Mad About the Man (14 page)

He wanted sex and only sex.

No promises.

No commitments.

Frankly, he didn't strike her as a commitment kind of guy.

As for love, that wasn't even part of the equation. Of all the men she knew, he was the last one she would end up falling for.

No, whatever might happen between them, love would be the last thing involved.

So was he right? Was she being stupid resisting him? Resisting herself? Was she being a stubborn idiot not to give in and just let herself enjoy?

God knew that's what her aunt Constance did. She had short, hot, passionately intense love affairs that lasted until the flames went out and turned to embers. Then she and her lover of the moment would move on. Amazingly, she even managed to stay friends with most of them.

Not that Maddox and I will ever be friends.

But what the hell? Maybe she ought to live on the wild side for a change and take her pleasure where she could find it. What's the worst that could happen?

Something inside her began to unwind, her willpower failing.

“There are still the ethical barriers of our association to consider.”

His lips nuzzled behind her ear, making her nerve endings sizzle and spark. “Your warning is duly noted. If you'd like, I'll sign a waiver, acknowledging my understanding of possible ethical conflicts in your representation of me and absolving you of any and all liability. You can draft it up whenever you'd like for my signature.”

“Even if I did, it would never hold up in court.” She sighed as he feathered kisses along her collarbone. “Any good lawyer could argue that it was signed while under mental duress.”

He unbuttoned the top three buttons of her shirt and slid his hand inside. “But we'd both know different. I'm fully cogent. What about you?” His fingers tunneled under her bra and started playing on her naked flesh.

A sigh of pure pleasure escaped her throat.

“So? Do you still want me to stop?”

Her eyelashes fluttered, her breath coming fast. He rolled the aching tip of her breast between his thumb and forefinger, then pinched just hard enough to make her shudder. Need gathered between her legs, a needful ache that begged to be filled.

Casting all caution aside, she shook her head. “Christ, no. Don't stop.”

He laughed low in his throat and pinched her again until her hips arched.

Then he kissed her.

“L
et me go,” she implored as he slipped the rest of her buttons free and spread her shirt open.

“Not yet.” His hand went to her waistband and unfastened her pants as well, sliding the zipper down to its base. “I rather like having you at my mercy.”

“Maddox,” she said with a warning growl, shifting against his hold.

“Shh, you'll like it.” His breath whispered over her skin, her stomach muscles tightening as he wet the tip of his little finger and dipped it into her belly button.

Her toes curled inside her shoes.

Kissing her there first, he began journeying upward, licking and nibbling on his way. Every so often he would pause to suckle on a particularly tender bit of skin, leaving more marks than she already had from last night.

As before, he didn't unhook her bra. Instead, he eased her breasts free, first one, then the other, so the two mounds were supported by the elastic and silk, yet plumped together.

He buried his face between and started kissing and suckling again.

Her back arched, her arms straining against the big hand he had gripped around her wrists. He didn't hurt her, though, careful to restrain but not injure her in any way.

His teeth grazed against her, raking her nipples, one, then the other, before he started the whole kiss-lick-suckle routine again.

She bit her lip, wondering if she might go mad from the heated torment.

Then his free hand started sliding low, teasing its way across her bare skin, caressing and exploring with sinful intent. His fingers stopped when they reached the lacy waistband of her panties, sliding sideways back and forth, but going no farther.

“You're wearing red today,” he said, lifting his head from her round, throbbing breasts to slide his gaze along her body. “Did you do it for me?”

“No.”

But maybe that was a lie? Maybe subconsciously she had.

“Either way, I like them. Red suits you, kitty cat.”

“I'm not a cat,” she said, meeting his eyes and seeing the desire burning in them.

“Oh, I think you are. A sweet, pretty little cat. Shall I make you purr?”

“Maddox.”

He slipped his hand inside her pants and covered her mound, threading his fingers into the short, soft nest of curls he found there.

Of its own volition, her body pressed toward him.

He smiled. “I loved the way you came for me last night. I'm going to enjoy watching you do it again.”

Instantly, she turned wet.

“You're a beast,” she told him.

“And you love it.”

To her shame, he was right.

She did.

Her restrained breasts trembled, her wrists flexing within his hold.

He locked his eyes with hers, then slid a finger, inserting it deep, up past his knuckle.

She moaned.

“You're so hot and wet,” he said. “It's like touching heaven. I wish you could feel yourself as I do.”

“I'll have to take your”—her breath hitched in her chest as he massaged her—“word for it.”

Pulling back, he eased out, then slipped in two fingers this time, filling her.

Slowly, he began his massage again, varying his strokes as he paused to scissor his fingers wide in a way that sent shivers coursing through her frame. In and out, again and again, he increased the speed and intensity as if another part of him were involved in the action.

And he never looked away, his eyes holding her own as he swept her high, then higher still, but never quite enough to send her over the edge.

“Maddox,” she sighed, her voice pleading.

“Maddox what?” he taunted.

“You know what. Finish this.”

“Oh, I will. I'm just getting started. But if you want to come right now, all you need to do is ask.”

“What?”

His fingers circled deep and thick again, tormenting her. “Just say the words. ‘Please' will do.”

“You expect me to beg?” she panted.

“No, just ask.”

She let out an infuriated breath. “You're a bastard.”

“Never said I wasn't. Come on, Brie. Say it.”

She wanted to tell him to get lost, leave him as high and dry and unsatisfied as she had last night. But he finger-thrust inside her again, increasing the ache to an almost savage edge.

She looked into his eyes and realized he knew exactly what he was doing. “I'll get you back for this,” she said.

His mouth curved up. “I look forward to it.” He teased her inside again, heightening the ache.

“Please.” The word burst from her lips. “Please make me come.”

“Well, since you asked so nicely.”

He pressed her with his thumb and pumped his fingers, using a touch that must surely be outlawed in every red state in the nation.

And suddenly she couldn't think at all, pleasure breaking through her like a tidal wave.

“Ah, God,” she cried.

Still, he didn't let her go, holding her in his dual grip, above and below, while her body quaked and shuddered from the force of her climax.

She was still soaring when he leaned down and kissed her, taking her mouth with a wild, ravenous demand. She kissed him back, extra little cries reverberating against his lips.

Then suddenly he released her and sat up in the bed.

She lay there, drifting as if on a cloud, her bones feeling as loose and malleable as warmed wax. Dimly, she felt and heard her shoes fall to the floor, her pants and underwear stripped from her body.

Brie expected him to take her, part her legs and sheath himself inside. She presumed he'd brought protection, but still she knew she ought to say something to make sure.

But before the words could even form, he grabbed her hips and slid her forward, positioning her near the edge of the bed, his palms under her bare butt.

Glancing down the length of her body, she watched him drop to his knees between her spread thighs. Then to her surprise, he buried his face against her tenderest flesh.

A ragged gasp filled the air.
Her
gasp, she realized, as his lips and tongue set her ablaze. She shifted her hips, not sure if she was trying to get closer to him or get away.

But he held her tight, his touch inescapable, inexorable, as he built her passion high, then higher. His every move seemed designed to inflame her, to push her to the very brink of madness, driving her to new, ever increasing heights.

She whimpered and moaned, her fingers clutching at the comforter, her breath coming in harsh, labored pants.

And she was beyond shame, beyond inhibition, as he took her where she hadn't known it was possible to go.

She let out a sharp little scream when the climax hit her, merciless and mesmerizing. Her whole body quaked, heat and light and ecstatic pleasure sweeping over her in a warm, dark rush. Head to toe to pelvis and back again.

But before she even had time to catch her breath or gather a single coherent thought, he began once more, forcing her hunger to rage again, making her yearn for what seemed an impossible pleasure.

She wept this time, the delight so intense it was nearly unbearable. Yet he didn't slow or slacken in his efforts, silently demanding that she follow his lead to race one more time to the abyss and dive inside.

Just when she was on the verge of another mind-blowing climax, he stopped. She cried out, reaching for him blindly.

Surely he wasn't going to leave her like this? Even he couldn't be that cruel.

Then he was back, leaning over her, completely and gloriously naked, to strip off the rest of her clothes. But she scarcely had time to admire his beautiful masculine form before he was there, rolling her into the middle of the big bed and parting her thighs with his knees.

She heard the sound of a condom package being opened and then he was over her, in her, his large shaft filling her almost to completion. Her inner muscles tightened around him, too stretched for comfort yet inexplicably craving more.

He eased back, then thrust, hard and fast.

And again, lodging himself deep, deeper still.

His mouth found hers, claiming her in a series of wild, wet, rapacious kisses, his tongue thrusting in time to the movements of his hips and cock below.

She kissed him back, needy and avaricious, strangely excited to find her own flavor like sweet and salt on his tongue. Her fingers tunneled into his hair, massaging his scalp and neck. Her legs wrapped around his hips to urge him on, one heel digging into his ass as he plunged in and out.

Heavier, deeper, quicker.

She ached with need, her blood and body on fire, her mind dark and enslaved, empty of everything but him. Everything but the yearning to be his in all ways.

His hands glided over her in hot, sweeping circles, shoulders, arms, breasts, hips, and thighs, pausing to angle her up so he could find even more purchase inside her wet, silken depths.

She cried out, gasping against his mouth. And again, as he grazed his teeth over her earlobe and neck and down to her breasts.

He drew upon her again, using tongue and teeth, so that she was left dazed and dizzy. He reached between them, his fingers like a magical flame.

And up she went, body and mind turning instantaneously to ash. Pleasure roared through her, engulfing her in a firestorm of bliss.

He pumped inside her again. Faster, harder, his face beautiful in his need. Suddenly he stiffened, his large body caught in a storm that looked as fearsome as the one that had shaken her.

Together, they collapsed, arms and legs tangled, bodies still joined. He didn't move and she didn't either, even though he was heavy where he lay on top of her.

As if realizing, he rolled them over, leaving her draped limp and drowsing over him. With one large hand, he stroked her lazily from shoulder to thigh, then back up again.

Smiling, she curled into him like a kitten, burying her face against his damp neck. She inhaled, liking the way he smelled. His hand curved against her bare bottom.

“You hungry?” he said after a minute.

“Hmm, I don't know. I can't even think yet.”

He chuckled. “The sauce is probably ready. I suppose I ought to check it.”

Until that moment, she'd forgotten all about the spaghetti sauce simmering on the stove while things had been more than simmering between them there in her bedroom.

“You probably should go give it a stir.”

Rather than let him up, she shimmied against him, searching for the most comfortable spot on his sculpted body.

His shaft flexed inside her.

Was he already getting hard again?

She looked at him, met his passion-filled eyes.

He squeezed her ass in his hand and sent her squirming again.

Now he really was hard. She could feel him stretching inside her.

“I've got another condom,” he said.

“I'm kind of tired.”

“I'm not.”

Rolling her over, he leaned down to get his pants.

Then he was back, protection in hand.

Looking down at his impressive display, she inexplicably felt desire curl inside her again.

Maybe she wasn't so tired after all.

“Surely, the sauce can wait a little longer,” she whispered, running her hand over him from chest to thigh to cock. She played her fingers over him there, enjoying the sensation as he throbbed inside her grasp.

Pushing her back against the tangled comforter, he rose over her and kissed her. “The sauce'll have to wait,” he murmured against her lips. “Because I can't.”

*   *   *

When she and Maddox finally got around to eating dinner, the sun had set. It was dark in the main part of the apartment and his famous red sauce was on the verge of burning.

Somehow, he managed to salvage enough sauce for a meal.

While he was busy putting water on the boil for the spaghetti and assembling the salad, Brie set the table with her everyday china. She poured tall glasses of cold iced tea—luckily neither she nor Maddox was sensitive to caffeine—then lit a quartet of squat beeswax candles; their fragrance filled the room with a warming sweetness.

She switched on a couple of lamps, leaving the apartment mostly in shadow. Then, she started some classical music on her sound system, beginning with Chopin, one of her favorites.

Earlier, after she'd climbed out of bed, loose-limbed and thoroughly satisfied in a way she hadn't been in a long time—if ever—she'd slipped into her panties and a long Metropolitan Museum of Art T-shirt that hit her midthigh.

As for Maddox, he hadn't bothered putting on anything other than his black boxer-briefs.

“If I get dressed, I'll just have to take my clothes off again once we finish eating,” he'd explained when she'd raised an eyebrow at his solo garment choice.

She'd offered no further complaint. Not about his lack of attire or his assumption that they would be having sex again, soon.

Warm shivers ran through her at the thought.

She wondered if he planned to spend the entire night. If he did, would they be sharing breakfast too? She wasn't sure how she felt about that.

Dinner, when it was finally served, was delicious. In spite of its near scorching, his “mean” red sauce tasted as good as advertised. The crisp salad with its slightly tart dressing and the fresh bread smeared with creamy yellow butter were perfect accompaniments.

To her surprise, Maddox kept her laughing throughout the meal, amusing her with stories about the hotel staff and a few of the more flamboyant guests. He was careful not to name names, but she had her suspicions about a couple of them, one being an incredibly famous movie star who had a list of more than twenty specific room requirements whenever he stayed at the M Hotel.

These included keeping six bottles of Dom Pérignon on hand at all times, chilled to an exact forty-five degrees; vases filled with long-stemmed organic white roses, one for each room of the suite; brand-new pairs of Haflinger boiled wool slippers set out each day in both the bedroom and the bath; and, most amusing of all, four packs of new Hello Kitty playing cards and a box of sharpened Ticonderoga number two pencils.