10. What He Really Wants
10
WHAT HE REALLY WANTS
Jules
Before I knock on Finn’s door, I take a deep breath, needing a moment to ground myself. The June night air is warm. Music plays from a bar around the corner. There’s a faint scent of honeysuckle somewhere nearby.
And in front of me is…the wild unknown.
Am I ready to step into it?
Butterflies flap in my chest, but they’re saying yes too. I lift my hand and rap on the door. The white wood paneling gleams in the glow from the lights on this quiet street in the West Village. Footsteps approach from inside, and I swallow hard, my heart racing.
Seconds later, the man with the chiseled cheekbones and piercing eyes opens the door, but he’s not smiling. He’s staring fiercely at me, his jaw ticking. “You’re here at last. We have lots to accomplish, Miss Marley,” he growls, playing the hard-ass boss as he tugs me inside and kicks the door closed.
The man moves like a sex superhero, and in no time, I’m up against the door, wrists above my head, clasped in his hands.
My pulse gallops with excitement.
He dips his face to my neck, drawing a deep inhale. “I’m going to keep you very busy tonight,” he says, his voice low and velvety as he runs his nose along my skin.
My cheeks heat. “With what kind of work?” I ask, a little wobbly but eager—like a foal standing for the first time.
“It’s a special project. Something I’ve had in mind for you for the last two weeks.” His eyes roam over my work costume approvingly, then he takes my hand and guides me through the foyer, past his living room. His home is sparse but warm, with white walls and wooden furniture. He leads me into a spacious kitchen. It’s large by New York standards, but it’s neat, with hardly anything on the clean white counters except a mixer, a kettle, and a box of cheddar bunnies. The crackers seem incongruous, but I’m not here to think about cracker snacks now. I set my bag on a stool beside the island.
Finn lifts a scotch glass, knocks back some amber liquid, then beckons me to him with one languid finger. Heat pulses through me, and I step closer to the man with the silver in his beard and the after-dark secrets in his heart. He sets down his tumbler, then pours me a glass of water from a pitcher on the counter. “Take a drink, Miss Marley. Or your throat will be parched when you scream my name and beg me to let you come.”
Did he really just say that?
Pretty sure my panties are useless now. He picks up the glass and hands it to me, his fingers brushing against mine. My body hums at his touch, craving more contact with him.
I take a thirsty sip, then put it down again.
“I couldn’t get anything done at the office today. Do you know why?” he says, his eyes narrowed and his tone stern, just the way I like.
“Why?” I ask, trembling.
“You’re all I think about, and it drives me insane,” he says, annoyed and aroused.
I touch my throat like I’m confirming the source of his madness. “I am?”
“You are. You make it impossible to concentrate on deals and contracts. Do you know what that means?” he asks, stalking closer so there’s only an inch between us.
My heart pounds mercilessly in my chest. “Tell me, Mr. Adams.”
I don’t know exactly what I expected when I came to his home, but this is the stuff of fiery fantasies. He crowds me against the counter and brushes a strand of hair from my face. His touch is anything but gentle; it’s rough, possessive, and thoroughly mesmerizing. “It means I need to punish you,” he says.
While there’s nothing wrong with his kink, nothing at all, I just don’t think that’s my kink. I swallow uncomfortably. Now I have to say the hard thing. “Finn,” I say, breaking character.
His expression shifts to tender concern. “What is it, Jules?”
Our real names signal the change from role-play to real. “I don’t think I want to be punished.”
He dips his face, smiling, then shakes his head. “Shit.”
Shit is right. We’re not compatible. I bite my lip, feeling awful. “I’m sorry.”
When he looks up, his eyes are apologetic. “Don’t be sorry. It’s my mistake.” He drags a hand through his thick hair. “It’s been a while.”
He sounds pissed at himself.
But I’m just disappointed, and my heart weighs two tons.
I don’t know what to say either, but he’s faster and communicates without words. He touches my cheek tenderly, then cups my chin in his big hand. “But I didn’t mean punish with pain,” he says.
He didn’t? I’m completely confused, then. “What did you mean?”
He inhales deeply. “I don’t want to lead you astray. Role-play is fine. I like it enough,” he says, and I see shades of my past, of my ex mocking me for my desires, twisting them, using them against me.
I can’t go through this again. “I’m going to leave.”
I turn away, but he grabs my arm, urgency in his voice as he says, “I’m doing this wrong.” He sounds like he’s beating himself up. “Let me explain.”
Shaking my head, I try to pull back from him. “This was a mistake,” I say as I search for my bag, my back to him.
He wraps his arms around me tightly, resting his face against my ear as his warm breath fans across my skin. “Jules, I want to torture you exquisitely with orgasms. I want to edge you all night. I want to punish you with pleasure.” After a weighty pause, he adds, “That’s my kink. More than role-play.”
I can’t move.
I can’t speak.
I can’t think, and it’s the most freeing feeling in the world. He wants to give to me. I don’t even know what to say. My knees are weak. My skin is hot. And I ache for him.
There’s one thing that nags at me, though, and against my better judgment, the voice telling me to shut up, I speak out. “But you let me suck you off that first night. And it was hot, don’t get me wrong. I loved it. But that seems more vanilla.” What if he’s just fooling with me tonight? What if he’s playing a cruel mind game?
“I’m rusty,” he admits. “Like I said, it’s been a while. And I did want to fuck this pretty mouth so much.” He spins me around and runs his thumb along my lower lip. “I took that night. But tonight, I want to give ,” he says, roaming his fingers down my arm. As he touches me, I catch the scent of his cologne, that leather and fire mix chased with orchids. Something about this man’s cologne, the way he wears it, not too much, not too little, says he’s not lazy. Says he knows how to make a choice. And Finn’s choice is so fine . Everything about him is strong, masculine, and somehow warm too.
“Tonight is about you. Just you.” He holds my gaze with so much lust and need in his eyes—it’s like he can’t contain either one. Same here.
I choose to trust he’s not playing mind games. Still, though, I ask, “You want to just give me orgasms all night?”
Well, it’s important to make sure I heard the sex superhero right.
His face remains serious as he gives the simplest answer. “Yes. Now the question is—do you want to stay or go, Miss Marley?”
The name and the return to our roles makes me warm all over, like liquid gold flows through my veins. I feel both relaxed and turned on as he gives me my wishes while reaching for his own.
And while there’s still one big reason to go—there will always be a reason to go—tonight, I’m ignoring our forbidden connection, including the years between us. “I want to stay, Mr. Adams,” I say.
“Good. Now take another drink of water—you’re going to need it for this… project .”
Project Multiple Orgasms, here I come. I take another sip, then set the glass down.
He points to a staircase at the edge of the kitchen. “Go to my room on the third floor. It’s a bedroom suite. Sit on the bed. I’ll be there in a minute. I want to watch your ass as you walk up the stairs.”
My pulse soars to the sky as I turn toward the stairs and ascend.
I don’t look back, but I can feel the heat of his gaze with every click of my heels.
I go up the first flight then round a landing, barely paying attention to my surroundings as I focus on my sexy destination. I head up to the next floor, then find what must be Finn’s bedroom door. It’s open. As his footsteps grow louder on the stairs, I step inside his spacious room. Like his brownstone, this bed is huge, bigger than a regular king-size.
The bedspread is striped navy and white, utterly masculine. But the pillows are warm yellow. A nice touch. The click of his wingtips tells me he’s near, so after I take off my glasses and put them on the nightstand, I follow his order, perching on the edge of the bed. A few seconds later, he enters the room, tugging on his tie, unknotting it, and stalking over to me.
“You’re such a good girl,” he says, brushing a strand of hair from my face, his touch gentle. “And you look absolutely beautiful.” His voice is low and intimate.
I don’t know what game we’re playing anymore—if I’m his secretary or if I’m just me. It makes me nervous. Makes me think too much. “Are we playing or are we…”
He cups my chin, possessively. His grip is strong, demanding, but desperate too. “Tell me what you want, Jules. We have one night. I want to give you everything .”
He’s unreal, and I hardly know where to start. I want it all.
I want to take everything he’ll give. “I don’t want to think. I want to feel,” I confess, baring a little bit of my naked soul to him. But I have a hunch he’ll not only understand me—he’ll want to deliver.
His smug smile says oh yes, I will deliver .
He drops his lips to mine and claims me in a hungry kiss. When he lets go, he says, “Good. Then know this—I’m in charge. I’m going to focus on you. Just you, Jules. Just fucking you.”
My pulse races. The role-play is over, but the night is just beginning. “Thank you,” I say, grateful he’s taken the lead. I don’t want to at all.
He brushes his thumb along my cheekbone. “No, thank you,” he corrects, then steps back and drops to his knees.
Wow. Just wow.
I shudder.
This handsome, stern, older man is on his knees before me, pushing up my skirt, spreading my thighs and roaming his hands along my legs. “I need to see how much you want me.” He pauses to lock eyes with me. “Show me.”
I gulp, but it’s from the thrill of his command. I widen my legs a little more.
He shakes his head. “Don’t be shy. Hike up your skirt. Put your hands on your thighs and spread them for me.”
I comply, tugging up the stretchy material, then parting my thighs.
My reward is the animalistic groan that rips from his throat. “Fuck, honey, you’re so wet for me.”
“I am,” I say breathily as he stares at my soaked panties.
He presses a kiss to my knee then journeys languidly up my flesh. Is he going to start his orgasm marathon by going down on me? I don’t think I’d object.
But he stops when he reaches the middle of my thigh. He looks up, stands, and offers me a hand.
I don’t know what we’re doing. And I don’t know if I trust any man, but I might trust him a little since his want is so clear. His actions spell out his wishes. He’s dirty and honest, and the combo is heady.
He cups my face, rough again like he was at The Scene. “I’ve wanted to worship your body since I met you.”
I tremble. “Really?”
“Yes. This is what I’ve wanted to do since that first night.”
It seems so impossible. “You did?” I sound doubtful. I know I do. But I don’t know how to sound any other way.
His eyes hold mine fiercely. “When you walked into the mansion, I could tell things about you instantly,” he says, dipping his face, kissing my neck, adoring my throat, making me melt.
“Like what?” I ask in between his caresses.
“You’re sensual. You’re in tune with your body.”
Me? In tune with my body? He has it all wrong. “I don’t know if that’s true,” I say, skeptical.
He nods, firm and decisive, as he meets my eyes again. “I see it in the way you play piano with your whole being. The way you dress, like you’re becoming the character. I knew you were the kind of woman who craved pleasure even if you didn’t know it.”
I’m warm everywhere. I’m…adored. I’m understood. After years of being shut down, I’m a flower opening to the sun, my petals spreading.
“That’s what you like? Giving pleasure?” I ask, still stunned that his kink isn’t role-play. It’s…making me come. This is like answering the job interview question what’s your biggest weakness with I work too hard.
He answers with a carnal yes , then says, “Let me show you.”
I’m woozy already. As he unbuttons my shirt, my mouth waters.
As he unzips my bunched-up skirt, my skin sizzles.
As I step out of my clothes, I feel like I’m coming alive.
And then, for one terrible moment, I think about where I am, who I’m with, and how this will never last.
It’s not supposed to last. Just enjoy your illicit one-night affair.
This man wants nothing but to make me feel good, so I take it, lying back on his bed as he slides off my heels.
Slowly, setting the pace, he undoes his shirt as I watch. He’s strong, with defined abs, muscular arms, and a smattering of chest hair. Plus, that happy trail makes me very happy.
Quickly, he takes off his socks and shoes. With only slacks on, he joins me on the bed, turning me toward him and dropping his mouth to mine. His hand is on my face, and I feel like I’m melting into this heady, lust-drunk world as he kisses the corner of my mouth then flicks his tongue across my lips. His kisses are sensual and lingering. They’re brushes of his mouth, teases of his lips, a lovely promise of incandescent pleasure.
He doesn’t break the kiss, even as he lets go of my face. His hand travels down my body, over my breasts, across my belly to my panties. His fingers slide inside the lace, and he groans as he touches my wetness. I’m slick and hot for him.
Outrageously aroused.
He strokes me while kissing me, but he’s in no rush. He takes his sweet time but doesn’t try to finger fuck me. He just caresses my clit with nimble fingers, drawing dizzying circles that make me pant and moan. He’s somehow controlling me with his mouth, lavishing me with druggy, heady kisses that send me spinning with lust. I arch my hips, seeking out his hand, rubbing shamelessly against him.
“Yes, fucking yes,” he says, his voice husky as I grind against his hand.
I’m panting, and I swear my orgasm is coming into view when he stops, ending the kiss abruptly too.
What?
I whimper. “I was so close. Why did you…?” I stop, coming to my senses. This is his MO—edging.
And I’m squirming.
The fucker.
He takes my hand, brings it to his slacks, and presses it against his straining cock. “This is what you did to me that night. You’re too fucking tempting. This is what you do to me every goddamn night,” he adds like he’s angry at me for being alluring. I like this angry energy. A lot . “I’ve been jerking off to you every night.”
God, the images. The fantastic images of his hand shuttling along his cock. Am I having an out-of-body experience? It sure feels like it. “You have?”
“Yes,” he says, then brings his fingers to his lips and sucks them off one at a time, moaning with each deliberate lick. “Fuck, you’re sweet.”
I’m also empty. I want his hand. His tongue. His cock. But should I say that?
I wait for him to go next. I don’t know the rules of one-night stands.
With mischief in his eyes, he asks, “You wanted to come so badly just now, didn’t you?”
I nod, speaking truthfully. “I did.”
“You were so close.” He sounds diabolical.
“I was,” I murmur, wishing he would let me.
He reaches for my right breast, squeezing it through the lace, making me gasp. “But I bet you’d like coming on my face,” he says, then quickly unhooks my bra.
I shudder. “I bet I would too.”
He moves like lightning between my legs, grabbing at my lace panties and sliding them off. “Fuck,” he says, staring at my pussy. “You’re so pretty.”
All I can do is nod. I can’t speak. My throat is parched with want.
“So wet for me,” he says, spreading me open.
“I am,” I say, and I’m in a sex trance.
Seems he is, too, gazing wantonly at me. But not for long. Sliding his hands under my ass, he pulls me close to his face and blows out a hot breath on me. I’m so vulnerable here, naked in the arms of a man I hardly know. But I like not knowing him. I like that we have no history. We have only our shared desires, comprised solely of lust as his lips press hungrily against my wetness.
“Oh, god.”
“Fuck my face,” he urges, scooping me closer, tugging me against his stubbled jaw and devouring me.
He’s not gentle. He’s not sweet. He’s voracious as he kisses me like he’s starving. I am his meal as he licks and flicks and eats, drawing my greedy clit into his mouth then sucking, driving me wild with pleasure. I grind and rock like he commanded me to do.
I’m so wet, it’s obscene. I’m so aroused, I should be embarrassed.
But I’m not because he’s so turned on. His noises are raw and primal—greedy moans paired with hungry hands as he squeezes my ample ass and worships my wetness.
In seconds, I’m close again, cresting again. Waves of bliss crash over me, and I cry out, reaching for the edge. “I’m close,” I say, arching against him, hunting for pleasure.
But then, the devil—the fucking devil—stops. He sits up on his knees, and I howl. “I wanted to come.”
With a smirk, he grabs my wrists and mirrors his move from earlier, climbing over me and pinning them above my head.
“I know you did.” He smirks. “Tell me I’m a dick.”
“You’re a dick. You denied me,” I say, and those aren’t words I ever thought I’d say to a man in the heat of the moment. But I feel strangely free to voice them. To sass him. To give him a hard time. Maybe because he’s been so forthright with me, I can be direct with him.
He shoots me a crooked grin. “Your sweet pussy is aching for me, isn’t it?”
“Finn!” I’m half shocked I have the nerve to beg but mostly helpless to do anything else. “You’re terrible!”
He sighs, seeming so damn pleased. “Beg for it. Beg for me.”
I don’t know if he means with his cock or his mouth or his tongue. But I truly don’t care. “Make me come,” I plead.
He reaches into the drawer of his nightstand and takes out a tiny black vibrator. “Bought this the other night. Just for you,” he says.
Are you kidding me? He bought me a vibrator? My entire sex life for the last several months has consisted of quality time with vibrators. Bring it on.
“Now,” I demand.
He slides the vibrating toy across my aching center, then comes close to my face. Only, he doesn’t kiss my mouth. He kisses my neck while he glides the vibrating bullet across my clit.
I’m burning up with the need to climax. My back arches. My toes curl.
He didn’t lie. He is obsessed with my pleasure, and I think I am too. But I’m also clawing at the sheets, overcome with the chase. I’m begging, thrashing. “Please, please, please.”
It’s exhilarating and excruciating all at once.
Especially when he turns off the vibrator, leaving me wailing. “Finn,” I cry.
And this is strange too. This weird comfort I feel with him. This freedom to beg, to plead, to ask for what I want.
But I don’t have to ask. Because he’s got a plan, and it involves his magic mouth.
He slides back between my legs and looks up at me, that glint returning to his eye.
“Come now.” He eats me. I rock against his face, shouting yes, yes, yes . Pleasure whips through me in a wild frenzy, a burst of color and lights and incomparable bliss.
I shake with ecstasy, and he groans like nothing in his life is better than my climax.
When I open my eyes, he’s standing, stripping to nothing. He’s chiseled everywhere. Arms, legs, abs. And cock.
I push up on my elbows, shameless as I stare at his dick pointing at me. He’s thick, pulsing. It’s a little terrifying though. After all these years of not wanting sex, is it possible to want it too much?
I am just one sweet ache right now.
The weight of all this desire presses on me as he reaches for his cock and strokes it, showing me how ludicrously turned on he is. “How do you want me?”
I hesitate, unsure how to answer. Everyone says first times are better when the woman is on top. When she’s in control. But I’ve spent far too many waking hours trying to control my own thoughts. In bed, I want to be dominated. To be taken. To be owned.
“Just. Like. This,” I say, looking down at my body, spread out before him.
“Good. Because I want to look at your beautiful face, your gorgeous tits, and your incredible mouth while I fuck you,” he says, then grabs a condom from the nightstand and rolls it on. He positions himself between my thighs. But he stops, freezing in place. When his eyes lock with mine, and I see…guilt.
We’ve not only crossed lines; we’ve willfully vaulted over them. We’re complicit in a crime.
We hold each other’s gazes, knowing that terrible truth without needing to say it. Knowing we’re wrong to come together.
And doing it anyway.
I take my fate in my hands as I sit up, cup his cheeks, and make him look at me. “Have me,” I say firmly. “I’m begging you.”
He shuts his eyes, squeezing them as he grits his teeth. But when he opens his eyes, any resignation is long gone. He’s all fire and need as he rubs the head of his dick against my wetness, then pushes in.
I freeze. It hurts, and it hurts a little more as he goes deeper. “Jules.” He’s so tender. “Are you okay?”
Am I?
Of course I am.
I close my eyes. This is just temporary. It will pass. The pain will float away.
When I open my eyes, the ache is already ebbing. “I’m good,” I say, meaning it.
He growls, arching a doubtful brow. “Are you sure?”
“Please don’t stop,” I say.
He gives a slow thrust, since he can’t seem to resist my request. In one hour, I’ve learned that basic truth about him. He wants to smother me in pleasure, and I want to be blanketed.
He pauses, and I breathe deeply, then shudder past the fullness, the intensity, and just revel in the goodness. “I love this,” I say, my voice trembling.
“Yeah?”
“I do,” I gasp out.
I’m so aroused, so strung out on bliss. He braces himself on his palms and stares down at me, never breaking his gaze as he swivels his hips and takes me apart thrust by delicious thrust as I run my hands over his chest, twist my fingers in his hair.
It’s intense, the look in his green eyes, the way he owns me, how he dominates me. “Look at you. You’re taking my cock like such a good dirty girl,” he praises.
Well, that’s true.
And taking his dick feels incredible. He never looks away from me as he pumps those trim hips. He fucks me powerfully and passionately, following my cues and speeding up as my breath races, and slowing down as I moan long and low.
Then, when I’m babbling incoherently, he slides a hand between my thighs and rubs delicious circles on my clit. “Give me another.”
“Don’t deny me this time,” I say, desperately.
“I won’t. Need to feel your pussy clenching my cock.”
His mouth, his filth, his unbridled lust, make me feel unhinged. Like I could say something dangerous, something dirty.
And...I can.
Holy shit.
I can say what’s in my head. “Fuck me hard till I come,” I blurt out, feeling wild and daring.
He complies, thrusting deeper and playing with my clit till I’m reduced to nothing but heat and sweat and desire.
One deep thrust. A few fast flicks, and I’m breaking into beautiful pieces. He roars, “Yes, fucking yes,” and he follows me there.
A few minutes later, he’s lying next to me, looking spent, and I’m feeling dazed.
Totally unsure too.
What do I do now? What do we say? But before I can linger in doubt, he takes my hand, slowly brushing his thumb over each of my knuckles. “I’ve wanted this ever since we met at the first party,” he murmurs against my neck, sending shivers down my spine.
“But do you still think I’m a good girl?” I ask playfully.
He grins and drops a lingering kiss onto my lips before pulling back with a satisfied smirk. “No. Tonight you’re my very naughty girl.”
My cheeks heat up. “I don’t want to be good with you.”
His hand slides up my thigh, sending sparks of electricity through me again. This man can command my body. “You’re a little defiant. You didn’t obey me earlier though. With the panties.”
I can’t help but smile. “And you liked my defiance.”
“I couldn’t stop smelling you.” He nuzzles my neck, whispering in my ear, “And I need to taste you again before tomorrow. Many more times.”
Tomorrow—when this stolen night comes to its inevitable end and we go back to our lives. Returning to our other roles—the good daughter and the good friend who’ll act like nothing ever happened one night in this city of secrets.