Taking Control (Kerr Chronicles #2)(31)
Author: Jen Frederick

“And the gentleman?”

“He’s had enough to drink.”

“Very good, sir.”

Within moments, DeWight is back with a leather-padded folio. Inside, I scrawl my name under the charges. Ten grand per bottle. I shake my head. Kaga is probably laughing his ass off somewhere. No wonder DeWight is so obsequious.

I alert Steve that we’re ready. Tucking Tiny’s hand in my arm, I take her out into the lobby. I finally get to see her fully. She’s wearing black, wide-legged tuxedo pants paired with a black lace cropped top. A minute amount of skin flashes below the hem. The small glimpses of flesh only serve to heighten my awareness of her lithe body.

“Did I see that receipt right?” she asks in astonishment.

“If you saw that Kaga is charging a kidney for his cheap twelve-year reserve whiskey, then yes, you saw it right.”

“That’s his cheap whiskey?” Her eyebrows are at the top of her head.

“There’s a thirty-year reserve. I think it runs around one hundred grand per bottle.”

“I couldn’t even drink it, knowing it cost that much.”

“How much it costs sometimes directly influences how much you like it. Or so says Kaga. But in truth, there’s a big difference in the age of the whiskey. The older it is, the smoother, deeper, and richer the flavors. It’s an experience. I have a couple. Gifts from Kaga. We’ll have a tasting contest at home some night.”

“Oh no.” She laughs. I see Steve pull up in front of the hotel.

As I’m leading her down the exterior stairs to the street, I whisper, “I’m going to pour it onto your br**sts and lick it off drop by drop, and then I’ll drench your pu**y in it and suck you until I’m full of you and rich whiskey.”

She shivers and nearly stumbles as we climb into the backseat. I hit the button for the privacy screen and I’m on her before it’s even halfway up, before the door is even closed, because I can’t wait for one more minute. I kiss her mouth, invading that wet recess with my tongue.

My hands are busy, sweeping up under her shirt. She’s braless again. Her ni**les are stiff peaks against my fingers. Pushing her down against the cool leather seat, I shove up her top until her br**sts are exposed. The lights of the city flash against her pale skin, turning her red, blue, and then dark in the shadows. Some night we’re going to go up on the rooftop and make love there, with the city night using her as a canvas to paint out the story of our midnight excursion.

I suck one hard nipple into my mouth and tease its companion with my fingers, but I’m ravenous for both. With my hands curving around her br**sts, I push the two globes together, pinching her ni**les and laving each of them until she’s panting and gripping my hair in her fingers. Her hips thrust anxiously against me.

“Are you wearing panties?” I ask, fumbling with the button and then the zip of her pants. Underneath, I encounter thin silk. I need to be inside her, to reassure myself of her presence in my life, to reaffirm our love for each other.

“A thong,” she gasps, then gives a high, keening cry when my fingers find exactly how wet she is. Her inner thighs are damp with her need. I rub lightly over her clit and then separate her folds with two fingers. “Ian, please,” she says, but I want to hear exactly what she desires. Her lower lips feel swollen against the pads of my fingers, and I rub her lightly, enjoying the miniscule shudders each feathery touch invokes.

“What is it that you want?” I whisper into her ear. Through the fabric of my shirt, I can feel her turgid ni**les, but it’s not enough. I want her bare skin against mine. I want to sink balls-deep into her hot, steamy cunt. “Unbutton my shirt, bunny. I need to feel your br**sts against me.”

Tiny tugs the shirt out of my pants and her fingers fumble with my buttons, unfastening two and then skipping one because the shirt is bunched up. She strokes her hands over my pectorals and the ridges of my abdomen. Her fingers hook around my sides.

“What’d you call these again?” She rubs her thumbs over the crest of the muscles.

“Obliques.”

“They are so sexy,” she says and then pushes up on her elbows and licks one from its tip to the point where it disappears into my pants.

“We’re wearing too many clothes,” I bite out. She’s running her tongue along my waistband, and my c**k eagerly pushes against the fabric, wanting in her sweet mouth. I sift my fingers through her hair and hold her head as she explores my body with her nimble fingers and clever tongue. My c**k throbs in anticipation. “We should join a nudist colony.”

I can feel her mouth curve into a smile against my ribs. “You’d let other men see me naked?” she asks coyly, knowing that I would never.

Tumbling her back against the car cushions, I bury my face in her neck. “Never. We’ll go to the Maldives. Kaga has a resort there. We’ll rent a villa and stay for a month. Clothes will be banned, and we’ll do nothing but eat, sleep, and make love. My c**k should be inside you 24/7.”

“Is that even possible? Could you stay hard that long?” Her giggles send puffs of air skittering across my scalp.

“If I was in your pu**y? How can you even doubt it?” I grind my erection into the vee of her legs to show her how ready I am and always will be for her.

When the car comes to a halt for longer than thirty seconds, I realize we must be home. Reluctantly, I pull down her shirt and fasten her pants so that we don’t give Steve a show. Tiny is familiar enough with me by now that she realizes I truly don’t like anyone else seeing her lovely body. A base part of me which I try to ignore would like to dress her in a shroud, covering her from head to toe so that no one else can even look into her eyes.

Alone and in our home, she would remove that shroud, slowly disrobing, revealing each part of her body—from her elegant ankles to her erotic eyes—and I would revel in the fact that only I would see her.

I don’t bother with the buttons to my shirt. This whole outfit will be trashed and a new suit will be sent as a replacement to Kaga.

“Thanks, Steve,” I say, helping Tiny out of the car. She ducks her head, still embarrassed by the fact that Steve knows we have sex.

“Thanks,” she mumbles and then hurries into the warehouse.

He shakes his head. “Nothing like Barbara,” he mutters referring to the exhibitionist. Steve had been the recipient of her attentions a while back as well.

“Barbara? I thought her name was Bettina.”