He dialed Detective John Winston, and passed on the initials T.J. and K.
“I really appreciate that,” John said.
“I don’t know that it means anything.”
“I don’t, either. But it might, and that’s what matters. A lead is a lead, and I’ll see what I can do.”
For the first time in a long time, Ryan felt unburdened.
Chapter Twenty
The scent of roasted rosemary chicken wafted through her penthouse as she turned off the oven and set the roasting pan on top of the stove. She leaned in to the bird, cuddled by potatoes and carrots, and inhaled the delicious scent.
“Mmm,” she said aloud, enjoying the savory aroma almost as much as she delighted in the yummy smells emanating from her second oven as the pie baked. She walked to the other side of the sink and tossed the summer salad, then placed it in the fridge to keep it cool and crisp.
She wiped the back of her hand across her chest since she’d heated up from all this cooking, even with the air conditioning blasting its cooling jets on this scorching July day. Still, she couldn’t complain. Project Termite had been officially terminated, and her brother had returned to his own home last night. Even though she’d enjoyed bumping into him now and then in the kitchen, it was nice to have her home to herself again, simply because it was possible for her to dress like this.
She wore red lace panties and a matching push-up bra, barely covered up by the flirty apron she had on as she cooked. Neat pleats lined the edges of the apron’s mini skirt, and a hint of lace peeked out at the hem that landed mid-thigh. A red satin bow cinched at the waist, and thick red ties were looped around her neck. She wore black, strappy pumps on her feet.
A timer dinged. She hustled to the oven, turned on the light, and checked the pie. Satisfied with its appearance and its mouthwatering scent, she reached one pot holder-covered hand into the oven, removed the dessert, and placed it on a cooling rack on the stovetop. She waved a hand over the dish, inhaling the fruity, sugary, ripe scent. She’d sliced a few extra peaches; they were in a glass bowl on the island and she planned to serve them on the side.
A sultry Billie Holiday number played on her sound system, piped through her entire home and bouncing off the white walls, the floor-to-ceiling windows, and the blond hardwood floors. She loved this place. It was everything she wanted her home to be. Gorgeously appointed, but not cold or staged. Her home was bursting with everything special that she loved, with bright colored pillows on the couch, pictures of her family throughout, mementos from her parents, and gifts from her friends over the years.
A little later, as the great Billie Holliday crooned about these foolish things, her buzzer rang, the front desk likely alerting her that her guest had arrived. She pressed the button to respond. “Hello there.”
“Ryan Sloan is here. May I send him up?”
“Absolutely,” she said, and soon there was a knock on her door, and the sound made her chest tingly. She was so damn ready to see him.
She opened the door, and he nearly stumbled.
He opened his lips to speak, but no words came. His jaw simply hung open.
She fought valiantly to contain a victorious grin. Inside, though, she wanted to pump a fist for having rendered him speechless.
He had a bottle of white wine and a bouquet of peach tulips in one hand, so she grabbed his free hand, tugged him inside, and shut the door behind them. In seconds, he’d backed her up against the wall, set down the wine and flowers on the entryway table, and placed his hands on her face. “How is it possible that you are more stunning every time I see you?”
She jutted out her hip and winked. “It’s the apron,” she said, gesturing to her skimpy attire.
He dropped a hand to her back, running it along the bare skin above the waist. “It’s not the apron. It’s how you look in it. Every time I see you you’re wearing something that makes me rock hard,” he said, yanking her close so she could feel the evidence herself.
“I like you hard, Ryan Sloan,” she said, meeting his gaze, and he smiled at her, then grasped her ass, grinding his erection against her belly. “You’re all I thought about all day,” he murmured.
“What were you thinking about specifically? Wait. Don’t tell me.” She leaned back to tap her finger on her chin. “Was it the food? You were so damn curious to know what I was cooking for you—admit it.”
He shook his head.
“So it was the peaches then?”
Another shake as he rubbed his hard-on against her.
“Maybe it was getting a tour of my home?” She craned her neck, gesturing with her eyes to the living room.
“Nope,” he said with a sexy grin.
“Oh,” she said, her lips forming an O. “Was it this?” She spun away from his grip and ran her hands along her breasts, down to her belly, letting one hand rest between her legs. Then, she took slow, measured steps into the open kitchen that looked out onto her living room.
His eyes prowled over her as he followed, unknotting his tie and tossing it on the floor. He undid the top button on his crisp, white button-down. She reached a metal stool in her kitchen, bumping it with the backs of her legs. His arms darted out, and he grabbed her waist, lifted her up, and set her on the stool. He skimmed his fingers down her bare arms. “Let me just look at you,” he whispered, raking his eyes over her figure from head to toe. His dark gaze made her feel not only naked, but dirty. Filthy. Wanton.
His chest rose and fell as he drank her in. He wasn’t even touching her, but her skin sizzled. She felt touched. Then he brushed his fingertips along her sides. She let her legs fall open for him, spreading herself, as she hooked her heels on to the bottom rung. Pressing her palms on the back of the stool to hold on, she arched her spine, offering her body to him.
Placing herself in his hands.
Giving herself to him.
“Look at you. Just fucking look at you. What you just did. You are killing me,” he murmured, as he cupped her cheek in his right hand. “You’re all I thought about all day. Seeing you. Touching you. Tasting you. Having you,” he said, stroking her cheek. He paused, his voice rough with desire. “And fucking you.”
He swept his lips over hers in a deep, devouring, hungry kiss. His tongue searched hers, and she let him lead. When he broke the kiss, she said softly, “Do whatever you want to me.”
He pressed his forehead to hers. “Everything,” he said. “I want to do everything to you, Sophie. I want to explore every inch of you. I want to taste all of you. I want to fuck you everywhere. But right now?” he said, taking his time as if each word tasted magnificent, “I want your sweetness on my tongue.”
She gasped as heat raced through her body. “I want that, too.”
“Keep your hands right where they are. Behind you,” he said, and she nodded.
Dipping his hands under the front of her apron, he tugged at her panties, and pulled them to her ankles, then off. He hooked her high-heeled shoes firmly back into the rung, a clear sign she had to keep them in place. “I need to taste you every day. I can’t go this long without you on my lips,” he said, kneeling on the floor then burying his face between her legs.
She squeezed her eyes shut and cried out in pleasure, her voice becoming the harmony to Billie Holiday as Ryan licked and sucked and tasted. If she wasn’t allowed to move her body, she could use her mouth. She could rely on her voice. She could scream and moan and groan. And so she did, because every lick, every touch, every press of his tongue against her hot, wet pussy drove her wild.
“It’s so good,” she cried out, and he looked ravenous as he licked up her slickness, as he flattened his tongue against her clit then sucked on that swollen bundle of nerves until she screamed.
Her orgasm crested. She saw it rising up on the horizon.
He moaned against her center then pulled back. “Grab my head. Use your hands. Do whatever you want,” he said, giving her a command. Somewhere in her home she heard her ringtone. “Fly me to the Mo
on.” Seemed appropriate.
Her hands flew into his hair, and she laced her fingers through those soft strands, for the first time touching him as he licked her. She’d longed for this chance. She loved being restrained, but she loved his hair, too. She grasped harder, her nails curling into his skull. He groaned, a mad, feral sound as she dug into his head, and she knew, she fucking knew that he wanted her to be rough right now. That he wanted her to show him how she felt about the way he touched her.
She felt like an animal.
Wild and crazed.
She held onto his head, yanking his mouth closer. She was on fire, a white-hot path of flames tearing through her body, burning everything in sight, turning her into an inferno as he fucked her pussy with his lips, his mouth, his tongue, and she rode his face until she saw stars, until the heavens fell from the sky and she came in his mouth.
Shuddering.
Trembling.
Shaking from head to toe.
Clutching his face between her legs as she rocked into him.
Soon enough, she uncurled her hands from his hair. Everything around them smelled like food, and sex, and chemistry, and peaches.
He reached into the bowl on the island, grabbed a slice of peach, and brought it to his lips. He ate it and then said, “It’s good.”
He grabbed another piece of a peach. He pulled down the top of her apron, exposing her red bra then unhooking it. He dragged the peach slice across her tits. “Let me taste it like this,” he said, then dipped his head between her breasts and licked up the juice from her body.
“So good. But it doesn’t even compare to you,” he murmured against her chest, and she moaned happily from his words and his touch.
She’d never been one for food play, only because she’d never had this type of sex. But Ryan licking the taste of a ripe peach from her white skin felt like the way sex should be. It felt primal, an elemental connection between a woman who wanted a man and a man who had to have her. Nothing else at play but this red-hot, sinful desire that burned between them. She grabbed his head and pulled him to her breasts.
“That’s enough of you being able to use your hands,” he said, narrowing his eyes as he picked her up and carried her to her dining room table. She’d set it earlier for the two of them. A large wood table, one half of it was uncovered. He set her down on it, and began undoing her apron strings.
“Ryan?” she whispered in a question.
He looked at her, waiting.
“Do you remember what you said at the slot machine, what you wanted to do to me?” She gazed down to her breasts.
He pressed a finger to her lips. “I told you I would never forget your perfect tits. Do you think I have?”
She shook her head.
He dragged a finger between her breasts. “You want to watch me come on them, don’t you?”
She inhaled sharply. “Oh God, I do.”
“You want me to fuck these beautiful tits?” he asked, untying the red ribbon from her neck as she scooted back on the table.
“So much. I want you to come all over me,” she said.
He got on the table and straddled her. “You need to do something first.”
“Anything.”
“Take off my shirt,” he said.
She sat up, thrilled to unbutton his shirt, pushing it over his chest then down his arms, murmuring as she felt how strong he was. He was so toned and muscular, so hard and fit. He shrugged off the shirt, and she splayed her hands across his chest, dragging her nails through the soft little hairs. He breathed deeply as she explored him.
“Unzip my pants,” he said, and she raced to unbutton, then unzip them, pushing them down to his ass, freeing his cock. She ran the tip of her tongue over her teeth as she gazed at him. The head was swollen and pulsing, and she was dying to feel him. He returned his hands to her neck, undoing the ribbon, letting the fabric of the ties fall. He pushed the material below her breasts, but she caught the ties and wrapped them around her own wrists.
She held them tight like that, savoring his reaction as he saw her breasts rise up more, creating an even deeper valley between them, from the tug of the fabric and her own hold on the ribbons.
She didn’t tie up her wrists. She simply held tight, as if she gripped the leash of a dog, one in each hand, restraining herself.
* * *
She’d fucking tied herself up. Okay fine, there were no knots. But she’d done it. She’d offered her own bound body to him. His dick throbbed, and lust burned through him like wildfire. She was the most enticing woman he’d ever known.
And she was so damn slippery. So fucking wet. He dropped his gaze to her wet cunt once more as a bolt of desire slammed into him from the sight of her sweet pink flesh. So slick and ready. He slid a finger through her folds, then dipped it inside her, watching her thrust up into his hand. Then he brought that finger to her perfect tits, spreading her wetness between them.
Her eyes widened as she watched him prepare her. He could have fucked her without lubrication. He could have taken her and just thrust his dick between those gorgeous globes of flesh, the friction spurring him on. But it would be better like this.
Better wet. Better slippery.
He gripped his dick, sliding a bead of liquid over the head and closing his eyes momentarily as the sensations roared through him. Fuck, he needed to come. He needed release.
He planted his knees by her ribs, then lowered himself to her chest, sliding his hard cock between her lush breasts, as he parked his hands on the table.
Then he ravaged her tits.
He groaned as he felt her soft flesh press against his dick. She’d inched her arms closer to her body, making a warm, snug tunnel for him. Her breasts caressed his cock as he thrust, his balls slapping against her chest. Her mouth parted, her lips open. Such an eager one, she flicked out her tongue, and licked the tip on several thrusts.
“You like that, don’t you?” he asked, panting as heat spread through him.
She nodded. “I want to watch you get off on me,” she whispered as she held on tight to the ends of the red fabric, her firm grip on the ribbon giving him all the friction he needed. “I’ve never seen your face when you’re coming. I want to know what you look like when you come all over me.”
Desire surged in him, like white waters raging, as he pumped between that perfect flesh. He jammed his hands harder against the table. “Tell me how much you want it,” he growled, his voice ragged.
“So much,” she pleaded, her blue eyes shining with desire. My God, he had unleashed a wild woman in her, and he fucking loved it as she talked dirty right at him, saying, “I want you all over my neck, and my chest, and my tits. Please give it to me.”
His spine ignited. His balls tightened, drawing up closer as he rocked through the slick, hot valley of her breasts. That first neon burst of pleasure roared in him, then climbed higher as he pumped. Keeping his dick where it was happiest, he sat up so she could see his face as he gave her what she wanted.
“Now. Fucking now. Watch me come on you,” he groaned, fighting to keep his own eyes open, wanting to watch her as she savored the sight of him straddling her chest, rocking into her tits, and spilling hot white streams onto her breasts, all the way up to her neck and her chin, even the ends of her hair.
He shuddered.
A total body release.
She let go of the hold on one of her ribbons, dragged her finger between her breasts and brought it to her lips, licking him off.
“Oh, beautiful. You deserve another orgasm for that,” he said then fucked her with his fingers until she came riding his hand on her dining room table.
Chapter Twenty-One
Hot water rained down on them in her luxurious shower with glass brick walls. He poured some of her shampoo into his palm then lathered up her soft hair, taking his time working it into her wet strands. She closed her eyes, and leaned her head against his chest.
“Your dinner’s probably getting cold,” he murmured in
her ear as he turned her around and rinsed the shampoo from her hair.
“I know. But that’s what re-warming in the oven is for,” she said.
He looped an arm around her waist, tugging her soft, wet body against his. “I know this sounds crazy because it was only a few days ago when I saw you, but I did miss you,” he said, planting a kiss on her neck, then traveling to her lips, kissing her softly, slowly, taking his time. She whimpered sexily against his lips, and he let go. “That dinner is really going to get cold.”
“And I am really going to get hot the longer I stand here in the shower naked with you,” she said, and he eyed her all over, keenly aware that this was the first time she’d been completely naked in front of him, and him with her.
He held up his finger. “Let me go get a condom.” He turned to the shower door when he felt her grasp his arm.
“I’m on the pill,” she said. “And I’m kind of ridiculously clean.”
He laughed. “Ridiculous is good. And same here. Clean, that is.”
He backed her up against the royal-blue tiled wall, hitched up her right leg around his hip, and guided himself into her.
There were no words to describe how fantastic she felt. So he didn’t say anything. He simply moved inside her, getting to know her body even more intimately as twilight fell and she wrapped her arms around his neck and whispered his name.
Soon, she was saying it louder, in an orgasmic shout, and he chased her there.
* * *
Ryan pointed admiringly at the chicken, which had been reheated and was as tasty as she’d hoped. He was polishing off his second serving. “This is delicious. You sure can cook.”
“Just wait ’til you have dessert then,” she said with a smile as she brought the glass of pinot grigio to her lips and took a sip of the wine he’d given her. The peach tulips blazed brightly in a vase in the middle of the table. She’d changed into a short yellow sundress and had combed her hair into a clip. The ends of his still-wet hair curled up, a look she found made him even sexier than usual, considering what they’d just done in the shower.
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