He pushed the vibrator deeper, cutting off her words. "You're going to think it was worth every penny." She whimpered, and he slid the metal out of her entirely. "Aren't you?"
"Blake!" Her feet scrambled for purchase, and she thrust her hips upwards in a pleading gesture. "You want me to beg?"
He knew the look he flashed her was one of pure, unadulterated lust. "You already have been begging, Ella. Just not with words." He almost thrust the vibrator back in then trailed it down to her ass instead. "In your case, it's always more honest when you're not talking, isn't it?"
"You're the only one it's honest with..." She was panting a little, excitement bringing an unusual flush to her normally pale skin. Her tongue darted out, wet her lower lip as she moaned softly. "You're the one who can fuck me anywhere and make me beg for more."
He reached back into the drawer for the small, stylish bottle he'd seen before. "You can't get this stuff at the corner drugstore." She tried to twist away when he flipped open the cap and trickled the lube over her skin, but he held her still. "Cold?"
Ella bared her teeth at him in a snarl, but there was nothing reticent about the way she rocked into his hand. She wanted it, always, wanted him and anything he could dream up. Every second he made her wait drove her closer to the edge of sanity.
His fingers slipped as he spread the lube on her skin, massaging gently. "Remember that phone booth in London?" The blunt tip of the vibrator prodded her ass then began to slide inside.
She didn't answer. Her body tensed, her eyes snapping open, and she stared at him, wild-eyed and panting, as he worked the slick metal slowly deeper. He could remember all too easily how good it felt to fuck her like this, how hot and tight she'd be, how much she'd squirm and whimper as he eased his cock into her ass.
But if he did it now, it would be over too soon.
Hell, he wasn't sure that was a bad thing. He should have already been gone. He should have told her to go fuck herself. To go find another fix. Now, when he went home, he'd be right back where he started. The physical need, the withdrawal, would be negligible. But, God, it would take him forever to heal his heart.
Ella twisted and begged, and he almost climbed off the bed and walked out. Goddammit, I should. I should save myself.
Instead, he eased the metal rod out of her and dropped it to the floor. Her eyes were wide and drank in the sight of him as he moved up over her and positioned his cock at her entrance. "I should leave now," he whispered, then buried himself in her pussy.
She was tight and wet and already clenching around his cock, so close to orgasm that he knew he could push her over the edge the second he wanted to.
Instead, he let her beg. She filled the room with hoarse cries, begging him to fuck her harder, faster. Begging him to let her come. He wanted to, wanted to pound into her until the sheer pleasure of release washed through him, obliterating everything but the clutch of her body, the smell of her skin. But he held back, sliding his arms under her shoulders and slowing his thrusts until he barely moved.
Blake had always liked taking it slow. He liked the easy buildup that took forever, the leisurely climb to orgasms so intense you thought you might implode when they came. Not Ella. She liked it quick, hot, and dirty.
Not this time.
He closed his teeth on a sensitive spot at the base of her neck and sucked lightly. Her breathing hitched, a low moan tickling his ears. "Blake—baby—"
His hair fell forward and tickled them both as he thrust hard, just once, his skin slapping against hers. "No good?"
She cried out, her voice filling the room. Her lips sought his, found his cheek instead, and he felt her harsh breaths against his skin. "Too good," she whispered. "You make me—make me crazy—"
He lifted his head and looked down into her eyes. He lifted a hand and brushed his thumb over her bottom lip. "Bite me, Ella." He knew he sounded needy, lost. "Make us both come."
Ella's hands were in his hair before he registered the sound of tearing fabric. The remains of her expensive blue halter hung from one wrist, the silk tickling his back as she fisted her hands around the long strands of his hair and tilted his head back.
Pleasure exploded through him with the first touch of her mouth, so violent and overwhelming that he barely noticed the prick of her teeth. His entire body throbbed, and he gave himself over to the ecstasy of her bite. It was total bliss, so profound and complete he couldn't even tell when he actually came. All he could do was cling to her, thrusting wildly.
And it didn't stop. At some point she rolled them over, and he was vaguely aware of the expensive silk beneath his back. She bathed them both in pleasure that went on until the edges of the world grew blurry and he wondered if this would be the time when she took too much, when she drained his body as dry as his heart.
He felt so light-headed when she pulled back that her tongue against his neck was a faint tickle that felt like a dream. He felt her lips against his ear, felt her breath as she spoke. "Thank you, Blake. For everything."
He had to summon every bit of his will to speak. "Tangerine," he whispered. Their safe word, to let her know before he slipped into oblivion. No more. It has to stop.
She sighed, a tiny, sad sound. "I am so sorry," she whispered, a faint hint of an accent coloring the formal-sounding words. "I wish you well in all you do."
This was the real Ella, the one he rarely got to see. He knew what it meant. She understood. No more. He wanted to echo her words, but the room spun and darkness clawed at him.
She would be gone when he woke up. He would dress, and he would leave, and he wouldn't look back.
Epilogue
He found the card in his mailbox when he came back from his next job. It featured a garish collage of Las Vegas neon and landmarks, and he smiled without thinking.
Ella.
He had wondered if he'd hear from her. Word had already filtered through the supernatural grapevine of Raul Silvio's death and the relatively young upstart who'd taken his place. Blake's brother, Adam, had questioned him sharply about the coup. He'd merely replied that he had no idea what had happened, and he supposed the words were true.
He flipped the postcard over. She'd kissed the back, leaving a fire engine-red lipstick print on it, and he smiled again as he read the words beneath it.
I owe you one.
Blake had thought the idea of seeing her again would be painful, unthinkable. But he'd managed to put his demons to rest, to put his experiences with Ella in proper perspective. He'd loved her, but she was a wild thing, hard to handle and impossible to hold. He'd tried and failed, and finally learned his lesson.
Someday, he'd make his way back around to her. He didn't know what the circumstances would be or what would happen, but his heart was light as he tucked the card in his pocket and headed for his front door. They'd be friends, if nothing else, and that was far better than he'd expected.
Someday.
THE END