Sweet Temptation / A Private Affair. Lauren Hawkeye
woman, a business owner, the oldest of her sisters and also wanting to give up that control to him. She didn’t yet understand that she never did give it up, not really. Even when she placed her care in his hands, she held all the power.
“I thought I’d made a mistake when I pulled up here,” she started, taking a sip of her fresh drink. “This isn’t the kind of place I can picture you enjoying.”
“I had a hankering for substandard beer.” He grinned when she looked pointedly at his drink, which was not beer. “No, for real, the food here is supposed to be fantastic.”
“I’m not hungry.” She eyed him over the rim of her drink. “Not for food.”
His whiskey—not the caramel-pear one she’d brought him—burned a path down his throat as their surroundings faded away, his attention focusing in on Meg and only Meg.
“Are you sure?” Please be sure. “There’s no rush.”
“I know what I want.” She ran the tip of her tongue over her lips, and his eyes tracked the movement, transfixed. “Are you going to give it to me?”
Setting his glass down firmly, he circled her wrist with his fingers and, with one sharp tug, pulled her against his body. She gasped softly as her breasts brushed against his chest, and she looked up at him with wide eyes.
“You’re awfully saucy tonight.” Cocking his head, he tracked his stare over her face, lingering on those lips that were just begging to be kissed. Dipping his head, he brushed his lips against her ear, lowering his voice to a whisper. “Maybe it’s time I find something else for your mouth to do.”
MEG COULDN’T CONTROL her nerves as she and John approached his hotel room. She heard the lock disengage as it detected John’s phone. He urged her through the door first with two fingers pressed to the small of her back. Then they were both inside, and her stomach did a slow roll of anticipation.
“Want another drink?” He gestured to the bottle of whiskey she’d brought the night before, which still stood on the table.
“No.” She didn’t want a drink; she didn’t want food. When he turned to face her, she saw the coiled tension in his lean frame and felt the warmth of smug satisfaction.
That tension was because of her—because he wanted her. So many women wanted him, and yet he was here, looking like a lion about to pounce, because of her.
She braced herself for the lion to attack and was unprepared when, rather than grabbing her, he gestured toward the bathroom.
“Let’s have a bath.”
“What?” She frowned, confused. “Why?”
“Partly because we smell like cheap beer and cigarettes,” he replied, eyes tracking the length of her body, “and partly because I want to get you wet and naked.”
“Oh.” She exhaled, and just like that, her body was on fire. She followed him to a bathroom three times the size of her bedroom at home. It was a study in white, clean and bright and luxurious, but what caught her attention was the giant Jacuzzi tub under the window.
She watched, silent, as John started the water, and she felt the kiss of steam on her skin. He added droplets from a selection of small essential oil bottles that lined the edge of the bath, and her next breath was full of bergamot and cedar wood.
That done, he turned to look at her. Eyes on hers, he pulled a condom from the pocket of his pants and set it on the edge of the tub. She swallowed a whimper when he quickly undid the buttons of his dress shirt, shrugging it open and then off. She hadn’t seen his naked chest before, and, oh, it was a work of art. He had to log serious hours in the gym, because for a man who spent most of his time sitting at a desk in a suit, he had the musculature of an athlete.
Before she had decided to move, she’d closed the space between them and was trailing her fingers over his abs. He sucked in a sharp breath when her hand moved lower, dipping just below the waistband of his dress pants.
“Undo my belt.” His words were quiet over the roar of the water, but there was no mistaking the steel behind them. They were in this now—he was taking over, making the decisions so that she didn’t have to. For a single breath, panic flared, and as if he sensed it, he took her hands and placed them on his belt buckle himself, helping her past the barrier of her doubt.
With shaking hands, she undid the buckle, then the button that fastened his pants. Her fingers grazed the head of his cock, which swelled beneath the touch.
“Undo the zipper.”
She did, savoring his groan when her fingers danced down his length. Sliding her hand into his pants, she rubbed the heel of her palm over his erection until his hips thrust forward into his touch.
“Undress me the rest of the way.”
Her gaze flew to his face—did he mean that? Wasn’t that going to be awkward? But it was clear that he wasn’t joking, and she felt anything but inept when she pulled his pants and his boxer briefs down with one tug. She thought he would step out of them, would kick them away, but he remained still, so she knelt before him, assisting him out of the pooled garments and then his socks, one at a time.
She started to rise but stopped when he shook his head. Her mouth watered, actually watered, when he wrapped his hand around the base of his cock, jerking himself up and down, up and down.
“I told you I was going to find something else for your saucy mouth to do.” His smile was dark as he circled his thumb over the swollen head of his penis. Meg exhaled harshly as she watched a bead of pearly liquid disappear beneath his touch.
Rising to her knees, she reached out for him with her hands, but he again shook his head.
“No hands.” At his command, she fisted them at her sides. “Open up, kitten.”
She trembled from head to toe but did as he told her. When she parted her lips, he rocked forward, pressing the dark head of his erection to her mouth. She tasted salt, opened wider, and then he was on her tongue, heavy with arousal.
She waited for instructions, but none came. She got it—he wanted her to do what she wanted, so she sucked tentatively, experimentally.
He hissed out a breath.
She ran her tongue along the underside.
He groaned quietly.
She flicked that tongue over his swollen head, and he fisted his fingers in her hair. He began to thrust shallowly as she worked him, and her hands strayed up so that she could brace herself on his thighs. She knew he was close when his movements, which he’d kept controlled, sped up, and the muscles of truly impressive thighs clenched beneath her hands. Yet she was the one to cry out with disappointment when he abruptly pulled out of the wet cavern of her mouth.
“Good girl.” His breath was ragged. Her gaze was transfixed by his swollen length as he helped her to her feet—his cock was rigid, long and thick and shiny from her mouth.
She’d done that. That was how much he wanted her.
As if to let her know he appreciated her work, he pressed his mouth to hers. He kissed her hard, and knowing that he didn’t care where her mouth had just been was freaking hot. Sliding his arms around her, he unzipped her dress—a little slip of electric-blue silk she’d gotten in a Tory Burch trunk sale—slipping the spaghetti straps down her shoulders.
She caught the dress at her breasts before it fell off. He’d seen it all yesterday, but tonight, the stakes had been upped. Even though he stood before her, naked and as confident as if he was wearing one of his custom suits, she was the one who felt exposed.
“Take off your dress.” He spoke against her lips, his fingers toying with the loosened