Each word is a spark thrown at the dry kindling of Vivienne’s desire. Hoping it will catch fire and build a blaze hot enough to melt the last of her resistance. I don’t intend to do anything else. But I need to feel her come apart in my arms. Need to hear her sweet little cries of pleasure.
I need to know that I didn’t completely destroy what we had before turning her into my employee. Before my money landed in her account. Before all our lies.
I see the heat in her gaze as she gives a shallow nod of assent, then leans back on her palms, her head falling back, hair fluttering around her wrists like henna-colored ink.
I take a second to appreciate the little sundress she’s wearing. It covers everywhere it’s supposed to and yet manages to have me drooling. I flick the hem toward her waist, revealing a translucent triangle of white lace. Jesus.
Sexy and sweet woven together into one tiny piece of fabric.
I slide my chin along the inside of Vivienne’s thighs, her sharp intake of breath like a lightning rod to my balls. Her sweet scent fills my nose, expanding inside my lungs and rushing straight to my dick.
I give in to the need to taste her, pressing my tongue against the lace and swiping up.
I licked it, so it’s mine.
Fuck, yes. Vivienne is mine.
Pushing her thighs farther apart, I curl my fingers inside the lace of her panties and slowly, so slowly, rip it in two.
Bare, Vivienne’s pussy is a thing of beauty. A work of art.
A treasure to be pillaged.
Sliding my thumbs inside her folds, I part her already glistening lips, my eyes feasting on the swollen nub of her clit peeking out from beneath its hood.
Each inhale is laced with Vivienne’s heady sweetness, cut by the sharpness of the chlorine. I press my nose into the cleft of her cunt, my tongue eager to explore and taste. With her on the pool deck and me in the water, I don’t have as much freedom as I’d like to spread her out, to bend her to my will, licking and sucking and biting more than just this small slice of heaven spread before me.
But I make do, throwing her knees over my shoulders, grabbing her ass again and pulling her almost off the edge. Enough so that her narrow crack, with its tightly pleated pucker, winks at me. I run my tongue over the silken seam connecting it to her pussy.
A growl works its way up from deep in the pit of my stomach, exploding from my throat. I’m hungry for her, so goddamn hungry.
Burrowing my face between Vivienne’s thighs, I eat her until the proof of her arousal runs down my cheeks and streaks my neck. Until my ears ring with her moans and pleas and desperate, desperate cries.
The one place I haven’t lavished with attention, her clit, is a deep, glistening pink. Glinting at me like a fat, over-ripe grape. My lips finally close around it, sucking it between my teeth with just enough roughness that the pain intensifies the pleasure. Vivienne screams, her hands plowing into my hair and grabbing tufts of it within her fists, yanking hard.
Fuck, it feels good.
As good as her thighs clamped around my face. As good as her ankles locked behind my neck and pulling me close, then closer. Until every sense is filled with Vivienne: taste, touch, sight, and scent. Even sound, her screams muffled but audible.
My arms are wrapped around her, my hands under her ass, squeezing her cheeks. She’s grinding her pussy against my mouth, arching her back. Lost to everything but me.
Lost to the arbitrary restrictions she put in place two weeks ago.
There’s a feeling of victory when she shudders against me. Victory in knowing I’ve broken down the walls she erected between us.
The thrill of possession curls around my ribs as she finally gives in to my mouth, sinking into the swirling current of her body’s own desires. Claiming her release with a sharp scream and, a moment later, a guttural sigh.
But it’s when she says my name in a decidedly different way, not even a distant cousin to the soft syllable she breathed when I first pulled her against me, that I know I haven’t actually broken down that wall between us.
Worse. I may have reinforced it.
Chapter 32
Vivienne
What just happened? I went out to ask Lance if I could borrow his car to meet up with Savannah when—
Christ. That was . . .
That was . . .
I don’t even know what that was. I mean, I know what it was. But my mind hasn’t caught up with my body. Aftershocks are still rolling through me, my bones vibrating inside my skin.
I should regret it. After all, I was the one to insist we remain platonic if I were on his payroll.
But the way Lance looked at me—desperation and desire burning inside his gaze—ignited something deep inside my soul. This hulk of a man wanting me, needing me so badly he was willing to beg for a taste.
I couldn’t resist.
I’m falling so damn hard for a man who will break my heart into pieces. But at that moment, and even now, knowing how much pain Lance will cause, I don’t regret my decision.
It would have hurt more to refuse. To be staring straight into Lance’s too beautiful, too expressive face . . . and deny him anything.
I’m not that strong.
Instead, I spread my legs and cried his name and reveled in the pleasure he offered.
So much pleasure.
And now, I’ll never be able to look at Lance again, at his lips and teeth and tongue, without imagining how damn magical they’d been between my thighs.
I am such a hypocrite.
Because I’m not just pretending in public. I’m pretending in private, too.
Pretending I’m not falling for Lance a little more every day.
And it’s terrifying.
I’m not ready for this. Six weeks ago, I thought I was living the dream. Dream job. Dream boyfriend. Dream apartment. And just like a dream, when I finally woke up, it was all gone.
Pleasure, too, is temporary. But at least the memory of it will stay with me for a lifetime.
Unlike Lance himself. Nothing we just did alters the facts of our arrangement. Lance’s intentions haven’t changed. When summer ends, so will we.
I can live in Lance’s house, drive his Maserati, and wear the clothes he bought me, but this life isn’t mine. Lance isn’t mine.
I’m just the hired help. Again.
Brushing away unwanted tears, I pull on a new pair of panties and run downstairs, grabbing Lance’s car keys from the kitchen counter. I can’t hide in my room all day, reliving the echo of his mouth between my thighs, his hands squeezing my ass, his tongue doing the most magical things to my body.
The man makes me feel like a bundle of ill-fitting bones held together by a short-circuiting network of nerves and synapses. And even though an orgasm slammed into me just minutes ago, there’s still a part of me that feels hollow and unfulfilled. Completely empty.
I’m just pulling in to the parking lot of Buddaberry, where I plan to satisfy that emptiness by devouring a vat of frozen yogurt, when my phone rings. Shit. “Hey,” I answer shakily. “I’m sorry for taking your car without—”
“I don’t care about that,” he cuts me off. “Are you okay?”
My eyes automatically drop to my Fitbit. Almost noon and I’ve walked less than two thousand steps. But my legs are still tingling and already sore. With his head between my thighs, Lance can make me feel like I’ve run a marathon while sitting down. “Define okay.”