by Anne Rainey
She turned toward Dean and held the picture in the air. “You have a beautiful family, Dean. You’re very lucky.”
Dean looked up, then crooked a finger at her. “Come here.”
She put the picture back the way she found it and crossed the room. “Yes?”
He stood and caged her in with both arms on either side of the desk. “I see something more beautiful,” he murmured.
Catherine knew he was referring to her, but she couldn’t wrap her mind around it. When he touched his mouth to hers and stroked his tongue over her bottom lip, her body thrummed to life. One arm came around her lower back and pulled her toward him. He moved backward, and before she knew it she was in his lap.
Scandalized by the fact they were in his office and anyone could walk in at any moment, Catherine pushed against his chest, breaking the kiss. “Dean, we shouldn’t. Not here.”
“Yes, here,” he said in a tone that left no room for argument. She hesitated, torn between what she wanted and propriety. Dean immediately took advantage of her indecision by coaxing her lips apart and slipping his tongue inside. His taste, now so familiar, was better than cheesecake and chocolate put together. He explored the inside of her mouth and slid his palm lower to cup her bottom. Catherine wound her arms around his neck and sank into his seductive touch.
Since arriving at his office, he’d been rather distant. As if he didn’t want anyone to know they were more than merely friends. It made her want to throttle him. Now that she had him close, she wasn’t going to waste any time. She drifted her hands down his nape to his shoulders, then his pecs and ripped abs. He was so hard and muscular all over it nearly melted her every time she touched him. He was a powerful, arrogant, handsome god. Feeling wild and impetuous, Catherine coasted her palm over the bulge in his faded jeans, cupping his rigid length. He was as turned on as she, Catherine was pleased to notice.
As he continued to eat at her mouth, Catherine played. Soon, his free hand moved up her calf, beneath the back of the knee-length skirt she’d worn. He caressed his way up her thigh and cupped her mound. Catherine lurched at the feel of him there. It was in the middle of the workday and they were at his office. What were they thinking?
With the little willpower she still had left, Catherine forced her mouth off his and moved her hand away from his crotch. “Stop, Dean,” she said in a hushed whisper. “We could be seen.”
Dean chuckled. “We won’t be seen, sweetheart. I locked the door when you were nosing around earlier. Now, be still and let me have some fun.”
Catherine wanted to protest the nosy comment, but his mouth moved to her neck and he began to nibble and lick. She’d protest later, she decided. “God, I love when you do that.”
Dean moved to her ear and whispered, “I’ve only just begun.” He sat back in the chair. “Straddle me so I can play.”
Catherine cringed as she became aware that she had all her weight on him. “I’m not too heavy?”
He frowned, clearly confused. “Heavy?”
She plucked at her skirt. “I’m larger than average, that’s all.”
In a flash, Dean gripped her around the waist and lifted her. “Straddle me,” he demanded. When she obeyed, he plopped her back down on top of his thighs. Her skirt was hiked up to midthigh and her satin-covered pussy was now pressed against his fly. “Do not put yourself down. You aren’t heavy. You’re perfect. Every inch of you.”
Her face heated. “I wasn’t putting myself down.” His black look called her a liar. “I have a mirror, Dean.”
He grasped a handful of her hair in a possessive hold. “Every man here leered at you the minute you walked onto the property. I can’t keep my damn hands off you for five minutes, and you think you’re heavy?” He shook his head as if exasperated with her. Catherine started to protest his ridiculous claim, but Dean plowed right over her. “Make no mistake, sweetheart, you are in my mind day and night. I think of you when I go to bed. Your touch, your sweet, sweet curves, and this pretty mouth. I can’t get enough.”
Her eyes welled up, but she refused to let the tears spill over. “I think of you too. I’ve never wanted a man more than I want you.”
His smile was possessive and proud. “Good, let’s keep it that way, shall we?”
Her heart seemed to stop beating for a second. What was he saying? Catherine wanted him to clarify. Was she more than a sex partner to him? As he went back to kissing her, Catherine knew that discussion time was over. In true Dean style, he chose to prove his point by showing, rather than telling.
His talented mouth pressed against hers, and Catherine’s mind fogged over. There was only Dean. All her questions fell away. She opened her mouth and danced her tongue over his lips. At his rumble of approval, Dean took over and their tongues mated. Catherine’s hands clutched onto Dean’s biceps, anxious and aching. Her body was on fire. She wanted him, inside of her, around her, drinking her in and filling her up. He was a craving in her blood, one she could no more deny than she could her next breath.
Catherine’s fingers trailed over his muscular arms, and she drew in a breath when they came around her waist and pulled her in tight. A moan escaped. He was so strong, so virile. She was safe and secure with Dean. As the thought flitted through her mind, Catherine went still. Fear shot through her as she realized the truth. She was in love with him. Her body already belonged to him, only now her soul seemed tethered to him as well.
“I want this pussy. It’s mine,” Dean quietly declared. “Say you want me. Deep. Here and now.”
“Yes, right here. I can’t wait a second more.”
He slipped his hands beneath her skirt and pushed her panties aside. “Unzip me,” he whispered.
Catherine’s fingers fumbled over the buttons in his jeans as she tried to obey. When she had his fly open, she peeked at his navy blue boxer-briefs and her desire increased tenfold. She licked her lips and gently drew him out. The head of his cock tempted her to taste, but in their position there was no way she would be able to get him into her mouth, not unless she moved to her knees on the floor.
Dean stroked her hair and murmured, “Later, we’ll take our time,” he said, as if reading her thoughts. “For now I need to feel your tight little pussy holding my dick.”
It was the same for her. “Yes.”
“Guide me in,” he instructed. “Show me how much you want it. Take us both there, sweetheart.”
His erotic words had her heart pounding harder and her body quaking with need. “My pussy is dripping for you,” she said, giving him the carnal words she knew he wanted to hear. “It’s been too long, Dean.”
He chuckled. “It was only this morning.”
“Like I said, too long,” she whispered. Then she took his heavy cock in her hand and slid him inside. Her body closed around him, tight and hot. She shuddered, flung her head back, and rode him.
“That’s my girl. Fuck it good,” Dean urged as he clutched her hair in his fist and tugged until her back was resting against his arm. He lowered over her and sipped on her breasts right through the plum-colored blouse she’d put on earlier. The heat of his mouth seeped through the thin material, sucking the breath out of her and driving her into another world. When his fingers found their way over her nub, expertly flicking it the way she liked, Catherine’s nerve endings sizzled to life. Her muscles clenched as she rode him faster, harder, their bodies wrapped around each other, melding until there was no separating them.
Soon Catherine was there, spiraling out of control. Her hot pussy bathing him in her juices as she climaxed. Dean sank his mouth over hers and captured her shouts of satisfaction. As the desire began to ebb, Dean clutched her hips and pushed into her once, twice, then he arched his neck and moaned her name as he emptied himself deep.
Catherine’s breath came in short pants, her body sweating from exertion, the skirt clinging to her overheated skin. Her legs shook as she collapsed against Dean’s heaving chest. “I’m so not moving. Ever again.”
Dean�
��s arms came around her shoulders, holding her tight against him. “Works for me.” She wiggled, gaining his attention. As his gaze snared hers, Catherine saw raw hunger in their passionate depths. If Dean hadn’t just spent himself inside her, she would have thought he was ready to go all over again.
“I think I’m going to be a bit sticky,” she teased, trying to inject some casualness into the intensity that seemed to surround them all of a sudden.
“I could make love to you twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, and it still wouldn’t be enough.”
She had no words for such a bald statement. Good thing he didn’t seem to expect any. Dean sighed and slipped his cock free, then grabbed a tissue from a box on the corner of his desk and tenderly wiped her pussy clean. He tossed it in a trashcan beneath the desk, before he readjusted her panties. When his heavy length was once again confined, he slid a palm up her thigh and cupped her mound in a possessively hold. “You never cease to amaze me. You can be so bold and incredibly shy all at the same time. So much of you still mystifies me.” He leaned in and kissed her lightly on the forehead, then wrapped his strong hands around her middle and placed her back on the floor in front of him. “So, do you want to look around some more?” he asked.
She laughed. “Uh, I think I’ve seen enough for one day. I feel like a bath. A long one.”
He nodded. “Let me finish up and we can head out.” He looked at the computer and rubbed his chin. “What time did you say you’re meeting Gracie?”
Crud, Catherine had forgotten all about the concert. “Six o’clock. What time is it?”
“It’s only two,” he said, a slow sexy smile spreading across his face. “We have time.”
She knew that look. He was making plans. Naughty plans. “Time for what exactly?”
He wagged his eyebrows. “For me to play your bath buddy.”
Intrigued at the idea of spending more time in the Jacuzzi-style tub with Dean, Catherine said, “Only if I get to be in charge of the soap this time.”
Dean reached up and gave a playful tug on her hair. “You should know by now that I’m always the one in charge. At least when it comes to playtime.”
Frustrated, Catherine crossed her arms over her chest. “But last time I didn’t get a chance to wash you. Not fair.”
He winked. “Fine, you can go first, how’s that?”
Catherine grinned as she thought of all the wicked things she would do to him. She rubbed her hands together. “Oh, this is going to be fun.”
Dean grunted and started to shove some papers into a drawer. “Hell, I might not survive it.”
Catherine’s mind went back over all they’d just done, and her mind glommed on to one thing. “Dean?”
Without looking up from his desk, he said, “Hmm?”
“Earlier you called me . . . your girl. Did you mean that?” She hadn’t meant to sound so vulnerable, but she needed to know where she stood with him.
Dean stopped what he was doing and looked over at her. He never took his gaze from hers when he said, “I meant every word.” He stood and closed the distance between them. They were only a breath apart when he asked, “Do you have a problem being mine, sweetheart? If so, you should tell me now.”
Her stomach flip-flopped. She felt utterly desirable around Dean. His words and caresses made her come alive. “I don’t have a problem with it. And you should know that I consider you mine now too.”
He reached out and stroked a single finger down her cheek. “Suits me just fine.”
“This could prove interesting though, considering I live in Georgia and you still don’t trust me.”
His eyes turned hard. “I don’t want to think of you leaving.”
Catherine noticed he didn’t address the trust issue. She knew at some point they’d have to. It was the white elephant in the room whenever they were together. She took the last remaining step and wrapped her arms around his waist, cuddling close. She didn’t know what was going to happen to their fragile relationship, but for now she planned to make the most of every second. “Let’s go play in the tub.”
His lips brushed the top of her head in a gentle caress. “I love the way you think, sweets.”
19
Dean looked at the time on his alarm clock next to his bed. Christ, he’d only been away from Catherine for a few hours and he couldn’t stop thinking about her. What was wrong with him? Normally he was relieved when the woman he was dating didn’t smother him twenty-four hours a day. He hated the clingy types. Catherine definitely wasn’t clingy. In fact, right now she was off listening to some orchestra perform and probably having a great time. He shook his head and put the graphite pencil back in the cup. As he stood back, he surveyed the sketch. Damn, it was the best thing he’d ever drawn. He wondered if Catherine would like it. When he heard the doorbell, Dean’s stomach knotted. It couldn’t be her. The performance wouldn’t be over until nine, Catherine had said. She’d told him that she’d call when she made it back to the hotel. Still, a guy could hope. The doorbell chimed again, and Dean strode from the room. By the time he reached the front door, he was frowning. He yanked it open, ready to blast his visitor when he was brought up short by the sight of his mom and sister.
“Took you long enough to answer the door,” Deanna said, rubbing her hands together to ward off the chill.
“Was it really necessary to ring the bell twice?” he asked as he stepped aside to let them in.
“Sorry,” Deanna said, sounding anything but. “What were you doing?”
“I was working, Little Miss Busybody,” he answered as he tweaked her nose.
“This late?” his mom asked.
“Here,” Dean said as he helped her with her coat. Not that she needed it. At sixty-two years old, his mom still got around just fine. She had fair skin that barely showed her age and dark brown hair sprinkled with gray. Dean knew she’d joined a yoga class and that she took good care of herself. He still worried about her though. Since his dad’s death from a brain aneurism a few years ago, his mother had been left alone in the large house he’d been raised in. It bothered Wade, Deanna, and him that their mother refused to sell and find a small apartment.
“Nothing strenuous, I swear,” he answered her. “Just working on a bid.” He hated to lie to his family, but he hadn’t shared his love of art with them. He hadn’t shared it with anyone, until Catherine. It made him feel exposed whenever he thought of showing his sketches to his mom and sister.
She looked at him with the astuteness only a mother seemed to possess. “Are we interrupting?”
“Of course not, Mom. You’re always welcome at my house.” He leaned down and hugged her, before saying, “Sorry if I was rude.”
“Well, in that case, you wouldn’t happen to have some coffee made, would you?” she asked as she shivered. “Some really hot coffee?”
“Coming right up,” he said as he led the way to the kitchen. “For you too, Dee?” he called over his shoulder.
“I’d love some,” she answered as she followed close behind. “I thought you were dog sitting. Where’s Duke?”
“Back at home. His owner came home early from his trip.” As the women sat, Dean asked, “So, is there a particular reason for the visit? Or is it that you missed my pretty face?”
His mom laughed. “I always enjoy seeing the pretty faces of my children.”
“Yeah, but I’m the prettiest, right?” Deanna chimed in.
Dean snorted as he poured water into the well on the back of the brewer. “I’m the good-looking twin, remember?”
“That’s not what Jonas says,” Deanna shot right back.
Dean rolled his eyes. “His vote doesn’t count,” he said, scooping coffee grounds into the basket. “He’s biased.”
“Stop it, you two,” his mom said. “I swear, sometimes your bickering could drive me to drink.”
Deanna laughed. “But you love us anyway.”
Dean grabbed three mugs from the cupboard and sat them in the center o
f the table. He pulled out a chair, turned it around, and straddled it. He wasted no time getting to the point. “I can see you have something on your collective minds.” He looked at his mom, then his sister. “Might as well spit it out.”
“We came because we’re concerned about you, Dean,” his mother replied, her tone softening a measure. “You and Catherine both.”
Dean glared at his twin. “Big mouth.” At least Deanna had the good grace to blush. It was something, he supposed.
His mom reached over and patted the back of his hand. “Don’t be upset with your sister. She’s worried, that’s all.”
“About me? What the hell for?”
His mother frowned. “Watch your language.”
“Sorry,” he muttered. “But seriously, why are you two worried? I’m fine.”
“Not from what I can see, you aren’t,” his sister interrupted, unwilling to back off. Stubborn woman.
When the coffeemaker dinged, indicating it was finished, Dean stood to get it, welcoming the distraction. “Well, you don’t see everything, Dee,” he told her as he poured them each a cup.
“Have you decided to believe Catherine’s story?” she asked with a knowing look. Dean refused to answer. “That’s what I thought. So, you aren’t fine.”
He put the carafe back on the warming plate and leaned against the counter, leaving his mug on the table, untouched. “That topic is off-limits. Let it go.”
“Dean,” his mom said. “Have you considered that a good deal of your distrust of Catherine might stem from what happened between you and Linda? Not to mention the two losers before her who broke your heart.”
Of course he’d thought of it, but he didn’t want to get into that ugly can of worms with his mother, of all people. “Mom, that was all years ago. I’m over it.”
