BAD BOYS ON BOARD

by Lori Foster, Donna Kauffman, Nancy Warren

  But that was only the beginning. Now it was time for someone else to step in, take her. Drive her. Remove responsibility for all the decision making so she could simply feel, absorb … react.

  And though he was fully aware how limited he was in terms of emotional connections … he could bloody well push this physical connection to whatever extreme she desired. And he planned to.

  Did that mean he intended to pursue this beyond a stolen couple of hours in a broken lift? He refused to think about it … or put limitations on it. He also refused to think about what she'd do with this new knowledge he'd bestow on her … and with whom. Another tug at his heart, this one surprisingly painful. He forced his thoughts away from that path, knowing now he was out of his mind. He'd only just met her, surely there was no connection between them but physical. His body certainly agreed. His head … and heart … weren't part of that equation.

  He didn't know what in the bloody hell he was doing. He was operating on instinct. And he didn't question his instincts … even when they drove him into new territory … drove him to take risks others would deem insane. So what if this new territory was personal, not professional like the others had been? So what if he learned something new about himself in the mix of things. Would that be so bad?

  But if it wasn't so bad … then why was he so terrified?

  Because he had no clue where it would lead him. And yet he'd be damned if he was going to stop. So they'd proceed.

  One step at a time. One breath. He very deliberately drew one finger down her spine, stopping just above the curve of her sweet derriere. One shudder.

  He took her hands and placed them, palms flat, beside her head. "Keep them here," he commanded softly next to her ear. Then traced his tongue around the delicate shell.

  She said nothing. Her breath, coming in short, shuddery little pants, was enough of a response for him.

  He shifted his body so that he was close, so very close, to hers … but no longer touching. If he'd continued pressing his aching length into that sweet backside of hers, all the patience in the world wouldn't keep him from a rather abrupt end to their little interlude.

  Her cheek was pressed to the wall, so he drew his attentions to the side of her neck, nudging her hair aside and dropping hot kisses around to her nape.

  "You taste like sin," he told her, feeling a bit seduced himself. Just the taste of her tested his control. "Hot, sweet, wicked." He pressed his lips to the base of her neck, darting the tip of his tongue so that it pushed against the heavy pulse there. She gasped. His body throbbed.

  Just who was pushing whom to new depths, he began to wonder.

  "You want my hands on you," he told her, grasping for control.

  "Yes," she breathed.

  He drew his finger from the base of her spine up the length of zipper that held her light cotton dress together. Then pulled the tab back down. Slowly exposing her damp skin to his lips, his tongue. He followed the zipper with his mouth, all the way to the end, dropping to a crouching position behind her. With his lips pressed to the small twin dimples just above her panties, he let his hands drop to her ankles. She sucked in a small breath as he circled them with his fingers.

  "Part them for me," he told her, nudging her feet apart a few inches. Then a few inches more. "Wider." He loosened his grip, allowing her to move them herself. She did. "More," he commanded. She slid them again, until they were about a foot apart. He squeezed them. "Lovely," he breathed, as he began skimming his hands upward, over her calves. "Strong," he murmured, feeling the flex of her muscle.

  "Horses," she rasped.

  He glanced up, though in the darkness he couldn't see her. "You ride?"

  "Yes," she said, panting as his hands paused to draw little circles at the backs of her knees. He grinned. "How … handy."

  She moaned, and his grin turned almost feral. Damn but she made him feel downright primal. It was daft, really.

  He continued his path, smoothing his palms up the outside of her thighs, beneath the dress that now hung limply from her shoulders. He slowly stretched to a stand behind her, continuing to skate his hands up to her hips, taking her dress with him. He paused, his own breath hitching slightly when his fingers encountered the slender strap that held the front and rear silk panel of her panties together.

  He slid one finger, then another beneath the straps on either hip. "How … naughty of you," he murmured against the side of her neck. "You're barely covered." He crowded his body close to her again. "How incredible that silk would feel against me. Hot … wet."

  She shuddered hard, a small moan escaping her lips when he brushed against her. Or maybe it had been him. He was so wild for the feel of her now, he wasn't sure who was more in danger of losing control.

  He tugged at the slender bands. "Or I could just rip them off of you."

  She moaned again … and he tugged, making her gasp, her body tense beneath his hands. "Oh."

  "Oh yes. You'd have to walk home in the morning, with nothing on beneath this tidy little business dress of yours."

  Another moan. His, hers, it no longer mattered.

  "Only you would know, every time your thighs brushed, about your naughty little secret."

  "Ahhh," she gasped, her damp palms squeaking as they tried to grip the wooden paneling as he brushed against her again.

  "Only you would know, as people pushed and rushed past you, what you'd been doing all night. Here. In the dark. With me."

  "Jesus," she swore heatedly, her hips bucking back ever so slightly.

  He immediately pulled back. Though he wasn't sure whom he was torturing at this point. She groaned in frustration.

  "Keep still," he admonished, then pushed up behind her again. He put his lips next to her ear. "Don't move." He pushed his hips tighter into hers, so close to where he wanted to be, and yet far too many layers of clothing restricting them both from having what they so badly wanted. He rocked his hips, pushing his aching length against her soft buttocks. "I want to rip these off," he murmured against the skin of her neck, tugging at the thin bikini straps. "I want to bury myself in you." He twitched. Hard.

  She groaned as her body jerked in response.

  "Keep your hands on that wall," he instructed, then tugged her hips back into him as he stepped back. He reluctantly released her panties and wrapped one arm around her waist, palm flat against the bare skin of her stomach, tugging her fully against him, running his free hand up the bare expanse of her back. His hard bulge was snugged up tight between her legs and he thought he would howl with the ravaging need demanding he take her fully, completely.

  He slipped his hand into her hair, stroked his fingers across her scalp, making her arch her neck and moan. Then he slid his fingers down her spine, flicking open her bra as he skimmed over it, then slipping that hand around her waist, inside her loosely gaping dress.

  With both palms flat on her abdomen, he moved her so her back arched, pushing her more fully onto his erection. He groaned, a deep guttural sound that felt like it went on for ages. It took considerable will not to climax right then.

  "Do … not … move," he told her, his voice shaking with need.

  He released her, making them both groan at the absence of touch.

  He stepped back, just enough to unhook his trousers. He had to feel that hot wet silk directly on his skin or he'd surely go mad. She moaned softly at the sound of his zipper opening, continued to moan as he kicked free of his clothes.

  When he put his hands back on her waist, finding her with unerring precision despite the darkness, she jumped at his touch. His fingers sunk into her soft flesh as he fought for the last bit of control that was so rapidly deserting him. He stood just behind her, struggling to even out his breathing, not daring to brush against any part of her until he did.

  "Dominic," she whispered. "Please."

  "Dear sweet God," he swore, and yanked her back onto him. The long hard length of him pushed between her thighs, gliding along the slick, damp panel of her panties.
He slid his hands inside the back of her dress and molded her to him. One hand slid down to the elastic edge of her panties, the other up to shift her brassiere out of the way so her breasts were free to his touch.

  He stopped then, breathing heavily, groaning as she twitched on him. "You feel what you do to me," he all but growled. "As God is my witness, I have never ached for anyone the way I ache for you." The confession was torn from him before he could think better of it, or be stunned at the depth of sincerity in which he'd said it.

  "Then do it," she all but begged. "It's torture. Sweet, but incredible torture."

  And it struck him then, the real danger of the dance they'd entered into. He had no way to protect her. And doubted seriously she did either. He could have roared with the rage of sexual frustration that realization sent thundering through him. His hips flexed, pushed in instinctive rebellion, urging him to ignore the fear, take what he wanted and damn the consequences.

  He bent over her, pressing his cheek to the bare skin of her back, squeezing his eyes tightly shut as her thighs squeezed just as tightly around him.

  "Dominic," she whimpered.

  Hearing her all but moaning his name, knowing the depths to which they'd driven each other, almost undid his resolve. He held on to her, fought to steady himself, his breathing, his raging, intense, aching need. And only when he thought he could move any inch of himself without ripping her panties off and shoving himself deep inside of her, did he dare continue the dance.

  He slid his fingers along the swell of her breast as he slid his other fingers beneath the elastic of her panties.

  She moaned and squeezed him between her thighs. He all but bit his tongue off, but managed not to pump himself along that wet stretch of silk until he came. He smoothed his hand over one bare breast, rubbed one delightfully hard nipple along the width of his palm, making her shudder hard. He rolled her nipple between his fingers, squeezing it slightly, earning another rippling shudder and a long, shuddering moan. He slid his hand to her other breast, and continued to wring pleasure from her as he rubbed her nipple between the length of his fingers.

  And when she began to twitch against him … he slid his other hand lower, praying he could do to her what he wanted, give her what she so badly needed at this point, without coming all over her in the process.

  "You are ready. For me," he said, struggling mightily to return to the role he'd so swiftly abandoned.

  "Yes," she groaned. "Very."

  He slid his fingers lower, and his own breath caught tight in his chest. "Slick, so needy."

  "Yes," she growled.

  He pushed one finger along the slippery crease. "What will it take, sweet Callie, to make you come for me?"

  "Not much," she managed, somewhat dryly, which surprised a tortured little laugh from him. But also gave him the shred of an edge he so badly needed to see this through.

  "One finger?" he queried, sliding the tip of his finger into her, while at the same time squeezing her nipple between his other fingers.

  She gasped and jerked hard against him.

  "Or two?" He gave her no warning, but slid two fingers deeply into her.

  She convulsed immediately into a shuddering, gripping orgasm.

  He continued to move his fingers inside her, holding her tightly to him as she twitched and groaned. Continued, even as the muscles ceased to constrict around him.

  She squirmed against him, trying to move away as her climax subsided. He slid his free hand back to her waist and held her tight against him … but kept his fingers inside her. "One more," he told her.

  Her head thrashed against him. "Can't," was all she managed.

  He slid out of her and spun her back to the wall. "Can," he told her, pinning her wrists to the wall and himself to her as he took her mouth in a deep, soul-thrusting kiss.

  He pushed between her legs as he thrust his tongue into her mouth. Her soaked panties clung to the length of him, the scent of her filled the air, driving him mad.

  "Can," he said raggedly, when he forced his mouth from hers. He left her wrists pinned beside her head and drew his hands down her body, shoving her dress up and pinning it behind her back, before sinking to his knees. "Will," he told her, then yanked her panties down and drove his tongue into her.

  She screamed then in wild, convulsing pleasure. Her knees buckled and he thought she was going to take them both crashing to the floor. He no longer cared. As badly as he wanted to be inside her, as painfully as his tortured body needed release, he wanted to do this more, to drive her someplace she'd never been, show her the heights of pleasure her body could ascend to … and take her screaming all the way there.

  He braced her waist to the wall with his hands when she could no longer bear her own weight, and never once let up in his assault. She quivered, grunted, growled, then shouted when he ripped her over the edge again.

  And then he pulled her down on top of him, falling to his back as he took her full weight on top of him. Shuddering, panting, gasping for breath. Himself, as well as her.

  His body quivered like a bow strung too tightly and he was forced to roll them to their sides, willing his aching erection to subside. He stroked her damp curls, fighting for rational thought. It was beyond him. How could bringing someone else pleasure leave him feeling so incredibly satiated? His body still raged, demanding its own release, and yet there was this intensely … settled feeling, somewhere deep inside his chest. He'd gone raving starkers, it was the only explanation.

  Sweat streamed down his face, sliding beneath his eyelids, stinging his eyes. He shifted to rub his sleeve over his face and she slowly shifted her weight away from his. He pulled her close, instinctively unwilling to allow her to leave him, tangling her legs and arms with his. She murmured something he couldn't understand, then slid her hand across his chest, wanting to keep him close, too. He turned his head then, seeking her, blindly now, with his mouth. He found her forehead, then her cheek, kissing both, before finally nudging her mouth to his.

  He didn't want to think about the emotion that soared through him as their mouths met, mated anew. The kiss drew out, slowed … deepened, changed into something that wasn't completely carnal. Evolved into something else entirely. Something far more intimate. Far more powerful. Far more dangerous.

  He told himself it was the heightened awareness from the intense sexual interlude they'd shared. And yet, somewhere deep inside, he knew it was a whole hell of a lot more than that.

  He stroked her hair, broke the kiss, but continued touching her with his lips as their breathing gradually slowed. He couldn't shake the feeling that she was his now, in some unnamed, intangible way that defied explanation. As if he were somehow responsible for her now … her pleasures, her needs. Maybe more. And even stranger still, he yearned to fulfill them. That was the only word he could come up with for the deep ache settling inside his chest. Coupled quite alarmingly with fear. He wasn't a man who feared anything.

  And yet as her fingers curled over his chest—over his heart—he knew true terror. Terror that he wouldn't be able to do for her all the things he wanted to do … be the man she'd need him to be.

  And as the air ceased to be filled with their panting gasps, the silence grew. And so did that terror. For the first time in his life, Dominic had no idea what to say. Much less what the next step should be. Surely she'd think him just as starkers if he so much as uttered one word of the wildly, fantastic thoughts and feelings careening about inside his head.

  The wise thing to do was say something urbane or witty, that would put them both at ease and allow them to view their coupling in some abstract, serendipitous way. They'd make a few gentle jokes, rearrange their clothes, comment on what a fantastic memory this would be and—

  Bugger it.

  He didn't want to say any of those things to her. Didn't want to reduce what they'd shared to some superficial sex act between two consenting adults. Because it hadn't been. Never would be.

  Which meant he wanted … what?
>
  That train of thought was almost instantly derailed when she began unbuttoning his shirt.

  "What are you doing?" he asked, not particularly minding. In fact, her questing fingers, tickling between the ridge of muscle leading from his chest to his navel, was actually quite delectable. His body, still half hard, stirred anew. He wasn't sure he could withstand any more, though, and with a sigh of great regret, took hold of her clever fingers and stopped her.

  "Fair is only fair," she said, not remotely put off.

  He found himself grinning, wondering why he was always surprised by her direct, wry little comments. Perhaps it was the duality of her somewhat untried sexuality, and her almost jaded sensibilities. The possibilities were so tantalizing he—

  She slid her hand free and shifted her body down, pressing warm, damp lips along the center line of his abdomen. "I've had two, it's only fair you have at least one," she was saying.

  And then her hand was around him and he lost all rational thought.

  "I trust you'll tell me what to do?"

  He could only nod, forgetting she couldn't see him in the dark.

  "I've never been very … encouraged in this area," she said, sounding anything but discouraged at the moment.

  "Mmmph," he managed, then groaned when her tongue darted out. "Dear God in heaven."

  She laughed, then sighed a little as he grew rigid in her hand. "Imagine that. I guess it helps when you actually want to try."

  "Yeah," he grunted. "No problems with your punch, or your pucker."

  She stroked him once and his hips bucked wildly, as if he'd never had a woman touch him this way before.

  "Had I only known it was this easy," she murmured.

  He started to tell her there was nothing easy about any of this, but then she was sliding her mouth over him. And rational speech deserted him.

  Chapter Six