She thrashed again, spreading her legs wider. Then she plunged her fingers inside her drenched opening and bucked, whimpering.
Luc clutched the doorknob tighter. God, how badly he wanted to go in there and give her relief, put his mouth right over her aching clit until she came across his tongue, then plunge deep inside her pussy with unrelenting strokes. Once she’d come a half dozen times and taken the edge off his hunger, then he’d turn her over and use all her delicious lubrication to slide into her backside and linger there, thrusting slow, hard, deep.
Her muttering suddenly broke into his thoughts. She whispered, and he couldn’t make out her words. He wanted to—desperately. Needed to know. What was she thinking while she fucked herself ? Whom did she think of ?
Turning off the voice in his head that told him he was stupid to court danger, he shoved the door open another few inches and eased inside the shadowed corner. Her little bedside lamp spilled light across her body, illuminating golden skin, the pale blond strands of her shining hair—and her nearly bare pussy.
Again, she muttered something, and he still couldn’t hear. The suspense was killing him. The anxiety. Would Tyler’s name fall from her lips? Someone else’s?
“Fuck me . . .” she cried softly.
Damn, he wanted to, so, so badly. He scrubbed a hand down his face, then fastened his gaze on Alyssa again. He couldn’t stay away. Simply impossible. She was his weakness. His drug of choice.
Luc swallowed against the lust. He had to be strong. Once he married Emily—or someone like her—he couldn’t think about Alyssa, only about the wife who would make his every dream come true. He had to keep his dick out of the equation.
Step back. Shower; sleep; forget Alyssa.
Gritting his teeth for strength, Luc lifted a foot and set it behind him. But still he couldn’t leave. She had increased the tempo of her fingers over her clit. Now her hips thrashed. Her skin was flushed, and the air smelled like aroused female. Perspiration broke out between her breasts. She was the most beautiful, sexual creature he’d ever seen. And ever would. How was he supposed to walk away?
“Fuck me. Yes. Yes!” She moaned long and loud as she came. “Luc!”
She gasped his name? Shock burned him. Christ, he was about to come in his jeans.
Alyssa flopped back on the bed, eyes closed, breathing heavily. Luc stood still, transfixed, dick aching, heart racing.
Then she lifted her head and looked right at him. Heat arced between them for a heartbeat, two. Suddenly, an audacious smile shaped her lush mouth . . . just before she raised her hips to him in offering. “Please . . .”
Fire speared him. Leave or fuck her now—his only two options. Fucking her would be sublimely easy. And would do absolutely nothing to help him achieve the future he yearned for.
With a curse, he whirled out of her bedroom and raced into the bathroom, locking the door behind him. He leaned against it, every breath a harsh saw out of his chest. But the image of her self-pleasuring was burned into his brain, his name on her lips reverberating in his head.
How could he want someone so much who was so bad for him?
Shaking his head, he started the shower. One way or another, he needed relief now. If he was going to be smart and resist Alyssa, it was going to have to be by his own hand. Otherwise, he would never sleep. And be far too tempted to stalk into her bedroom and have her every way known to man.
Quickly, he dropped his clothes and stepped under the slowly warming spray without checking the water temperature first. He hissed at the cold, but his body was too overheated to care.
He rolled his shoulders under the spray, then grabbed his cock, trying to picture Emily—light brown hair, hazel eyes, apple-pie appeal. He knew she was kind and optimistic and eager for a family. But what would she look like without clothes? What kind of lover would she be?
Luc couldn’t picture her sexually at all.
But sex wasn’t everything. He enjoyed her sense of humor and friendship, her sweetness and . . . The idea of sex with her bored him.
A vision of Alyssa burst across his brain. His cock jumped in his hand, and he stroked it eagerly, hungrily.
Why her? Of course she was sexy. A man would have to be blind not to notice her beauty, the easy sway of her hips, those blue eyes that could tempt a man to sin. But today had shown him sides of Alyssa he hadn’t known.
She was smart and determined. Bonheur proved that. She’d done a great job building the restaurant, despite not knowing a lot about the business. And she was brave—maybe too much so for her own good. That knife a prank? He didn’t think so. But she’d taken it in stride. No drama, no tears, no hysteria. She was one cool customer. And she understood the people around her. Remy, Homer, Tyler, even the girls at her club. She seemed to know exactly what to say for maximum results.
All that only made him desire her more. Writing her off had been easier when he’d assumed she was just a good lay. Now . . . she revved him up on a whole new level. Damn it.
He stroked faster, tingles leaping up his cock. He swiped a thumb across the head and hissed in pleasure. His thighs tightened, and he clenched his jaw, picturing the way Alyssa had danced at rehearsal this afternoon, as if dancing for him alone. He envisioned her masturbating, fingering her way to orgasm, then lifting to him in invitation.
In his head, he again heard her beg him to fuck her. Pleasure soared. His hand moved faster on his turgid flesh, his rhythm and hold almost brutal. Need clawed its way from his balls, up his dick. Orgasm wasn’t far behind . . . and thoughts of Emily were long gone.
In that moment, pressure built and heated. It burst, Alyssa at the center of the storm. Clamping his lips shut, he groaned as orgasm slammed him, clenching his balls, cramping his stomach. Semen spurted into the porcelain tub, then washed with the water down the drain.
Luc leaned against the tile, more relaxed, but vaguely unsatisfied. Yes, he’d gotten off, but need still keyed him up. His hand was a lousy substitute for Alyssa.
He dropped his grip from his cock and turned off the shower. Damn, he felt worse now. Not high on lust anymore, but confused. Depressed. What the hell was the matter with him?
You want something you can’t have, the voice in his head taunted him. He’d tell it to shut up . . . but it was right.
Grabbing the shower curtain with an impatient fist, Luc thrust it back. To his shock, Alyssa stood three feet away, hip leaned against the vanity, a towel in her hand. She looked furious—and hurt.
“So, was that good for you?”
ALYSSA was still furious six hours later as she pounded on the punching bag hanging from the ceiling in her spare bedroom. With a grunt, she kicked it once, twice, then followed with a mean right hook.
What was Luc thinking? She’d offered herself to him—something she never did for any man—and he’d self-pleasured in the shower. Of course he thought she offered herself to anyone with a Y chromosome and didn’t understand that she’d invited him alone because he was special, because she thought . . . maybe there was something more between them than fabulous sex.
Stupid.
Another kick, another punch. Sweat rolled down her body. It wasn’t relieving her tension.
Before she’d guilted Luc into staying, he’d mentioned that he was dating someone else. The thought of him with another woman made her stomach tighten. Insecurity blindsided her. Was Luc sleeping with this woman? Did he want his new girlfriend more than he wanted her? Was he, God forbid, in love with her?