She swiveled her hips again, tried to turn in his arms, see his face. All she managed was to twist her head. Wes’s cheeks were flushed, his striking bone structure sharper than ever, but his eyes had a dazed look, his eyelids still heavy with sleep.
“We haven’t talked yet,” he said, as though each word pained him.
“Maybe I don’t want to talk. I just want to feel for once. Forget our tangled past and where this is going, enjoy each other before we weigh everything down with our worries. Unless…” She paused, suddenly unsure, feeding off his hesitation. “Unless you don’t feel the same.”
He dropped his gaze, loosened his hold enough to turn her toward him. Deep lines puckered his brow. “Trust me, I feel the same. I want to be next to you, over you, around you, moving inside of you so badly I can’t think straight. I am consumed by you, Annie.” His eyes lifted, catching her in waves of uncertainty. “But I’m damaged and scared I’ll hurt you if we do this before you know what you’re getting into. There are things I haven’t told you.”
She feathered her fingers over the strong bones of his face. A sculpture of raw intensity. “I know you, Wes. You think I don’t, but I do.”
“You don’t know this.”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“It matters to me.”
She wasn’t exactly sure what had him holding back, but she had a guess: his commitment issues. Wes had remained single through adulthood for a reason. Losing Leo and his mother had likely done a number on him, making him leery of reopening himself up for that kind of hurt. She understood the hesitation, but living in a bubble wasn’t truly living.
She traced his frown lines. “I know we have things to discuss, and we both have morning breath, which is usually a hard limit for me, but after all we’ve been through, don’t you think we deserve to just feel good? Shake off the past, forget the future for a minute. Any talk you want to have can wait. Let your mind relax for once and quit planning ten steps ahead.”
His legs shifted, a restless slide beneath the sheets as his breathing picked up. “I don’t want to hurt you,” he said again.
“Like I said last night, it looks big, but not that big.” He laughed. Mission accomplished. She kissed his mouth gently. “You can’t hurt me, Wes. Not when I know exactly what I’m doing. I want this, and if you think denying me is smart, remember I have a key to your home and can fill your shampoo bottles with hair remover. I also have half a mind to kidnap Felix and set him loose with the other rabbit-squirrels before the breed goes extinct.”
Another sleep-roughed laugh rumbled from him. “Your brain fascinates me.”
She reached down and cupped the hard ridge of him through his linen pants. “This fascinates me.”
Air hissed through his teeth as a myriad of emotions crested his face—hesitation, worry, anger? Then he surged, his powerful body rotating on top of her, no longer playing nice, the gentleman replaced with the rake. He notched his hips between hers, kept her controlled under his bulk as he lowered his head and captured her lips. She moaned and opened for him. She was rewarded with a harsh grunt. They moved together, wet and deep, his lips bruising in their demand. She may have kissed him once before, oblivious to the man he’d been, but this was different. It made her feel miles more vulnerable, yet powerful. Weak and strong at once. And, God, he was between her thighs, rubbing right where she ached.
“Open your eyes.” He licked the beauty mark beside her lips, a playful move that had her smiling.
She did as she was told, gasped when he rolled his hips.
He groaned. “I’m not Falcon. I’m not some guy you forget by dating someone else. When we’re together, I want your eyes open so you remember who it was that rocked your world.” Another hip thrust. She cried out. “We clear?”
“You’re even bossy in bed. And rock my world? You really are old, Herbert. Maybe I should have rethought this.”
“Wicked woman,” he murmured and kissed her roughly.
She latched her legs around his waist, ground against him so thoroughly she almost came. He was insanely hard, a steel rod sliding over her, rubbing as he palmed her breasts through the shirt she’d borrowed. He kissed her mouth, nipped her lower lip, moved to her throat, her jaw, her ear—every erogenous zone in the Northern hemisphere.
She pawed at his T-shirt. “Off.”
He pushed up to his knees, grabbed his shirt by the back of his neck and yanked it over his head. Her body burned up. She’d seen him shirtless before, swimming in the Hamptons, but never like this, between her spread thighs, his erection tenting those linen pants. His breaths came fast and shallow. She touched his pecs, slid her thumbs over his nipples, delighting in his answering groan and the smattering of chest hair trailing downward. “You’re so hot.”
“I’m burning up because I’m about to strip you.”
“You better work fast.”
The V-neck she wore landed in a heap on the floor, her underwear flung next to it. He was back on his knees, looking down at her with such unmitigated desire she could only lie there and pant. “Wes?”
He paused. One word from her and he tipped his head to the side, searched her face. “Yeah?”
“I can’t believe this is happening.”
“In a good way?”
“In the best way.”
His well-kissed lips quirked up. “If you could see what I see, you’d know it’s better than the best.” He leaned over her and delicately palmed her breast, held the weight of her, followed by a soft squeeze. His neck muscles strained as his eyes slid shut. “You’re as perfect as I imagined.”
“I’m not perfect.”
“You’re my kind of perfect.”
No man had ever told her she was his kind of perfect. No one had ever touched her like she was a work of art.
She reached for the button on his pants, needed to touch him, feel him slide into her so deeply there was no beginning or end to either of them. He moved out of reach, dipped down to take her nipple into his mouth. Tongue, teeth, a wet lick that had her bowing off the mattress. He moved purposefully, his fingers scraping her ribs, the swells of her hips, each grope and caress commanding but not strong enough. She wanted red marks like the one his mask had left on her cheek, a visual reminder of how good he felt, all that honed muscle sliding against her soft skin. “I need you, Wes. Inside me. Please.”
He didn’t relent, exploring every inch of her, moving lower then returning to her belly, back to her breasts, between her legs again, never touching her where she ached, only blowing a hot stream of air over her sensitive flesh, so surprising she gripped his hair and cried out. “Stop teasing.”
“This isn’t teasing. This is how it’ll always be with us. Pleasure so good it hurts.”
“Then make me hurt. Make me scream.”
He glanced up from between her legs, a devilish spark lighting his face. “Patience, Squirrel.”
His use of her nickname had tears burning her eyes. She bit the insides of her cheek, refused to let the tears fall. She’d missed that name. She’d missed him so much the past weeks. Months, really. It had been so long since things had been easy between them.
He licked her then, a long slide that had her bucking. She plunged her fingers into his thick hair, held him in place as his fingers and tongue worked her into oblivion, building her up then teasing her, controlling her body the way he controlled her heart. Her legs tensed, pleasure a hot grip that yanked her under as she screamed Wes’s name, eventually crumpling into a pile of boneless bliss.
He looked up at her, his lips shiny from what they’d done, ferocity in his eyes. “No one gets to see you like this but me.”
A statement. Wes, controlling as ever. Their new normal.
“Only you. Now get those pants off.”
He stood from the bed, flicked the button on his linen pants—so ridiculous—his eyes never leaving her. Her body was satiated, loose and pliable, but the second he dropped his pants, no briefs caging all that male perfectio
n, her insides clenched. “You’re spectacular.”
He turned serious, stared hard into her eyes. “We’re spectacular.”
How was this even happening?
He turned toward his closet, the view of his toned behind and strong back mind-bending, but she said, “Stop.”
He spun around. “Are you okay?”
Again, one word from her, and he hit pause. So much care for her. He was consumed by her, or so he’d said. That made her next words all the more important. “Have you been tested recently?”
His eyes got more intense, if that was even possible. “Yes. I’m clean, and I’ve always worn condoms.”
“Always?”
“Always.”
“So I’ll be your first bare?”
His length jerked. He gripped the base, gave it a rough squeeze. “The first of many things, apparently. You’re covered?”
She nodded. “No condom needed. I’m on the pill, and I’m clean.”
His lips moved, a quiet mumble she couldn’t hear, then he was on the bed, over her, kissing her while pressing their bodies together—her breasts to his chest, their hips aligning, his length nestled against her belly. God, he felt amazing. So hard and smooth. She secured her legs around him and rolled so she was on top, his erection trapped between them. Not in her, just rubbing, that huge body under her control. Not that either of them were in control here. This was them out of control, risking their hearts, forgetting about the future and living in the moment.
Wes gripped her hips, steadied her from below as he rolled against her, not pushing in, just maddening thrusts that blurred her vision. She moved in time, watched his biceps flex, his pecs and abdomen harden, every muscle defined as they rocked. She never wanted to leave this bed. She didn’t want to discuss why Wes thought he was damaged or how they were going to be a couple when he was fake-dating a woman to secure a merger. She didn’t want to pretend she didn’t love him so deeply one wrong move could ruin her.
Weston’s body was on fire. He was so close to slipping into Annie, and she was drenched, ready for him. He wasn’t sure he was ready for this. Watching her fall apart before had wrecked him. The way her head had tipped back, her full breasts pushed up as she’d called his name in ecstasy, he’d never known satisfaction like that. A crush of possessiveness.
Having sex bare would shatter any remaining composure, but he was beyond sense. Past caring about the how or when or if of their future. He was an asshole for letting this happen before they talked, but he couldn’t make himself stop.
He squeezed her breasts, ate up her body with his hungry eyes, tugged her down for another rough kiss, loved feeling her soft breasts pressed to his hard chest. She was the humor to his seriousness. The light to his dark. Ridiculous and infuriating at times, but she was his kind of perfect. If he messed this up, he’d never forgive himself.
He manhandled her, flipped them back over, needing some semblance of control. The illusion of it, at least. Her hair was wild from sleeping with it wet. Her lips were shiny and plump, her neck and breasts red from where he’d sucked too hard—his late best friend’s little sister transformed into a sexual goddess. Into the most integral person in his life.
How would he manage if he lost her?
“You okay?” She touched his cheek, worry in her slanted browns.
“I’m perfect.” Because of her. With her.
A punch of desperation flooded his veins.
He positioned himself at her entrance, couldn’t believe he was about to sink into Annie. She canted her hips, tried to coax him in. He held her steady, mesmerized, watching his length disappear into her, one inch, another. So hot, wet. All Annie. A pause as he twitched and she gasped.
“More,” she demanded.
“I wish you could see what I see,” he murmured. He pushed in farther, a slow slide until they were flush. Then he moved. They moved together, pulling at each other as their bodies merged, a give and take as they went deeper, farther, deeper still, but the close wasn’t close enough. The far made him angry. He pumped harder, needing more. He could barely swallow through the roughness crowding his throat.
“Annie. Fuck, you’re…” Everything. At what point in his life had she become everything?
He pressed lower, caged her between his forearms, never letting her look away. Her hazel eyes shone—springtime green, glistening with possibility. He snapped his hips, ground against her, kissed her so hard their teeth clashed. Not his smoothest move, but it didn’t matter. The future didn’t matter. Together, like this, Annie was all that mattered.
“God, Wes. I’m close.” She knocked her head back, squeezed him so hard lust blasted up his thighs. Too soon. He lifted slightly, reached between them, desperate to make this unforgettable for her. The second his thumb brushed her, she clenched and cried out. The sharp tug on him stole his breath. She shook, incoherent as she let go, and he was right behind her, a blinding rush roaring up his spine. He cursed. He called her name.
All he could feel and see and smell was Annie Ward.
He kissed her eyes, her nose, the birthmark beside her mouth. “You okay?”
She stroked his back and nodded. “I don’t ever want you to move.”
He couldn’t agree more. Moving meant reality. Reality meant talking. Talking meant things could get shaky. “I might never go into work again.” Or leave this room.
Annie circled her hips, just enough to make him growl. And fire him up.
Then his cell rang.
He bit her collarbone, licked it gently, determined to ignore the world a while longer. “I’ll throw my phone out the window.”
She raked her fingers up his back and over his shoulders. “What if it’s work?”
“It’s definitely work.” Another meltdown. More stress.
“You should get it.”
“I should debauch you again.”
She laughed softly. “Or that.”
He kissed her until the ringing stopped, refused to give up this slice of perfection. He still couldn’t believe he was bare in Annie, his release seeping out, something so erotic about that hot slide coating them.
Another goddamn ring. He hung his head and cursed.
There was no avoiding fate when it was gunning for you.
18
Annie watched Wes warily as he glared out his massive windows, his phone clutched in his hand. His tone was direct and curt. He paced a steady line. This was the third call since they’d woken up and the blissed out, affectionate man from the bedroom had officially vacated the premises. This was business Wes. Pulled-in-a-million-directions Wes.
She loved him more than ever.
He hung up and dragged a hand through his hair. He was already showered, shaved, and suited up. Tie. Button-down shirt. Slacks. She was back in her sexy lace dress, the only clothes she had at his place.
She picked up his coffee mug and joined him by the window. “Is work always this insane?”
He glanced at the offered mug, but his gaze roved to her legs, up her thighs to the low neckline of her dress. His eyelids fell heavy. “Are you always this sexy?”
He pressed a kiss to her neck.
She almost dropped their mugs.
He took his coffee, eyes now locked on her face. “It’s not unusual, but the merger has taken the intensity to a new level.”
“Is it worth it?”
“Without a doubt. If the merger falls apart, we’ll lose market share. It’ll affect our bottom line, our growth. Jobs would be cut.”
All a huge deal, but that wasn’t what she’d meant. “Is it worth it to you? I’ve only ever seen your work life at a distance and didn’t realize it was this intrusive. Is it what you want to do, or did you get into the family business because it was expected? Do you love building a pharmaceutical empire as much as you love DJing?”
He took a slow sip of his coffee. “My father may have steered me toward Aldrich Pharma, but I couldn’t imagine not working there. My name’s on that company, and en
gineering pharmaceuticals makes a difference in the world. It’s a legacy of sorts. The DJing is a rush, but not like the accomplishment I feel at work. When life has been rough, work has been my escape. Problem solving, so many moving parts under my control. If you’re not in it and focused, everything falls apart. It’s a different kind of gratification, but no less important.”
“So you love it? Even with all this stress?” That kind of pressure would have flattened her. She flipped the page when a Sudoku puzzle got too hard, quit jobs when they became tedious.
“Aldrich Pharma is part of who I am. It makes me happy in an exhausting and thrilling way, and our breakthroughs change lives. If I lost it or left, it would be like losing a piece of myself. So, yes, the stress is worth it. The hours are worth it. But thank you.”
“For what?”
“For asking. No one has ever cared enough to ask how I feel.”
The coffee mug was toasty in her hands. Weston’s sincerity made the rest of her warm and sated. “It’s okay if you need to go. I know we said we’d talk, but you’re busy and I don’t want to add to your stress. And I haven’t mentioned it, because we were doing that whole ignoring-each-other thing the past week, but I worked on your video feed. I took it in a different direction, which you might hate, but it’s pretty good, if I do say so myself. Vivian helped splice it together, but it needs your genius beats to bring it to life.” His blue eyes were intense. Unreadable. The white-blue of an immovable iceberg. “If you don’t end up liking it, that’s cool. I won’t be offended. I can try something else or do nothing and let you create whatever it was you envisioned because I’ve clearly overstepped.”
He plucked her coffee cup from her clutches, placed it next to his on the glass end table, then he was everywhere, one hand in her hair, the other pressed against her back, fingers digging into her spine. His mouth moved against hers in a seductive rhythm that short-circuited her brain. He tasted like coffee and untempered desire.
The Beat Match Page 18
