The Dare Collection: April 2018. Stefanie London
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lifting her pert breasts with each inhale.
‘Why are you here, Harley?’ If she’d come to demand he jump through her hoops, he’d kick her out. Fuck, he should kick her out anyway because the longer she stayed, the harder it became to ignore her mentally undressing him with those big eyes.
Power surged through him, flooding his muscles, demanding he act.
‘I...’ The pulse at her throat fluttered and her eyelids drooped to a sultry half-mast.
His body tensed, on high alert, an effect of her closeness and a side effect of his raging need to touch her again. He focussed on her mouth—plump lips parted to emit those breathy little pants that called to his dick.
‘Did you come for a sample of what might have been?’
He took another step.
Her huge eyes glowed, deep pools that a lesser man could drown in. But he’d never again lose his head. This close, her pupils dilated as she looked up at him. Did he imagine the regret hovering in the depths of her eyes? Less obvious than the excitement she couldn’t hide.
Had she come to explain why she’d called things off between them? The last thing he needed was to hear her belated let-down.
He braced himself to turn away. This trip down memory lane was over. Best to leave the past undisturbed. After all, he’d made damn sure he moved on. And this buttoned-up heiress, polished, sophisticated and accomplished, was a complete stranger to him.
‘Time to leave. Whatever it is you came for, you won’t be getting.’ Unless all she wanted was a fuck for old times’ sake.
She touched his arm, closing the distance between them, fingertips digging in. Her purse hit the floor with a thud that matched the pound of his pulse as she stepped up close and lifted her face to his.
His strung-taut body acted on instinct. A cathartic release of pent-up frustration as he reached for her.
‘Yes,’ she hissed seconds before his mouth covered hers, swallowing the tiny moan she released. He pressed against her, fanning the flammable connection that had sparked to life in the elevator earlier.
As her fingers tangled in his hair and her lips parted, giving his tongue access, the past grew foggy.
He didn’t need to trust her to enjoy the feel of her body in his hands. And she was right there with him, succumbing to the searing chemistry, as physically attuned as cream and coffee.
Her soft moans punched him in the gut, his balls heavy. She twisted her fingers in his hair and pressed herself against him as she’d been in the elevator, but this time her body writhed, as if she too was trying to quench an insatiable fire inside.
Perhaps it had been as long for her as it had been for him.
He cupped her ass, drawing her heated centre to his rock-hard dick, pressing her closer, to their mutual delight if the gasp she gave was any indication. He could practically feel her wetness through their layers of clothing.
She wanted him as much as he wanted her. Why wait? Why deny this? Why not slake this mutual physical need? No strings attached.
Reaching for the hem of her dress, he worked his hand up one bare thigh, the silky softness of her skin a roadmap leading him home. She shifted, opening up and giving him the access he sought. Still with him. On the same page.
As his fingertips stroked her soft lips through the lace of her panties she gasped, pulling back from their kiss to stare at him while he worked his fingers back and forth with increasing pressure.
She was clearly as turned on as him. He’d barely touched her, but her panties were soaked, and her eyes were soft and heavy with desire. He pressed himself to her hip, making his intentions clear.
‘Do you remember your first orgasm?’ He cupped her, his index finger working inside the wisp of lingerie to find her wet, swollen. So ready.
She nodded, her tongue darting out to trace the cupid’s bow of her top lip.
‘Tell me.’ A test. Did she really remember? Had it meant something to her as it had to him or was she just desperate to get off?
Her eyes rolled back, her mouth open on a broken gasp as he located her clit and brushed the nub of nerves with the pad of his finger. Her moisture slid down his fingers, and he widened his legs, pushing her thighs open with his to get closer to her centre. When he pressed home, two fingers plunging inside her tight warmth and his thumb zeroing in on her clit, her eyes flew open, her stare beseeching.
‘Tell me you remember, Harley.’ She’d get what she wanted when he did. Confirmation that, if only briefly, he’d once mattered enough.
But fuck, she was responsive. Her thighs juddered, bumping his working fingers as if she were seconds away from coming on his hand. Just like the first time he’d made her come, her cries muffled into his shoulder.
She could barely speak, her breathy voice punctuated with staccato moans that matched the rhythm of his plunging fingers.
‘We were at the...lodge, in Aspen. You said...that you’d make the next one better. Oh.’
Triumph surged through him, and he ramped up the circling of his thumb. Her breath caught, her head fell forward. She clung to him, her nails gouging his arms as she held on tight, her bold, uninhibited sexuality a wet dream come true.
His own desire ramped so high he searched his mind for the location of the closest condom, reluctant to move too far from this spot before plunging inside her.
Every muscle in his body tightened to snapping point. He pressed closer, grinding his erection between the crush of their writhing, jerking bodies.
‘I was a kid then.’ He twisted his wrist, his fingers probing deeper, curling forward to rub her walls. ‘I’m not any longer.’
As firsts went, he’d been damn proud that he’d taken her there. But he’d honed his skills since then, never had any complaints. If she wanted it, he’d show her everything she’d thrown away.
No emotions.
No entanglements.
And just like her, no regrets when he walked.
‘Look at me, Harley. Look at me and I’ll make this one better.’
Her head lifted, her eyes heavy, swimming with lust. He cupped her breast with his free hand, his thumb brushing her nipple erect through the layer of frustrating wool.
He ground his teeth. It wasn’t what he wanted. He wanted her naked. He wanted her laid bare so he could touch every inch of her sexy body. He wanted his mouth on her, every part. Laving and lapping until she went off like a rocket and screamed his name. He wanted to be inside her so bad he had to bite his cheek to remind himself he didn’t know this woman aside from his ability to get her off.
He tweaked the bud, twisting and rolling her nipple between his fingers.
‘Yes.’ Her mouth dropped open.
Euphoria pounded through his blood. She was close. She would come for him, just like the first time. He held her eyes captive. A roar in his head deafened him to everything but the frantic little whimpers she made as he worked her higher and higher.
His hand started to cramp, but he’d die before stopping, something primitive in him demanding her orgasm, showing her the man he’d become.
‘Kiss me.’ His voice wasn’t his own. Gruff. Challenging. But getting him what he wanted.
She cried out, cupping his neck and yanking him down roughly to meet her needy mouth. Her tongue welcomed his, every surge and retreat, every slide as perfect as the first time they’d kissed, the excitement of firsts eclipsing the awkwardness back then.
But there was no awkwardness now. He wasn’t a fumbling teenager any more, and she was all woman, writhing on the verge of climax.
She pulled back, wild