Lisa Childs - Pleasure Games / Legal Attraction

“And if I was?” Luca asked, so close to her ear it tickled.

She shivered at the pleasant sensation, her hands hovering above the keyboard like they were as frozen as her email account would be if she failed too many more attempts. Jasmine shut the lid of the laptop, the turn of the conversation seeming more important than email at the moment.

She turned to face him. “I guess that’s your business.”

He handed her a glass. His gaze was as intense as ever, but something had changed. Something subtle. It wasn’t like he was searching; it was like he was trying to convey something. Something important. Something fierce.

Whatever it was, her body responded.

Hard.

Her lips parted and her mouth was suddenly dry. She wet her lips, and Luca’s searing gaze dropped to her mouth, lingering there. “Should I be ashamed of watching people make love?” His nostrils flared, as if he was a predator, scenting her. His gaze narrowed as it returned to hers, and the quirk of his lips was on the cynical side.

“No.” Jasmine shook her head, unable to break eye contact. “I don’t think so.”

He nodded and drank. When his stare focused elsewhere, Jasmine was able to take a sip of wine herself.

God, it was good. Smooth, like silk slipping down her throat...

“What kind of an American are you, Jasmine Sweet?”

“Huh?”

“There are stereotypes, you know. About Americans.”

“I’m sure there are.” Americans had plenty of stereotypes about the French, too.

It went both ways.

“So,” she said, raising a brow. “Are you going to tell me what they are?”

His nod was almost imperceptible. “There is the puritan American. Someone who thinks the body and bodily functions are dirty.”

Jasmine bit her lip.

“Is that you, Ms. Sweet?” He leaned forward.

She held her breath.

“Or...” He backed up and cocked his head to the side. “Are you the kind who enjoys being a woman, physically and sexually, but who pretends she doesn’t like sex because she’s ashamed of her pleasure?”

The breath that Jasmine finally dragged into her lungs was ragged. When Luca didn’t continue, Jasmine asked in a breathy voice, “Are those the only stereotypes you have for American women?”

Luca shrugged.

“What about...” Jasmine began. “The American woman who enjoys sex and isn’t afraid to admit it?”

“Does such a woman exist?”

“Oh, yes.” Jasmine set her glass down beside the computer and scooted closer to Luca. “What about the American who likes to try new things?” She reached for his face, wanting—no, needing—to know what his beard felt like against the tips of her fingers. Against her cheek. Her mouth.

As much as Jasmine was willing herself to be this bold, confident sex-venturer, her fingers still shook when she touched him. But she didn’t care. And he didn’t stop her.

Or turn away.

Or capture her hand and place it firmly in her lap.

No. He simply sat there and let her explore.

His eyes assessed her from beneath lazy lids while she brushed the contours of his face. His beard was both wiry and soft, and under that she felt the strength of his jaw.

In fact, his jaw suddenly hardened as if he was gritting his teeth.

Wasn’t that an interesting response?

“What about the American who isn’t afraid to ask for what she wants?” Jasmine whispered, her fingers sliding from beard to mouth, tracing the seam and then the top and the bottom lips. Oh, Jasmine was lying her face off right now, but it felt good.

The subtle parting of Luca’s lips was an invitation, she was sure of it, and two of her fingers slipped in, just to his teeth and then past. Good lord, his mouth was wet.

And incredibly hot.

Why was he letting her do this? Why was he encouraging her?

Jasmine had no clue; all she knew was that his mouth was completely and utterly seductive, and when he closed his lips around her fingers and gently sucked, Jasmine realized that the simple sensation of suction on fingertips was more erotic than anything she’d experienced.

She pulled her hand from his mouth and without thinking, sucked her fingers into her own mouth, never breaking his heavy-lidded gaze.

“Are you saying you are this kind of woman who is not afraid to ask for what she wants?”

With fingers resting against her mouth, Jasmine nodded.

“Tell me, Jasmine. What is it that you want?”

Was there anything more sexy than hearing that question—deep and guttural—from a hot guy with a French accent?

No. There wasn’t. Not that Jasmine could think of, anyway.

She dragged her fingers down her bottom lip, past her chin, to her throat. She’d never felt more seductive, more wanton, more womanly. God. If she had only one night to spend with this man who had turned her into a sex fiend with a simple stare and a question, then dammit she was going to make the most of it.

Jasmine wanted to know what it was like to have something this irrational.

Something that would rock her world.

Not only that, she was going to ask for it.

“I want you to fuck me.”

* * *

The only reason Luca had been playing along was because he was angry. It was that stupid video—the comments in particular. No one knew the context of that video and he was so tired of being judged for it.

He’d almost longed for her disapproval so that he could unleash some of his angst on her. But she didn’t judge. Oh, no. She’d flirted. And then she’d touched him, with a mixture of sensuality and innocence that was so disconcerting Luca found himself caught up in a new game that too closely mimicked his earlier fantasy.

When she’d asked him to fuck her, he nearly lost it.

All of his control was on the cusp of melting away and Luca had to use everything in his power to fight the urge to pull his own too-big T-shirt up over her head and then tug the shorts from her hips. He ground his teeth as an image of him burying his face in her hair and sucking on that tender spot at the base of her neck flashed across his vision.

And that was just to start.

Get a grip, Luca. “I don’t think—”

She reached out, took his wine glass from his hand and set it down on the table on the other side of the computer. Then she framed his face with her hands. They were so small and gentle, and they still trembled, which turned him on more than if she was truly this sexual goddess she claimed to be. Her gaze was on his mouth, like she had zeroed in and locked on her target.

“Jasmine—”

Suddenly one of her hands slipped down between them to cover his hand. Jesus. When had he planted his left hand on her bare thigh, trailing his fingers on her supple skin? Luca couldn’t remember, but when Jasmine pushed his hand higher up her bare leg, inching beneath the leg of the shorts, he didn’t stop her.

In fact, when she got up on one knee, suddenly giving his hand easy access to the silky skin that stretched up her inner thigh, Luca completely forgot about stopping.

How could skin be so fucking soft?

His hand inched higher and he knew—just knew—her pussy would be bare. The damp heat that was only centimeters from the tips of his fingers teased him, like a wet whisper, asking him to touch. When Jasmine swung her leg over his in order to straddle him, his fingers found the taut cord that marked the juncture of her thigh and pelvis.

God. Her body was so close. So alluring.

He wanted her.

But somehow he refrained from taking what he wanted, from playing with the soft skin of her labia before plunging his fingers deep inside.

She finally settled herself in his lap and Luca groaned because the heat of her body was scorching, even through the cotton of her shorts and his jeans.