By the Hour (The Pleasure Principle Series #2) Page 2

  “Forget what?

  All of it. Her failed marriage. Her screw up with Donovan. That she was almost forty and alone on her birthday. That she was—So. Fucking. Angry. All the goddamned time.

  She needed oblivion and to get out of her head and to just be for a little while. She needed to leave, go to some other bar, find some other man in some other place. Escape the knowing gaze of Lane Cannon. But that was not what came out of her mouth. “I need to forget that you’re you and I’m me and that we don’t like each other.”

  A half-smile touched his lips, a slow lift, but there was no humor in his eyes. His gaze was intent, searching…soul-stripping. “I like you just fine, Elle McCray. In fact, I’m liking you more and more each second that you look at me like that.” His thumb traced along the spot where her neck met her shoulder—hardly a touch but most definitely on purpose this time. “Tell me what would make you forget.”

  She swallowed, trying to ease the sudden dryness in her throat and ignore the gathering warmth between her thighs, the brush of her hardening nipples against her bra. She was losing control of this fast and wasn’t sure if she was happy about that or panicked. “Do I have to spell it out? Or are four-letter words too long for you?”

  The smile became a full one now. A predatory one. Her insult seemed to only egg him on. “Bold suggestion from a woman who was trying to scare me off a minute ago. You don’t even like me.”

  “No. I don’t.” She closed her eyes for a second, trying to regain her breath, and whispered. “That’s the best part.”

  The confession slipped out and he tipped his head as if he were processing her words, assessing her. But then his thumb pressed against her spine. “I promise you. That definitely won’t be the best part.”

  Her neck felt hot, the air in the room thick. “No?”

  He bent close to her ear, his scent drifting over her. “No. The best part will be when I’m deep inside you and you’re riding your edge, begging for this guy you hate to give you exactly what you need, to drive you so out of your mind that you have no choice but to forget everything except the way I’m fucking you and how good it feels and how much you want it.”

  She closed her eyes again, the words rushing over her like open palms on naked skin. Fuck. “We can’t…I don’t…”

  Lane sat back. “Tell me to go away again, Elle. Lie and tell me you want me to go away and I will.”

  Her eyes fluttered open and she wet her lips, nerves and good sense trying to take hold. She shifted her gaze to the party. It felt like spotlights were burning down on her and Lane, exposing all their secret whispered words. But no one was paying attention to them. And even if someone looked over, all anyone would see were two people talking. No one would be able to see how fast her heart was beating or how damp her panties had gotten. No one would see that the man who spent his days patiently guiding people in intimacy training had just offered to fuck her until she was begging.

  She needed to say no. To end this. “We can’t leave together.”

  His smile went smug. “Don’t want to be seen slumming it with someone who doesn’t have a doctorate?”

  She shot him a look.

  “Give me your address. I know you live on campus. You can leave first. I’ll wait a few minutes and then head over.”

  Before she could think too hard about it, she nodded. “I’m the only house on the northwest side of the pond. My name’s on the mailbox.” She took a breath. “No one can ever know about this. I don’t want to talk when you get there. You will use protection. And if I say no to something, you stop.”

  “Wow, a checklist. No romantic wooing for you, McCray? No drinks by the fireplace while we get to know each other?”

  “If that’s what you’re looking for, you’re looking at the wrong woman. And let’s not pretend you actually want to get to know me. We have nothing in common.”

  He narrowed his eyes, considering her. “Leave your door unlocked. Keep the lights low so no one sees me coming in. And don’t change out of this dress.” He let his gaze slide down over her with slow deliberation. “I want to have the pleasure of ripping it off of you.”

  A shimmer of anticipation went through her at that image. Maybe this was exactly what she needed tonight. An ill-advised, forbidden night with a guy who looked like he could keep a dirty promise. She drained her wine and then picked up her handbag, rising on tingling legs. “’Til then.”

  He stayed in his seat but grabbed her wrist before she could leave. “One more thing.”

  She tugged her arm free of his loose grip in case anyone looked their way. “Yes?”

  “If you lock your door, I’ll walk away and never come back. You can dislike me all you want, but you won’t play games with me. At least not that kind.”

  She nodded, the undercurrent of authority in his voice doing more to her than it should. Mr. Happy-Go-Lucky had a darkness to him, things lurking in his tone that scared her a little. She wished seeing that didn’t make her want him ten times more. “Nothing will be locked. You’ll have full access.”

  The look he gave her promised filthy, tawdry things. “Full access.”

  “Yes.”

  To everything her body had to give.

  And nothing her heart did.

  She left him sitting there and walked out of the party without saying good-bye. She hadn’t found any friends tonight, but maybe she’d found exactly what she needed for her birthday.

  A way to forget.

  And someone to forget with.

  Chapter 2

  Lane forced himself to stall at the party after Elle had strode out of the restaurant without looking back, hips swinging with the kind of sass that said she knew Lane was watching. He made small talk, joined in on a toast to Marin’s promotion, and generally acted like he had nowhere to be. But after a while, impatience edged in, and he headed over to Marin and Donovan to tell them good-bye.

  “Leaving already?” Marin asked, giving him a tight hug. “We haven’t gotten to the bread pudding yet.”

  He released her and patted his stomach. “None for me. Gotta watch my figure.”

  She snorted. “Right. I think all the single women at The Grove like watching your figure. When you walk down the halls, it’s like watching a tennis match with all the turning heads.”

  Donovan smirked at her. “Hey, I’m right here.”

  Marin rolled her eyes and bumped her shoulder into Donovan’s. “I said single women. But seriously, is everything okay? Did the goodwill mission I sent you on with McCray ruin your night? Because if it did, I’m really sorry. She looked kind of pissed when she left.”

  Ha. If Marin only knew. “She didn’t stab me with her fork, so I figure that’s a win. But no, I just have to get up early in the morning. It’s been fun though. Congrats again.”

  Marin smiled and Donovan shook Lane’s hand before he headed out, saying good-byes to the others on his way. It seemed to take forever, but he didn’t want to look like he was in a rush. Plus, he wanted Elle to wait a bit.

  When she’d left the party, he’d fought hard not to head out right behind her, haul her up against a wall somewhere, and kiss her until she forgot how much she disliked him. Their little chat had left him fighting a hard-on and ready to conquer Dr. Ice (the moniker he’d given her in his head a few months back), but he’d held himself in check. Elle was used to people following after her like loyal subjects—employees, patients, interns. He wasn’t going to be another minion. That was the last thing she needed. That wasn’t what had turned her on tonight. What had tripped her wires had been the very fact that he didn’t cower when she shot her poison arrows at him. It definitely wasn’t because she liked him.

  Elle was being honest about that part. She’d slapped a prostitute label on him and believed it. Of course, she had no clue how spot-on accurate she was. He wasn’t an escort anymore, but he’d spent more years in that role than in his current one. And the insult still poked at old, raw things. When he’d heard her call him a ho
oker that day to another doctor, he’d seen red. He was used to that shit outside of the therapy community but not from within it. He’d worked hard to get to where he was now—legitimately helping people—and didn’t need anyone knocking him back down into the gutter.

  But not until tonight had he realized that her aversion to him wasn’t simply because of his job. She was scared of letting him near her because she wanted him. Tonight, she hadn’t been able to hide her physical reaction to him. He’d caught her off guard. And for a moment, he’d seen how shockingly human she was. Had seen it in her eyes when she’d looked at everyone having a good time. She was fucking lonely. An outsider. She’d created that for herself, but he also got the sense that she had no clue how to fix it. He remembered what that was like—always feeling as if there were a thick glass wall between you and everyone else. Like you were watching a movie and hadn’t even gotten hired as an extra.

  It’d made him want to ask questions, to get to know her. But that was not what she’d needed tonight. She wouldn’t have allowed it anyway. Nice scared her. She didn’t trust it. She didn’t want nice-guy Lane. She didn’t want to like him.

  That’s the best part. She’d whispered the words but he’d heard the honesty in them. She needed the ire between them. That made it safe for her. She was turned on by their combative words, their insults. He’d been a dominant long enough that he’d seen a lot of different kinks, and God knows he’d seen a dose of most everything in his former career, but he’d never slept with someone who openly disliked him. The thought probably shouldn’t turn his crank, but it had nudged something inside him.

  He’d had an exceptionally shitty day, had gotten bad news and had been in a terrible mood on the way to the party. He’d hoped being with friends would help him forget, but instead he’d found something much more interesting by sparring with the beautiful doctor. She owned her role as ice queen, not hiding the fact that she thought she was above him. And man, after the day he’d had, he’d wanted to knock her down a notch.

  He’d just never expected her to want the same thing, and he definitely hadn’t expected her to want it in bed. But when she’d put the idea out there and looked at him as if she wanted to take a bite, he hadn’t been able to hold back the onslaught of desire it’d set off. Those pale blond locks of hers wrapped in his fist, those pursed lips begging for his cock, that ever-simmering judgment in her eyes fading into the haze of orgasm.

  Yes. All that.

  She wanted a hate fuck? He was ready to deliver.

  Elle paced her floors and shook out her hands, trying to get rid of the nerves that had insisted on stalking her as soon as she walked into her house. She never got nervous about things like this. It was only sex. Since her divorce, she’d had her fair share of it with a number of men. Some better than others. This would just be another hookup. A one-night stand.

  So what if she’d have to see Lane again at The Grove? He didn’t work on the rehab wing, her domain. He was easily avoided. Plus, she was a grown woman who could separate business and pleasure. She’d compartmentalized the hell out of Donovan. Compartmentalizing was a long-practiced art of hers. This would be no different.

  If she were really that worried, she would lock her door. Shut down the possibility for good. Because she knew Lane would hold true to his threat. If she locked it, he’d never look her way again. She put her hand on the lock briefly, but she couldn’t bring herself to turn it, not with her blood pumping this hard and the silky panties she’d changed into already clinging to her. She wanted this.

  But after twenty minutes of pacing, her focus switched from worrying about the possibility that this would happen to worrying that Lane wouldn’t go through with it, that it had been a tease. A joke.

  So when she heard the back door click open, she had to bite her lip to keep from making a sound of relief. He was here. This was happening.

  She halted in the spot where she was in the living room, waiting in the hazy gray moonlight that filtered through the curtains. She wouldn’t go to him, wouldn’t reveal how eager she really felt.

  Heavy footsteps sounded on the wooden floorboards, the one in the hallway creaking beneath his shoe, and then he stepped into the doorway of the living room. Somehow he looked even bigger here in her house. Over six feet of man filling up the unevenly framed antique doorway. The stained-glass pane above the door showered pale, colored light onto his shoulders and left his face half in shadow.

  Her throat went tight, bone dry. “It took you long enough. Decided to stay for dessert?”

  His mouth curved as he stepped forward, absorbing her sharp tone like she’d said something sweet. “No. I’m having you instead. Hope you’re worth skipping bread pudding.” He eyed her. “Frankly, I have my doubts.”

  The jab made her pull up short. But instead of it pissing her off, a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding released, the insult somehow softening the edge of her nerves. “Screw you, Cannon.”

  Amusement crossed his face. He was close now, almost within arm’s reach, making her step back. “That’s the idea, sunshine.”

  She licked her lips and her back pressed against the wall. “No one knows you came here?”

  His hands planted against the wall on each side of her shoulders, caging her in and enveloping her with his scent, his…bigness. “No, don’t worry. No one knows you’re slumming it. That you’re horny and hot for the institute’s hooker. Your dirty secret’s safe.”

  She winced. “I didn’t mean—”

  “Yeah, you did,” he said. “But it’s all right. I wouldn’t want anyone to know I’m here either. I’ve got my own reputation to keep.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “What? For only fucking people who pay you?”

  He smiled, a wickedness to it. “Oh, people don’t pay me for this, sweetheart. This isn’t for sale.”

  Before she could register what was happening, he spun her around, pinned her against the wall, and pressed his body along her back. His erection pushed hard and heavy against her and a hot shudder of need chased down her spine. She had to fight not to whimper.

  “Give me a safe word, McCray,” he said, his voice low and serious against her ear. “Because I’m about to give you what I know you want, but I’m not gonna do it without one of those. Your attitude’s got me wanting to do bad things to you.”

  She closed her eyes, heat flooding her sex and making every part of her prickle with awareness. She said the first word that came to her head. “Birthday.”

  He pressed his nose to her hair, inhaling. “Good girl.”

  “No.” She tensed, the endearment scraping across her psyche and making her stomach clench.

  He stilled. “No, what?”

  “Don’t call me that. Ever.”

  He was quiet for a second, and then his hand coasted down her bare arm in a soothing touch, like he was trying to calm a skittish horse. “Got it. That’s all you have to say to me, all right? Anything that’s out of bounds for you, just tell me and I’ll respect it.”

  She took a deep breath, hating that she’d reacted so strongly, that the demons floated so close to the surface. That her ex-husband’s old endearment would get to her. She was off her game tonight. He was putting her off her game. “I don’t need your therapy mode, Lane.”

  “This isn’t therapy mode. This is me being a responsible dominant and human being.”

  A dominant? Great. Of course he was. “I’m not submissive.”

  “Yeah, I got that.”

  “And if you ask me to call you sir, I will fucking punch you.”

  He chuckled behind her, his breath tickling her neck. “I’d like to see you try.”

  He grabbed the hem of her favorite black dress and dragged it up her hips, exposing the pale blue silk panties she’d changed into. He grunted and cupped her ass with a hot palm. But unlike the guys she was normally with, he didn’t fawn over the sight of her expensive lingerie or throw any compliments her way.

  “No way you wore the
se to the party. Are you trying to impress me, McCray? Or did your other ones get too wet from talking to me?”

  “God, you’re an asshole.” She meant the words as an insult, but they came out more as a sigh with an undertone of please for the love of God, touch me instead.

  He squeezed her ass in his big palm and then smacked it hard. She gasped.

  “And you fucking love it. I don’t care what you call me. Bitch at me all you want, but your body gives you away.” His boot insinuated itself between her feet as he forced her stance wider. His hand slid between her legs. When his fingers grazed the soaking-wet fabric, he made a low sound of victory in the back of his throat. He pushed the panties aside and grazed roughened fingertips over her slick flesh, sending pleasure snaking up her spine and out to her limbs.

  She held in the moan that threatened. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction.

  His soft laugh brushed against her ear as he found her swollen clit. “Now, now, that’s not a game you can win, so don’t bother trying. You won’t be quiet for me.”

  She squeezed her eyes shut and gritted her teeth as he made skilled circles around the sensitive bud, slicking her skin with her arousal and driving up her need. It was just the right pressure to send her heart galloping and her breaths quickening. It’d been a while, and her body wanted to tip over, take that release, but she couldn’t let it. Not this easily. Not yet. She pressed her forehead to the wall and rocked her hips, trying to adjust the touch, make it less potent. But he was too agile, too aware of her every move.

  He shifted his hand and slid a thick finger inside her. She couldn’t stop her reaction then. Her moan came from the back of her throat and filled the quiet living room. Fuuuuck.

  “That’s it,” he said, slowly pumping his finger inside her and then going back to her clit in a maddening dance. “It’s okay that you enjoy it. It doesn’t mean you lose. It means we both win.”

  He was right. She knew that. But it was so hard to give in, to accept that this was happening with Lane and that she wanted it this badly.