Breathless Page 7

  He tips his head down, as though urging my fingers to climb higher. “Green. Red. I don’t know if I really have one.”

  “Christmas-time must be your favorite season.”

  “Halloween, actually.” His big hands find the ridge of my spine, and fold over each pearl. “Something tells me that as an actress, Halloween must be your favorite holiday, too.”

  He knows me too well, something that both pleases me and freaks me out. Jake and I . . . I don’t know what this is between us. Just pent-up lust? Something more? It’s nerve-wracking to know that we get on so well, especially when it can all come crumbling back down soon enough.

  When he finds out that . . .

  Jake spins me about a dancing couple, and I take the moment to soak up his heat. His unique scent.

  Maybe if he admits to his own secrets . . .

  “Tell me something real about you,” I blurt out with absolutely no prelude. “Something you usually wouldn’t tell a stranger.”

  For a moment, I’m not sure he’s even heard me. But then his chest rumbles under my cheek. “You going to return the favor, Holloway?”

  I swallow past the lump in my throat. “Yes.”

  His chin dips against the top of my head in a nod before he leads me off the dance floor and back into the crowd, which is now elbow-to-elbow. A server passes by with a tray of champagne flutes, and Jake pauses to grab one.

  “Here.”

  I accept the glass, noting the way he doesn’t take one for himself. In a room full of people that I don’t know, Jake Matthews has my full attention. My undivided attention. So, when I ask him, “Not a fan of champagne?” I very clearly see the way he lowers his gaze and looks away.

  “Jake?”

  “I spent a few years going to AA,” he finally says, voice low. “If you’re looking to learn something about me that very few people know about, there you go.” His blue eyes land on my face, narrowed. “Jake Matthews, recovering alcoholic, at your service.”

  My heart breaks. Just like that, it splinters and cracks, and there’s nothing that can stop me from wrapping my free hand around the back of his neck to pull him down for a kiss. This one isn’t hot. It isn’t panty-droppingly delicious.

  It’s so much more. An offer of comfort, of understanding. I nip his bottom lip in a show of annoyance at hearing his resigned tone, before pulling back. “Don’t talk about yourself like that.”

  He presses his forehead to mine. “Yeah?” His lips find my brow. “Why not?”

  Because it pains me to hear you sound so defeated. That’s not what I say. Instead, I opt for the chance to bring a smile to his face. “Because I say so.”

  When a grin tugs at his lips, victory thrums through my veins. “And what you say goes?”

  I nod. “It’s the theater major in me. All drama queen, twenty-four seven.”

  He plucks my untouched champagne flute from my hand to place it on the buffet table behind him. Then, turning back to me, he cups my face, thumbs brushing my jawline. “Is that how you are in bed? All drama, twenty-four seven?” His right thumb slides over my bottom lip, tempting me to bite down saucily. “Do you scream when you come, Holloway? All theatrical like a porn star?”

  My breath hitches when he slips his thumb into my mouth, and I touch the pad with my tongue. His blue eyes are nearly black with lust, a robust sapphire that glitters like the most finely cut gem.

  I pull back. “I never scream.”

  The idea of my roommates overhearing me has always been enough to keep me quiet. Also, am I the only one who thinks screaming during sex is a little too much? Sex doesn’t ever feel that good.

  But apparently Jake sees an opportunity in my denial because he wraps his large hand around mine, swallowing it whole, and announces, “Sounds like a challenge.”

  I don’t even bother trying to pull away. “It wasn’t a challenge. It’s not a challenge.”

  He starts walking, leaving me no choice but to follow him. “It’s a challenge, Claire. Don’t worry, I’m up to the task, one-hundred percent.”

  The giggling feeling is back. “Jake, be serious.”

  “Trust me, I am being serious.” He spares me a single glance, and this one . . . this one heats my core immediately. “You’re going to spill your secrets, baby, but only after I make you scream my name so loudly that you’ll be hoarse for days.”

  Oh. My. God.

  I strive for a nonchalance that I just don’t feel when I squeak, “Hello, have you met my friend, Mr. Egotistical?”

  Yes, I squeaked.

  Someone please put me out of my misery.

  Jake only laughs. It’s sexy and manly and I swear to God that my nipples are as hard as diamonds right now, and I have no idea what to do about that other than to hope that my chest isn’t pulling a 1980s Madonna reenactment as we wind through the gala-goers toward the front door.

  We emerge from this evening’s converted ballroom like two teenagers caught skipping school, his arm wrapped around my shoulders and my fingers tucked into the waistband of his pants, under his tuxedo jacket.

  “I should probably warn you,” he tells me as we wait for our coats, “I’m keeping you the entire night. I’ve been waiting for this—”

  “This magic moment?” I offer with a grin.

  He blinks, once, twice . . . and then he grins. “A magic moment with a man who’s got a magical penis. Don’t think I’ve forgotten what you told me.”

  How embarrassing.

  Feeling my cheeks flush, I sidle out from under his arm and busy myself with tugging on my coat. “You’re determined to make me permanently blush, aren’t you?”

  “I just want to know you, Claire. I want to know what makes you tick, what excites you, what turns you on—”

  “You.”

  Blue eyes zero in on my face. “What about me?”

  I take a deep breath. “You make me tick, Jake. You excite me—whether you’re standing on my front stoop or swinging me around as we dance. And I don’t think it’s much of a surprise that you also turn me on.”

  If possible, his gaze warms and seems to sharpen at the same time. It’s a heady thing, knowing that Jake Matthews, one of the city’s most eligible bachelors, wants me for himself. The man could easily have anyone—but he’s chosen me, at least for tonight.

  The woman who dons a damn chicken suit once a week because rent has to be paid.

  The woman with a dream to act, but who has only managed to book toothpaste commercials thus far.

  The woman who, at the age of twenty-four, had her uterus removed because her Endometriosis was so incredibly painful that, for years, she found herself sleeping the days away.

  I swallow so hard that my ears pop.

  But that’s not the woman who Jake sees tonight.

  He sees a woman who slips on the chicken suit like it’s her middle finger against the world.

  He sees a woman who will stop at nothing to become a successful actress.

  He sees a woman who wants to have sex with him, who’s dying to have sex with him.

  I want to be that woman.

  Hell, I am that woman.

  But I’m the first woman, too, the one with the insecurities and the unfulfilled dreams. Tonight, if anything, I can check off one dream. Spending the night with Jake Matthews, the man who lights me up like nobody else ever has. I want to know more of his secrets, more of his past. Maybe, if I can garner the confidence, I can return the favor.

  Jake pulls me close, tugging me up against his frame, planting a kiss on my lips that solidifies that I am what he wants. He fingers a strand of my hair between his fingers, his gaze bouncing from my lips to my eyes. “You’re breathless.”

  Yes, I am. I kiss the underside of his chin. “You do that to me, too.”

  11

  Jake

  I’m not a monk.

  I spent the majority of my twenties hooking up with random women. There was good sex, bad sex, so-so sex, unbelievably amazing sex, but not once, not a
single sexual experience can even compare to the thought of sliding deep inside Claire’s body.

  There’s no doubt about it—she’s driving me crazy. Taking everything I thought I knew about myself and turning it inside out.

  Claire’s hand finds mine in the stairwell that leads to my condo.

  Her hand against mine.

  You’d think that I’m thirteen the way my cock immediately stands to attention at the innocent contact. But that’s what Claire does to me—fuck.

  “Is this okay?” she whispers into the dark. The only other sound is that of her stilettos tapping against the wood stairs. “I just realized that I’m not sure if you’re a hand-holder or not . . .”

  Full disclosure? I’m not. Not usually, but right now with Claire . . . “You can hold my hand whenever you want, baby.”

  Her fingers tighten around mine at the endearment, and I bite back a grin. “Are you not the hand-holder type, Claire?”

  “Usually not.”

  I don’t release her hand when I swing open the stairwell door and usher her through first. The hallway’s softly muted light illuminates her face, and does nothing to hide her slight smile.

  “What’s that look for?”

  Pursing her lips, she shakes her head. “It’s nothing.”

  Oh, Jesus. Scoffing, I release her hand only long enough to unlock my door and push it wide. When a woman says “it’s nothing,” I’m prepared to cup my balls. I toss the keys onto my entryway table and flick on the lights. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing’s wrong,” she murmurs, sidestepping my hands when I go to encircle her waist. “I just think it’s funny.”

  I strip off my tuxedo jacket, tossing it haphazardly on the entryway table, on top of the keys. My gaze follows Claire as she slips her jacket off her shoulders, though she’s more careful with hers. She gently folds the material over my kitchen counter, and then all I see is her in that sexy-as-hell red dress.

  Her naked back.

  The slim fit over her tight ass.

  Fuck, I need her.

  Without waiting another second, I approach her, my hands going to her hipbones. “Tell me what’s so funny,” I whisper, dropping my lips to the base of her neck. “Tell me what’s funny or you’ll force me to take drastic action.”

  She shivers, and I feel that shudder down in my cock. “What sort of drastic action?” she says, surprising me, as always. “How drastic are we talking?”

  Drastic, baby. Strip you naked and taste the heart of you drastic. “Why do I feel like you just got excited about that?”

  “I didn’t.”

  I kiss her neck again, letting my lips drift to the right so I can nip her exposed shoulder. “You did.”

  Her head tips back against my chest. “Jake—”

  “Claire,” I tease in the same tone, breathless and needy, just like her. Call me a caveman, but it feels damn good to hear my name off her lips like that. Like she won’t last another minute without me—and, trust me, I’m all too willing to oblige. “Let’s do a little experiment,” I murmur huskily. “We’ll call it . . . How Excited Is Claire Holloway.”

  What I assume is supposed to be a snort escapes as a sigh from her mouth. “I’ll lose.”

  Exactly. My fingers are already moving to her stomach, stealing up over her sternum until I’m cupping her just below the breasts. So. Damn. Close. “Sometimes losing is the best option, don’t you think?”

  This time she does snort. “You’re ridiculous, Jake Matthews.”

  “Ridiculously good-looking, Claire Holloway.” And then I go for home, cupping her breasts in my hands. “Hmm . . . how excited is Claire Holloway?” I flatten my hands, brushing the tips of her breasts with my thumbs. “So excited, maybe, that your nipples are hard?”

  She shoves her chest at my hands, and I choke back a laugh. “Is that a yes?”

  “God, yes,” she breathes.

  God, yes, is right. I immediately go for the straps of her dress. Her head falls forward as the straps slide down her arms, pooling at her elbows. Gorgeous. She’s utterly fucking gorgeous, and I don’t want to wait another second before I can see her.

  All of her.

  “Turn around.” My voice is hard, rough.

  Damn me to hell and back, she does exactly as I say. Making no move to mess with the straps, she faces me slowly, her hair beautiful and wavy, her red dress resting around the curve of her hips. Her nipples are hard, a dusty rose, the exact shade that I’ve pictured at night with my hand stroking my cock to the thought of her riding me.

  And then, in the teasing, witty tone I’ve come to expect from her, Claire asks, “Am I excited enough for you?”

  “I think I need to experience it first-hand,” I say, and then I tug her by the waist, curve my hands under her ass, and pop her up onto the kitchen counter.

  I don’t give her the time to make a saucy reply. With one hand to the center of her back to keep her close, I drop my mouth to her left nipple and suck it into my mouth. God. Yes. She tastes exactly as I’d hoped.

  “Jake.”

  Needy, breathless. I want her to say my name just like that for the rest of our—my body jolts with the realization. The realization that I want Claire, badly, and I want her forever. But I need to . . . can’t think about that right now.

  Claire and I aren’t even dating.

  We haven’t even had sex.

  Though that’s about to change.

  She whimpers in my arms, struggling to get closer, winding her hands up into my hair, tugging it, pulling it as I tease her with my lips and tongue.

  “Jake,” she moans again, her hips fluttering to make contact.

  Who am I to tell her no?

  I grind my cock into the V of her legs. “Are you excited there, too, baby?” My fingers tweak her nipple, then soothe the hardened bud with the palm of my hand. “If I reach under your dress, am I going to find you hot for me?” I press my mouth to hers, sipping at her lips. “Am I going to find you wet for me?”

  Her ankles lock around my waist. “Test me,” she says. “Isn’t that how experiments work?”

  “Hell yes they do.” I cup her face, thumbs fanning out over her cheeks for a hot kiss. I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of her. Not in this lifetime.

  I must take too long tasting her, driving her to clutch my shoulders, because Claire pulls back and says, “I’m ready for that experiment now.”

  Chuckling softly, I murmur, “I’m sure you are.” I tug at the length of her dress, dragging it up her calves, up her thighs. “What do you think? Do you just want me to touch you or . . .” I trail off, because I want her to open up. I want her to tell me exactly what she wants.

  I watch her swallow, then cast her gaze down our bodies. My fingers are tangled in the fabric of her dress, which now sits around her waist. She looks beautiful, completely disheveled. Like I’ve already made her come, when I’m actually still building her release.

  Claire Holloway doesn’t seem like the type of girl who appreciates foreplay—too bad for her, I’m the kind of guy who’ll spend hours bringing her to the edge before I let her fall.

  I nudge her chin to the side so I can press a kiss to her neck. “Hmm, baby? What do you think?”

  “I want . . .”

  “This?” I cup the place between her legs, feeling the heat of her pussy against my palm. I rub her in a small circle, giving her just enough friction to make her desperate. “Is this what you want?”

  “You’re . . . Oh, God.”

  My finger flicks her clit through the fabric of her underwear. “I can do this all night, Claire.” Another circle of the heel of my palm. “Tell me what you want.”

  Her hips jerk, her head tipping back. “You,” she whispers, “I want you. Your mouth. Your . . . tongue.”

  “Yeah?” Fuck, if she keeps up that sort of talk, I’ll come in my pants. With my free hand, I cup my hard-on, trying to redirect my lust to her, only her. It’s not my turn, not yet. “Where?” I’m pract
ically panting, my voice so deep that even I don’t recognize it. “Where do you want my tongue?”

  She cries out when I slip my fingers under her panties and touch her directly. Jesus, she’s wet. So wet that it’s all too easy to trace her opening with my finger and push inside. Her body accepts me easily, sucking me deeper, teasing me with what’s to come.

  I can’t play the game anymore.

  Dropping to my knees, I yank her hips close to me, so that she’s practically sitting on my shoulders as opposed to the kitchen counter. So that the heart of her is finally within reach.

  I flick my tongue out against her, tasting, teasing. She calls out my name, her hands finding purchase on the counter. But her thighs . . . her thighs tremble on either side of my face, and I make it my mission to make her come so hard, she’ll leave the counter alone and fist her hands in my hair. That she’ll forget all about holding herself up, and trust in me that I won’t let her fall.

  And then I get started.

  I nibble and tease, sucking her clit into my mouth just before I flatten my tongue against the sensitive nub. I draw a line down with my tongue, until I circle her entrance and taste her. Sweet. So damn sweet.

  Her cries grow louder, her thighs shaking, and at least once she has to rearrange her grip on the counter.

  Almost there.

  I give her everything relentlessly.

  “Give in, baby,” I mutter against her. “Just give in.”

  And she must know what I’m talking about because she does—wildly, unabashedly.

  Her elbows cave, and she grips my shoulders to keep herself steady. I take her weight, fucking her with my tongue until she comes so hard, her thighs clench around my face.

  “Oh, my God. Oh, my God.”

  It’s the best sound I’ve ever heard—the shock, the wonder, the goddamn awe. Of me. Of us.

  Still gripping her ass, I allow her to slip down my body. She’s still shaking, but her hands find my chest. “Oh, my God.”

  “Unzip my pants,” I tell her.

  Apparently having regained her wit, she throws me a saucy wink.

  And then steps out of her dress.

  Leaving her naked. Except for her stilettos.