Her eyes narrowed. “And what would that have entailed?”
“Sexual freedom. Whatever fantasy you could have dreamed up, I could have made come true.”
“You didn’t exactly give me that option.”
“No, I was uncharacteristically selfish that night.” And he wasn’t about to sit here and analyze his reasons for that now. “But I’m willing to make that up to you.”
“Oh, really?”
“Absolutely. Tell me what you fantasize about, Belle.”
Her smile faded as her gaze sharpened. “Is it all just fantasy with you?”
“No, it’s about the pleasure. Fantasy is just a way to attain pleasure.”
“And what do you fantasize about?”
“Right now, my fantasies involve you and whipped cream.”
She laughed as he’d intended because he’d sensed her thoughts shifting away from the moment. “And if I told you I actually have a can in my fridge…”
“I’d say take off your clothes, sweetheart.”
She drew in a deep breath, as if he’d shocked her. Or like he had reached between her legs and stroked her.
“And what if I want you to do the same?”
Now, that was an interesting question.
He was usually the one in control, the conductor, as such. He planned the games, and sometimes he even paired the players.
His life was all about control, professionally and personally. He knew exactly why he needed it. Made no excuses for it.
None of his friends and lovers thought any less of him for it. Hell, they expected it. He was the son of Glen and Helena Golden, the product of blue-blood old-money Philadelphia. He’d been born with the silver spoon in his mouth and a fortune in his bank account.
“I’d say I think we can work something out.”
Her head tilted to the side, as if trying to get a different angle on him. “Do other women let you get away with this much control?”
Yes, actually, they did. “They know I’ll deliver.”
He let her think about that for a few seconds, watched her bite on that full bottom lip as she contemplated.
Then she sighed. “I live in a small town, Jared. People gossip. I don’t want to be the subject of that.”
The thought slid through his brain that maybe she’d had enough gossip earlier in her life. He was still considering putting Dane on the trail of that mystery. But that didn’t have anything to do with now. “You’re young and unmarried, Annabelle. Why shouldn’t you be free to have a sex life?”
She didn’t say anything in response to that but he saw her expression firm, as if she’d come to a decision.
Her chin tilted up. “I’m not looking for a relationship. I’ve got a business to run.” She held up a hand as he opened his mouth. “Just hear me out. I want you. I can’t deny that and I don’t want to. The heat between us is something I’ve never experienced. So yes, I want to explore that. But I also don’t want a sexual relationship to interfere with business.”
“You won’t have to worry about that. I’m capable of keeping the two separate.”
She didn’t hesitate. “Good to know. I want you to strip.”
The command in her tone made his balls tighten with lust, his stomach clench in need.
He’d never let another woman control his arousal before. But there was something about this woman, something that made him want to relinquish the tight hold he had on his own desire. Something he’d never wanted to do for anyone else.
He reached for the top button on his shirt, and her gaze dropped to watch his hands as he slipped the tiny discs through their holes. He didn’t rush but he didn’t make a strip tease out of it either.
Just before he reached his waist, he pulled the tails out of his pants and released the last button. Shrugging the shirt off his shoulders, he tossed it at the nearest chair.
Then he let his gaze drop deliberately to her sweater.
Taking the hint, she reached for the hem of her top, pulling it free of her waistband, and exposing an inch of creamy flesh. His lungs tightened as she wiggled just the tiniest bit and revealed her slightly rounded stomach.
By the time she’d uncovered the black lace demi-bra cupped so lovingly around her breasts, his chest ached with the effort to draw in air. His gaze fastened onto those firm mounds, practically salivating at the slight jiggle as she pulled the sweater over her head. Her beautiful red curls bounced over her shoulders and spilled down to caress her curves.
Beneath the bra, her hard nipples peaked, nearly poking through the lace, tangible evidence of her desire.
He lifted his gaze back to hers and watched her eyebrows lift.
“Your T-shirt, too,” she said.
With one hand, he reached behind him and pulled the white cotton over his head, dropping it on the floor.
Her gaze swept with blazing heat across his chest, searing him as if she’d reached out and touched him. He took a breath, trying to tamp down a little bit of his raging desire, just so he didn’t go caveman on her and start ripping away her clothes.
But just the thought made him hotter still.
“Now your skirt.”
She smiled as she reached for the zipper at her side. He heard each tiny tooth release with a metallic snick, every one causing his heart to trip heavier in his chest.
She had to lean back and lift her bottom off the cushion to get the skirt over her hips, wriggling a little and making his body temperature shoot up another ten degrees. When she got the skirt past her hips, his gaze locked onto her black garter belt and black lace panties.
Damn, he loved a woman who wore garters. They reminded him of the erotic art they both collected. Such a sensualist’s touch. He wondered if she wore them all the time or if she’d deliberately worn them for him?
He wanted her to have worn them just for him.
By the time she’d drawn the skirt down her legs and let it fall to the floor, his hands had curled into fists at his sides. He wanted to reach for her, wanted to pull her over him so he could let his hands roam all over those soft curves.
Instead, he let his gaze trace the lacy straps that connected to the silky stockings then back up to the string bikini panties lying low on her hips. Beneath the lace, he saw the faint outline of the soft triangle of hair on her mound, knowing what he couldn’t see was bare skin. His fingers remembered how soft she’d been between her legs, how silky.
“I want you to keep those garters and stockings on tonight, sweetheart.”
“I think I can handle that. But you’re not finished yet. Take them off, Jared.”
He had to stop himself from tearing off his pants and reaching for her. Instead, he released his belt and the button on the waistband, then drew down the zipper. Her gaze had dropped to watch his hands and his cock throbbed as he pushed the pants down his legs, slipping off his shoes and socks and letting them fall in a pile by the couch.
“I absolutely love a man in boxer briefs.” Her sexy voice reached out and stroked his libido, making his balls tighten and his cock throb.
Good to know but he was about two seconds away from ripping them off his body. The tip of his cock had already escaped the waistband of his briefs. The shaft felt like heated iron.
Reaching for some of his legendary control, he leaned back into the couch. “Why don’t you come here and take them off me?”
Annabelle had never in her life seen anything as sexy as Jared Golden reclining on her couch in only his boxer briefs.
He should have been a Calvin Klein underwear model. He certainly had the body for it—broad shoulders and muscular chest, washboard abs, slim hips and powerful thighs. A swimmer’s body.
When did the man find time to work out? And why did she care when he was spread out like a banquet just for her?