Stefanie London - Unmasked / Inked

But then this redhead had bowled him over and flipped everything on its head. Back on the balcony, he’d been powerless to resist her demands for more—and she wouldn’t even tell him her name.

“I, uh... I don’t do this normally,” the redhead said.

“Have a one-night stand?”

“At least not without dinner first.” She drained the rest of her champagne. Looking for some Dutch courage, perhaps? He was tempted to remind her that he’d already brought her to orgasm once, so what was there to be nervous about? But he kept his mouth shut.

“We had canapés, so that’s dinner covered.”

She smiled, but it wasn’t seductive or sexy. She seemed...shy. “You know what I mean.”

“No judgement,” he said, finishing his drink.

Right about now he would have preferred a scotch—two fingers, neat—but this would do. Really, he didn’t want anything to dull this experience. Something told him that the redhead was special. That this whole crazy thing wasn’t going to be regular “good in the moment, but forget it the morning after” sex.

“You don’t have to be nervous,” he said. “I want this, you want this. All we need to do is settle on a location.”

“How about right here?” she whispered. Her cheeks were flushed beneath her mask, the pretty pink extending down her neck and colouring her chest.

“In the car?”

“Why not? As you said, your ticket paid for it.”

He stifled a groan as she crossed her legs, the long slit falling open to reveal miles of creamy, pale skin. Knowing she wore nothing but a scrap of lace beneath had made him impossibly hard. He wanted her in his lap, legs spread, moaning his name. Now.

Damian dropped the privacy partition and instructed the driver to circle the botanical garden a few times. With Saturday-night traffic, that should give him ample time to lose himself inside this beautiful, mysterious woman.

Her eyes grew dark, the muscles in her neck working as she swallowed. The low light danced across her skin, highlighting her smooth paleness where the dress exposed the sensual curve of her breasts. Light caught on the shiny silver beads, glimmering like stardust.

His cock hardened even more, straining against the wool of his tuxedo pants. Adjusting himself, he counted to ten in his head. His self-imposed dry spell would work against him if he didn’t keep his urges in check. If he was doing this, he wasn’t going to blow it in the first five minutes.

“You should know before we go any farther that I’m not going to tell you my name,” she said. Her fingertip traced the beading on her thigh. “Is that a problem?”

He clamped his teeth down on his lip and imagined sinking them into her, leaving a perfect indentation on her inner thigh. The idea of such a personal mark on her skin filled him with excitement. How would she react to the sharp sting mixed with all the pleasure he planned to give her?

“It’s not how I usually do things,” he said, holding out a hand. “But no, it’s not a problem.”

She slid across the limousine’s seat until her thigh touched his, her shallow breathing music to his ears. He grabbed her by the waist and hauled her into his lap so that she straddled him, the slit in her dress riding up even higher to expose the tops of her perfect, creamy thighs.

His cock ached to be inside her. Cupping her head with his hands, he smoothed up her jawline to thread his fingers into her hair. His thumb traced the shell of her ear as he stared at her mouth, watching her lips as her breath stuttered in and out. She sank lower, pressing the heat of her sex against his straining erection, sending sparks of need shooting through him.

“Stop moving,” he commanded, whispering into her ear.

The scent of peaches and vanilla invaded his nostrils and filtered through him like a drug. She stilled in his arms and he brought his lips to her jaw, kissing along the gentle angle until he reached her lips. They were plump and juicy.

Slowly, slowly.

Hovering above her lips, he waited to see if she would break. Not a muscle twitched as she waited, compliant. He pressed his mouth to hers, coaxing her lips open so he could taste her fully.

Knotting her hair in his fists, he held her head in place while he devoured her. She moaned into him, the muffled sound awakening every nerve ending in his body. He was going to savour this.

CHAPTER SEVEN

IF KISSING WERE an Olympic sport, Damian would take home gold, silver and bronze. No contest. The man had a mastery over his tongue that was borderline indecent.

He tugged her hair, moving her head into place so he could take what he wanted. How he wanted it. This kind of kiss should have been accompanied by a crash of cymbals or the roar of the ocean. It could have its own soundtrack. But in reality, she was only aware of the slow sizzle of her nerves frying as she slowly melted into him.

“God,” he moaned into her ear as he sucked her lobe into his mouth.

Hot breath warmed her skin. He enveloped her, supported her. Held her in place. Only her mouth moved as she kissed him back, her body his to manoeuvre as he saw fit.

He released her hair, smoothing his hands down her neck, his thumb tracing the little hollow at the base of her throat. She could feel her pulse fluttering wildly, and she sucked in a breath, relishing the power he had over her. She willed him to fuck her right here, to tear her underwear to one side like he had on the balcony and release the tension bundled up tight between her legs.

But it seemed Damian had other ideas. Slower ideas. He leaned forward to suck on the skin at her décolletage, his tongue tracing the bones pressing against her skin before he moved down. Safe in his arms, she leaned back to give him the access he needed. He tugged the dress over, revealing her breast and drawing a nipple into his mouth.

He sucked, teeth scraping over the sensitive peak. Was it possible to come from only this? Lainey often orgasmed by her own hands rather than with a partner. The men she slept with thought breasts were more for jiggling and bouncing, but Damian treated hers like the centre of his world. He worshiped them.

She stifled a moan, flooded with the realisation that they were in a car, surrounded by windows. Tinted, thank God, but windows nonetheless. The rush of tires over bitumen flowed through her as Damian nipped at her breast. His tongue circled her before he drew her back into his mouth, the pressure building inside her. Rising until she felt like she’d explode.

“I’m going to get you off again.”

“Again?”

“Yes, princess.”

The soft words made her tremble, her sex pulsing hotly. Begging. Pleading. She nodded.

“Don’t be quiet, okay? I want to hear you this time.” He pressed his lips to her breast as his hand trailed down her stomach and landed on her thigh. “Can you do that for me?”

“Yes.”

Hot palms slid up her thighs, pushing the fabric of her dress up to her hips. He moved aside the triangle of lace covering her sex and eased her open with gentle fingers. Probing. Teasing. A gasp caught in her throat.

“You’re so fucking wet,” he groaned into her ear.

His eyes were dark and smoky, his mouth slack with desire. She had done this to him. Feminine power hummed through her body, mixing with the excitement that flamed as he teased her clit with his thumb.

He knew exactly where to press, how hard to push and when to ease back. Orgasm welled within her, threatening to crash over her at any moment. True to his promise, he brought her to the brink and let her hover there, suspended. Weightless. Wanting.

This time he didn’t rush her, choosing to toy with her instead. “We’re almost there. Just hold it for a little longer.”

He traced slow, maddening circles around her clit. She forced her hips not to buck, to let him give her this experience. He controlled the pace and therefore controlled her pleasure. Controlled her. Nails bit into her thighs as she resisted the urge to thrust against his hand. She was so close...so very close.