by Diana Seere
In fact, if it had been up to her, they would’ve stripped and done it right there in front of everyone: her boss, her peers, the painted eyes of his former lovers. But he was a gentleman, and he loved her, and so he captured her hands before they unbuttoned his pants and, smiling against her mouth, took a step back.
“Come,” he said, entwining his fingers in hers. He turned to the door.
“I almost did,” she said under her breath as he pulled her across the floor. “Just now.”
He stopped abruptly and looked back. His gaze burned. “I love you, Jess.”
“I love you, Derry.”
They started to move together again, but suddenly Sophia was there, pushing them like a snowplow. “For God’s sake, finish up outside,” she muttered. “This is an art show, not a peep show.”
“Ironically, unlike the show, we’re both fully dressed,” Jess said, giddy now to have Derry’s hand in hers and the fresh taste of his lips on her tongue.
“The limo’s waiting,” Sophia said, giving a final shove toward the door. “We’ll call for another.” Edward smiled from over Sophia’s shoulder, eyes filled with a quiet mirth.
They hurried out of the gallery to the street and into the car, which was waiting only several steps from the entrance. Derry waved aside Manny’s help and flung open the back door for Jess himself. As she bent over to climb in, one hand caressed her bottom, claiming her body the way she’d missed so desperately in the past weeks.
He piled in after her and tapped on the window behind Manny. “My place, as fast as you possibly can.” As the limo peeled out into traffic, he fell against Jess’s side. “Curse me. Are you hurt, sweetheart? I have the grace of a drunken elephant in a rowboat. I probably broke your arm. Let me—”
Smiling, she caught him by his broad, seductive shoulders and pulled him close. “I’m fine. You didn’t hurt me.”
“You’re lying. You shouldn’t ever forgive me.” He sighed and moved away, turning his head away. “I really don’t deserve it.”
She knew he meant it as a joke, but there was a faint thread of sincere self-loathing in his voice. This man who had single-handedly brought the hateful Archibald Rumsey to justice—which he’d obviously done for her sake—even after she’d left him without telling him why.
She put her hand on his leg, trying to tune out the way the muscles of his thigh flexed under her palm because they reminded her of how his skin felt naked, hot, and sweaty, and right now she wanted to talk seriously. Thinking about his body would make keeping a clear head impossible. “I need to explain—”
He stopped her words by suddenly catching her in his arms and hauling her into his lap. While he bent her head back with a fierce kiss, his hands slid her skirt up to her waist, exploring her upper thighs gently, then roughly, pushing them apart. Cupping her damp panties, he spoke into her mouth, his voice low and ravenous. “I need you,” he growled, pressing and circling her mound with too-clever fingers. “I can’t wait.”
“I don’t want to wait,” she gasped, twisting around and getting onto her knees to straddle him, the streets of Boston a blur outside the tinted windows. “Derry, Derry.” She attacked the coat he wore, the tie, the button-down shirt, hungry for the feel of warm skin, dark hair, powerful muscle and bone. Between her thighs, she felt the bulge of his erection straining at his trousers. As her fingers unbuttoned his shirt, she sank down and rubbed against him through the wool and the nylon, tormenting them both.
With another growl, he ripped her panties off and stroked his hand over her bare, wet, aching flesh while at the same time his tongue pushed past her teeth and tangled with hers in a dance she’d dreamed of every night.
Oh, to be in his arms again. To have him in her arms.
When he’d unfastened his pants, she reached down to free his cock, glorying in how hard it was, how it throbbed in her hand.
Pressing her open mouth against his, she guided his erection between her legs and impaled herself down on it, deep and fast, all the way. He groaned and threw his head back, grabbing her hips, trembling from their union, and then began to pump her up and down.
She’d explain later.
I’m home.
He felt her lips twitch with a smile against his neck as the words flowed between the two of them, his cock rising up into her, the limousine’s motion an afterthought as he rocketed up, planting himself where he needed to grow and bloom.
Inside her.
Her fingers dug into his wide back, the tips dragging along his skin as if she were writing her name across his shoulders, etching herself in his body, claiming him. Long waves of honey hair hovered over him, creating a curtain, the heat of their wild, ragged breath filling the space between them. He tasted her as he took her mouth with his, the slant of lips and tongues alive and seeking, making him groan.
“You,” he rasped, thrusting up so hard that she clenched, pinning him against her core, her pussy a hot, wet vise grip that made him growl, the sound like months of pain being exorcised from a heart that once wept with grief and now with joy.
Her body moved against his with a kind of violent surrender that consumed him, his hands ripping the thin fabric of her dress, his fingers sliding just so against the creamy curves of her ass, skimming up over her hips, cupping breasts that were sadly bound by the undeniable injustice of that most barbaric of binding devices.
He tore off her bra with his teeth, a few snaps between her breasts and a fine grind of tooth against tooth just enough to dispatch with the worthless device, and his mouth found the rosy nipple that tasted like nirvana, his tongue suckling her as she tipped back, hands splayed on his knees, and rode him like a wild animal.
Which was so fitting.
“God, I’ve missed you,” she moaned, her tongue finding his ear as she moved her hips against his thick rod, pulling up just enough to make this deliciously drawn out, then plunging down to encase him in the sweet juice of lust.
“You’ve missed me so much you’ve forgotten my name, sweetheart. I’m Derry. Not God.”
A low, smoky laugh was her response. “You keep doing this,” she whispered, biting his earlobe, “and you’ll become my god. We’re about as close to heaven as I’ve ever been.”
“Then by all means, Jessica, let’s get you all the way to nirvana.” He’d been holding back, but her words released a primal madness in him, his mind shutting down as instinct took over, a singular goal to extract and provide as much sensual pleasure his sole mission now. His nose tingled with the scent of her lemon soap, the odor of the coffee she drank minutes before their first kiss, the sweet, delicious tang of her pussy, the light musk of his own sweating skin, the old leather of the limo’s seats, and the new-to-him scent that combined everything Derry and everything Jess and created a signature, like a fingerprint, that made words irrelevant.
Yours, her voice echoed. I’m yours. Take me.
And so he did.
“Derry!” she cried as the sublime feeling of their bodies communing made him stroke up, thrusting hard, controlling her body, forcing her to his own rhythm, making her fingernails rake his back with the writhing of a woman on the cusp of, well…
Nirvana.
The Beat throbbed between them, making their flesh unite, their blood burn hot and cold with a tempo of their own.
“I—oh—oh, what is this? I—” The low, feral sound that emerged from Jess’s delicate throat was a war cry of passion, her thighs widening, wrapping hard around his midsection, knees digging into the leather seat, as she matched him stroke for stroke, thrust for thrust, the slam of body against body a carnal ceremony, his blood racing with a pulse that matched some chant inside him that was sound without words, tone without reproach, meaning without form.
She rammed against him so hard she shoved him back against the seat, his powerful thighs thickening and ass tightening to dominate her, and then he flipped her, needing to tower above her, wanting to protect her from a world that tried to tell them this was wrong.
Lick by lick, stroke by stroke.
And then she bit him.
The bite was so hard he roared, impaling her with his cock. His skin seared with the piercing of her teeth into his chest, her mouth moving with tiny bites, her pussy walls clenching him so hard he had to fight for his thrusts, his own climax so close.
So damned close.
Her heels slapped against his ass, thighs tightening as she let her lips part, his eyes catching her in the throes of passion, fascinated by the pure, unadulterated rawness she expressed, the complete abandon of propriety as Jessica Murphy unraveled before his eyes, giving him the privilege of letting his body and heart do this to her.
She became nothing but untamed instinct.
Then he came right with her, his pounding untenable, the mounting wave of rapturous desire too much to hold back. His instinct to protect her from his own rutting need was overcome by the unarticulated realization that she was causing him pain, with bites and scratches and shouts and calls to join him in ecstasy and the savage ritual of fusing into one soul, one life, one love.
Just… One.
He wanted to call out her name but lost the word in the rush of his seed, filling her, hot and needy, his mouth against her precious neck, his chin gliding along her collarbone, his panting an echo that turned him into nothing but the animal he was. Human, still, yet… more.
When he finally opened his eyes, he found himself the subject of her own stare right back, pupils so dilated they might as well have been black moons, a drop of his own blood at the edge of her mouth.
Derry sank to her, ear against her breast, the intimate comfort of her samba-dance heartbeat the best symphony he could ever experience, and then in Jess’s arms, McDermott Stanton gave himself permission for one final, illicit pleasure.
He let the tears come.
Her body played out its electrical impulses as he allowed himself the luxury of falling to pieces in tiny ways, his breathing controlled by the wellspring of emotion too much for his eyes, which insisted on filling with this cursed fluid and leaking out. A drop landed on her nipple, then another, and as her little twitches and groans steadied, and her heart stopped its racing, he felt her smooth his hair back from his forehead, the cool, steady hand of grace and love making the bridge of his nose ache.
“Are you crying?” she asked softly.
“What? No. Of course not.” He cleared his throat, horrified to find it filled with salty tears as well. “Stanton men don’t cry.”
“Then you’re leaking.”
“The only fluid I am leaking, my dear, just went into your body.” Relief filled him, his voice rough with emotion. He could only keep up the ruse for so long. Letting himself give in to the tidal wave of emotion inside was one thing.
Admitting it was quite another.
She laughed but reached to caress his brow, her fingertips finding wetness at the edge of one eye.
“It’s all right, you know,” she said, her own voice thick with feelings. “I want to cry too.”
“Was the sex that bad?”
She batted at him, her hands useless against his back, though her skin hit open scratches from earlier, the sting a reminder of how lost they’d been in each other, moments ago.
“Quit joking,” she admonished.
The limo halted.
Hurrying into their clothes, Derry chagrined as Jess pointed to a series of popped buttons on her dress, he offered her his jacket, and they made their way to his loft, pausing only to kiss a thousand times along the way.
He needed even more.
As he punched the key code and the enormous wooden door slid open, he escorted Jess inside, ready for anything but tears.
She turned around, clutching the sides of his jacket, which was so big on her that she looked shrunken. Ethereal beauty glowed from within as she looked up at him. He reached for her.
Jess stepped back, out of his grasp, and took a deep, soulful sigh.
“Derry, we need to talk.”
Chapter 28
Jess could see the panic in her One’s eyes and rushed to soothe it away.
“Don’t look so worried,” she said, smiling at him, hoping that every bit of her love shone in her eyes. “I need to explain why I left. Before I lose my guts.”
He frowned. “You don’t need to explain. You saw Lilah shift. And then, adding insult to injury, my intolerable brother Asher filled your head with rubbish.”
“He showed me a book.”
“Rubbish,” he said.
“Lilah could read it, he said. But all I saw was scribbles. I thought it meant… but I don’t care anymore about your stupid myths or rules or legends. I love you, you love me. That’s enough.” She stiffened her spine. “More than enough.”
“That book, my darling, doesn’t mean a thing. Or we don’t know what it means. Asher was… wrong”—his jaw clenched as he seemed to swallow a harsher word or two—“to show it to you and suggest it meant anything.”
“Lilah could read it. I can’t.”
“Reading is overrated,” he said.
“Lilah shifts into a wolf just like Gavin, as if she was always meant to be with him.”
“Lilah’s shifting is a mystery to everyone. For whatever reason, she is unique. You, my love, are unique in other, much more important ways.” He moved to touch her, but Jess arched out of reach.
“I get that now. But that night—”
“I should’ve sensed you and explained everything. I should’ve—”
“I wouldn’t have listened. I was already upset about Archie.”
He let out a disgusted sound. “I should never have spoken to that walking pile of fetid rat entrails.”
“I shouldn’t have run off without talking to you. I assumed you guys were old pals, that you were one of them. That you enjoyed hurting people.” She looked down at her feet, ashamed to remember how quickly she’d jumped to conclusions. “I’m so sorry. More than anything, I’m sorry for ever thinking that of you. Not once have I ever seen you be cruel. Not once.”
“You saw me greet him as a friend,” Derry said. “What else would you think?”
“That you were being polite, as you always are—”
He snorted.
“In your own way,” she said. “It was your brother’s wedding. You couldn’t insult a guest, let alone a senator’s son.”
“Absolutely I could have. I should have. If I’d known—”
She hugged her arms around herself, his enormous coat wrapping her in a Derry-scented embrace. “But you didn’t know, honey. I was wrong to think you did. That party—” Her voice caught.
“We’re not going to talk about that.”
“Yes, yes, we have to.” She took a deep breath. “It… fucked me up. Being humiliated like that, when I was so young and stupid—”
“Don’t insult yourself,” he said fiercely. “Never, ever insult the woman I love.”
Her knees wobbled a little. But she overcame the urge to throw herself at him just yet. “All right, then. I was naïve. I thought… I thought I was hot, in my own way—”
“You were right.” Now he sounded angry.
Oh, Derry. He wasn’t making this easy. She took another step backward to lessen the temptation of flinging her arms around his neck and kissing him silly. “Thank you,” she said, swallowing a smile. She was trying to describe the most humiliating, devastating moment of her life, but she felt like laughing. This. This is what he’d done for her. “I never imagined that those successful, intelligent guys would stoop so low, be so cruel—”
“Losers,” Derry growled. “Idiots.”
She gave him a nod of her head, acknowledging the correction. “Like I said, I was wrong. And they really, really hurt me, inside. My self-worth. I was so vulnerable then. It took me a long time to get over it.” Until you, she thought. Someday she’d tell him how much he’d done for her. Not quite yet, though—he was cocky
enough tonight. “Learning that you were at the party that night—”
“I had no idea what it was,” he said quickly. “I left as soon as I realized. With a pair of the loveliest—” He cleared his throat. “Memories. Of how beautiful the women—I mean, you, how beautiful you were.”
Now she let herself move to him. Stepping just inches away, she tilted her head back, eyebrows raised. “You remember seeing me back then? Seriously?”
He bit his lip. Nodded.
Holding his gaze, she flung the jacket off her shoulders, leaving her exposed in the unbuttoned dress. “That’s your story, and you’re sticking to it?”
His eyelids fell as he took in the sight of her breasts peeking through her open dress. “I’m sticking really, really hard.”
“But why didn’t you say anything then when you saw me in the elevator?” She knew he was shining her on. It was sweet but unnecessary.
“Elevator?”
“When we met,” she said. “At the Plat. My first day at the club. Or, rather, were reunited, since you’re saying we met at Archie’s lovely social event years earlier.” Jess wanted to see how far he would take this ruse.
But he seemed to have lost all interest in the conversation. Instead, he was bending over to lick the tip of one increasingly erect nipple that had escaped the drape of thin fabric. At the feel of his tongue on this sensitive point, she found herself losing interest in talking as well.
“You’re right,” he admitted, bending over as he kissed his way along the curve of her breast. “I didn’t see you then. I doubt we were even there at the same time, because I would have felt you. If I had, I would never have wasted the years since, squeezing out the weakest excuse of a pathetic existence without you.” He wrapped his arms around her waist and lifted her off the ground. In another second, she was flung over his shoulder, her butt in the air and her head hanging down his back.
