He introduced her to the many people he knew, included her in conversations, sent her those warm secret kinds of smiles…and oh yeah, she was a goner.
But this was lesson four already. Four. What the hell was she going to do when they were over?
Determinedly she maintained her smile as they walked away from the group of people they’d just spent the last ten minutes talking basketball with. “You’re good at the small talk.”
“Media training,” he said out of the corner of his mouth.
“Seriously?”
He nodded.
It made sense—so many of those NBA stars became celebrities in their own right, they probably needed preparation for all aspects of that. And Joe was more than a superathlete, he was megawatt handsome. “Every woman in the room is looking at you.” She lifted the champagne flute to her lips, hiding her slight jealousy.
“They’re measuring my height,” he said. “Wondering if my cock is in proportion.”
She nearly choked on the mouthful of bubbles.
“What?” He winked. “It’s true. Didn’t you?”
She knew she was blushing.
“Everyone does,” he drawled with a waggle of his eyebrows. “Guys in the urinal…”
“Arrogant man.” She swatted his arm again. “You think all the men are looking at you as well?”
Thing was, they were.
…
“You know, guys notice you all the time.” Joe leaned close to whisper in her ear, enjoying breathing in the soft scent of her. “You just don’t notice them. I guess you have too much going on in your brain.” He liked being here with her, having her with him.
“When I’m with you I can’t think at all.”
He laughed. Oddly flattered.
“I’m serious. It’s weird for me.” She laughed up at him. “I used to spend all my time overthinking everything I was doing or saying, but I get within three feet you, and I… I…”
“What?”
“I forgot what I was going to say,” she cooed and batted her lashes at him.
He chuckled, enjoying her joke. “Then go brainless,” he whispered at her. “Brainless for you is average intelligence for the rest of us. Puts me on a level playing field. And even then you still hit me with the hard questions. But when you let go…”
“What?” she breathed back at him.
“You’re beautiful.”
“You really are a charmer.”
She didn’t believe him? Oh, there was no holding back from touching her any longer. He’d tried—really tried. He’d maintained conversation, talked all kinds of art with her. Talked to other people about everything.
Now he ran his hand down her back. “What are you wearing underneath this dress?”
She said nothing, merely offered a coy smile.
Damn vixen didn’t need any lessons. She knew she was killing him already. “You’d better not be wearing panties,” he warned.
She merely shrugged those delicate shoulders. His gaze dropped to the rich, creamy cleavage that her low, scooped neckline revealed.
It was time for some payback. He curled his arm around her waist and pulled her close. She didn’t resist, which he liked. He glanced around the room and found the sign he was looking for.
Two minutes later he’d bolted the door of the small office he’d spied.
“You know how to find the private places in art galleries as well?” she teased as he walked up to where she stood in the center of the room.
In answer, he dropped to his haunches.
“What are you doing?”
But even as she asked, so breathlessly, she widened her stance a little. Sweetheart wanted him to eat her out again. Even here. He’d known she would. But she wasn’t going to be quite so lucky this time.
“You’re wearing panties,” he growled.
A second later, she wasn’t.
He ran his fingers up the inside of her thigh, then slid them between her folds. She was already warm and wet and ready.
He was the same. Only had to think of her to be hard. The last hour had been fun—anticipation adding to the pleasure of touching her now.
He spread her a little more, enough to reveal her sweet pink clit. Already it was peaked and swollen. He licked it, then sucked on it, drawing it out more. He wanted her unbearably aroused. As he feasted, he pulled out the little present from his jeans pocket. She might not have been up for something like this before, but she was now.
Her breathing roughened as he rhythmically sucked on her.
“I want you inside me,” she whispered.
His cock ached, agreeing a million percent with the idea. His chest swelled, pleased with her ability to speak up and ask for what she wanted.
But then she’d always been a star pupil.
He stilled her thrusting hips with a firm hand, licking her until she was so close to coming, making her clit as red and ripe and plump as he could.
Then, before she could step back, he deftly slid on the clit clamp he’d taken from her bag of toys, taking a moment to adjust it and ensure it was going to hold.
“Joe?” she gasped.
Hell, it looked pretty. A couple of beaded strands hung from the edge, and her clit poked out between the gold metal.
Beautiful.
“What have you done?” She breathed hard.
He grabbed hold of her hands, stopping her from touching herself. From removing it. “Give it a second.”
“I can’t walk.”
“It looks amazing. Best piece of art in the place.”
“Oh…my—”
He stood and kissed her hard on the mouth. Slid his tongue between her shocked lips.
But when he drew back, she remained rigid, like she was afraid to move.
“Joe…”
“Does it hurt?” He watched her closely.
She thought about it before answering. “Not really. I don’t think.”
“How does it feel?”
“Weird. Where did you—? Oh.” She closed her eyes. “The bag by my bed.”
“I took it, remember?” He leaned in to kiss her again—framing her face in his hands, holding her so he could kiss the way he’d discovered he loved—long and deep. Who knew first base could be so damn satisfying?
Her cheeks were even rosier when he released her this time, her eyes gleaming like sapphires.
“You’re so bad.”
“Wear it.” He took her hand. “See what you think.”
…
What she thought? Abbi couldn’t think—she could barely breathe. And as for the idea of walking? Not likely. Every time she shifted the slightest little bit, pleasure shot up her body.
He grinned. “Come on, let’s go back to the party.”
“How much longer do you want to stay?”
He turned and gave her a thorough once-over, making her skin sizzle more than it already was. “Shall we see if we can make it twenty minutes?”
She’d be hoping twenty seconds. All she wanted was to walk back through the gallery and out the door, and head back to his apartment immediately. She’d never been so hot, so aware of her body. Her clit was swollen, protruding, sensitive. With every step she felt the delicious pinch of the clamp. Not painful, but so very there. She kept her eyes on him, not the artwork, as mini-orgasms rippled though her. Her head was filled with thoughts of him. Conversation with anyone was a bust. She stood silent beside him, her hand tightly held in his, and counted down the minutes until they were alone and he was on his knees before her. That’s all she wanted now.
And he knew it.
Nine minutes had passed when he slowly drew her to a freestanding sculpture in the farthest corner of the large space. She knew it was nine exactly because she was counting in her head—trying to distract herself from the waves of pleasure-pain radiating from her pussy. Vaguely she tried to notice something—anything—about the work of art. But then Joe turned to face her.
“How are you feeling, sweetheart?
”
The bastard lifted his hand and grazed the back of his knuckles lightly over her taut nipple. It shot a spasm of need straight to her clit and she gasped.
“Are you going to come?” he tormented.
Her breathing slowed. “You can’t…”
“What if I kiss you?” He pressed his mouth to hers in a quick kiss, letting his tongue stroke her lower lip as he lifted away.