Seducing Steve

by Maggie Wells

  He brushed her hair from her shoulder, and it fell over her face like a veil. She reached to brush it away, but he abandoned her breast, grasping her wrist, pressing it into the mattress, holding her there.

  More of his weight fell on her. Her groans turned into moans as his mouth brushed the nape of her neck, teasing her skin with his moist breath and kisses that were not quite kisses. She could feel his abs contracting against her back. The muscles of his arm rippled when he pinned hers to the bed, but all she could see were the shadows of the pre-dawn light through the shroud of her hair.

  His cock slid against her ass, each stroke growing more urgent. He pushed her onto her stomach, pulling her other arm from under her body and pinning it to the bed. Nudging her legs apart with his knees, he lay on top of her, grinding her into the mattress.

  Sara moaned when his stiff shaft split the cheeks of her ass. His teeth scraped her shoulder, and her hips rose to meet each stroke. “Mine,” he whispered into her ear, the word barely more than a sigh.

  Then, the delicious pressure was gone. She grunted as he pushed onto his knees, pressing his weight into her wrists. Her body responded to him instantly, flooding with desire. The flowing juices of fresh arousal mixed with the remnants of the previous night’s lovemaking. Digging her knees into the mattress, she raised her hips and swayed her ass enticingly.

  Steve didn’t hesitate. Within seconds his thick cock was in her, filling her pussy until she thought she’d burst.

  He rode her hard, plunging into her wet pussy with long, deliberate strokes, taking his own pleasure in her body without apology. His balls slapped against her, each powerful thrust teasing her swollen lips.

  “Say it,” he panted, his voice rough and ragged. She moaned in return, and he thrust harder. “Damn it, Sara, say it… Say my name.”

  “Steve,” she croaked.

  “Louder.”

  “Steve!”

  He pulsed inside of her. His body stretched taut as a bow string as his name reverberated off the walls. He came hard and hot, collapsing on top of her and not making the slightest pretense of seeing to her pleasure. For some strange reason his uncharacteristic disregard aroused her.

  His chest heaved against her back, and his heart pounded like a jackhammer. At last, the tiny, soft kisses came. They rained down, pattering against her shoulder and neck. He tenderly brushed her hair away from her face. He whispered her name and Sara closed her eyes, basking in the warmth of his body pressed against hers. The echo of his sigh wrapped tightly around her. She reveled in the sound of their mingled breaths rasping in the still room.

  She felt him sigh again, this time silently. In a low, gruff voice he said, “I won’t call you today. I can’t see you until Saturday.”

  “Why?” The plaintive note in her voice made her cringe.

  “Because I can’t. I haven’t done a lick of work this week. I have a presentation to a new client next Monday, and I haven’t done a damn thing to prepare. I have meetings scheduled almost every day.” When she didn’t respond, he brushed her shoulder with a kiss. “I haven’t slept in my own bed in over a week.”

  Sara swallowed hard. “I get it. You need some space,” she said, hating the tremor in her voice.

  Steve laughed and pressed his forehead to her shoulder. “Darlin’ if you knew how little space I wanted, you’d run screaming. I just have to stop thinking about you, just for a little while.”

  “That doesn’t sound good.”

  “It sounds horrible, but I don’t know how else to explain it.”

  With a reluctant grunt, he pulled away from her and rolled onto his back, flinging one arm up over his head. Cautiously, she turned to look at him.

  The burgeoning light of day filled the room and she found herself mesmerized by the tuft of cinnamon-colored hair that sprang up under his arm. He stared straight up at the ceiling, his eyes open wide. She loved watching the gears meshing in his head, and the way she could see the whole process play out on his face.

  At last, he blinked and waved his hand vaguely in her direction. “I didn’t, uh...”

  “That’s okay.”

  Steve smirked and turned to look at her. “I did it on purpose.”

  “Oh?”

  Rolling to face her, he propped his head on his hand. His fingertips drew lazy patterns over her bare back. “I won’t call you or see you, but I want you to think about me.”

  “So you withhold?” she asked, her tone challenging.

  He reached for her limp hand and carefully trailed his finger around hers, dipping into the space between each one and gently stroking the delicate skin at each juncture. When he spoke, his voice was hoarse and deep.

  “You’ll think about me, Sara. After I leave here, you might push these beautiful fingers into that hot, slick pussy of yours and make yourself come, but you’ll be thinking about me. If you don’t, well, you’ll still be thinking about me. Probably cussing me, but thinking about me anyway.”

  She blinked at him, her eyes darting from her hand to his face, and she knew he was right. “Bastard,” she whispered.

  A slow grin began to spread across his face. “I’m taking you out Saturday night.”

  “You are?”

  “Dinner, a movie, whatever.”

  “You don’t have to...”

  “I want to,” he insisted, brusquely cutting off her protests. “We’re dating, right? I want to take you out. I want to eat a meal that isn’t cold, or scorched, or nuked to a pulp. I want you to dress up for me. I want to take you out, and then I’m going to make this up to you,” he told her, nodding to the rumpled sheets.

  He pulled her hand to his lips and brushed a kiss over her knuckles. Turning her hand over in his palm, he pressed a soft, wet kiss to the very center.

  “Okay,” she whispered.

  Steve nodded once and released her hand to roll out of the bed. She tried her best not to pout as she watched him dress but failed miserably. He leaned down to give her a quick kiss goodbye. Her pout shifted into full-on sulk when he strode toward to the bedroom door, grabbing his jacket from the chair and shrugging into it. Just inside the doorway, he paused to look back at her.

  “Don’t wear any panties,” he ordered. Then he was gone.

  Alone in the big bed, Sara rolled over and reclaimed his pillow. The scent of their lovemaking hung heavy in the air. She inhaled deeply and purred in her throat. Closing her eyes, she drifted back to sleep with a smile curving her lips.

  ****

  Pale streaks of sunlight fell across the bed. She stirred and rolled over, her hand automatically checking the wrinkled sheets. They were cool to the touch. She bit back a sigh and completed the roll, blinking blearily up at the ceiling as she stretched. Her muscles ached, but it was a good ache. It was the ache of a woman well and thoroughly loved. A smug smile played on her lips, and the fog clouding her brain began to lift.

  Things had been good. Insanely good. They’d spent almost every waking minute together and quite a few more awake when they should have been asleep. She sighed, the memory of his early morning wake-up call running through her mind.

  Her smile fled and a frown bisected her brows. It would be five days before she saw him again. Five days without a phone call. Sara honestly couldn’t remember the last time that had happened.

  Even when he’d gone to Virginia to visit his family, he’d e-mailed. The thought of five days without contact seemed unthinkable, but she knew it would happen. He’d said it would.

  Unless e-mails don’t count. He never said anything about e-mails. She fidgeted with the comforter, plucking at the loose thread that tickled her chin.

  Steve was proving to be a revelation in so many ways. Some were good and some more puzzling. The good was easier to spot.

  He was still Steve. He still made her laugh, but now her laughter was punctuated with moans of ecstasy. Evenings were spent on the sofa, watching television or talking about their days. She was actually pretty proud of the fact that they had wo
rked their way up to a full forty-five minutes of conversation after the movie before she jumped him and dragged him off to her bedroom.

  No, he was still her friend, even if things were different between them now. As always, he would do anything for her without hesitation. But now… Now, he could and would do anything to her he wanted. A warm flush crept into her cheeks.

  Somehow he’d wrested control of the situation from her. Her blush intensified when she admitted to herself that she liked the fact that he had. Never in her life had she felt so sexy, so desired, and so powerful. She’d never been with a man she trusted enough to give over that control. He took it. He didn’t ask, he didn’t judge, he just took it—just as she’d hoped he would.

  The flip side of that whole control thing was how vulnerable she felt each time she stared into those delicious chocolate eyes. Each time he touched her, his crooked smile became more precious to her. When he whispered her name in that mellow, molten molasses drawl her heart leapt.

  Steve had always been open and honest with her. He never played games, he always spoke his mind, and he had no difficulty expressing his opinions when he felt they needed to be aired. She knew he loved her. He’d do anything for her and had run to her rescue more times than she could count. In those unguarded moments when he’d whisper her name to the heavens, she could almost believe it might work.

  He loved her. She tasted it when he kissed her. His mouth would be rough and demanding on hers, but the moment their tongues touched there was an unmistakable reverence he fought against for some reason. She was falling for him, and that meant big, big trouble. The Steve she knew would never love her the way she wanted to be loved. Friend-Steve was very, very different from Dating-Steve

  Power plays like this morning’s display were proof enough of that. Her Steve didn’t play games. He was holding something back, and despite her curious nature, Sara wasn’t sure she wanted to know what it was. In truth, she was too afraid she already knew the answer. She knew going in that Steve Larson didn’t do commitment, so she told herself it was enough for him to do her. By the time she untangled her legs from the sheets, she almost believed it too.

  Chapter Eleven

  Steve perched on the edge of his bed, one sock stretched taut over the foot resting on the bedrail, its mate dangling from his fingers. He stared blankly at the clock beside his bed, lost in thought.

  The work week had been interminable. A thousand times, he’d cussed his idiotic pride up one side and down the other.

  On Monday, he’d managed to get a whole three hours of work done before allowing thoughts of Sara to creep into his consciousness. Her name echoed in his head, ached in his throat, and tickled his tongue. His fingers itched to type her name into the address bar each time he opened his e-mail. He reached for the phone six times the first day alone. He resisted, but it cost him.

  On Tuesday, he’d smuggled one of her novels into the office in hopes of forming a plan of attack for the weekend. The result of that ill-planned venture was a lunchtime hard-on he feared would not subside in time for his three o’clock meeting—or worse, result in an emergency room visit. After that, he relegated his research to his hours at home, carefully saving the more erotic parts for bedtime.

  Shaking his head to clear it, he brushed imaginary lint from his pants with a swipe of his hand and lifted his bare foot. He grunted softly as he bent to pull the sock over his toes, all the while reliving the moment of pure pleasure he’d felt when Sara broke down and e-mailed him on Wednesday.

  He knew just how stubborn she could be, so he took a full five minutes to gloat then sent her a quick reply reiterating his plan to see her on Saturday. The anticipation excited him more than the explicitly worded messages she’d lobbed at him for the remainder of the week. The little thrill that raced through him each time he opened another e-mail made him wonder if she was enjoying the torment too.

  But tonight would be different. Yes, he had plans that included her naked on his bed, panting and pleading, but tonight he would take her on a date. He’d pick her up at her door, take her hand while they walked to his car, and hold her chair for her. The thought of doing all of the things he’d never been able to do for her aroused him almost as much as the sound of her screaming his name as she came. Almost.

  He stood and smoothed his undershirt into the waistband of his pants, leaning down to straighten the comforter on his bed. Tonight, Sara would sleep here. Tonight, he’d finally fulfill about fifty different fantasies about how she’d look in his bed. Tonight, his week of rigorous research would pay off.

  Snatching the worn and creased paperback from the nightstand, he balanced it on his palm, testing its weight against the need clawing at his stomach. He fanned the pages and the cracked binding fell open exactly where he knew it would. He scanned the page to be sure each and every detail was committed to memory and then buried the evidence in the bottom of the drawer. His jaw set, he strode to the closet to finish dressing.

  ****

  A spurt of relief surged through him when he spotted a familiar name on the leather-bound list. He murmured his choice to the sommelier poised at his elbow. The frown creasing his brow smoothed once the man nodded in what Steve decided to interpret as approval.

  Looking up, he saw a sly smile curving Sara’s lips. “What?”

  “Faker.”

  His heart jumped then began to thud against his breastbone. “Faker?”

  “You don’t know anything about wine.”

  “I do, too.”

  “No, you don’t. You just always pick a pinot,” she said smugly.

  He narrowed his eyes, glaring at her through the slits. She wriggled in her seat, her smile unwavering. “No, I don’t.”

  Sara nodded. “Yep, ever since you watched Sideways.”

  “I do not,” he scoffed.

  “You do too! You’re a wine faker,” she accused. “You just pick whatever you think sounds cool.”

  His heart slowed and he reached for his water glass, tossing off her accusation with a shrug. He paraphrased a quote from the movie. “You wanna drink merlot, we’ll drink merlot.”

  “Faker.”

  He leaned forward with the sole intent of changing the subject. “You look beautiful,” he told her.

  Her triumphant grin faltered. She fidgeted a little then the smile rekindled with genuine warmth. “Thank you.”

  A pale pink flush stained her cheeks. Her aquamarine eyes sparkled with pleasure. Sitting back, he admired the simple black wrap dress she wore, taking care not to let his gaze linger too long on the creamy expanse of skin framed by the deep vee of the neckline. Instead, he fixed on the slender silver necklace studded with turquoise beads circling her throat. “They match your eyes.”

  Her smile turned sheepish. She held the necklace away from her throat and glanced at it. “I thought...you know, a little color.”

  “Perfect.”

  She laughed and looked away, taking in the candlelit tables swathed in heavy white linens. “Fancy place, Mister Larson.”

  “Beats burned lasagna and nuked pizza.”

  She leaned in closer. “You could have had me for some baby back ribs.”

  “Now you tell me.”

  The wine steward appeared with their wine. Their conversation subsided while they watched the man perform his duties with solemn ceremony. Sara quirked one eyebrow when he took a small sip from the proffered glass and nodded his approval.

  Once their glasses were filled and they were alone again, she leaned forward and whispered, “What would you have done if it was vinegar?”

  Rolling his eyes, he grasped the crystal by the stem. “I’d drink a toast. To you,” he added, saluting her with the glass.

  Sara laughed and murmured, “Such a charmer.” She took a sip. “Mmm.”

  “Still think I’m a faker?”

  She flashed a sassy smile. “Yes.”

  He leaned forward, his fingertips grazing the back of her hand. “Are you?” he asked, raising one
eyebrow.

  “Me?” Sara chuckled dismissively. “Don’t you think you could tell?”

  “Ever since you made me watch that Harry and Sally movie, I’ve had my doubts.”

  A laugh bubbled from her lips, putting the hushed tinkle of china and crystal to shame. She clamped a hand to her mouth, and the color rose in her cheeks. He reached for her hand, pulling it from her lips and enveloping it in his. “Don’t hold back. You look beautiful.”

  Her gaze dropped to the snowy white tablecloth. A tingle of affection warmed his heart when he saw the pink blush that tinged her skin fade from embarrassment to pleasure. “Steve...”

  His fingers tightened around hers. “I hope to God you’re not a faker,” he said, his voice low and urgent. “Nothing gives me more pleasure than pleasuring you.”

  She gaped at him for a moment then clamped her mouth shut, shaking her head mutely. Relaxing his hold on her hand, he sat back, stretching his arm across the pristine tablecloth. “The dress is new?”

  “I didn’t...You said to dress up.” She glanced down uncertainly. “Do you like it?”

  “I think you know I do.” He was gratified to see her smile bloom, chasing away the uncertainty that lurked in her eyes.

  “I picked it out just for you,” she said with a grin. “The only thing holding it together is this skinny, flimsy little belt.”

  She ran the slim strip of fabric through her fingers, and he bit the inside of his cheek, fighting back the urge to haul her out of the restaurant. Suddenly, he decided he didn’t want her at ease. He wanted her nerves jumping like his.

  Releasing her hand, he reached for his wine. Peering at her over the rim, his eyes locked on hers for a moment and traveled south in frank perusal. “Did you do what I asked?”

  “What?”

  He let his eyes wander slowly down the bodice of the dress then meander back up to her face. A surge of satisfaction pulsed in his veins when she grasped his meaning. The creamy skin exposed by the tantalizing neckline flushed, sparkling like an opal. Her nipples hardened, pressing against the thin fabric, and his mouth watered at the thought of tasting them.