Wicked Burn Page 3

  He inhaled slowly. She smelled different from Jenny. She felt different. Niall obviously hadn’t been intimate with a man for a long, long time.

  That was a significant difference from Jenny. Jenny couldn’t exist without a man in her bed . . . someone to constantly be holding up the figurative mirror that reflected her undeniable brilliance back to her, assuring her of its existence. Even though he’d built a career with words, Vic had failed miserably at providing her with what she needed. He couldn’t say it right for her, couldn’t say it fast enough. He couldn’t read Jenny’s enigmatic female mind and give her what she needed just when the desire occurred to her.

  Yeah, Vic accepted that he was a complete and utter failure at understanding women . . . even the one that he’d wanted to comprehend most.

  But no matter what Niall was or what Vic wasn’t, she deserved something more from him than what he’d given her just now.

  Vic didn’t let himself think about why it was so important for him to prove to Niall Chandler that he could be soft as well as hard.

  Niall tilted her neck to grant Vic more access to her skin. Her throat vibrated with pleasure as he kissed and nibbled with a potent mixture of patience and hunger. His hands moved over her belly, waist, and hips in a sensual caress.

  She should stop this, shouldn’t she? How could adding to the foolishness of her actions make things any better?

  “Vic? I’m not so sure this is a good idea.”

  “I am,” he replied in a gravelly voice. He turned her in his arms. Her head fell back as she looked up at him. His eyes burned like flames in his otherwise stony countenance. He looked so hard and formidable that it took her lust-impaired brain a few seconds to interpret what he said next.

  “You haven’t been with a man in a long time, have you?”

  Her lower lip fell open in surprise. “I . . . Was it that ob—?”

  She stopped abruptly. Her cheeks flooded with heat. She’d been about to ask him if it had been that obvious when she realized how stupid that would have sounded. Her body had been so stiff and resistive to his presence that he’d probably wondered if she was a virgin. Humiliation swamped her awareness. She noticed the way his eyes narrowed as he looked at her face, and she glanced away uncomfortably.

  “No. No, I haven’t,” she finally answered throatily.

  He tilted her chin so that she faced him again.

  “I must have made you burn.”

  Niall blinked in amazement. Made her burn? God, yes, he’d made her burn—like a thousand suns.

  “I . . . Vic, I don’t know . . .” she began awkwardly before a choking sensation in her throat muted her. Tears flooded her eyes, but she couldn’t say why. It had been something in his tone that did it, something that belied his stark, cold features . . . something that sounded very much like tenderness.

  “Let me make it better for you, Niall,” he whispered. He leaned down and brushed soft kisses across her cheeks and nose before he settled on her parted lips.

  Niall’s eyelids fluttered closed as he used his lips and teeth to gently nip at her mouth. His big hands spread across her ribcage in a light, elusive embrace. The distant thought occurred to her that he was an expert at this—at soothing anxious animals, at mesmerizing with his deep voice and spare words, at coaxing a creature with his magical touch until its will perfectly matched his own.

  She craned up for his mouth, hungry for the remembered rich taste that she knew she’d find in his depths. They both turned slightly. Their mouths slid and fastened into a perfect fit.

  Niall’s bones turned to jelly. God, it had been way, way too long for her. She’d had no idea that her body was so primed, so needy for the pleasures that a man could give it.

  She sighed at the sensation of his hands on her breasts, his fingers rubbing and pinching lightly at her sensitized nipples. Heat swept through her genitals, leaving a dull ache of longing in its wake. A sound of protest rose in her throat when his mouth left hers. Her eyes blinked open when she felt him back her against the wall of the hallway. She stared down, the image of the top of his dark head as it sank before her emblazoning itself on her memory.

  When he matter-of-factly raised her dress to her waist and told her to hold it, Niall did it without hesitation. Her gripping hands shook as he slowly lowered her panties. He put his hands on her legs, spreading them until the strip of silk stretched tautly midthigh.

  She whimpered when he leaned forward within an inch of her pussy and inhaled.

  Vic tilted his head slightly in order to fully catch her heady scent in his nostrils. The impact of her odor affected him instantly. His cock stiffened. His mouth watered. His eyes closed in anticipation as he nuzzled the soft, damp, dark blonde curls over her swollen, tender cleft. His tongue parted her folds in a firm, questing caress.

  He was distantly gratified when he heard her uneven moan and her body weight sagged slightly against the wall. His hands caught her beneath her buttocks, but most of his focused attention was on the exquisite taste of the abundant, sweet cream he found between her flushed folds. He circled and played with her nerve-packed flesh for a while, thoroughly enjoying her soft whimpers, the silky sensation of her on his tongue, and the intoxicating flavor he sought out with increasing avidity.

  When he sensed her growing arousal, he stabbed at the erect kernel of flesh that nestled between her creamy lips with a stiffened tongue before he soothed her with a gliding caress . . . stabbed and soothed, plucked and glided . . .

  His eyelids opened heavily and his gaze flickered up to her face when he registered her exclamation.

  Oh, God.

  His nostrils flared at the sight of her lividly pink cheeks. The first time he’d seen Niall, he’d sensed a sadness about her. Vic much preferred to see her large eyes darkened and glistening with stark arousal, the way they were right now. His hand left the taut curve of a peach of an ass cheek. Her lower lip trembled as he inserted two thick fingers into her wet vagina.

  “Hold these apart for me,” he directed as he used his other hand to part her sweet, nectar-coated labia. “That’s right,” he whispered as her hand lowered and her fingers replaced his own, spreading herself wide for him. He used his free hand to support her again below her ass.

  For several seconds Vic just stared at her swollen, moist folds before he tilted his head and covered her. She keened as he took her clit captive in his mouth, sucking her tautly and whipping the erect tissue with his stiffened tongue.

  Slippery warm juices flooded his fucking fingers. God, he needed to drink from that sweet, gushing fount.

  But first he wanted to hear her scream.

  He twisted his wrist, corkscrewing his fingers into her tight pussy. He sucked her clit between his teeth and bit lightly until she cried out and sagged into his hand.

  His mouth nursed her through the brunt of her climax before he grabbed her hips and upper back and lowered her to the soft carpet. He tugged her panties over her feet and pushed her thighs wide until her black pumps thumped against either side of the narrow hallway.

  He dived between her legs, his stiffened tongue immediately plunging into her pussy, driving deep and hard.

  “Ahahahahah,” Niall cried out in ecstasy as her orgasm kicked up its initial strength and her throat and jaw vibrated with the potent blasts of pleasure coursing through her.

  Vic drowned himself in her, loving every second of it. He could die happy with the taste of her filling his mouth and running down his throat. Her narrow channel was drenched with sweet, flavorful cream. Without thinking about what he was doing, mindless with pure lust, he ran his finger below his piercing tongue, spreading her juices along her perineum. Her honey already slicked the taut crevice of her butt cheeks and the tiny, puckered entrance of her asshole.

  He heard the change in her whimpers and cries when he pushed the tip of his finger into that tight opening. For a few seconds, his lust convinced him to ignore the rising tension in her sleek body as he gently probed her. She gri
pped him in a smooth, hot clamp.

  But he could ignore reality for only so long.

  Vic’s muscles clenched so rigidly it felt like they would break. He muttered a foul curse and pushed himself up into a sitting position.

  “You should go.”

  He heard her panting breath cease abruptly at his harsh statement, but he didn’t relent. He couldn’t. If he so much as looked at her at that moment, he would undoubtedly live to regret it.

  Niall blinked heavily when her good friend Anne Rothman spoke. She felt like she’d been living in a daze for the past week and a half. The din of the crowded restaurant blended into a lulling white background noise. The Art was one of her and Anne’s favorite places to duck in for a quick bite after work. The museum was only blocks away and the Metropolitan Art Institute, where Anne was the Dean of Students, was just two buildings down from the restaurant. They’d come early tonight, so The Art bustled with the pre-theater crowd.

  “I thought that salad was your favorite thing on The Art’s menu,” Anne managed between bites of seafood linguine. She pointed her fork at the enormous, untouched salad that sat in front of Niall. “Eat, girl! You look like you’ve lost five pounds since you came back from Tokyo, and you couldn’t afford to lose one ounce.” She shoved another forkful of pasta into her mouth. “You were gone for only a week. What . . . did you catch a bug or something?”

  “No, of course not,” Niall replied as she picked up a heavy silver salad fork and unfolded a linen napkin. “I was just really busy getting things ready for the exhibit, that’s all.” She referred to her job as the Curator of the Department of Nineteenth Century, Modern, and Contemporary Art. She traveled quite a bit for her job, viewing collections everywhere in the world and negotiating for pieces for the exhibitions she planned. Her trip to Tokyo had been unusual in that her main contact hadn’t been with a museum, but with a wealthy industrialist who owned a vast collection of Cezanne, Picasso, and Vollard paintings.

  “That was quite a coup for you to get those paintings lent for the exhibit, wasn’t it?” Anne asked as she tore apart a steaming roll.

  “Yes. Most of Nakamura’s paintings haven’t been shown publicly in almost half a century. I could have done an exhibit with his collection alone. As it is, the addition of his paintings is going to make the show in April spectacular. Mac is thrilled,” she admitted, referring to her boss, Alistair McKenzie.

  Both women looked up when the waiter asked them if they needed anything. Anne ordered another glass of wine, but Niall had hardly touched her first glass.

  “So what’s wrong, then?” Anne asked once the waiter left, threading his way through the crowd in order to get to the bar. Before Niall had the chance to answer, Anne leaned forward in the booth. “Did you go to Evergreen Park? Is that why you’re so preoccupied?”

  “No. I just got back from Tokyo yesterday morning. I’m just a little jet-lagged, that’s all,” Niall answered evasively.

  “Has there been any change in his condition?”

  Niall chewed her food slowly, not overly eager to start this line of conversation at the moment . . . never eager to do so. That was why so few of her acquaintances knew much about her past. But she’d been close with Anne since the older woman had been her advisor back when they both were at Northwestern, Niall as a graduate student and Anne as a professor.

  She took a small sip of wine before she spoke.

  “Have you forgotten that I’m no longer in a position to get regular updates?”

  “I’m too thrilled about it to have forgotten. I just thought I recognized that expression on your face,” Anne said grimly.

  Niall set down her wine glass and sighed. “Apparently it’s going to take a while before everyone else gets used to the fact. Evergreen Park did call yesterday. There’s been another relapse. Dr. Fardesh decided to make another significant medication change.”

  Anne winced slightly. “Again? You know as well as I do, Niall, that he’s got to want to get better.” She took a drink of her ice water, trying to calm her overwhelming urge to vent her personal opinion on the matter fully. Niall had heard it before, and she didn’t need to hear it again.

  “I hope this doesn’t change your mind about your decision,” Anne said cautiously.

  Niall’s mouth pressed into a thin line. “No. I’ve made up my mind. Nothing has changed since we spoke a month ago,” she finally said in a low voice.

  Anne reached out and covered Niall’s hand with her own. “You’re doing the right thing, Niall. You’ll get through this, whether you have your parents’ blessing or not.” Anne couldn’t help but give an irritated frown at this juncture. How Niall’s parents thought they were being supportive of their daughter with their actions was beyond Anne’s comprehension. “I don’t know how you’ve done it, honey. It’s just not possible for someone to exist the way you have for these last few years.”

  Niall laughed softly. “Exist? Trust me, Anne, millions of people on this earth exist, and even thrive under conditions exponentially worse than you or I could ever imagine. I’m existing just fine, thank you.”

  “You’re right,” Anne said with her professorial stern look. “I shouldn’t have said exist. I should have said live. You can’t call what you’ve been doing since Michael’s death and what Stephen pulled afterwards living.”

  Niall took a slow inhale of air to calm the effects of the unexpected blow of hearing her son’s name spoken out loud. She really needed to get better at this. She wanted so much to be able to hear Michael’s name, to speak it and be able to remember the wonderful things—the sweet baby smell of his neck that still hadn’t completely dissipated at age four, the serious and thoughtful expression on his face as he drew with a crayon in one hand and held a purple popsicle to his mouth with the other, the sound of his laughter . . .

  How fair was it to her little boy that her most significant memory of him was his utterly meaningless, shockingly abrupt death?

  But beyond that, Anne’s words hit a little too close to what she’d been thinking recently, ever since she’d blazed to vibrant life beneath the touch of a complete stranger twelve days ago, ever since she’d remembered what it meant to be alive. It was a little difficult to go back to the routine of a robot once you’d been awakened to the wonders of the flesh.

  You’ve got a hot little pussy, but you’re teasing me with it, aren’t you, Niall?

  Niall squeezed her eyes shut briefly to chase away the memory. A shiver ran down her spine. Even the recollection of his raspy whisper had a potent effect on her. She kept thinking it would fade, but no . . .

  It seemed, in fact, that the memory of that wild, carnal tryst only grew stronger as the days passed.

  Vic.

  She hadn’t seen him since that night. He’d told her that he left for his farm in downstate Illinois on Fridays, and it had been Thursday night when he’d . . . done what he’d done to her. She wasn’t quite sure how to describe what that was, exactly. Fucked her, consumed her, burned her to life? Niall thought desperately.

  She had left for Tokyo for a planned weeklong business trip last Sunday night and just returned yesterday. Had he tried to contact her? And if he had, exactly what would she have done?

  She wasn’t any closer to knowing the answer to that than she was to comprehending precisely what had happened to her that night in Vic’s apartment.

  Surely it was a moot point, anyway. He was the one who had practically thrown her out of his place while she’d been lying spread-eagled in his hallway.

  You should go.

  That was it. Nothing else. Not a touch, not a word. Not even a glance, despite the fact that his mouth and nose had glistened wetly with the juices from her pussy.

  “Honey, are you okay?” Anne asked anxiously, alarmed by the two spots of brilliant color that suddenly bloomed in Niall’s otherwise pale cheeks.

  “I’m fine . . . really,” Niall replied. She smiled at her friend reassuringly as she tried to gain a semblance of control
. For a second, she’d been lost in the incredibly erotic memories—shadows of images and sensations that she’d tried to bring to life again and again with her silver bullet vibrator. The little gizmo had gotten more of a workout in the last week and a half than in the first two years that she’d owned it.

  Anne must have misunderstood the dazed expression on Niall’s face. “I’m sorry. I know I just stress you out more by bringing up the subject, but I worry about you.”

  Niall laughed abruptly.

  “What?” Anne asked, surprised by the sound of Niall’s laughter.

  “Do you know what I would give sometimes to have it so that people didn’t feel like they needed to say that to me?” She smiled and reassuringly grabbed Anne’s hand when she saw her crestfallen expression. “I know you’re concerned about me because you care. I love you for that. But I’m fine. Really.” She thumped the older woman’s hand teasingly on the tablecloth until she saw her smile.

  “Why don’t you tell me about that new dormitory the Institute is planning on Randolph Street? That’s going to cost a bundle, the way the Theater District has built up in Chicago, isn’t it?” Niall asked engagingly as she stabbed her salad with her fork.

  Anne sighed. By this time she was very familiar with her friend’s sidesteps in conversation. But she let herself be sidetracked, knowing how much Niall needed a relaxing evening.

  By the time Niall had finished a cup of decaf cappuccino and Anne had polished off a creamy slice of tiramisu, both of them were much less uptight and discussing in a semiserious manner where they should take a vacation together the following year. They agreed on Italy, but Anne thought Rome and Florence would be ideal, while Niall was more in the mood for a sunny, sleepy getaway in Tuscany.

  “Tuscany,” Anne snorted. “We’d be much better off staying in Chicago in regard to the supply of men. Which—” She suddenly stopped and blinked twice as she stared past Niall’s right shoulder. “Oh, my, get a handle on the hormones . . . speaking of men . . .”