She whimpered when he explored the other breast; her fingers dug into his shoulders as he dragged his mouth ultraslow from the nub, repeating the process over and over. When she started squirming against the bulge in his jeans, he almost lost it.
Definitely time to get things moving.
He glanced around the lounge. The sofa looked more or less okay for the job—not great, but roomier than her bed.
His hands were half-under her butt, ready to lift her, when she wriggled herself back and started undoing his jeans, giving a small exhalation of frustration as she struggled with the last two buttons. Not surprising, considering the amount of tension he had on them.
Finally, she wrenched them undone and, sighing in triumph, freed his cock. His pulse shot to heart-attack levels when she ran a thumb over the head, spreading a drop of liquid around the ridge—all the while licking at her bottom lip like she’d just been given a fat lollipop to play with. It seemed so natural to her Mack doubted she even realized she was doing it.
He knew what she had in mind, but that would have to wait. Jesus Christ, he needed her out of those shorts. Fast. Slipping his hands back under her butt, he carried her to the sofa and sat her down, dragging off her shorts and black panties. Pushing her legs wide, he fell to his knees to stroke along her with the tip of his tongue, dipping an exploratory finger into her body.
Her moan was so loud he looked up, startled. Had he’d done something wrong? Hard to tell with her head thrown back and her hands gripping the sofa cushions like that. But then she wriggled forward, trying to connect herself to his mouth, so he slipped a second finger into her wetness and kissed along the inside of her thighs.
She rocked up, urging him for more contact, so he licked along her bare folds and up over the landing strip. Her hips pumped in response. He did it again. And again.
“You taste incredible, babe.”
Man, he should stretch this out, enjoy her little moans and gasps before letting her come. But from the way her thighs were trembling, he doubted she’d last much longer anyway.
His tongue had barely touched her clit when he felt the telltale tightening around his fingers. She was so close that he’d never hold her back. Curling an arm around her butt to lift her hips, he held her flush to his mouth, concentrating on that single hot spot that would send her over the edge. By now she was writhing so hard he had to tighten his hold to keep her steady.
“Oh, God ... Mack ... Mack!”
He snarled pure primal satisfaction at the sound. He increased the pressure, drawing more of her into his mouth. He was going to make her come so hard she’d never forget it. Seconds later, she climaxed—crying out, sobbing, spreading wide as he tongued her over the brink.
He looked up, wiped his mouth, and grinned.
“Fuck, you are one sexy woman, Dr. Gilmore.”
She peered seductively down her body at him, arching and stretching like a contented cat.
“Thank you, Perses.”
He laughed and eased his fingers out of her body. She was so tight from her orgasm that he wondered, and not for the first time, if he’d fit when he took her. But hell, he was going to find out. Right now.
He’d only just pushed off his jeans and briefs when she was on her knees.
“Oh, Jesus,” he groaned when her soft mouth closed over the head of his dick.
Mack stood absolutely still, transfixed by the sight of Gemma’s head bobbing over him, her long hair spread like a velvet cloud around her pale shoulders. She was making little humming noises that he could actually feel vibrating down his length, amplifying the pleasure with each draw of her mouth.
She was amazing, and if he didn’t sit down, he’d fall down.
He didn’t try to speak—he doubted he could utter a word anyway. He just turned and dropped like a lump of concrete onto the sofa. It took her all of three seconds to find him again.
If his life had depended on it, he couldn’t have torn his eyes away from the sight of Gemma’s soft mouth sliding up and down on him, pausing every so often to lick along the underside of his cock before taking him in again.
“So beautiful,” she murmured, as more of him disappeared into her mouth. Mack clenched his jaw against the raw pleasure building at the base of his cock. He pushed her hair back to watch her—the incredible slide of her lips, her dark lashes resting on her cheeks as she drew on him again and again.
He felt her gag. He grabbed a fistful of her hair and tried to pull her back, but she wouldn’t budge, and he was too drugged with pleasure to make any real effort to stop her. She was sucking him harder now, concentrating on making him come. He couldn’t hang on. It was too much. Too good. He tensed as he realized what was about to happen. “Sweetheart, I can’t—” he warned, wanting to give her the option to pull back. But she took no notice, working her mouth and fingers in an intoxicating, glorious rhythm that, moments later, had milked every last drop from him.
So much for keeping a lid on things.
CHAPTER TEN
Gemma woke to the smell of coffee, aftershave, and man.
It felt so totally delicious with her face buried in the pillow where Mack’s head had been. She was worn out, but in the most perfect way. Seriously though, it wasn’t right. She shouldn’t feel delicious. She should feel guilty.
Gemma rolled over and stared at the ceiling. Déjà vu, that’s what she’d done. Yes, she’d been weak and silly for letting him stay, and, yes, she would never learn her lesson when it came to this gorgeous man.
Plus he’d hogged the bed.
And what was he doing in her kitchen? Going by the sounds of crockery and cutlery being moved around, he had to be fixing something other than coffee. Somehow, she couldn’t imagine the man of mystery doing anything domestic.
But apart from that, the burning question was, did he really no longer think she was involved in the fraud? Maybe he’d decided to give her the benefit of the doubt. Then again, it could just be another one of his traps. In any event, she would call John Allen this morning and tell him that Mack Buchanan knew she was innocent. McCallister’s would have no choice but to give her back her job.
But hell, what was he doing now? He must have found her new cast-iron skillet set to play with. Grabbing his scrunched-up T-shirt from the floor, Gemma pulled it over her head and checked for fit. It finished halfway down her thighs, but the funny thing was she’d never felt sexier.
Two steps and she was in the kitchen. Oh Lord, now there was a sight for sore eyes. Mack stood with his back to her in nothing but his jeans set low on his hips. The man had muscles she didn’t even know existed. And that butt. She could stare at that ’til Christmas.
“Hi there. Did I wake you?” he asked over his shoulder.
She was so busy staring at his ass that it took her a moment to register the question. “What? Oh, no. Can I do anything?”
“Not necessary. Eggs okay?”
“Mmm, yes please. How did you sleep?” She already knew the answer. The poor guy had been crammed against the wall for most of the night. Well, except when he was on top of her or she was on top of him.
He turned, a soft smile spreading across his face like a warm treat. “Let’s just say your grandmother has a lot to answer for.”
She laughed. “I’ll tell her that when I see her.”
“Right.” His eyes drifted down her body. “You look good in that.”
Even the smallest compliment from him could heat her body.
“In that case, I’m keeping it.”
His brow went up. “Yeah?”
“Uh-huh.”
He turned back to the pan, so Gemma snuggled her face between his shoulder blades, filling her lungs with his warm scent. His deep voice rumbled into her cheek as he moved away to take plates from the dish rack. “It’s ready. Have a seat.”
She sighed at the loss, pulling herself onto a stool to watch him pile scrambled eggs onto plates and set them on the counter, followed by toast and steaming mugs of coffee. Lik
e this, all mellowed-out, he was kind of adorable.
Her mouth was watering by the time he’d found knives and forks. A night of lovemaking with a Titan could work up a powerful appetite. As if he had read her mind, he grinned. “I thought you’d be hungry.” He slid onto a stool beside her, still smiling in that quiet, self-assured, totally delicious way.
“Maybe, just a little.” She tucked into the eggs and a minute later realized she’d bolted most of her breakfast before he’d even started on his. Instead, he was watching her. Still smiling.
She set her fork down and sipped at her coffee, waiting for him to catch up.
“So where did you learn to cook?” she asked casually. Querying him about anything, even cooking, was risky, considering how poorly he took to questions. But surely, after spending a night together, it was safe to ask.
To her surprise, he winked at her.
“Just something I picked up.”
They ate in silence for a while, giving Gemma time to work up courage for her next question. She was going to do this—needed to do this. Last night was a write-off. He’d told her zilch. But this morning was a different story. He believed her. Surely, that was enough for her to be able to trust him and vice versa.
Here goes nothing, Gemma.
“You never give anything away, do you?” She waited, and when nothing came, she blurted out, “Where were you born?”
“Chicago,” he answered without hesitation, still eating.
Oh, wow. This was good. “And where did you go to school?” she asked, trying to keep her tone casual, despite her rising excitement about finally getting some answers.
He flicked a glance in her direction before turning back to his plate. It was so fast she couldn’t tell whether it was friendly or one of his “don’t ask me” looks.
“Columbia ... ” he paused, “for a while.”
Okay, that was more cautious.
“Then where?”
“Out of state.”
This wasn’t so good, especially now that his dark brow was drawn low in warning. She plunged on, determined to get something useful out of him.
“And how did you get into ... the work you do?”
He set his fork down, his hazel eyes steady on hers. “Let’s just say I wanted to be a public servant.”
“So you work for the government?”
No answer. Gemma remembered what Kyle had said. “Military intelligence? That’s it, isn’t it?”
Still no answer. Just another warning look to let her know not to push it. Despite everything they’d done last night—hell, practically every day since this whole thing had started—he could still switch on that hard edge in a millisecond. And dammit if it wasn’t that dangerous, unknown part of him that that made him so compelling. Apparently, she had some unconscious thing for bad boys. Something else to tell the therapist.
She sighed, “I know. You can’t tell me.”
“So how long have you had this place?” he asked, topping up her coffee.
It would serve him right if she told him to mind his own business.
“Three years. I invested every penny I had to make the deposit. The place is too small, really, but the view of the park is worth it.”
He looked around. “It’s nice. Suits you.”
“Thanks. What’s your home like ... ?” Gemma trailed off. Of course, he wouldn’t tell her. It seemed they had nothing to talk about, other than art fraud and sex.
To her surprise, he grinned and leaned over to ruffle her hair like she was some inquisitive kid asking what made the sky blue.
“Actually, I have a beach house in Maine. We used to go there a lot.” He paused for a moment, as if recalling something. “But it’s been a while.”
She had trouble absorbing his statement. Out of the blue, he’d told her something about his life. But the real surprise was that he’d said we. That could mean anything: his parents, his siblings. His wife. She forced the thought away and got up to put her plate and cutlery in the sink, suddenly not wanting to know and, at the same time, angry at herself for caring.
“I’ve only been to Bar Harbor, and that was just for a weekend. More coffee?”
“No, I’m good.” He came to stand behind her, slipping his arms around her waist, bending to rest his chin on the top of her head. She leaned her head back against his chest and closed her eyes, savoring the sensation of being enclosed in his arms.
“I know you’re curious about what I do, Gemma, but it’s not something I can talk about. Can you understand that?”
No, frankly, she couldn’t. Not after her life had turned belly up—and he was smack in the middle of whatever was going on. Okay, so he didn’t tolerate questions, but dammit, why should she just give up?
“But I’m not a suspect anymore, Mack. Why can’t you talk about it? At least tell me why you can’t tell me.”
“I can’t tell you that.”
“You’re really annoying, you know that?”
He laughed and kissed her hair. “Noted. Look, all I can tell you is that I don’t want to see you hurt.” His big hand enclosed hers. “I care about what happens to you. A lot.”
Gemma warmed to the words, gaining confidence. “Then why ... ?”
He turned her around to face him, his eyes soft on hers, but she knew it was a deliberate distraction. He’d shut down.
“Do you have any idea what you do to me, sweetheart?”
“Irritate the hell out of you with questions,” she answered glibly, trying to ignore his chest in front of her. So perfect, with its sprinkling of dark hair spread over an acre of tanned muscle.
“Yeah, well, apart from that.” A laugh rumbled above her head.
“I think I know,” she whispered, unable to quell a shiver of need as his hand pressed to the small of her back. She shouldn’t lose her head this time. She really shouldn’t. Kyle was right: She needed to show some sense.
“Well, just to be sure you know.” He cleared a space between the breakfast dishes and, lifting her, sat her on the countertop. He settled his hips between her legs, and Gemma lost her last thought of being sensible. Mack Buchanan. The strong, infuriatingly stubborn man she couldn’t get enough of.
He traced his thumb along her bottom lip. “For a start, you make me want to kiss you.”
She desperately wanted that, too.
His lips found hers, and she moaned until he laughed softly against her mouth. Lifting his head, he was still smiling.
“Then you make me want to kiss you, right here.”
Beard bristles scraped along her skin as he nosed her hair aside to kiss at a spot below her ear. She angled her head, inviting him to kiss more of her, loving the rough feel of him on her neck. He paused. She waited, trembling with anticipation.
“Then there’s this.” A hand was under the tee now, sliding up to her breast, his fingers gently plucking at her nipple. “And this.” His other hand slipped up the inside of her thigh to trace a slow path along her sex, pausing to press her clit.
“And this ... ”
She wriggled forward. “But you’re forgetting something,” she murmured, undoing his jeans, working her hand inside to find him. She sighed in satisfaction when he shuddered under her slow caress.
He wasn’t taking his time now. Before she’d even started to have her own fun, he dragged a condom from his jeans and freed it from the wrapper before pushing her hand away. She licked at her lip, watching him roll the rubber down the thick shaft.
He laughed softly, making her look up. “What?” she asked, confused.
“Oh nothing. Just that tongue of yours.”
“What about my tongue?”
He leaned forward to nip at her bottom lip with his teeth before kissing her long and hard, and Gemma forgot about her tongue, other than to put it in his mouth.
He pulled her forward until her butt was hanging half-off the counter, her legs dangling on either side of his hips.
“Now this ... ”
She watche
d him ease himself into her body. Slowly, almost lazily, he pushed forward until she was filled up with him, loving the sensation of only just being able to take him.
“And this ... ”
She stared, fascinated, at where he ended and she began. Dear God, it was like some pornographic close-up. Both of them watched his shaft emerging from her body, glistening with her wetness before disappearing into her again.
For Gemma, it was beyond erotic. It was mesmerizing. She edged her knees wider, offering more of herself. He growled in appreciation, pulled out of her completely to rub his cock over her clit, then pushed into her again in one long, satisfying plunge. She flashed a look up to his face, then looked down, not wanting to miss a thing.
“And this ... ”
His voice was rough as he pulled his hand away to close the small gap between them. She braced herself. He’d primed her carefully, and she was more than ready for everything he was about to give her.
With one hand braced on the countertop for support, he slid his other arm around her waist to hold her steady to his hips before pushing into her. Hard and purposeful now. A glorious succession of deep, orgasm-seeking strokes that repeatedly drove her back against his arm. He filled her body and her senses. Her world was him. His rhythm. His strength. His passion.
His mouth snagged her hair. “Okay, babe?”
Gemma hummed into the dip of his shoulder. Her hands slipped around his chest as far as she could reach, trying to hang on through his powerful drives. It didn’t matter. He had her fastened in his hold, leaving her with nothing to do but concentrate on the luscious sensation building between her legs.
She trembled as the familiar tightening in her core began its steady spiral toward resolution. She arched back, clutching at his biceps, feeling them tense under her fingers as he pulled her forward again, leaving nothing between them but the heat of their union. She couldn’t stop her cry of pleasure.
Whirlwind Romance: 10 Short Love Stories Page 15
