Wicked Burn(8)

His mouth nursed her through the brunt of her climax before he grabbed her hips and upper back and lowered her to the soft carpet. He tugged her panties over her feet and pushed her thighs wide until her black pumps thumped against either side of the narrow hallway.

He dived between her legs, his stiffened tongue immediately plunging into her *, driving deep and hard.

“Ahahahahah,” Niall cried out in ecstasy as her orgasm kicked up its initial strength and her throat and jaw vibrated with the potent blasts of pleasure coursing through her.

Vic drowned himself in her, loving every second of it. He could die happy with the taste of her filling his mouth and running down his throat. Her narrow channel was drenched with sweet, flavorful cream. Without thinking about what he was doing, mindless with pure lust, he ran his finger below his piercing tongue, spreading her juices along her perineum. Her honey already slicked the taut crevice of her butt cheeks and the tiny, puckered entrance of her *.

He heard the change in her whimpers and cries when he pushed the tip of his finger into that tight opening. For a few seconds, his lust convinced him to ignore the rising tension in her sleek body as he gently probed her. She gripped him in a smooth, hot clamp.

But he could ignore reality for only so long.

Vic’s muscles clenched so rigidly it felt like they would break. He muttered a foul curse and pushed himself up into a sitting position.

“You should go.”

He heard her panting breath cease abruptly at his harsh statement, but he didn’t relent. He couldn’t. If he so much as looked at her at that moment, he would undoubtedly live to regret it.

Niall blinked heavily when her good friend Anne Rothman spoke. She felt like she’d been living in a daze for the past week and a half. The din of the crowded restaurant blended into a lulling white background noise. The Art was one of her and Anne’s favorite places to duck in for a quick bite after work. The museum was only blocks away and the Metropolitan Art Institute, where Anne was the Dean of Students, was just two buildings down from the restaurant. They’d come early tonight, so The Art bustled with the pre-theater crowd.

“I thought that salad was your favorite thing on The Art’s menu,” Anne managed between bites of seafood linguine. She pointed her fork at the enormous, untouched salad that sat in front of Niall. “Eat, girl! You look like you’ve lost five pounds since you came back from Tokyo, and you couldn’t afford to lose one ounce.” She shoved another forkful of pasta into her mouth. “You were gone for only a week. What . . . did you catch a bug or something?”

“No, of course not,” Niall replied as she picked up a heavy silver salad fork and unfolded a linen napkin. “I was just really busy getting things ready for the exhibit, that’s all.” She referred to her job as the Curator of the Department of Nineteenth Century, Modern, and Contemporary Art. She traveled quite a bit for her job, viewing collections everywhere in the world and negotiating for pieces for the exhibitions she planned. Her trip to Tokyo had been unusual in that her main contact hadn’t been with a museum, but with a wealthy industrialist who owned a vast collection of Cezanne, Picasso, and Vollard paintings.

“That was quite a coup for you to get those paintings lent for the exhibit, wasn’t it?” Anne asked as she tore apart a steaming roll.

“Yes. Most of Nakamura’s paintings haven’t been shown publicly in almost half a century. I could have done an exhibit with his collection alone. As it is, the addition of his paintings is going to make the show in April spectacular. Mac is thrilled,” she admitted, referring to her boss, Alistair McKenzie.

Both women looked up when the waiter asked them if they needed anything. Anne ordered another glass of wine, but Niall had hardly touched her first glass.

“So what’s wrong, then?” Anne asked once the waiter left, threading his way through the crowd in order to get to the bar. Before Niall had the chance to answer, Anne leaned forward in the booth. “Did you go to Evergreen Park? Is that why you’re so preoccupied?”

“No. I just got back from Tokyo yesterday morning. I’m just a little jet-lagged, that’s all,” Niall answered evasively.

“Has there been any change in his condition?”

Niall chewed her food slowly, not overly eager to start this line of conversation at the moment . . . never eager to do so. That was why so few of her acquaintances knew much about her past. But she’d been close with Anne since the older woman had been her advisor back when they both were at Northwestern, Niall as a graduate student and Anne as a professor.

She took a small sip of wine before she spoke.

“Have you forgotten that I’m no longer in a position to get regular updates?”

“I’m too thrilled about it to have forgotten. I just thought I recognized that expression on your face,” Anne said grimly.

Niall set down her wine glass and sighed. “Apparently it’s going to take a while before everyone else gets used to the fact. Evergreen Park did call yesterday. There’s been another relapse. Dr. Fardesh decided to make another significant medication change.”

Anne winced slightly. “Again? You know as well as I do, Niall, that he’s got to want to get better.” She took a drink of her ice water, trying to calm her overwhelming urge to vent her personal opinion on the matter fully. Niall had heard it before, and she didn’t need to hear it again.