Terms of Surrender (22 page)

She moved closer, didn't realize her mouth was gaping until a lungful of sawdust and shavings wafted up to her.

She sputtered and laughed at her own frivolity before coming to a stop in the middle of the floor, having traversed the small obstacle course of furniture and carving tools.

Slany closed her eyes and inhaled the natural scents permeating the air, imagined Nick at work, back muscles and biceps flexing beneath a snug white T-shirt. Or, better still, bare-sectioned torso glistening with sweat beneath his labors and the glaring light of the room as he measured and sawed and sculpted various woods into artful shape.

She'd assumed he'd gotten his drop-dead gorgeous body from hours of workout in a gym but should have known that too mundane and typical an activity for someone as forceful and individual as Mr. Let's-Get-It-On-In-the-Office. She knew now he probably spent hours in this very room working, by default sculpting his body into shape while he sculpted all this wood.

Slany smoothed a palm over the front of a finished bureau, reveling in the natural cherry wood accents, lightweight metal work, and metal handles, the intricate design making her stomach dip with longing and sympathy. She sensed in the furniture a kindred spirit that had been molded and shaped by the same artisan, one who had worked her over only hours earlier.

He was dangerous, as well as gifted, more dangerous than Ron Wells, or some other abusive boyfriend or bully. He was dangerous because she wanted what he had to offer.

Nick hadn't abused or bullied her, didn't need to when his finesse and persuasion worked equally as well, if not better on her. Even had he not bound her, she'd have done his bidding, Slany realized, feeling unable to say no to him.

She'd never let anyone slide up in her without a hat on,
never
ridden bareback before.

Never. And beneath that penetrating honey-eyed gaze and that deep smooth voice, she had folded, relinquished not only her inhibitions, but her good sense, as well.

117

Gracie C. McKeever

The man was a menace. But like the missing link, he was a discovery she long wanted to make, satisfying her hungry adventurous inner soul so thoroughly, she didn't know how she had survived so long without him in her life.

Do you really believe I would do anything to put you in jeopardy?

She didn't believe he would, especially when the words echoed through her mind with such velvety assurances and passion, but there were no guarantees in life, and trusting him as she’d done had been totally irresponsible and so unlike her. She was level-headed, the care-giver, the responsible daughter and sister, the conscientious ad executive.

Half of these designations had all gone out the window with a few words from Nick.

She could be pregnant now, for all she knew. And where would she be then, her baby's daddy a man with spotless ecru walls, expensive furniture, and an apartment so immaculate, it didn't look as if ungloved hands or anything other than clean bare feet had trod within it?

Slany unconsciously sighed. "God, it's beautiful."

"It's Tansu."

She started, but rather than show her guilt at being caught red-handed invading his privacy and snooping, she slowly turned and smiled. "God bless you."

Nick chuckled as he padded over the threshold and made his way to her in a sexy feline glide, a sensual panther in drawstring pajamas riding low on his lean hips, making her pussy muscles clench with desire.

God, would she ever not want him so intensely?

She watched as he stood a couple of feet in front of her, thought he moved like a professional cat burglar, light and sure on his feet, as if he knew where all the creaks and squeaks in the apartment's floors were. No wonder she hadn't heard him come in.

"Tansu. It's antique Japanese chests made of fine woods with metal fittings."

That summed it up nicely in the TV-Guide, twenty-five-words-or-less approach, but didn't come close to describing the compelling charm and rich heritage displayed in the pieces Slany had so far seen. "Ah, I thought so. Not that I'm an expert on the art, but I had a feeling it wasn't American. Except for the fact that you made it. "

"That would make it Italian American. Or Italian Stallion American." He smirked, followed the caressing motion of her fingers, and Slany snatched away her hand and put it behind her back.

Had he possibly heard her and Peyton talking about him at the office?
Had
she talked about him while Peyton had been at the office? Slany honestly couldn't remember, and Nick's expression gave nothing away except amusement.

"You like my woodwork?" he asked.

"Very much. It's nice and sleek and ero—exotic."

Nick grinned, came closer. "You can say it. It's both. Erotic and exotic."

Like you
was right on the tip of Slany's tongue, but she held it back, simply nodded her agreement as she watched Nick reach out a hand to follow her previous caresses.

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"You could make a good living at this. Have you ever sold any of your pieces?"

"Haven't so far. Most of it I make as gifts for family and friends." Nick took several steps past her to uncover the piece in a corner of the room, an elegant cherry-wood cradle. "This one's for my latest niece. Just putting the finishing touches on it."

Slany sauntered over, slowly circling the piece and crouching to take it in from every angle before saying, "You should open up a handmade furniture store, Nick. This stuff is too beautiful to just keep to yourself."

"I don't keep it to myself. I share it with a select few."

"I'd hazard to guess very select and very few."

He didn't respond, except to smile, and she wanted to ask him how many women he had allowed past the threshold of this room, how many knew of his passion. She knew it was a passion. No one could create such beautiful eloquent work without being passionate about it.

Slany silently stepped closer, uncharacteristically shy, eyes averted as Nick put his arms around her and pulled her close. "You're incredibly talented," she whispered, quickly glancing at him.

He silently looked at her, but his lusty expression spoke volumes, eyes glittering with good-natured mischief.

She lifted her head to stare at him, his chest no more than an inch away from her face, deep bronze, smooth, and endlessly tempting. His scent rode the wind to her nose, spicy and immensely inviting.

Slany wanted to taste him, all of him, but especially his cock, feel its heaviness in her mouth, feel its firmness between her lips, sample his essence as he had sampled hers.

She'd never felt this way with any man before, frighteningly, spiritually bound and connected. The act of fellatio had always been a perfunctory function for her, performed more out of reciprocal duty than desire.

She inhaled deep and leaned her face against his chest. "I love the way you feel against me, so big and hard."

"I'm supposed to be complimenting you."

"I'm not stopping you."

He chuckled and glided his hands down her back before stopping to cup her ass and pull her close enough to feel his erection pressing against her belly through his drawstring pants.

"I'd wondered where you got your muscles."

"You thought a gym."

She nodded. Nick made a muscle with his arm, elicited her laughter.

"Just plain old carpentry. When I'm not making these pieces, I'm doing fixer-upper duties at my relatives' houses."

"That's nice of you."

"That's the kind of guy I am."

119

Gracie C. McKeever

Slany reached out to squeeze his biceps. "Just carpentry, huh?"

Nick shrugged. "And old-fashioned play and working out."

"What kind of play?" Even as she said it, she realized she was treading in dangerous territory, that if she didn't back off, she'd find out exactly what type of "play" he was into.

Could it be any better than what they had done earlier? Any worse?

Slany shivered at the idea of being at his mercy again, inner muscles clenching, vagina growing nice and moist at the prospect.

But Nick surprised her with his relatively chaste response of, "I play softball in a league most weekends in the spring and summer."

"Really?" She could just see him in a baseball jersey and cap, looking athletic and sexy as hell and scoring more than just on the field, she was sure. "Is it an all boys' league, or do you guys bring the girlfriends and wives sometimes?"

"Why? Do you play?"

"I love baseball. Of course, I'd rather play it than watch it."

"Agreed. Slow game."

"But I bet you know how to keep it fast and wild."

"Depends on the situation. Sometimes, slow and gentle is better." He reached down and slid a hand beneath the hem of his T-shirt. "Did I mention how hot you look in this?" He leaned in to kiss her throat, and Slany arched her neck and purred.

"No, you didn't."

"You look hot. And you feel even hotter." He slid a finger into her pussy, twirling it around and brushing the walls of her vagina until she trembled. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pressed closer, as if ready to climb inside him.

Nick added another finger, simultaneously pressing her swollen clit with his thumb. "But I'm glad you didn't put on a pair of my boxers. I like the pantyless look on you."

"You like easy access."

"I like access to you, period….Mmmm." He inhaled her skin, circling her neck with his tongue before gently sinking in his teeth and thrusting his fingers inside her, slow and deep.

Slany came on a low moan, hard and suddenly—so suddenly, it shocked her into stillness.

"Let go, Slany. It's what you want. It's what I want."

"The way you make me feel…the things you do…it scares me, Nick," she said, then quickly bit her bottom lip, as if to take it back. But the damage was done. She could see it in the way his eyes glittered when he peered at her.

"I'm nothing to be afraid of, just something to be enjoyed."

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Terms of Surrender

She did enjoy him, just a little too much. This much enjoyment couldn't be healthy, Slany was sure. This much enjoyment made her lips loose, a luxury she could not afford with a man as arrogant as Nick.

He had her body and a part of her soul. If she relinquished her heart, she was done for.

Slany swallowed at the idea, thought she might be halfway done already, knew she had been falling for him from day one. The last several weeks had only accelerated her freefall.

Nick leisurely removed his fingers, licked each one as he stared at her.

Slany stepped back and slowly knelt before him.

"What do you think you're doing?"

She didn't respond, except to reach for his waistband and easily slide down his pajama pants. She glanced up at him once she'd gotten them down to his ankles, almost lost her nerve at the intense look he gave her. "Should I stop?"

"Depends on what you have in mind."

She clasped his erection with one hand, and he widened his stance as she lowered her lips to take his dark cherry head into her mouth. She teased his slit, hungrily lapped at the pearl of liquid gathered there before moving further down the long, thick length of him, avoided gagging by only the most gargantuan effort and concentration.

When she came back up, there were tears in her eyes.

"You don't have to do this, Slany."

"I want to," she admitted. She'd been looking forward to doing this to him since that first day in his office when he'd tasted her, wanted to experience the same heady sense of power and control he exerted over her, just once, just for a moment.

Slany closed her eyes and lowered her head again. She took a deep breath before slowly taking him in, focused on her breathing and relaxing her throat muscles. When she reached the base of his penis, fondled his balls with one hand, reached around him to squeeze one round, firm ass cheek with the other and heard him moan, she knew she was on the right track.

She peeked up through lashes and watched as Nick closed his eyes, arched his neck, and gently drew his hands through her hair.

The dreamy, sensual look on his face and musky male scent of him enveloping her senses sent Slany's stomach spiraling with renewed hunger and determination. She deepened her efforts, alternately sucking and nibbling his hard cock until she drew him into her mouth with as much pressure as she could muster while simultaneously squeezing his scrotum.

His knuckles tightened against her scalp as he fisted her hair and directed her thrusts. She felt his balls tighten in her grip, his penis throbbing like a heart in her mouth right before he came with a guttural cry.

"Shit….shit, shit, shit!" His leg muscles shook as his cum spurted into her mouth, hot, earthy, and slightly salty, like him.

Slany raised her head, licked her lips like a satiated feline. "I always wanted to know what that felt like."

121

Gracie C. McKeever

"Don't tell me you've never done that before, because I won't believe you."

"Oh, I've done it. Just not with as much gusto or greed."

Nick reached down to encircle her biceps before lifting her to her feet. "You're dangerous, woman."

"No more dangerous than you."

He stared at her for a long moment without saying anything, and her stomach somersaulted like a trapeze artist beneath the fierceness of his gaze.

Nick pulled her close, lowered his head to perform a slow invasion of her mouth, nipping each full lip, leisurely sweeping his tongue past her teeth and devouring everything in his path.

He came up for air several long seconds later, grabbed one of her hands in his, and said, "Let's finish this in the shower."

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Terms of Surrender

Nick wrapped his arms around her as she snuggled close, reveling in her warm, feminine scent, a tropical blend of coconut, vanilla, and musk, as she purred against him.

He smiled when she squeezed his middle and ensconced her head just beneath an armpit.

How many times had he imagined her in this position, long, soft auburn curls fanned across his naked chest, her breath teasing his nipples and making him shiver? How many times had he ached for her?