There was no artful tease. No stage moves or strip show timing. He was a man in need. A man who was finally going to fuck her.

He climbed over her and straddled her waist, his knees gripping her, his rock-hard cock hitting the soft flesh of her belly, the blunt head nudging the silk fabric that held her hands in place. She wondered briefly where the condom was. He was down to his birthday suit, after all. She didn't really see where he could be hiding it. And she didn't intend to let him ride her bareback.

"Nate? Do you have a-"

He cut her off. "Lift your wrists above your breasts. Lift them up here," he said, tapping her cleavage, "So you can squeeze your tits together."

She did as instructed, her clasped hands scrunched by the side of her face, as her elbows squeezed her breasts.

He dipped his hand between her legs, and she cried out. At last, he was touching her. She needed it so badly, needed him. He slid his fingers between her slick heat, up, down, up, down, building speed.

Suddenly, he stopped, and his fingers were on her breasts, sliding the wetness across her cleavage.

Holy shit. It hit her fully what he was about to do. He must have seen the moment of recognition in her eyes.

"You wanted me to come, didn't you?"

She bit her lip, nodding.

"You still want me to?"

"Yes. God, yes."

"Good. Because I'm fucking dying to," he said, and thrust his hard cock between the tunnel of her breasts. His eyes closed in pleasure, his lips fell open, and he pumped. He fucked her breasts as her bound wrists held them in place, his dick sliding between the slickness he'd used to pave the way.

She watched, mesmerized as he moved on her, her mouth watering with each upstroke, each view of the shaft that she wanted to suck. She licked her lips.

"You want to suck me off, don't you?" he said roughly.

"Yes."

"You want me to be fucking your pretty little mouth right now?"

"Yes. God yes," she said.

Another stroke. Another pump. "You want to taste me coming?"

"Yes, please."

"I want that too," he said, panting as he thrust harder, faster. His jaw twitched. His breathing grew erratic. "But right now, I am in motherfucking love with your perfect tits, and I don't want to be anyplace else."

"Then fuck me harder," she said, her voice strong, guiding him on. She wasn't going to just lie here. She was going to have some fun too. She was going to be the woman she loved being. Dirty and direct.

"You like that, don't you?" he said, his lips curving in a grin as he thrust.

"I do. I do like it."

"You like talking back. You like telling me how much you want my cock. You've been dying for it," he said, as his hips began rocking faster, like a jackhammer.

"I love your dick, Nate. It's a work of art. I want to see you come on me," she said, her body heating to supernova levels as she urged him on. He stopped talking, and let her do the work. Gripping her breasts tighter, she guided him home. "Give it to me now," she said, like a command. "Give it to me all over my body. I want to feel you come on my tits."

"Oh fuck, Casey," he shouted, groaning loudly as he released himself between her breasts, the warmth spreading up to her neck. He drew a deep exhalation, his arms shaking, his whole face contorted with pleasure.

So fucking beautiful and dirty at the same time. She loved every second of watching him come.

He moved off her and walked to the bathroom to grab some tissues. When he rejoined her, he wiped the evidence of his orgasm from between her breasts. He brought the tissue to the trashcan, then returned to her once more and untied her wrists. She reached for him, eager to draw him near, wanting more from him.

"Will you please?"

He shook his head. "Show me."

"Show you what?"

"Show me how you touch yourself. If I left right now, I know you'd masturbate. I want to watch you get yourself off."

Pressing a hand on each knee, he gently guided her legs open for him.

"Look at you," he said, licking his lips as he stared greedily at her center, his strong chest rising and falling. He seemed to breathe her in. "So wet. So pretty. So pink. I want to see you run your fingers through that pretty, pink pussy."

Wetness beaded between her legs, calling out for her touch. God only knew, she'd be stroking herself something fierce tonight if he left, so she did it now. No point in waiting. Her body would launch a mutiny if she didn't give in to its demand.

She ran her fingers across her aching clit and closed her eyes, throwing her head back, giving in to the first possibility of sweet release from this mad desire that had been escalating in her all day long.

"Open your eyes," he told her and she did. "Look at me the whole time. Look at me. I'm the one you're getting off to. Tell me how good it feels."

She panted and moaned as she rubbed faster. "It feels so good, Nate."

"What am I doing to you?"

"You're teasing me, that's what you're doing," she said, speaking the truth.

He smiled. "I know. I love it. I love teasing you. But what am I doing when I'm not teasing you?"

"I'm imagining you entering me for the first time," she said, stroking faster. He groaned, and she saw his dick grow harder. She thrilled at his physical response to her, at the way he seemed barely able to control the lust she inspired.

"You have no idea how much I've thought about that," he said in a low and dirty voice.

Her fingers flew faster, her wetness spreading. "I want you inside me, Nate. I want to feel you fill me up," she said, locking her eyes with his. "I want you all the way in me."

She cried out, her belly tightening, her orgasm coming into view. There on the other side it raced closer, ever closer, and she concentrated, seeking it out desperately.

"I want to know how your body feels against mine," she said in between breaths as she arched her hips, bucking into her hand, her words turning into a chorus of cries as her back bowed and her body flooded with pleasure. In seconds his lips crashed down on hers, and he kissed her ferociously, incessantly, his hand dropping back between her legs, touching, stroking, rubbing, and somehow coaxing one more crest out of her as she cried out again, coming once more as he kissed her feverishly.

When at last he let go, he kissed her neck, her throat, her collarbone. "I want you so much," he said, and his voice was different this time. It wasn't the voice of the teacher, the dominating force who told her what to do. Nor was it her friend who she joked with and talked to and teased. It was the voice of a lover, the sound of a man, and it lit up her heart in a way she hadn't expected.

She wanted him too.

CHAPTER NINE.

New York City, night . . .

The natural next step was to leave. To say a few nice words; to kiss her goodbye, to be on his way. But he didn't want to go. He wanted more of her. He wanted to not lose what they had before. As much as he was accustomed to the over-and-out of these kinds of nights, he feared that if he left, he'd be treating Casey as merely a sexual object, when she was so much more to him.

That's why he'd have to fight the temptation, the overwhelming impulse to slide into her, to feel her legs wrap around his waist, to take her to the heights she so desperately wanted. Even though he was absolutely certain sex with her right now, in the state they were both in, would be beyond spectacular, he also knew that she seemed to thrive on not knowing what was coming next. In their few short nights together, he'd learned that she responded quite nicely, oh-so-very-nicely, to being surprised.

He wanted that perfect chemistry of anticipation and wonder, of tease and heat, stirred in her to just the right temperature before he finally took her. He didn't know when that would be, but he was confident now that it would happen. That she was hooked on these lessons too. Maybe for different reasons than he; but still she'd been seduced by submission, and by her own natural wildness as well. She had a fantastically wild side and a dirty side, and he loved experiencing those parts of her.

All of her.

That meant now was not the night for more.

He pulled on his pants, and she cracked up as he reached for the zipper.

He tilted his head to the side, curiosity getting the better of him. "Why are you laughing?"

She pointed to his pelvis. "Because it's funny."

"My dick is funny?"

She shook her head, another giggle falling forth. "No, it's funny the way you have to put them on so you don't zip yourself up."

He glanced down at the practiced move. Obviously, he could do this without looking, do it from memory, but yeah, you had to tug the fabric away from the crown jewels to make sure you didn't catch them in the teeth.

"Ever get it caught?"

He rolled his eyes and suppressed a laugh. "Yes. Yes, I have. Years ago, as a younger man," he said, launching into a storyteller's voice, as if sharing a tale. "But, alas, I survived, and there are no scars." With that, he snapped his pants shut, and gestured proudly. "Voila. Impressed?"

"So impressed," she said, clapping several times.

"Wait 'til you see me juggle."

"You juggle?"

"I've never shown you my juggling skills?"

"I've always known you could juggle women, but didn't realize it extended to objects."

"Ha ha. Got any oranges or apples?"

"In the kitchen. There's a basket on the counter. You can grab them. I'm going to change," she said, standing up in all her naked glory.

He hated for her to take away the view. "But you look so good naked," he said. He briefly considered begging for her to stay undressed.

"So do you, and yet you put on pants," she said, then retreated to her bedroom.

He wandered into the open kitchen of her loft, and found the bowl of fruit on the island counter. Grabbing three oranges and an apple, he headed back to the living room and tossed the first orange in the air, then the next, then the next, finally adding the apple. He found his rhythm quickly and the fruit whirred in a circle before him.

Then she returned, and his jaw dropped, and the apple smacked the floor with a thud.

"Damn, Casey," he said, quickly grabbing the three oranges mid-flight, before they spilled to the ground too.

"What is it?" she asked, her eyes so wide and innocent.

"You're just . . ." he said, tripping on his tongue, barely able to form words around her. Because one minute she was the leather-clad woman in stockings, heels and a red bra, and the next she wore pink cotton panties and a white tank top, fresh-faced and all-American blonde, with her wavy hair pulled into a loose knot at her neck. He walked over to her, unable to resist touching her. With his free hand, he trailed his fingertips down her arm, then pressed a soft, simple kiss to her lips. "You're just so beautiful," he said, finally able to finish the thought, then he stepped back.

"So are you," she said softly, never taking her eyes off his, and the way she looked at him did funny things to his heart. Foreign things he hadn't felt in years. "But don't start thinking calling me beautiful is going to distract me." She snapped and pointed to the oranges and the fallen apple. "Juggle. Now."

She crossed her arms and tapped her foot, waiting.

He grabbed the apple, tossed it high, then threw the oranges and juggled them round and round for at least a minute, his full concentration on keeping the quartet in the air, and impressing her with this skill. He slowed, ending the whirl, taking a bow and returning the oranges to the counter. He dropped the bruised apple into the basket, grabbed another one, and walked to Casey. He tugged her arm, and gestured to the couch. They sank into the cushions, next to each other on the lounge section.

"Say it. Say you're impressed with my skills," he said.

"I am so impressed with your skills," she said as he crunched into the apple. He offered it to her next, and she bit into it, passing it back to him. He draped an arm around her shoulder, and she snuggled in close as they finished off the apple. He stretched across her to set the core down on the table, the same one that held the tickler and blindfold. The crop was still on the floor.

"Are you hungry?" she asked.

"For you? Yes. For food, the answer is also yes. What do you have in mind?"

"Food first. Want to order from the House of Nanking around the corner? I'm craving their moo shu pancakes."

"Of course. And you know what I like."

"I do," she said, grabbing her phone.

That's what was so odd between the two of them right now. As she ordered his favorite dish, sesame chicken, it occurred to him that she knew so many things about him. She knew bits and pieces of his past with Joanna, she knew his challenges and his triumphs in business, she knew what he liked to eat, to read, how much he enjoyed watching the Yankees, and she knew what he liked to do on the weekends. Oftentimes, the answer was work. They both had admitted how much they actually did love the siren call of the deal, the decision, and the chance to increase the profit margin. "I like working late," she'd once confessed. "I can't resist it either," he'd seconded.

Except now.

He had no desire to be anyplace but here. When she ended the call, he gestured to the artwork on her brick walls.

"You got a new print of one of Lichtenstein's kisses?"

She nodded. "Yeah, but it's not an original."

He laughed. "I know. I didn't think it was an original one. They're kind of pricey. I think one of them went for $6 million at auction."

She arched one eyebrow, giving him a curious look. "Since when do you know the prices of artwork?"

"There was a Lichtenstein lithograph next to one of Joanna's early sculptures at an exhibition years ago. I wound up knowing all about him."