Taking Liberties (Like a Boss Book 3) Page 4

  After a while, he rolls so I’m under him, and kisses me until I’m aching for more. Then he lifts his head, takes my hand, and moves it between my legs.

  “Show me,” he murmurs.

  I feel suddenly, idiotically shy. Stimulating yourself while having sex is one thing, especially when the guy is so busy thrusting away he hardly notices. Doing it while you’re being watched by a gorgeous fella is something else. But I don’t want to admit this, so I slip my fingers down over my soft skin and into my swollen, slippery folds.

  Propped on an elbow, Caleb leans over to pick up the condom he’d left on the bedside table, tears off the wrapper, and rolls it on. Then he settles beside me, his hot gaze sliding down my body to where my fingers are moving between my legs.

  I close my eyes, concentrating on the sensations rippling through me as I circle a finger over my clit. Mmm, that feels good, and now Caleb’s hands are on me, trailing over my skin, his thumbs brushing my nipples, and it’s as if his touch sends an electric shock straight through to where my fingers are. I give a sigh that turns into a moan, and he leans over and kisses me, continuing to tease a nipple with his thumb.

  His kisses make me melt—I’ve never been kissed with such tenderness and passion. Ohhh, it’s not going to take me long to come like this. Already I can feel my muscles starting to tighten, and I moan again, causing him to lift his head and watch me.

  “Oh yeah,” he says with satisfaction, “make yourself come for me. I want to watch you.”

  I bite my bottom lip, thinking that I can’t do it to order in front of this man, but it’s too late, I’m climaxing, and I gasp as muscles deep inside me contract in thick, fast pulses. I can feel his eyes on me while it’s happening, and I burn under the heat of his gaze.

  Even before I’ve finished, I feel him move, and I wait for him to mount me and take his pleasure—which I’d welcome with every cell in my body. But he doesn’t. Instead, he kisses down me, over my breasts, my stomach, then he shifts between my legs and lowers himself there. I’m still quivering from my orgasm, and I stare up at the ceiling in disbelief as he kisses up my thigh and then strokes his tongue through my folds.

  I groan and cover my face with my hands. This is unbelievable. Maybe he really is a gigolo, and my fairy godmother has decided I need a treat and has paid him to visit me. Because he can’t be for real. Surely?

  I’m sensitive down there, and he obviously understands that, because he brushes his tongue against my skin gently, avoiding my clit and instead sliding his tongue down. I slip my hand into his hair and let my thighs fall wide, abandoning myself to his ministrations. Mmm, it feels warm and so pleasurable, like taking a bath, and I lie there for ages as he takes his time exploring me with his mouth and fingers, until I’m sighing, pleasure building inside me once again.

  Finally, he lifts up, moves over me, and presses the tip of his erection through my folds. I’m so wet and swollen that he has no problem sliding inside me, and he settles down and kisses me while he starts moving slowly.

  I wish I could describe to him how different this is for me, but I know he’ll never understand. I can only gaze into his eyes and let him carry me to the edge, where we both eventually tip over within moments of each other, sighing and shuddering and clenching, and drinking in our sighs as we kiss and our tongues continue to play until our bodies go limp.

  Caleb stays there for ages, kissing me, but eventually he has to withdraw, and he lifts off and curls around me, pulling me back into his arms. We lie like that for a while, not saying much, just reveling in the other’s warmth, listening to the sounds of the city at night, and watching the moon rise through the gap in the curtains.

  “What does this mean?” he asks at one point, tracing the tattoo on my arm with his fingers.

  “It’s Sanskrit—it’s the word ‘Bhakti’. It means devotion.”

  I don’t want to say to what or to whom, and he doesn’t ask. I’m glad in one way, but in another it makes me sad. We’re not confidantes. We’re not lovers, in the traditional sense of the word. We came together—literally and metaphorically—for physical release, and beyond that, we have no connection that will last once he sets foot outside the door.

  I’m not going to complain, though. When I asked him back, I knew what was going to happen. I wasn’t expecting flowers and proposals, and he was fantastic in bed, so it’s a win-win situation.

  He stirs, checks his phone, and then sighs and sits up. “I’d better get going.”

  “Sure.” Nothing lasts forever, I tell myself, pushing away my disappointment.

  We rise, dress, and go into the living room, and he picks up his wallet and jacket. At the door he pauses, turns, and wraps his arms around me, taking me by surprise. “Mmm,” he murmurs, the sound rumbling in his chest and vibrating through me. “That was a fucking fantastic evening.”

  I laugh. “It was.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Thank you. You were amazing.”

  He laughs again. “I’m glad you enjoyed yourself.” He moves back, slides a finger beneath my chin, and lifts it so he can kiss me, long and lingering.

  Then he drops his hand and studies me. What’s he waiting for?

  He’s not going to ask to see you again, I tell myself. We’re not right for each other at all, and we both know that. This was never going to be a long-term thing.

  His gaze slides down me, then returns to my face. His eyes glimmer with something like amusement.

  “What are you doing tomorrow?” he asks.

  I stare at him. “Um… Nothing.”

  “Wanna come to a party?”

  I blink. “Harry and Gaby’s?”

  “Yeah. It’s a plus-one invitation, but I was going alone.” His gaze slips to my mouth. “I’d love you to come with me, though.”

  I can’t believe it. He’s asking me on a date?

  “I…”

  His gaze returns to mine, and he smiles. “Please?”

  Well, how the hell can I say no to that? “Okay.”

  His smile spreads to a grin. “I’ll pick you up at six-thirty?”

  “Sure.” My heart hammers, but I put a hand on my hip and act as if gorgeous classy guys like him ask me to posh parties all the time.

  Caleb’s lips twitch, but he just says, “See you then,” and he opens the door and walks out, giving me one final glance over his shoulder.

  I close the door. I stand there for a moment, then walk into the center of the room and stand there instead.

  I look at the sofa, then down at where Caleb and I had sex on the carpet. I glance at the bedroom, and think about how he went down on me, treating me as if I were a princess, taking all the time in the world to arouse me.

  Oh my God, I’m going on a date.

  I squash a wave of panic. I’m as good as any of the people who are going to be there, and I’m not going to let them intimidate me. The people at Hearktech are all lovely and friendly—I have nothing to worry about.

  I rub my face, overwhelmed by all these conflicting emotions. It’s late, and I’m tired, and really I should get to bed. But I have a hundred words left to write on my latest assignment, and I wanted to get it done tonight. I cross over to where my laptop rests on the small table against the wall, and I sit in the wonky chair, press the button, and study the screen when it lights up.

  I think of Caleb’s mouth on mine, the beautiful way he kisses.

  Smiling, I start to type.

  Chapter Nine

  Caleb

  Sebastian calls me mid-afternoon the next day. I’m lying on my couch in a rare moment of inaction, eating a sandwich and daydreaming about last night while I watch an episode of Mad Men.

  “Just checking whether you need a lift to Harry’s,” Seb says.

  “Nah,” I tell him, “I’m good. I’m picking up my date on the way.”

  “Date? Did you get back with Felicity again?”

  “Fuck, no. I’m bringing Roxie.”

  Seb laughs. “The chic
k with the black spiky hair? Wow, you move fast.”

  “Seems to be a theme at Hearktech.”

  “Yeah, point taken. So… you’re bringing her to the party. Are you sure about this?”

  “I asked her and she said yes, so yeah, I’m sure.”

  “I meant—”

  “I know what you meant.” I finish the last mouthful of sandwich and shove the plate away across the coffee table.

  “Caleb, I’m sorry.” Seb sounds genuinely remorseful. “I didn’t mean anything by the comment. It’s just that she’s not your usual type.”

  “That’s why I like her.” I sigh. I can’t be annoyed at him. We’ve been friends for too long, and we’ve looked out for each other for years. “I know she’s a bit… unusual. But I like that. I don’t want another Felicity. I’m tired of women who are like rotten apples—all beautiful on the outside and bitter under the skin. Roxie doesn’t pretend to be who she isn’t, you know? I don’t have to look beneath the surface of her words to try to make out what she’s saying. It’s refreshing. I like her.”

  Seb laughs. “Hey, you’ve convinced me. I look forward to talking to her more. Just… be careful, eh? We’ve been worried about you the last few months.”

  It’s a rare moment of heartfelt honesty. As guys, we rarely talk about our feelings, but I know my friends were concerned when I broke up with Felicity. I took it hard, and I retreated into my shell for a while.

  I don’t know what to say to this show of affection, though, so I opt for humor, like we always do. “What the fuck? You want to share a tub of cookie dough ice cream now?”

  He chuckles. “Yeah, all right. Catch you later.”

  “See ya.” I hang up and toss the phone onto the sofa.

  I lay back and look up at the ceiling. I know what Seb was trying to say. I’m sure that beneath Roxie’s sassy image I’ve glimpsed a young woman who’s much more vulnerable than she makes out, but the truth is that I don’t know her at all. She could be the kind of girl who uses guys then dumps them when she’s bored with them. It’s obvious from the way she asked me back to her place without flinching that she’s had a few partners, and maybe she’s only interested in sex.

  So why did she agree to go out with me today?

  I remember the look on her face while I made love to her—the disbelief and the almost-wonder that lit her eyes. I’m convinced she’d thought that all guys treat women like objects. It’s possible if her parents were from a rough background that she’s never seen a loving relationship apart from at the movies.

  Not that I’m taking it upon myself to change her view. I’m not excited by the thought of forever either, and I don’t think I’ve recovered enough from Felicity to desire a long-term partner yet.

  But that doesn’t mean we can’t have some fun. There’s a middle ground between a one-night stand and putting your ring on a girl’s finger, and I don’t see any harm in walking that road for a while.

  *

  At just before six-thirty, I buzz Roxie’s apartment.

  “It’s me,” I say when she answers.

  “Come in,” she replies. I go up to her floor and along to her door, which opens as I approach.

  I stop dead, a few feet from the door, and stare at her. She’s wearing only a bra and a pair of skimpy panties, and she beckons her finger, pressing herself up against the doorpost alluringly.

  “Come here, big boy,” she murmurs, running her tongue along her top lip.

  For a moment, I’m tempted. Harry won’t mind if I’m late—we all follow the rule that sex comes before everything except Hearktech.

  But something’s not right. Her hair isn’t pinned up and spiky—she’s washed and brushed it so it’s shiny, and she’s attempted to flick the ends under like a bob. She’s also missing her black eye makeup and bright lipstick. She looks like a darker version of Felicity. It makes my skin prickle.

  “Why aren’t you dressed?” I say without moving.

  She pouts. “I thought you might want to indulge before we go.” But there’s a glimmer of panic in her eyes.

  I stride past her and go through to her bedroom. Every piece of clothing she must own is laid in a pile on her bed.

  “Caleb!” She runs to catch me up. “That’s so fucking rude.”

  “Yeah, yeah. What’s up, Roxie?”

  Her lips part, and then her shoulders sag. “I don’t have anything to wear.”

  “Every woman has said that since the dawn of time. Of course you have things to wear. Wear what you wore last night.”

  “Jesus, don’t you know anything about women? Colette and Gaby saw me last night.”

  “And you care what they think?”

  Her mouth opens and closes again. She does care. Holy shit.

  “I know what kind of do this is going to be,” she says. “Everyone’s going to be in pantsuits or silky skirts and blouses. Nobody’s going to be wearing tight jeans and cropped tops or leather. I don’t fit, Caleb.”

  “I’m not taking you because you fit.”

  “So, what, you’re taking me so you can parade me like a freak show? Does it give you kudos to turn up with a bit of rough?”

  Anger flares within me, and I go to yell at her not to be so fucking insulting. But then I see her eyes flare. She’s trying to provoke me. She thinks if we argue, I’ll walk out and she won’t have to go.

  My anger vanishes, to be replaced by pity and a flicker of affection. “I’m taking you because I like you and I want you to be my date.” I move closer to her and bend my head so I can brush my lips against hers. “Yes, I want people to see us together, because you’re beautiful and feisty and fun to be with. You’ve brought me back to life, Roxie, as sure as if you’ve given me mouth to mouth. I want to be with you. There will be food and wine, and music. My friends will be there, and I want to share you with them. I want to dance with you, and then I want you to come back to my place and spend the night with me.”

  I surprise myself—I hadn’t intended to ask her that, but as soon as the words are out, I realize it’s what I want.

  She stares at me, bemused. “Spend the night with you?”

  “Yes. I have a collection of guitars, including a Rickenbacker.”

  “Holy shit, really?”

  “Yes. I thought you might like to see them. And I thought we might have sex, too.”

  Her look turns to amusement. “Oh you did, did you? Talk about taking liberties.”

  “You don’t want sex?”

  “Yes,” she murmurs, “yes, I do want to have sex with you.”

  I kiss her. “Then get dressed, and we’ll go and have a great evening.”

  Chapter Ten

  Roxie

  I come out of the bedroom after a few minutes wearing the only dress that I bought once for an interview with social services—it’s plain navy blue and reaches to my knees.

  Caleb takes one look at it and scowls.

  “What?” I snap. “This looks like something presentable that classy women wear to parties.” Even as the words leave my mouth, I realize what I’m saying. “Fuck,” I say, “I look like your ex.”

  He doesn’t reply, but I can see by the look on his face that I’ve guessed correctly. “All right,” I grumble, and go back into the room. I don’t want to remind him of Felicity.

  I stare at the jumble of clothes on my bed and chew my bottom lip. Screw it. I’m going to wear what I want to wear. I don’t have to worry about fitting in. It doesn’t matter what I wear—I won’t fit in anyway. So, I might as well feel comfortable in my clothes.

  When I come out of the room ten minutes later, Caleb looks up from where he’s sitting reading something on his phone, and smiles.

  “Better?” I say, dropping a hip, and posing. I’m wearing a toned-down version of my favorite outfit: skinny black jeans, a tight cerise sweater, and black boots. I’ve pinned up my hair, although I haven’t spiked it, and my lipstick matches my sweater.

  “Much.” He rises and walks over to me, puts
his hands on my hips, and pushes me back to the wall. He brushes his lips against mine. “Don’t want to wipe this off,” he murmurs, but even that light touch sends shivers skittering through me, and my nipples tighten in my bra.

  “You sure you don’t want to stay and have some fun?” I look into his beautiful eyes. They crinkle at the edges as he smiles.

  “Don’t tempt me. Come on.” He takes my hand and leads me toward the door.

  Sighing, I grab my black jacket and purse, and we head out.

  We walk down the stairs and exit the building. Caleb presses a button and a pair of lights flash a few cars down. I stop and stare. “Holy shit.”

  He throws me a grin and opens the passenger door. “Pretty, isn’t she?”

  She is a charcoal-gray Aston Martin DB11 with a twin turbocharged 5.2 liter V12 engine.

  I put a hand on the clamshell bonnet and stroke it reverently. “Oh my God, Caleb, is it really yours?”

  “It is. Picked her up a few weeks ago. Care for a ride?”

  “If I don’t, I swear I’ll die.”

  He laughs. “Come on.”

  I slide into the leather passenger seat and take a few moments to look around at the interior while Caleb gets in the driver’s seat. He shuts his door and clips in his seat belt, then throws me a smile. “You like cars?”

  “She’s not a car, she’s a fucking beauty queen. She’s amazing.”

  His gaze lingers on my face, warm and approving. “Come on, let’s take her for a drive.”

  I clip in my belt and he starts the engine, filling the air with a throaty hum. The car purrs as he pulls away, and I sit back and feel as if I’m being carried to our destination on a cloud.

  “You had the Bang and Olufsen Beosound system upgrade,” I say with awe, running my fingers over the screen.

  Caleb chuckles. “You certainly know your cars.”

  “I love cars. They’re like guitars—they’re a thing of beauty.”