by Onne Andrews
“Stop that,” he said.
“Make me.”
Ian grabbed my wrists and pinned them above my head. Then, I felt him slide out of me.
“Jerk,” I muttered.
“I don’t reward naughty little sluts.” He rubbed his damp cock against my abdomen.
I opened my mouth to argue, but I’d started the name-calling. Time for a different tactic. “I’m sorry.”
“You’re sorry, what?”
“I’m sorry, Sir,” I purred. “Please, let me make it up to you.”
“How?” A mixture of suspicion and amusement flavored his voice.
“Let me suck your dick. Please.” I licked my lips. One of his hands lowered to trace the wetness, but the other kept a firm lock on my wrists. My tongue darted out and tasted his thumb.
The hiss of air between his teeth only encouraged me. I wrapped my lips around the digit and sucked in earnest.
“Damn you,” he whispered. He shifted. A sharp bite on my nipple forced my mouth open, and I cried out.
His chest vibrated against my skin as he muffled his laughter. I wanted to be angry or, at the very least, annoyed, but it was impossible to concentrate. Not with the way his tongue swirled around my areola before he drew the hard point between his lips. He lavished my breast until my back arched.
He turned his attention to my other breast.
There was something I wanted to do to him, but I couldn’t remember what it was in the onslaught of sensation. His mouth captured mine again, and his cock invaded me once more.
I wrapped my legs around his waist and stroked his incredible ass with my heels. He ended the kiss and watched me as he began his slow rhythm all over again.
“You’re not going to let me suck you,” I whispered.
“Next time.” His languid pace was excruciating.
“Ian, please,” I begged. “I really need you to fuck me.”
“What do you think I’m doing?”
God, he was so damn long. It took forever to complete a stroke. He thrust in again, and I squeezed.
It became a war of patience despite the fact he securely pinned me beneath his hands and body. The languorous slide of his erection. My internal muscles massaging him. Both of us trying so damn hard not to come, to prove who was in control.
He tried to ignore what I was doing to his cock, but I could feel the tautness in his muscles, the slight shiver as he fought his own internal war. My own body tried to betray my will as well. The warning contractions in my pussy. Each raspy breath I took.
Just when I thought I couldn’t take anymore, he gave up and fucked me as hard and as fast as he had earlier until we both exploded.
Once again, I screamed as my body shook with the force of the orgasm. Part of me wondered where the hell that came from. I never did that before. But then, no one ever made me feel this way either.
Ian collapsed on top of me, his weight comfortable and comforting. He was still on top and inside me when I drifted back to my dreams.
Chapter Three
Despite very little sleep, I awoke energized when the alarm clock went off at five a.m. I reached out and slapped the button to silence the radio station’s morning crew. Pleasant soreness taunted me about last night’s activities. A smile curved my mouth. It had been a long time since I’d felt this good.
Ian’s arms still held me cocooned against his chest. I started to slide away only for his grip to tighten.
“Give me five more minutes.” His sleepy voice was husky, and sexy, and if I didn’t have so much riding on my morning interview, I would’ve given in and let him have his way with me.
I laughed. “Why don’t you join me in the shower instead?”
Without another word, we both climbed out of bed and walked hand-in-hand to the bathroom. It took a moment for the water to heat to a comfortable temperature. When we stepped into the shower, he grabbed the tiny bottle of body wash.
Ian proceeded to lather every inch of me. In contrast to his rough, exciting manner last night, he was exceedingly gentle. His touch coaxed a response from my body, not demanding but teasing. Slippery palms slid over my skin, seeking every plane and crevice.
I half-expected him to press me against the tile wall and fuck me. Instead, he reached for another bottle. His fingertips massaged the rich vanilla shampoo through my hair. Warmth rippled along my nerves that had nothing to do with the steamy shower and everything to do with the man. He pulled the showerhead from its mounting, dialed the spray to a more delicate setting, and carefully rinsed the suds from my tresses.
“Turn around,” he said.
I blinked droplets from my lashes and looked up at him. Passion flared in those pale eyes. I wasn’t sure what he had in mind, but my body was already eager to find out, and my imagination had its own ideas when it came to a pulsating water massager. I pivoted.
“Put your foot up on the ledge.”
I obeyed, all too aware of how open the position left my pussy. Solid, masculine muscle pressed against my back and thighs. His erect cock twitched between my ass cheeks.
He dialed the massager to a third setting. The gentle pulse of water drifted across my chest. My nipples puckered under the combination of the spray and his fingers plucking the hard nubs.
Water sluiced down my stomach and through my thatch of trimmed hair before mixing with my juices. He eased the showerhead lower and lower.
I knew what was coming, but when the throbbing water hit my pussy, I jerked in his hold. A moan escaped me as my nerves beat in time to the liquid stimulation. His free hand moved south, his fingers entering my passage as the water vibrated against my clit.
My palms covered his hand, encouraging him, letting him know exactly where and how I needed to be touched. My ass ground against his cock in its own rhythm.
Need built inside me as water and his touch drove me to the conclusion my body demanded. I shuddered as my pussy convulsed around his fingers once again.
Ironic that this was the very thing I’d planned for last night. I just hadn’t expected to have company. I giggled like a girl discovering sex for the first time. I couldn’t help it.
“What’s so funny?”
I turned and wrapped my arms around his neck. “You discovered my secret vice.” I pulled him close for a kiss. That simple act rekindled my passion despite the recent orgasm.
He held me tight as his mouth ravished mine. I played with the damp hair at the nape of his neck, but his erect cock twitching against my abdomen beckoned.
I eased one of my hands between our bodies and wrapped my fingers around him. His soft moan vibrated against my mouth as I fondled his shaft. I broke our kiss and knelt before him.
“Lacy,” he murmured. “Wait.” He hooked the showerhead back in place.
I smiled up at him and winked. A swirl of my tongue and he was hard in my hands. And mouth. I sucked and licked until his sac tightened.
He blinked water out of his eyes and stared at me while I gently stroked his testicles. Time stretched in that intense look.
When wrinkled skin relaxed, I wrapped my lips and hands around his shaft. He palmed the back of my neck and thrust. I tilted my head and relaxed my throat, letting him fuck my mouth until he came with a roar. Hot, salty come filled my throat, and I swallowed every single drop of him.
* * *
We scrambled to dry ourselves and get dressed. I was in the bathroom dealing with make-up when I heard him mutter, “Dammit.”
“What’s wrong?” I swiped each cheek with my blush brush. When he didn’t answer, I poked my head out of the bathroom. “Forget something at the airport?”
“No. It’s—” He stared at the pile of foil packets on the nightstand. “We forgot to use protection one time last night.”
I thought for a second. The delicious way Ian had woken me. He was right. “I’ve got my medical tests after my ex—” I glared at the ugly still life on the opposite wall. Bringing up that bastard was the last thing I wanted to do this morning
.
“That wasn’t exactly what concerns me. And you don’t have to worry about contracting anything from me.” Ian chuckled ruefully. “Not unless I caught something from my own hand.” His expression grew serious. “It’s the other problem.”
I gave him a wry grin. “I think I’m a little too…mature for the other problem.”
“Really?” He cocked an eyebrow. “You’ve gone through menopause?”
“I…” A tiny sliver of worry pierced my bliss. “No.”
“Then it’s a possibility.” He was terribly earnest about the whole thing.
I wanted to deny his concern. The very idea of me pregnant at forty-three was laughable, except neither of us were amused. I counted days before I shook my head. “Even Vegas would give me pretty long odds in that department.” I tried to smile, but Ian looked positively grim.
“Promise me you’ll contact me if…” He couldn’t say the word, and I tried very, very hard not to think it.
This was only supposed to be a fling.
Something must have changed in my face because he cupped my cheeks. “I’ll do whatever you want me to.”
“Let’s not put the proverbial cart before the horse.”
He kissed my forehead. The gesture was so sweet when I knew he could be so dominating, The combination made me want to drag him back to bed. “C’mon. We’ve got a plane to catch.”
We quickly gathered the last of our belongings. After I slung my carry-on over my shoulder, he ran a finger over the engraved plate with my initials. “‘M.’ ‘L.’ ‘S.’ Are you that big of a soccer fan?”
“Har, har. I haven’t heard that one before.” I stepped into the hotel hallway, and he pulled the door shut behind us.
“The ‘L’ stands for ‘Lacy.’” He just wasn’t going to let this go, was he? “So what’s the ‘M’ stand for? Mildred? Matilda?”
“I’m not discussing it.” I headed down the corridor toward the bank of elevators.
“C’mon. Give me a hint.” With his longer stride, he caught up with me in three steps.
“No.” After last night and this morning, his playfulness threw me off my game. Was he trying to prove something after all his scare tactics about possibly knocking me up? I jammed the “Down” button with my thumb.
“Then throw me a bone. What about the ‘S’?”
“Fine, I’ll tell you mine when you tell me yours.” My words popped out as the elevator doors parted. Five sets of eyes stared at us with a mixture of shock and annoyance. The sixth set belonged to an elderly woman who didn’t bother to hide her grin.
It wasn’t her amusement or the other passengers’ reactions that made my face heat like a lobster boil. It was the realization I’d screwed Ian six ways to Saturday and hadn’t known his last name
* * *
I was shocked, and pleased, to discover our concierge from last night had booked us adjoining seats in first class. I hadn’t even glanced at the boarding pass last night in my eagerness to get to the hotel.
Part of me wished I could get out of my interview in order to spend more time with Ian, but I’d worked too hard to get to this point in my career. I couldn’t fritter the opportunity away because my hormones had other ideas.
It didn’t help that Ian idly played with the delicate skin at my wrist while we waited for the rest of the passengers to take their seats. A sharp buzz came from his jacket pocket, and he pulled out his phone. He frowned and tapped a reply before he turned off the device and replaced it.
“Something wrong?” I asked.
“A client wants to meet this morning at eleven.” He flashed a bright grin. “I’d rather have breakfast with you first.”
“I can’t. I have my own business meeting this morning. Remember?” I gave him a rueful smile.
“Then dinner tonight.”
“Persistent, aren’t we?”
He leaned closer so only I would hear his words. “When I see what I want, I go after it.”
I shivered at his tone, his look. Already, my pussy dampened from that alone. Okay, maybe the memory of everything he did to me last night helped.
Maybe I was hoping for more in the taxi. I hadn’t bothered putting on panties. Instead, I wore only a garter and stockings. Maybe I wanted Ian to introduce me to the Mile High Club.
So many temptations cocooned my thoughts. It was Friday. Not to mention, I had more than enough time accumulated to take an extra personal day if necessary, but something said if I stayed with Ian, I would never leave his bed.
This was just supposed to be a fling.
Except it wasn’t a fling. It had turned into an addiction. My tongue ran over my upper lip. “I don’t know how late I’ll be, and my flight leaves at seven tonight.” The plane jolted and the engines revved as we pulled back from the gate.
“Reschedule your flight.” He cupped my cheek and ran his thumb over the spot I’d licked, daring me to suck on it as I had last night.
Despite my good girl misgivings, my inner slut did just that. His pale eyes darkened as he watched me worship his thumb with my mouth.
Exactly the same way I’d worshipped his cock in the shower.
His breathing had grown ragged by the time I released him. “I’ll text you when I’m done. That’s all I can promise.”
“Where are you going for your meeting? I can wait for you there.” He waggled his eyebrows.
I knew he was teasing, but his behavior hit the button that reminded me too much of the ex. All those false accusations of me cheating to cover up his own infidelities. I drew back. “You’re pushing too hard, Ian.”
He looked away and blew out a harsh breath. If he was angry, it was better to know now and end this as the one-night stand it was supposed to be.
Finally, he said, “I’m sorry. You’re right.” He reached into his pocket again and pulled out a cream-colored business card. “I would appreciate it if you would text me if you have the time this evening.”
I took the card and read the black embossed writing. Hollister & McKinney, Attorneys at Law, Ian Hollister. Underneath his name, the office address and phone number were listed as well as his cell phone number and e-mail address.
I didn’t know which surprised me more—that Ian was a lawyer or that he’d finally revealed his last name. The irony that I’d been worried about scaring him by telling him about my interview wasn’t lost on me. I’d tell him tonight.
After he fucked my brains out.
Right then, I knew I’d made my decision to postpone my flight. I met his expectant gaze. “What happens if I don’t contact you until midnight?”
He grinned. “I’ve always wanted to be the recipient of a booty call.”
We both laughed, the tension disappeared, and the rest of the short flight to Tampa was exceedingly pleasant.
* * *
As we waited at the taxi stand, he murmured, “I’d ask to share a cab, but I presume that would be pushing again.”
“It would be.” I laid a hand on his jacket sleeve. “I’ll text you. I don’t break my promises.”
He cupped the back of my head and laid a soul-searing kiss on me. Our tongues tangled, fought, caressed, until the airport’s traffic director cleared his throat, loud enough it cut through the exceptionally noisy loading area.
My lipstick was smeared over Ian’s mouth.
“Tonight,” I guaranteed.
“Tonight,” he repeated.
“The ‘S’ stands for Sullivan,” I said before I climbed into the taxi and gave the driver the address for Radcliffe Software. As the cab pulled away from the curb, I turned and watched Ian recede in the distance. A perplexed expression tilted his full lips. Giving him my last name shouldn’t have been that much of a surprise.
Did I have another reason to move to Tampa? I pulled out my compact to repair my make-up, but the question wouldn’t leave my mind. I knew better than to make life decisions based on the hormone high of initial attraction. However, nights with Ian would definitely sweeten the pot.<
br />
So would mornings and afternoons.
I pushed my thoughts of him into the compartment with the rest of my personal life as I’d always done, but he refused to stay there. Memories of him, of last night and this morning, teased me.
Common sense shoved against the erotic images of undressing for him. Of him finger-fucking me while the oblivious cab driver guided his vehicle through the thunderstorm. Of him forcibly taking me from behind and how much it excited me.
It’s new and kinky and a one-night stand. That’s all it is.
Except he wanted to see me again.
No, he wanted to fuck me again.
Exasperated with my mental gymnastics, I tossed my compact and lipstick back into my purse. I pulled out my phone and tried to focus on my notes about Radcliffe Software.
Twenty minutes later, my libido was reasonably under control when I slid out of the backseat of the taxi and tipped the driver.
After the receptionist announced my arrival, the person who strode into the lobby was everything I’d expected. Emmett Radcliffe move with the grace of a man half his age. He prided himself on his ‘60’s style, from the long gray hair and equally long beard to the brilliant yellow Hawaiian print shirt, cargo shorts and flip-flops.
I followed him through the maze of tables, chairs and a plethora people using various electronic devices. The personnel gave off an odd sense of intensity and nonchalance at the same time. Maybe this would be the type of place where I could fit in.
He led me into one of a handful of rooms with walls and doors. But damn, the view out the window beat the hell out of my current office. White sand beach two blocks away here versus the gray trees standing sentinel over the dark St. Charles River back in Boston wasn’t even a contest.
The room itself contained an oval white table and dark brown conference chairs. No phones. No filing cabinets. None of the usual stifling corporate accoutrements.
Once we danced through the small talk of pleasantries such as my trip, Radcliffe cut to the chase. “You look a little uptight to be working here, Ms. Sullivan.”
