Stripped (8 page)

Declan scrubbed a hand over his mouth and stared. He was being rude—worse, he was being obvious, but he couldn’t help it. Her body called to him, stirring recognition at a gut-deep level and whispering,
I’ll fit. Against you, atop you, beneath you.
The itch in his fingertips was in no way relieved as they scraped over his bristled jaw. “I like how you move, darlin’.”

She plucked at the gauzy fabric of her top. “Most men do.”
 

His eyes met hers, the translucent gray piercing even in the alley’s lengthening shadows. “You weren’t dancing in there for most men.” He stepped forward until his knees brushed her leg, angled out from the wall. “You did that for me.”

“Wrong. I did that for
me
.” But her hands reached out to fist in the thin cotton of his tee shirt. Her knuckles brushed over his abdomen, and he sucked in a breath. “You’ll know it when I dance for you, Mr. Murphy.”

When.
When
she danced for him—not
if
. He didn’t even have to close his eyes to imagine her thumbs hooking around the thin straps of her creamy top, sliding those straps over the caps of her shoulders with a gentle tug. Her torso would twist as it had earlier, pulsing to the beat provided by the salsa band. A swish of her hips, the skirt flicking around those sublime thighs as she twirled. “I want that,” he murmured, studying her face for clues that he was being too aggressive—because he certainly
felt
aggressive, more than he’d ever been with a woman. “What do I have to do to see that dance?”

Eyebrow arching, she lifted her chin, and there was a glimpse of the familiar Fiona, the aloof woman whose face was the first he saw on set each morning, and the last he saw each night. “See it?” Her fists relaxed, fingertips petting the ridges of lean muscle hiding beneath his shirt until he wanted to purr. To pounce. “You have to earn it first.”

“Oh, I’ll earn it.” The air between them thickened as he planted his palms on the wall on either side of her head and sidled closer. His leg nudged her bent knee aside, making a place for his hips in the cradle of hers, but he didn’t lean into her. Keeping the heavy ache of his erection away from the heat of her welcoming body was imperative—if he touched her like that, he’d lose any chance he had of keeping this encounter flirtatious. His need would yank them both into the dark yearning that kept prodding at his chest every time he saw her.
 

It wasn’t smart. Kissing her wasn’t smart—Rick knew it, Fiona knew it, and the Declan who knew that his career and
not
a woman should be his priority knew it. If he messed this up—

Fuck it.

A hint of salt and salsa at the corner of her mouth, the sweet tang of lime margarita when he dipped his tongue past full, giving lips. More tentative than he’d anticipated, she let him lead the kiss, and a curious ache bloomed high in his chest. For all that she moved like wild sex on the dance floor, in the moment of their first kiss, Fiona seemed almost shy.

It gentled the harsh edge of his lust. Without thought, he stepped into her, dropping one hand from the wall to cup her cheek, flushed and warm. He stroked his thumb over the high curve of one cheekbone. Her lashes fluttered closed as he angled her head, nipping playfully at her lower lip. “You taste like you dance.”

“What does that mean?” She let go of his shirt to loop her arms around his neck, holding him closer. Holding him to her.

The simple action soothed that unnamed ache. “Hot. You’re so damn hot.” Plump breasts pressed against his chest, her knee hooking over his hip. The heel of her sandal might as well have been a spur digging into his upper thigh, urging him to take her mouth again and seduce away any shyness.
 

The hand on her cheek slid to cup her nape, the cool strands of her high ponytail slipping over the backs of his knuckles, a tantalizing tease of sensation that made him want to wrap her hair around his fist and tug—hard. Much like he was. He finally brought his hips fully against hers, letting her feel him, and feel what kissing her did to his body.
 

Her breathing stuttered as she gripped his shoulders. “Damn it,” she muttered into his mouth. “You feel good.” Her hips hitched up, and he felt the sudden, stunning heat of her pussy along the length of his dick, only his jeans and her panties separating them. She bit down on his lower lip, not gently. “Really good.” She moved on him, arms clinging, leg clutching, nothing but lithe muscle and silky skin…and need.
 

God, she moved like she needed him.
Him
.
 

His hands dropped, one to her waist, the other to the thigh sliding over his hip. He slanted his mouth over hers, wanting to steal her words and her lips and her breath and her. Just her. All of her. His shoulders flexed as her nails found his spine, sharp pleasure burrowing into the tension-knotted muscles.
 

She thought
he
felt good? He couldn’t possibly compare to this writhing woman pinned to the alley wall.

He dipped inside her mouth to taste her again, eyes closed, wallowing in the salty sweetness on the tongue twining with his. His gut clenched as her hand fisted in his hair, the tug on his scalp shivering across his nerve endings. When she moaned against his lips, he felt sanity start slipping away, and burrowed the hand at her waist beneath her thin top, desperate to touch naked Fiona.
 

The hand in his hair yanked him back, tearing her lips from his. “Nothing under my shirt.”

He froze as his fingertips found the warm flesh stretched across her rib cage. “Why not?” Petting. Her skin practically cried out for petting, and he wanted to pet every damn inch of her. And then lick her ’til she melted like ice on his tongue.
 

“I just don’t want you there,” she snapped, tempering the bite of her tone by nuzzling the side of his neck.
 

All right, then
. He withdrew, planting his palm on the brick above her shoulder. “What about your skirt?” The hand on her thigh slid beneath the hem of that fall-away skirt. The further he climbed, the softer her skin, the heat from her body buffeting the backs of his fingers. He nipped at her earlobe. “You gonna let me under here, darlin’?”

She stiffened when he found the lacy edge of her panties, trembled when one finger traced the crease of her lips through the delicate fabric. “Yeah. Yes.” The air leaving her lungs whooshed loudly against his ear.

His surprise didn’t keep him from playing along her slit, teasing touches that quickly increased the wetness gathering behind the lace gusset. She had this backward—most women were all about above-the-waist games, not letting a guy into their knickers until they knew he wouldn’t pull a bang-and-dash. But she wanted him exactly where he wanted to be and so would hear zero complaints from him.

He found the bud of her clitoris with his thumb and circled, applying more pressure with each pass. “You like this, Fi?” he whispered at her ear, breathing in the jasmine of her perfume, the scent making his dick throb painfully. Regretfully, he drew his hips away from hers, needing better access for his fingers. “You like how I touch you?”

She nodded, the hand in his hair fisting tighter.
 

His jaw clenched as he tried not to shudder. Fuck. If he ever got her in bed, he was going to have a hell of a time not embarrassing himself—at least during the first round. He thought he’d understood the boundaries of desire, had been worked up over other women in the past, but this…this was pure lust, and it felt dangerous. Adrenaline-rush, out-of-control dangerous.

And he wasn’t going to waste this high. Hooking a finger around the fabric, he tugged the crotch of her panties to the side, and then palmed her mound.

Jesus effing Christ. “Kinda like my birthday came early this year,” he muttered, his forehead falling to hers, a wry laugh caught in his throat as his fingers stroked back and forth along her creamy slit.
 

“You saying I’m your present?”
 

The laugh slipped free. “Oh, please be my present, Fi. I’m beggin’ you.” He captured her lips in a wet, open-mouthed kiss, his tongue sweeping against hers, dancing with her all over again while his middle finger found her entrance and, without ceremony, slid inside.
 

She whimpered.
 

The glide into her body was so smooth, the clasp of her cunt so tight around his finger, and when her inner muscles clamped down, he groaned into her mouth. “You’re killin’ me, babe.” And she was. His dick was dying to replace the finger he thrust slowly into her.
 

Gritting his teeth, he added a second finger to that wet heat, the heel of his palm pressing against her clit. The brick of the alley wall abraded his other hand as he leaned into her again. If he couldn’t touch her upper body, he would at least feel those perfect breasts pressed to his chest, high and soft and… “I want you. God, I wanna be in you, right now.” The words left him before he could worry that he was pushing her for too much, too fast.
 

But he needn’t have worried. “You turn me on.” She arched into him, releasing his hair to run her hands over his shoulders in a fleeting caress before she grabbed his waist. Her hips rolled, and she nipped at him, a delicious sting on his lower lip that made his brain buzz and his erection pulse behind the too-tight confines of his jeans. “You get me so worked up in sitting my makeup chair, and now I’m thirty seconds away from losing my mind.”

 
His mouth went dry as her fingernails bit into his sides. “Can I…can you get off like this?”
Say yes
. She was hot—so hot she’d burn him alive—half shrouded in shadow and head tipped back against the brick as she rode his hand.
 

Her lashes fluttered closed, and she huffed out a strained laugh. “Honestly, pal, I really think that depends on you at the moment.”
 

He thrust his two fingers deeper inside her slick sheath, cupping her more firmly, more possessively. He had no real right to her, he knew that, but it was too damn easy to think she belonged to him when she clenched around him so intimately. “I wanna get you off, Fi. Just like this.”

“Then keep—” She broke off as a shiver chased down her spine, a quiet moan escaping between parted lips. “K-keep doing what you’re doing.” Her hips gyrated faster with each pump of his hand.
 

“And you’ll come?”
 

“I’ll come all over your fingers.”

“Fuckin’ hell.” Her clit brushed his palm, and he plunged into her hot, wet cunt with greater urgency. He curled his fingers forward, finding that spot, the spot that would send her flying. “Do it,” he growled as he took her mouth in a fierce kiss. “Do it for me. I want you to come for me.”

Her release rippled through her, through him, a shuddering sigh coupled with a shaky gasp that rang in his ears like a bomb blast. Her inner walls squeezed him until he swore a phantom vise gripped his aching dick in torment, the worst tease he could imagine. He exhaled on a pained breath, waiting for her spasms to cease, watching the passion fade from her flushed skin.
 

Leaving her body was one of the hardest things he’d ever done, his limbs awkward and heavy when he pulled away. “Well. That was something.”

Her head fell back against the brick. “That was…yeah.”
 

“I want your number.” When she didn’t say anything, he shoved his hands into the front pockets of his jeans, trying not to gnash his teeth with frustration. With the exception of her orgasm, getting anything personal out of this woman was starting to seem like a Sisyphean task. “I should have it, regardless. What if I have a makeup emergency?”

“Like, away from the studio?”

He scowled at her. “You don’t know what I do on the weekend.”

“If you’re about to tell me you’re a regular on the drag circuit—”

“Can you just give me your number, Fiona?” Reaching into his back pocket, he withdrew his phone, handed it to her. “Put it in yourself, if sayin’ it aloud is too much for you.”

Hesitantly, she grasped the phone, fingertips glancing his in an electric whisper of physical contact that inconveniently reminded his dick that it had received zero attention, and it was Not Happy about this state of affairs. Watching him warily, she unlocked the screen with a swipe of one finger and started tapping what he hoped was her actual number into a new-contact slot in his address book.
 

She held out the phone when finished. “There. For makeup emergencies.”
 

He took it, pocketed it. Wanted to call her right this second to verify that the number she’d given him was a number at which her soft, clear-toned voice would greet him on the other end. Was it so wrong to want her voice in his ear, in whatever manner he could manage it?
 

Yeah. Yeah, it was all kinds of unprofessional wrong. Damn it.
 

Pushing off the wall, she straightened the hem of her skirt, flattening the fabric so it swung perfectly against her thighs. “This doesn’t change anything, you know.”

Damn. It.
“I know.”

“We have to work together for the next several weeks.”
 

“I know.”
 

Her chest rose and fell in a shaky breath, and he was sadistically pleased to see her rattled. Because of him. Because of what he’d done to her a few minutes earlier.
 

She was stunning when she came. Fucking stunning.
 

She shifted toward the door, one step, then another, the click of her strappy heels a quiet echo off the tall brick walls sheltering them from the midnight traffic on the city’s streets. “You shouldn’t…don’t call me, okay?”

The night had cooled considerably now that his heart rate had slowed somewhat, but her tense words sent his blood pressure skyrocketing. “Not gonna promise that, darlin’.” Unless… “Are you
upset
about what we did?”

Her blush was visible in the shadows, even as her chin lifted defiantly. “I like orgasms as much as the next girl, especially ones I don’t have to give myself.”