Seducing Steve

by Maggie Wells

  “Stop,” he whispered.

  “No.”

  Steve grasped her ass, his fingers digging into the soft flesh as he pulled her closer. “I need... Let me...”

  “I need.” She kissed him sweetly, letting her lips linger against his and their ragged breaths mingle. “Let me...” she repeated, rising to her knees and straddling his cock.

  “Wait...”

  She traced the valley between her breasts. She smiled her triumph when his gaze dropped to follow their path. “No more waiting,” she whispered.

  When she reached the apex of her legs, she jerked the thong aside and sank onto him. Steve grunted and shot up, wrapping his arms around her. The string bit into her ass as she slid lower, taking him inch by delicious inch into her drenched pussy. She moaned, reveling in the pleasure and relishing that bit of pain.

  “Sara,” he rasped.

  Her lips curved into a smile of pure feminine pleasure, and she circled her hips. “No more wanting. I’ve got you now.”

  His eyes rolled back. The hardwood floor scraped her knees, but she didn’t care. She rode him, impaling herself on his hard cock. Her hands mapped his contours, memorizing the ripple of long, flat muscles as they bunched and quivered beneath the taut skin.

  She had envisioned this so many times. Every touch, every taste, and each whispered moan. She’d written every word of this scene. The words filled the pages but never filled her as fully as he did. Her breath came in ragged puffs. The sight of him stretched out beneath her made her hotter, wetter, and greedier than she’d ever been before. Sara took and took, rising and falling on hard flesh trapped deep inside her—delirious with the realization that Steve touched her deeper than any man ever had before.

  As in her dreams, his lips moved without sound. The rasp of their labored breathing filled the room. Her pulse roared in her ears. He was everything she’d dreamed, and so much more.

  Steve raised his head and his gaze dropped to their joined bodies. He groaned loud and long. Then a flash of sheer panic made him thrash blindly. “Sara.” He gasped, grappling for a better hold on her hips.

  “Oh!” She rode him harder, faster, driving him to the brink of insanity. Steve groped her ass, grinding into her and desperately trying to still her movements, but she tightened around him. “Oh God, no,” he whispered.

  “Oh. God, yes!” she countered.

  He pressed his thumb to her clit, stroking her with each thrust. Her eyes opened wide. He squeezed his shut and his body betrayed him, flooding into her in hard, hot spurts. Sara’s hands fell to his hips, but he couldn’t stop. She threw her head back, her long blonde hair cascading down her back, tickling his hands as she rode each pulse of his orgasm.

  Steve watched, wide-eyed and gasping for breath as she gave herself over to the desperate demands of his fingers on her clit. Within moments, she reached her own shuddering completion, but he knew it was too late.

  His head hit the floor with a thunk, his chest heaving as he fought to fill his lungs again. With a feline purr of satisfaction, Sara leaned forward and slid down to press her cheek to his chest.

  “Oh shit,” he groaned, screwing his eyes shut tight. As if that could block out the fact that he’d just performed like an overeager teenager.

  “Shit?” she asked with a breathless laugh.

  His fingers threaded in her hair. Holding tight, he whispered in a rush, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, I can do better.”

  “Better?”

  “I was...too excited. Shit, I... I can do better, I swear—”

  Sara smiled and pressed a soft kiss to his shoulder. He framed her face with his hand and urged her up, kissing her tenderly on the lips. “I can do so much better,” he whispered. “Don’t put this in one of your books. Please…”

  Their breaths mingled. His heart beat against hers. She smiled and touched her finger to his mouth. Steve sucked the tip of her finger into his mouth, laving her with his tongue.

  “Too late,” she whispered. “Book three. We have a lot to catch up on, you and me.”

  Steve’s eyes widened as he processed her words. “Huh?”

  She snuggled into the crook of his neck and sighed. “They were all you. Everything from book three on... It was all you...”

  Chapter Four

  This is a little too surreal.

  Never in his wildest dreams did he expect to end up sitting on Sara’s couch in nothing but his underwear holding a slice of lukewarm pizza. Okay, maybe in his wildest dreams he did, but for too long he didn’t dare think he and Sara would ever actually have sex, much less share a pizza afterwards.

  But they had. Now she was curled into the corner of the couch wearing only his discarded shirt. The moment they’d disentangled themselves, she’d wriggled out of her thong claiming the skimpy scrap was too damn uncomfortable. Sara was naked under his shirt, sitting with her toes tucked under his thigh, carefully picking pieces of black olive from her slice and placing them on a paper napkin.

  Surreal.

  His mind reeled, trying to come to grips with this sudden turn of events. He almost snorted at his choice of words. Hard to call a moment sudden when you’ve had eight years of build-up. Too many things crowded his head, too many questions were going unanswered, but for the life of him, he was having a hard time giving voice to them. Instead, he stared at his slice of pizza.

  “You’re quiet,” she observed, watching him carefully as she took a dainty bite.

  The first and foremost of his worries burst free before he could stop himself. “I’ve never had unprotected sex.”

  Sara’s chewing slowed. “Never?”

  A fiery blush scorched his neck and cheeks, and he shot her a pointed glare. Sara cocked her head, studying him curiously. “No.”

  “Wow.”

  Steve turned to look her in the eye. “I thought you should know because, well, I wasn’t thinking clearly, um, before.”

  “I’m on the pill,” she told him, answering his unspoken question.

  “Okay.”

  “And, of course, you know where I’ve been for the past nine years.”

  She waved her hand, as if she could brush his concerns away with a flick of her wrist. “Right,” he said brusquely. A silent moment passed, and Steve fought the urge to squirm under her intense scrutiny. “What?” he growled.

  Nice. Way to keep the afterglow…glowing. She’s gonna fall head over heels for you, buddy.

  “Not once? Not even when you were young and reckless?” she prompted, nudging his leg with her toes.

  “No glove, no love,” he intoned.

  When she giggled, he shook his head. “I’m serious. When I turned fourteen, my dad gave me a handful of rubbers...His term,” he added with a wry smile. “He told me if I ever got any girl in trouble it would break my mama’s heart. He also said if I broke my mama’s heart, he’d skin me alive.”

  Sara grinned and plucked a few of the black olives from her napkin. His shirt slipped off her shoulder when she leaned forward, offering him the discards pinched between her thumb and forefinger.

  He kept his gaze locked on her eyes as he opened his mouth, allowing her to feed them to him. He closed his eyes, and his lips wrapped around her fingers. Steve chewed slowly, his lashes fluttering open while he savored the morsels.

  “I think I’d like your daddy,” she said with an affectionate smile.

  “He’d like you too.” He looked down at the forgotten slice in his hand then shot her a sidelong glance as he settled back against the cushions. “They’re coming up next month, my dad and his wife.”

  “You know, that would make her your step-mother,” Sara pointed out, arching one eyebrow.

  “I’m a grown man. I don’t need another mother.”

  “You don’t like her.”

  “I like her fine,” he said defensively. When she smirked, he shook his head. “I do! She’s fine. Hell, I’m grateful to her. I’m willing to bet she’s the only reason my dad is alive today.”

 
; “But you don’t like her.”

  Sara’s sage nod irked him. “It’s not that.”

  “Then what is it?” she asked, pushing him as she always had.

  “She’s just different, okay?”

  “Different from your mom?”

  “Oh yeah.”

  “How?”

  “My mom was...I don’t know—she was just my mom. She was like you.”

  Sara’s smile blossomed, and Steve found himself entranced. “Like me?”

  He stumbled for the right words. “She was real. She was comfortable. You know, easy to be around.”

  A pink blush tinged her cheeks. He leaned in to kiss it away, but her next question stopped him. “Your dad’s new wife isn’t those things?”

  Steve glanced at the uneaten slice of pizza clutched in his hand. He leaned forward and tossed the remnants into the box. “Not so much.”

  “I’m sorry.” Sara sat up, swinging her legs down from the couch. “Come here.”

  He smiled and moved willingly into her arms. She caressed him, her graceful fingers soothing his brow and smoothing his tousled hair.

  “Is that why you never moved back?”

  “Nah. I like living up here.”

  They fell silent for a moment. A log cracked and split, shooting sparks into the fireplace flue. “I can see the wheels turning in your head,” she whispered.

  “Sorry.”

  “Don’t apologize.”

  “I’m not really sure what’s going on,” he admitted at last.

  “Me either,” she whispered. “But I’m happy you’re here right now.”

  “Me, too.”

  Sara nodded and pulled a piece of pepperoni from her slice. “I’m hoping if I feed you, I can keep you a little longer.” She held the tidbit to his lips.

  “I’ll stay as long as you want me.”

  Her smile turned wicked, and her bright eyes flashed when his teeth scraped lightly over her finger. Steve returned the smile as he chewed.

  “I want you,” she whispered into his ear.

  This time, he didn’t hesitate at all.

  ****

  The following morning, Steve was knee-deep in quarterly reports when the alert for his inbox chirped, indicating a new message. The profit and loss statements were instantly abandoned. A smile curved his lips as he clicked on Sara’s screen name. He opened the message to find a brief note explaining she was heading to her parents’ house for dinner and a link to a blog post about dealing with crazy authors. No mention of the night before. Not even a hint that he woke up with her hair spread across his chest.

  Relief and disappointment battled it out in his gut. In the end, relief won, leaving him confused and more than a little bewildered. Steve pushed away from the desk and turned his chair. He steepled his fingers, letting them rest lightly against his lower lip as he closed his eyes.

  He could have fallen asleep then and there. They hadn’t done much sleeping the night before, but he didn’t mind. He awoke this morning with her breasts smashed against his ribs and one smooth leg tangled between his. It was heaven, but confusion burned in his gut like the fires of hell.

  The fact was, he had no idea how he was supposed to react to this new dynamic, and a teeny-tiny part of him resented her for it. After so many years of being her friend, just her friend, she’d thrown a wrench in the whole thing. Steve had no idea how he would ever go back to thinking of her as just a friend. Not after he’d tasted her, touched her, loved her with everything he had.

  The worst part was Sara seemed completely unperturbed. He was the one who got up and dressed at the crack of dawn while she lay there in the tangled sheets and lifted a lazy hand to wave goodbye. He was the sucker stuck sitting at his desk wondering how to respond to an email that offered no clues. An email exactly like the thousands of emails they’d exchanged over the course of their friendship.

  Which viral video do you send to the woman who was screaming your name just hours before? Should you even send something classified as ‘viral’ to someone with whom you’ve swapped much more than spit?

  The scent of her clung to him. Thank God. He’d hated showering. He hated the soap that threatened to wash the perfume of her skin away and the water trickling down his neck like the brush of her fingertips. He resented the fact that he had to get dressed, go to work, and act like his whole world hadn’t been turned upside down.

  Not that whatever was happening between them was a bad thing. This was the best thing to ever happen to him. He just wasn’t quite sure how it had all come about or where it was going to go. Dread trickled down his throat, shilling his heart and welling in his stomach.

  Sara said she wanted me, but was it just for the one night? Was she serious about that research bit, or was that just a gambit to get me naked? God, I hope not.

  He let his head fall forward, catching it in his palms. The heels of his hands pressed into his brow bone. Sara’s whispered confession about her books niggled at him. He needed answers, but a part of him was too scared to ask the questions.

  Restless, he glanced at the clock and jumped from his seat, jettisoning his chair. After a brief, quiet word with his assistant, he slipped out of the office and into the stairway before one of his partners could spot him and delay his escape.

  Ten minutes later, he stood outside of the bookstore with a bag containing the entire Sara Sloane collection. The weight of the paperbacks felt like an anchor, but he was determined to do what he set out to do. He bought a hoagie and slipped back into his office about the time everyone else went to lunch.

  Safe behind his desk, he pulled the stack of romance novels from the bag. The covers made him cringe. One had a picture of a guy wearing an Armani suit with a white shirt completely unbuttoned to reveal his steroid-enhanced muscles. Steve’s brow furrowed. He caught a glimpse of his reflection in the darkened computer monitor.

  What did she mean, they’re all me?

  The photograph on the second cover actually made him wince. The guy looked like he was supposed to be some kind of modern-day pirate. Steve’s lip curled into a snarl of distaste as his gaze traveled from the pirate to the woman clinging to his arm.

  She has to hang off the guy because she’s having a hard time getting a good foothold on the sea of gold coins scattered around.

  His eyebrows rose when he noted the plunging neckline on the dress the model wore.

  Maybe Captain Moneybags should swap a little of that gold for a couple of decent shirts.

  The next cover was far more contemporary but still as naked. Steve smirked as he fanned the pages on the third book. He stopped on a random page, opened the book, and began to read.

  He’d picked a good spot. The hero guy pulled the girl from her chair and was dragging her down a hallway. Steve shifted in his seat, half-hoping—at least for the guy’s sake—there was a bedroom at the end of the corridor.

  Just as he discovered there was a bedroom behind door number two, Steve heard one of his partners outside his door. The sharp rap of knuckles on wood jolted him from the scene. He yanked open a desk drawer and swept the books and other clutter scattered across his blotter into it.

  “Hey,” Jason Marz called, clinging to the doorframe and swinging into Steve’s office. “Lunch?”

  Steve glanced down at his desk, his forehead wrinkling when he realized his sandwich was missing. “Lunch?”

  “Noonday meal. Typically consumed halfway between your morning Wheaties and your evening Cap’n Crunch,” Jason said snidely. “Mike and I were thinking of heading over to Dixon’s.”

  His other partner appeared and jerked his head toward the door. “Come on, or we’ll never get a table.” Steve hesitated, and Mike went in for the kill. “It’s fried chicken day, Opie. You never miss fried chicken day.”

  ****

  That evening, Steve shed his suit coat the moment he stepped inside his condo. Rolling his shoulders to shrug off the worries of the day, he dropped the books onto his coffee table, plucked his uneat
en hoagie from the bag, and shot it into the trash can on his way into the kitchen.

  “Two points,” he murmured, tugging on the knot in his tie.

  He snagged a beer from the fridge before checking the messages on his home phone. A puzzled frown tugged the corners of his mouth when a woman’s voice purred in his ear. She was an attractive brunette he’d met at a client’s office nearly a week before. Another possibility he forgot completely the moment Sara confessed that she wanted him.

  He unbuttoned his collar and took a long drink from the bottle, letting the message play out as he sauntered back into the living room. The most recent of Sara’s releases spilled from the bag. He snatched it up and sprawled on the couch.

  Steve eyed the partially clothed couple on the cover, and he couldn’t help but wonder if Sara’s stuffy, straight-laced ex, Adam, ever pictured himself there.

  Lord knows, the guy looked the part.

  Steve shook his head to dislodge the thought and set his beer aside, opening the book to the first chapter. He only intended to skim enough of the book to be able to convince Sara he’d read it. No more than twenty pages into the book he began to shift in his seat. By page twenty-two, his lips parted and a rush of hot air escaped. His gaze flew to page twenty-three, and he whispered, “Holy shit.”

  Those two words became his mantra as he soon found himself engulfed in a story that by all rights should have left scorch marks on the pages. By the time he reached the next love scene, his beer was empty, his tie was long gone, and he was sweating profusely. He read on, picturing Sara as the novel’s heroine and desperately trying to wedge himself into the role of hero.

  Steve closed the book and tossed it onto the coffee table. He glanced down, startled to find his shirt unbuttoned, his belt open, and his dick straining against the fabric of his suit pants.

  Shaking his head, he pushed himself up from the couch and readjusted things a bit while he walked over to the laptop resting on his dining room table. Drawing deep breaths to calm his raging hormones, he waited for his e-mail account to open. He shook his head and muttered, “A little warning would have been nice.” He clicked the button to compose a message.