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Authors: Tina Donahue

Claiming Magique: 1 (9 page)

BOOK: Claiming Magique: 1
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“You eat here a lot?” he pressed,
knowing she didn’t.

“My friend suggested this place,”
she said, gesturing to the man across from her.

Hunt said nothing, waiting for more.

“He’s an old professor from school,”
she finally added, then quickly corrected
herself
.
“That is, he’s a professor from one of my old schools.”

Sure. And Justin
Bieber
was Hunt’s baby brother. He turned to the man. “Nice to meet you, Mr.…”

“Wallace,”
Alexa
offered before the old guy could say a word. “Professor, this is Hunter
Prescott.”

The man looked shell-shocked, like
he didn’t want to shake hands or discuss why he was here. In other words, like
a john caught in a vice sting.

When he said nothing and
Alexa
too fell silent, Hunt had an insane urge to ask her
for a date. He figured she’d say no, claiming to be busy. Not wanting that kind
of rejection in front of Professor Whatever, Hunt took a step back. “Have a
good meal.”

She sipped her drink.

He returned to his table and
gestured for his server.

“I’m sorry your drink isn’t here
yet,” the boy said. “I’ll check on it immediately.”

“It can wait.”

The boy nodded and opened his pad.
“Are you ready to order?”

No. Food wasn’t what Hunt wanted. He
reached into his pocket and pulled out a hundred, handing it to the boy. “This
is yours. I need a favor.”

“Of course.”

Hunt watched
Alexa
as he told the server what he wanted. “Can you do that?” he asked. “If not—”

“I can. No problem.” Pocketing the
money, the kid left the table and went to do what he’d been told.

Hunt waited, counting the seconds.
When he’d reached three minutes,
Alexa
made her move
as he sensed she would, leaving her table, heading into the restaurant.

He followed, tailing her to the
restrooms all the way in the back. His server gave Hunt an “all clear” nod.
With nothing to stop him, Hunt placed his hand on
Alexa’s
before she could open the door to the ladies’ lounge.

She didn’t flinch or utter a cry of
surprise. She’d damn well expected him to do this.

If ever there’d been a moment in his
life when he’d wanted to sigh, it was now. Her scent surrounded him. Its
intoxicating fragrance coupled with her musk made him forget everything except
having her. Hunt edged closer, his chest touching her back.

She didn’t move away. He hadn’t
figured she would.

Leaning down, he whispered, “You’ve
been following me.”

She turned as well as she could
given
their proximity, her face a
mask of feigned outrage. “What?”

“You heard me. What I want to know
is why? We don’t need to play games,
Alexa
. I want
you and you sure as fuck want me.”

Before she could contradict him or
ask how he knew her name, Hunt captured her mouth, slipping his tongue inside.

She sagged against him. All fight
forgotten.

Holy fuck, he couldn’t have planned
for this moment to be as good. Turning her to face him, Hunt held
Alexa
as he’d wanted to for days, kissing away any future
protests that might surface. She tasted better than he recalled, fresh and
minty, hot and willing. She drove her fingers through his hair, keeping him to
her.

He wasn’t about to leave her again.
With her body held tight against his, Hunt kissed her deep and hard. He groped
for the bathroom knob. Turning it, he used his body to push her inside.

She pulled her mouth from his and
looked over, checking to see if anyone was in this small makeup area or in the
next room of stalls.

They were blessedly
alone,
thanks to the generous tip he’d given his server.

Just in case the hundred didn’t
encourage the boy to keep new arrivals out of here, Hunt threw the door’s
deadbolt. Claiming
Alexa’s
mouth once more, he
steered her toward the mirror and the shelf beneath it.

Her kiss was as brutal as his. She
clawed at his suit jacket and wrapped her ankle around his leg to bring him
closer.

Wasn’t going
to happen that way.

This time, he ended their kiss and
turned
Alexa
to face the mirror, guiding her to lean
down and spread her legs just as she had in his office fantasy. Her narrow
brown skirt hiked up with the movement. Hunt reached beneath it and shuddered
in delight. She wasn’t wearing stockings or panties.

God, god,
god.

If he didn’t get relief soon, he was
going to start crying like a little girl.
Come on, dammit.
Getting his
erection past his boxers and pants was an effort. The crown was bigger than
he’d ever remembered and nearly purple, looking bruised by the time he tunneled
it into her.

Hunt’s mouth fell open at her
delicious wetness and heat, her body sheltering and confining his.

She made soft mewling sounds that
told him she wanted this as much as he did. To make certain she never forgot
this moment, he touched her clit, stroking the tiny nub as he pumped.

With her mouth against her shoulder,
Alexa
muffled her cries of delight.

Outside, footfalls came down the
hall accompanied by men’s voices. The knob to this room rattled.

“What the fuck?” a deep voice said.

“Wrong room, fool,” a new voice
answered, as low-pitched as the first.

“Oh.”

The hinges on another door squeaked,
and then the wood thumped slightly as it shut.

Alexa
grunted. To Hunt, she sounded even more excited.
At the thought of being discovered?
Reprimanded? Possibly
punished?

Continuing to pump, he struggled to
hold off, his chest and shoulders aching from tension. His cock didn’t care.
The damn thing kept getting thicker or she was getting narrower, the rasp of
their bodies begging him to come. He refused, thrusting for minutes, a fucking
marathon in the carnal world of most men. For him, it wasn’t enough. He had to
impress
Alexa
and mark her as his alone. As—

Aw hell.

She tightened her pussy again,
timing her constrictions to each of his pumps, working him in the best way she
could, wanting him to climax just as she was, her gasps and muffled moans
signaling her orgasm.

His came next, forcing him to clench
his jaw to keep from shouting and bringing anyone to the door. His panting went
on for too long and then exhaustion consumed him. Weary, Hunt leaned over
Alexa
, burying his face in her silky tresses. They were
real, just as he’d suspected, and also bore her scent. “Did you cut your hair?”

If she had, she deserved a damn
spanking. Not that he’d ever lift a hand to her, unless she was into that kind
of stuff…playful punishment meant to generate pleasure. Somehow, Hunt sensed
she’d enjoy that.

“Which hair?” she purred.

He laughed wearily, then ground his
body into hers, driving his limp cock deeper inside to show her that he was
still boss.

She made a contented noise, a happy
slave.

If she kept that up, he’d be hard
again quicker than a horny teen.
“The hair on your head.”

“It’s a wig.”

Thank god. “Take it off.”

“No.”

He huffed out a sigh. “Please?”

“No.” Her body stiffened ever so
slightly beneath his, matching the edge in her response. “Let me up.”

“No…I’m not ready.” He wound his
arms around her torso and held her gently, tenderly as he’d wanted to on the
terrace. “Thank you.”

Just like that, she softened beneath
him again.

He brushed his lips on the sensitive
skin beneath her ear.

She trembled and whispered his name,
thrilling Hunt to his core.

Come
on,
get hard,
he urged his damn cock, even as he
knew his body was still minutes away from being ready. Stalling, he asked,
“What?”

A moment passed as if she didn’t
know how to answer, and then she squirmed beneath him, no longer soft and
submissive. “I mean it. Let me up. I have to go.”

Faster than Hunt thought possible,
his contentment and fatigue vanished. He wanted to shout “why?” but didn’t.
Frustrated, he decided to do what she’d asked and released her.

She went into one of the stalls. The
roll of toilet paper made rattling sounds, telling him she was cleaning up,
removing all traces of him, just as she had that night on R Street before she’d
straddled Tim.

That didn’t improve his mood. Her
sighs, however…

They told him of her uncertainty and
need, as great as his. They sounded as though she wanted more.

He moved a bit closer then halted,
not wanting to push too much. For minutes, he waited.

When
Alexa
came out, she stopped herself from looking at him, opting instead on checking
her hair in one of the mirrors above the sinks. Once she’d smoothed the wayward
strands down, she walked past him to the door.

“Hey, wait a sec.” He grabbed her
hand. “No goodbye? No see you next time? No let’s make a date?
A real date?
Dinner.
A movie.
The theatre.
Dancing.
Whatever you want.”

Her expression grew guarded, her
eyes veiled. “No. We won’t be seeing each other again.”

Hunt frowned. “Why?”

She seemed lost, unable to answer,
then
stroked his cheek, her thumb grazing his lips. “Thank
you.”

Hunt heard sadness and something
else, an invitation for more. He gathered her to him.
Alexa
molded her body to his as if she’d been born for this, her arms slipping around
his shoulders, clutching him as tightly as he did her.

With his cheek pressed to hers, he
murmured, “I need to see you again.”

She shook her head.

Screw that. “I know what you’ve been
doing,” he said. “I’ve been coming to this restaurant on the same days of the
week for years.
Like fucking clockwork.
This is the
first time I’ve seen you here, not too long after our night on R Street. I
don’t give a shit about what you claimed with that professor guy. He didn’t
suggest you two coming here. You’ve been following me. Don’t deny it.”

She didn’t. She pulled out of his
embrace and went to the door. “I have to go.”

“No, you don’t. You’re running from
me. Why?”

“What you want wouldn’t work out.”
With that, she left.

He followed her to the terrace. She
slipped around a group of people. By the time Hunt got past them, she was two
tables away.

As intent on escape as she was, he
was as determined to catch her, continuing until David stood in his path.

“What are you doing?” his friend
asked. “Our table’s back there.”

Hunt glared at him.

“We can move to another if you
want,” David said.

Not the one where
Alexa
sat with that guy, her made-up professor, pretending
that nothing had just happened in the ladies’ lounge.

“You okay?” David asked. “What are
you staring at—
whoa.
” He did a double take,
then
whispered, “Is that
Magique
?”

Hunt returned to their table and
took his seat, watching her, drinking her fucking in. The color in her cheeks
belonged to him, no other man. The softness in her eyes, the submissiveness was
his too. He smiled, proud as hell of himself no matter what she’d said or
claimed, especially the part about them never seeing each other again and a
relationship not being possible.

“It is her,” David murmured, taking
his seat. “So you two worked things out?”

Huh? “What are you talking about?”

“Tomorrow night. What else?”

“What about it?”

David made a face that said he
wasn’t following. He regarded the others around them, then leaned forward and
kept his voice low. “Tim and I have another, ah, date with her. Tim set it up.
He’s richer than Bill Gates, he can afford it. He didn’t want to book you
too—he said you were a hog about it the last time—but I talked him into it. He
went ahead, until the lady making the reservations said
Magique
didn’t want to see you again. Did you straighten it out with her?”

Hunt’s gut continued to churn.

She was having a luncheon date with
that old guy, she was willing to entertain Tim and David again, but she refused
to do the same with him? She’d just given herself willingly, eagerly in the
ladies’ lounge, but she wouldn’t let him book another so-called date or make a
normal one like he’d just tried?

BOOK: Claiming Magique: 1
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