murmuring.

  “I thought you might enjoy it.”

  She draws a deep breath, sighing happily. “But I think I could also fall asleep right now.”

  “Do you want me to turn this off?”

  She shakes her head. “I never turn down a bath.”

  I grin, then try to hide it. I should not enjoy knowing these things about her so much. I should not be delighting in all the little details my brain is privy to about the hotel heiress. Like how she likes to unwind at the end of the day. How she likes her cocktails and a little music. How she wants a massage or a bath. How she likes warm, fuzzy socks when she gets into bed at night.

  And how so much of that comes from her mom. “She always said take care of everyone else, but at the end of the day, take care of yourself so you can replenish for the next day,” Ivy told me once, quoting her mother.

  Yes, Ivy comes from ridiculous wealth.

  From absolute privilege.

  But she also has a good heart, comes from a good family. She’s tried to do good with what she has, to give back, giving so much of her money away to help others—to charities benefiting children and animals, and to scientific research.

  Those are all part and parcel of why she’s so damn attractive.

  Everything about her lures me to her.

  Including this gorgeous, sinful body.

  Which is why I should leave.

  But I desperately want to stay.

  I want to stay the whole damn night, and into the next day, and the next.

  I clench my teeth, like I can fight off my longing for her with grit and brute strength.

  “Are you okay?” she asks, perhaps sensing the tension in me. She lifts a hand, touching my jaw. “You look wound up.”

  “I’m okay,” I say.

  Her brow furrows. “Are you sure?”

  “Yeah.” I try to stick to simple answers, because anything more might lead to me cracking open my heart to her, and that won’t do at all.

  “Okay.” Her expression goes a little sheepish. “Do you mind popping out for a second? I have to pee.”

  I laugh at the request.

  “Hey! Peeing is normal,” she says.

  “I’m well aware,” I say, standing.

  “Especially after epic sex,” she adds.

  I groan, half wishing she didn’t just remind me of how utterly amazing that was.

  I make my way to the door. “I can just go.”

  Her expression turns to steel. “No. Come back in a minute.”

  I leave, shutting the door behind me, scrubbing a hand over my jaw. I pace through her suite, stopping at the floor-to-ceiling windows that look out over the Strip.

  It’s barely nine.

  Night is only now beginning.

  Across the way, the fountains at the Bellagio sway in their nighttime dance, arcing over the lake in front of the hotel.

  The sleek Cosmopolitan glitters nearby.

  And in here, I’m surrounded by all this soft sensuality, by beauty, by jewels.

  One man, alone at the top of a luxury hotel owned by the woman he just slept with. A woman he should not have touched.

  I can’t possess the fountains. I can’t have the lights on the Strip, and I damn well can’t keep Ivy Carmichael as mine.

  I close my eyes, resting my forehead against the cool glass. I want to go to my father and ask him what the hell I should do. Turn to him for advice, as I’ve always done when I’ve needed an anchor, a guide. He’d open the door, let me in, offer me a beer.

  Then tell me to listen to my head.

  But I don’t have to ask him, because I know the answer he’d give me.

  There is only one answer.

  Do your job, son.

  Guilt claws at me, scratching at my chest.

  I don’t have a clear head around Ivy, and I need clarity to do my job. To take care of her.

  Squeezing my eyes shut, I force myself to recall the emailed letters from her stalker. Your parents asked me to look out for you. Your father needed me to, since he wouldn’t be here to care for his family anymore. That’s why I’m here. That’s why I watch you.

  They were all lies based on information assembled from public records, from details anyone could glean about one of the city’s best-known families.

  The man who followed her one night, right up to the elevator bank as she was about to step inside a lift, could have been anyone.

  That’s what I have to remember.

  He was anyone, and he got too near to her.

  And I have to make sure no one gets that close to her again.

  I turn around, march back to the bathroom, and rap on the open door.

  “Come in,” she calls out, her voice a siren song.

  Don’t let it affect you, man. Don’t let it affect you at all.

  But everything about her affects me. Including, and maybe especially, the way she looks in that tub.

  Dear God.

  Give me the strength to resist the most beautiful woman I’ve ever known.

  She’s in the tub, surrounded by bubbles, her blonde curls piled high on her he
ad in a messy bun, her face glowing.

  Like she’s just been fucked good, and she has. Oh hell, has she ever.

  “Sit,” she says, patting the edge of the tub.

  Rubbing a hand across the back of my neck, I cross the distance to her, my shoes echoing against the tiled floor. I do as she asks.

  She licks her lips. “We should talk. I can tell you’re stressed.”

  I push out a laugh. “That’s what I say to you, Ivy.”

  “I can read you too, Callum. I can tell what’s going on behind those eyes.” Her tone is like a caress, kind and caring.

  I swallow roughly. “Yeah? You can?”

  She nods. “I can.”

  “What am I thinking?”

  Her expression shifts from soft to deadly serious. “That you regret this.”

  I flinch, my voice gruff. “Never. I don’t regret this in the least. Never think that. Because I don’t.”

  She arches a brow. “Are you sure, Callum?”

  “I am positive. Being with you was incredible. It was everything I dreamed of,” I say, giving her the bare truth.

  “Me too.”

  “It was a gift,” I add, my throat tight. I drag a hand through my hair, mussing it up. “I don’t regret it,” I say, heaving a sigh. I hate to do this. I hate to say this. But I have to be honest. “But, Ivy, I have to do my job. I have to protect you. I can’t let anything happen to you. Ever.”

  She nods, her lips pressed together, looking so tough, so stoic. And it’s killing me.

  “If anything happened to you, do you know what it would do to me?”

  “What would it do to you?”

  Kill me, I want to say. It’d kill me. “I won’t let it happen,” I say, answering my own question indirectly.

  She lifts a hand from the water, stretches toward me, and cups my cheek. “You’ve never let anything happen to me. You’ve protected me every night for the last year,” she says, her wet hand against my face. A tiny smile tugs at her lips. “You have bubbles on you.”

  I give her a small smile in return. “Because you are the queen of bubble baths.”

  With her free hand, she pretends to splash some water at me. “You should join me.”

  I groan, wanting to, desperate to. Instead, I clasp my hand over hers on my face, holding it there. “That guy could have hurt you. He could have seriously injured you. And his jail sentence was only for three months.”