Taming His Tutor (Entangled Brazen)

by Natalie Anderson

  Thank heavens.

  She needed it. The orgasm hadn’t satisfied—instead it had aggravated the hunger inside her. She arched her neck, tilting her head so her lips were his to own. And he took full possession. His mouth ravaged. Long, hungry, rhythmic sucks, his tongue stroking in a demanding circular exploration of her mouth.

  She tried to kiss back, to suck back.

  But the languor was invading.

  Deep in her belly that warm poison was spreading. Loosening her limbs, her muscles, her mind. She rested her head on the wood behind her—letting him go as deep as he liked in her mouth. Wishing he’d go as deep as he could inside her.

  How could he do this with just a kiss?

  But it wasn’t just a kiss. It was an all-out sexual onslaught.

  His hands tightened on her wrists. He was taller, bigger, and he used every ounce of his vastly superior size to dominate her.

  And she liked the helplessness. Relished the way he was ravishing her. She wanted him to do everything.

  Her skin tightened, ultrasensitive. Clothes. Why was she still wearing clothes that hindered his access?

  “You want me to fuck you,” he muttered harshly into her ear. “You want some big strong man to carry you off and make you come. Repeatedly. You want that man to be me.”

  She gasped at his blunt arrogance. Pride made her lash out. “You’re full of it.”

  “Absolutely. And you want it.” He grasped her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze again. “You want me. Say it?”

  He was so arrogant. But the worst thing was, she didn’t care. He saw right through her. She wanted it all. And just him stating it had her on the edge of another intense orgasm. How in the hell was that possible?

  Damned if she could pull herself together enough to answer. All she managed was to open her mouth.

  He pressed against her, kissing her full on the lips again. Fucking her mouth with his tongue until she was hot, melting, and writhing. She needed him to touch her, wanted his big hand to slide up her thigh again. Only this time she wanted him to go further. She wanted him to shove his hand down her waistband, pull aside her panties, and thrust deep. Fingers, cock, tongue.

  She hurt with wanting so much. All of him.

  He thrust his muscular thigh between hers and rocked his pelvis against her in slow, rough moves. And she just let him. He muttered between kisses. Talking dirty—telling her what he knew she wanted him to do. Turning her on in a way she never would have expected.

  More. But she didn’t ask, didn’t move…it was all she could do to stay upright.

  …

  Brake, brake, brake.

  Joe lifted his head and silently regarded her. What had started as a tease was out of hand; he was seconds from seeing through a raging fuck-fest. He knew he should pull her away from the door so he could open it and steer them both back to the crowded bar. It was that or pull her pants to her thighs, whip out his cock, and shove it inside her in the next two seconds. So not the smooth moves he was used to. What was with this sudden psycho urge to screw her ASAP? He never felt this out-of-control hot and hard for a woman. Sex had always come carefree and easy and fun. That’s how he liked it. Wanted it. Would have it.

  Just for fun.

  He took what was offered, never pushed for more. He sure as hell was pushing now—imprisoning her, using every touch to make her want him. Demanding she admit it and offer—what? More than what he was used to?

  This driving urge was all more than he was used to.

  But seeing that guy Pete eat her with his eyes? Standing so close to her? He’d been so damn obvious about what he wanted to do.

  No matter that it was exactly what Joe wanted to do. He wasn’t going to stand for another guy offering it. No, if Abbi wanted to practice her moves, then he was going to be her sparring partner.

  He’d had to stake his claim. But shit, that had escalated in a moment he hadn’t originally intended. At least, not so soon. And now? Lust was rampaging through him. The things he wanted to do—now, hard, fast, again.

  She’d gone off like a firecracker in less than five. Watching her come? Watching her eyes glaze and her lips part? Hearing her breathless little sigh?

  Her compliance turned him on so tight he was about to burst. Somehow she’d unleashed a temptation he didn’t think he could resist.

  When had he ever wanted a woman like this? Until now he’d just taken what a woman offered—taken less. A fuck or five and a wave good-bye.

  But Abbi? He wanted to push her into letting him do anything…

  His cock strained harder against his jeans. His body screamed to be buried in her tight, wet heat. The want in his gut was so bad, he hurt worse than when he’d fallen and his bone had smashed through muscle and skin on live TV.

  He wanted her too bad.

  He should walk away. Joe always had to be able to walk away. He could take it or leave it. Anything. He needed nothing from no one. Ever.

  But for the life of him, he couldn’t peel his hands from where they pressed against the door on either side of her head.

  Imprisoning her.

  A door slammed nearby. A shout of laughter echoed even louder as a bunch of supporters walked right by the room they were using. Hell, they were at a baseball game with thousands of other people, hardly out of public view, and he was almost at the point of fucking her. He loved sex, but he wasn’t an exhibitionist.

  None of this was Joe’s usual modus operandi. He might play but he didn’t risk public displays of lust. Maybe it was from too many years in the sports media and all the training from team management, warning them to avoid groupie trouble. Clearly he’d been working too hard recently and needed a blowout.

  She didn’t deserve to be taken in such an out-of-control fashion. It’d be over in less than five seconds the way he was feeling. He’d never been so out of control. Never been so angry. Never been so turned on. Never wanted a woman so badly.

  But Abbi deserved better.

  Fuck.

  This should be slower. Less intense. Was she really ready for this kind of casual screw, even with that wannabe vixen cloak and spurt of sassy talk? Least he could do was hit pause and double-check. And gain some control.

  But before his very eyes she was retreating. He straightened, lowered his arms to his sides. She visibly pulled herself together and fixed her clothes, stepping to the side now that he’d backed off.

  “You wanna check out the game?” he asked, meaning whatever kind of game she wanted. He wanted to see what she’d say—whether she could maintain that playful talk.

  But she didn’t say anything. She’d reverted to shy silence. Hell, she even blushed.

  “Come on,” he said, suddenly irritated with himself because he shouldn’t care.

  But he did.

  They walked out into the corridor, smack into the middle of a crowd of hyped baseball supporters.

  “Hey, it’s Joe Fuller!”

  He tensed. He’d long since learned that while die-hard sports fans had their favorite sports, they liked talking any kind of sport. And they liked nothing more than talking sport to a pro. Even an ex-pro like him.

  “Man, how’s your leg?” The one who’d recognized him followed up with the inevitable. “That was a shocker…”

  Never mind that it had been healed a couple of years now; thanks to the internet, people could see that horror as often as they wanted. Like it was yesterday.

  “I’m good, thanks.” But he wasn’t. Abbi was three feet away from him and letting herself get pushed farther away from him as the group of guys stepped closer. Guys who’d clearly been making the most of the corporate box’s complimentary drinks.

  “Wow, that second-to-last game you played? It was—”

  Joe’s brows lifted, even as he tuned out. This guy was a basketball freak, but now really wasn’t the time.

  “Hang on a sec. Hey Abbi—” he called over to her.

  She smiled, but it was a strained one. “Don’t worry. You stay
and talk. I’ll get going. Ball games aren’t really my thing.”

  He didn’t want her to leave. Not yet. Not without talking. “Abbi—”

  But was a repeat of this morning already—a quick flick of the wrist, this time a wave, and she was gone.

  “Sorry, dude.” The basketball fan looked so apologetic it was comical. “You better go after her. She’s—”

  Joe gave the guy a hard look and lifted his hand.

  Silence.

  “Sorry,” the guy mumbled again.

  “Don’t worry about it.” Joe forced a smile to settle things.

  Once again he was faced with a choice. And once again, he let her run. He knew he’d gone too fast. For all her wannabe vixen attitude, Abbi was still a go-slow kind of girl. She’d escaped the first chance she’d gotten. And probably, wasn’t that for the best?

  She’d be better off without him.

  That was a fact.

  …

  Five minutes later Abbi slumped in the backseat of the taxi, innards stewing in a hot soup of deflated desire, embarrassment, and confusion.

  Her lower belly burned as she remembered how hard he’d slammed against her, how demandingly he’d kissed her, his tongue caressing so deeply.

  But to go from so hot to so rejected so quickly?

  That hurt plenty. That ripped the Band-Aid off her cut-up confidence. She’d thought he was as into it as she was. He’d kissed her like she was the most delicious dessert he’d ever tasted. He’d been turned on—his erection had been massive, hard, had to be uncomfortable so tightly constrained in his jeans.

  But he’d stopped.

  Of course he’d stopped.

  She knew why. Same old reason. She’d been passive. Boring. Overwhelmed. Her hands had pressed against the wood even when he hadn’t been pinning them there. Letting him do all the work. He’d probably thought it was like kissing a crash-test dummy.

  It was official. Scott had been right. After the initial schoolboy excitement of scoring a woman with big boobs, he’d reckoned the reality of screwing her was boring because she was so dull.

  She’d wanted to get the moves—use all that app info. But when Joe had kissed her, all thoughts of technique flew right out of her head. All other thoughts as well. She’d barely been able to stay standing, let alone turn on the sexy skills. She’d failed again already.

  And it hurt. So did the frustration. Because she’d almost had it—her first taste of truly fantastic sex. But she’d fucked it up.

  Maybe she should unwrap Nadia’s hot-pink vibrating helper when she got home and get herself off. She ached with the emptiness, her clit sensitive and yearning for touch. But she was too depressed to get into the headspace. It just wasn’t what she wanted.

  She wanted Joe.

  He didn’t want her.

  Chapter Six

  “Be nice, but not friendly. There is a difference.”

  Joe gave up on trying to get some sleep and hit the pavement to run off the excess energy. He stepped up his pace, letting his lungs work and his muscles start to burn. He felt jaded. His balls heavy and tight, aching for the release they’d been denied.

  Maybe he should have gone after her. Or should have taken what she’d offered, when she’d offered it. Had her hard up against that door and damn the possible chance of being sprung by a hundred baseball fans.

  Heaven knew she wouldn’t have stopped him. She’d have let him do anything. Hell, if that idea didn’t just yank him harder than he’d ever been. He kicked himself for letting her walk. What had she spent her night doing? Had she gone off to find that other dweeb she’d targeted in her vixen campaign?

  He ran faster, his breathing heavier and rough. Damn, the possessive devil riding him was a bitch. He hadn’t liked seeing Abbi smile at that guy. That’s what had sent him over the edge in the first place and made him push her to the point where she wouldn’t say no to him.

  Instinct told him she wouldn’t have gone back to that other guy. She hadn’t looked at him the way she did Joe. Abbi wanted him.

  He shouldn’t be this wound up. He got offers all the time. But recently he’d been too busy with work to take any of them up on it. And frankly, none had rung his bell.

  Maybe he was paying for that period of abstinence now, wanting Abbi as much as an NBA championship ring.

  He had no clue where she lived. But he knew where she worked. Without even thinking about it, he was halfway there already. Question was, what he was going to do when he got there?

  He could never offer what a woman like Abbi would want. She was a relationship kind of girl—for all her wannabe-vixen attitude. She wanted to be a vixen, because she wanted to snare a guy. For good.

  Joe had zero time for a relationship. Zero inclination. There was too much else he had to do and too much he didn’t want. Easygoing fun was so much better than emotional challenge. With his less-than-stellar childhood, he knew he was a first-class emotional fuckup. He wasn’t equipped—or willing—to keep a woman happy for the whole ever-after scene. Hell, he wouldn’t know where to start. He’d failed at fitting into so many homes, any kind of relationship was only ever going to be short-term for him. Better to end this with her before it had even begun. Much as he wanted to pursue her—and that was a first—he didn’t want to hurt her. So the very least he could do was finish it gently.

  He stopped in front of the magazine’s headquarters. Yeah, lights were on, on the top floor. He glanced down the street—coffee shop.

  Perfect.

  …

  Abbi ignored the phone. This was Sunday—no one was supposed to be at the office anyway, so whoever it was calling could just leave a message.

  Except the phone kept ringing. Four times, then stopping before it went to voicemail. Again and again and again. Until in irritation she snatched it up, ready to leave it off the hook. But as soon as she lifted the handset, he spoke.

  “I know that’s you, Abbi.”

  Without thinking she put the receiver to her ear and answered. “How do you know?”

  “It’s Sunday. Everyone else is in bed recovering from their Saturday night, whereas yours got cut short. How’s it going?”

  Despite everything, she couldn’t stop the spurt of adrenaline—and anticipation—sizzling along her veins. “Okay.”

  Truth was she’d slept so badly she’d come in ultra-early and had run all her tests. Everything was good to go for tomorrow and she was done. But he didn’t need to know that.

  “Then come downstairs for a break.”

  She hesitated. She shouldn’t. She should say no. But curiosity beat the mortification. “Only for a quick break.”

  She was a glutton for punishment.

  Joe was leaning against the side of the building, right beside the after-hours door, looking hot—literally—in a slick tee-and-sweats combo. He’d been exercising this early on a Sunday morning? That was sick.

  “Peace offering.” He straightened and held out a cup, steam swirling out of the narrow sipper hole in the to-go lid.

  Peace offering? He better not be here to apologize.

  She took the cup and glanced at it dubiously. But it smelled good. Sweet. “Hot chocolate?”

  He nodded.

  “I wouldn’t have thought a gym instructor would advocate anyone consuming liquid sugar.” And he was looking so very gym instructor today in the loose workout gear. Tanned and fit and ready.

  He was hot—and not just in the literal sense. But she refused to squirm at the sight of him. He didn’t want her; she wasn’t going to make a fool of herself by making her lust even more obvious than it already was.

  “Studies show women who consume chocolate daily have a higher libido,” he said.

  She paused, the cup an inch from her lips. “You made that up.”

  “Google it. Add it to your app info. Women will love you for it.” He glanced at the cup. “You going to test it?”

  Her libido didn’t need to be any higher, actually. She was already melting. Bu
t she couldn’t resist taking a sip.

  His mouth quirked and he looked right into her eyes. “I’m sorry about last night.”

  The chocolate lost all flavor and she swallowed it in an awkward gulp. “Please don’t.”

  “Don’t what?”

  “Don’t feel like you have to be nice. It’s okay. You’re not interested. That’s fine.”

  He stared at her so long she wondered if she had a huge chocolate milky mustache on her upper lip.

  “What makes you think I’m not interested?” he asked.

  The only thing to do was laugh it off. Make a joke out of the awful truth. “I kiss like a dead fish.”

  “What?” He looked floored. “You what?”

  Oh hell. Her pity alert sounded. She shouldn’t have said that—no guy wanted to hear about a woman’s insecurities, and she didn’t want to emotionally manipulate him into doing something he didn’t really want to do. So now she laughed and shrugged, then took another deep, long sip of chocolate and tried to act like she hadn’t meant a thing.

  Joe stared at her that entire time, his brow furrowed, his mouth thinning. Finally he spoke. “Why do you think I’m here?”

  “To apologize.” Abbi smiled at him and spoke breezily, pulling herself out of the piteous funk. “Because you’re polite and actually a nice guy.”

  “You think I’m a nice guy.” His frown deepened.

  “Yeah.” She didn’t get why he was looking more grumpy.

  “I don’t like you thinking of me as nice.”

  “Oh.” She licked her lips, suddenly nervous. “Okay.” Too bad, because he was nice. Even if he was looking intense.

  “I’m not a nice guy,” he said shortly. “You should know you’re better off without me.”

  She rolled her eyes.

  He narrowed his. “The dead fish thing. Is that why you ran away?”

  “I didn’t run away. I thought we were done.”

  “We’re far from done.” He grabbed her free hand and planted it palm-down on the crotch of his sweats. “Abbi, does this feel ‘not interested’ to you?”