Free Past Midnight by Jasmine Haynes Page A

ready.”
    Something sparked in her eyes. “I’m ready for this.” Then she was the one pulling him up the stairs, taking the left fork. At the top, she started opening and closing doors. Until she found what she wanted and dragged him in.

7
    “DO IT HERE,” SHE DEMANDED.
    The aliveness of her emotions swamped him, reflected off the mirrored bathroom walls. She was everywhere, all around him, back, front, side, black velvet dress, stockings, high heels, red hair, scarlet cheeks and lips. He hauled her up on the pale blue marbled countertop between the twin sinks with gold taps. Amid fancy hand towels and baskets of soaps in the shape of dolphins, he shoved her skirt up her thighs, thrusting his hand between her legs.
    Question answered: thigh highs and thong panties. He pulled aside the crotch. “Christ, you’re wet.”
    She gripped his forearm with one hand and cradled the bulge of his cock. “And you’re hard.”
    He circled her clit, watched her lids drop. “You wanted to spread your legs for him.”
    “I wouldn’t have done it even if you’d begged me,” she challenged, the belligerence in her tone part of the game, an element of the seduction.
    He fit two fingers in her channel, found her G-spot, reveled in the gasp that fell from her lips. “You drooled looking at his cock. You wanted it.”
    She yanked his belt, unzipped his pants, and freed his cock. “You were afraid I’d say yes, then you wouldn’t have known what the hell to do.”
    He loved the fight in her and didn’t care why it enflamed him. “What if I’d told him to pay me to have a go at you?”
    She flooded his hand with moisture, her breath puffing. “He wouldn’t have enough money for what I’m worth.” She squeezed his cock, spread her legs wider, wrapped her calves around his ass to draw him in.
    “You would have done it for free, that’s how hot you were for him.”
    Fire blazed in her eyes, rushed across her skin. “You have no idea how hot I am.” She tugged his hand from her pussy and snugged his hips close, the tip of his cock grazing her clit. “Be a man,” she ordered. “Take care of my needs.” She narrowed her eyes. “Or I’ll go downstairs and find the man who can.”
    “He’s already found someone to replace you.” There would be no one ever to replace her.
    Hands on her butt, he impaled her. She gasped, and her head fell back, hair caressing his knuckles, eyes closed. The warmth of her enclosed him, filled him, renewed him.
    Bracing her hands on the counter behind her, she met his thrusts, forcing him deeper. “You can do better than that.”
    Part of him wanted to laugh. He’d needed her to talk to him, say something, anything, and, holy hell, she was, insulting him every which way. It was fucking hot for no apparent reason.
    “You can’t take it harder,” he growled.
    She wrapped one arm around him, pulled him close, and bit his shoulder through his shirt. “Excuses, excuses.”
    The mirror steamed with the close heat of their bodies. Someone knocked on the locked door. Her skin smelled like sweet champagne as if it oozed from her pores, and he felt his orgasm build in his balls.
    “You can’t do it,” she whispered as if it were a sweet nothing. “You can’t take me. You can’t make me come.” Yet she moaned, breathing harsh, eyes closed, and her fingers fisted in his hair so tightly his scalp ached. In that moment, her body squeezing his cock, his orgasm damn near shot out of control as the tremors of her climax threatened to drag him with her.
    But there was one last thing he had to have. Hand in her hair, pulling her head back, he took her mouth, forced his tongue past her lips, steeped himself in her taste, kissing her, devouring her.
    For the first time in over a year, she melded her mouth to his and kissed him back, deep, hard, breath-stealing, heart-pumping. And when he filled her, it was beyond giving her his essence, it was his heart and soul.
     
     
    THE NIGHT WAS SURREAL.