by Moira McTark
And with her one leg still hiked up against his hip and only the wet silk that clung to her erect nipples between them, she couldn’t deny her arousal.
He straightened, pulled her closer, and looked down into her eyes.
She skimmed her hands over the shoulders of his T-shirt, damp where the flakes had melted into the soft cotton. “This is wet. Maybe you should take it off.”
Ryan stared into her eyes, holding her suspended in time. “You take it off.”
Her mouth opened as if to protest, but she couldn’t find the words to follow through. Hands splayed over the soft white cotton and hard muscles beneath, she smoothed them down and under the thin fabric, heating them against the flat of his abdomen. He tensed at the chill of her fingers on his skin, rippling the terrain into hard rows of definition.
Grasping her right hand with both of his, he drew it toward his mouth. “You’re cold.”
Warm breath wound around her icy fingers then hot moisture encased them as he sucked one after the other into his mouth. His tongue flicked at the sensitive connective skin between her digits, and a flutter of anticipation beat within her core. Unable to keep her hands to herself, she skimmed the left up to trap his nipple within her icy clutches.
A low groan escaped him as she softly tugged at it, and it amazed her that her attention could elicit such a response. Beneath his shirt, each sinewy muscle flexed under her chilly caress. Removing her fingers from his mouth, she pushed up his shirt and marveled at his sculpted torso, even better in real life than in fantasy form. An enticing patch of soft curls trailed down from his navel and disappeared into the waist of his track pants. She wanted to comb her fingers though it, see the contrast of her shiny, red-enameled nails buried in the thicket. Her mouth watered, and desire built within her core, soaking her panties with want.
Ryan raised his arms over his head and helped her pull the shirt off, tossing it to the floor beside them. His gaze fell to the wet silk stuck against her breasts. “Your turn.”
There was no going back. She couldn’t deny her need.
Starting at the top, her fingers trembled as she worked each braided button through its slit, until her blouse hung open to reveal the white lace of her bra and smooth expanse of her abdomen. Pulling the panels of creamy silk apart, she slid the shirt off her shoulders and down to her wrists. Her cheeks flushed—she hadn’t released the buttons at the cuffs.
She pulled against her inadvertent confine but stopped when Ryan’s hands, warmer than her own, skimmed across her collarbones. One traveled to her chest to cup and squeeze her breast, testing its weight in his palm, while the other slipped down her arm to where the shirt trapped her.
He took hold of the blouse and, twisting it in his hand, cinched her wrists together behind her. She jerked back, alarmed to find herself his captive, but he drew her steadily against his body. An illicit thrill overcame her as, softly, back and forth, his mouth grazed hers, sinking slowly into the kiss as she succumbed to his hold. Her lips parted, and his tongue pressed between them, first with a tentative probe then with plundering force.
Moving to her breast with the other, he pulled the lace cup down to expose her taut, rosy nipple. He covered the tight bud with his mouth and clamped on, suckling with deep, rhythmic pulls. She moaned and tried to move her hands, wanting to weave them through his hair, only to realize she was still trapped. He twisted the fabric that bound her, tightening it, as if staking a claim, and nipped at her breast.
What was he doing to her? Every touch made her want to give in more—beg him to take more.
His free hand moved down to her slacks. He slipped his thumb under the waist and followed it around to the clasp to release it in one motion.
She had a moment’s hesitation when the soft wool slid off her hips, pooling around her feet on the floor.
“Ryan,” she panted as he massaged her swollen folds beneath her panties. “This is just for tonight, right?”
He dragged his stubbled jaw across the hills and valleys of her breasts, turning his cheek to add a light scrape over her nipples. “Beth, don’t talk.”
Her mind sounded a quiet alert, but when Ryan again drew her nipple into his mouth and buried his face against her sensitized flesh, she lost all thought of concern. She would give in tonight, to him, to her needs and fantasies. It was exhausting to maintain such a rigidly controlled existence. For one night, she’d give in to desire.
The tension at her wrists released, and Ryan swept her off her feet, supporting her back and knees. He cradled her against his chest and walked back to his room, kissing her mouth, tasting her lips, lapping at her neck and behind her ear.
God, maybe she’d underestimated him all these months.
Setting Bethany on the bed, Ryan shucked his pants and boxers, and crawled over her. Positioning his knee between her legs, he pushed her back into the pillows. He never stopped moving, touching, exploring, sampling different parts of her, knowing that if he gave her a moment to pause, she’d think herself out of their night together. He wasn’t about to let that happen.
As a rule, Ryan didn’t dabble in interoffice romance, but if there was one woman in the world who wouldn’t allow a liaison to interfere in her professional work, it was Bethany. She was driven like no one he’d ever met before. She was driven like he was.
And she was so controlled. It excited him and made him want her, professionally and physically. But in the bedroom, with him, she would give up control. He’d make her abandon her strict hold on her life. He’d make it so all she could think of was him, sinking into her, again and again.
With a possessiveness he’d never before experienced, he raked his gaze over her body laid out on the bed before him. Her breasts were large and high, her hips smooth and firm. He’d wanted to sample her luscious form from the first time he met her. Not very professional thinking on his part, but hell, he was a man, and her tits were incredible. Even hidden away under some boxy suit jacket, he could see their gentle sway when she walked.
Now, pressing the bridge of his nose against the under swell and into the deep valley between them, he reveled in her soft flesh.
She moaned, writhing under his weight, as he pressed his bare thigh against her pussy. With her panties still in place, there were too many clothes between them, but he wanted to take his time.
He wouldn’t tell her it was just for tonight, because it wasn’t. The attraction that tugged at him, constantly whispering there was more between them, had distracted him for months. She didn’t want a real relationship, and neither did he, so it would be no problem, but just tonight? No way.
One taste wouldn’t satisfy him, not after this long. He wanted to gorge on her voluptuous curves and wet depths. He wanted to take his time, have her every way she’d let him. And then, they’d talk business.
Dropping kisses from her breast down to her stomach and onto the lacy terrain of her pussy, Ryan inhaled, savoring the sweet musk of her arousal. He pressed his mouth between her legs and ran his tongue against the crease between her lips. Even through her panties, he could taste her tang and feel her wetness.
“Oh, God, I need this,” she moaned, rocking against his touch. Her fingers wound in his hair, tugged gently, seductively.
He stroked her again with his tongue, harder, then followed with a long, warm breath through the damp fabric, eliciting a mew of pleasure from her that nearly broke his control.
She arched back on the bed, and he captured her hips in his hands, reveling in the soft skin over muscle and bone, and held her firm against the mattress.
He had her half naked on his bed; his need to conquer should have been met, but all he could think was more. He wanted to drive her so wild with need she’d relinquish every part of herself to him. Every last bit of resistance, every last doubt, every last shred of her control. He wanted her to beg him to take it, to take her.
Pinning her hips with his forearms, he glanced up and, for a beat, his gaze met hers. “Let me have you,” he grow
led.
Her eyes, usually sharp with focus, were soft, smoky, her lids heavy. She nodded and stilled beneath him. “Have me.”
His cock ached at her breathy reply, and he wondered how long he’d be able to hold out before he had no choice but to drive himself into her. He slipped his fingers around the sodden strip of fabric between her legs and pulled it to the side, exposing her plump, rosy lips, shiny with her need for him. “Spread your thighs wider for me.”
Her muscles tensed beneath him, and she opened. Her lips parted, revealing the glistening ribbon of pink flesh hidden beneath.
“Beautiful,” he whispered as he lowered his mouth to rasp against her sensitive flesh. A shiver coursed through her at his touch, and his cock throbbed with a need to cause more. He pointed the tip of his tongue and traced a slow path around the hard bud of her clit, once, twice, and a third time before running down to her opening.
He teased the edge of the fissure and then, unable to resist, thrust into her as deep as he could go. She spasmed around his tongue, crying out as her juices made their sweet assault on his taste buds.
Her pants and cries escalated with his steady strokes. Her pleasure became his. She was close. With a slow curl of his tongue, he drew away. Her fingers, still wound in his hair, tightened. She tried to pull him closer, but he wouldn’t give. The sight of her pretty pussy clenching for him, the trickle of her juices as they escaped her channel, her throaty pleas for more, mesmerized him.
He shifted his weight over her body so that one leg rested between her spread thighs and the other supported him from beside her hip. He flexed the fingers of his free hand wide as they ascended the steep rise of her breast and stroked over the stiff peak of her nipple before capturing it with a gentle tug.
“Ryan,” she gasped, raising her hips in an effort to reach his thigh.
With the tip of his finger, he circled her areola, stroked every tight bump and crinkle. Then lowering his mouth to hers, he let his lips glide against hers. She opened enticingly, her tongue darting out to meet his, inviting him into her mouth.
He continued his torture, sliding his lips back and forth against hers, and skimmed his hand down the side of her panties. He pulled back from her kiss even as she rose off the bed to follow him for it, and worked the lace down her thighs and legs, discarding it at the foot of the bed.
Retrieving a condom from his bag, he quickly sheathed himself and then, looking back at her, let out a low groan. She was half seated, ready for him. Her arms supported her against the bed, her legs bent, knees wide.
Unable to resist any longer, he edged between her legs. She raised her hips as he positioned his cock at her entrance. He’d wanted women before, lusted for them, longed for them even. But never had he felt so much like a man possessed when he finally touched them. Every part of him demanded that Bethany be his.
“Take me,” came her breathy plea. “Any way you want. I need you inside of me.”
He thrust forward, boring into her with one long, hard stroke that buried him to the hilt. He lost himself in the bliss of her hold, the rhythmic pulse of her body around him, conforming to his presence within her. For an instant, he was blind to anything but the fact that they were one. And then his need to satisfy her overcame everything else.
Bethany could barely breathe. The pleasure was so intense that every part of her body seemed to stop and take note of the velvet glide of Ryan as he pumped in and out of her slick channel. With every stroke, his groin kissed her clit, took her higher, closer to the summit of ecstasy.
“God, yes,” she gasped, wrapping her legs around his hips, her hands gripping his biceps. The man knew how to touch her, how to make her want in a way she’d never experienced before.
Her inner walls hugged with every draw. Pleasure burst at every thrust. From her extremities, the pull of tingly sensation migrated toward her center, building with each pump of his hips and crush of flesh against flesh.
They met stroke for stroke, moved faster, harder, until the threatening waves of her orgasm broke through her core and she seized around him, her channel milking his cock with every contracting wave.
Ryan’s hard body tensed above and within her as he met her peak with his own. Through one final thrust, he growled against her neck and spilled himself into the condom.
They rocked slowly, silently together. For an instant, she lost herself completely and wished they could stay like that for eternity, cradling each other in their sensual embrace. She felt whole.
Then she blinked and, looking into Ryan’s limitless blue eyes, she returned to her senses. It was one night. She’d make the most of it.
Chapter Three
January 22
Bethany awoke with a sense of weightless peace. She remained that way for almost two-tenths of a second, until the shock of what she’d done, and who she’d done it with, came roaring into her consciousness.
She wore a man’s large, white T-shirt that smelled appealingly like...Speedstick? She wanted to be revolted, but the thin, cool fabric against her skin still raw in places from his stubble, made her want to pull her knees up under it and snuggle back into the soft pillows of the bed. Awesomely comfortable shirt aside, she’d spent the night with Ryan. Ryan! As it was, the man dominated nearly seventy percent of her life. Hadn’t she gotten enough of him without having to beg for his cock inside of her?
She didn’t even like him, couldn’t respect him—
No, neither was true. But there was something fundamental about him she didn’t trust. Well, certainly she trusted him enough to let him fuck her senseless last night.
God, he was good.
It was more that she didn’t trust him to...she didn’t know. Didn’t want or need to worry about it. Last night had been spectacular, and she would invariably walk around with some kind of after-sex glow that would make her seem giddy and stupid all day, but what of it? This was an interpersonal retreat. She’d bonded, she rationalized with a mischievous smile.
Hopping out of bed, she hummed, swaying her hips to the chorus of Natural Woman as she walked into the bathroom and checked her reflection. Her hair was a disaster, her makeup almost gone, and her skin did, in fact, look as though someone had taken a sandblaster to it. Holy shit. How would she ever cover up the pink shine across her cheeks and chest? It all but screamed, “fucking for four hours straight!”
Four hours. She leaned back against the towel cabinet in a state of near delirium. It had been so long since she’d had a man, she deserved a four-hour fling. But how would she keep her cool in the office when she knew what Ryan was capable of?
She’d find a way. In the privacy of her bathroom, she could melt on the floor, get all worked up and wet just thinking about him. But in the workplace? There was too much at stake, and if there was one thing she had straight, it was her priorities.
Was there any chance they had enough time for one more go? Nothing fancy like with the shower last night, but, dear Lord, she wanted him buried inside of her again. Stretching her, pulling her leg over his shoulder. Aahhh.... She sank to the floor and took a deep breath. She wasn’t a woman obsessed. Ryan wasn’t her plaything. She needed to get a grip.
And she needed a shower.
By the time she’d finished a thorough scrub and lather, she felt almost back to normal. Ready, at least, to face a return to the mundane details of her life. Stepping out of the glassed-in stall, she grabbed a towel and squeezed the water from her thick tangle of hair. She fumbled through the cabinets and drawers in search of a comb or anything to make herself more presentable. Though the idea of a comb left behind by some stranger, even one successful enough to spend time at this luxurious retreat, was repugnant. But one glance in the mirror, seeing the dense mass of matted curls, confirmed it. The risk of scalp contamination was the lesser evil.
The drawers were filled with creams, scented oils, cleansers and scrubs. Loofahs, natural sponges, candles and more, but no combs. Squinting up at the ceiling, she wondered if Ryan would have a
comb. Even one of those thin black ones like her grandfather used to carry in his back pocket. Given enough time, a fork would suffice, but the idea of using cutlery for her hair was even worse than someone else’s abandoned dandruff.
With a huff, she checked the last cabinet under the sink. A blow dryer and diffuser. It was official; Ryan would be her last resort. She couldn’t very well look like this when the other team members showed up. She slipped into yesterday’s trousers and ruined silk blouse, which she’d retrieved and hung sometime during the early hours of the morning. After a nice shower, she wasn’t interested in the panties of old and went commando instead. Not exactly an immaculate presentation, but she wasn’t about to risk being caught in Ryan’s clothes.
Wrapping the towel around her head like a turban, she took a quick second to compose herself and headed down the hall to the lounge, following the spicy scent of cinnamon and coffee. It was such a perfect way to start the day. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply through her nose. Heaven was her last thought before stepping into the spacious front room to see Ryan standing in an awkward lunge as he pressed his phone to his ear.
“What do you mean no one else is coming? Until when? Shit, Jared, you know that wasn’t what I meant… Well, how long is it supposed to keep up like this? Jared? Jared?” Ryan straightened and looked at the phone, his brow furrowed as he moved the mobile around in the air.
“What is it?” she demanded, praying her powers of deduction had gone to pot and they were not, in fact, stranded alone together.
Apparently caught by surprise, Ryan startled when she spoke. Not his usual confident self at all. Squinting one eye at her, he started backing towards the kitchen with his hands held up in placation. “The caretaker couldn’t get back up the pass, and the storm knocked out the phone lines…and my phone has almost no signal. I just lost the call.”
