Playing With Her Heart (14 page)

Davis seems to sense
the change. To respect it. “You were everything I wanted you to
be,” he says, returning to his crisp, professional voice. He stops
to lock the door, then we head down the carpeted hallway to the
elevator. Once inside, he pushes the button for the ground floor. I
glance at his hand, noticing his scar again. I point to it, my finger
mere inches from his hand, so close I could touch him, could trace
the raised line of the mark on his body. “How’d you get that
scar?”

He doesn’t answer
right away, and I wonder if I’ve crossed some line. I hold my
breath, as I wait for an answer or an admonishment. The gears whir as
the car begins its descent. This might be the tiniest elevator ever
made because I feel as if I could crash into him if it stops
suddenly. I can picture it. Being jolted, being caught. His arms
around me. Our bodies so close. That moment when everything can
change, when time freezes, and you’re either colliding or you’re
not. Maybe I do want more of his innuendo. Maybe I do want the
elevator to slam me into him, so my body can take what it wants right
now.

But the ride is smooth,
and we both stay in our places.

Then, he holds up his
hand, regards it as if he hasn’t seen it in ages. “This? Punched
the glass window of my front door when I was seventeen.”

“You did?”

“Couple of days after
I found out my parents died.”

He says it in the most
offhand way, but my heart leaps to my throat and I want to comfort
him. To wrap my arms around him, tell him how unfair it is when
people you love die too soon. I reach out and lay a hand on his arm.
His eyes jerk to mine, but then he quickly looks away and I remove my
hand, because I shouldn’t be touching Davis for so many reasons.
“I’m so sorry.”

“Yeah, me too,” he
says in a low voice, sounding wounded for the first time. Letting
down his guard.

I’m about to ask what
happened to them, but that feels too personal, too much, too soon.

The car stops at the
lobby and the doors crank open. We step out into the cold, biting
night, the sounds of New York traffic hitting my ears. It’s the
familiar soundtrack to my days and nights in this city.

We walk down the steps
to the sidewalk. A cold wind whooshes by and I pull my coat tighter.
He moves closer to me and for a second I think he may drape an arm
over my shoulder, pull me in close and keep me warm. But he doesn’t.
Instead, he points to a town car waiting at the curb.

“For you,” he says.

“Me? You got me a car
service?” I shouldn’t be excited over a car, but I am. I’ve
only acted in a few off-Broadway shows and a couple of commercials,
and I didn’t even warrant a cab in my contracts for those. I was
subway, all the way.

“If I’m making you
work late, it’s the least I can do,” he says, as he opens the
door for me, and I slide inside.

He leans into the car,
reaches for the seat belt, and pulls it across my chest, buckling me
in. He’s inches from me, and he smells cold like the night air. But
he also smells the way a man should at the end of the day: a little
bit of sweat, a lot of work, and all raw power. He brings one hand
behind my head and unclips my hair, letting it fall over his fingers.
I tremble from his touch as a shiver runs down my spine. “I like
your hair up and I like your hair down,” he whispers to me,
breaking down all my resistance in an instant.

I can see this playing
out if I do nothing—I’ll spend it rewinding this moment and
putting it on repeat all night long. But I don’t want to go home
with only a memory to feed my body, and I can’t stand the thought
of this night ending too soon.

I make my choice.
There’s only one choice. “Do you want to share?” I ask, praying
he lives in the same direction.

“You’re downtown,
right?”

I nod.

“Me too.”

Then he closes my door,
and I don’t see him as he walks behind the car so I swivel around,
watching through the tinted window as he reaches the other side
quickly and opens the door, his dark eyes pinning me and sending a
rush of heat down my chest and straight to my very core. He never
takes his eyes from me as he closes the door, and hits a button on
the console that starts to close the tinted privacy partition,
telling the driver “Just drive.”

Like it’s a command.

Then he turns and looks
at me, and for a long beat we are still, the air between us crackling
with the anticipation of what’s next. But I am overcome with want
and I can’t hold back, nor can he. As the engine starts, I unbuckle
myself just as his hands are on my face, and he sucks in a breath at
the first touch. Then, a low growl escapes his throat as his lips
find mine with a hungry kiss that ignites something in me.

I grab his shirt,
loving the feel of his strong, firm chest. My fingers fist the fabric
as I pull him closer, but he doesn’t need any direction from me.
Within seconds, his hands are in my hair, and his lips are consuming
me, his tongue tangling with mine, and I’m about to burst from all
this sensation—from the way he smells so masculine and strong, to
the delicious scratch of his stubble, to the calloused fingers that
tug on my hair.

He tastes so fucking
good that I don’t want to stop. Instead, I want to be devoured by
him. I want him—no, I
need
him, I desperately need him—to
do something about this onslaught of desire he’s started in my body
that’s become a delicious and needy ache between my legs.

“I want to be under
you,” I say, and I’m not even sure how I’m forming words, let
alone coherent thoughts, but all I know is what my body is demanding.
I need the weight of him on me. I need to feel him pressed hard
against me. I take off my jacket quickly, tossing it to the floor of
the car, and he does the same. Then I slide down on the leather so
I’m lying flat, and he moves with me, hovering over me, braced on
his strong arms.

“Who needs jackets
anyway?” he says with a wry smile, then returns his lips to my
neck, trailing kisses across my skin that make me hot and wet and
hungry.

“Jill,” he says,
and he’s no longer playful. He’s intense and demanding, as he
puts a hand on my chin and makes me look at him. “Tell me you think
about me.”

I don’t answer. I
just breathe out hard.

“Tell me I get you
off when you’re all alone.”

I bite my lip, and my
nipples harden from the way he’s speaking to me. I want his hands
all over me. I want his hands between my legs. I wriggle under him,
arching my hips against him. He moves away, so I can’t feel his
erection against me, even though I’m dying to.

“Tell me you picture
me doing all sorts of things to you.” His hands roam down my chest,
and he cups my breasts through my sweater. I nearly cry out, it feels
so good, sparks of sheer pleasure rippling through my entire being.
“You do, don’t you?”

“Why are you asking
me?” I say in a tortured voice, because he’s tormenting me with
his fantastic hands, pinching my nipple between his thumb and index
finger and it’s rough, but it makes me feel alive. It makes this
moment feel real. I want to feel every single thing right now. Every
real feeling.

“Because. I don’t
want you thinking of someone else when I make you come tonight.”

“Oh God,” I gasp,
and with a quickness that surprises him, I grab his ass and pull him
down to me so I can feel what I’ve done to him, so I can know I’m
not the only one tumbling towards the edge.

He gives me a daring
look, as if he’s impressed that I snagged the upper hand for one
delirious moment, but then I don’t care about this battle of wills
because he’s so hard and it’s all because of me, and I can’t
get enough of the friction. I tug him closer, so I can feel the steel
length of him against my thigh.

Before I know it, his
hands are up my shirt, and he’s unhooking my bra. He squeezes my
breasts, and I swear it’s like wildfire racing through me from his
slightest touch. I buck my hips against him. “Please,” I say.

“Please what?”

“Do something,” I
beg.

“Tell me I’m the
only one you’re going to think of when you come undone in a few
minutes,” he says, his voice rough against my ear.

“Isn’t it fucking
obvious?” I say through gritted teeth, and my frustrated response
earns me the most wicked grin from Davis. I have no idea what he’s
going to do to me, but I don’t care. I can’t stand how long it’s
been since someone’s hands have been on me. I want to be touched so
badly, I can feel it deep in my bones, this need.

I need him.

“Say it.”

“I think of you. I
think of you making me come. There. Are you happy?”

“As happy as you’re
going to be in a few minutes.”

Davis

I tug off her sweater
as she shrugs out of her bra, then I stop for one brief moment to
savour the view. She’s topless, her arms over her head, all
beautiful curves and gorgeous flesh, and I want to spend hours on her
body, touching and tasting her neck, and her breasts, and her
absolutely enticing belly. But she’s already panting, and I can
feel the heat between her legs, even through the denim of her jeans.

I press hard against
her with my hand, and she draws in a breath.

“Oh God,” she says,
and her voice is rising. She pushes against me, rubbing against my
hand in a desperate frenzy. It suddenly hits me that she’s already
close. That I could slide my hand inside her jeans, feel her wetness
and bring her to release within a few seconds.

Her face is strained,
and her skin is so fevered, but her eyes are closed. “Please.
Please make me come. Please,” she says and that last word borders
on a cry. She’s arching her hips, and she’s fumbling at the
button of her jeans. But I need to know she’s with me before I go
further. I press both my hands gently, but firmly, on top of hers,
quieting her moves.

“Jill. Look at me.”

She opens her eyes.
They are wild with desire.

“I’ve got this.
I’ll get you there.”

She nods and drops her
hands to the leather, letting me take care of her. Her breath is
coming fast, but she stays still. I unbutton her jeans, unzip them
and slide my hand between her legs. She is wet through her black lace
underwear, and there is nothing that feels better than this, than
her
being so ready for me, so turned on that the cotton panel of her
underwear is damp with her heat. My dick is straining against the fly
in my jeans, and I want so badly to be inside her, but this isn’t
about me right now, or even about me tonight. This is about whatever
desperate need is winding up her body.

“You are so wet and
hot. This is all for me, isn’t it?”

She gasps out a sound,
as I play with the waistband on her underwear. She starts to thrust
her hips up, and I shake my head several times. “No. I told you.
I’ll take care of this.”

My fingers inch their
way between her legs and I slide them once across her.

“Fuck, Jill,” I
hiss out. Then I bring my fingers to my lips and lick off her taste.

“Please,” she says,
and she’s crossed some kind of line, she’s wracked with the
overwhelming need to come right now, and there’s nothing I’d
rather do than be the one to satisfy her. I pull her jeans down past
her hips, then tug them off. My hand is back in the promised land,
and she’s so deliriously wet that I plan to make a shrine to her
for being the hottest woman I’ve ever touched, and the neediest,
and that’s fine with me, because this is what I want. Her. This
woman. Screw the past. Screw my rules. I don’t care about anything
right now but making her come. I want her to be in some kind of never
ending bliss, so I slide two fingers across her, and she moans
greedily, as if this kind of touch is the thing she craves most in
the entire world.

“God, it feels so
good,” she says in a ragged whisper.

I’ve barely given her
anything, but she’s already near the edge, so I rub the pad of my
thumb where she wants me most, and soon she’s thrusting her hips,
and she’s no longer whispering, she’s screaming out, “Oh, God,
oh God, oh God.”

That’s it. That’s
all it takes, as she comes, her entire body rocking against my hand,
hips bucking hard and wildly. She grabs at me, pulling my face to her
and kissing me, but she’s so far gone from the orgasm rocketing
through her body that it’s a supremely sloppy, though intensely
sexy kiss, because I made her come in seconds flat and she’s still
crying out.

Her voice can really
carry, and the sound of her coming echoes around the car, but the
driver doesn’t care. Her whole body is trembling as she starts to
come down, and soon she opens her eyes, and breathes out hard and
looks at me. Her eyes are dreamy now, and she has a glow that makes
her even more beautiful. I want to see that look again and again. I
want to be the only one who makes her feel this way.

“That was…” she
trails off.

“That was what?” I
ask, because even though I’m pretty certain she enjoyed herself
immensely, I’m a guy. I still like hearing it from the source.

“That was the fir—”
then she stops. “That was amazing.” And she pulls me in for
another kiss that makes my brain go fuzzy from the heady taste of her
lips, and the way she smells even sexier after she’s just come. I
can barely process what she was going to say, and I’m not sure it
even matters right now. I nip at her bottom lip, and then break the
kiss.

She reaches for me,
trying to touch my cock. But I stop her hand.

“What? Why can’t I
touch you?”

“Because this was
about you.”

“But I want to.”

“Yeah, and trust me,
there’s nothing I want more than for you to know what you do to me.
But I already know that you’re the only one I’m thinking of. And
I’m not going to let you touch me until I’m certain that I’m
the only one you want to be touching.”