Seduce Me. Jo Leigh
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proving that the talk had done nothing to diminish his enthusiasm. “All you have to do is be yourself and I’ll be fine.”
Natalie met his gaze for several long seconds before she kissed him. Holy crap, did she ever.
* * *
LETTING GO OF every kiss she’d had in the past wasn’t difficult. It was a relief. Secretly, Natalie had always suspected she could be one of the great kissers of all time, but she’d never been with anyone who truly inspired her.
Max made her bold. Committing herself to...this...was as intoxicating as champagne, as the moment when Fred Astaire sees Audrey Hepburn running down the steps at the Louvre like Winged Victory herself. With Max, she could be as silly or foolish or dramatic as she liked, and not obsess over her embarrassment for the rest of her life. Because she wasn’t going to be embarrassed. Nor was she going to see him again. It all worked out.
Although she still did have to take off the rest of her clothes. The hell with it. Tonight, she had the body of a goddess and the courage of Katniss Everdeen.
His hands ran down her back as he mapped out the territory. Did he realize she had gone commando? It seemed so, from his surprised grunt and the press of his erection against her tummy. Things were in motion. And wouldn’t that just shock every person who’d ever met her.
She decided to do some exploring of her own, even as they kissed as if it was going out of style. To her delight, he knew just how much to open his mouth, how to not try to swallow her face. That he tasted like expensive cognac was a liqueur-soaked cherry on top.
But the real treat was having free rein over his unbelievably fine body. She didn’t give one solitary damn that her thoughts were as shallow as a wading pool. His muscles rippled. Rippled. How many times had she read that, imagined that? Despite the thrilling sensation of Max lightly sucking on her lower lip, she giggled.
In another one of his smooth moves, he let her lip go and asked, “What’s so amusing?” then picked up directly where he’d left off.
“Amazing,” she said, although the word was so hopelessly garbled, she didn’t even try to go on. Talking was not her priority at the moment. In fact, touching him through his clothes seemed a waste. Like nibbling on crackers when a whole banquet was on offer.
Without too much effort, she was able to sneak her hands between their chests. Undoing his buttons was a little more difficult than she’d imagined. Mostly because she was so greedy, wanting every sensation at once.
But Max let her know he was on the same page by finding her zipper with no trouble at all. He lowered it expertly, then put his hands on her bare back, just below her bra strap.
It shouldn’t have felt so different. Oliver had touched her there plenty of times. But she’d never once shivered from top to toe, wiggled her shoulders and her hips, or whimpered.
He groaned in response and she remembered about the buttons, continuing down the line. When he undid her stupid white bra with a single, elegant flick, she might have lost it for a minute. Hands flat on his shirt, she found her forehead resting on his shoulder.
He kept rubbing down the naked part of her back. “You okay?”
“Umm.”
“Is that a yes?”
She nodded enough for him to feel it. “You’re very good at this,” she said, just before taking a deep breath and looking at him once more.
He only smiled and slid his hands underneath her bra to cup both her breasts. “You feel good.” Dipping his head, he kissed behind her ear. “But I really want to see you,” he murmured against her skin.
“Oh.” Her eyes had drifted closed and she couldn’t seem to lift her lids. “Okay.”
In seconds he’d led her to his room, to his very large bed. The spread was burgundy, the wood of the frame dark, maybe cherry or teak. It was a guy’s room, with heavy pieces and neutral tones, but the framed oil painting above the bed was an abstract with vivid reds and yellows and turquoise. Very surprising.
He cleared his throat and she quickly forgot about the decor. It was showtime. The bedside lamp was turned on, and she had to decide if she was going to say something about that, or let it be.
Turning it off really would make her feel more comfortable.
Katniss wouldn’t turn off the lights.
Natalie wouldn’t, either.
He must have seen her determination, or maybe he just didn’t want to wait anymore. Before she’d even registered the move, her sleeves were sliding down her arms, along with her bra straps. Looking down, she was startled to find her breasts naked, her nipples hard and very there as her dress pooled at her waist, caught by her belt.
Max moaned as he cupped her breasts. “You’re gorgeous,” he murmured. “I want to look at you. All of you.” He tackled her belt, which wasn’t much of a challenge, and she closed her eyes as her dress fell to the floor with a soft whoosh of fabric.
“Oh, Christ. Look at you. I never expected—”
She opened her eyes to find him staring, his lips parted in a very flattering way.
He stepped back until he was no longer touching her, then one more step so he could sit on the edge of his bed, as if looking at her made him lose his sense of balance.
She moved one foot back to take off her heels, and jumped at his, “No, wait. Please. Leave those on.”
He didn’t look as though he was kidding. Especially when he pressed his palm against his very obvious hard-on.
She’d wanted new experiences. This definitely met the criteria. She curled her right shoulder and knee, although it didn’t hide very much. Not that hiding was exactly what she wanted to do, but being stared at like that was kind of intimidating.
“Oh, I know where I’ve seen you before,” he said, his voice very low and rough. “On those World War II pinup posters, with your ruby lips and your luscious curves.”
She froze right there. Just stopped. Her? A pinup? She loved those women, those images, had one framed in her office. It was probably the dress that had done it. Or her hair. It was what she’d always wanted people to see, but they never did. Never had.
He was the wrong Max, and yet...
There was no longer any need to pretend to feel sexy. Because she was. Truly. Like Betty Grable or Marilyn Monroe. It was intoxicating. Freeing.
No one had ever looked at her that way, with his three undone buttons and his desire-darkened eyes, and she was going to revel in it.
He wanted a show, and she gave him one. Slow and naughty, with a soundtrack in her head and a sharp need to press her thighs together.
This night had been fantastic. Even if he didn’t give her an orgasm it was already the best ever. She owed a great big thank-you to whoever had messed up the trading card, because tonight, she was her own dream come true.
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