27. Vienna, Billy Joel
"Vienna," Billy Joel
Victoria
I shed my coat and my shoes, refrigerated the takeout, then … waited.
With Spencer, sex had been an obligation, and with Alexander, a distraction from studying that morphed into a half-forgotten hobby.
I’d never done a booty call, never sat around waiting for that knock. Should I strip down and greet him naked on my couch? Already be in my bedroom?
I felt out of control, wishing for rules to follow.
Which is why when he let himself in, he found me at my desk. He leaned in my home office door frame and chuckled. I held up a finger as the paper pushed out of my printer, then signed with a flourish and held out the one night stand contract with a sarcastic grin.
His amused smile dropped into a scowl. “I’m not signing that.”
“But it’s my night." I tried to keep the pout out of my voice. I didn’t do one night stands, but that was all he offered … so I’d make an exception.
“No, it’s not,” he snapped. If he didn’t want sex, why proposition me from the stage? How dare he beg me in public then shut me down in my home? Was toying with my libido a game to him?
I dropped the contract on the desk and it flitted to the floor. “Twenty minutes ago you publicly begged to have sex, and now you’re telling me no? That’s bullshit.”
His nostrils flared. “No, what’s bullshit is printing out that paperwork because you got ghosted and now you want to save face.” He strode across the room, looming over me. I stood up to meet him, arms crossed, not letting him intimidate me. I wish I kept on my shoes, I’d dig the heel into his foot.
“I know my role. I’m just your mulligan,” he said. Heat rose in my face, as if what I wanted from him was that transactional. “Your do-over after a bad shot.”
“I know what a mulligan is."
“Then you should know why I’m pissed you printed that contract."
“Contracts protect you."
“No, that contract protects you. I sign that paper agreeing to fuck you,” his voice was tight with barely constrained rage, “and you take it to management? I’m not just fired, I’m fucking homeless.”
Fuck. The air went out of my lungs.
“You think I’d do that?” I asked, my voice shaky.
He shook his head, taking a step back. “I shouldn’t have yelled at you,” he said in his calm customer service voice. His gaze was professional, with none of the heat from the bar.
I fucking hated it.
He hitched his thumb towards the door. “I’m gonna go.”
“Wait,” I said without thinking, grabbing his shirt before he put more space between us. He looked down at my hand fisted in the fabric, then raised his head slowly, his eyes narrowed. “I can explain.”
He stepped back to remove his shirt from my grip, crossing his arms. If he walked out, would I ever get this chance again? “I’m listening.”
“I …” I said, rubbing my index finger over my brow. “It seemed easy when we were kissing, when your hands—then I walked into my apartment alone and got into my head about—” I willed my head up to meet his gaze. “I’ve never done this before.” I wiggled a hand between our bodies and licked my too-dry lips. “Casual sex, I mean. I’ve only ever …” My eyelids dropped to protect me from his judgment. “I’ve only been with two people.”
Every cell in my body wanted to shrink at my confession, but I forced my eyes open to catch his reaction. He unfurled his arms to wrap his hands behind his neck and released a long, indecisive exhale.
“Two people?But you and Alex broke up …”
“Three years ago,” I whispered.
“Three years ago,” he repeated, running a hand over his beard.
I glanced at my recently manicured fingertips. “It’s been a hell of a dry spell.”
He chuckled softly. “No kidding you’re so tightly wound.”
I smacked his arm as his laugh loosened something in my chest. “I learned how to take care of myself.”
His pupils blew wide. “I bet you did.”
I interlaced my fingers to stop fidgeting and lifted my chin. “So if you need to go, I understand. But I’d still like to do this. If you’re willing.”
Indecision warred on his face as he chewed that full bottom lip. “No contract?”
“No contract,” I agreed, trying to sound confident but my voice wavered. He must have caught my hesitation because he stepped closer, lifting his calloused fingertips to brush my cheek. His eyes crinkled as I leaned into his touch.
“Here’s what I propose instead,” he said, his voice soft like he didn’t want to disturb our tenuous agreement. His pupils were dilated, his breath coming in heavy. “You tell me what you like, I’ll try to give you what you want. You don’t like something, you tell me to stop.”
“That simple?”
“That simple,” he nodded. His thumb brushed my cheek, lowering his head, our mouths an inch apart. “Say yes, and we’ll figure it out.”
My hands clutched the fabric of his shirt to stay upright as the world tilted beneath my feet. I breathed against his lips, “Yes.”
His lips slanted over mine. The kiss was sweet and tentative, yet with a hunger lingering just below the surface. I could get lost in his hand sliding into my hair, cradling my head as if I were delicate. Each touch was careful, like every point of contact between our bodies mattered.
He nipped my bottom lip, light and teasing, leaving me aching for more. But he moved slower than our earlier kisses, when it felt like he’d die if our lips parted. Why was he holding back?
Craving that intensity, I pressed my breasts into his chest, skimming my tongue against his lower lip. His lips stayed soft but didn’t part.
“Where’s the fire?” he asked. He tilted my cheek into his palm, starting a slow trail down the length my neck.
“You don’t have to be gentle, I can handle it.”
“I know you can,” he pulled back, and I shivered from the loss of his warmth. “We’ll get there. But right now, I just like kissing you.” He met my eyes, expression concerned. “Is that ok?”
“Um, yeah,” I said, still impatient but uncomfortable about telling him to kiss faster. I loosened my grip on his shirt as his lips returned to my jaw, wondering how long he would take.
Eric’s mouth started forming words against my neck, a melody emerging as the lyrics advised a crazy child to slow down, to cool it off before burning out …
I shook my head. “Do you have a song for every occasion?”
“I guess so,” he said against my neck. “Though it’s my first time singing Billy Joel while making out.”
“Aren’t Billy Joel songs too old for you?”
“I listen to his greatest hits whenever tenants move out,” Eric explained, his eyes brimming with lust. “Do you have more questions about the Piano Man? Or can I get back to seducing you?”
“By all means,” I said, threading my hand through his hair, listening to his soothing melody about being so ahead of yourself that you forget what you need. His calloused palms traced the slant of my shoulders, the V of my cleavage, the ruching at my waist … but never dipped under my dress. I arched my back, my hard nipples begging for attention. His knuckles gently teased the sensitive peaks until my lips parted on a sigh.
Following his lead, I slid my hands beneath his shirt to trace his ribs. “Off?”
He broke contact long enough for me to drag his shirt over his head to reveal the tattoos on his chest and biceps. I’d ogled them in the elevator, lusted over them while hungover. Both times I’d wanted to explore the colors with my fingertips, tracing the lines with my tongue … and now I finally could.
His heavy-lidded gaze tracked my lips lowering to his shoulder. His arm tightened around my waist to tug my hips against his erection. As I kissed along the inked path, his fingertips pinched my nipple.
When I whimpered, he chuckled.
Two can play this game.
I skimmed his firm pec, using my thumbnail to scrape his nipple. His head dropped back with a groan, muttering under his breath about trying to take his time. He lowered me into the work chair behind me, knelt and placed his warm palms on my knees. “Is this what you want?”
I parted my legs. He slid a hand under my skirt, grazing my inner thigh.
“Your panties are soaked,” he murmured. His fingertips brushed the lace, making my hips spasm.
“Yeah,” I exhaled like I’d sprinted a mile. His tongue darted out to wet his bottom lip, sliding a fingertip underneath the lace. His pupils dilated as he skimmed the smooth skin of my mound.
“You got waxed,” he said, voice full of wonder. “For your date?”
“No, weeks ago,” I said. I preferred the smooth skin against my clothes and hated the insecurity of being unprepared.
“Tell me what you want,” he said as the pads of his fingertips explored the delicate lace of my panties, inducing a ragged breath. They swept along the fabric over my core, then moved away. He chuckled at my annoyed reaction as his moist fingertip drew a soft circle against my sensitive skin, avoiding the place where I needed him the most.
I wanted him to quit playing…Yet the words got trapped in my throat.
“I can’t read your mind, Victoria,” he said as my hips shifted, silently begging for more, “so you have to tell me what you want.”
“Touch me,” I breathed.
“I am,” he said smugly, moving his rough palms to the tops of my thighs. “Is that what you mean?”
When I glared, he tapped a rhythm on my knee, waiting for my instruction.
This was what I wanted, wasn’t it? To be in control?
And yet, the words evaporated on my tongue.
“Panties on or off?” Both his hands slid to the outside of my thighs then paused, fingertips drumming on the hem.
When I lifted my hips, he slid my thong down my thighs. I expected him to drop my panties on the floor, or maybe toss them over his shoulder … but he shoved them into his pocket.
My heart stuttered at why he’d want my panties. What he’d do with them.
The thought soured as I considered that maybe he had a whole drawer of stolen panties from all of his conquests.
“What’s that face about?” he asked.
“Those are La Perla. They’re handmade in Italy.”
“You keep trying to tip me. Fuck Venmo, this is what I want from you.”
Ignoring the rush of arousal between my legs, I doubled down. “They’re part of a matching set.”
“Are they, now?” He slid a hand over my dress, sliding the dress sleeve down my shoulder to reveal my plum balconette bra.
“Good investment, this bra is sexy as hell.” His fingertips traced the thin cup and my nipple stiffened. His voice was ragged as he pinched my nipple through the lace. “Do you like that?”
“Yes,” I panted, breath quickening while his other hand slid back under my skirt and moved slowly, so fucking slowly, towards the apex of my thighs. He arrived at my center, slipped a finger under the fabric …and stopped. I almost screamed. “You’re enjoying torturing me, aren’t you?”
“So, so much,” he purred. The look in his eye — half predatory, half playful — had me more aroused than I’d ever been in my life. With his eyes still locked on my face, he used a single finger to part my folds and press inside.
Fuck, he knew exactly what he was doing, deploying just the tip of one finger and igniting me everywhere. His movement was gentle and curious, without pistoning or pumping, just slow caressing. I shifted my hips under his touch, arching my breast into his hand, wanting the release I knew he could give me.
“Tell me what you want, Victoria.” His voice was smoky as his finger dipped deeper.
“You know what I want.”
“I need to hear you say it.”
“I want you to make me come."
His tongue darted out to wet that full lip.
“Good girl, using your words,” he said, running the pad of his finger slowly up my front wall, my hips bucking and inner muscles already starting to clench. “Anything else you want?”
“I-I don’t know,” I breathed, prompting a look of surprise. “I can’t think straight right now.”
Rewarding me for my honesty, he added a second finger and my hips started convulsing. He used his forearm to lift my skirt and blow cool air on my clit, making my hips leap. God, I wanted him to touch me there.
He brought his soft lips to my breast and flicked his tongue against my nipple, then leaned back on his heels. “How do you want to come?”
“How?” I repeated in a daze.
“On my hand, like this?” he said, fingers pumping inside me, warm breath against my cool skin as his soft beard tickled my breast. “Or do you want me to lick your pussy?”
My face heated, wanting that more than anything but the words catching in my throat, fighting years of believing that good girls didn’t talk dirty.
I nodded, and his head lowered between my legs.
Fucking finally. He sucked my clit until I was writhing, gripping the armrest, thighs squeezing his ears, right on the edge of …
His head lifted to meet my glare.
Then the bastard laughed at me. Laughed . “Say the words, Victoria. You want me to go down on you? You want me to eat you out? Does that needy clit need to be licked?”
Shit. I was on the edge of an orgasm, and I wanted him so badly I could scream.
“Eric,” I breathed. “Can you just …”
His fingertips increased their intensity as his eyes locked on my face, my breath meeting the pace of his fingers pumping inside me.
“Taste me,” I begged, releasing the chair to thread my fingers through his hair. “Please.”
With that plea, the teasing stopped. His perfect tongue flicked my clit, his fingers pressed that perfect spot, and his hand on my breast pinched with perfect pressure.
My body gave into him, his hands and mouth propelling me over the edge, pleasure bursting outwards from everywhere he touched me. My head fell back against the headrest as I bucked against his mouth and cried out, my hand holding him exactly where he needed to be.
He moaned against my clit, the vibrations extending my pleasure. As the sensitivity crested, I tried to pull him off, but he resisted, slowing the pace of his tongue and the pressure of his fingers, bringing me down gently as he caressed my most sensitive skin.
Every sensation felt like electrical pulses: his beard on my folds, his flyaway hair on my thighs, the tip of his tongue making a small circle just outside my clit, leaning back to kiss the inside of my thigh as his fingertips slid out.
When I finally opened my eyes, his pupils were blown out with desire, his beard wet with proof of my arousal, his soft lips wrapped around his fingertips to suck off my taste.
I let my gaze travel down his body, taking in his panting chest and the hard bulge against his zipper, and pride surged through me. That’s what I did to him, how much he wanted me.
“I want to suck your cock,” I blurted out, surprising myself with the dirty words dripping with desire. I’d never said those words aloud, but they flew out of my mouth unbidden.
“Seriously?” Surprise flickered across his face.
“You don’t want me to?” I asked, taken aback. Years ago, I’d studied videos to ensure I was great at blowjobs so I could reciprocate for a night out or an expensive dinner. But this moment held no reluctance or obligation, only the desire to watch him come apart.
“Of course I do, I just …” An amused grin split over his face. “I assumed I’d get you off, I didn’t expect you to reciprocate.”
I reached for his shirt, pulling him up to stand between my legs, licking my lips as his hips rose to my eye level. Unbuttoning his jeans, I slid them down to reveal boxer briefs straining with his erection … and I laughed out loud at the ridiculous pattern.
“Pineapples?” I ran a hand over the hair on his muscular thigh.
“Christmas gift,” he shrugged as he kicked off his pants, which landed somewhere behind him in my office. “I wasn’t expecting a blowjob tonight.”
I squeezed his thighs. “Like you can’t get one whenever you want.”
“It’s been a while for me, too,” he said, his hand stroking over the strained cotton. I tore my gaze from his boxers to look up at his face, full of desire yet tight with restraint, uncertainty hiding behind his need. “About three months.”
He hadn’t had sex with anybody since he met me.
I pushed his fist aside, the underside of his shaft pulsing against my palm. When my hair fell in front of my face, I paused to scan my desk for an elastic.
He tore loose his bun, his glorious mane cascading down around his face. His fingers scraped my scalp to pull my hair into a ponytail with his tie. Strangely, the thoughtful styling felt more intimate than when his fingers had been inside me.
I lowered his boxers and his cock sprang up eagerly. And what a cock it was. My mouth watered at the contrast of his golden skin and slightly lighter shaft, pink at the tip.
“And you call me the Cobra.”
“You’re the little cobra.” When he laughed, his erection slapped against his contracting six pack. Fuck, his body was a masterpiece. “He’s the King Cobra.”
Laughing, I brought my hand around the shaft. The crown was wet with precum, which I licked off with the tip of my tongue.
“Don’t tease, Victoria,” he commanded, voice gruff. His palm caressed my cheek, his thumb rubbing my bottom lip. “You’ve been doing that for months. Put that smart mouth to work.”
I dropped to my knees and slid my lips around his cock. Wrapping a hand around his thigh for leverage, I went deeper with each pass, relishing the tightness in his hamstrings as he battled his urge to thrust.
“Fuck, baby, look at you,” he brushed the loose flyaways away from my face. “Those gorgeous lips wrapped around my cock look even better than I imagined.”
I picked up the pace, pressing my tongue into his crown on the way up and increasing my suction on the way down. His ass tightened as my tongue fluttered on the underside of his shaft.
“Good girl, just like that,” he sighed between panting breaths. He enjoyed for a few minutes as I explored, his searing gaze locked on every flick of my tongue, moaning as my hand caressed his balls. “I’m gonna come, how do you …?”
“Mouth?” I lifted off quickly to ask, “Or breasts?”
I usually went with whatever ended fastest without major cleanup required, but not now. Right now, both choices turned me on. I barely recognized myself as this bold vixen.
His head dropped back, the vein in his neck pulsing as if the decision itself was agony, then snapped down. “Tits.”
My hand released his balls to tug down the other strap of my dress, unclasping my bra and tossing it near his jeans. He shuddered, using his hand around my ponytail to pull my mouth off his cock and biting out, “Chair.”
I lifted off my knees and leaned back on the seat, legs wide to keep him close. His grip on my ponytail tilted my neck and I arched my back to present my breasts. With a pleased groan, he wrapped his hand over mine around his cock to pick up the pace, stroking vigorously before he came in long spurts. As the warm wetness landed on my nipples, his eyes were locked on my chest, expression primal as his cum spread on my willing breasts.
He exhaled heavily as the last tension drained from his muscles. He released my hair and propped himself up on the back of the chair as his eyelids closed in relief.
The liquid slowly dripped into my cleavage, leaving a messy trail. I cupped my fingers to prevent it from dripping onto the dress pooled around my waist. When he opened his eyes and saw me touching my breasts, he murmured, “Shit, you know exactly what I like.”
Under his still-heated gaze with his praise hanging between us, I changed my movement from being utilitaria —I’d been hoping to wear this again before dry cleaning—to seductive, rubbing his cum into my skin.
“Good girl,” he murmured as my fingers caressed my nipple.
His obvious desire emboldened me, giving me an idea that had never crossed my mind before: I lifted a finger to my mouth and sucked it clean.
He watched with such unabashed desire that I didn’t know how to react … so I wiped some cum off my collarbone, saying dryly, “Usually I prefer diamonds, but I could get used to pearls.”
A shocked look crossed his face before his mouth widened into an incredulous smile.He doubled over with a whooping laugh. “Christ, I didn’t think you’d know what a pearl necklace was. You just keep surprising me.”
He pulled me up to stand, my dirty chest rubbing his clean shirt. “Now turn around so I can unzip that dress, and let’s get you cleaned up in the shower.”