Page 43 of Hard Deal
His fingers inched higher and she gasped. The slow build of anticipation amplified everything—from the sensation skittering over her skin like a pebble skipping across a pond, to the rush of need in her veins, to the chant of higher, higher, higher as she willed his hand to cup her sex.
“You’re really happy to stop at a verbal throw-down?” she asked.
“It would be a great challenge to see if I could get you to come with only words.” He nipped at her earlobe. “I’d be up for it.”
“You do have a filthy mouth.”
“Baby, when it comes to you I haven’t got an ice cube’s chance in hell of being anything but filthy.” He grinned. “You bring out the best in me.”
“So you haven’t taken other women to that club?”
He drew her into his lap and without thinking, she straddled him and slung her arms around his neck. Instead of trying to distract her from the question as she’d assumed he might, he cupped the back of her head and brought her forehead down to his. “There have been other women before you. But right now, I’d be perfectly fucking happy if this was it.”
What was that supposed to mean? He wanted her...permanently? He thought they had more than physical chemistry? It was a lot to take in and considering she’d been ready to hightail it out of his apartment tonight, she wasn’t equipped to deal with this turn of events.
“Enough words,” she whispered, her lips grazing his.
“You want me to show you?” He wrapped his arms around her waist and stood. “Fine.”
Instinctively, she locked her ankles behind his back and let him carry her to the wall of glass that separated them from the night sky. When the door opened a breeze whipped along her skin, the crescendo of nightlife lifted into the air around her—the rush of tires over bitumen, the distant throb of club music and laughter from somewhere below.
“I wasn’t joking about the balcony,” he said. “And I’ve thought about bringing you here so many times. I wanted to the feel the contrast of your hot skin and the cool air. I wanted to know if you’d scream for me, let everyone know how good I make you feel.”
Swallowing, Imogen turned and saw Melbourne stretched out before them like a postcard. The Arts Centre spire glowed in the distance, the coloured lights melting from blue to green to red. Flinders Street Station and the whole of Southbank glimmered, reflections shifting in the river below. It was the closest she’d ever get to being able to fly and instead of feeling scared, she felt...free.
“Don’t you dare drop me,” she said with a smile. They weren’t anywhere near the edge of the balcony, but that wasn’t the kind of falling she was really worried about. The wind pulled strands of her hair free and sent them whipping around her face. “I’m trusting you with my life right now.”
“I’ve got you.” He pressed his lips to hers. “And I’m rock solid. You’re not going anywhere.”
“Good,” she whispered. “I want to be right here. With you.”
He set her feet on the ground and brought his hands to her face, leaning in for a long, searching kiss. It wasn’t like the others they’d shared—hungry, needy, desperate kisses. The type you had to grab with both hands before they burned to ash. This was slow seduction. A kiss meant for learning and discovery.
His lips were soft and coaxing, his hands gliding under her top to trace the contours of her waist, the swell of her rib cage and the little dip at her back. So she did the same—she ran her fingers over the gentle stubble along his jaw, over the corded muscles in his neck and the broad expanse of his chest. She counted his shirt buttons all the way down to his belt.
Before she knew it, she was yanking at the leather. Tugging at his zip. Dipping her hand into the soft fabric of his suit pants until she found him hard and pulsing in her palm. But even that thin layer of cotton was too much—she wanted all of him. Only him.
She found the slit in his boxer briefs and wrapped her fingers around him. But this time she wasn’t content to stop here. Sinking her to knees, she ran her fist up and down his length. This was the first time she’d seen him like this—unrestrained and uninhibited. Not hidden by the darkness of the club or the flat, solid wood of the boardroom table. Not fully clothed while he took charge of the seduction. Now it was her turn.
“I want to taste you,” she said.
His hand came to her head, brushing back the loose strands of hair from her forehead. “Which bit do you want to taste?”
“Here.” She pressed a chaste kiss to the tip of his erection. “All down here.” She drew her fingertip along the length of him. “Here.” She gave his balls a gentle squeeze and almost melted when he groaned, long and loud, into the night.
“And you think you’re not sexy,” he growled. “Bullshit, Imogen. Absolute bullshit.”
Stifling a smile, she swiped her tongue along the head of him, enjoying the taste. He was earthy, with a hint of salt. She’d forgotten how powerful it made her feel to have a man under her control like this—to have him surrender to her mouth.
Caleb grunted as she drew him along her tongue, sealing her lips into a tight ring around his shaft. “Fuck me, that feels good.”
“Does it?” She swirled her tongue around the head, growing more confident by the second. “Tell me.”
The grip on her hair tightened, and he slowly thrust his hips back and forth. The movement was so primal, so instinctual. He wasn’t the kind of guy to sit back and take—he wanted to be an active partner in their sex. Each and every time he was in it for her pleasure as much as his, and that was a first for Imogen.
“You have no idea, baby. Your lips are like heaven.”
She drew back. “What about the rest of me?”