Ms. Bravo and the Boss

by Christine Rimmer

  “Lie back,” he instructed.

  “This is very unsanitary. Jed, we eat lunch here.”

  “Shh. Lie back.”

  “Oh, dear...” But she did it, went over onto her back. She stared up at the beamed ceiling and whispered, “This is so not me.”

  “Elise.” He stroked both palms down one glorious thigh, over her knee and her calf to her boot. “Take my word for it.” He pulled off the boot and dropped it to the floor. “It’s you.”

  He took the other boot next, and then the little yellow socks she wore underneath them.

  “So pretty.” He moved in close again, bending over her where she was spread out on the counter, his own personal feast. He cupped both of her full breasts, one in either hand. All soft and white, they just happened to fit his palms exactly right. And then he spent a few minutes kissing her pretty pink nipples, taking turns on one and then the other, until she couldn’t hold back her moans and she lifted her hips to him, rocking, begging him with that lush body of hers to give her more.

  He had more for her.

  He had lots and lots more.

  The Daisy Duke cutoffs had to go next. He hooked his fingers under the waistband on either side. “Lift up.”

  She whimpered in protest. But she lifted. He whipped them down and tossed them away. He left her the panties, for the moment. They were so innocent and pink and he wanted to look at them, wanted to play with her through the cotton and lace.

  He took her hips and pulled her right to the edge of the counter, moving in good and close, so his body opened her legs for him. And then he bent over her again.

  “Jed, I...”

  “Shh...” So much to enjoy. He hardly knew where to start.

  He got to work, kissing. Touching. Biting a little, exploring the sweet, shadowed places—behind her ear, along the lush under curves of her breasts. And lower.

  Her belly called his name. He answered with his lips, his tongue, the edges of his teeth, dipping into her navel, biting the beautiful rounded curve below it.

  She wiggled and moaned and then whimpered, “Jed?”

  “Hmm?”

  “Do you have, you know, condoms?”

  “I do.”

  “I keep thinking this is a bad idea.”

  “Thinking.” He dropped a line of kisses along the lacy top edge of her panties. “That’s your problem. You shouldn’t be thinking. Stop.”

  “But I—”

  “Shh...” He put his open mouth against her mound, right over the pink cotton that covered her from his sight.

  “Oh, my goodness...”

  He had to agree. The scent of her alone was pure heaven. A man could die happy with the smell of her around him. He drew in a big breath and he released it against the pink-covered core of her.

  “I... Oh! Oh, my!”

  “Baby, you are the hottest thing.” He kept kissing her, breathing against her, heating her further through her little pink panties.

  “But I’m not, I... Oh. My. Golly.” She speared her fingers in his hair. “Oh, now that! Jed!”

  “Hmm?”

  “Yes! Please! That.”

  He chuckled again. Tonight he was a chuckling fool. He ached to have her, to just tear those panties right off, rip his fly wide and bury himself in her, hard and deep.

  But half the fun was making it last, driving both of them crazy, making both of them burn. He slid his hand up her thigh again as she wriggled and moaned for him. “Wet,” he whispered against her core, easing a finger in under the elastic, then nudging it aside farther with his nose. Silky. Hot. Dripping with need. “So wet, sweetheart. So fine...”

  She clutched at his shoulders. “I never get like this...”

  “You do now. And I like you like this. I like it a lot.” And enough with the panties. Now they were just in his way. He used both hands, taking one side and then the other, tearing them at the seams, ripping them away.

  With a sharp gasp, she lifted her head off the counter and accused, “You just ruined my panties.”

  “Sorry, beautiful.” He tossed the torn pink scraps over his shoulder. “They had to go. Now, where was I?”

  “Oh, my goodness...” She let her head fall back.

  And he lifted her thighs, hooked them over his shoulders and bent to his work. She was so wet and open and ready, slick and eager, defenseless against him. He tasted her deeply, using his fingers, too, as she rocked and moaned and pulled at his hair. She was sweet and salty on his tongue, drenched and so willing now, opening her legs wider as he kissed her. She’d flown right past her own objections. She was no longer afraid.

  She offered him everything, all of her.

  He would definitely take that: all of Elise.

  “Oh!” she cried again and pumped her hips faster, letting her thighs fall open even wider, bracing her feet on his back. He speared his tongue in, stroked her faster and deeper with his fingers and stuck with her as she climbed toward the finish.

  When she shattered, he held on, riding it out with her, drinking her sweetness as she chanted his name.

  Chapter Seven

  Several minutes passed.

  Elise was gone. Done. Finished. She felt as though she’d left her body behind, as though she floated near the ceiling, that she was nothing but a moonbeam, a thoroughly satisfied shimmer of pale, vibrant light.

  Except, wait. No. She was very much in her body. She felt every inch of her own skin, every bit of her that Jed had stroked and kissed and driven to the kind of spinning, churning, mind-altering climax she’d only read about in books.

  From some brave space within her, she gathered all her courage and lifted her head.

  Jed, way down there between her still-open legs, looked up from the cradle of her thighs. His face was wet. From her. “So good,” he said, and he bent close again to place three kisses—on her left thigh, then her right and finally on that place in the center where he’d just rocked her world. “Beard burn.” He brushed more kisses on the scruff-red skin of her unabashedly open thighs. “Sorry...”

  “Don’t be.” She reached down and touched his hair again, so thick and coarse against her fingertips. “It’s kind of tingly. Feels good.” Her legs were shaking a little. She eased them off his shoulders, put her arm across her eyes and indulged in a moan of total disbelief. “On the kitchen counter, no less. This can’t be real.”

  “Sweetheart, take my word for it. This is as real as it gets.” He rose from between her thighs and then bent over her. He pressed a kiss just below her navel. She lowered her arm to look at him again. “And we are not done yet,” he said, his voice a low rumble, barely a whisper, deliciously rough. “Not by a long shot.” He kissed his way upward along her body until they were face-to-face. “We’re going up to my room now.”

  “Oh, I don’t know if we really ought to do that.”

  “I know. We’re going.” He took her hand and pulled her to a sitting position. Then he clasped her waist and helped her down to the floor.

  She looked around at her boots and her socks, her shirt, her cutoffs and her torn underpants all strewn across the floor. “I feel really, really bare right about now.”

  “It’s a great look for you—and don’t even think about trying to cover up.”

  “Let me at least pick up my—”

  “Nope.” He stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. “We’re going upstairs and we’re going now.”

  “Easy for you to say. You’ve still got all your clothes on, but I’m supposed to bounce through the house buck naked.”

  “I’m going to let go.” He squeezed her shoulder. “Don’t you dare move a muscle.”

  “I don’t see why we have to—”

  “Don’t. Move.” He said it in his master-of-the-universe voice.
<
br />   And then he let go of her—and stripped. She stood there and stared with her mouth hanging open. He did it so fast, dropping everything to the floor where he stood.

  And did he ever look good when he was done. There wasn’t an inch of him that wasn’t buff and hard and honed to perfection. He was fully erect. And large. Very large.

  She gulped.

  He said, “It’s going to be fine, Elise. Better than fine. You do it for me in a big way and I’m not letting you out of my arms for the rest of the night.” And then he grabbed her and scooped her high against his chest. He didn’t even grunt at the effort.

  She linked her hands behind his neck. “You’ll probably get a hernia hauling me up the stairs.”

  “Shut up and enjoy the ride.” He said it so tenderly, the way another, gentler man might declare undying love.

  With a sigh of surprisingly happy surrender, she wrapped her arms around his neck and tucked her head under his chin.

  * * *

  His room was even bigger than hers. It took up half of the second floor and had tall windows on three walls. There was a sitting area the size of a giant living room, complete with a big-screen TV and a fireplace of volcanic-looking rock with an enormous rough-hewn slab of wood for a mantel. The bed was on the same grand scale as the rest of the suite, with a roughly carved headboard, the bedding in brown, black and bronze.

  But they didn’t make it to the bed.

  Not right away, anyway. Jed carried her over the threshold, knocked the door shut with his heel and then let her down to the rug, which was thick and fur-like and covered most of the floor. She was barely on her feet before he was hauling her close again, kissing her deeply. She could feel him, every inch of him, hard and hot along the front of her, his erection pressing into her belly.

  How did he do it? She’d never considered herself a particularly sexual person. Letting go wasn’t easy for her. Her mind wouldn’t stop working. She obsessed over really unsexy stuff—like what if they got fluids on the comforter and why hadn’t she thought ahead to grab a towel?

  But with Jed, it was different. With Jed, she’d just experienced the best climax of her life. Because he stayed with her; he refused to give up on her. When she’d fretted about the extra weight she’d put on, he called her perfect, soft and curvy and womanly. If she complained because he ripped her panties, he simply said those panties had to go and then put his mouth where she’d never liked any man to kiss her—and blew her mind.

  The man had focus in all things.

  Including having sex.

  And somehow, he got her to focus, too, got her to center her mind down to her senses, to revel in the feel of his big, hard hands on her soft flesh, to glory in the wonder of his hot mouth opening on hers.

  The kiss at the door went on and on, his tongue playing with hers, his teeth nipping at her lower lip. He stroked those big hands along her back, tracing the bumps of her spine. He took a fistful of her hair and pulled on it slowly, insistently, until the kiss broke and she let her head fall back.

  He growled low in his throat, a hungry sound, as though he wanted to take a big bite out of her. And then he did take a bite, more or less. He bent his head to her, latched on to the side of her neck and began sucking rhythmically.

  Oh, my goodness gracious. She felt that sharp kiss so deep inside, as though a shimmering hot thread connected them, from his wet mouth through her eager flesh and down into the core of her. She ached with wanting. And what she wanted was for him never to stop.

  She knew she would have a bruise there. So what? She loved it—loved the sting of his teeth, the warmth of his breath, the stroke of his tongue, soothing her and simultaneously stirring up sparks of sensation that made her shiver. And burn.

  And when he clasped her shoulders and gently pushed her down, she didn’t even hesitate. She went to her knees on the thick, fluffy rug, opened her eyes and gazed happily up over the thick, ready length of him.

  Green eyes gleamed down at her. “Taste me.”

  Elise didn’t hesitate. She made no excuses, didn’t fall all over herself explaining that she wasn’t any good at going down on a guy.

  She didn’t have to make excuses. Not with Jed. She just stuck out her tongue and licked him, a long, slow stroke, following the ridge of that thick, twisty vein from the base to the tip, where a pearl of moisture gleamed.

  She licked that up, too. It tasted like the wind off the ocean, musky and fresh at the same time.

  “Elise,” he said. Elise, as though her name felt so good on his tongue he wanted to roll it around in his mouth for a while. His fingers grazed her cheek, wandered to her temple, combed through her hair. “More, sweetheart. Please.”

  So she gave him more. She reached up and wrapped her hand around him. He groaned at that. And then she opened her mouth and took him in.

  He didn’t fit. But she did her best and he wasn’t complaining. He only said, “Harder. Tighter. That’s it...”

  She took him in and let him out, sucking him back again, using her hands to stroke him, to make him say her name like it was the only name he’d ever known, to wrap his big fingers around the back of her head, cradling her, guiding her...

  Until he swore low and commanded, “Stop. Or I’ll lose it,” which sounded like a fine idea to her.

  But he wasn’t having that. He caught her face between his hands and his eyes were twin green flames burning down at her. “Come up here. Come on...”

  She went, gathering her shaky legs under her and rising. He took her shoulders, steadying her. And then he kissed her, his tongue spearing in, tasting her so deeply, so thoroughly, that her knees grew weak again and threatened to give way.

  Before they did, he lifted her and took her to the bed, where he laid her down so gently, you’d think she was fragile, some tender, young breakable thing.

  She waited, gazing up at him, loving the sheer masculine beauty of him as he opened the bedside drawer, took out a condom, unwrapped it and rolled it down over his thick, hard length.

  Sheathed, he just stood there, watching her as she watched him. “Look at you,” he said in that low voice that promised an endless array of impossible delights. “I could gobble you up, just start with your pretty pink-painted toes and keep going until I had every inch of you.”

  In her life, she’d felt attractive now and then. Kind of pretty, maybe, at times. But never had she felt truly beautiful.

  Not until that moment. When Jed Walsh stared down at her spread out on his bed and said he could eat her right up.

  He came down to her and took her in those hard, hot arms, kissing her, touching her, his hands gliding over her, both possessive and tender. Sliding a knee between her legs, he eased her thighs wider, making room to settle himself between them.

  She took his weight with a willing sigh. And then he was reaching down, clasping her under her knees, guiding her legs up to wrap around him.

  Once he had her as he wanted her, he levered up on his arms, framed her face between his hands and kissed her some more. Oh, she could feel him there, nudging her right where she wanted him.

  “Jed. Jed, please...” And she reached down between them, wrapping her fingers around him to guide him in.

  He didn’t get far.

  “Tight.” He buried his head against her throat and groaned the word onto her skin. “And perfect. So hot and wet...”

  She whispered, “Jed,” and added a soft, pleading “yes” for good measure. It had been a long time for her, not since Sean, her last bad boyfriend, almost two years ago now. But she was burning—burning for Jed, wanting him, all of him, and wanting him now.

  Still, he was careful. He took it slowly, by aching degrees, stretching her, filling her, stopping after each gentle thrust to give her body a chance to accept him, to make the transition from discomfort to fullness to
outright pleasure.

  At last, she had him all the way.

  He was so still then, so still and so deep within her, filling her completely.

  “Jed. Please...” She tried to move.

  “Don’t,” he commanded. “Wait.”

  “I can’t...”

  “You will.”

  “I need...”

  “I know.”

  She was breathing so hard, needing to move with every nerve in her body.

  And then, at last, he did move; he withdrew. She moaned, frantic. Afraid she would lose him. But he gave one of those rare, rough chuckles of his and came back to her.

  After that, it was so right, a rising wave of sensation. A river of it, flowing through her, into him and back to her again. It started slow and deep and then it was faster.

  Harder.

  He sat up, pulling her with him. And she was in his lap, her legs around his waist, her feet hooked at his back. She was moving on him, frantic and needful—then sighing and slow. He said things, raw things that only drove her higher, only made it better.

  Hotter.

  Deeper.

  And then he said, “Now, Elise.” Only that, only now and then her name.

  It was all she needed. Her climax rolled through her, violent and beautiful. It lifted her so high and sent her tumbling. There was a shiver of hot light behind her eyes. She felt him go over, felt him pulsing inside her as she hit the peak and began the slow, weightless glide back into herself.

  * * *

  When she came back to the real world again, she was still sitting on his lap, her legs and arms twined around him.

  He brushed his lips against her cheek. “Come on, now,” he said and carefully guided her to stretch out with him, so they lay on their sides facing each other, her right leg draped across his thigh.

  He was still inside her. She wondered how he’d managed to get them down to the pillows without slipping free. The guy kind of amazed her. He had more moves than his alter ego, Jack.

  And speaking of moves, she needed to get going, get back to her own room. Maybe he would let her borrow a T-shirt or something. Really, she should have insisted on bringing her clothes when she let him carry her up here.