Eight Ways to Ecstasy (12 page)

Beside them, Liam gave an uncomfortable chuckle, as if even he knew he was intruding. “So what do you do?”

Rylan didn't look away from Kate. She'd asked him that very question on an open Parisian street, and he had talked all around it. “I do some work for my father's company.”

Liam said something banal about his own family, but Rylan couldn't be bothered to listen.

How different would things be now if he had only been more open with Kate at the beginning? She might not have been impressed by the wealth, but would she really have spurned him the way he'd imagined? He'd told himself at the time that the half truths were all a part of the seduction, but they'd been something else, too. They'd been a chance for him to get outside of himself. To be better than he had been, at least in this one person's eyes.

And her eyes were still the only ones that mattered to him. Her eyes and her skin and the warmth of her, the taste and the scent of her on his tongue. His gaze settled on the soft, plush pout of her mouth, the one he hadn't kissed in hours, and his skin went too tight, heat making his mind fuzz over.

Then, in the middle of his anecdote, Liam put his hand on Kate's arm. The green that had tinted Rylan's vision flashed a dangerous, violent red.

He'd been keeping his possessive instincts on the tightest of leashes, but anything under that kind of tension was destined to snap.

Ignoring the boy and ignoring his manners, ignoring everything except that bit of skin touching skin,
he
snapped.

Cutting Liam off, Rylan addressed Kate directly. “Have you seen what you wanted to see here?”

They'd barely glanced at the art. These people had stolen even that from her, and now he was taking it away from her too in his hurry, and he wanted to stop himself. But he was too far gone.

“What?” Zeroing in on his eyes, Kate crinkled her brow. And then she seemed to catch up. Her breath stuttered, her mouth stuck somewhere between indignation and arousal, and even if she was only halfway with him, he would take it.

“We have to go.” He grasped her arm and hauled her bodily against him, where she belonged. Liam's hand tightened on her other wrist, and the flame inside Rylan went supernova.

“You just got here—” Liam started.

Rylan's blood rose hotter, and he reached toward him. “Listen—”

But then Kate shook free of the both of them, and Rylan's hand was ice, extended out toward her still. She turned to Liam, and Rylan's heart turned over in his chest until she gave the guy this tight-lipped, apologetic smile. “I'm sorry.” She jerked her thumb at Rylan. “I think this one forgot to eat. He has a habit of getting hangry.” She looked to him, gaze pointed. “Don't you?”

He was hungry all right, but not for food. Still, this was her lying for him. Covering for him. Trying to make his caveman behavior acceptable in the eyes of someone whose opinion she valued. The last few minutes washed over him, the insane way he'd been acting. She was being more patient with him than he deserved.

The jealous beast quieted by a fraction, and he nodded stiffly.

“Why don't you go grab some cheese and crackers, while I check out the exhibit.” There was no room for question in her voice. “I'll meet you over there in a minute.”

Rylan didn't want to let her get three steps away from him, but she radiated a need for space. He forced himself to take a deep breath. “Sure.” He glanced to Liam.

He was going to walk her around the gallery. Take Rylan's place. He fit there better anyway, didn't he? Understood her art and her life, and—

She turned to Liam, too. “Sorry again. I'll see you on Monday?”

That wasn't an invitation. It was a flat-out dismissal if anything. The dark, angry well that had opened up in Rylan shrunk, if only a little.

“Sure.” Liam looked as floored as Rylan felt.

Together and apart, they stood there, watching as Kate walked away.

What the actual hell.

With measured, even steps, Kate made her way around the edge of the gallery, stopping in front of each painting for at least the count of ten. To the outward observer—maybe to the men staring holes in the back of her head—it probably looked like she was giving the pieces her full attention, appreciating them the way they deserved. When really, inside, she was a fluttery, rattled mess.

It was too bad, too. This show was easily her favorite of the night, the artist's style having at least some grounding in realism. The images were even mostly cityscapes, totally relevant to the studio work she was trying to do. They were worth examining in detail.

She was barely seeing them.

She took a step back as if to get a better view of the canvas in front of her, glancing over her shoulder to check she didn't bump into anyone. And if her gaze just happened to go to the corner of the room—to the man in black with the dark, hooded eyes and the rumpled hair and the most intense, piercing sort of glare…

Her breath catching, she whipped her head back around. She hadn't even bothered trying to spot Liam. She liked him well enough, and she sure as hell hoped they could salvage their friendship from the smoldering ruin Rylan seemed determined to make of this evening. But he wasn't her concern.

Rylan had stood exactly where she'd asked him to, next to the table of wine and hors d'oeuvre, but he hadn't looked like he was enjoying the Brie.

He'd looked like a man stalking his prey, and just that tiniest, briefest of glimpses made her pulse thunder in her ears.

Jealousy wasn't something she'd ever expected from him. The way he'd grabbed at her and all but bared his teeth at a guy who wasn't even really his competition…It was ugly. It was infuriating.

And damn her if it wasn't the hottest thing she'd ever seen.

Breathing against the burn he ignited in her just by existing—the one he'd fanned into a flame with his possessiveness—she moved on to the next painting. Maybe by the time she finished her circuit of the room, she'd have herself back under control. She didn't need to jump him or let him drag her out of there. They needed to talk about this and why it wasn't okay.

But her slow walk led her closer and closer without bringing any clarity to her thoughts. She reached the end of the exhibit a still-simmering jumble of want and indignation and
need
.

She turned and met his gaze, and the heat inside her shivered right down to her bones.

He ate up the distance between them in a dozen long strides, his eyes fiery and jaw tight. “Finished?” he asked, hot and clipped, and her throat was a desert.

She managed a jerky nod, and then before she knew it, he had his arm looped around her, ushering her toward the door.

Liam stepped forward when they were almost to the exit, concern written all over his face. She couldn't even fault him for it. This looked bad. Looked like the sort of thing her mom had always warned her about. But her blood and skin were singing, an exhilarated mania mixing with the arousal pulsing through her veins. She caught Liam's eye and shook her head, trying to tell him without speaking that she was fine. She might not be in control of herself or this situation, but she was fully on board and along for the ride.

Liam's mouth turned down into a frown, but he stood down. Even when Rylan practically went out of his way to clip his shoulder, he didn't rise to the bait. Just watched them go.

They surged through the door and out onto the street. The cool night air washed over her, but it didn't help. Neither did Rylan walking them another three feet, to where glass windows gave way to brick, and then he was stopping. Shoving her up against it.

His mouth descended on hers, the kiss hot and claiming, and she gave in to it without hesitation. She opened for him, accepting the smooth press of his tongue and the sting of teeth scraping over her lip. The solid muscle of his chest forced her farther back against the wall, and she couldn't breathe, couldn't process anything beyond the heady scent of him and the taste of his lips.

Pulling away, she gasped for breath, but he only moved his mouth to her jaw, sliding slick, sucking kisses along the column of her throat. He was going to leave
marks
, and she wanted them.

Only—

Only they were on a public street. One of her friends could come out at any time. They might even be able to see from the window. Hell, she was pretty sure she'd spotted one of her professors in there.

Summoning her wits, she shoved at his shoulder, and when that didn't work, only impelling him to wring a moan of need from her lungs with the heat of his kiss, she grasped his head between her hands.

“Rylan. We can't.”

“Oh, we can. And we will.”

She swallowed hard. Need pooled in her abdomen, her breasts tightening to twin aching points at the deep roughness in his voice. And this wasn't supposed to be happening. They were supposed to talk.

But all she managed to say, breathy and panting, was, “Not here.”

Rylan couldn't even touch her.

With his hands balled into fists against the need vibrating in his bones, he walked a stiff, straight line to the alley where they'd left Chase's Bentley. It was torture, with Kate so close, taking quick half-running steps just to keep up, but if he so much as felt her skin or got a whiff of her scent, he'd be lost.

Relief trembled through him to find the alley deserted. It was a minor miracle, this time of night in this part of town, but he wouldn't question it. They got within striking distance of the car, and all the control he'd been exercising evaporated.

Grabbing for her, he pulled her in against his chest. She didn't melt into him so much as
climb
him, and he could have cried with the sweetness of it as he lifted her up. Got his hands on the curve of her ass through her skirt. Hoisting her onto the edge of the trunk, he devoured her mouth, all sharp, biting kisses, the faint taste of wine on her tongue and the rough tug of her fingers in his hair. Their hips met, and he groaned aloud at the pressure against his cock. He'd been hard inside his jeans since the moment he'd gotten her pressed against the brick outside the gallery, and at this point he was ready to explode.

Smoothing his hand down her thigh, he cupped her knee, urging it higher. He wanted her legs wrapped around him, her body open for him. She sounded as caught up in it as he was, her breath coming fast, mouth hot and kisses tinged with the same desperation searing his veins.

Fuck, he could pull himself out right now. Ruck her skirt up and shove her panties to the side and be right there, pushing in. Taking her here in the open air, where anyone could see, on the damn trunk of this fucking car.

“Rylan—”

The way she said his name had him one step closer to doing it.

But then there was the sound of laughter. Someone in the street, or hell, maybe in one of the apartments looking down over this alley, and he tore himself away. He was better than this. She deserved better.

Their gazes met as his hands froze on her skin, hers going still on the back of his neck and in his hair. His throat bobbed, arousal turning his blood to molten need.

He shifted his glance to the car behind them before connecting with hers again. He raised a brow. One beat passed and then another, every line of him tense with the strain of holding on. Of not getting himself inside her right now.

She took a shuddering inhalation. And then, in the tightest of motions, she nodded.

Oh, thank God.

Reclaiming her mouth, he picked her up again, all fumbling motions as he got them around to the side of the car. He'd never been so grateful in his life for keyless entry as he was when he wrenched the back door open with one hand. He all but threw her down onto the leather seat. Chase's whole car was going to smell like sex by the time they were done, like the sweetness of her pussy and the tang of their shared sweat, and he couldn't wait.

Tumbling in after her, it struck him—was this what it was like to be a normal teenager? Making out in a borrowed car and hoping no one walked by? The desperate rush, like there was nothing in the entire world more important than getting your hand up under a girl's skirt? This
need
?

His head thunked hard on the roof of the car as he twisted to pull the door shut behind them, and he swore aloud. She squeaked, barely managing to draw her foot back in time before it closed. Double-checking that the doors were locked, he turned, and Jesus.

It was so cramped in here. He had one knee on the seat between the splay of her thighs, the other leg braced against the floor, his whole spine bent so he could fit, and she was scrunched up even worse. But it didn't matter.

She was gorgeous. And for now at least, she was his.

In a rush, he fell back over her. Her spread thighs welcomed him in, and he shoved at her skirt, forcing it up and out of the way as he fit himself to her. A jolting shock pulsed through him at the hot pressure. He ground down against her, his cock rubbing hard into that soft, wet center of her through their clothes. Swallowing her moan, he bucked and pushed, cupped her tit with his free hand. But it wasn't enough. He needed skin, needed inside. He needed too much.

He stopped, breath ragged, scarcely seeing straight as he reared up.

It was only habit at this point. She seemed to be right on the same page with him, ready to jump off this cliff and fall into the steamy crush of their bodies all twisted up together in this tiny space, but she'd started out so timid with him. He'd had to take such gentle care.

There wasn't any gentleness left in his hands.

“Are you ready for this?” he asked, and every word was a low rumble. Thunder and lightning, and she was the rain. Was the only relief.

“Ready?” Her eyes were glazed over. Even in the dim light, her mouth looked red and swollen, her lips bitten, and he wanted to scrape each one even harder with his teeth.

He took his hand off her breast and clamped it against the back of the seat, the leather giving beneath the strength of his grip. “This isn't going to be sweet, or slow, or soft.” He sucked in a ragged breath. “It can be. If you need it to be.” He'd promised he'd always take his time with her.

“But that's not how you want it.”

“I want to fuck you so hard, Kate.” He wanted it rough and fast, just the pounding of his body into hers until all this weight, all this greed in his hands and his limbs and his cock gave way. Until there was nothing but her in his blood and on his tongue.

A long, aching moment passed between them. Then, fingers trembling, she wrapped her hand around the back of his neck. Drew him down until they were sharing air. Against his lips, she breathed, “Then fuck me hard.”

His lungs emptied forcefully, like the oxygen itself had been punched out of him. He tangled his tongue with hers in a kiss that was all teeth and wet muscle and need. Desperate, he dragged his lips to the point of her jaw and sucked. All down her throat, too hard, pausing only long enough to insist, “Tell me you're sure.”

“I'm—oh God—I'm sure.”

He tugged the collar of her shirt aside and bit and laved at her skin, waiting until she cried out before moving on. Blood would be blooming to the surface, deep marks of possession so all the world would know. She was taken. She was his. Only his.

The thin, tender skin of her inner thigh molded to the grip of his palm. He reached the hot space between her legs and had to claim her mouth again just to keep the hissing shock of pleasure that drove from her lungs. His cock throbbed at the wet clench of her as he slipped his fingers past her underwear.

“Jesus, you are ready, aren't you?” He could plunge in right now, take what was his, come inside her, fill her up and press harder and harder until she was dying for it.

He spread her slickness around just to be sure, dipping his fingers just inside before circling them around her clit. The first glancing brush there had her knee kicking up, legs spasming as her head fell back.

“That's right, baby,” he said.

She gave a low grunt as she reached for his belt. “Thought you were going to fuck me.”

“Oh, believe me, I am.”

It didn't matter how much he was aching to take her right then and there. He'd never hurt her, would never make her regret him the way she'd regretted the others. Shifting his thumb to that hot little nub above her slit, he plunged a couple of fingers inside. They slid in and out with slick, perfect sounds, and God, he wanted his mouth on her, even if only for a few seconds. But in this damn car, he'd have to fold himself in half. Probably have to hang out the damn window. There was no way.

Tugging his fingers free, he went for the next best thing. He sat up on his knees, ducking so as not to hit his head. Caught her gaze before slipping his fingers between his lips.

The hot taste of her went straight to his cock, and he closed his eyes.

Only to have them fly right back open at the feeling of her fingertips at the waistband of his jeans.

“Fuck,” he hissed, “Kate.”

Lips between her teeth, she got his belt undone. Fumbled with the buttons at his fly, but they gave, and then she was reaching in.

The first touch of her hand on bare skin was a shock of pleasure, sliding up his balls and into his damn spine. God, she felt good—not just that she was touching him, but the way she curled her fingers around his base as she pulled him out. The way she stroked, drawing liquid from his tip and sliding it around. His eyes about rolled back in his head.

Gone was the passivity of their past two nights. She was here and with him, present in a way that made him tremble.

Enough hesitating. Enough waiting.

He gave his fingers one last suck before withdrawing them. He got his wallet out and plucked the condom from its pocket. Tore the packet open with his teeth. She moved her hand out of the way as he placed the circle of latex over his tip, but then she was there, skin brushing his as she helped him roll it along his length, and he had to squeeze down hard around the base to try to get himself under control.