Angela Knight - Unbound

It was easy to get caught up in the magic of the Star Gala, she told herself. It was made for daring, drunken liaisons.

Except that neither of them had been drinking, and this had been the most solemn Star Gala in memory.

They both drew short, sharp breaths at the same moment, preparing to speak. Their eyes widened in a mirror image.

“What were you going to say?” His whisper echoed up and down the quiet hall.

“You first.”

“No. You.” He smiled in his charmer’s way, and she hated that she continued to fall for it.

“I . . .” she began, but so many years of stashing her desire behind impenetrable walls didn’t loosen so easily.

He inched closer, enough that the bottom of his tux coat touched the skirt of her black gown. “How about on the count of three? Just blurt it out. So will I.”

Though his heat rippled over her like a warm breeze, she shivered. And nodded.

“One.”

The sound of his voice drove her eyes shut.

“Two.”

He touched her, his fingers sliding against her palms.

“Three.”

They both inhaled.

He said, “I want to kiss you.”

She said, “I want to sleep with you.”

“What?” He released her hands.

Crap. She’d crossed a line. She’d embarrassed them both. But . . . wait. Slowly she opened her eyes. “What did you say?”

He barked out a laugh, his blue eyes holding a glitter that rivaled Gwen’s costume. “What did you say?”

She just stood there, driven to speechlessness by his potent expression and the way he prowled so close his thighs brushed hers. Without warning or even tenderness, he grabbed her hand and yanked her toward the closest meeting room. Pulling open the door, he pressed her into the dark. She got a vague sense of an oblong conference table surrounded by chairs before he pushed her against the wall.

Sensation rocketed through her body. David, everywhere. His arms slid around her back. His mouth dropped to her neck, the hot cloud of his breath puffing over the collarbone and shoulder bared by her gown. He shoved one thigh between hers, sinking against her body. His scent—the tint of shaving cream mixed with the fabric of his fine tux—overpowered her. If he weren’t holding her upright, she wouldn’t have been able to tell up from down.

His signature—that invisible aura proclaiming his magic—enveloped her.

“Say that again, Kelse.”

With trembling hands, she touched his face and chest in a most unclinical way. “I don’t think I can.”

“Yes, you can. To me and only me. I want to hear it again. I’ve been dying to hear you say it.” Nudging aside her hair with his nose, he lightly ran his tongue along her neck. “Use the dark.” His voice shook. “Say into it what you can’t in the light.”

He spoke the truth. There was anonymity in the darkness. Courage, too. Here, in a blackened room with the man she’d always wanted holding her, she could be the person she’d never been before. Not the careful doctor, but the uninhibited woman .

She slid her fingers into his hair and turned his head, whispering into his ear, “I want to sleep with you.”

His whole body shuddered. A sound somewhere between a sob and a shout of triumph erupted from his throat. He released her, only to cradle her face in his warm palms. Even in the dark, she felt the magnitude of his stare.

“My God,” he whispered. “Is this real?”

“Please tell me it is.”

He answered with a kiss. One fierce and powerful, his breath sucking in through his nose. He abandoned chastity, and she opened her lips to him, letting his tongue dive in. Giving him hers. Her deep moan of pleasure, the instant, borderless reaction to his taste and his touch and his presence, vibrated through her. He sank hard against her, his weight crushing. In her mind, she begged for more. Begged for his erection that she felt thickening and growing against the top of her thigh.

This was David Capshaw, and he was more than she’d ever imagined, in all her nights of lying awake, wondering what his passion might feel like.

“You really want me, Kelse?” His words came out staccato, hard bursts of breath rubbing across her lips.

His hands left her face, lowering to cover her breasts, to graze her nipples through the thin jersey of her gown. They both made some sort of inarticulate sound of pleasure. The back of her head ground into the wall. He yanked down her strapless dress, shoving the folds beneath her breasts. With a low groan, he lowered his mouth to her skin.

Worship. That’s all she could call how he licked her nipples, and sucked them, and dragged the scratch of his chin and cheek around her curves. She flattened her palms against the wall and just let him take , because his pleasure had become hers.

“You really want me?” he repeated. The infuriating charmer; he already knew her answer.

She reached down and parted the long slit of her gown’s skirt, separating the fabric all the way above her hips. He looked down at her unspoken invitation. One of his hands made a slow path down her belly and dove under the black jersey. Past the lacy string of her thong. Gliding easily into where she’d gone wet for him.

David collapsed, the wall now supporting them both. A cadence of Ofarian praises and oaths leaked from his lips, only half of which she understood. The other half were full of fiery promise.

He kissed her again, owning her mouth as well as the slick place where his fingers moved in achingly slow circles. He touched her, sliding in and out and over her with practiced care. Suddenly all her restraint dissipated like smoke.

“Yes,” she said against his mouth. “I want you.”

He smiled; she could feel the curve of his mouth as hotly and severely as the rising pressure on her clit. She sensed him reach for his magic. A little droplet of water formed around his finger, vibrating, intensifying his strokes as though they were electricity.

“Prove it.” A little laugh colored his voice. “Come for me.”

The wicked order streaked through her, shooting from her ears, to her brain, to the combination of his hand and his water magic. The words triggered her, shutting off every thought but those of him and what he was doing to her. All those years of fantasizing and masturbation, and her imagination had failed spectacularly. It had never even drifted close to this.

And then she came, bursting into orgasm like she dove into a pool from a hundred feet up.

“Yes. That’s it,” he said in her ear. “Oh, God, that’s good. Keep coming, beautiful.”

He’d always been so good at getting people to do what he wanted, so she was bound to comply. She shook around him. His hand became the center of her universe, and moved easily over her increasingly slippery flesh. She let him extract every last quiver of pleasure she knew was inside her, and several more she didn’t.

She couldn’t speak, so she jabbed her fingers into his thick hair and gave it a pull, telling him to stop. His hand left her, the dress swishing back over her sensitized skin. Strength started to seep from her legs, making her wobbly. With a gentle laugh, he wrapped an arm around her waist and pivoted them both. Kicking aside a leather conference chair, he planted her ass on the edge of the table. They watched each other, breathing heavily, the red light from the exit sign over the door casting a sexy aura over the room.

He’d called her beautiful.

Because she’d already been brave, she stretched for his bow tie. Pulled it loose, loving how it dangled, ribbonlike, down his chest. Beneath the collar of his shirt, his neck had gone damp with sweat. His earpiece was still coiled around his head, and she looked at it questioningly.