The Architect (Nashville Neighborhood Book 3) by Nikki Sloane (top e book reader .TXT) 📗

Was I?

I didn’t correct the guy. Instead, I pinched my knees together and squeezed against the ache the thought of belonging to Clay caused. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I, uh, got distracted.”

Clay helped me out. “He was complimenting your shoes.”

“Oh, thank you.” I smiled, hoping to appear grateful and not embarrassed.

I smoothed my hands down my skirt, suddenly not sure what to do with them. Even though my gaze was fixed on the men, I could feel the man and woman next door fucking against the window. It was like they were pressed against me, trying to get inside my brain.

Clay’s pen resumed moving, and it gave me something else to focus on. He drew in bold, confident strokes as he explained where he’d place the attachment rings.

“Good.” The client nodded. “She still hasn’t mastered how to stay still.”

The understanding look Clay exchanged with the man made goosebumps lift on my legs. God, did I want to know what he’d do to me if I couldn’t stay still. Would he give me a disapproving look over the top of his glasses? Maybe use the ruler again? Or would it be something with an even sharper bite?

I clamped my teeth to hold in my moan.

When the discussion finished, Clay promised to email over a rendered proof by the end of next week, and once he had approval, he’d be able to come up with a delivery date. The men shook hands, I nodded my polite goodbye, and then the man was off to return to his unsuspecting wife.

My gaze darted to the window. The couple was still there, still fucking, and her gaze was still pinned on me.

“I’m surprised,” I tried not to sound breathless, “that you like coming here.”

Clay pocketed the notepad and pen and settled back in his seat, his drink in hand. “Why’s that?”

“You said you’re a private person.” I motioned to the window. “Doing something like that’s not exactly private.”

“No, it’s not.” He smirked. “But I don’t do that.”

“What?” I asked. “Lift the shade when you—”

“I don’t fuck while other people watch.” His tone was serious. “I’d rather do the watching.” He blinked slowly, his eyes heavy with desire, and swirled the drink in his glass. “What about you? Is that your kink?”

“Watching?”

He paused, and—shit—his intense look trapped me in place. “Being watched?”

This question was too hard to answer while looking at him, and my gaze fell to the glass tabletop. Even there, I saw his muted reflection watching me. He was so good looking, it wasn’t fair.

“Maybe,” I said. “I’m not shy.”

Had he been holding his breath? His chest rose and fell like he’d let out a deep breath. “No, you’re not.”

I lifted both my gaze and my shoulder. “I’ll try anything once.”

“Is that so?” Electricity crackled between us, and it intensified as his attention swung to the window. “Prove it.”

Oh, Jesus. My mouth went dry and my voice faltered, even as I wanted it to sound strong. “How?”

“She seems to like you. Why don’t you go to the window and give her a kiss?”

I nearly laughed with delight. It wasn’t just easy and safe—it was sexy too. “Okay.”

The woman watched me with interest as I stood and sauntered toward the window, and a smile grew on her lips as I closed in. When I put my hands on the glass, she followed suit, placing her hands on the other side right where mine were. Like we were touching.

I leaned forward and planted my lips against the glass, leaving behind the faintest stain of lipstick. As soon as I drew back, she eagerly leaned forward, parted her lips, and dragged the flat of her tongue over the spot. It was as if she wanted to lick up my kiss, and it was erotic. I turned to see what Clay thought about it, only to find him standing beside me.

His fingertips glided across my bare shoulder as he moved to cup the back of my neck with a hand. He didn’t speak, but I swallowed thickly. This simple action of his hand on me felt possessive and controlling, and God, did I like it.

His voice was quiet but powerful. “That was my fault. I wasn’t specific about where I wanted you to kiss her.”

“What?”

The dominating hand on me began to press down. “On your knees.”

Fuck. Was it possible to shiver from heat? Because that was exactly what I did.

Clay urged me down to kneel in front of the window. The couple on the other side hadn’t slowed down. If anything, my participation had turned them on even more. The man’s thrusts were relentless, making her tits jiggle and bounce violently.

My knees abraded on the stubby carpet as I stared up at Clay, awaiting his instruction, and watched his lips part to take in a breath. Having me on my knees and under his command was so satisfying to him, for a moment he looked overwhelmed. But he blinked away his haziness and leaned over me, bringing his mouth right against the shell of my ear.

As he spoke, his hot breath brushed against the sensitized skin of my neck. “I want to watch you lick her pussy.”

There was a power that took hold of me when he issued his command. It was a need I didn’t know existed until he put it into words, and now it was real and living. There was no indecision or questioning if I wanted this. He wanted it, so now I did too.

I pressed my palms to the glass, tipped my forehead to the cool pane, and waited. It announced to the couple what I needed, and as soon as they realized, the man shoved her forward. Her hips and the delta of her thick thighs pushed to the window.

I’d kissed a girl once when I was in college at a house party. The upside-down margaritas had been flowing freely, and someone had dared us to do it. Maybe she’d been the one who’d dared me . . . the night