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Authors: Eve Berlin

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BOOK: Pleasure's Edge
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There were trendy cafés and restaurants popping up al over the place, some boutiques and gal eries, nicer bars than the old-school dive bars that had populated this area for years. Even a few newer amenities, like the smal gourmet grocery store that had opened across the street last month.

She took the elevator up to the fourth floor and let herself into her loft apartment. It was an open space, with floors she’d whitewashed herself when she’d bought the place two years earlier. Most of the outer wal s were stil the old exposed brick. The few wal s she’d had built to divide the rooms were painted in the rich colors she found most soothing: amber, dark terra-cotta, gold, mossy greens. They were decorated with her col ection of black-and-white prints, mostly architectural photographs.

She was stil looking for furniture for the place. She was most often drawn to the spare lines of contemporary pieces, like her L-shaped sofa done in peridot green suede. The place was warmed by the ornate light fixtures she had in each area, the piles of pil ows in the same bril iant shades as the wal s, and by the potted plants in every corner.

Moving into the kitchen area at one end of the loft, the heels of her high black boots clicking softly on the wood, she shed her wool coat and laid it over the back of a stool at the tal granite counter.

She needed a cup of tea to chase the damp from her bones. To clear her head, maybe.

She’d done a good job of pretending to ignore her response to Alec Walker al the way home by means of blasting her favorite opera on the stereo. But now that she was home, in the quiet, there was nothing to distract her.

She fil ed the chrome kettle with water and set it on the stove to heat, pul ed a tea bag, her favorite imported jasmine, from the box she always left on the counter and set it in a ceramic mug.

She was restless waiting for the water to boil. Looking through the windows, watching the water bead on the glass, turning the view into a darkening watercolor smear, she rubbed her arms, trying to warm up. Trying not to think about Alec.

But of course, he was al she could think about.

He was a most amazing man. There was something about the sheer size of him that was astounding in some way. And something more . . . there was something in her that responded to him in a way she wasn’t used to. Something that made it possible to consider that she might actual y be able to submit to him, as bizarre as the idea had seemed in those first moments.

She wasn’t certain she could do it, even though images had raced through her mind since he’d first suggested it: his hands on her, holding her. Nothing more than that, nothing more explicit, nothing clearer. Except for that almost-touch of his lips on hers.

She shivered, desire a smal , hot spark she tried to mental y tamp down.

But desire didn’t mean taking a sexual fantasy into the realm of reality was going to work. It was more likely that it wouldn’t. Some things were better left as fantasy, after al .

Not Alec Walker.

But she’d agreed to this little experiment. And her attraction to him could probably carry her a little way, even if she wasn’t able to truly submit.

Her thoughts were invaded by the singing of the tea kettle. She poured, the steam wafting around her face, along with the soft fragrance of the tea. She moved back into the living room, idly sifted through a pile of mail on a high table by the front door, waiting for her tea to cool. It was several moments later that she realized she had no idea what she was looking at. Instead, Alec’s face fil ed her mind, those bril iant blue eyes, the way the dark, glossy curl of his hair fel just over his col ar, against the skin of his neck. His goatee was even darker than his hair, framing his mouth.

Lips that were too lush on such a masculine face.

He was al contrasts. The way he looked, his behavior. The way he talked about the whole BDSM thing—bondage and pain play—

in that soft tone, as though it were a perfectly natural conversation.

She didn’t want to admit to herself how exciting it was. Her nature fought the idea. She was too much a control freak, something she could readily admit to. But her body knew, burned with the idea of it. And especial y with the idea of Alec being the one in control.

She closed her eyes, the teacup warm between her hands, and imagined him standing over her. Just that simple picture and her sex clenched with need.

Alec . . .

“Damn it.”

She stalked into the bedroom area, sat down on the sleek, dark wood four-post bed covered in a white down comforter and piles of white pil ows, and pul ed her boots off. Standing, she unzipped her skirt, slipped her cashmere sweater over her head, her tea forgotten on the night table.

She caught sight of herself in the big, wood-framed mirror across the room. She was pale in her black lingerie. Too thin, probably, but she loved to work out. Loved the release it gave her.

But now she needed a different kind of release.

Just a fantasy. Harmless.

Stil watching herself in the mirror, she pul ed off her bra, cupped her smal breasts in her hands. Her nipples were already rising, two dark red points, hard, needy. She gently pinched the tips, and groaned.

What would his hands feel like on her body?

Slipping her hand beneath the edge of her bikini panties, she reached lower, until her fingers brushed her mound. Pleasure shot through her, making her breath catch.

Alec . . .

Yes, his hands on her, touching her. Spreading the lips of her sex wide to slide into her wet heat. And she was soaking wet for him, aching . . .

She spread her legs a little wider and watched her own hand working between her thighs. But soon it was too much. Frustrated, she slid the bit of black fabric down her legs, kicked her way out of them. The sight of her own sex, the lips plump, her pink clitoris peeking out from between them, made her tremble.

Alec . . .

She spread more, letting her fingers skim through her juices, then slipped one inside. She gasped, bit her lip. She was so hot inside, her inner wal s clenching at her finger immediately. She added a second, then a third, needing to be fil ed.

Would his cock be as large as the rest of him?

“Oh ...”

She moaned, using the heel of her hand to press against her clit. She rubbed in a smal circle, pumped her fingers inside herself. Imagined Alec’s piercing blue gaze staring at her through the mirror, watching her.

With her other hand, she reached up to pinch her nipple once more. Pleasure, hot and sharp, shot through her.

“Alec ...”

Oh yes, his big hands on her, inside her. Rubbing, pinching.

Pleasure like molten liquid in her veins, moving through her like silk.

She thrust her fingers in and out, the motion moving her palm hard against her clit. And her body clenched, shook as she came, as she cal ed out his name to the empty room.

“Alec!”

Her legs weak, she nearly fel , but she caught herself with one hand on the edge of the dresser. She was panting, gasping for breath. Her image in the mirror was flushed: her breasts, her cheeks. Her eyes were enormous, the gray irises almost obscured by her glittering pupils.

Her body stil buzzed with need, despite her orgasm.

Alec . . .

She glanced at the rattan basket next to the bed, thought of the col ection of vibrators she kept there.

Yes, need to come again. And again.

How had this man gotten to her? And how was she going to work him out of her system?

She moved across the room, sat on the bed and pul ed one of her favorite toys from the basket, a heavy, turbo massager that made her scream when she came. Maybe that would be enough.

But even as she laid back on the pil ows and switched it on, lowering the powerful instrument between her spread thighs, she knew no toy would ever be enough.

What the hel had Alec Walker done to her?

The alarm went off and Alec slapped at it blindly, turning onto his back. He’d slept on his stomach and come awake with a painful erection pressing into the mattress. And Dylan’s face in his mind.

In his body.

He’d gone to sleep hard and woken harder.

He wil ed himself to calm, but his cock throbbed with need.

In his mind’s eye he saw long curls shining auburn and amber in the sunlight, fal ing around her narrow shoulders. A pair of cool, gray eyes that seemed to hold some mystery, something she kept secret from him, something he wanted—
needed
—to know. Pale, pale skin like polished ivory. The delicate line of col arbone at the edge of her sweater, and beneath it, the curve of her breasts, perfectly formed. He’d been up late last night imagining what they would look like, feel like in his hands. The taste of her beneath his tongue. What it would be like to have her long legs wrapped around his waist as he pumped into her, her pussy hot and welcoming . . .

He groaned.

“Fuck.”

Throwing back the blankets, the sheet, he reached down and stroked himself, his fingers gliding over his hard shaft, curling around it.

What would her lush, red lips feel like wrapped around him, her tongue snaking over the head of his cock?

He moaned, stroked harder, his hips pumping into his fist.

Her mouth would be wet, warm, but not as wet as her pussy. He would part her lean thighs, thrust into her, hard, over and over.

Dylan . . .

Her eyes would glaze over, her lips parting, her body shaking as she came, her pussy clenching him, so damn tight.

He arched into his palm, stroking, feathering his fingertips over the swol en head. He could feel the come rising in his body, his cock pulsing.

Dylan . . .

Yeah, just need to spank her gorgeous ass, then get inside her.

To make her come. To fuck her.

Dylan!

He came, hard, pleasure racing hot in his veins, making him shudder. He kept stroking, milking his cock of every last bit of come. Every last moment of pleasure. Trying to work his need for her out of his system.

It didn’t work. He’d known it wouldn’t.

Nothing would work but seeing her, touching her. Commanding her. And commanding this woman wouldn’t be an easy task. But maybe then he could command himself, get some control back.

He looked down at the sticky mess on his stomach, shaking his head. He needed to do it again. He was stil trying to catch his breath, knew it would be a little while before he could even get hard again. But if he had her here he’d be on top of her, ravaging her skin, making her come with his hands, his mouth . . .

His cock gave a twitch and he was surprised to feel a rush of blood there as it swel ed once more.

He sat up, walked across the cool wood floors of his bedroom.

The day was just beginning outside, the dusky gray light filtering through the windows. The air was cold on his skin, but inside he was burning hot. Needy. Aching once more.

In the bathroom he reached into the big shower, tiled in shades of copper, brown and bronze, blasting the hot water. Stepping under the spray, he rinsed the come from his bel y. But the sharp heat of the water on his skin only made him harder.

He grabbed the handheld shower massager from its hook and aimed it at his stiffening cock, leaning his back into the cool tiles behind him and closing his eyes.

There she was again, her hair a wet tangle down her back, her lush mouth a lovely O as he knelt between her thighs, his tongue licking at her wet slit, her hands in his hair, holding him against her as she moaned.

His breath hitched in his lungs. He was going to fucking come again. Just from the water pounding on his cock and the image of Dylan Ivory’s spread thighs in his head.

“Jesus.”

He angled his hips into the water, reached down and cupped his bal s; they were tight with need. And that was al it took. His body shook, his hips jerking as he came.

Dylan . . . God damn it!

He sagged against the wal behind him, his legs weak. Pleasure shimmered through him, a smal electric buzz al over his skin, deep inside his bel y, his stil -throbbing cock.

He pul ed in a breath, then another, as he let the water rinse the come away.

It was bad enough that he’d had to jerk off twice in a row, like some teenager.
Had
to. But this was one of the first times in years he’d gotten off to just . . . sex. No power play. No bondage. No paddles, no leather or ropes or chains. Just Dylan, in his head.

What the hel did that mean, anyway? Did he even want to know?

Sex was the one thing over which he’d always felt completely in control. But something about this woman had gotten to him. And he had a feeling al bets were off.

Not that he’d end up submitting to her. But even when he got her on her knees—and he would, there was no doubt about that—he had a feeling it would be as much of a mind-fuck for him as it would be for her. That something in him would be giving himself over to . . . Dylan.

His gut clenched, partly with annoyance, partly in a panic he didn’t want to admit to and partly in the ever-present desire simmering in his veins.

Things were different with Dylan Ivory. And as much as he didn’t want to admit to the way she affected him, he was going to find out what the hel that was al about. What
she
was al about.

And meanwhile he would keep things under control, damn it, just as he always did.

God damn it.

BOOK: Pleasure's Edge
13.7Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
ads

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