by Nana Malone
Syn dragged her arm back. “You worry about your own presentation. Unlike you, I don’t lose.”
If she thought she was going to manage to escape him in the elevator, she should have thought twice.
Using his key fob, he hit the button for their floor before rounding on her. “What is your problem with me anyway? From the moment I started at Stellar Reach you’ve been riding me.”
Oh, hell. She would not think about riding him. She would not think about riding him. She would not— Oh, there it was, an image in her mind of them on the floor, naked and writhing, with her riding him to orgasm.
She pointed a finger in his chest. “I take offense to how you do things. You think with a pretty smile you can get whatever you want.” She jabbed him. “I worked my butt off on the Boyd campaign and you just strolled in with your connections and your smile and pushed me off my own project, and that wasn’t the first time. And I wouldn’t even have had a problem if I’d seen you put in any actual work on that. Instead you relied on your ability to pal around to get that client.”
He leaned into her jabbing finger and bracketed his arms against the elevator wall on either side of her head. “You’re still pissed about that? You really need to let things go. It’s not like you haven’t stolen clients from me before. Does the Travers account mean anything to you?”
She narrowed her eyes at him and poked him again. “It’s not called stealing if you actually do all the groundwork and the client chooses you.”
“That was my first time I had a shot as a lead and you swooped in with your charts and your graphs. You are such a pain in the—” He muttered something unintelligible through ground teeth.
“Likewise.” With the both of them squaring off and breathing hard, with only a scant two inches between their bodies, Syn knew definitively how this weekend would end. With only one of them still standing.
“You are infuriating and obstinate,” Tristan muttered.
The hell she was. She poked him again. “You’re a pompous jackass, so I guess—”
He shut her up with a hot, searing kiss. She should have seen it coming, but irritation blinded her.
His strong arms wrapped around her, and his scent wove a hypnotic spell, seducing her, making it impossible to think.
His tongue slipped between her lips and she moaned. He tasted so good. Oh. My. When her brain started to process, her first thought was Holy moly, Tristan Dawson, sex god to the world, is kissing me. The next, as he expertly slid his tongue over hers: Oh, hell. He could give lessons.
Tristan backed her up against the wall as he growled low in his throat. Hands on either side of her head, he nipped at her bottom lip. Syn hesitated for only a second before her arms looped around his neck into his hair. When she twined her fingers into the silken locks, he groaned and deepened the kiss.
Her body was a bundle of raw nerves and he knew just how to stroke every, single, one. It was as if each rational, thinking brain cell she had stood by on the sidelines gawking as her body and its need took over the helm.
He braced her against the wall and urged her legs around his waist. They both moaned as that brought her heated core in contact with his pulsing erection.
For once, Syn took a vacation from her overanalytical brain. She took a vacation from good sense. All she wanted to do was feel. To be desired and for once to throw caution to the wind. For once just take the pleasure that was offered without thinking it to death a million times.
For that elevator ride, she went on a ride with Tristan Dawson. Not only did he devour her lips; he treated her mouth like a delicacy, tasted and tempted and teased her tongue into playing. She wanted this. Wanted him.
As he licked into her mouth with his hot tongue, he slid a hand up her stomach and ribs. He paused just short of touching her breast and Syn whimpered and arched into him.
She would have sworn she heard a chuckle. But her tongue was otherwise engaged, so a tongue-lashing would have to wait until later. He fumbled for something to the left, and the elevator came to an abrupt halt.
He skimmed his thumb over her breast, and a spike of desire rolled through her, causing her to undulate her hips. With a muffled moan, Tristan scooped a hand over her ass and held her tighter to him, pressing his erection into her.
His tongue slid over hers and he sucked her tongue into his mouth, making her want him, making her need him, making her wet.
Tristan tore his lips from hers and dragged in ragged breaths. Syn forced her eyes open and met his blistering gaze. When he spoke, his voice was low. Gravelly. “Now’s a good time to stop me if you don’t want to do this.”
What? It took three tries to process the words that came out of his mouth.
“I— What?”
“Do you want this? Do you want me?”
She fought her heavy lids. The word no didn’t even enter into her mind. “Yes.”
A long exhale tore from his chest and he muttered something that sounded like “Thank God.”
* * *
Tristan loved everything about the way she tasted. Spicy, with just a hint of sweet. He’d been slowly losing his mind as he watched that guy hit on her. He wanted to be the one she laughed with. And now she was in his arms and she wanted him.
He looped her hands over her head and clamped them in place with one hand. With his other hand, he hitched up her dress, slowly and deliberately.
Her lips parted on a sigh and she relaxed her thighs, slightly opening her legs for him. His cock throbbed.
A tremor ran through her body and he kissed her softly, still sliding his hand up her dress. At the juncture of her thighs, Tristan dragged the back of his knuckles over her panties and she pulled in a shuddering breath. “You’re so responsive. I bet you’re soft as butter too, aren’t you?”
She mumbled something unintelligible and Tristan swallowed hard. His hand shook as his fingers traced the edge of her panty line. He watched her face intently for a hint of hesitation, but there was none. Only the same longing need that drove him.
He slid his finger just under the fabric and she dug her nails into the flesh of his hand. Her legs widened and he held his breath. So damn wet. So hot.
His found her slick entrance and slid the tip of his finger inside her. Syn tossed her head back and bit her lip. God, he might come just from watching her, she was so beautiful. As he slid in farther, he bit back a curse. “You’re so tight.”
“Tristan, please.”
He kissed her again, sliding his finger in deeper as he did. While he sucked on her tongue in time to his questing finger, he slid his thumb over her clit.
She bucked and tore her lips from his. “Oh, oh, oh.”
With another gentle stroke of his thumb, she flew apart in his arms, whispering his name.
Chapter 6
Shudders racked Syn’s body. Tristan Dawson had just made her come. And she wanted more. Needed more. She slid her tongue over his and rolled her hips into his hand.
He released her hands and shrugged off his jacket before digging out his wallet. Reaching for him, with frantic, trembling fingers, Syn slipped his belt from its loop and he growled low.
She watched him intently as she slid her hand inside his trousers. When she closed her palm around the scorching hot length of him, he dropped his forehead to hers and cursed. She let her hand slide to the tip and smoothed the drop of precome over the head of his erection. She squeezed him gently as she slid her hand to the root and he swayed into her, his hips bucking slightly.
“Wow, Syn...” His voice trailed and his breathing was heavy and labored. “Do you have any idea how close I am to losing it?”
Oh boy. She could do this to him? The feminine power went to her head and she slid her palm over him again. This was why Tristan Dawson was so dangerous. His ability to make a woman believe she w
as sexy and powerful and a goddess.
He snagged a hand around her wrist. Her gaze snapped to his. He pierced her soul with the naked lust and need and...longing she saw there.
Tristan kissed her again, and her insides turned to liquid. He slid her hand from his flesh and quickly shrugged out of his pants. He yanked a condom out of his wallet and sheathed himself with a quick efficiency that she marveled at.
When he turned his attention back to her, she quivered. To be the object of that kind of focus was overwhelming. He slid his hands under her dress again, his gaze on hers as he took hold of the silk, then ripped.
Syn sucked in a sharp breath as the fabric ripped off her skin. Tristan kissed up her body. When he reached her lips, his thumbs stroked over her cheeks as he kissed her. A move so tender in contrast with the way he’d devoured her mouth like a starving man.
Tristan lifted her again and Syn willingly wrapped her legs around him. Syn arched her back and he leaned forward, nuzzling one breast, before suckling the tip. He palmed the other and tested the weight while teasing the nipple.
Syn arched into his palm, spreading her legs wider to make room for him between her thighs. Gently he teased her nipple, sending a spear of need through her core. “Tristan.”
He positioned himself at her slick center. “Look at me,” he whispered.
Syn disobeyed and let her eyelids flutter closed.
He chuckled and rolled his thumb over her nipple. The moment she arched her back, looking for more, he ceased the action. “I said, look at me.”
She dragged her eyes open. “Stop teasing me.”
His lips tipped into a smile. “I want to see your eyes when I sink into you.”
Inch by inch he slid into her, both of them holding their breaths. Syn grasped on to his shoulders, digging into his flesh for support, while Tristan slid his hands under her ass, cupping her as he sank deep into her.
It was all too much. All too intimate. She tried to look away. But with every shift, he met her gaze. There was no hiding the intimacy between them. No running from it. No hiding from the vulnerability.
The thick length of him rocked inside her, then retreated slowly. The tension coiled deep inside her as she slid her hands into his hair. As he nuzzled into her neck, she tugged on his hair slightly and he hissed, “Harder.”
He complied and his big body shuddered. He nipped at her jaw, then her collarbone.
He stroked deeper, each deep thrust hitting both her clit and that hidden spot deep inside.
“Oh my goodness,” she whispered.
“God, you’re beautiful...so long...wanted you.”
With whispered sex words muttered in the darkness, the shiver of bliss came on strong, snaking rapidly down her spine. The spasming racking her whole body and ending in her toes. But it wasn’t until he lifted his head and kissed her deep and slid a hand between them to stroke the bundle of nerves between her folds that she flew apart, unable to hold on to her illusion of control any longer.
“You’re so sexy when you come.” With another deep stroke, Tristan groaned into her neck, his whole body shuddering.
Chapter 7
Syn woke surrounded by warmth. As she snuggled deeper into the covers, she smiled contentedly. Wow, she hadn’t slept that well in...well, hell, she couldn’t remember ever sleeping that well. Raising her hands above her head, she stretched, relieving aching muscles from the tips of her fingers to the tippy top of her manicured toes. As she wiggled back in toward her heat source, she let her eyes drift shut again and as usual her brain took her to her favorite fantasy. Tristan.
The scruff of his jaw tickling her inner thighs as he lapped at her slick folds, giving her orgasm after orgasm, unrelenting even when she begged off. Tristan, gently placing her hands on the headboard, then bracketing her hips in his big, strong hands as he took her from behind. Tristan, begging her to say his name, insisting she admit to who was inside, taking her to the blissful edge time after time.
Tristan, who kissed her and told her she was beautiful and stared at her in awe as she came. Tristan, who worshipped her breasts and her ass. Tristan. Tristan. Tristan.
Except, this dream was different. As she played her fantasies over and over in her mind as it was her favorite in-desperate-need-of therapy pastime, her core tightened. That wasn’t unusual, but the mild soreness was. But she wasn’t sore in a bad way. More as though she’d had sex so good you want to slap your ex. As though she’d had sex so good it required an encore. As though she’d had sex so good she needed to give Tristan Dawson a freaking medal.
Her eyes sprang open. Carefully she peeked out of the corner of her eyes. Sure enough, Tristan lay beside her in all his gorgeous glory, looking devastatingly sexy and at the same time somehow vulnerable while he slept.
Shiiiiiite. Her whole body seized as the memories flooded her brain. She’d slept with Tristan. More like that they’d screwed each other senseless and promptly passed out. She was officially that girl. The girl who couldn’t control her freaking hormones. The girl she’d made fun of. She’d been Dawsoned.
She’d slept with the enemy. Not only slept with him; she’d lost count of the number of orgasms he’d given her. But what she hadn’t lost track of was the way he looked at her every time he slid into her. As if he was in awe and she felt like Christmas morning. And she’d seen that look at least five times during the night. The man was a sex god. She really had to find out what kind of vitamins he took.
And damned if he didn’t believe in ladies first...and ladies second...sometimes even ladies third before he came. After each time when she passed out, they’d slept for about an hour, and then he’d woken her up again for more of his expert tongue and hands. Each time she’d gone willingly and given as good as she’d gotten. The floodgates of sexual tension were now released.
Okay, calm down, Syn. First order of business, wake that sexy man up for round five. No! She was not going to have sex with him...again. Her libido was not running the show. Yes, I am. She ignored the roaring diva inside and forced her brain out of autopilot, revving the engine. The real first order of business was to get the hell out of bed. She’d be able to think better when his warmth didn’t envelop her like a cocoon. Second order of business, find her dress.
She risked another glance at him before she quietly slid to the edge of the bed. In the darkness of the room, she used her foot to search for it. He’d tossed it on the floor somewhere here, right? Their first time had been so hurried in the elevator. Still inside her, he’d carried her into his bedroom before cleaning them both up. He’d tossed her dress somewhere on the floor during round two. She’d been so shell-shocked and lust-crazed she hadn’t paid attention to where he’d dropped it.
Behind her, Tristan shifted in the bed, and she froze. First rule of one-night stand with a sex god: don’t stick around for the awful morning after with said sex god. Second rule of one-night stand with a sex god: don’t have the sex god be Tristan Dawson. Third rule of one-night stand with a sex god...do it again and burn the memories into your brain. Syn bit back a moan. Stupid move, Michaels. If she thought he was impossible before, there would be no getting that smug look off his face now.
Where the hell was her dress? Screw it, you can buy another one.
Right now, in the darkness of Tristan’s room with her heart hammering, and her lady parts begging for more of what Tristan had to offer, the best course of action was to cut and run. Staying here was too dangerous. But without her dress, that meant walking out of his room butt naked. There would be no sexy movie scene where she slid out of bed with a sheet covering her lady parts. This was real life and if she grabbed a sheet, that would certainly wake him.
Come on, once more with feeling. Get up and get gone. Once in the comfort of her room, she could figure out how to get the ground to open and swallow her whole. One thing was for certain,
she’d have to check in to another hotel and do the rest of her observations as a third party. It was the only way.
As she stood, a voice from behind her said, “Running away, Michaels?”
She squeaked and whirled around. Damn him for looking so hot. Yes, she was running away, but she wasn’t going to let him know that. “No. Going back to my room. We have an early morning, so I need to get some sleep. I can’t do that here.”
He reached over and turned on the light on the nightstand. Synthia dived for the sheets, but only managed to grab enough to cover her breasts to about the top of her thighs. Well, hell. But at least if they were going to have this conversation, he couldn’t ogle her boobs. Too bad her butt was flapping in the wind.
Tristan reached for her and Synthia backed up a step. Unfortunately it also shifted the sheet, so she nearly flashed him her vajayjay. No matter that he had already seen her goods up close and personal. In her version of the awkward morning after, she’d be clad in designer chic with perfect makeup and styled hair. Instead, her hair was a tangled sweaty rat’s nest, and her makeup was likely smeared all over her face and she was bare-assed naked, trying to make a clean escape. So not perfect. She cleared her throat. “I’m going back to my room, Tristan.”
He frowned and shoved himself into a sitting position. “Why?”
“Because, I need sleep and you, we, um—last night. I—” Okay, so maybe next time she opened her mouth, she’d use actual words. Intelligent words. Rational words. But right now the more she searched, the more she came up empty, or naked, as it would seem.
Even in the muted morning light, his gaze pierced her straight to the soul. “The way I figure it, you can run back to your room and you can pretend that last night in the elevator, and in the doorway, and in this bed, and the middle of the night when I woke you up to finally see how you taste, or an hour ago when I slid into you from behind, holding those perfect boobs of yours, didn’t happen. Or you can come back to bed and we can call some kind of truce.”
