hand that she wasn’t using to sip her coffee.
“I see that you were married before.”
Niall froze in the action of setting her cup back on the saucer.
“What?” she asked.
He lifted her hand. Before she could guess what he was about, he gripped her first two fingers in his right hand and pushed back her ring finger with the other. His thumb made tiny little circles at the tender apex, making Niall shiver with pleasure.
“I can see the outline of a ring here,” he said gruffly, referring to where his thumb rubbed.
“Oh . . . yes, I was.”
“How long ago did you two split?”
“Three years ago.”
The sound of Niall’s husky, low voice caused a burning, tingling sensation of excitement to pass from Vic’s tailbone to the root of his cock. He wondered idly if he could come just from the sound of her voice alone.
Still, it had been strange that she’d said she and her husband split three years ago. The imprint on her ring finger, the paleness where the sun never shone, would have argued for something more recent. Maybe she’d worn her wedding ring for years after they’d divorced, hoping that one day they’d get back together.
That would be something he and Niall had in common. Didn’t the psychotherapist that he saw for a year after he broke up with Jenny always tell him that his actions, more so than his words, were those of a man who was holding out hope for lost love?
Yeah, right.
As if Jenny would ever think of leaving Mr. Smooth Hollywood Producer for a man who would rather eat his dinner in the saddle than at a restaurant like the nauseatingly trendy one that Mr. Smooth owned—among myriad other properties and businesses—in Los Angeles.
Who fucking cared about Jenny anyway, when such a beautiful woman stared up at him with phenomenally sexy eyes?
Vic felt Niall’s indrawn breath on his knuckle when he reached up and pressed a thumb to her lush lower lip. Her mouth was the same color as her nipples—a lush, dark pink that became red under the ministrations of his teeth and tongue. He’d lost count of the number of times he’d jerked off in the past twelve days while he pictured her pointed, rosy nipples trembling slightly as he’d pounded into her tight little body.
“I want you again, Niall. I have every second since you walked out my front door the other day,” he admitted quietly.
Her eyes cast downward, but almost immediately leapt back up to consider him through thick eyelashes. He’d been in varying states of arousal since Niall first walked into Louie’s tonight, looking fresh and sexy in a pair of jeans and high-heeled boots. But that single, shy, seductive glance made him harden into full, leaden readiness. When she started to speak, Vic transferred his hand from her mouth to the side of her neck, where he refamiliarized himself with the incredible silkiness of her skin.
“You told me to leave. You sounded so . . . hard,” she whispered.
His fingers sank into the soft hair at her nape. His movements were causing the fresh, fruity scent of her shampoo to drift up to his appreciative nose.
“I told you to leave only because all I could think about doing was nailing you down on that hard floor until your ears rang. I figured you’d had enough of that back in my bed.” He watched as her eyes flickered around them and realized that she was checking to make sure they weren’t overheard.
“I liked it,” she finally whispered.
Vic’s eyes narrowed. His stroking fingers stilled. “You liked being taken hard?” His cock swelled uncomfortably behind the fly of his jeans when she just nodded her head, her eyes overtaking half her face. “You weren’t a little scared, Niall?” he goaded her gently.
“No. Not of you.”
“Then what?”
He saw her glance away, sensed her hesitation.
“Of myself, I guess. I’ve never done anything like that. It was impulsive, crazy . . .”
“Fucking great,” he finished succinctly. He cradled her chin in his palm when
“I see that you were married before.”
Niall froze in the action of setting her cup back on the saucer.
“What?” she asked.
He lifted her hand. Before she could guess what he was about, he gripped her first two fingers in his right hand and pushed back her ring finger with the other. His thumb made tiny little circles at the tender apex, making Niall shiver with pleasure.
“I can see the outline of a ring here,” he said gruffly, referring to where his thumb rubbed.
“Oh . . . yes, I was.”
“How long ago did you two split?”
“Three years ago.”
The sound of Niall’s husky, low voice caused a burning, tingling sensation of excitement to pass from Vic’s tailbone to the root of his cock. He wondered idly if he could come just from the sound of her voice alone.
Still, it had been strange that she’d said she and her husband split three years ago. The imprint on her ring finger, the paleness where the sun never shone, would have argued for something more recent. Maybe she’d worn her wedding ring for years after they’d divorced, hoping that one day they’d get back together.
That would be something he and Niall had in common. Didn’t the psychotherapist that he saw for a year after he broke up with Jenny always tell him that his actions, more so than his words, were those of a man who was holding out hope for lost love?
Yeah, right.
As if Jenny would ever think of leaving Mr. Smooth Hollywood Producer for a man who would rather eat his dinner in the saddle than at a restaurant like the nauseatingly trendy one that Mr. Smooth owned—among myriad other properties and businesses—in Los Angeles.
Who fucking cared about Jenny anyway, when such a beautiful woman stared up at him with phenomenally sexy eyes?
Vic felt Niall’s indrawn breath on his knuckle when he reached up and pressed a thumb to her lush lower lip. Her mouth was the same color as her nipples—a lush, dark pink that became red under the ministrations of his teeth and tongue. He’d lost count of the number of times he’d jerked off in the past twelve days while he pictured her pointed, rosy nipples trembling slightly as he’d pounded into her tight little body.
“I want you again, Niall. I have every second since you walked out my front door the other day,” he admitted quietly.
Her eyes cast downward, but almost immediately leapt back up to consider him through thick eyelashes. He’d been in varying states of arousal since Niall first walked into Louie’s tonight, looking fresh and sexy in a pair of jeans and high-heeled boots. But that single, shy, seductive glance made him harden into full, leaden readiness. When she started to speak, Vic transferred his hand from her mouth to the side of her neck, where he refamiliarized himself with the incredible silkiness of her skin.
“You told me to leave. You sounded so . . . hard,” she whispered.
His fingers sank into the soft hair at her nape. His movements were causing the fresh, fruity scent of her shampoo to drift up to his appreciative nose.
“I told you to leave only because all I could think about doing was nailing you down on that hard floor until your ears rang. I figured you’d had enough of that back in my bed.” He watched as her eyes flickered around them and realized that she was checking to make sure they weren’t overheard.
“I liked it,” she finally whispered.
Vic’s eyes narrowed. His stroking fingers stilled. “You liked being taken hard?” His cock swelled uncomfortably behind the fly of his jeans when she just nodded her head, her eyes overtaking half her face. “You weren’t a little scared, Niall?” he goaded her gently.
“No. Not of you.”
“Then what?”
He saw her glance away, sensed her hesitation.
“Of myself, I guess. I’ve never done anything like that. It was impulsive, crazy . . .”
“Fucking great,” he finished succinctly. He cradled her chin in his palm when
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