Serving Pleasure (Pleasure Series Book 2) Page 12

  It was also why, even when he’d paraded in front of her nude in his studio, he’d been careful to keep his scars out of her line of vision. “Yes.”

  She rose from her chair. He had to fight his embarrassment when it made a loud creaking noise. He clearly hadn’t been thinking when he’d propositioned her so clumsily yesterday, or he would have realized that she would have to come over to his place in order for him to paint her.

  Right now, his home looked like a poor bachelor resided in it. Or a serial killer with few ties to the outside world. If his family knew he’d allowed a guest to see he lived like this, they would be horrified en masse.

  Rana was too kind to remark on it, though he had caught her quick once-over of the place. She was kind, in general.

  She walked around the table, nudging the leg of his chair. She couldn’t have actually moved it—he was far too large for that—but he obliged her, shoving the seat out. Her hand fluttered to rest on his shoulder, and she straddled his lap, her skirt sliding up her round thighs.

  “Are you self-conscious?” she asked, continuing their conversation like his cock wasn’t hardening against the notch of her thighs.

  “No.” It wasn’t self-consciousness. The plastic surgeon had managed to minimize his scarring, and he had enough nicks and cuts on his body that he didn’t much care about a couple of extra silvery scars. They were reminders, was all.

  He didn’t want anything from his past intrusively ruining the time he spent in her arms.

  True to her word not to pry, she accepted his condition with a simple nod. Her hand dragged up his shoulder, her nails scraping his neck. “Since we’re still in talks, I do have one more term to add.”

  Micah couldn’t resist touching Rana. How could he? She was warm and soft on his lap, her long legs spread on either side of his hips. He wanted to tip her back on the table. Wreck her with his lust. Imprint himself on her body until she couldn’t smell or feel anything but him.

  “What’s that?” he asked. Her lips were slicked bright pink today, a color he was desperate to see around his cock.

  “I want you to kiss me,” she whispered almost shyly. “You haven’t done that yet.”

  He froze, struck by her words. Hell. He hadn’t kissed this woman? He’d been inside her body, ridden her to exhaustion, and he hadn’t kissed her?

  What the hell was wrong with him?

  He ran his hands up her sides, over the fragile stem of her neck, until they buried in her hair. She had left it loose today, and it spilled over her back, a waterfall of dark brown softness. “I accept that condition,” he murmured against her lips, and took her mouth.

  She tasted as sweet as that cinnamon roll she had cajoled him into eating. She moaned, and the small noise made him crazier to get inside her.

  He swept his tongue into her mouth, and it tangled with hers. She was aggressive, but he didn’t expect anything else. He liked the way she took no prisoners. Loved the way she held nothing back. He didn’t have to wonder what she was thinking or feeling, not when she made it so damn obvious all the time.

  He cradled her head and coasted his other hand down her body to her breast. Her nipple was stiff through the soft cotton tank top she wore. He handled her roughly, swallowing her gasp.

  She ripped her mouth free and arched so her breast plumped against his hand. “Harder,” she commanded.

  He obeyed, squeezing again, before shoving her top up and yanking her bra down, admiring her breasts in the morning sun. Compared to the rest of her body, her skin was paler here.

  He bent his head and licked around a dark areola, savoring her muffled cry. “You taste so good,” he said roughly. “Sweeter than those rolls. I would eat you every day for breakfast.” He ran his hand over her pussy and squeezed, pulling another muffled cry from her. “Right here, right? That’s where you need it.”

  Her eyes blazed down at him, dark pools of neediness. “Yes. I need it.”

  He moved to tilt her back, but she stopped him by cupping his cock. “But you need it more, I think.”

  He barely moved, frozen in place by her hand. “I want to take care of you first.”

  “Mm-mmm,” she purred. “You are far, far behind me on the orgasm spreadsheet, sir.”

  She had a certain funny way of phrasing things that made him want to smile, though he barely remembered how. “We only had two condoms that night. I thought it silly for us both to suffer.”

  “Let’s not get carried away. You were hardly suffering,” she said archly. “But please tell me you have one today.”

  He winced. She caught it and glared at him. “Are you kidding me?”

  “Yes.”

  She blinked at him, and then gave him a blinding smile. “Where?”

  He shifted her weight until he could reach inside his jeans pocket to pull out the foil wrapper.

  “You’ve been carrying it in your pocket?”

  “I was hopeful,” he said defensively. “Did you want to go on a treasure hunt for the damnable things again?”

  She rolled her eyes and expertly ripped the foil open. “Fair enough.”

  They fought to open his pants, and then her sure hands were smoothing the latex over him.

  He filled his hands with her ass and rubbed her pussy lips over him, making his cock slick. She gasped.

  “You want this?” he asked. Acknowledging her nod with a squeeze of her cheeks, he pressed against her opening, holding his breath as she came down on him hard.

  She was so fucking beautiful: tank top twisted above her breasts, skirt hiked up to her waist, panties merely shoved aside to make room for his thick cock ramming into her tiny channel.

  Her fingers attacked the elastic that kept his hair tied, throwing it to the floor and grasping greedy handfuls of the strands. He filed away the information that she liked his hair loose when they were fucking.

  At least his inability to get it cut could please someone.

  He stroked her buttocks. “I love your ass,” he growled. “It’s mine, isn’t it?”

  Her lashes lowered. “For now.”

  His brain acknowledged the fairness and honesty of her words, but that wasn’t the body part in charge now. He groaned and hauled her up until the tip of his cock was barely resting inside her. She whimpered and struggled to take him, but he was stronger than her, and she didn’t have a chance.

  “But it’s mine for now, isn’t it?” he said coldly.

  Her nails scraped over his shoulders, sharp enough for him to feel through the fabric of his T-shirt. It was a reprimand and a spur. “Yes.”

  “Good.” He shoved her back down and used his grip to fuck her like he wanted. Like he needed.

  When he got her in his studio, he would strip her down. Learn all of her body’s secrets. Make her immortal on paper.

  He shuddered. And after each session was done, he would bury himself between these warm, willing thighs.

  For now. She was his for now. It would have to be enough.

  He could tell she was close when she trembled and clenched up on him. He didn’t stop, giving her exactly what she needed.

  Her head tipped back, and she let out a low moan. “Yes, yes, yes,” she chanted as she came.

  “I need you,” he whispered, and clutched her close, burying his head between her breasts. “God, I need you. Please... Let me. Don’t stop.”

  “No, I won’t.” Her hips moved more lazily now that she had gotten her orgasm. He raised his head and pushed her back so her body arched, long and lean.

  She looked down and smiled, satisfied. “Look at us.”

  He obeyed, watching his cock pushing in and out of her. She was pink and puffy, her juices making him shiny and wet. He pressed his thumb against her clit and stroked her.

  She squirmed. “Do what you need to do.”

  “I don’t want to hurt you.”

  She draped her hands over his shoulders and came in for a kiss. “You couldn’t.”

  Their lips and tongues tangled. She s
miled when he pulled away, withdrawing from her. He grasped her by the hips and rose from his seat, placing her on her feet. She was so lithe, her muscles small but powerful. He spun her around and placed his hand on her back, forcing her to bend over the table.

  Micah gave her a second to curl her fingers around the edge of the cheap table he had inherited from the previous tenant before he entered her hard. Her squeal made him pause. “Okay?”

  “Yes,” she gasped, and that was all he needed. He fucked her harder, harder than he would have dared if she hadn’t told him to do so. He wanted to run himself through her. The cheap table squeaked on the floor and skidded forward to ram into the wall. He didn’t care if he dented the damn thing. He couldn’t help himself.

  He closed his eyes and came, feeling like the top of his head might blast off.

  He was panting when he rested his forehead on her shoulder, his sweaty chest layering over her back. Instantly doubt assailed him. What had he done? What would she think of him? He shouldn’t have been so rough...

  She shifted, and he realized she was struggling to get up. He lurched away from her immediately. “Apologies.”

  “For what?” She straightened away from the table. He had to grasp her arm when she staggered a step. She gave him a cocky smile and fixed her top.

  He had to look away from that smile. It was far too pretty for his piece of mind. He turned his back, dealt with the condom and adjusted his clothes, his mind racing as fast as his heart.

  He couldn’t just stand there like a beast though, so he faced her again. Whatever words were in his head vanished when she stood on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek. “I’m going to be late for work. I’ll be home around nine. Did you want to start the modeling sessions tonight?”

  He curled his fingers so he wouldn’t touch the warm spot on his face that held the imprint of her lips. “Tonight is fine,” he confirmed, because she was looking at him expectantly. His tongue felt thick and clumsy. Was he supposed to be able to talk?

  “Great,” she chirped. She gave him another chaste kiss on the other cheek. Like a baby duckling, he followed her to the door.

  “Wait,” he blurted out.

  She cast an inquiring glance over her shoulder.

  “I…” He fumbled in his pocket for his phone, thankful it hadn’t fallen out when he’d been ramming into her willing body. For the first time since he had grudgingly purchased the mobile, he was happy to have the damn thing. “You need my number. In case.”

  “I left my cell in my house. Call me so I have it.” She rattled her number off, and he quickly dialed it. He let it ring until her voicemail picked up, before hanging up.

  Now he had exactly three numbers stored in this phone. His parents, who he would love to avoid, his therapist, who he avoided…and Rana. Who he couldn’t begin to fathom avoiding.

  He stood there, staring like a lovesick fool as she sashayed across the driveways to her house. She gave him a cheery wave before disappearing inside. Probably to shower before she went to work.

  He wished she wouldn’t. He imagined her walking around the large restaurant he had been in, the scent of his body on her. It was…barbarically exciting. He wanted to mark her, like the basest of animals, and keep every single other man out of her vicinity.

  He caught himself, and he flinched. Jesus, who was this man he’d turned into? With more force than necessary, he shut the door and went to the stairs.

  He was about to disappear into his studio to prepare it for her arrival, when he realized his home smelled different.

  Fresh. Clean.

  Cinnamony.

  There was a time when he’d had quite the sweet tooth. After the incident—the attack—his mother had often brought him his favorite cakes and tarts in an effort to jumpstart his appetite, but he hadn’t been able to choke them down. Taking pleasure in food had seemed…wrong.

  For the first few months he’d barely eaten at all, his muscles wasting away, until his frightened parents had demanded he speak with his doctor, which had led to a nutritionist and a carefully constructed menu. He learned all about calories and fat and complex carbohydrates and exactly how many of each he needed to maintain his frame. Rana was right—he did require a large caloric intake. That was why he supplemented the small amount of food he was able to choke down every day with multiple shakes. Even if he didn’t feel like eating—which was most of the time—he could drink his calories and not freak out his family. Win-win.

  He wandered into the kitchen and righted the chairs and table. She’d left the remainder of rolls—about a half dozen of them—for him.

  Micah picked up a roll and brought it to his nose. The scent of cinnamon and dough and sugar and butter wafted to his nostrils, triggering a gnawing ache in his belly he’d thought long buried.

  Very gingerly, he unraveled the roll as Rana had done, and took a bite out of the center. The burst of flavors on his tongue made him moan, the sound startling him.

  He finished the entire roll in two bites, as if someone were going to come and take it away. He eyed the plate of remaining buns before scooping them up in his arm and heading for the stairs.

  He could manage a couple more. He did have a whole day to kill before Rana showed up again, after all, and there were only so many ways he could fill the hours. Somehow, he didn’t think obsessing over tonight would be the healthiest use of his time.

  Chapter 13

  Rana stood in front of her closet, tapping a foot. Every few months, she went through a closet cleanup, where she vowed to be tidy. She’d sort all her clothes, toss the ones she didn’t need, and arrange everything on her hangers in color-coordinated groups.

  Rana poked the pile of clothes on the floor. Sadly, she hadn’t had one of those days in a while.

  Not that she blamed her inability to find an outfit on her utter lack of organization. She simply didn’t know what to wear. She’d Googled “What to wear as a nude model,” but the majority of the answers had been “nothing.” Haha. Well played, Internet jokesters.

  Well, she wouldn’t be in the clothes for long, right? She would pick something she could get out of easily. Striding out of the closet, she went to her drawer and pulled out a soft pair of yoga pants and a matching fitted T-shirt, her usual workout wear. She stepped into them, skimming them over her hips and trying not to shiver over her underwear-less status. It’s for ease, she reminded herself sternly. Not sexiness.

  But it was pretty damn sexy.

  She jogged downstairs and slipped flip-flops on before striding out. Rana slowed as she approached Micah’s house. Before she could knock, the door swung open and Micah was glowering down at her. Heaven help her, but she’d never found glaring quite so hot before.

  “It’s past nine,” he said. “I thought you changed your mind.”

  She raised an eyebrow and stepped past him into the foyer. “I had to shower and change and brush my teeth.”

  “You didn’t have to do any of those things,” he countered.

  “Okay. Next time I’ll smell like onions during the entire evening, and we can see how you like it.” She hesitated, wondering if he’d grown tired waiting for her. “Is it too late?”

  “No,” he responded quickly. “It’s fine. Let’s get started.”

  She swallowed as she mounted the stairs behind him, a few nerves creeping in to mix with the excitement in her stomach. What was going to happen? Would he want her to strip right away? Would she have to contort her body into weird positions? What if he started working and realized he didn’t like her body? That would be awkward.

  They entered his studio, and he went to the couch and picked up something flimsy. He held it out to her. “You can change in the bathroom and put this on.”

  She grasped the insubstantial silk robe. “You’re right, I didn’t have to take the time to get dressed. I should have come over in my robe,” she joked.

  A muscle in his jaw twitched. “You’ll do nothing of the sort. Someone could see you. You’ll always chang
e here.”

  She rolled her eyes. “I’m joking.”

  He placed his hands on his hips, and then linked them behind his back. “Yes. Right.” Micah gestured to the bathroom. “I’ll set up while you…”

  “Right.” She went to the bathroom and shut the door, feeling mildly silly. He had already seen her naked. She could have changed in front of him, right?

  Or maybe this was part of the model experience. She had demanded professionalism, after all.

  She stripped down and folded her pants and shirt, showing more care for the workout clothes than they deserved. She shook the black silk robe out and put her arms in it. Something scratched her neck, and she reached back to find a tag there. The robe was new.

  She yanked the tag off and tossed it in the wastebasket before tying the belt. The robe probably came to mid-thigh on shorter women. It barely covered her butt. She gave the hem a tug as she walked out of the bathroom.

  He’d dimmed the lights and was crouched in front of the sofa, fiddling with a small space heater. He glanced up and gave her a quick once-over, his gaze burning a hole through the robe. Then he looked back at the space heater, as if it were incredibly difficult to operate. “I turned the lights away from the couch so you wouldn’t get overly hot, but then I thought you may get cold…you can tell me how you feel,” he said, though she hadn’t asked for an explanation.

  She nodded. “Okay.”

  “Do you want something to eat? Drink?” He rose to his full height and tucked his hands in his back pockets. “I would offer you some of your rolls, but I ate them all.”

  Delight burned some of her nerves away, though why she was so happy he had eaten her food, she had no idea. “All of them?”

  “Yeah. Sorry. Your plate’s over there.”

  “Don’t be sorry. And, no. I ate dinner. I’m okay.”

  “Great. Okay.” He cocked his head toward the couch. “Can you...?”

  “Yup.” This was it. Showtime.

  She unknotted her robe but couldn’t seem to shrug the silk off her shoulders. The two sides hung in front of her.

  Get naked. Now. This is what you wanted.