The Price Of Scandal(59)

Her breath caught in her throat, and I savored that small noise.

I needed to remember my place. I wasn’t here to ravage my client, lovely and irresistible as she was.

“What’s going through that mind of yours?” Emily asked, placing a hand on my chest. Oh, so proper. I could feel the years of etiquette and dance lessons in that delicate, restraining motion.

“Darling, I don’t think you really want to know.”

Her nostrils flared delicately like a doe scenting danger. “I think I really do,” she said quietly.

She wasn’t soft or pliable. Emily Stanton was a challenge. A razor-edged, high-walled challenge. And there wasn’t anything in this life that I enjoyed more.

“I’m thinking about tearing these to shreds,” I said, running a hand up her back, across her flesh, to finger the off-the-shoulder strap draped over her arm. “Then chasing you into some dark corner and watching your dress fall off those perfect breasts.”

Her eyes narrowed, the glassy blue-gray of them sparkling at me from under her thick lashes. Her lips parted a fraction of an inch, and I could envision them, pearly pink and plump, wrapped around the head of my cock.

I hardened at the speed of light. And I knew if she didn’t let me into her bed tonight, I’d end up breaking my rule and spend an hour in the shower jerking off to every fantasy I’d crafted around Ms. Emily Stanton.

We were closer than appropriate. People were looking at us. And for once, I didn’t care.

“Are you just trying to sell the story, Price?” she asked, her voice husky.

“I’m trying to get into your bed,” I confessed, brushing my lips against her earlobe. Was she this smooth, this soft everywhere? I needed to find out.

“That’s against the rules,” she reminded me. “You’ve never taken a client to bed before. Unless, of course, that was a line.”

I shook my head, letting my hand on her back skim down to rest on the subtle upper curve of her ass. “No line, love. I haven’t before. But I’ll live to regret it if you don’t let me touch you.”

Our grip on each other’s hands tightened.

I wanted to pull her against me, to press my hard-on into the flesh of her belly. To show her exactly what it was that she did to me.

The swell of her breasts moved with her breath. “I can’t believe dinner with my dysfunctional family didn’t turn you off,” she said lightly. She was turning it all around in that big brain of hers. Weighing decisions. Measuring data.

I was so hard I was afraid to breathe too deeply. My long-denied orgasm was on a hair trigger. And I realized I wanted to give her a sliver of the love and respect that her family should have been providing for years. The people who were supposed to love her and protect her were the ones inflicting the most damage. I wanted to fix it. To be what she needed.

“You’re even more miraculous than I thought,” I confessed. “To come from that?” I nodded in the direction of where Byron and Trey were glaring at each other over the second empty bottle.

“I didn’t come out unscathed,” she assured me with a laugh. “I’m mean. Aggressive. Cold.”

“You’re fucking terrifying,” I agreed.

She laughed, delighted. My cock twitched between us, and I had the pleasure of watching her eyes widen.

“What’s more important to you, Derek? Your rules or your carnal urges?” she asked, her voice a low purr in her throat. I wanted to kiss my way up that slim column and nip at the skin behind her ear. I wanted to sample her, then gorge myself on her. She wasn’t scared or wounded anymore. She was a survivor.

“Having you is what I require to stay alive. A man could die of starvation.”

“Are you pressuring me?”

I shook my head. “I don’t mean to, but yes.”

“Sex isn’t some kind of spontaneous act. Not in my world,” she explained. “Blood tests, birth control, a controlled environment, a non-disclosure agreement for both parties.” She ticked off the items.

“Who knew billions of dollars could ruin the joy of sex?” I mused.

“You tease, but in my position, I have to be more careful than the average woman.”

“You fascinate me.”

“What? No ‘you know you can trust me’ statement?” she asked. She said it teasingly, but there was a heavy history there. One didn’t guard her position that carefully without having been burned before.

“Emily, the only thing I require from you is the permission to make you orgasm as many times as possible in whatever time you’re willing to give me.”

Her pupils dilated, and I felt her breath hot on my chin. I wanted to lean in and devour her whole in the midst of the glitz and glam and propriety.

“Tell me you don’t want me,” I whispered, begging her to lie to me. “Tell me you don’t want to know what it feels like to have me buried inside you, telling you how perfect you are, how good you feel. Tell me you don’t want to let me make you come until you’re boneless and breathless. Tell me you don’t want to be worshipped just for being a woman.”

“Jesus, Derek,” she breathed.

“I want you, Emily. But I don’t just want sex. I want to strip you down, layer by layer, and see you. Really see you.”