Sugar

I glanced around his hundred-thousand-dollar kitchen, still pissed it was nicer than mine. “This little game of cat and mouse we’ve been playing… I think you’ve got the roles mixed up. Poor, little Noah. You’re not the cat. I am. I eat men like you for breakfast.” Rising on my toes, I slowly dragged my tongue over the stubble of his jaw and bit his earlobe until he let out a guttural moan. “And I know you stole my fucking magazine.”

With a smile cocky enough to rival any arrogant, penis-toting prick at the party, I lifted my chin and sauntered out of the kitchen. And, yes, he watched me go.

7

Noah

I gripped the granite lip of the cabinet as she sauntered out of the kitchen, my cock fully engorged and pressing noticeably against the zipper of my pants. Jesus Fucking Christ, she was a thousand times better than I’d imagined.

So. Many. Fantasies.

After her clumsy little fall in the hall, I’d entertained some nice damsel in distress scenarios where I’d come to her rescue, and she’d act shy and skittish in my presence, but this outranked all those fantasies. She had a fierceness about her I’d never come across before, a fucking killer queen bee, a perfect blend of adventure and hauteur. Getting close to her meant I’d likely get stung, but I didn’t care.

My mother had friends in Rhode Island, women my father referred to as WASPs, white Anglo-Saxon Protestants. They were the well-bred New England women with a lineage dating back to British Ancestry and money old enough to be linked to household patents. Maybe Avery hailed from upstate New York.

She had class, a sweet ass, and her sexy little mouth just got a serious upgrade when she called me out for stealing her fucking magazine. I scratched shy off the list.

That woman had grit, and spice, not at all sweet and zero interest in playing nice. Assertive as hell, I needed to know what motivated her, what made her tick, and what she sounded like when she came—preferably on my dick.

“There you are.”

Lucy entered the kitchen, and the sexual tension evaporated. Lacking the height of the bombshell that just left, my assistant stared across the island at me.

“Why are you in here all alone?”

Her round eyeglasses swallowed her face, reminding me of a cartoon owl. With a small, pointed nose and those thick, dark bangs and big eyes.

I rested my forearms on the countertop, waiting for my semi to go down. “I … lost my drink. I needed to get a new glass.”

She smiled as if I’d said something clever. “I can make you a new cocktail.”

She opened the cabinet with perfect familiarity. Of course, she knew the location of items. She’d been the one to purchase my dishes and supervise the deliveries of everything down to my throw pillows. When I couldn’t find something, I called Lucy, and she knew exactly where to find whatever it was I needed.

As she leaned up to reach for a tumbler, my gaze drifted to her skirt. Pleated wool hid what appeared to be a flat ass, and her shoes were adult T-strap Mary Janes. I paid her well enough to afford a decent wardrobe, but her style remained that of a frumpy librarian. Sort of nerdy hot, but not my type.

“While I have you here alone,” I said, thinking this the perfect time to thank her for putting this party together, even if Avery only stopped by for thirty minutes. “I’ve been meaning to tell you, you’re getting a raise.”

Surprise skittered across her face as it angled up at me. “I am?”

She remained a puzzle, so capable yet sometimes seeming so unsure, a total contradiction within herself.

“You’ve earned it. I’d be lost without you, Luce.”

Her smile beamed, and she tugged on her mauve cardigan, which had pulls and pilling at the seams. “Wow, Noah. Thank you.”

I stilled as her hand rested on my arm, still draped on the counter. We both stared at it for a split second, and when my gaze returned to hers, her smile fell. The touch disappeared.

“I’ll get you that drink.”

She hustled out of the kitchen in a cloud of mauve wool and bad shoes.

Returning to the party, I played the happy host slash cool boss. The party improved when the guests discovered the karaoke streaming setting on the television.

As the alcohol poured and inhibitions faded, the music grew louder, and the talent took a serious hit. Through it all, my gaze kept returning to the front door, my thoughts wondering what my neighbor was doing.

A silent laugh churned through my chest. Was that ego talk a challenge, because if so, I was game.

We’d see who couldn’t handle it. I caught her nipples hardening in the kitchen. God, she was so fucking mouth watering.

You wish you could fuck me…