J. Kenner - Heated

“You,” he said. He stepped closer, and the air seemed to shimmer from the intensity of my desire. “Does that excite you, Sloane? Knowing I want you? That I will have you?”

“Yes.” My voice was soft. Breathy. My heart was pounding an unsteady rhythm, and even as the fact of my victory settled over me, it wasn’t celebration that burned in my veins, but heat. A raw, primal heat that I’d never experienced before, but couldn’t deny liking. “God, yes.”

He drew me to him again, his hands at my waist, then easing up to brush the swell of my breasts. I drew in a shuddering breath, and though I wanted to simply close my eyes and let the wave crash over me, rational thought kicked in. “People,” I whispered in protest. “Tyler, there are all these people.”

“Do you care?”

“I—yes. Maybe.”

I felt my cheeks burn as he chuckled. “Fair enough. With me. God, Sloane, with me, now.” His voice sounded as raw as I felt, and as he led me to the far side of the room, maneuvering us through the other dancers, I followed willingly. Eagerly. And a little bit giddily from the simple high of knowing that my plan was in full swing, and I was about to enjoy the perks of my success.

He led me to the back of the restaurant and then through a hidden door into a concrete-walled service corridor lined with rolling tables topped with covered serving dishes. The staging area for the buffet and waitstaff, I realized, though I didn’t have long to think about it. Tyler had me up against the wall, squeezed in tight between two tables, his hands cupped on my breasts.

He gently pinched my already sensitive nipples, and a hot-wire of desire shot from my breasts to my sex. I gasped with pleasure even as I wanted to protest that there were still people around. The waitstaff. A few maids. But somehow, I didn’t care anymore. Somehow, all I wanted was his touch.

“Shall I tell you?” he asked. “Shall I tell you exactly what I want? Exactly what I will have from you?”

His mouth was beside my ear, so close I could feel the brush of his lips as his words teased me. I didn’t want to be entranced—didn’t want to feel my body go soft with longing. But dammit, he was drawing me under, and soon I was going to drown in the swell of his words.

“Shall I go over in intimate detail how I will touch you? The way my fingertips will tease your nipples. How my tongue will dance over the curve of your ear. Will it make you wet to know how hard I am? How much I want to sink deep inside of you.”

I made a little sound. I think I meant it to be a yes.

His hands eased lower, sliding down to my waist, then behind to cup my rear. He drew me in, nestling my sex against his thigh, and pressing so tight against me I could feel the hard bulge of his erection against my lower belly. I reached out to steady myself, and found the edges of two serving tables. I clutched at them, desperate to hold on, because I knew damn well that if I let go, I’d melt into a puddle on the floor.

“I imagine you taste like honey,” Tyler murmured. “And when I slide my tongue between your legs, I’ll lose myself in the sweetness of you. I want to watch your face as the orgasm builds inside you. I want to feel you tremble beneath me. And when you finally explode, I want to hold you in my arms and let my kisses pull you back together.”

I trembled, my body hot and sizzling. I was aroused, my breasts heavy, my sex aching. I wanted his touch—wanted him to do all the things he was saying.

Hell, I simply wanted.

I breathed in. Once, twice. I needed to gather myself, my thoughts. I needed to maintain at least some illusion that he hadn’t completely destroyed me with nothing more than words.

“Wow,” I finally managed. “You don’t waste time, do you?”

His smile was slow and lazy. “As far as I’m concerned, time is the one thing too precious to waste.”

He stroked my cheek, my hair. His fingers twined in my curls as he played and stroked. Tighter and tighter, not enough to hurt, but enough so that I gasped in surprise when he tugged my head back and met my eyes. There was ice in the blue now. A cold, winter storm, the chill of which laced his voice as well. “Tell me the truth, Sloane. Are you wasting my time?”

I felt the blood pump through me, the rush filling my head. Not fear—not really. This was excitement. Challenge. And, yes, a bit of frustration, too, because the victory I’d so greedily claimed had apparently been premature.

“Let go of me,” I said, my voice matching the ice of his eyes. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He released his grip on my hair and took a step back. I used the motion of standing up straight to shake off my nerves. Despite my desperately pounding heart, right then, this was all about playing it cool. Just like in a suspect interrogation, I wasn’t about to let him see that he’d shaken me.

“I know what my game is,” he said. “I’m trying to figure out yours.”

“I’m not playing a game,” I lied.

“Everyone’s playing a game.” There was no humor in his voice.

I said nothing. I’d already denied. Repeating myself would get me nowhere.

“A lot of people want a piece of me, Sloane. What do you want? An introduction? A loan? I want to know why you’re here. I want to know what you want.”

Slowly, I shook my head. “I’m not gold-digging, if that’s what you think. And I already told you what I want. Hell, you’ve already told me what I want.” I took a single step forward, then pressed my hand over his cock, hard inside his tailored slacks.

I watched his face as I touched him, not moving, simply touching. “‘I want to feel you tremble beneath me.’ That’s what you said. That’s what I want, too. Christ, Tyler, isn’t it obvious what I want? Why I came here? I want you.”

Beneath my hand, I felt his cock stiffen. He glanced down, then back at me. His face was all hard lines and angles, as if he was fighting for control. “Don’t move,” he said. “Don’t even breathe.”

“I—”

“No.” His finger pressed against my lip before skimming downward. Over my chin, down my neck until he delicately traced my collarbone. Then lower, teasing my nipple with slow circles as I sucked in air and bit my lip in defense against the sounds of pleasure that wanted so desperately to escape.

The bodice was a halter, with two triangles of material attached to the waist, then rising up to tie behind my neck. He followed the material up, his finger skimming under the bow at the base of my neck.

“Shall I untie it? Let it fall? Shall I close my mouth over your bare breast right now, tease your nipple between my teeth? Tell me the truth, Sloane, would that make you hot?”

I swallowed. My mouth was so dry. I thought of the waitstaff. Of camera phones. Of the Internet and the image of us, his mouth on my breast, my head back, my lips parted in pleasure. I thought of it, and I felt the quickening in my belly. The clenching in my sex.

I thought—and I whispered the only answer I could. “Yes.”

“Good girl,” he said, as his hand sneaked down, leaving my dress intact. I breathed a sigh of relief, then gasped as he traced his way down my cleavage, his hand slipping beneath the material just long enough for his fingers to tease and for the heat of his palm to cup my breast.

“Tyler,” I moaned when he withdrew his hand, leaving me clutching the tables on either side of me, because if I let go, I would surely fall.

“Hush,” he said, as he moved closer. His hand snaked around my waist to find the zipper at the back of the dress, then slowly eased it down. “Now spread your legs,” he ordered as he slid his palm inside my dress, over my lower back, and then down to the curve of my ass.

I wore a stretchy lace thong, and he stroked my bare skin before finding the thin, damp strip of material between my legs and tugging it aside. I heard the desperate sound of my own whimper as he teased me, then sucked in a gasp as he slid a finger easily inside me and my body clenched tight around him.

He groaned in satisfaction. “Christ, you’re wet,” he said, his voice raw. “I don’t doubt you want me, Sloane. And god knows I want you, too.” He stroked my sex once, twice, then withdrew his hand, and I had to bite my lower lip in order to silence my protest. “But there’s something else going on in that pretty head of yours,” he added, as he zipped up my dress, leaving me wanting and confused and frustrated. “And I will find out your secret.”

He stepped back from me, then paused to look me up and down. I could only imagine what he saw. Clothes askew. Skin flushed. But I lifted my head, determined to hold my own.

He moved to the door, and pulled it part of the way open. The sounds of the party wafted in, echoing in the service hall. His eyes locked on mine, and for a moment I saw the true depth and power of this man who held so much of Chicago in his hand.

“I’ll give you what you want, Sloane,” he said. “What we both want. But think long and hard before you come to me. There are things that I like. Things that I want and expect from the woman in my bed. And I don’t play by anyone’s rules but my own.”

I waited as the door closed, then let myself sag until I was seated on the floor with my back against the wall, two tables laden with dessert refills on either side of me.

He’d rattled me—no doubt about that. Rattled me, intrigued me, enticed me. I may have set out to seduce the man, but I couldn’t deny the fact that he’d turned the tables on me any more than I could deny that I’d enjoyed it.

And I had. God help me, but I wasn’t simply playing a part. I’d enjoyed it. I’d enjoyed him.