“Crawford?” Sherman’s voice was a vague echo in the background. My focus was trained completely on my million-dollar baby, her body the siren distracting me from my previous obsession. She was all that mattered. Everything else faded into nothingness.
“I was just in the shower and, well, all that hot water was washing over my skin with the most delicious pressure, and it made me think about your body pressed against mine and that magical thing you do with your fingers … and your tongue …” She closed her eyes and reclined her head while caressing her bare throat with one hand, the other slipping between her legs as she sighed. “I need you to touch me.”
“Helloooo? Are you still there, Crawford?”
I shook off the haziness the best I could and cleared my throat as I forced myself to look away from her. “Um, yeah. I have someone, er, something to do. Call me first thing in the morning.”
I didn’t wait for a response before I hung up the phone. He’d call me because he wanted to get paid. And I figured I’d gone more than two weeks without knowing the information I wanted, so surely I could wait ten more hours.
With lightning speed, I was standing in front of Delaine with both hands fisted on the door frame above her. I didn’t dare touch for fear I might bruise or break her. “You can’t fucking say stuff like that without—”
Unable to finish my thought because she was standing there, all sinfully naked and smelling wickedly aroused, I lost all resolve and sank down on one knee, perching one of her delicate feet on my shoulder before I leaned in to give her the tongue-lashing of her life. Of course it was merely a punishment for interrupting such an important business call. It was going to hurt me far worse than it was going to hurt her.
Yeah, even I called bullshit.
“Uh-uh-uh.” She pushed ever so slightly on my shoulder with the spiked heel of her shoe to force me to sit back away from her. “So I was just wondering … You don’t happen to play piano, do you? Because I found this sexy little black number downstairs, in what I assume is your music room, and I was thinking about how incredibly erotic it would be if I were to be, oh, I don’t know—on display for you while you played for me. I mean, take a look at this black tie. I am dressed formally, after all.”
’Nuff motherfucking said.
Without uttering a word—because, like I said, none were needed—I threw her over my shoulder and headed toward what she so adequately called my music room. The acoustics in there were even better than the acoustics in the foyer, and I couldn’t wait to hear the echo of her screaming my name. And she would definitely scream.
Lanie
Men were so predictable.
All I had to do was show up virtually naked and insinuate I wanted a little bit of attention, and I had him eating out of the palm of my hand. Well, maybe it wasn’t exactly the palm of my hand that he wanted to eat out of, but either way, I got the desired result.
I’d been thinking about the whole cheating-whore-of-an-ex-girlfriend thing that Polly had told me about earlier, and I was determined to shower him with the attention he craved, to make sure he knew that I was all about him. Because when it came right down to it, that was the whole reason he’d stooped so low as to buy a woman in the first place. I was a sure thing: guaranteed to cater to his every whim and desire, guaranteed to want him and only him.
Not that I was complaining. Sure, I should have been disgusted with myself for basically being a willing participant, and I was—to an extent. But I was a woman with needs that I hadn’t ever realized I had before all this began, needs that were most certainly being met by a man who under normal circumstances would’ve been able to get me into his bed without having to ask twice. Besides, I’d signed on for this, right? I’d known what I was getting myself into. Actually enjoying the “work” had to be an added perk. I mean, I could’ve just as easily been stuck with Jabba the Hut.
The Cooch was nodding emphatically in agreement until I had to go and mention that fat, nasty bastard, which sent a shiver down her spine.
Noah threw me over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes and I giggled like a school girl when he turned his face and nipped me on the ass with those gorgeous white teeth of his. Apparently I wasn’t the only one with an ass-biting fetish.
We finally made it into the music room. I could tell because his saber-toothed purr had become more like a constant humming vibration that I not only heard but felt. As gently as he could, he sat me on top of his baby grand and stood between my parted knees.
“This what you had in mind?” His voice was a deep, sultry rumble that traveled through his body and out through his hands, which were perched on the piano on either side of me. I actually felt the vibration of it against my girlie bits, making me reminisce about my new bestie, the Crawford bullet.
“Actually, I was thinking something more along the lines of you sitting on the bench, letting those talented fingers of yours molest the ivories,” I said while running my hands up and down his chest. “You think you can do that for me, Noah? Play me a little something inspired by the vision of my … your … pussy?”
I pressed my lips to his reverently, but he made no move. He was still as a statue, an Adonis of a statue. I had begun to think that maybe my dirty talking hadn’t come off as sultry as I’d hoped when he leaned in closer to my ear and whispered.
“Delaine?”
“Hmm?”
“I think I just came a little.” Before I could formulate a response, he pulled away abruptly and went to sit on the piano bench.
With my chin perched on my shoulder and angled toward him, I watched his hands softly skate over the keys without making a sound. The look in his eyes was one of pure awe and concentration, a man who obviously revered his instrument. I couldn’t blame him; I thought his “instrument” was pretty awe-inspiring myself.
He licked his lips and shifted to a more comfortable position before he looked back at me expectantly. “You promised you’d provide the inspiration if I’d play.”
One problem: if I tried to swing my ass around on his glossy piano, which was nowhere near as slick as it looked, it was more than probable that there would be some skin squeakage. And I just didn’t know if my dignity could handle a major blow of embarrassment like that when I was trying to be sexy and seductive. So I did the only thing I could.
I hopped down, amazingly remaining upright on the insanely high hooker heels that I was wearing (the Cooch had picked them out because they matched the nearly-there outfit), and then strutted my nearly naked ass toward Noah, channeling every runway walker I could remember from the countless fashion shows my mom had forced me to watch.