Page 26 of Hard Deal
CHAPTER NINE
HOLY FREAKING POODLES. Had she really done that? Had an orgasm in the middle of a nightclub surrounded by, oh, at least a few hundred people?
Imogen’s knees wobbled as she climbed a flight of stairs tucked around a deserted corner of the club, her hand nestled in Caleb’s. The waves of post-orgasm bliss continued to roll through her, leaving her foggy in the most delicious, endorphin-drenched way. It was like he’d filled her veins full of cotton candy and glitter, coaxed her eyes open to a world of pleasure she hadn’t known existed.
“Whoa there.” He steadied her as they took the last few steps up to a black balcony overlooking the dance floor. Frowning, he cupped her face in his hands and looked closer. “You haven’t had too much to drink, have you?”
“Nope.” She giggled.
Imogen was as sober as a judge. The two wines at dinner had been soaked up by their delicious meal and she hadn’t even finished her cocktail at the bar downstairs. She was floating on a cloud made of pure desire. No alcohol required.
“I might not be a perfect gentleman but I want my partners in crime to be willing accomplices,” he said, staring her down. “I don’t want you waking up tomorrow and regretting anything.”
“I’m not sure I even know what regret is at the moment.” Her voice sounded softly distorted, like her brain hadn’t quite caught up. “Wait, ‘willing accomplice’? What are we doing up here?”
“Getting you ready for round two.” He nuzzled her neck and led her farther along the walkway.
Bright lights swung from a contraption on the roof, flicking on and off in time with the beat. Beams of green, blue and purple light changed direction with mechanical ease, bathing the floor below in supernatural colours. From above, the dance floor didn’t look as though it was filled with people, rather it was some kind of mythical heaving mass. A place where people ceased to exist as individuals, and became absorbed by the crowd.
Imogen had never thought that kind of feeling was a positive one. But now the anonymity of the darkened club was...freeing. She could leave her uptight, type A persona at the door. No questions asked.
Caleb wedged her against the balcony railing, his chest lining her back as he gripped the black metal rail. Penning her in. Her hips dug into the metal as he pressed against her backside, lips at her neck. He was hard as stone and knowing that she’d gotten him so worked up only fuelled her euphoric haze.
“What does round two involve?” she asked, turning to look over her shoulder.
Caleb’s thumb traced the line from her jaw down to her collarbone. “Another orgasm for you. One for me.”
“Here?”
Despite being more alone here than they were downstairs, she felt exposed. Anyone below them would be able to look up and see what was going on. Not to mention the fact that the stairs were open. What if a group of people stumbled across them screwing around?
Literally or figuratively.
But she didn’t want to put the brakes on. Instead, her body temperature shot up a few hundred degrees. Excitement scraped along her nerve endings. She wanted this.
“Yes, here.” His breath blew hot against the back of her neck.
His hand was still at her throat, pressing lightly but possessively. In that moment, he owned her—owned her pleasure, owned her fear, owned the words before they came out of her mouth.
“Do you want me inside you, Imogen?”
“Yes,” she whispered. Her agreement came without hesitation.
“Louder,” he growled.
“Yes.”
“I want everyone to know it.”
“Yes!” she shouted into the abyss, but the rising pulse of the music swallowed it. “I want you inside me.”
Caleb yanked the hem of her dress up and his hand searched for her underwear. “Bloody hell, how high up do these things go?”
Crap. She’d totally forgotten about her granny knickers and now Caleb would be getting an eyeful of them in all their stodgy, beige glory. She wriggled, humiliation overriding her lust as she tried to get out of his grip. But Caleb had her trapped.
“Let me go,” she said, cringing. Dear Lord, could she not get through one date—even a sort of fake one—without making a fool of herself? She could already imagine the story he’d tell. Hot and heavy night ruined by underwear big enough to carry your groceries in.
Maybe she could flip them inside out and use them to hang-glide off the balcony and escape her bad decisions.