Just One Night Page 8

  To her surprise, he stood suddenly, bent down, and lifted her over his shoulder. She was amazed at where she found herself! And she protested immediately, not because she was afraid that he would drop her, but just from the unexpectedness of it. "Rad! Put me down! What are you doing?"

  "I'm carrying you into my room, Andrea. Surely, you remember the way?"

  She did, but she'd not seen it from that angle. All she could see was the rug in his study turning into the carpeting of the hallway, and then the bedroom.

  When he put her down, it was on her back, on his bed. He lay down next to her and sought to undo the buttons of her shirt.

  "I can do that."

  "No, I'll do all the work. You just lie there and look beautiful."

  "Stop!"

  He bopped her nose. "No. Sorry, not sorry."

  That time, she did see stars and was very sure that she was going to faint. She was panting so hard that he made her breathe with him again.

  "My teeth are tingling."

  "That's because you're hyperventilating. Breathe slowly and deeply, Andrea."

  Eventually, she managed to calm down, but then she felt badly that she'd had such a reaction.

  "I am such a mess, Rad. You can't possibly want to be with someone like—" Andrea began to scoot herself toward the edge of the bed, intending to leave.

  He was still hard as a rock and jutting rudely up into her belly as she found herself with her foot nearly on the carpet one moment, then lying over his lap the next.

  She was already naked, so he didn't have to remove any inconvenient clothing before he began spanking her—for real this time.

  "I will not tolerate you berating and belittling yourself like that, Andrea. I think I've mentioned that to you before. So now, you're going to be spanked, because I don't want to hear anything like that from you again."

  "Ow! Ow! Ow! Oww! Stop!"

  She was a sensitive little thing. He wasn't spanking her anywhere near full force, but her bottom was pinkening up nicely, as it had the last time, only even more quickly.

  Rad ignored her pleas, of course, and continued to swat her with frequent, sharp smacks that left behind stinging imprints of his hand all over her backside.

  "Rad, stop! No! Ow, ow, ow, ow! Please stop!"

  But he didn't, not until he thought he had taught her a lesson. It wasn't a punishment spanking, really—it wasn't anywhere near hard or long enough—but it was certainly a lot more real than the first one he'd given her, which was really just a series of love taps, designed to discover if they got her hotter—which they had.

  A few minutes later, after she'd calmed down and blown her nose again, he didn't lay her back down on the bed, but rather helped her up, keeping her on his lap until she was straddling him, and they were facing each other.

  Her face was beautifully flushed—much like her behind—and the lashes surrounding those bright eyes of hers were spiked and wet. She looked enticingly well spanked, and all he wanted to do was drive himself into her.

  But Rad held himself back. He rarely gave in to his first impulse in regard to any woman, and she was worth more to him than any other on Earth—that he wasn't related to.

  He kissed her tenderly, easily coaxing her into feeling more sexual and less punished. And before he did what he intended, Rad put one hand at the back of her neck, not holding her there, but more cradling her, just as an added presence, then he used his right hand to gently part folds that he was massively glad to realize were soaking wet.

  After dragging his finger over her clit several times—very, very slowly—until he could hear her breath start to hitch and feel her relax some, he then lifted her, with his hands on her waist, so that he was holding her perched on the tip of his dick.

  And then he let go.

  Her legs were extended behind him, so she had no muscles strong enough to defy the laws of gravity, and Andrea began to sink down onto him millimeter by millimeter, whether or not she wanted to.

  He'd put his hand behind her neck again, then he brought it to cup her cheek instead, as he watched her intently while she was forced to take all of him—every, single bit of him.

  When she'd taken all of him that she could, Andrea bent her head forward, so that he couldn't see her face, and he heard her murmur, as reverently as if it was a prayer, "Hoooolllyyyy fuuuuhhhhhhhhckkkk!"

  "I should be feeling you at the back of my throat, shouldn't I?" she asked, lifting her head again to meet his eyes. "Are you freakishly large, or am I just not used to big dicks?"

  He wasn't at all fond of how she put that and rumbled his displeasure deep in his chest. "This is the only big dick you're going to need to get used to, Andrea."

  Rad knew he should have let her set the pace, that he should have lain back and let her use him as she would, but—particularly after that remark—he wasn't feeling at all inclined to do that.

  Instead, she felt his arm around her waist again, and seconds later, he was lifting her off him, but not all the way. Then he forced her back down until she squealed. And he repeated those motions from that point on. The only thing that changed was that he added his fingers into the mix, barely letting them touch her clit in the beginning, until she was fitted snugly against him, when they would lightly attack that swollen bud, until she was out of their reach again.

  Long before that, even before he added his fingers at all, she was gasping every time she—or he, or either of them—hit bottom. She'd never felt like this—her entire chest and shoulders were tingling—her scalp, too. It was wild, and she had no control over any of it, and she loved every frigging minute of it.

  When his fingers found her, near the end, it was very nearly too much for her, and she gave in to the urge, just for a few seconds, to fight him, just to reduce the unbearable sensitivity, the incredibly acute sensations he—however amazing they were—was subjecting her to.

  "No, baby," he whispered against her neck, where he was nibbling occasionally—less than gently—then soothing with his tongue, "let it happen. Come when you can, as many times as you can."

  She made a futile gesture, as if she was going to continue fighting him, but that was when he snapped his hips up into her very hard, then set his fingers to distracting her while she was full and utterly distended.

  It wasn't but a few minutes later that she began to move much more restlessly than before, and he could hear what he'd already committed to memory was the sound of the last part of the climb for her.

  It was as if she didn't know what to do with her hands—they landed on his shoulders, on her own breasts, or dangled at her sides—so he took that choice away from her and gathered them behind her. Not being able to pull her up and down on him would cause him to lose a bit of sensation, but it was much more important to him to see her come like this.

  This was one of his favorite positions, because he could really see his woman and what was happening to her as the ecstasy he had brought her claimed her in a way he felt he could share, almost. And the need to see Andrea do that was a thousand times stronger than it ever had been for him.

  He continued to snap his hips up, and thus his cock, into her, until her head was whipping back and forth and she was begging him, over and over, for something. And he was only too happy to give it to her. Rad was able to watch every second of her orgasm as it slowly crested and washed over her.

  She struggled against the way he was holding her arms, but she was pinned in place on him. He was forcing her to have to ride it out, watching that thick shell, that prison of a veneer of civilization ripped away from her as she simply became a pulsing, writhing thing, a creature of pure bliss, throwing back that gorgeous head of hers and screaming his name at the top of her lungs.

  It turned out that he didn't need any more stimulation than that. He was spurting violently all over her walls as she milked him, demanding more from him, until all he was shooting was dust.

  Rad thought that was going to be it for him, but she was still riding his—by this ti
me—nonexistent erection. Her eyes were closed, and she was still moaning as if she hadn't just had a tremendous orgasm. Her hair was a wild mane falling almost to the comforter behind her, especially when she arched her back. She was absolutely still in need—great need.

  And he rose to satisfy it. Not in the way he would have preferred, but then, he wasn't eighteen anymore, either. He kept a tight hold on her wrists, tugging them down a bit just to remind her who was in control, but careful not to jerk her around or hurt her in any way. She mewled when he did that, and he knew that his instincts were right.

  This time, he sat on legs he'd bent beneath him, then spread, in order to force her to spread hers, too, as she sat over him. He knew she liked being restrained, and forcing her to keep herself open for him, even when he might not be touching her, was a very submissive thing to demand of her.

  There was no big, pulsing cock for her to ride, but his fingers would do in a pinch, when they weren't busy buffing her pearl. He held her, just like that, controlling her movements, keeping her contained, forcing her to take what he gave her until he allowed her to come. Rad talked to her throughout, sometimes encouraging, sometimes scolding, loving one moment, stern the next, and that volatile combination seemed to be exactly what she wanted—what she needed—from him.

  She was extremely sensitive after an orgasm, more so than most women, in his experience, and he knew that could sometimes lead to problems being able to climax. But he remembered everything he could about what had worked with her before, bringing her—forcing her—to scream his name uncontrollably another nine times. And she practically demanded all of them but the last three, still riding his fingers eagerly, hissing air in through her teeth, until all of a sudden she thought she had enough.

  But she hadn't. He would have sworn that those last three—where he'd pushed her a bit past her limits—were the hardest she'd come all night, so far, anyway.

  At the last, while she was still contracting and moaning, he let go of her hands and brought her to him, loving the feel of her arms wrapping around him so tightly, clinging to him as if he was the only solid thing in her world. He moved them both around so he could get them under the covers, holding her in his arms as she fell into a deep sleep before he'd even gotten the covers pulled up around them.

  But he remained awake, watching over her as she slept, trying to judge whether she was cold or hot and adjust things accordingly around her. Rad was delighted that she never moved away from him. Some of the women he'd slept with slept very independently in his big bed, but even when she was facing away from him, she was still plastered up against him like a cat. If she woke a bit, he brushed his hand down the waves of her hair and held her a little more tightly, which she seemed to like.

  As he watched her, he could see how pale her face was and the dark circles beneath her eyes, wondering if she'd gotten any sleep over the past week or so.

  Even though he'd gotten everything done that he could in preparation for this weekend, work was calling to him the entire time she slept like a baby in his arms, but he resisted. He wanted to be there when she woke up. He'd been hard—again—since he didn't really know when, and he wanted to make love to her, rather than them coming together like two rabbits in heat, as they had every other time.

  She got up once and headed for the closet with her eyes still closed.

  "Other door, to your right," he said as quietly as he could, wanting to wake her as little as possible.

  When she reappeared, her eyes were half open, and he had already folded back the bed clothes for her. "Don't get any ideas about waking up. Come back and sleep for a little while longer."

  "But—" she began, still heading for the bed.

  "No buts, angel," he rasped, pulling her back into the warmth and safety of his arms as soon as she sat down. "Back to sleep."

  She wanted to argue with him. She thought she should argue with him. It seemed like a very dangerous precedent to always be doing exactly as he told her. But her body had other ideas, and again, she was asleep within seconds of her head hitting the pillow.

  That night was exactly what he'd envisioned for them. When she awoke, he made slow, tender love to her, finding at least as much enjoyment in easing her into an orgasm as throwing her into one. He took his time with every aspect of fucking her that time and was amply rewarded when she came for him more times than he could count.

  When they'd both recovered, he herded her into the shower, where he washed her, then himself, drying them both off, then popping her into one of his shirts again, as he had before.

  "But I brought stuff to sleep in," she protested, but not very strongly, because she loved wearing his shirts.

  "I know, but I like seeing you in it," he informed her while patting a panty clad bottom. "Hungry?"

  "Starving. My lunch is at eleven. By the time I get home, I'm ready to eat the furniture."

  His finger caught her chin. "Why didn't you tell me that, honey? We could have eaten—"

  "When? When would I have told you, and when would we have eaten?"

  Rad frowned darkly. "Still. Next time, I'll make sure you get something—even just a protein bar to tide you over—before we dive into each other."

  She laughed. "So I'll kiss you, take a bite of the protein bar, orgasm, take a bite of the protein bar, kiss you…"

  He grinned at her. "Something like that, yes."

  It was one of the most phenomenal nights of her life. He danced attendance on her, taking care of her in every possible way, beyond just sexually, although that was pretty damned good, too, Andrea had to admit.

  Chapter 6

  The next morning, after making homemade waffles for her and practically hand feeding them to her, he asked, "So, how do you feel about museums?"

  "I love them. What kind?"

  He smiled. "An excellent question. Are there any you don't like?"

  "Bugs, but even then, as long as they're not alive and likely to crawl on me, I'm okay."

  "I like that you're so open about it. Well, I happen to love impressionistic painters, and I have tickets to see the Degas exhibit."

  "Get out! I love him, too!!" Her excitement quickly turned into a frown, though. "But how did you get tickets? It's such a short exhibit; it's been sold out forever! I tried to get them as soon as they were available, and I couldn't."

  He shrugged. "I'm very lucky about such things." It wasn't really a lie, but he knew it was uncomfortably close to one. "It opens at ten, and we need to drive into the city, so we should get dressed."

  It took him half the time it took her, of course, although he looked amazing in a pair of black dress slacks and a soft, grey shirt that clung to every muscle he had, accenting the width of his shoulders as compared to his slim waist when he was done. Andrea figured he'd wait for her in his study or the living room or somewhere, but when she turned around from rummaging in her bag, he was standing there in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest, one leg crossed over the other so that foot was balanced on the tip of his dress shoe, just… watching her.

  "Uh, is there something I can do for you?" she asked, feeling strangely embarrassed at him staring at her like that.

  "Oh, most definitely," he drawled, as much as anyone with a British accent could, never taking his eyes off of her, "but it'll have to wait until we get back."

  "Oh." Andrea pinkened at that, making him chuckle.

  She quickly pulled her pants up, buttoned and zipped them, then her eyes darted to the doorway again. He was still there.

  "Will you stop staring at me, please?"

  His brows drew together. "Does it really bother you that much?"

  "Yes. It's unsettling in the extreme."

  "I'm sorry. I just like looking at you any time I can." He made himself scarce, and when she was ready, which was only a few minutes later, Andrea was a bit worried that he might be angry with her.

  But the moment he saw her, where he was in the kitchen, looking at his phone, his head came up and he turned that
brilliant smile on her, putting his phone away in his pocket immediately and walking up to her.

  "You look gorgeous," he complimented, pulling her into his arms.

  "Thank you; so do you."

  It was a wonderful exhibit, although she had to admit that she was surprised there were so few people there, especially since it had sold out so quickly. Rad was by her side for a lot of it, but he didn't crowd her at all, and sometimes he stayed longer or moved on quicker at one painting than the other, which suited Andy perfectly. It was a wonderful, leisurely morning, full of beautiful sights.

  Afterward, they strolled through the city a little, went down by the waterfront and ate lunch at a tiny bistro they found there, late in the afternoon.

  The only hitch came with the check, which she grabbed first, earning a warning glare from him.

  "You paid for the tickets. It's only right that I buy lunch." Andrea watched him, thinking that he might continue to balk at the idea that she pay for something, and that would be a deal breaker for her, no matter how much money he had.

  But instead, he merely nodded. "Thank you."

  "And thank you for taking me to see Degas. I really didn't expect that I'd get to see it." She put enough money to cover the bill, plus a generous tip, on the table as he draped his arm around her shoulders, and they headed out.

  "You're very welcome, angel."

  As they were driving home, Andrea was perseverating and fretting, finally deciding to speak up about it. "Do you mind if I ask you something?"

  "Absolutely not. You can ask me anything, anytime." He'd said it before, but it was more than worth repeating, as many times as she needed to hear it.

  "Are you mad at me because I asked you not to stare at me while I was getting dressed?"

  "No, I'm not, baby girl. If I'm mad at you, I promise you that you won't have to wonder about it."

  She wasn't sure whether that was a bad or a good thing, really. "It just made me feel uncomfortable, you know?"