A Taste of You (19 page)

“Open,” he said.

This time I didn’t hesitate. I felt a small spoon slide into my mouth with something sweet and spicy as William pressed his body against my sex. The pressure where I needed it paired with the creamy, smooth, and decadent taste exploding in my mouth had my pulse racing and my breaths coming in short pants. I moaned and opened my mouth again.

“More?” William asked.

“Please.” It came out more as a plea than a request. He knew what I wanted. My nipples were hard, my sex wet, and my body primed.

Again, he slid the spoon into my mouth, and this time he pressed what felt like a hand between my legs as the custard slid over my tongue. “Yes.”

“You’re wet for me, Catherine.”

“Yes. Please.” I pushed against him, but he withdrew his hand. I almost cried out.

“Do you know what you have in your mouth?”

“Custard? It’s delicious. More?” Anything to make him touch me again.

“Vanilla bean with cinnamon, cardamom, and Caribbean chocolate—all aphrodisiacs. I want you ready tonight. I want your senses heightened.”

“I’m ready.”

“I’ll decide that. Open your mouth.”

I opened and felt the edge of a glass touch my lips. I stuck my tongue out as he tilted it and felt bubbles burst on my flesh. Champagne. My tiny sample had shown me it was dry but sweet. He tipped the flute farther, and the champagne flowed into my mouth. I wasn’t prepared for the volume, and a little spilled onto my chin and my chest. I moved to wipe it away, but William grasped my wrist and pressed his lips to my chin. He kissed a path down my neck, following the rivulets of champagne, until he nuzzled between my breasts. I felt him open the top of my dress and knew that except for where the dress tied at my waist, I was clad only in lingerie.

“That bra does amazing things for your tits,” he murmured, fondling them. “And they’re already amazing.” His hand brushed an aching nipple, and my body convulsed with pleasure. He could have made me come so easily.

“Don’t stop.”

“Do you like the champagne?”

“Yes.”

He cupped my breasts, his thumbs rubbing my tender nipples. “I wonder what your skin would taste like dribbled in champagne.”

“Please find out.”

“I intend to, Catherine.” His hands moved away, and I reached for him.

“But I want to feed you before I fuck you.” He pulled my dress closed over my breasts and moved out from between my legs, swishing the fabric against the garters and stockings. I felt his hand on the knot of the blindfold. “And I don’t intend to waste all this food.”

I blinked as he removed his tie from my eyes. He still stood in front of me, cool and composed. I, on the other hand, was painfully aroused. I didn’t care about the food whatsoever. I wanted William’s hands on me—his mouth, his body.

I might not know William well, but I did know he liked to be in control. He wanted to wait, and if I tried to push, my efforts would be gently rebuffed.

He walked to the stove and returned with a plate of scallops artfully arranged on a puree and set it between us. The onion I’d been cutting was gone, and no sign of my work remained. He took the stool beside me. His knee brushed mine, and I closed my eyes against that small touch. I felt as though an electric current had zinged through me.

“I thought we’d eat here. No reason to sit in the dining room.”

“This is nice.” And it was—close, intimate.

He’d adjusted the lighting when I was blindfolded, and now the kitchen was warmer, less stark and white. “We’ve had our first course. These are seared scallops, with a puree of winter squash.”

I looked for a fork or any flatware, but the only silverware was in front of William. “Don’t I get to eat?”

“I’ll feed you,” he said, lifting a scallop onto his fork and offering it. I felt silly, being fed like a child, but when our gazes met as the scallop slid onto my tongue, my body reacted with a throbbing pull. I was dizzy with arousal. I watched him eat, watched him savor, chewing slowly, his eyes on mine. I imagined his lips on my body, tasting me, savoring me, making me come.

“Catherine,” he said gently. “Your eyes are an emerald forest. Aren’t you hungry?”

“Not for food.”

“Did you think about me while I was away?” He placed another scallop in my mouth.

“Every moment,” I said after I swallowed.

“Did you touch yourself?”

I flushed from embarrassment and from desire. “No. But I’m aching for you, William. How long do I have to wait?”

Instead of answering, he removed the scallops and brought over two small silver bowls filled with yellow sorbet. I reached for mine, but he caught my wrist. I pulled my hand back and waited until he fed me. The tangy lemon exploded on my tongue, heightening my senses. He’d taken food and sex and intertwined them tonight. I would have to wait for him to feed me, and I would have to wait for him to pleasure me. He was in control, and I marveled at how much I loved being cared for like this. He brought out steaks next, and they were cooked perfectly, so deliciously tender and juicy. I tasted the subtle seasonings and the smoky flavor of the marinade. I could barely make a hamburger, and he’d managed to sear scallops, puree squash, and cook perfect steaks. The portions were small, and William fed me three or four bites of every dish, keeping me hungry, and whetting my appetite. He did not limit my wine. Between every bite, he lifted my glass to my lips. We’d had a white with the scallops, and he poured an excellent Malbec to go with the steaks.

I was slightly buzzed when he finally brought out the cheese plate. I recognized the bleu and the Brie, but the others were unfamiliar. Then my eyes widened.

Beside the cheese was a small wooden box with a white bow. “What’s this?”

“I couldn’t go to London and not return with a gift.”

I looked at him. “You were hardly there for a day, and you don’t need to give me gifts. This dinner is a gift.”

He lifted the box, opened my hand, and placed it inside. “I like to give you gifts. And this is one I know you need.”

I untied the bow and opened the box. Nestled on the ivory interior was a slim silver and black watch. “It’s lovely,” I said. I pulled it out, and William helped me fasten it. “You know I already have a watch.”

“This is a Patek Philippe.”

I’d seen that name on the box and had no idea what it meant. “I suppose you can’t get that at Walgreens.”

William closed his hand over the watch. “I want you to wear it always. Now, you’ll have no excuse for being late.”

I laughed, but I hadn’t realized my habit of being a couple minutes behind schedule bothered him.

“It’s lovely, William. Thank you.”

“You’re very welcome. And now, are you ready for dessert?” he asked.

“Always. More custard?”

“I have something else waiting.”

Fifteen

He took my hand and led me to the bedroom. The lighting here was soft and romantic. A sheer drape had been drawn across the windows, giving us a muted view of the twinkling city lights. On the nightstand was a silver bucket with the neck of a champagne bottle peeking out. William crossed to it, popped the cork, and poured two flutes. He held one to my lips, and I sipped. This one was quite sweet. He set the flutes aside and reached for the tie on my dress. “I’ve been wanting to undress you all night.” The dress opened, and he slid it off my shoulders. I stood before him in my heels and my red and black lace garters, stockings, thong, and bra.

“Do you like them?” I asked when he didn’t speak.

“I’m wondering how I got so lucky,” he said. “I don’t deserve you.”

I blinked. “
You
lucky? Have you taken a look in the mirror?” I unfastened his shirt, button by button. I spread it over his chest, undid his cuff links, and then slid the shirt off his muscled arms. “I’m the lucky one.”

He grinned. “You like what you see?”

“I’ll tell you in a moment.” I reached for his trousers, but I could already see he was hard. I unfastened them and reached inside, taking his hot cock in my hand. “Oh, yes. I like this.” While I fondled him, he unfastened my bra so that it slid to the floor. My breasts tingled as I felt his searing gaze slide over them.

“Lay on the bed.”

I bent to remove my shoes, but he stopped me. “Leave them on along with the garters and thong.”

I did as he asked and watched as he removed his clothing. His cock jutted out proudly, and my sex ached to feel it. My hands wanted to touch his chest, the muscles of his thighs, his corded forearms. He removed a small silver bowl from the wine bucket, and I arched on my elbows to see what was inside.

“You’re killing me,” he said. “That position is erotic as hell, but I have another in mind.” He produced the silver and grey striped tie he’d used for my blindfold. I hadn’t realized he brought it. I could go for being blindfolded again. He stood over me. “Put your hands above your head.”

I arched a brow. “Why?” This wasn’t what I expected.

“Catherine…” His tone held a warning. He didn’t want to be challenged.

Slowly, I complied, lying back and raising my arms over my head. He bent over me and secured my wrists together with the tie. I could smell his scent and inhaled deeply as he knotted the silk. It wasn’t uncomfortable, but it was tight enough that I couldn’t get it off on my own.

He drew back, and his gaze raked over me. I wanted to wriggle from the intensity and the tingle of arousal. Being at his mercy, under his control, thrilled me. He could do whatever he wanted now. I was his.

He removed what looked like a grape from the silver bowl. “Let me show you.” He sat beside me and showed me the grape. It was dark red and frosted with ice. He brought it to my mouth and rubbed it over my lips. The grape was frozen, and my mouth buzzed in response. He slid it inside, and I slid it back out, playing with it on my tongue. William watched, his eyes dark and deep.

He reached for another grape as I bit into the ripe fruit and felt the fresh juice slide down my throat. I opened my mouth again, but this one he skated over the slopes of my breasts. I jumped then moaned as he brushed it over a sensitive nipple. The cold made my skin pucker and harden. He traced a path along my stomach to my navel and then leaned down and lapped the frozen fruit off my skin. His warm mouth on my belly caused heat to rush between my thighs. I parted them slightly, wanting his hand there. He removed another grape and rubbed it over my other nipple. I moaned when he lowered his mouth, covering the cold grape with his hot tongue and licking my skin. He sucked my aching nipple, his hands sliding down my body and unfastening the garters. Then he moved down the bed and unrolled my stockings, gliding them down my legs, removing my shoes, and then replacing them.

“I’m going to fuck you with the shoes on,” he said.

He took another grape and slid it to the ruffle of my thong. He closed his mouth over the grape and the lacy silk and drew the thong down with his teeth. I lifted my hips as his mouth caressed me, but the ache only grew. I was panting, hot all over, my need building. I knew if I clamped my legs together hard I would come.

Instinctively, I began to close them, but he caught my knee with his hand and opened my legs, spreading them. He reached for another grape, held it between his lips, and ran the cold skin of the grape down my body until he reached my sex. His mouth paused at my clit, and the cold grape rubbed against that most sensitive spot. And then the grape was gone, replaced by William’s warm tongue. I came immediately, waves of ecstasy throbbing through me. I had a vague sense of William moving, and then he was between my legs again.

I let out a little scream when chilled champagne flowed at the apex of my thighs. “Your sheets!”

“I told you I want to taste champagne on your skin.” He licked the champagne off, dipping first his finger in the flute then inside me. His tongue followed until I was bucking against him, begging for another release. “Not yet,” he said, watching me, enjoying seeing me so hot and not able to touch him since my wrists were tied. He licked me again, spreading my folds with his fingers. Slick with arousal and champagne, I felt his fingers inch down until he pressed one finger gently around my anus.

“William!” I tried to close my legs to resist his unexpected touch, but he wouldn’t allow it.

“I’m going to have you here at some point, Catherine. I’m going to claim every inch of you. There’s no part I won’t own. You’re mine.”

I moaned as he slid his fingers over me and then dipped his tongue to my clit again. I didn’t want to admit it, but I was more turned on. I’d never had anal sex. I’d never wanted to, but I knew sex with William—any kind of sex—would be amazing.

William pressed champagne-cooled fingers against me then breathed warm air and laved me, and I came again. His tongue lashed me, and I begged him to stop.

“More, Catherine.” My body responded, and as I shattered, he slammed into me, heightening my climax so that it went on and on, rising with each thrust. He drove into me, and when he came he called out my name. I felt his hot release burst inside me then trickle down my champagne-cooled legs, and we lay in sated exhaustion.

William reached and pulled the tie off my wrists, freeing my hands. We held each other, caressing one another’s skin, murmuring, and then William’s hand closed on my breast. I felt him stir again. He was all but insatiable. I lost count of how many times he had me. At one point he licked champagne from my navel, and I repaid the favor, though I licked him a little lower. His cock tasted fabulous coated in champagne, and his cum was all that much sweeter as it slid down my throat.

Finally, when neither of us could move, William stripped the bed of the champagne-soaked sheets and ran a bath. We were a sweet, sticky mess. I watched as he filled the bath with deliciously scented bubbles and turned on the jets. I stepped into the sunken tub, sliding into warm, soapy water to my chin. The froth reminded me of the champagne we’d licked off each other’s bodies.

“This is fabulous,” I said. He settled behind me, and I laid my head on his shoulder. “Thank you.”

“For what?” he murmured into my hair.

“A perfect evening. I’ve never been tied up. It was intense. You should go to London more often.”

William chuckled. “I thought you’d like it. And I will, go to London more, if you come with me.”

“Only if I get to meet Kate Middleton.”

“That could probably be arranged.”

I laughed and then wondered if perhaps he wasn’t joking. “Is it strange,” I asked him, “to have everything you want? You buy me gifts all the time, but what am I supposed to get you for Valentine’s Day or for your birthday or Christmas? You have everything.”

“Not quite everything. All I want is you.” He put his hands on my shoulders and pressed his thumbs into the base of my skull and massaged in small, strong circles. It felt divine.

“That may be all you get.”

“I like that you’re thinking about the future.”

“I’m still not certain I’m relationship material.”

He kissed my temple. “Catherine, you are definitely relationship material.”

The bubbles were all but gone, and my fingers were prunes by the time we climbed from the bathtub. I felt full and sated and ready for sleep. While I dried off and brushed my teeth with a new toothbrush William produced, he went to make the bed with clean sheets. I tried to finger comb my hair into something that looked less like I’d been through a windstorm. I was about to join William in the bedroom when I heard the low murmur of his voice.

Curious, I grabbed my new watch and padded into the bedroom. William stood at the windows, arms crossed over his robe, phone to his ear. The bed was half-made, so he’d been interrupted by the call. I reached into the pocket of my robe and drew out the watch. It was one in the morning. Who was calling at that hour, and why had he taken the call?

He turned and saw me then showed me his back without acknowledging me. His voice remained low, barely above a whisper. What the hell? Did being a billionaire mean that you were
always
available? These late phone calls were ridiculous.

I went to the bed and finished pulling the fitted sheet over the mattress then fanned the flat sheet over the bed and tucked it under. Finally, I pulled the comforter on and climbed into bed. Alone. I kept my robe on, glaring at William.

Finally, he ended the call and crossed to me. “I’m sorry. Business.”

“Business at one in the morning?”

“It’s not the middle of the night in other parts of the world. I wouldn’t have taken it if it wasn’t important.”

He was right. I was overreacting. He probably had more on his work plate in one day than I dealt with in three years. I would have to get used to sharing him with other priorities. We snuggled, and I laid my head on his chest. For the first time in as long as I could remember, I felt safe. I felt right. I felt thoroughly taken care of. I fell asleep, listening to the sound of William’s heart beating.

*****

I woke alone. I stretched and snuggled under the covers, waiting for William to return from the bathroom. After five minutes, I sat and said, “William?”

No answer.

I was sleeping alone in William’s bed. Again.

I climbed out, lifted his shirt from the floor, and put it on, rolling up the sleeves and buttoning the middle buttons. I checked the bathroom and closet, didn’t find him, and wandered into the kitchen.

He sat at the counter, reading the paper. He was dressed in workout clothes, his hair damp. He looked delicious.

At that moment, he looked up, and his gaze raked me from head to toe. “I need to have more of those shirts made. You look sexy as hell in it.”

“Thanks. I woke alone and wondered where you were. Don’t you sleep?”

“I’m an early riser, and I like to work out.”

“You just got back from London. You couldn’t sleep in one Saturday morning?”

He shrugged. “I don’t need much sleep. Three or four hours, and I’m good. I’ve been like this since I was a kid.”

I gaped at him. “Are you serious? That can’t be healthy.” What kid can get by on four hours of sleep a night? Then it hit me: a kid who lost his family. My heart ached for him. Had he been plagued by nightmares? Haunted by survivor’s guilt?

“Do I seem to lack energy?” he asked.

I had to admit he didn’t. And he seemed healthy too. Very healthy. Still, three or four hours was not sustainable. “Is it insomnia?” I asked. I’d dealt with a bout after Jace died. “I know some techniques—”

“Catherine, I don’t need sleep like most people. I’m an early riser, and that’s not going to change. Let’s talk about what we’re doing today. I thought we could go out for brunch. I know a fabulous restaurant. It’s a bit of a drive, but it might be fun to get out of the city for a few hours—”

“Wait a minute,” I protested. “That sounds great, but I can’t run off with you. My friend Allison and her kids are watching Laird. I have to make sure he can stay for the day. She might have other plans.”

“Call her.”

I looked around for my purse and spotted it on the counter where I’d set it the night before. I dug my cell out and frowned at the screen. “It’s dead. Do you have a charger?”

He held out his hand and looked at my phone. “Not for this model.”

Which was a nice way of saying my phone was old.

“I’ll get you a new one. In the meantime, there’s a phone in my study. You can use it.”

I wondered why he didn’t offer to let me use his cell, but I didn’t argue. He pointed in the direction of the study, and I wandered that way, examining the modern furnishings and the eclectic art on the walls. Everything was carefully placed. Nothing was crooked or stained or looked as though it had ever been used. With the high ceilings and the wall of windows, it felt more like a museum than a home.

After stumbling on the laundry room—which had a state of the art washer and dryer—I finally found the study. It was dark and masculine, with rows of books on shelves behind a mahogany desk that looked as though it had been used. It was clean and tidy, but it did have papers, pens, and assorted folders in neat piles. On one corner were a laptop and a tablet. On the other was the house phone. I sat in William’s leather chair, behind his desk, and took a moment to pretend I was the Great and Powerful Oz. I’d order everyone to sleep in on Saturdays and give a two-day notice in advance of overseas trips.

With a smile, I rose and reached for the phone. My smile froze as I spotted a name on the tab of a file folder.

Jenny Hill
.

That was odd. It couldn’t be the same Jenny Hill I knew. It was a common name, but something made me grasp the folder anyway. I knew this was none of my business. I knew I shouldn’t snoop, but I couldn’t stop myself. I flipped the folder open and stared at Jenny. She and I weren’t friends, but we were working photographers in Chicago and knew one another professionally. In the folder lay half a dozen photos of her, from casual shots taken as she left Starbucks or her apartment, to a shot I recognized as the one she used for business cards and her website. Beneath the photos—a typed report, single-spaced and at least fifty pages. Jenny’s name was at the top and below that I read Personal Profile. I flipped through it, noting headings like Profession, Family, Past Relationships.