Glass Houses Page 7

  “I don’t kiss and tell,” Elliot scoffed. “Honestly—”

  “I don’t know you very well,” I pointed out, determined not to be waylaid by his rakish charm and his distracting good looks. “If you want to do this, you have to give me your word.”

  “What makes you so sure it’s trustworthy?”

  The best answer I could come up with was absolutely nothing but I went with “Instinct” instead. “I owe you for that night, you know. Being with you taught me a lot. And if you want to know just how much I’ve practiced since…”

  I could practically see the wheels turning in his head. “Do you mean—?”

  I nodded. I wasn’t some wide-eyed Lolita to be led by the hand. If he wanted me like he’d wanted me that night, then I was confident I could rise to the challenge. “It would be my absolute pleasure,” I said, running my foot against his calf under the table.

  “Oh, I’m sure I won’t feel extraneous.” I watched him down the rest of his pinkish soda and pluck out his keys. “Shall we?”

  I realized I had missed a step.

  “What—?”

  “You’re not working now, are you?” Elliot asked, wriggling his brows.

  I wasn’t, but it was the middle of the day. I hadn’t shaved my legs since Saturday morning. “Um…”

  “My hotel’s fifteen minutes away,” he told me. “I can have you back by noon. No one need ever know.” It was an attractive proposition and he made it sound so easy. I let him take me by the hand and lead the way out of the coffee shop. “Still think the bike’s a figment of my imagination?”

  “I try not to doubt what’s right in front of me.” I took the helmet he held out to me. “You should know I haven’t ridden one of these since I was seventeen.”

  Elliot grinned and swung a leg over the motorcycle. It occurred to me that I was wearing a dress and that my dimpled thighs weren’t the nicest part of my body—definitely not so nice that I wanted the whole city to see them. “There’s nothing to it,” Elliot said, oblivious to my vanity. “Just hang on tight and you’ll be fine.”

  I shot the BMW one last, longing stare and made my choice.

  Chapter Five

  The wind whipped past, at odds icy and suffocating. I shivered in my thin linen dress, trying to hook the hem between my knees and Elliot’s jean-clad thighs. The speed didn’t frighten me. Elliot kept well below the legal limit and he didn’t venture into crossroads without making sure we were in the clear. I found myself enjoying the drive so much that I was almost sorry when we reached the Clift Hotel down by Union Square.

  “What happens to the bike when you go home to Nantucket?” I asked as Elliot guided me through the lobby to the elevators.

  “How do you know I live in Nantucket?”

  Crap. “I did my research?” That sounded awful. I cringed. “I may have found your website.” Like a stalker.

  “You looked me up!” Elliot grinned. I hated him for being so tall and so handsome when he smiled.

  “Your selective listening skills are a joy to behold, really, but I did no such thing,” I countered stubbornly. “When you make that kind of information available online, you shouldn’t be surprised when people dig it up.” A trio of Italian tourists boarded the elevator with us, so I couldn’t sulk properly. “And you didn’t answer the question,” I added, determined to be a pain in the neck.

  “The bike comes with. How do you expect I’ll make my way back to Nantucket?”

  “What? You’re gonna drive?” The idea seemed…not preposterous—driving down Route 66 from end to end was its own rite of passage for the itinerant novelist—but ambitious, at least. “And how does your agent feel about that?” Elliot was at the top of his game, a rising star still amassing fans. He was probably something of a cash cow as well.

  Elliot smirked. “Not thrilled.”

  The elevator doors opened and the other hotel guests filed out. We were left alone. “How much higher?” I asked, watching the digits climb on the door display as we ascended to the topmost floors of the tower.

  “A couple more,” Elliot told me nonchalantly. “You’re not afraid of heights, are you?”

  I shook my head. “Not afraid of much these days.”

  “I’ve noticed,” he quipped, sliding an arm around my waist. My pulse skipped. Other than a handshake here and there and his hand on me at the bookstore, we’d barely touched so far.

  I hadn’t even kissed him and here I was, about to go to bed with him.

  Slowly but pointedly, I interlocked our fingers and drew his arm from around my waist. He didn’t resist, but I could feel him stiffen. Maybe he was nervous, too. Trying to walk the fine line between the excitement of doing something slightly illicit and the threat of overstepping some invisible boundary certainly wasn’t easy.

  “Rule number one,” I murmured. “No grabby hands in public.” I knew that some of these hotels had cameras in the elevators, but I didn’t know if they had audio, too. I didn’t want to end up on YouTube as the girl who once flirted with a famous novelist. He was just a novelist, true, and his star could burn itself out in a matter of months, but rabid fans could be very resourceful. I gave his fingers a light squeeze.

  “We have rules now?”

  “Mm-hmm. You touch me when I allow it,” I said. “Think you can handle that?” The last time we’d gone to bed together, it was Elliot who had laid down the law. It might have seemed strange to me at the time, but I’d learned a few things since.

  Elliot exhaled a shuddering breath but made no move to resume his hold. I found myself resisting the urge to kiss him as a reward. I had to be more discerning than that.

  “Good.” With one last press of my fingers around his, I released his hand.

  At long last, the elevator eased to a stop on the twenty-second floor. I understood that we were high up in the stratosphere, but it wasn’t until Elliot led the way into the room that it fully sank in just how high up we were. I could see the Golden Gate Bridge from the wall of windows, to say nothing of countless rooftops. All of San Francisco was laid out at our feet, and it was breathtaking.

  “Wow,” I gushed. “This is amazing…”

  “It’s nice, isn’t it?” Elliot joined me by the window. I felt, rather than saw, him doff his leather jacket. “I mean, it’s not the Mandarin Oriental, but…”

  “You snob,” I chastised, elbowing him lightly in the ribs. “It’s gorgeous.”

  At least he had the good grace to sound like he was genuinely impressed with the view. He had reason to be, sure, but I found it endearing all the same. There’s nothing more annoying than being around people who are blasé about everything. Working for the Hamiltons meant that I routinely ran into more than a few of those and it never failed to frustrate me when otherwise perfectly decent people started going on about how the Great Wall isn’t all that great and the Eiffel Tower lacks a certain oomph.

  “I take it that business is going well,” I mused, glancing around the room. It wasn’t decadent, but there was an irrepressible sense of luxury all around. It made me think of the Hamiltons’ house on Nob Hill. The forty-two inch flat screen TV was tuned to the hotel channel and music was drifting softly from the speakers. “This must be costing you a fortune.” I knew San Francisco prices and this kind of luxury didn’t come cheap.

  Elliot shrugged. “I was deemed worthy of an upgrade.”

  “Because of your pen?”

  “You know, not everything in my life revolves around my work.”

  “No,” I agreed as I covered the distance between us with a few short steps. “This, for example.” I let my hands stroke up the plackets of his shirt, soaking up his body heat. “This is totally not about your work. Is there a bed around here somewhere or do you just sleep on the couch? Not that it doesn’t seem comfortable,” I said, “but I don’t think it’ll do for what I have in mind…”

  Elliot huffed out a laugh and flexed his hands at his sides. “I’m starting to regret agreeing to that no touching
rule.” Regret or not, he didn’t break it. “It’s this way,” he said, stepping away from me to pry open a pair of mahogany-black double doors. I wondered if they were soundproof.

  The bedroom portion of the suite was no less impressive than the parlor area, but my gaze was immediately drawn to the generous king-size bed.

  “Does it meet with your approval?” asked Elliot, his breath gusting against my nape.

  I found myself resisting the urge to lean against his chest. It was hard to do.

  I hummed my assent. “Shame about the headboard.” The hotel he’d stayed in two years back had had a lovely iron-framed bed, the kind you could loop a belt through without pulling something. This one was all flat, with no slats or posts.

  “We’ll think of something.”

  I turned to face Elliot slowly, determined not to let him see my trepidation. Just because it had been some time since I’d last taken a guy home didn’t mean I’d forgotten how to go about it. I knew what I wanted from him—and how. “C’mere,” I murmured and closed my hand around his nape to reel him in close. At my instigation, his lips pressed softly against mine. He didn’t try to deepen the kiss, which I appreciated for more than one reason.

  “Can you still taste the soda pop?” He grinned as we parted for breath.

  Jerk, I thought. Something warm seized in my chest, gave rise to a weird sense of fondness. For a man I barely knew, no less. “Should I make you brush your teeth?” The room was very tidy, the corners of the bed sheets tucked in tight, and I couldn’t see much evidence that anyone was living here, however temporarily, but I assumed he had toiletries lying around somewhere. We would need a condom at the very least and I was pretty sure the one in my wallet was past its best-by date.

  I kissed him again, taking my time on the second attempt. It wasn’t really until the third or the fourth that I started unbuttoning his shirt. Frankly, I was shocked I even lasted that long. I quickly discovered that Elliot hadn’t changed much over the past couple of years. Maybe there was a little more meat on his bones. Maybe the hair on his chest was shot with a little more gray. I didn’t mind. I stroked my fingers down his ribcage, reacquainting myself with the warmth of his skin and the speed bump rise of his ribs. He was still ticklish along his flanks—he bit out a startled laugh when I touched him there and his hands came up to seize mine.

  The rule was only good if it merited being followed. “Sorry,” I murmured, not so regretful after all was said and done, and rose up on tiptoe to peck him on the cheek. “Want me to keep going?”

  “Yes.” He didn’t even hesitate.

  I reached for his belt buckle with surprisingly steady fingers. There was a faint, dusky line of hair guiding my gaze down, past the button on his fly, to the bulge that swelled in his jeans. Happy trail, indeed. I ignored its appeal in favor of taking my time exploring the rest of his body. Experience had taught me that patience had its uses in the bedroom. I’d been with men who squirmed and glared at me for denying them satisfaction, but I was confident that I could make it worth their while—and I usually did. I cupped Elliot through his black briefs. His hitching groan sent a zing of electricity coursing down my spine and deep into my belly.

  “What do you like?”

  “Hmm?”

  “How do you want me?” I pressed. “I’m not saying you’ll get it, but…” I looked up at him, smirking with half a mouth. “I can be magnanimous.”

  “I’d love to get you out of that dress.” I’d noticed his eyes roaming earlier and I could feel the heat of his gaze like a physical caress, but my dress was the closest thing I had to armor. I’d left my corset at home.

  “Maybe later,” I hedged, squeezing him through his underwear. He was long and beautifully hard in my fist. I remembered him stretching me deliciously wide as I fucked myself on his cock the last time we were together. It was a memory that still resurfaced from time to time, when I was lacking inspiration in my solo activities.

  I would have been lying if I had said that the thought of Elliot hadn’t caught up with me a few times when I was with a man, too, but I tried my level best to force any comparison out of the way. Part of that had always been shame—I didn’t want to be the girl who was still hung up on her ex—and part of it was the conscious desire to give my partners what they needed. I had chatted to enough Dommes to know that it was considered tacky to make a scene about anyone other than the people involved. It was the same for my occasionally more vanilla hook-ups.

  None of which mattered when Elliot’s dick was tenting his underwear and he was warm, and real, and present, no longer a foggy memory conjured in the dead of night to help scratch an itch. I wasn’t just allowed to think of him. I was supposed to.

  “Are you right-handed?”

  “Ambidextrous,” Elliot answered, the words a rush of breath against my cheek.

  “Good.” And with that, I reached for his left hand and pressed it between his legs. “Touch yourself for me.” My libido was raging and I wanted nothing more than to shove him down to the bed and have my way with him until we were both spent and sweaty. I resisted. I wanted to see him struggle to obey me. It would make the pleasure sweeter in the end. Besides, I had waited for him to give me what I wanted for two whole years. He could wait five more minutes.

  I sat down on the edge of the bed and crossed my legs. Elliot’s hand was still around his cock. “Well?” I prompted. “Have you changed your mind?” Anxiety bit at me like a feral thing. I dreaded an affirmative answer.

  It happened sometimes that men thought they wanted someone to dominate them in bed, but when it came down to the wire, they lost their nerve or they found the power reversal too unsettling. I tried to be okay with it—if they didn’t call me names for doing what they asked me to do, we could even part on good terms. But then again, I rarely wanted anyone as badly as I wanted Elliot right now. The blood in my veins seemed to have turned to molten lava and was churning hot as I watched him. I dug my fingers into the mattress so I wouldn’t move.

  Elliot didn’t answer. He hooked both fingers into his underwear and shoved it down, pushing the flimsy briefs past his hips along with the jeans. The lot pooled around his ankles, leaving him bare from the knees up. His length sprang out, hard and flushed, curving just slightly to the right. I’d forgotten about that. Elliot slid his hand down the rigid shaft, pulling the wrinkled skin away from the mushroomed head. It was the most erotic thing I’d seen in a long time. My mouth went dry.

  “Like this?” he murmured.

  I nodded, not trusting myself to speak.

  Elliot didn’t rush it. He stroked himself slowly, running his hand up and down like he must’ve done thousands of times before when he was alone. It thrilled me to know that he was revealing an intimate part of himself just because I’d asked him to. The power trip threatened to go straight to my head and I wondered what else he would do if I ordered it. Just how far did his submission kink extend?

  I was pretty sure it was just a kink, at that, because the majority of men I’d met who wanted to go the whole nine yards with me were seldom as domineering as Elliot outside the bedroom. Since I wasn’t interested in being anyone’s mistress twenty-four hours a day every day, that left me with a considerably smaller pool of potential partners to choose from.

  I pushed the thought out of my mind. I would take whatever Elliot could offer and not quibble at the details. Even if it was just a little bit of Domme-play with an attractive man, it was still better than my usual nothing.

  “That’s enough,” I said as pre-cum slicked his length. “Take the rest of your clothes off.”

  The words were barely out of my mouth and Elliot was already peeling off his shirt and throwing it carelessly to the floor. He hesitated, perhaps expecting me to tell him to pick it up and fold it, but I wasn’t into housekeeping as a fetish and when I didn’t say anything, he toed off his black leather boots and shucked the rest. A flush stained his cheeks by the time he stood naked before me. I saw him reach for his cock aga
in, clearly yearning to finish what he’d started.

  Not yet. I was going to let him come eventually. I wasn’t completely cruel, but I didn’t want to squander such a great opportunity to have my way with him on a quick hand job. “Come join me,” I invited with a cant of the head.

  Elliot wasted no time. He sat down with a leg tucked under him and the other dangling to the floor, close enough that our knees were nearly touching. I could feel his body radiating heat. It took all the strength I had not to straddle his hips and give us both what we wanted. “Lie down,” I told him instead, stroking my hand over his thigh. His length twitched with interest and a sharp, smothered moan escaped him. He was so keyed up he could probably come from the barest brush of my knuckles against his shaft. I filed the thought away for later use.

  Elliot pushed himself higher up on the bed and started to roll over onto his back. I stopped him, clicking my tongue against the roof of my mouth. “No. On your stomach.”

  It wasn’t how we’d done it before and that was precisely the reason why I thought a change of pace would be welcome. If he wanted a repeat performance, he was barking up the wrong tree.

  “This,” Elliot grumbled, “is going to make it hard for me to touch you.” He obeyed, though, if not without a glare.

  “Because that was on the table before?” I quipped.

  Elliot rested his chin on his hands. “I was hoping you might consider it.”

  “Maybe,” I hedged. “If you’re a good boy.”

  He laughed breathlessly, stealing a glance back at me as I crawled up the bed to join him.