The Bachelor's Promise (Bachelor Auction) (15 page)

Chapter Twelve

Aiden opened the door to his home, stepping back and allowing Noelle to precede him. As she passed him, he inhaled her light, floral scent. The scent that thickened, deepened when sweat dotted her body. If he were in a perfume shop with every jar open, their fragrances drifting into the air, he would still be able to identify hers. It was pretty, delicate, strong. Her.

His eyes fixed on her, he closed the front door behind him. At the sound of the lock engaging, she spun around. They stood there, staring at one another, the quiet humming with the tension between them. He couldn’t stop staring at her. At the tumble of black waves that draped over her shoulders like an obsidian cape. At the wide blue eyes that, at turns, could gleam with innocence or burn with passion. At the wide, plump curves of her mouth that stirred images of those lips on his skin, around his cock. At the petite, slender body currently hidden by her winter coat but emblazoned on his mind.

Had any other woman ever ignited this blaze inside him? Had he ever possessed this clawing desire that insisted if he didn’t get inside her he wouldn’t be the same? Had he ever felt this urge, this instinct to take, but give so much more in return?

He sidestepped the thought with the agility of a pro athlete.

Focus on the here. The now. The sex. The need. Not tomorrow, not the future. Hell, not hours from this moment.

With those instructions ringing in his ears, he advanced on her. Hunger beat at him. Insisted he grab her, press her against the nearest wall, and rock into the wet heat waiting for him. But instead, he cupped her face, stroked his thumbs across those ridiculously high and feminine cheekbones, and brushed his lips over hers. She—her strength wrapped in fragility, her passion layered with innocence, her artist heart, and her creative spirit—she tempered the fierce need.

He slid his hands down her neck to her shoulders. For a long second he stared at his hands circling her slender throat. His thumbs pressed into the shallow bowl at the top of her collarbone, his fingers meeting at her nape. Slowly, he rubbed the front of her throat, massaging it, feeling every swallow. He lifted his gaze to hers but found her thick lashes lowered, hiding her eyes from him.

“Are you nervous?” he murmured.

She nodded. “Yes. A little.”

“Why?” He lowered his hands and unbuttoned her coat, then slid the garment down her shoulders and arms.

She shrugged one shoulder, still avoiding his regard. “This feels…different.”

She said the last word so softly, he almost didn’t catch it. But he did. And analyzed it. This time wasn’t the same. Monday night, it’d been one of those carried-away moments. But now, they were both going into sex with their eyes wide open, a decision consciously made. Aware of the consequences.

Of the limitations. Different.

“Look at me,” he said and waited until her lashes lifted. “At any time you decide this is over—that you don’t want this—it’s over. Understand?”

Again, she nodded. “Not tonight.” Mimicking his actions, she unbuttoned his coat and removed it, the wool clothing joining hers on the floor. Her palms flattened over his abdomen, and the muscles contracted under her touch. He felt the touch, as innocuous as it was, in his dick. She slid her hands up his stomach, pausing on his chest. “Can I?” she asked, her fingers hovering over his tie.

“Anything you want from me, you can have, sweetheart. Just take it. You don’t have to ask.” Arousal mixed with tenderness twisted in his gut, but to punctuate his statement, he dropped his arms to his sides, offering her free, unhindered access to him. The irony didn’t escape him. Three weeks ago, he hadn’t wanted her in Boston, had preferred to go on living as if she didn’t exist. Now, he stood in his foyer telling her she could have him.

Hell, he
needed
her to take him.

With a sigh, she quickly loosened the tie, and before it hit the floor, her fingers were busy on his shirt. Unable to not touch her another second, he grasped a large, thick lock of her hair and clenched it, wrapped it around his fist. He noted the flutter of her lashes and the small blast of air that burst past her lips. Intrigued, he tugged a little harder, and her fingers fumbled on the buttons.

Just like he remembered. She liked when he pulled on her hair, was a little rough. The knowledge hardened his body, sent blood thundering through his veins and throbbing in his dick. Noelle might look like a delicate pixie, but she wasn’t frail. More like a decorative sword. Beautiful and jeweled, but forged in steel. She could take everything he longed to give her. And probably dish it out in return.

“You’re so beautiful,” she breathed, jerking his shirttails from his pants and smoothing her hands over his chest. Another of those soft sighs escaped her and feathered over his bare skin as she explored him. Tracing the line bisecting his pecs, sweeping her thumbs over his small, flat nipples, lightly raking her nails across his abdomen. Even dipping a fingertip into his navel.

He clenched his jaw, not interfering and subjugating the urge to take charge. But her light, butterfly caresses were driving him to the brink of his control. Teasing and torturing him.

“I used to dream of this,” she whispered, rubbing her cheek over his skin, then placing a kiss in the center of his chest.

When had she dreamed of it? For the last two nights? He frowned, but her lips closed around his nipple, and every thought but her hot mouth and lashing tongue fled his mind.

“
Oh fuck
,” he groaned, thrusting both hands into her hair and gripping her head, pulling on the dark strands. He tipped his head back on his shoulders, unable to contain the punch of his hips forward. She didn’t try to avoid the grinding of his flesh against her belly but shifted closer to him. Her hands fell to his waist, holding on as her teeth grazed the bud of flesh she tormented. “Harder, sweetheart,” he half pleaded, half demanded. “Don’t be afraid of hurting me. Harder.”

Apparently taking him at his word, she closed the edges of her teeth around his nipple, worrying and tugging it, then soothing the sting with laps of her tongue. He growled, dropping a hand to her ass, cupping the gorgeous curve, kneading it. Each pull and graze over his flesh caused his hips to buck and roll. His balls tightened with every stroke and drag of his cock against her stomach. When she switched to his other nipple, he swore under his breath and hiked her up into his arms. She was going to kill him.

He strode into the living room and continued to the dining area. In spite of the dark lust that had replaced blood in his body, he gently set her on the edge of the long, oval table. That same tenderness didn’t extend to the chair he tore away and slung across the floor. As soon as he stepped back between her spread thighs, she latched her mouth back on his skin, flicking her tongue over the beaded tip. With rough hands, he jerked her ass closer to the edge of the table and notched his rigid flesh against hers. Both of them groaned, hers vibrating over him.

Damn, it was good. Even though clothes separated them, he swore her damp heat burned him. He pumped his length over her, and when her head tipped back on her shoulders, her loud gasps punctuating the air and each stroke, he worked her harder.

“Aiden.” Her lashes lifted, revealing a gaze bright like the heart of a flame. “Please.” She shuddered, and
oh fuck
, she was close. Jesus, she was so responsive, so sensitive, that a few thrusts through their pants had her nearing orgasm. How the hell had he gotten so lucky to have this woman in his arms?

“You want to come?” he rumbled, massaging her clit with the thicker, wider root of his dick. “Say it, sweetheart. Tell me you need me to make you come.”

“Yes,” she gasped, clutching at his shoulders, his arms. “Please let me come. Make me…” She loosed a low, keening whine as she writhed against him, begging with her words and her body.

God, she was gorgeous. Face flushed, eyes glazed, lips parted. No way could he deny her. Hell, he didn’t want to. With a growl, he surged harder, and on the down stroke, wedged his fingers between them and rubbed her clit. She slammed her hands on the table, arched her back, and undulated wilder, attempting to get closer. Grab more leverage. But she was at his mercy, under his control. What little he retained. She’d stripped him of most of it, and he couldn’t resent her for it. Not when he was allowed to witness her coming apart under his fingers, his dick. Before, control had been important; maintaining a certain distance had been vital. But not with Noelle. Her passion, her spirit, her lack of inhibition and reserve didn’t allow it. And he didn’t want it. He longed to be burned to cinders by her, razed to the fucking ground by her heat.

Gripping her hips, he rode her. Hard. And several seconds later, when she cried out and shook with orgasm, he continued to stroke her through it, hoarding each tremor and gasp as his. Satisfaction surged through him; he’d given her—this gorgeous, passionate, bold woman—pleasure.

On the tail of that thought, he grabbed the bottom of her turtleneck and ripped it over her head. Her pants and boots received the same frenzied removal, leaving her clad in only a nude-colored bra and panties. He placed a palm in the center of her chest and gently pressed her back. Her orgasm would have left her drenched, and he was starved to sample the evidence of her pleasure. Devour it.

“Wait.” Breathless, she sat, shoving her hair out of her face. The glaze of passion still hadn’t completely ebbed from her eyes, but they fixed on him. “Wait,” she repeated, scooting forward and shifting off the table. Automatically, he reached for her, his attention focused on the shadows of her nipples visible through her almost sheer bra. Now his mouth watered to taste the erect tips and her pussy. But a hand on the center of his chest halted him. “You said I didn’t have to ask for permission, to take what I wanted.” Slowly, she lowered to the floor, her palms resting above his belt. “So I’m doing that.”

Suddenly struck mute by the inked beauty kneeling before him, he could only stare as she loosened his belt, unfastened his pants, and lowered his zipper. When she reached inside and wrapped her fingers around his flesh, he rediscover his voice. “Noelle,” he rasped, pinching her chin and tilting her head back. “Sweetheart, you don’t have to—”

“You’re wrong,” she interrupted, squeezing him and temporarily cutting off his air supply. “I definitely have to.” She tugged his boxer briefs down, completely freeing him. Humming, she pumped her fist up his cock, pausing under the swollen, ruddy head before stroking down. “Show me,” she murmured, her hooded gaze studying his face as she delivered the erotic invitation. “Show me what you love. How to please you.”

God.
Damn
. Another first. He would be the only man to ever breach, to fuck, her mouth.

He shut his eyes for a long moment, desperately scrambling to locate any remnants of his tattered control. His muscles strained with the effort, and he ordered himself to breathe. To find restraint for her.
Jesus
. He lifted his lashes and refocused on her upturned face and the arousal that suffused it. Mixed in with the need was curiosity, excitement. What man with a working dick could resist this? And this woman was Noelle. Jesus could ride down in a chariot of fire right now, and he wouldn’t move.

“Stroke me again,” he said, his voice a hoarse version of itself. When she obeyed, he closed his hand over hers and brought them over the head, squeezing and twisting, before retracing the path down to the base. “Like that. Hard. Remember, you won’t hurt me.”

He released her, letting his arms fall beside him as she took to the task of jacking him off. Timid at first, she soon lost her uncertainty and pulled at his flesh with enough enthusiasm and skill to have the air bursting from his lungs like bullets ejected from a gun. Color flagged her cheekbones, and a glance down revealed her nipples, tight and beaded under her bra. He’d bet his left nut her panties were soaked. As if they had a mind of their own, his hips rocked into her healthy, long pumps.

Sliding his fingers into her hair, he cradled her head between his palms. “You ready?” he rasped, pleasure scouring his throat like sandpaper. “Ready to let me in that pretty mouth?”

Her answer was to part her lips, lean forward, and suck the tip of him into her wet, scorching heat. A growl reverberated in his chest, and he had to force himself not to drive himself toward the sweet tunnel of her throat. Especially when her tongue curled around him, urging him to fill her with more of his flesh. Surrendering to her siren’s call, he gave her more. Instinct seemed to guide her to the sensitive-as-hell spot directly under the rim of his cock head. She played with it, stabbed the tip of her tongue at it, and there was no way he could control the tight buck of his hips. Her moan vibrated over him, adding more sensation and threatening to overload him with the lust tearing at his gut, squeezing his balls.

He pulled back, thrust forward. “Open wide,” he instructed, pressing his thumb under her bottom lip. She complied, her lips forming a perfect “o.” He slid his erection along her flattened tongue until half of him was buried in her mouth. “Close, sweetheart. And suck. Hard. Don’t tease me.” She complied, her mouth like Saran Wrap around him. “Yes, like that. Just.” He drew back. “Like.” He plunged forward. “That.”

God, she was good. Better. She was perfect. No artifice. This might have been her first time at oral sex, but she erased every experience with other women from his head. None existed before her. Her eagerness, her arousal, her openness—shit, she was destroying him. He tried to be gentle, go slow, but the moans, the relentless drawing on his dick, the utter ecstasy wouldn’t allow him to ease up. Come churned in his balls. Electricity sizzled at the base of his spine…

On a muttered curse, he jerked free. She blinked up at him, her eyes hazy, dilated, her breath harsh and quick. Damn. Once more she looked on the verge of orgasm. From giving him head. The sight almost sent him spiraling headlong over the edge. But grinding his teeth together, he curled his fingers under her arms and brought her to her feet.

“You didn’t…finish,” she breathed, slicking the tip of her tongue over her bottom lip. As if savoring the taste of him.