Free A French Whipping by Nicole Camden Page A

the set of her jaw and the way she fiddled with the scarf she wore to cover the worst of the scars around her neck. He hated the way she tried to hide them, as if she was ashamed. She had nothing to be ashamed of, was beautiful regardless of the damage, but when she was nervous, or lying about something, she always touched her neck. “You’re lying.” He frowned. “Why would you be lying to me?”
    She straightened. “I wouldn’t lie to you.”
    She rarely lied about anything important, but she did lie, and usually to aggravate him. “My ass.”
    She gave him a one-shouldered shrug. “Fine. The truth is that I met someone else.”
    She did better this time, meeting his eyes, but he still wasn’t buying it. “Blake.” He leaned closer. “Tell me what’s going on.”
    She leaned closer as well, until they were staring into each other’s eyes. She was breathing too fast, and so was he. “Make me,” she said slowly, enunciating each word, and Nick felt his control snap like fishing line under high tension.
    He slid his hand into her hair, holding her still while he took her mouth. She tasted like olives and vodka, but her tongue was silky and sweet as it tangled with his. He bit her bottom lip gently, sliding it through his teeth before plundering again, drawing her closer and closer. She turned, angling her body more fully toward his, and he slid his thigh between her legs, drawing her against him.
    He’d always imagined it would be like this: Blake writhing in his arms, all long limbs and soft curves, her mouth lush and eager against his. Sliding his hand from her hair, he slid it down her back to grip the curve of her hip, urging her against him.
    She tugged her head away. “Nick—” She licked her lips. He couldn’t help it; he seized the back of her head again and took her mouth, letting the taste of her burn him far more than the whiskey.
    He didn’t notice the hand she pressed against his chest at first, but when she slid it between them to take his package in a grip that was just shy of too firm, he gasped and pulled his mouth from hers.
    She released him as soon as he stepped back a little—much to his disappointment.
    “Wow,” she gasped and picked up her martini, downing the contents in a long swallow. “I wasn’t expecting that.”
    Nick waited tensely, knowing that she hadn’t missed the rock-hard cock pressing against the fly of his jeans. He’d known exactly what it would be like if he ever let himself touch Blake the way he wanted to.
    When he didn’t say anything, she picked up his scotch and finished it off as well, coughing a little at the burn. She straightened, standing and leaning close enough that her full breasts brushed against his chest. He closed his eyes as she leaned close and kissed the underside of his jaw.
    “Let’s go to your apartment,” she said into his ear, and he fought the urge to seize her again.
    Incapable of speech, he fished his wallet out of his pocket and dropped three twenties on the bar. She grinned at him when he looked pointedly at the door.
    With a graceful toss of her head, she walked ahead of him toward the door, the bottom of her trench coat flaring behind her. Nick followed her, his eyes on the sway of her bottom as she strode ahead of him.
    Outside, a light mist had begun to fall. She turned to him as she stepped onto the sidewalk, light from a nearby streetlamp shining on her golden hair.
    “Did you walk or drive?” Her voice was breathless. She didn’t wait for him to answer, but gripped both of his hands and pulled him toward her for another kiss.
    Nick was more than happy to oblige, sliding his hands into her hair and planting kiss after kiss on those plump, willing lips, his desire unraveling inside him with every touch of her mouth, every gasp that he wrung from her quivering, eager body. She did want him, even if it was only to get laid.
    He drew her close and held her tightly, whispering against her ear. “I walked,” he said