a skilled tongue just because he possessed them, not because she could easily imagine him turning those sensual tools into weapons.
Mikal gave her plenty, and she’d have to be content with that. Oh the hardship of no-strings sex with a goth-god nympho like him. Just the thought of him made her wet…and despite her miniature freak-out at the end of their last session, she’d thought about him extensively since the previous Friday. Mikal Steele wasn’t the sort of man a woman like her had happy-ever-after rights to, but who was she to walk away from wild, incredible sex?
Her daddy didn’t raise a stupid girl. She knew a good thing when she had it between her legs. Determined to move past last week’s moment of self-indulgent weakness, she collected her drinks and left the pampered perfection of Ciao Bella’s customers behind.
Fifteen minutes later, she quietly let herself into Mikal’s penthouse. She dropped her bag and shoes in the foyer and, coffee in hand, padded barefoot up the winding staircase to his loft bedroom. Sun poured through the uncovered window that made up his west-facing wall. The cityscape behind the glass had nothing on the man in the California king bed.
Mikal sprawled on his stomach, naked and powerful even in his sleep. The long muscles of his legs were clearly defined. A dark swath of hair fell across his face and halfway down his back, obscuring his face from view. Too bad, but she’d be able to drink her fill of his sharp features and icy eyes soon enough. Sucking frosty coffee through a straw, she instead contemplated the firm flesh of his ass and the shadow of his balls. If she were a gay man, she’d be hard pressed to decide whether she wanted to fuck him or be fucked by him.
Fortunately, she didn’t have to choose. Her straight-woman self was perfectly content to receive.
“Patience,” she whispered. Mikal probably wouldn’t turn her down if she climbed into his bed and onto his cock, but quick and dirty ended too soon. Embracing the anticipation, Callista placed his Americano on the glass-topped stand beside the bed and retreated to gather her equipment. The scent of coffee would rouse him by the time she returned and she would hopefully have a new grip on her senses. She wouldn’t get any piece of that if she sliced open his jugular due to sex-unsettled nerves.
Backtracking through his apartment, she peripherally admired Mikal’s taste in décor. He trended toward a minimalist look with clean lines, wide-open spaces and a crisp black-and-white color scheme. Her favorite thing about Mikal was his blunt, direct approach. Even his environment was without subterfuge. A speck of dust couldn’t hide beneath the high set of his chairs. With the secrets she kept lately, she should have been uncomfortable surrounded by such transparency.
She stopped and stood still in the center of the enormous living room, moving nothing but her eyes. Nowhere to hide. She could flatten herself to the floor and squirm beneath the sofa but he’d find her there. She could crouch low and turn herself into a ball of limbs behind one of the high-backed chairs but he’d find her there too. The narrow gallery beyond the living room didn’t offer sanctuary either. The unframed prints mounted on the walls wouldn’t hide her. Wouldn’t save her.
Nowhere to hide. He’d catch her if she ran.
Wetting her lips, she glanced up the stairs to the silent floor above. What would she have to do to make him chase her? And would he do it right when he caught her?
Without warning, her earlier flashes of lust morphed into something far more intense. Fear clawed at her chest and blood pulsed in her ears. Callista felt a thick slide of aroused wetness between her thighs, ruining her panties and robbing her of any sense of dignity. In her mind, Mikal’s long white-walled gallery became a narrow alley riddled with debris. The telltale creak of a door let her know he was coming. Adrenaline transformed the light tread
Emily Minton, Julia Keith