Sweet Thing / Make Me Want

‘It’s nice,’ she said, trailing her hand over the butter-soft black leather sofas, the small glass-topped desk in the corner, the display cabinet where I kept my awards. ‘These all yours?’

‘No, I mug every sportsman who comes in here and stash the loot in here,’ I deadpanned, handing her the drink.

‘Thanks.’ She took the glass and downed the mineral water in several gulps as I stared at the almost convulsive movement of her throat and desperately tried not to imagine her doing something similar to me.

When she finished, she handed me the glass with a sheepish smile. ‘I was parched.’

‘Want a top-up?’

‘Please.’ She turned back to the awards as I poured her another glass. ‘You’ve won a lot of stuff in the hospitality industry.’

‘Awards are ego-strokers.’ I handed her the glass, forcing myself to look away this time. I couldn’t be any harder if I tried, grateful that I’d installed a bathroom in here too so the minute I put her in a cab I could take a cold shower. ‘I prefer to see results in profit margins.’

She stilled, sadness creeping across her face. ‘My father used to say that a lot. Always about the profit margins.’

‘That’s what matters most to savvy businessmen. That and a healthy portfolio.’

She screwed up her nose and damned if it wasn’t the cutest thing I’d ever seen. ‘Is that what you’re all about? Because those tattoos speak more about rebelling against convention than caring about portfolios.’

‘What’s with you and my tats?’ I shrugged out of my jacket, flung it on a sofa and rolled up my sleeves. ‘Here. Look your fill. Then judge me some more.’

I had no idea where my outburst came from but I felt like a jackass the moment she blushed in mortification.

‘I didn’t mean to judge—I mean, I just haven’t seen tattoos up close and—’

‘And you still haven’t,’ I muttered, hating that she’d touched a sore spot without knowing it and I’d reacted accordingly.

My tats were more than art.

They defined me.

At a time in my life when I hadn’t been comfortable in my own skin, I took on a new one.

And having a woman like Abby judge me as just another deadhead rebel because of my tats really pissed me off.

‘This would be looking at them up close,’ I growled, trying to tamp down my anger and failing as I unbuttoned my shirt and shrugged it off. ‘Here. Take a good look. See if you can figure me out.’

I stood in front of her, hands on hips, defiant and oddly vulnerable. I shouldn’t care what she thought of me. After Remy was back on his feet, I’d be outta here and back on the road, heading to Bangkok or Ibiza or Munich, creating successful clubs that would define me more than my tats.

But I did care. And that was what pissed me off the most.

I shouldn’t give a flying fuck what Abby thought of me.

Yet I did.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said, her apology soft and uncertain, her gaze riveted to my chest. ‘I’ve offended you.’

My anger dimmed a little as she scanned my chest as if studying for an art exam. Her hungry gaze gobbling me up and coming back for seconds. She couldn’t look away.

I’d never been studied so closely, her scrutiny disconcerting. It felt like she could see through the tats to the real me beneath, the scared little boy I’d once been, desperate for approval.

‘You’re beautiful,’ she said, taking a step closer to study me, gnawing on her bottom lip a little, the innocuous action making me want to throw her down on the sofa and take her.

Not ‘the tats are beautiful’, but ‘you’re beautiful’, her simple statement deflating what was left of my resentment.

Had it been a slip of the tongue or had she meant it? Because no one saw past my tats and a few moments ago she’d been like the rest, judging me for them.

‘May I?’ Before I could react she touched me, the briefest brush of her fingertips skating across my skin, tracing every inch of ink.

The Buddha. The peace sign outlined in flowers. The phoenix.

Symbols of my past.

My search for clarity.

My quest for harmony.

Rising out of the ashes of my childhood.

I held my breath as she moved lower, skirting around the pirate. Her fingertips light as air but making my skin burn.

‘Seen enough?’ I said through gritted teeth, regretting I’d let my anger get the better of me and done this.

Because daring her to look and expecting her to blush and turn away was far different from having Abby touch me like she wanted to explore my tats.

All over.

Her gaze lifted to mine and the blatant lust darkening her eyes to indigo blew me away.

Fuck, I was in trouble. So much trouble.

‘Not nearly enough,’ she murmured before placing her hand flush against my straining cock. ‘All these pretty tattoos are an insult to your manhood, so you better show me that pirate’s peg leg so my faith in you is restored.’

Laughter burst from deep within me as I held onto the last of my self-control.

‘Abby, this is a bad idea. You’re Remy’s protégé and when this all turns to shit—’

‘It won’t,’ she said, stroking me lightly through my jeans, shredding the last of my resolve. ‘One night. That’s all I’m asking for.’

She removed her hand and I inwardly cursed my misplaced chivalry. ‘Though in fairness, I should disclose I haven’t had sex in over a year so I may break you.’

I could resist the snooty princess.

I couldn’t resist this playful, honest woman who stared at me like she could devour me in one gulp and come back for seconds.

‘Fuck, Abby, you’re making this hard—’

‘I sure as hell hope so.’ She cupped me again, firmer this time, and I lost it.

I dragged her forward and crushed her to me, grinding against her so she was in little doubt to exactly how this would go.

Hot, sweaty animalistic sex. Fast and furious and so fucking good.

She reacted like I’d set her alight. Slamming her mouth to mine. Pushing me against the nearest wall. Climbing all over me.

It was the hottest frigging thing ever, having someone like her want someone like me so damn much.

Her tongue stroked mine, shy and darting one second, bold and commanding the next, as her hand sneaked between us to touch me.

She kissed aggressively, long, deep sweeps of her tongue totally at odds with the aloof front she usually presented. It turned me on even more, the contrast between fire and ice. Hot and cold. So frigging hot.

She’d go off when I entered her, I just knew it, and my cock ached with wanting to be inside her.

I palmed her breast, rolling the nipple between my thumb and forefinger, drawing a deep groan from her. Sensitive breasts, I liked that. I needed to feast on them, to suck on those nipples until she screamed.

But my mind momentarily blanked as she slid her hand inside my jocks. Wrapped her fingers around my cock. And squeezed.

‘I want to see you,’ she murmured against my mouth, nipping at my bottom lip while continuing to squeeze me. Stroke me. Undo me.

‘Right back at you.’ I hissed out a breath as her thumb rolled over the head of my cock, and I stilled her hand, withdrew it before I embarrassed myself.

There was something incredibly hot about a shy, reserved woman taking charge, and having her go for my package served to ratchet up the desire pounding through me to a relentless beat.

‘Turn around.’

If my guttural growl frightened her, she didn’t show it. Instead, her tongue darted out to moisten her bottom lip before she pouted. ‘But I want to see the pirate. All of him.’

‘You will, babe, trust me.’ I flashed a wolfish grin. ‘But first, I need to see all of you.’

Uncertainty flickered in her eyes, so I hit the dimmer switch, willing to do anything to make her more comfortable.

Anything but stop.

Because I’d ditched my reservations around the time she’d ditched hers and stuck her hand in my pants.

I couldn’t stop this. I didn’t want to.

Not when she’d articulated exactly what this was. A rebound fuck. We both knew the score and that made it okay.

She didn’t expect hearts and flowers.

She wanted hard and fast.

After over a year of celibacy—I didn’t have a frigging clue how that had happened considering how damn gorgeous she was—she wanted to use me to break the drought.

The good girl wanting the bad boy to make it all better, even if it was only for one night.

This I could do.

The moment she’d taken emotion out of the equation and shown me exactly what she wanted, I couldn’t say no.

I understood wanting to obliterate the past with something a tad wild, something not entirely good, something to make you forget. Boy, did I understand.

‘I want you,’ she said, the vulnerability of a moment ago fading as she eyeballed me with unabashed hunger. ‘Real bad.’

‘The feeling’s mutual, sweetheart.’ I spun her around and homed in on her zipper. Slid the tab down, the rasp of metal against metal meshing with her soft pants of anticipation.

I imagined expanses of soft, creamy skin. Unblemished. Untarnished. The opposite of mine. When I hit the bottom she whimpered a little. I slid my hands up her back. Pushed the dress off her shoulders.

It pooled at her feet, leaving her in matching black satin bra and panties. French cut. Almost prophetic. I liked everything French. French food. French fries. French kissing. And French panties I could tear off with my teeth to feast on her.

Her skin was as beautiful as I’d imagined and I trailed my fingertips across the top of her ass, skirted her waist, drifted upward, loving how soft she felt. She trembled a little as I unhooked the bra and stepped closer to slide it off her arms.

‘Beautiful,’ I murmured in her ear as I slid my arms around her from behind to cup her breasts. To savour the weight of them. To flick her light brown nipples with my thumbs. ‘I can’t wait to taste you.’

She made an incoherent sound as her head lolled back a little and I captured her mouth, plucking at her nipples. A deep tongue-tangling kiss, assertive and greedy, as I marvelled at the sweet taste of her, the hot moistness of her mouth, a prelude to how she’d be when I feasted lower.

‘More,’ she demanded between kisses, and I was only too happy to oblige.

Without taking my mouth off hers, I spun her towards me and ground my hand against her mound.

She moaned and I pushed her panties down, waiting until she’d kicked them off before sliding my fingers between her slick folds, savouring how wet she was. For me.

‘Tanner, please...’

I wanted to prolong this, to go down on her once, maybe twice, before finally getting off. But my own months of celibacy ensured I’d take things slow later.

We had all night.

I zeroed in on her clit. Circled it twice. Stunned when she came apart so damn fast.

I hadn’t pegged her for a screamer but she made enough noise to make me thankful for the club’s soundproofing in every room.

‘Wow,’ she said, her head sagging against my shoulder, her body trembling with aftershocks. ‘I think I needed that.’

I chuckled, her bluntness refreshing. Women didn’t articulate much after sex beyond asking where the shower was and implying they wanted another date.

‘Plenty more where that came from,’ I said, gently easing her away, unable to stop grinning like an idiot when I took in her tousled hair, flushed cheeks and swollen lips. ‘In case you were wondering, I love giving head and I plan on going down on you several times tonight.’

Her mouth parted in a shocked O before I continued. ‘But first, I need to fuck you. Think you can handle that?’

Her eyes glittered with desire as she nodded and reached for me.

I’d wanted to shuck my jeans and jocks off in record time, get protected and bury myself to the hilt inside her before I exploded. But I let her call the shots because this was her night.

She unsnapped the button on my jeans and, with unsteady hands, yanked the zipper down.

‘Easy, babe. Inflicting a mortal injury on me at this stage won’t do either of us any good.’

‘I want to see you,’ she said, eyes wide as she pushed my jeans down my legs, her hungry gaze riveted to the bulge in my jocks.

‘Be my guest.’ I toed off my shoes and socks, and kicked my jeans away. ‘Though haven’t you heard staring too long at a guy’s cock makes you go blind?’

‘I thought playing with it did that?’

I chuckled. Not so innocent after all. ‘You’re something else.’

A hint of sadness crept into her eyes and I cursed for inadvertently saying the wrong thing. ‘You okay?’

Her teeth worried her bottom lip as she shook her head a little. ‘I—I haven’t done this a lot. And I’m not very good...’

‘That useless prick.’ An explosive rage filled me at the thought of what her ex had done to her self-esteem. ‘Sweetheart, look at me.’

I placed my finger under her chin and tilted it up, the uncertainty clouding her eyes slugging me in the chest. ‘It wouldn’t matter to me if you were a frigging virgin. This thing between us is pretty damn hot. Fireworks hot. So when we get to the good stuff you’ll forget that bastard who did a number on you because I guarantee any problems you had were with him, not you.’

‘How can you be so sure—?’

I kissed her. I wouldn’t give her any more time to doubt. I had to show her.

She ignited again, her hands everywhere. Grabbing my biceps. My waist. Moaning into my mouth as she dug her fingers into my ass like she couldn’t get enough.

I lowered her onto the sofa and broke the kiss, hovering over her like some goddamn avenging angel as she stared at me in wide-eyed wonder.

‘That thing you said earlier? About wanting to do me?’ She didn’t break eye contact as she shimmied out of her panties. ‘Please do it.’

I bit back a smile at her avoiding the F word, considering she was naked in front of me, and I didn’t have to be asked twice as my gaze zeroed in on nirvana. I liked a full bush and appreciated that she hadn’t gone for the Brazilian job many women favoured these days.

‘Now it’s your turn,’ she said, splayed on the sofa like a wanton sex goddess. ‘I want to see all of you.’

I slipped my thumbs under the elastic of my jocks and pushed them down and she gasped as my cock sprang free.

‘You’re huge!’ She blushed as she continued to stare, unable to look away. ‘I mean, I haven’t seen many before. In fact, only one, and that was less than impressive, but you’re quite big...’ She wolf-whistled and I laughed to hide my surprise that she’d only been with her ex.

No wonder she had reservations when it came to sex. If the guy had been clueless in the bedroom he would’ve shoved his insecurities onto her. Dickhead.

‘And why does the pirate only have a torso?’ An impish smile curved her luscious lips. ‘Would’ve been so much more fun to make that his peg leg.’

She pointed to my cock and I chuckled again. ‘You’re a very bad girl.’

‘Not yet, but I’m hoping to be.’ She crooked her finger at me. ‘Come here and corrupt me.’

I knew this was her fantasy. To have me, the tattooed bad boy, fuck her to eradicate her boring past. Yet for one crazy, inane moment, I wanted her to see me as more than that.

I wanted her to see past my well-honed tough guy persona and want me, Tanner King. Really want me.

Annoyed, I grabbed my jeans off the floor and snagged a condom out of my wallet.

Her tongue darted out to moisten her lips as she watched me roll it on, her expression wondrous.

‘You sure you’re not a virgin?’

A faint pink stained her cheeks. ‘I just haven’t done it in this much light before.’

Shit. Her ex really must’ve been a dickhead not to want to see every inch of this glorious woman as he slid inside her.

With an exaggerated wink, I knelt next to the sofa. ‘All the better to see you with, my dear.’

Her lips curved into a naughty smile. ‘I want to watch too.’

Which meant I needed to put on a show she’d never forget.

But all my intentions to take things slow shot to shit when she slid her ankles apart and her thighs fell open. Giving me an eyeful of moist folds and exactly where I wanted to be.

I grabbed her legs and half turned her, so she was slumped against the sofa with her legs dangling down. Dragging her towards me, I scooted forward on my knees, positioning myself while trying to stop the urge to drive into her and not stop until she screamed my name.

‘It’s even bigger close up,’ she whispered, her audible awe making me grin.

‘Maybe you’re looking at it through a side mirror?’

She laughed and damned if it wasn’t the sweetest sound I’d ever heard.

I didn’t usually swap banter during sex. And I rarely laughed. I got in and out. Got the job done. Got off. Felt good. That was it.

And even though we hadn’t got to the good part yet, sex with Abby was different.

We connected beyond the bits fitting together.

It disarmed me.

So I focussed on doing what I did best. Ensuring she had a good time.

‘Watch me,’ I commanded as I gripped my cock in my hand and pressed the head against her clit. Circling it. Rubbing into her slick folds and back again. Over and over until her breath came in pants and her hips shifted restlessly.

‘That feels so good.’ She propped up on her elbows to watch and I increased the pressure, gritting my teeth against the tension building in my balls.

I’d already warned her about taking this slower later and it would have to do because right now I needed to be inside her so damn bad.

‘More,’ she gritted out, sweat beading between her breasts as she started to writhe.

‘You got it, sweetheart.’

I gave her clit one last rub and as her orgasm started I slid into her. Hard. To the hilt. Sheathed in tight, wet pussy.

Heaven.

I thrust into her fast, using my thumb on her clit as she screamed, desperate to milk every last drop of pleasure out of her.

She surged upward, bringing her breasts into my face, and I took one in my mouth, laving her tight nipple while thrusting into her.

‘Too sensitive,’ she gasped, wrenching her nipple from my mouth and leaning back on her outreached arms. ‘Want. To. See.’

So I let her.

I slid in and out. Harder. Faster. Oblivious to everything but watching her, watching me.

Damned if it wasn’t the hottest frigging thing I’d ever seen.

My balls tightened and my mind blanked the moment before I thrust into her one last time. As far as I could go.

The most intense pleasure crashed over me. Wiping me out. Mindless. Boneless.

Conscious of nothing but this woman.

Abby.

My eyes must’ve closed at some point because when I opened them Abby was staring at me like I’d just given her the keys to the best patisserie in Paris.

‘That was amazing,’ she whispered, reaching for me. ‘I never knew it could be so good.’

‘Just good?’ I slid my arms around her, cradling her close. Another first for me after sex. I wasn’t a cuddler. ‘Guess I better lift my game for the rest of the night.’

I couldn’t see her face with it buried against my chest, but I sensed her smile.

But as she continued to hang onto me like she’d never let go, the first feelings of remorse flooded me.

For me, this would be a night of amazing sex and I’d walk away in the morning. Back to being Tanner King, the guy everybody labelled, the guy everybody judged, the guy everybody tried to get close to but couldn’t.

No matter how stupendously good the sex, tonight wouldn’t change me.

Could Abby say the same?

CHAPTER NINE

Abby

I HURT. In places I’ve never hurt before.

Even now, fifteen hours since I left Tanner’s bed in the wee small hours, my muscles twang as a reminder of what I’ve done.

And how much I enjoyed it.

I didn’t know whether to be relieved or annoyed when Tanner didn’t front at Le Miel today. Whatever his reason, I couldn’t keep the smile off my face.

What we’d done at the club, and later at his apartment...defied logic.

I should never have had sex with Tanner.

So why did I not give a damn that I had?

When he’d taken me to that private room at his club, I’d anticipated having a drink, then leaving. Then he’d got angry, taken off his shirt and I’d lost it.

I didn’t usually ogle guys. Sure, I appreciated a fine male body on Bondi Beach in summer like any woman with eyes in her head, but I didn’t fantasise about what guys looked like underneath their clothes.

Yet the second Tanner had shrugged off his shirt in defiance I’d wanted to see more. I’d wanted to see all of him.

I must’ve said the wrong thing and his misplaced anger had prompted him to strip. That was the point I should’ve called for a cab. Or laughed it off as a joke. Or done anything other than practically drool all over him.

He’d been a good sport about my naivety. Had tried to put me at ease with banter and I’d appreciated it. What I didn’t appreciate was my own stupidity wishing I could have more of him.

When I quashed my voice of reason and my inner vixen insisted I deserved one night of sexy fun, it should’ve ended there. One night.

But after he’d pleasured me countless times with his mouth, his fingers and his very talented and sizeable appendage, I wanted more.

Of course, I hadn’t said anything. Instead, I’d been the epitome of casual, like I had one-night stands every day of the week, when he’d kissed me goodnight. If he’d seen through my bravado act, he didn’t call me on it. For that, I was grateful.

Because I’d bolted in the wee small hours when he’d been asleep, and during the twenty-minute ride from his penthouse apartment in the city to my apartment over Le Miel I replayed every single moment of our night together and knew that acting like last night didn’t mean anything the next time I saw Tanner would take monumental acting skills I didn’t possess.

Bardley had always taunted me for being too readable. But he’d been wrong. If I were that easy to read he would’ve seen my loathing for him on my face every single day.

Thanks to Tanner, I now knew our lacklustre sex life hadn’t been my fault. How many times had Bardley called me frigid or cold or worse? Saying I didn’t turn him on. That I was as useless in the bedroom as I was in the kitchen.

I hadn’t cared about the sex, but insulting my cooking had been a low blow, particularly since I knew I baked like a dream even back then.

Screw him.

Though thankfully, I’d never have to do that again and courtesy of last night I’d replaced memories of a sad sex life with phenomenally amazing erotic ones.

‘You’re daydreaming again.’ Makayla bumped me with her hip. ‘You sure you didn’t pick up at Embue?’

I felt heat flush my cheeks but I feigned nonchalance as I scrubbed my station. We’d been busy today, frantic, supplying a local private school with pastries for a teacher conference, so I’d managed to avoid Makayla’s interrogation. Until now.

‘I’m not the one with a story to tell,’ I said, pasting a bright smile on my face. ‘You and what’s-his-name looked mighty cosy when I left last night.’

Makayla screwed up her face. ‘There’s a reason you date a guy and don’t go back.’ She held up her little finger and let it droop. ‘I’m smarter than that.’

I laughed, wondering what Makayla would say if she knew that a pinkie wouldn’t come close to describing Tanner.

‘What about you?’ Makayla grinned as she dried her hands on a dishcloth. ‘You’re not still mooning over our dishy boss?’

If only she knew the half of it.

‘Don’t be silly.’

‘Pity he’s working off-site today. He brightens up the scenery.’ Makayla pursed her lips and tapped them. ‘He’s nothing like Remy, is he?’

She got that right. Remy and Tanner might be biological brothers but that was where the similarities ended. I couldn’t think of two siblings who were so different.