My Sinful Desire (Sinful Men Book 2)

by Lauren Blakely

  She tossed her head back and laughed throatily. “Do you want me to wipe the drool from your chin now or later?”

  I snapped her iPad case closed and set it down on the table. Reaching behind her, I lowered the lounge chair, then crawled over her, pinning her with my body. “You think I’m just going to let that impudent comment slide?”

  The look in her eyes changed as she transformed from that confident, saucy woman to the vulnerable, submissive one. “Are you going to punish me?”

  I shook my head. “No. I’m not going to punish you. I’m going to make you work for it.”

  “How?” she asked, and in that one word, I heard the thrill of anticipation. Her own desire to be led like this was her drug.

  I clasped her hands, threading my fingers through hers, watching every move she made—the way her lips parted, how her eyes followed mine, how her chest rose and fell. I stretched her arms over her head, and gently pushed her hands beneath one of the wood slats at the top of the lounge chair.

  “Hold on to the chair the whole time,” I said, then moved off her to reach for an ice cube from my drink. I held it above her chest, as the first bead of liquid fell from the cube and landed between her lush breasts. Her nipples pebbled through the fabric of her bikini.

  I lowered the ice cube closer to her skin. “Are you hot?”

  She bit her lip, and answered, “Very.”

  “I had a feeling you might be.” I brushed it through her cleavage, and she shivered, gasping out loud at the first contact with the cold. “Does that make you feel better?”

  “Yes,” she said on a feathery gasp. I ran the ice under her breasts, down her belly, and to the top of her bikini bottoms, picturing the treasure that lay beneath the white fabric—her wet, hot pussy. My dick throbbed in my swim shorts, and my need to have her intensified.

  I glided the ice up and down her sides, and she squirmed, writhing under my touch. She was a live wire. With every touch, she sparked. She ignited, responding to my words, my voice, my hands, and my body. It was intoxicating. It was addictive. I bent my neck to her, licking the shell of her ear with the tip of my tongue. She moaned softly, whispering my name in a barely audible voice.

  It sounded like a plea.

  My shorts made a tent, pitched high. “Do you want me to touch you?”

  “Yes.”

  “My yard is big. My neighbors aren’t around today,” I said as I traveled up her body with the ice cube, watching her shiver as it left a wet path across her hot skin. I reached the hollow of her throat, making circles, watching the ice melt some. I leaned in and kissed the water away. Then I pulled back, and said firmly, “Put it between your teeth.”

  She opened her mouth and waited for me to insert the cube. She held it in place with her teeth as I ran the backs of my fingertips down her arm. “I could untie your bikini straps right now. Take off the top and tie you up with it. Flip you over onto your hands and knees and fuck you from behind on this chair,” I said, not looking at her, but instead reaching for my glass and finishing off my drink.

  I returned my focus to her, and the look in her eyes was already glassy, on the path to red-hot desire. “Would you like that?”

  She nodded.

  Starting at her collarbone, I brushed my finger over her chest, then through the valley of those gorgeous tits, on a fast track to her legs. I danced my fingers along the waistband of her bathing suit, taunting her. “Or I could take these off right now and feel how wet you are. Since you’re all nice and slippery, right?”

  She bucked upward, giving her yes. A drop of liquid drizzled from the cube down her chin. I kissed it away. “Don’t let go of the ice,” I instructed. “Hold on till it melts between your lips.”

  I moved my hands down her legs, placing my palms on the insides of her thighs. I spread them apart and stared at her bikini bottom. “Or maybe I’ll just torture you by brushing one finger against this wet spot I love so much. Just play with your hot pussy through this bikini until you’re moaning, crying, and begging me to take it off.”

  Her eyes floated closed momentarily, and she lifted her hips.

  Desire tore through me, twisting and curling like a wildfire. I was desperate to quench it and bring her to orgasm. But I had to fight that urge and restrain all of my lust for her.

  Waiting made everything better.

  With her hands stretched above her head, hooked in the slats of the lounge chair, she was bound for me.

  43

  Sophie

  Yes. Yes. Yes.

  Every single answer was a resounding yes.

  I was so wet, so turned on, so slippery, and all I wanted was his touch. I had no idea how long this torture would last. I could bite down on this ice cube now, but that would only prolong the waiting. He’d find a new way to draw out his touch if I defied him.

  Lust and desire ricocheted through my body as I gripped the slats above my head and writhed my hips on the lounge chair, baking under the hot sun.

  Soon. He had to touch me soon.

  Mercifully, he looped his hands around my neck and untied my bikini, then unsnapped the hook at my spine. My first taste of freedom came as he lowered the straps along my arms, taking off my top. His breath stilled as he took in my breasts.

  I willed him to lower his mouth to my nipples and suck, bite, and taste. I tried valiantly by arching my back, lifting my breasts closer to him.

  He got the message. Oh hell, did he get it. He reached for my mojito. “Let’s see how this tastes,” he said as he poured some of the drink down my chest. I drew in a sharp breath, even with the ice cube melting in my mouth. He buried his face between my breasts, lapping up the liquid. I wanted to moan, to cry out, to shout yes as the sun shone down on us, illuminating what he was doing to me.

  He looked up and ran his finger along the cube in my teeth. “You want this so badly, don’t you?” he asked.

  I nodded. I didn’t even know what he was offering. Whatever it was, I’d take it.

  “It doesn’t matter what I do, does it? You just want me to make you come?”

  Yes. So much yes.

  I arched my hips, seeking him out. His eyes roamed over my bikini bottom. I was soaked. Surely he could see the evidence of my desire through the fabric.

  He stood up and ran his hands over the thick bulge in his shorts. “You like that, don’t you? When I touch myself?”

  I breathed a yes around the melting cube.

  He let go of his dick then and kneeled over me, kissing me, devouring my mouth, taking the last chip of the ice cube into his own mouth.

  Then he tugged down my bathing suit bottom, pulled it off, and thrust a finger inside me.

  Not a second passed before I started fucking his hand. I was so turned on, so worked up, and so aroused from him. My hands were twisted around the slats, the wood rubbing against my wrists, and I didn’t care. I was reduced to only moans and groans and murmurs as he crooked his finger inside me and hit the magic spot no one had ever discovered until Ryan Sloan walked into my life, fulfilling every fantasy.

  This commanding, intense, powerful man loved to tease me and please me, and, oh God, he was doing just that. My belly tightened, an orgasm cresting.

  He added another finger, then one more, as his thumb rubbed my clit. My eyes squeezed shut, and I gripped the wood as I writhed into his hand, his fingers deep inside me, and then I went over the edge.

  Before the orgasm even subsided, he grasped my hands from the slats, released them, and threaded his fingers through mine, as ripples of pleasure continued to spread through my body like aftershocks. He’d taken off his shorts, and now he wedged himself between my thighs, and told me to wrap my legs around his hips.

  I did as instructed, and then he sank into me. He filled me so completely that I moaned loudly, my voice carrying across the heat of the afternoon, floating on the hot air as he buried himself deep. He gripped my fingers hard.

  “Sophie,” he growled in my ear as he thrust. It vaguely occurred to
me that this was one of the first times we’d had sex face to face. It occurred to me, too, that I wanted to try every position with him. I wanted to be taken, I wanted to be owned, and I wanted to be his.

  Completely his.

  “Oh God,” I cried out, because he was doing it again. He was taking me there, and as the hot sunlight rained down on my skin, liquid pleasure flooded my veins.

  He let go of one of my hands to palm my breast, squeezing my nipple as he rocked into me. He pinched me, and it hurt so good as I came hard around his cock. In seconds, he followed me, biting my shoulder as he reached his own climax, grunting in gorgeous pleasure, the sound of his deep, sexy moans driving me even higher.

  “It’s you,” he said a minute later as he spooned me, holding me in his arms and kissing my neck. “It’s only you.”

  I knew what he was trying to say. I felt it too, inside my body and deep in my heart.

  44

  Ryan

  “I have a confession to make,” I announced, as I set two plates on the kitchen table then opened the cardboard box of pizza.

  “Confess.” She held out her hand grandly, inviting me to talk—something I was increasingly enjoying doing with her.

  I snagged a slice of the cheese pie I’d ordered from Gigi’s, my favorite pizza shop, and placed it on Sophie’s plate. With the salad tongs, she scooped out some of the Caesar salad for me then for herself too.

  I sat down, joining her. “You already know my secret about being completely unable to cook.” I held up one finger to make a point—a point of self-defense. “Though I am unbelievably proficient at calling the pizza place.”

  She nodded approvingly. “Gigi’s is the best in Vegas. I absolutely approve of your dinner choice. Cheese pizza, Caesar salad, and chardonnay.” She picked up her fork and dug into the salad first. “So, tell me.”

  I took a bite of the pizza, rolled my eyes in pleasure, and pointed to my chewing mouth to say wait just a moment. When I swallowed, I made my confession: “I ate the peach pie you made.”

  She smiled broadly, then took a drink of her white wine. “I’m so happy to hear that. It’s my mother’s recipe. It’s divine, isn’t it?”

  “That’s exactly what my grandmother said about it. Divine.”

  She tilted her head curiously and asked, “Your grandmother?”

  “I took it to her house after you gave it to me. I had some with her.”

  Sophie’s blue eyes seemed to show her processing this information—I was a man who took pie to my grandmother. Maybe I’d made a strange choice to go see her last night, but it had made as much sense to me as anything had then. So I quickly added, “She told me I should never give up a woman who could bake like that.”

  Sophie raised her wineglass, a toast of sorts to my grandmother. “Smart woman. Sounds like you’re close to her?”

  “Definitely. She and my granddad pretty much raised us after Mom went to . . .” I let my voice trail off.

  Sophie nodded immediately, letting me know she understood. “And that brought you all closer, I imagine.”

  “It did. I was almost fifteen when we moved in with her and my granddad, my dad’s parents. I guess that kind of thing can either rip you apart or bring you closer,” I said, more easily than I’d ever expected to be able to voice such words. Perhaps because the deadbolt was undone. The door was open, and the heavy weight of years of closeting secrets had lightened. My heart felt freer than it had in ages, my head lighter. Funny, I’d never known that talking like this, to someone who wasn’t in the inner circle, could feel oddly peaceful. “In our case, mostly it brought us closer,” I said, and took another bite of pizza, savoring the delicious cheese and tasty crust.

  She took a drink, then asked, “Mostly?”

  Yes, mostly. Because I knew exactly how my grandmother felt about my mother. The past’s hard grip resurfaced, like claws clamping down on my throat, and my newfound voice. The familiar urge to lock up my history kicked in. But I fought back. “I say that because she doesn’t know I actually visit my mom still.”

  “Ah, I understand,” Sophie said softly. “I imagine it would be hard for her to accept that’s something you want. But it’s clearly important to you to see your mom.”

  My God, it was like morning sunlight streaming in through the blinds. Talking to Sophie was lightness; it was patience and safety. I barely had to explain a thing. She simply understood it all. She got it—and me. But I didn’t want Sophie to think I was a liar, after what we’d gone through to get to this place. “It’s not that I hide it from my grandma, per se. I think she knows on some level, because she’s aware that I go there for Christmas and other times. But I don’t tell her about all the visits. I didn’t tell her I went earlier in the week, for instance. Or that I’m going again next weekend. Guess it just doesn’t seem like something to keep bringing up.”

  “How often do you visit?”

  “I try to see her once or twice a month. Sometimes more, sometimes less.” I sighed heavily. “She gets her hours cut now and then because she acts up.”

  “Acts up?”

  I looked away, focusing on the steady breathing of my sleeping dog on the floor by an air conditioning vent, his black-and-white fur fluttering lightly. “She’s not . . .” I said, tapping the side of my skull. “She’s . . .” I let my voice trail off again. A lump rose in my throat. This was so hard to say. “She’s not all there,” I said, practically kicking the words past my lips.

  Not only was my mother branded a murderer, not only was she the orchestrator of a gang-led shooting, she was also barreling down the path to insanity. I saw the evidence each time I visited her.

  Sophie reached for my hand, threaded her fingers through mine, and held on tight. “It all must be so hard,” she said softly, and then she quickly moved on. I could kiss her—for the segue, and for knowing one was needed. “Who are you closest to among your siblings? I only have one, obviously, so it’s an easy answer for me. But you’ve got three. That must be a different story.”

  A small smile returned to my face. I could do this. I’d made it through the harder topic. My brothers and sister were way more manageable. “On the surface, I guess Michael, since we run a business together and we were in the Army together. And we are a great team when it comes to the company. But Michael and I don’t always see eye to eye. About my mom,” I added.

  “How so?”

  “He never visits her, and he doesn’t like that I do. So we’re close, but sometimes that causes problems. Shannon has gone with me a bunch of times to Hawthorne, so in some ways, I’m closer to her. She still talks to our mom and gets her letters. But,” I said, stopping to take a drink of my wine, then setting it back down on the table, “that’s not what defines us. I mean, it did for a long time in the eyes of strangers. But that’s not what our family is all about. We’re more than that. We all support each other and love each other and look out for each other. A few years ago, once we were all back in Vegas, the four of us got together and bought our grandparents a house. The one they live in now. It was our way of giving back to them after all they did to help raise us right and make sure we didn’t turn out as fucked up as we were,” I said with a light scoff. “We were pretty messed up, Sophie.”

  She shot me a gentle smile that said she understood.

  “We kind of wanted it to be a surprise, but it was hard to buy a surprise house, since we wanted them to like it. Colin’s the money guy, though, and the idea was his in the first place, so he was able to get it all going. And, back to your question, sometimes it feels like I’m closest to him. He’s the youngest, and Michael’s kind of taken on a fatherly role. Colin and I feel more like equals. With Michael, sometimes it seems like he still thinks he has to look out for all of us, even though he’s only two years older.”

  Sophie laughed. “Let me tell you, I completely understand that older brothers can be a total pain in the ass,” she said with a knowing smile, and I matched her grin. Something was changing between
us now that the veil of secrecy had been removed. Her brother had once been the cause of the rift, and now she was able to make a joke about the guy.

  After we finished eating and cleaned up, I pointed to the shopping bag with the dress in it in the living room. “I’m thinking now would be a great time for you to show me that peach dress.”

  “I would love to give you a fashion show.”

  She retreated to my bedroom, and while she was changing, I turned on some soft music and dimmed the lights in the living room.

  “What do you think?”

  I turned around to see Sophie twirl for me, then stop and strike a pose. She looked extraordinary in the white pinup dress with a peach pattern and the silver shoes she’d picked up at the Grand Canal shops.

  “That you look edible. But I’m not going there just yet. For now, I want to do what we did on our first date,” I said, walking over to her and running my fingers through her soft blonde hair. She lifted her chin to look at me, and the look in her eyes melted me as I wrapped my arms around her.

  “Dance with me.”

  “I would love to.”

  And we swayed together. It was better than the first time. Everything was better with her every time.

  “I like talking to you,” I said, my lips brushing her hair.

  “I like listening to you,” she said as we swayed.

  “You make it easy.”

  “It shouldn’t have to be hard. This,” she said, and I knew what she meant by this.

  “Us,” I echoed. “And it’s not hard. It’s incredible.”

  45

  Sophie

  Lick. Lick. Lick.

  The next morning, a long tongue slurping across my cheek greeted me. Yawning, I opened my eyes to find a black-and-white border collie kissing my face and wagging his tail.

  He whimpered lightly, and I glanced over at a sleeping Ryan. He was flat on his stomach, his face pressed into a pillow, an arm slung over his head.