Exposed to You Page 8

  “You’ve been driving . . . me crazy all night . . . in this dress,” he murmured as he pressed kisses along her jaw and neck. “Your skin is so smooth . . . so soft . . . such a beautiful color.” She gasped when he began to nibble at the skin of her neck. He took her hand in his and laced their fingers together. He raised his head and met her stare. “I know you probably think I’m coming on too strong, but I can’t seem to stop myself.”

  He sunk his head, and once again she was made drunk by his kiss. He caressed her along the side of her waist and up her ribs, playing her nerves like a master. He opened his hand when he reached the side of her breast, his fingers lightly massaging her back, the ridge of his thumb cradling the weight of her breast, only the thin satin fabric separating his skin from her own. He groaned quietly and deepened their kiss.

  His hand shifted, covering her breast. Warm moisture seeped from her pussy, an answer to the call of his touch. It felt so good feeling her desire flow like sap, reminding her she was alive. Vibrant. Sexually desirable to a man like Everett.

  It was heady stuff.

  It was also intoxicating, because only distantly did she remember they were in a public place. His hand slid beneath the satin of her dress, her nipple pulling tight and hard against his stroking fingers, and her concern faded to the periphery of her mind.

  He lifted his head and murmured something she couldn’t hear, but understood—a searing endearment. He untied the satin straps at her left shoulder and lowered her dress. She felt a flicker of uncertainty when his fingertip brushed over the thin, three-quarter-inch scar just beneath her clavicle.

  “What happened here?”

  She blinked and lowered her head. He must not have noticed her port scar yesterday during the heat of passion. “I had a minor surgery done last year. The scar is fading—slowly,” she whispered.

  She prayed to God she’d never have to have another port inserted into her chest. She’d hated it—walking around with a hole in her chest so that she could have a bunch of toxic chemicals poured into her with ease.

  Everett lowered the fabric farther and his head at the same moment, and her anxiety fractured and scattered. His lips skimmed her chest, brushed across the small scar and kissed the upper slope of the breast that he’d bared. The friction of his goatee sliding over sensitive skin created an arousing contrast to his soft, warm kisses. She glanced down, watching him through a sensual haze.

  The image of him opening his mouth and slipping a pink nipple between his lips was burned into her consciousness. She saw his cheeks hollow out slightly, the suction on her breast tugging at her clit and deep inside her. She gasped and clutched at the back of his head, letting her fingers tangle in his hair.

  The abrupt cessation of his warm mouth and laving tongue startled her. He covered her damp nipple with the fabric of her dress and draped the strap over her shoulder. He put his arm around her and hugged her to him in a protective gesture.

  “Your salads,” the waiter said, making Joy blink in disorientation. Everett must have heard his approach. Joy hadn’t been aware of anything but his mouth on her breast.

  “Thank you,” Everett said, catching the middle-aged man’s eye. “Can you please give us some privacy for ten minutes or so?”

  Heat rushed into Joy’s cheeks at Everett’s casual request, but the waiter took it all in stride.

  “Of course. I’ll tell the chef to delay your entrées a few minutes, as well.”

  “Thank you,” Everett said to the man’s retreating back.

  He turned to her. She opened her mouth to speak, but paused when she saw the heat of his gaze. He held her stare as his hand moved again to the tie at her shoulder.

  He lowered the fabric below both her breasts. She just sat there, her breath burning in her lungs, her nipples prickling against the cool, air-conditioned air. His stare lowered. She made a soughing sound as she inhaled with effort. His gaze flickered back up to her face.

  “Can’t this wait?” she asked desperately. She was aroused—exquisitely so—but why must he do this here? She could hear the murmur of patrons in the main dining room in the distance and the clatter of china in the kitchen. She felt the weight of his stare pressing on her lungs. Her nipples felt tight, like every nerve in them demanded to be touched.

  “No,” he said. “I want to make you feel like I did that time at the studio. Willing to do something impulsive, willing to take a risk when you know you shouldn’t. Do you think I do something like that often?” he asked, his manner intent. Joy’s breath flew inward when he touched the side of her breast with a fingertip.

  “I . . . I don’t know. I hadn’t thought about it.”

  His glance at her was sharp.

  “No? Not since you’ve discovered who I was? You haven’t wondered if Everett Hughes wasn’t as used to having beautiful strangers go down on him as he was drinking his morning coffee?”

  She bit her lip when he touched a nipple. He circled it, detailing its contours gently. Her vagina clenched tight at the caress.

  “Joy?”

  She gasped when he pinched lightly at her other nipple. Arousal spiked through her body.

  “All right. Maybe I’ve thought about it.”

  He nodded, his gaze never leaving her face. His eyes had narrowed into gleaming slits. She couldn’t look away. She inhaled his scent in short, irregular breaths. His teasing fingertips on her nipples caused excitement to shudder through her.

  “In my business, behaving like that on a regular basis is a sure way to have your private life stolen away from you completely. If the press has learned as a general rule that you know not to act like an idiot and how to keep your pants zipped, they start to expect a decent guy instead of a jerk. It’s all about managing expectations.”

  She inhaled sharply when he molded both breasts to his palms and continued to stroke her nipples. “Then why are you doing this now, in a public place?”

  “Because. What happened at the studio was a singular experience—one I hadn’t expected. Now it’s your turn,” he murmured. He pinched at both of her nipples, the caress soft and insistent at once. She moaned, her rising desire like a living thing, stealing over her flesh, making her its captive.

  He cupped both of her breasts from below and examined them. He’d made the nipples prominent and hard with his stroking fingers, the rose color a stark contrast to the paler flesh. They looked like firm, lush fruit in his cradling hands.

  “So beautiful,” he murmured before he bent and took a nipple into his warm mouth. Shards of pleasure tore through her. Her pussy tingled in approval of his lashing tongue. She gasped his name when he drew on her nipple and fondled her other breast with a lazy sort of deliberation that she found unbearably exciting. Her fingers raked through his hair. He groaned roughly and lifted his head, finding her mouth with his own. He slid his tongue between her parted lips, caressing her teasingly before he nibbled at her with kisses that struck her as controlled and feverish at once. She was so enthralled by his molding mouth that it took her a moment to realize he’d grabbed both of her wrists. He held her hands down on the leather seat.

  “There,” he said, his gaze flickering over her face. “Now I have you at my mercy.”

  “Everett. You told the waiter to come back in ten minutes.”

  “Plenty of time,” he murmured.

  He leaned down and began to ravish her breasts, moving back and forth between them, his actions unapologetically hungry. He explored every curve with warm, seeking lips, he took gentle bites out of the tender flesh, he sucked on her nipples until she gave a restrained cry of anguished arousal.

  “Stop. Please,” she said shakily when he transferred his head from one nipple to another and began a new sensual torture.

  He lifted his head, but kept his lips close to her pink, wet nipple. “Do you really want me to? Or would you rather come?”

  She glanced down, panting softly. A woman laughed loudly on the other side of the curtain. It was madness, and she knew it
was madness, but a thrill tore through her nevertheless.

  She arched her back. Her breasts looked flushed, the nipples erect and reddened. The only thing she could consider was the desire to have his mouth back on her. She bit her lower lip.

  “I don’t want you to stop,” she whispered. “But there isn’t time to—”

  He released one of her hands and sat up slightly, pushing back the table several inches from their seat. He leaned down, reached toward the floor and drew up his hand. Joy realized he’d just pulled up the hem of her dress. She shifted her hips, allowing him to place the bulk of the fabric in her lap. For a breathless second, his hand remained between her parted thighs.

  “What’s wrong?” she asked in a strangled voice when he didn’t immediately move.

  “If I touch you now, it would be too much for me. I reached the end of my rope yesterday in your apartment. I won’t be able to wait, and I don’t want my first time inside of you to be in a public place,” he rasped, sounding tense. He reached for her wrist.

  “Everett . . . what—”

  “Touch yourself while I play with your beautiful breasts. Let me feel you shake in my arms. Please,” he added tersely when she opened her mouth to protest. It was a ridiculous request. She’d never masturbated in front of a man before, let alone done so in the midst of a crowded restaurant.

  “Go on, Joy. Take a risk.”

  He used his hand to tuck hers between her thighs. Despite his insistence that he shouldn’t touch her, he didn’t move away immediately. She felt his knuckles through her panties, pressing against her sensitive labia. Her own fingers touched damp silk. His face went rigid. He remained still, his hand entwined with her own as her heat penetrated his skin.

  He made a rough sound and slid his hand away. Suddenly, he was ravishing her mouth as he had her breasts earlier, a sweet, savage consumption.

  “You’re so warm and soft,” he murmured before he was kissing her again, and her fingers were moving of their own accord, rubbing and sliding over her clit, feeding her mounting hunger.

  He dropped his head and began sucking and licking a nipple until she gritted her teeth in pleasure. She wanted to scream, the tension mounting in her was so imperative. She pressed at the slick button of her clit, agitating and circling. Everett grabbed her free hand, his actions abrupt and tense. He brought it to her left breast, his hand enfolding hers, urging her to fondle the firm, tender flesh. At first she resisted the wantonness of his silent demand, but then he transferred his mouth to the breast she held. He slid the nipple into his warm, suctioning mouth, and she held herself from below, plumping the flesh . . . offering herself to him. She squeezed her breast, the lewdness of her actions somehow liberating her.

  He moaned. The sound of his appreciation as he sucked on her voraciously made her a little mad. She pressed hard with the ridge of her finger on her clit. She began to shudder in silent orgasm. Everett bit down gently on her nipple, the edge of his teeth a tender lash. A desperate, tiny cry broke free of her throat. His arms went around her. He pressed his face against her chest, holding her against him, absorbing her shudders of pleasure.

  He raised his head and examined her when her convulsions ebbed. She sagged against the leather booth. She watched him, made mute with disbelief and wonder as he reached between her thighs and brought her hand to his face. He inserted her forefinger into his mouth. He closed his eyes and suckled her juices from her skin. A muscle jumped in his cheek. He slid her finger from his warm, wet mouth.

  “Now I’ve seen you undone. I’m glad.”

  “Why? Was this a sort of payback for what happened at the studio?”

  “No,” he said, his expression grim. He smoothed the fabric of her dress over her thighs, letting it fall until it reached the top of her feet. He slid his fingers beneath her bodice and carefully drew it over her breasts. Her nipples ached dully next to the smooth cloth.

  “Everett?” she prompted when he didn’t offer any further explanation for his statement, just tied the straps at her left shoulder.

  He lowered his hands and glanced into her face.

  “I’m glad because I wanted you to know how I felt that afternoon at the studio. I don’t know if I completely succeeded,” he admitted as he slid the table closer to their seat. “But I think maybe now you have some idea.”

  Understanding trickled into her lust-dulled brain slowly. He hadn’t been paying her back, tit for tat. He’d wanted her to know that the way she felt right at this moment—turned inside out, stunned by her own actions—had been how he’d felt.

  Someone directly outside the curtain cleared his throat. Everett glanced around calmly when the waiter parted the thick curtains. The man’s gaze ran first over her, and then Everett. Joy sat up self-consciously and brushed back her short hair. There was no way she could disguise her recent arousal. She suspected the skin around her mouth was reddened from whisker burn. Her cheeks must be tellingly pink.

  “Would you like me to bring your entrées now, Mr. Hughes?” the waiter asked.

  “We’ve had a change of plan. Would you mind packing up our food to go?” He glanced at Joy, his eyebrows raised. “If that’s all right with you?”

  “Yes, I’m not very hungry anyway,” she murmured. She busied herself with unfolding her wrap, keeping her flushed face averted from the waiter. Seeing a total stranger standing there, just feet away from where she’d just been sitting with her breasts exposed, bringing herself to climax, brought it all home to her.

  What other shocking things could Everett encourage her to do? She recognized that the answer was a lot.

  And what does it matter? she asked herself as she took Everett’s hand a moment later and he led her out of one of the rear doors of the restaurant. He could be with any woman on the planet, but he chose to be with her—if only for this brief moment of time.

  Joy was a realist, that much could be said about her. Life had taught her again and again that escape from an often harsh world was not a possibility. But life could be beautiful, too, and exciting, even if those moments were ephemeral.

  She followed Everett into a warm summer night. The long, black limousine glided up to the curb like a magical carriage. Everett glanced back at her. A lock of hair had fallen onto his forehead. He smiled, and she smiled back.

  She might as well enjoy the fantasy while it lasted.

  Six

  “Would you like to eat together, or would you rather just call it a night?” Everett asked when Kenny brought the limousine to a halt in front of her apartment. He’d had his arm around her the entire ride home. She’d been a little stiff at first—did she imagine he was going to try to screw her in the back of the limo? After what he’d done at the restaurant, that may have been precisely what she’d thought.

  Still, he couldn’t regret it. Seeing Joy so aroused that she’d forgotten caution and wisdom and taken a risk had been important to him for some reason. Only when they were a few blocks away from her brownstone did she lower her head and snuggle against his chest.

  She lifted her head now. He tried to make out her expression in the dim light, but once again, he felt as if the gate had been closed. It was hard to believe she could be skittish around him after the way she responded to him sexually. Was she just cautious, or was Joy reserved to the point of shyness? He thought the answer might be both.

  “I’d like to eat, if you would. I mean, if you’re not too tired,” she said.

  He brushed her bangs off her forehead. Her face looked still and mysterious, cast in bluish light from the streetlights and shadow.

  “I’m not too tired,” he said.

  “Then why don’t you come up?”

  He paused to tell Kenny and Roger he’d take a cab back to the hotel and then exited the limo with Joy. Once they were inside, he set the bag the Capital Grille had packed for them on her dining room table.

  “I’ll set the table. Where are your plates?” he asked, removing the jacket of his tux and hanging it on the back of a
chair.

  She glanced around from where she’d been setting her purse down on the counter. She looked surprised. Obviously, she hadn’t thought he’d been serious when he asked her if she wanted to eat with him.

  “In there,” she said, pointing to one of the cabinets.

  “The lobster smells fantastic. It should still be hot.”

  She stood by the counter, her wrap clutched around her waist. Her cheeks still carried the telltale signs of arousal. Her lips still looked swollen from the way he’d ravaged her mouth. He forced his mind onto his task and opened the cabinet she’d indicated.

  “Do you want to go change?” he asked as he loosened his bow tie. He opened a couple drawers, looking for silverware. “Might as well get comfortable.”

  “Okay. I think I will, if you don’t mind.”

  “I’d prefer that you were as comfortable as possible,” he replied as he found the silverware and grabbed a couple forks and knives. From the periphery of his vision, he saw her waver for a split second before she headed toward the hallway.

  She really couldn’t figure him out, he thought wryly as he set the plates and silverware on a couple placemats on the table. He couldn’t imagine why. His feelings on the matter seemed a lot more clear-cut and obvious than Joy’s.

  “Try some of the lobster tail,” he told her a while later, holding up a mouthwatering-looking bite of perfectly poached lobster coated in butter. She’d come out of her bedroom a few minutes before looking like a summer day in a simple peach-and-white cotton dress that tied at her shoulders. She parted her lips and he slid the fork between them. He stopped himself just in time from sharing in her groan of appreciation. She smiled as she chewed.

  “The kind of thing that really makes you understand the phrase I could die happy. I hate to think of what it’s doing to my arteries, but it’s delicious enough to make me forget,” she said after she swallowed. She cut a slice of her salmon and offered it to him. He held her gaze as he accepted her offering.

  “Hmmm. I taste fennel in the relish.”