The Affair: Week 5 (7 page)

“Wet it down to the limit with your tongue,” he instructed gruffly, his hand still moving up and down on the shaft forcefully. She stared at his pumping fist as she licked his cock, tracing a distended vein, bumping against the thin silicone of the lasso—that limit to her hunger. Increasingly, she disliked that limit. She pushed at the thin silicone with the tip of her tongue. He was right; it wasn’t tight. She nudged it farther down his cock, the flavor of strawberries spreading on her tongue . . . sweet, forbidden fruit.

“Emma,” he grunted in warning, pulling back on her head. She looked up at him, her tongue still bathing his cock. His face went tight.

“Fuck,” he muttered, his fist moving faster. He tugged gently on her head and pointed his cock toward her mouth, inserting it between her parted lips. “Show me,” he demanded in a hard tone.

She knew what he meant. He wanted her to demonstrate her desire for him. The realization hit her that fellatio was the perfect way for a woman to do that for a man, if she truly felt it. It was a true surrender, a total abandonment for the pleasure of another . . . a finding of personal gratification in return for giving it. Emma yielded, giving herself to the feeling. Placing her hands on his thighs to give her balance, she sucked him into her mouth, giving her hunger free rein. Her lips bumped against the thin silicone lasso again and again as she squeezed him into her mouth. He filled her, even with the limit, the tip of his cock sliding along the length of her pressing tongue. When she sucked hard, her cheeks brushed against his flesh.

“Aw, yeah, that’s good,” he said in a choked voice. For a moment, his hand was gone from her head. The vibrator buzzed more strenuously, and his hand was back. She moaned in rising arousal and pumped him faster. It felt so good, the pressure on her lips, filling her mouth with his hard, pulsing flesh, the vibrator heating her . . . rewarding her hunger. In a frenzy of arousal, she pushed down harder, bumping her lips against the limit of the lasso, pushing it down slightly, wetting her lips with the lubricant, tasting strawberries on her tongue, gaining a half inch before he pulled back gently but firmly, with his fingers in her hair.

“You’re getting greedy for it, aren’t you, baby?” she heard him say, his voice thick with arousal.

She moaned an affirmative as she thrust her amount of allotted flesh in and out of her mouth, faster and faster.

“Here,” he said, removing his pumping fist from his cock. He reached for her hand and put it where his had been. Instinctively, she tightened it. “You take over then. I like it hard, Emma. Grip me tight. Yeah, that’s right. That’s good.” She squeezed him, both with hand and mouth, pumping him between her lips, the fever in her growing. Her eyelids flickered open when she felt liquid sprinkle against her knuckles. He’d poured additional lubricant on his cock. She gripped him tighter, appreciating the increased ease of the glide. So did he, if his rough moan was any indication. She loved that evidence of pleasing him.

She could grow addicted to it.

She lost herself to the rhythm, sucking and jacking him. Her hunger amplified. Again, her lips pushed at the limit, and the taste of strawberries spread on her tongue. For the rest of her life, she’d associate that taste with pure, rabid sexual hunger.

Vanni tightened his hold on her head, and for a split second, she felt him pushing, goading her on, encouraging her to swallow more of him.

Then he was pulling back. She cried out sharply when his cock popped out of her mouth. He put his hand on her wrist and jerked it off his cock. His cock fell to his taut belly, bouncing slightly.

“Sit up,” Vanni grated out. She blinked, taking a few seconds to comprehend what he’d said, she was so aroused. “Scoot your knees closer to me. Now rise up on your knees.”

She lifted her bottom off her lower legs and knelt before him, panting. His gaze lowered over her, scoring her face and breasts and belly. “Look at you,” he said, his nostrils flaring. “Your cheeks are bright red, and your breasts . . .”

He faded off, his mouth shaping into a snarl. He opened one hand along her left hip, his thumb stretching beneath the vibrator. “You liked it, didn’t you?”

“Yes,” Emma gasped as he began to circle his thumb on her well-lubricated clit. Her buttocks clamped tight. She trembled. The soles of her feet began to burn. She was going to come.

“Tell me what you want,” she heard Vanni say as if through a long tunnel. She bit her lip. She was about to explode. It felt
so
good.

“I want you to let me suck you again,” she moaned miserably.

“Jesus,” he hissed, putting the tip of the vibrator back against her clit “You’re so fucking sweet.” Then he was holding his cock up off his body, pushing her to him again. She took him into her mouth with a wild, yet single-minded focus, squeezing him with her lips, sucking him until her cheeks hollowed out, ravenous. He groaned gutturally. Had he turned up the vibrator? She wasn’t sure; all she knew was that the feeling of his cock swelling in her mouth was making her frenzied. Her head moved so fast, gobbling him forcefully, but it seemed like she ignited in slow motion.

Suddenly, climax hit her full force. She screamed onto his cock as her body shuddered. His fingers tightened in her hair, and he was jerking her off him. She continued to shake in orgasm, blinking her eyes open, disoriented. He pumped his cock, growling as he began to come. Semen jetted against her lips and she tasted him for the first time.

Ignoring his hold on her and the sting of her scalp, she leaned forward and took him into her mouth. His growl escalated to a roar as she sucked and he came on her tongue. He pulsed between her clamped lips, giving himself to her, and she craved—no, she
cherished
—every last drop.

* * *

A tense moment later, his fingers loosened in her hair. Emma released his cock from her mouth and fell forward slightly, her hot cheek falling above his hip bone. She still trembled from the onslaught of pleasure. She panted for air. His hand returned to the back of her head, his fingers rubbing her scalp. He shifted slightly and the vibrator stopped abruptly. She exhaled in relief. She hadn’t realized until that moment how tense the continued stimulation on her post-climactic sex was making her.

“I don’t think you have anything to worry about.”

She lifted her head slowly, curious about the dazed, rough sound of his voice. Her eyes widened when she saw that he did, indeed, look a little undone, sprawling there on the pillows. He also looked indecently gorgeous.

“What?” she asked.

“You have a gift,” he said, glancing down drolly at his damp, still-firm cock where it rested on his belly.

A smile flickered across her lips. They were sore from squeezing him so hard, but she found the sensation a pleasant reminder of her eagerness in showing him her desire . . . of his lesson in liberating it.

“No,” she whispered, coming up on her knees and then lowering on top of him. She brushed her swollen lips against his mouth and felt him open his hand at her back. “You’re the one with the gift, Vanni. Thank you,” she murmured before he drew her closer to him with both hands, and kissed her in earnest.

After a delicious moment, she came up for air and settled her cheek on his chest, panting slightly. A feeling of lassitude and comfort overcame her when he rubbed her scalp with his fingers.

“Tell me more about your villa in France. La Mer,” she said, her tongue lingering over the exotic-sounding words.

“You’re going to see it soon.”

“I know. But I want to hear you talk about it. What does it look like?” she prodded languorously.

“It’s old,” he began after a moment, sounding thoughtful. “La Mer was built in the late seventeen hundreds, but it’s been renovated and added to many times. It’s built in the Italian Renaissance style. I think there are secrets to it even Adrian and I—who explored it with single-minded intent for treasure and secret passageways as a kid—never discovered. But I like it that way . . . with a few secrets intact,” he murmured, and she heard that faraway note in his voice, that wistful one that she’d seen on his face when he spoke of La Mer earlier. “It sits on the edge of cliffs, perched hundreds of feet above the sea. At night, with the windows open wide, you can hear the waves hitting the shore. It gets pitch-dark there, and it’s always peaceful . . .”

Emma felt her eyelids growing heavy, listening to him talk. She fought sleep desperately, though, prizing the rare, wonderful experience of Vanni Montand sounding relaxed and content.

Look for THE AFFAIR Week Six, on sale October 21, 2014.

Keep reading for an excerpt from

SINCE I SAW YOU

Available now from Berkley

Lin Soong hurried down the sidewalk, her face coated in a thin layer of perspiration overlaid with an autumn mist. Damn this fog. There hadn’t been an available taxi for blocks. She’d finally ended up just walking the three-quarters of a mile from Noble Towers to the restaurant. Her feet were killing her after a long day’s work and rushing in heels. To make matters worse, her hair would be a disaster from the humidity. She imagined herself at ten or eleven years old and her grandmother standing over her, wielding a comb and a flatiron like a warrior’s weapons.

“You got this hair from your mother,” Grandmamma would say, her mouth grim as she dove into her straightening task. Lin had been left in little doubt as to what her grandmother thought of the potential threat of her mother’s rebellious streak surfacing in Lin herself. According to Grandmamma, hair was something to be conquered and refined by smoothing and polish, just like everything else in life.

Lin plunged through the revolving doors of the restaurant and paused in the empty foyer, straining to calm her breathing and her throbbing heart. She despised feeling flustered, and this situation called for even more than her usual aplomb.

By the time she entered the crowded, elegant restaurant, she’d repinned her waving, curling hair and used a tissue to dry her damp face. She immediately spotted him sitting at the bar. He was impossible to miss. For a stretched few seconds, she just stared. A strange mixture of anxiety and excitement bubbled in her belly.

Why didn’t Ian mention that his half brother looked so much like him?

She soaked in the image of him. He was very good-looking, even if that frown was a little off-putting. He wore a dark blue shirt, and the rich brown of a rugged suede jacket brought out the russet highlights in his hair. Kam Reardon didn’t know it—and she’d never tell him—but she herself had picked out the clothing he wore. It’d been part of the mission Ian had assigned her to make his half brother presentable for a potentially lucrative business deal here in Chicago. Ian had suggested a new wardrobe for his trip to the States. Kam had grudgingly agreed after some skillful nudging on Ian’s part, but insisted upon paying for everything. It’d been Lin who actually chose the items, however, and sent the articles to Aurore Manor in France. In fact, she’d been choosing and sending home furnishings to Aurore Manor—Kam’s once grand home that had fallen into disrepair—as well.

It warmed her to see him wearing the garments, firsthand evidence that he’d considered the clothing suitable to his taste. Her clothing selection hadn’t helped much in getting Kam to blend in, however. He was too large for the delicate chairs lined up at the supersleek, minimalist bar. He stuck out like a sore thumb in the trendy establishment, all bold, masculine lines and unrelenting angles.

No . . . not like a sore thumb, Lin amended. More like a lion that found itself in the midst of a herd of antelope. His utter stillness and watchful alertness seemed slightly ominous amidst the sea of idly chatting, well-heeled patrons.

Suddenly, she realized his gaze had locked on her from across the crowded dining area.

“
Bonsoir
, beautiful. We have your table waiting,” a man with a mellow French-accented voice said.

Lin blinked and jerked her gaze off the man who was a stranger to her, and yet wasn’t: her boss’s infamous half brother, the wild man she’d been sent to tame.

She focused instead on Richard St. Claire’s smiling face. Richard was a neighbor, good friend, and the manager of the restaurant where she stood, Savaur. He owned the world-renowned establishment with his partner, chef Emile Savaur. Lin was a regular here.

She returned Richard’s greeting warmly as they hugged and he kissed her on the cheek. “Can you hold the table for just a moment, Richard? My dinner companion is waiting at the bar. I’d like to go and introduce myself,” Lin said, turning as he began to remove her coat.

“Mr. Tall, Dark, and Scowling?” Richard muttered under his breath as he draped her coat elegantly over his forearm, looking amused. He noticed her surprised glance as she faced him again. How did Richard know her dinner companion was the man at the bar? “You mentioned you were having dinner with Noble’s half brother on the phone when you made the reservations. I noticed the resemblance; who wouldn’t? I can’t wait to hear the full story behind this little scenario,” Richard said with a mischievous glance in Kam’s direction. “He’s like Ian Noble posing as a Brazilian street fighter, but with the added bonus of having Lucien’s seduce-like-the-devil eyes.”

Lin stifled a laugh at the apt description. Richard was good friends with Lucien Lenault also, Kam and Ian’s other half brother. He’d undoubtedly heard part, if not all, of Kam’s story from Lucien. “He’s actually cleaned up quite nicely,” Lin murmured. “Not six months ago, the people from the village near where he lived thought him homeless and mad, when he’s truly brilliant and extremely focused,” she added, her head lowered. She smoothed her expression, acutely aware of Kam’s sharp gaze still cast in her direction.

“He hardly seems like a vagrant, but he has been sitting at the bar, looking like he’s been chewing nails for the past ten minutes. Victor doesn’t know if he’s scared to death of the man or in love with him,” Richard said under his breath, referring to the bartender serving Kam. Indeed, Victor was surreptitiously studying the tower of whiskered, glowering brawn seated at the bar, with a mixture of wariness and stark admiration as he dried a glass.

Lin threw her friend a repressive, amused glance and walked over to meet Ian’s brother. Kam was one of the few people seated at the teak bar, a half-full glass of beer in front of him.

“I’m so sorry for being late. Work was crazy, and there wasn’t a single available cab to be found when I finally did get away. You must be Kam. I’d have recognized you anywhere,” she said when she approached him, smiling in greeting. “Ian never told me how much you two resembled one another.”

He turned slightly in his chair, giving her an unhurried once-over. She remained completely still beneath his perusal, her expression calm and impassive. Inwardly, she squirmed. Ian had also failed to warn her that Kam Reardon oozed raw sex appeal—not that Ian would ever say that about his brother.

Although it couldn’t have been any more than a second that he studied her, it felt like minutes before he finally met her stare. She recognized the hard glint of male appreciation in his eye. A strange sensation rippled down her spine. Was it excitement? Or that uncommon brand of lust that strikes like lightning during a rare, uncommon rush of attraction? His face and form were similar to Ian’s, although up close, there were notable differences: the nose was slightly larger, the skin swarthier, the mouth fuller, the hair not quite as dark as Ian’s, with hints of russet in the thick waves.
Gorgeous
man-hair, Lin assessed. It had to have dozens of females longing to sink their fingers into it on a daily basis.

Ian would certainly never go into public with a day-and-a-half’s growth of stubble on his jaw. Although Kam’s clothing was suitable for the restaurant, it was far more casual than Ian’s typical Savile Row suits. It was like seeing Ian in some kind of magical mirror—a shadowy, savage version of her debonair boss. Kam’s silvery-gray eyes, with the defining black ring around the iris, were certainly strikingly unique, despite what Richard had said about them being similar to Lucien’s.

Maybe it was more the effect they had on Lin that was singular.

“Ian probably never noticed our similarity,” Kam replied. “He’s never seen me without a full beard.”

Another stark difference. Much like that of her grandmother, who had learned English in Hong Kong, Ian’s accent was all crisp, cool control. Kam’s French-accented, roughened voice struck her like a gentle, arousing abrasion along the skin of her neck and ear.

She put out her hand. “I’m Lin Soong. As you probably already know, I work for Ian. I can’t tell you what a pleasure it is to finally meet you.”

He took her hand but didn’t shake it, merely grasped it and held on. His hand was large and warm, encompassing her own. The pad of his forefinger pressed lightly against her inner wrist.

“Does my brother make a habit of overworking minors?” he asked.

She flushed, the temporary trance inspired by his voice and touch fracturing. She knew she looked younger than her age, especially with her makeup faded from the mist and her hair curling around her face like a dark cloud. Besides, she
was
young for the position she held at Noble Enterprises as Ian’s right-hand woman. She was used to the observation, although it typically didn’t fluster as much as it did at the moment.

“I’m hardly a minor. Ian seems to find me capable enough for all my duties,” she said smoothly, arching her brows in a mild, amused remonstrance.

“No doubt.” She blinked at the steel of certainty in his tone. His finger moved on her wrist, and she suddenly pulled her hand away, afraid he’d notice the leap in her pulse.

“Actually, I’m twenty-eight,” she said.

“Isn’t that young for the position you hold at Noble Enterprises? I’ve heard the stories from Ian and Lucien and Francesca. He can’t seem to function without you,” he said.

She flushed at the compliment. “You might say I was groomed for the role. My grandmother was the vice president of finance for Noble. She got me regular summer internships during college and graduate school.”

“And one day you ended up in Ian’s lap?” he asked, silvery-gray eyes gleaming with what appeared to be a mixture of humor and interest. “Does your grandmother still work for Ian?”

“No. She passed two years ago this Christmas.”

Her breath stuck when he reached around her waist. Was he going to
touch
her? She jumped slightly when a chair leg made a scraping sound on the wood floor. She exhaled when she realized he was pulling back on the chair next to him so that she could sit.

“Our table is ready,” she explained.

“I’d rather eat at the bar.”

“Of course,” she said, refusing to be flustered. She set down her briefcase in the seat next to her and reached for her chair. A frown creased his brow and he stood. “Thank you,” she murmured, surprised when she realized he’d grudgingly stood to seat her. Maybe he wasn’t so rough around the edges, after all.

“You’re a cool one,” he said as he sat back down next to her, his jean-covered knees brushing her hip and thigh.

“What do you mean?”

He shrugged slightly, his eyes gleaming as he fixed her with his stare. “I thought you’d take offense to sitting at the bar.”

“Don’t you mean you’d hoped I would?” she challenged quietly. She transferred her gaze to Victor when the bartender approached, speaking before Kam had a chance to refute her. “Victor often serves me at the bar when I stumble in after a long day’s work. He takes good care of me,” she said.

“And it’s always a pleasure. The usual, Ms. Soong?” Victor asked.

“Yes, thank you. And will you please let Richard know he can give our table to someone else?”

Victor nodded, giving Kam a nervous, covetous glance before he walked away.

“Goodness, what did you do to that poor man?” Lin asked in a hushed tone, leaning her elbows against the bar and meeting Kam’s gaze with amusement.

“Nothing. I asked him to give me a beer.”

“That’s all?” Lin asked doubtfully.

He shrugged unconcernedly. “Maybe not. Might have said something like, ‘Forget all that crap and just give me a damn beer.’” He noticed her raised eyebrows. “He was trying to get me to buy some fancy drinks and two bites of food and a sprinkle on a plate.”

“Imagine him suggesting you eat and drink in a restaurant.”

Much to her surprise, he grinned widely, white teeth flashing against his dark skin. “The guy’s got balls, doesn’t he?”

Lin forced herself to look away from the magnetic sight of Kam Reardon’s smile. It was a tad devilish, no doubt, and full-out sexy, but there was also just a hint of shyness to him in that moment, as if his interest was unexpectedly piqued in meeting her. And like her, he hadn’t been prepared for it. It was potent stuff. Perhaps she could forgive Ian for not giving her warning about his half brother, but surely his new wife, Francesca—as a fellow female—should have hinted at something that might prepare her for the impact of Kam.

“Most people who belly up to the bar expect a friendly chat with the bartender,” she chided lightly.

“I’m not most people,” he said, watching her as he also placed his elbows on the bar and leaned forward, matching her pose.

“Yes. I think we’ve established that,” she murmured humorously, studying him with her chin brushing her shoulder. They sat close. Much closer than they would have if they’d been seated at a table. Their elbows touched lightly; their poses were intimate. Too much
so for having just met. She instinctively glanced downward, taking in his crotch and strong, jean-covered thighs.

Heat flooded her cheeks. She fixed her gaze blindly on the glassware hanging behind the bar.

She silenced the voice in her head telling her to lean back and gain perspective. Lin Soong didn’t hunch down over bars flirting with rugged, sexy men. His face fascinated her, though. She wanted to turn again and study it, the desire an almost magnetic pull on her attention. And . . . she could smell him. His scent was simple: soap and freshly showered male skin. No, it
should
have been simple, but was somehow light-headedly complex. Delicious.

“I wasn’t trying to insult you by saying I’d rather eat at the bar,” he said, referring to her earlier, subtle gibe that he’d intended to insult her. “I’m more comfortable here. I’m out of practice. I’m not used to places like this,” he said, glancing around without moving his head.

“I’m sorry,” she said, meaning it. With a sinking feeling, she thought of the schedule she had planned for him in the next few weeks. Ian had approved of it, but clearly Kam wouldn’t. Perhaps it’d be best to ease him into things, maybe just tell him about each appointment a day or two in advance so that he didn’t have time to dread them too much? “I wasn’t trying to be pretentious by asking you to meet here. Even though Savaur might seem upscale, I consider it the opposite. It’s almost like a second home for me. I’m good friends with the owners—they’re neighbors of mine, in fact.”