Chapter 5
Natalie
He drags me down a back hallway to an open door leading into the kitchen. The place is roasting hot, filled with steam, the sound of sizzling pans, bustling movement and a ferocious little woman checking plates and shouting orders at the staff, tossing out curse words like Mardi Gras beads.
Her eyes flick our way as we pass, and there’s a moment of disbelief in her gaze before she nods at the sexy but overbearing guy I’m toddling behind. Before I can even ask his name or where we are going, he’s barreling through a door, slamming it behind us, and flicking on the lights.
“Jesus,” I manage, more out of breath than if I’d just been chased by a serial killer. “You’re bossy and handsy.”
“My sister’s office.” He turns, spinning me toward him, and his blue eyes bore right into the center of my soul. He backs me up against the desk, and I feel the wooden edge bite into my butt. “She runs the restaurant, but I’m her silent partner.”
Those eyes. God, those eyes. Not just blue. Topaz or turquoise. Sort of otherworldly, surrounded by dark lashes and lust. And I’m sure they have some superpower because I keep losing the ability to speak and that’s never happened to me before.
Something is about to change. Chaos ripples through the air shivering inside me. This stranger is somehow shifting the tectonic plates of my life under my feet.
I know I should run, but I also know I won’t.
The longer he looks at me, the more my emotions unravel. I’m raw and exposed under the unflattering florescent tube lights, but it’s not just my physical being that feels under scrutiny, it’s my heart. My soul.
There must have been some magical mushrooms in that Angel whatever drink he ordered for me, because if I didn’t know better, I’d swear I was on a long, strange wonderful trip.
Or, I’m falling in love with this guy.
I shake my head, trying to find the magic door back to my normal, boring reality, but I’m frozen in place by those eyes as my entire body trembles. His jaw is set. His pupils constrict.
Such purpose. Such power.
The broad expanse of his chest covers my entire visual field. His shoulders could support a Mini Cooper easily.
Something about him makes me feel safe and wildly unsure at the same time.
“Your sister, huh?”
I scan the walls and the desk as he raises his arm and points. “There we are. Me, my sister, brother, mom and grandmother.”
I squint, but he’s right. It’s him.
My lips fall open as his eyes drag up and down my body.
“I’m ready for my dessert,” he whispers in a voice that could melt the polar icecaps, and the room feels like it’s spinning.
“I would have shared my Creme Brule.”
I battle the knot in my throat, watching how his shoulder muscles round and his biceps pull at the dark fabric of his suit jacket.
He laughs in this dark, throaty sound that somehow moves the needle in the direction of my heart’s demise.
“You’re going to share something way better than that.” His smile is wicked, scary, but his eyes are blazing and there’s a glow around him that warms me like a security blanket.
Something about him makes me eager to please, to do things I’ve never done before.
I want to tear down the walls of my boring, mid-level corporate lukewarm life and replace it all with something impulsive and reckless and, God, fun.
I need fun, and it sure feels like what’s about to happen here is fun with a capital fuck yeah.
Tiny pulses are tapping out Morse code between my legs.
SOS
Come save me.
SOS
This man could surely have any woman he wants. I wonder if this restaurant is just his playground. Finding women in distress, swooping in, then…
I don’t want to think about that. I want to ride this dark wave of pheromones and bad decisions right into the fucking wall right now.
His hands circle my waist as he presses against me. The rock-hard length in his pants feels way bigger than it looks, and my breath turns to a lump in my throat.
“You’re a goddess,” he seethes, his lips warm on the shell of my ear. “I bet you’re a naughty goddess, too. For me, that is.”
“I’m—I’m not…”
Fuck.
What am I?
I do feel naughty.
But, goddess?
The fire in his eyes fuels my fantasy.
Maybe I am a goddess. I’m going with yes on that for the moment.
He kisses me and the entire world seems to explode around us. If he wasn’t holding me, I’m sure I’d melt into the floor.
His tongue presses through my lips, warm and greedy with the lingering taste of the coffee he was sipping as I ate.
He slips a hand down to take an entitled grip of my ass.
My nipples harden in response. His kiss is just like him, bossy and demanding, and apparently my pussy likes that sort of thing, because the pressure building downtown is equivalent to a Chernobyl meltdown.
“Fuck, I’ve wanted to taste you and fuck you since I saw you sitting in the bar. The first second. The first breath. I was drooling for you.”
He runs a hand up and down my back, keeping the other one secured on my right ass cheek.
“Drooling?” I banter. “Sexy.”
“Yeah, it is fucking sexy. Bet your pussy is drooling all over your panties, isn’t it?”
I pause for a split second, considering what the hell I’m doing here. Kissing this mountain of a man with the dangerous eyes and the hand tattoos, listening to him talk about my drooling pussy.
I have no idea who he is besides a picture of him with the people in the photo.
“Remember, don’t lie to me. Ever.”
That bossy tone is back, and a part of me wants to dig in, cross my arms and tell him off, but my body betrays me with swirling heat as my pelvic muscles beg for more of whatever he’s offering.
He grinds that magnificent rocket of stiffness into my hip in response to my silence, the hand on my back jerking upward, gripping my throat. Gentle and dangerous at the same time, and it’s a heady concoction. More intoxicating than any drink I’ve ever had.
I whimper like a desperate schoolgirl as our mouths meet again, his talented fingers digging into my ass and my throat as our tongues wrap and explore.
My moans seem to draw out his own throaty groans and growls. They vibrate through me, and I can’t stop the stuttering whimpers that seep into our kiss.
He breaks away, leaving me panting as his lips meet my ear. The hand that was on my ass is tugging the hem of my dress almost to my waist, and I feel his fingers lighting up the skin on my inner thigh before they brush against the slip of fabric between my legs.
“You’re in heat.” He breathes against my ear. “Say you’re in heat for me. I want to hear you say it. Need to hear you say it. Let me hear the words and I’ll give you what you need.”
“Wha—I—” I stutter, unsure and yet so sure... This stranger knows exactly what I need.
“You’re dripping through your panties, and I know that fuck you were with earlier isn’t the reason.”
Pressure from his fingers sliding between the elastic and my leg makes me shudder, my fingers clinging to his lapels like a life ring in a tsunami.
I arch into him as he explores, the tip of a finger teasing at my opening, my mouth wide, brain offline.
“Pretty little untouched peach you’ve saved for me. Trust me when I tell you, this cherry is going to be popped. By me. In my bed. Sweet drooling little cunt needs what only I can give her.” His tongue laps around the edge of my ear as his fingers rock my world. “My cock is going to stretch this little virgin pussy to fit me. Only me. You get that?”
He plays my clit like a Stratovarius, pushing me over the edge. I’m off and bucking against his hand as he says things about my cunt, my juices, and his tongue.
There are no actual thoughts happening between my ears.
Everything that’s happening right now is between my legs, but there’s no doubt he’s claiming me.
His mouth covers mine as my pleasure scream tears from my throat, surely echoing out into the dining room and probably through the front door onto the street.
I’m lost in this velvety red vortex of my climax. Long, hard waves moving through me until I melt against the wide hardness of his torso, my body trembling as I look up to find the slightest smile curving those sexy lips.
“God...” It’s all I can manage as he tugs my dress up around my hips with a grunt, then with the swiftness and grace of a gazelle, he’s peeled off my panties and positioned my butt up on the desk behind me.
“Time for my dessert.” He runs his hands down the front of my dress, gripping my tits as he starts to push me back. “There’s no panna cotta or tiramisu or Crème Brule that could compete with this pretty, pink sweetness.”
His eyes flicker with fire as he runs his knuckles up the side of my leg, then they stop.
The fire turns to shock and I remember.
My scars.
“Baby,” he says, like someone’s just killed his puppy.
He looks torn as he gaze darts from my pussy to my leg.
I open my mouth to say something…
Explain?
Protest?
Cheer him on?
I’m not sure, but before I can do either, there’s a click from the door and it swings open with a whoosh.
“Who was that girl—” The little dark-haired woman from the kitchen blows into the room, then freezes as she takes in the scene.
“Holy shit!” She smacks her hands over her mouth then cups them around her eyes, trying to avoid eye contact. “Dude, on my desk? What the fuck? Never on my goddamn desk, man.”
Her surprise turns to irritation and reality comes crashing down.
“I’m sorry,” I mutter, launching off the desk, knocking sexy hand tattoo man onto his ass, tugging at my dress.
“Just a second,” he says, righting himself as fast as a cat as I scan the area for my purse. “This is my sister. She should learn to knock.”
“It’s my fucking office,” she barks back, then starts to laugh, her hands still cupped at her temples.
I half want to hang around and see what sort of sibling war breaks out, but my pride has me bolting to the right.
I’m at the door in three steps, the hem of my dress cockeyed, stuck to my upper right thigh and barely covering my ass on the other side.
I grab the handle of my bag, clutching it to my chest as Mr. Magic Fingers reaches out but misses my upper arm by an inch.
A second later, I’m out, breaking into a run.
“Stop. Right now.” His voice seems to catapult down the hall in front of me, but I don’t stop.
“No!” I yell, clutching my bag in the crook of one hand, fighting the fabric of my dress with the other as I stumble and look over my shoulder to see him barreling out of the office door and down the hall toward me.
Shit.
My shin hits something and there’s a sloshing sound as wetness coats my legs, my feet, making me start to slip inside my shoes.
I throw an arm into the wall to right myself, the yellow mop bucket continuing to spill the soapy water onto the floor.
The slick tile might as well be an ice rink as I slide and curse my way down the hall, finally getting ahead of the mess.
“Stop. Right. Now.” His voice bounces along the walls as I turn at the end of the hall and see a clear route through the still crowded dining room to the front door. I allow myself one more quick look back over my shoulder just as the enormous, dark, tattooed hunk hits the soaking, slippery section of the floor.
His feet slide outward, his arms dart toward the walls, but gravity wins.
The last thing I see is him tumbling, ass over teakettle, flat on the floor, swearing and telling me to stop.