“I have work to do, and we really shouldn’t…” Her protest petered out into a low groan as he moved in a slow, circular motion, grinding his pubic bone against the engorged bud of her clit.
“Come on, Taylor,” he said, bending his head to trace one hard, rosy nipple with his tongue. “You don’t really want to leave, and we both know it.” He emphasized this last point by taking the firm little bud into his mouth, sucking hard, rolling it against his teeth. He knew he’d won when her fingers tunneled through his hair, and she surged up against his mouth.
He quickly retrieved a new condom and plunged back inside her. Her hips thrust eagerly up against him, but this time he held her still, determined to go slow and savor every stroke in a way he hadn’t been able to the first, furious time.
“Please,” she panted. “Faster.”
“No,” he said, holding himself deep as he gripped her hips, pinning them to the bed. He buried his face in her neck, breathing her scent in with deep, sucking breaths. Floral perfume mingled with the aroma of aroused woman and sweaty skin, the smell of his sweat mingling with hers as he slipped and slid against her.
Her hands were everywhere, sliding down his back, tangling and pulling at his hair, cupping his ass as she tried to urge him faster, harder.
“Relax,” he whispered, increasing his pace, but just barely. “I promise I’ll give you what you need.”
He didn’t know why he was tormenting her this way, why he wouldn’t give in and fuck her the way she wanted. Something about her tugged at his baser instincts, made him want to dominate her, make her cede the control she cultivated.
But Taylor had a few tricks up her sleeve, he realized as her pussy clamped down around him, kneading him like a hot, wet fist, sucking him deeper into her body, urging him to pump harder. His hips moved almost against his will, his breath hissing at the hot friction of thrust and withdrawal. He reared up onto his knees, looking down at the place they were joined. Her clit was shiny wet, peeking through the neatly trimmed patch of gold curls. He brushed his thumb over it, making her arch off the bed.
Pulling nearly all the way out, he fucked her with short, shallow strokes, his thumb flicking her hard little clit in a matching rhythm. As her orgasm bore down on her, he drove deep once more so he could feel every pulse, every flutter of her inner muscles.
His release followed hers, leaving him spent, boneless, and too weak to move.
This time she didn’t seem inclined to leave immediately, which was good since he doubted he could stop her. He didn’t know why it was so important to him that she stayed. He didn’t even understand why the hell he was so attracted to her. But from the first moment he’d seen her, long before he’d ever spoken to her, he’d been fascinated. Mesmerized by icy beauty and lean, curvy body.
And then she’d opened her mouth, let fly with the queen bitch routine, and he’d been both irritated and amused all at once. Maybe he wanted her because she presented a challenge. He’d never had a hard time attracting women, getting them to go out with him. His relationships to date had been casual, easy, and relatively uncomplicated.
But Taylor seemed bound and determined to fight her attraction to him at every turn. He had to admit, he kind of liked throwing her off her game. She came off so cool and collected, it gave him a weird sense of power to know she couldn’t fight her attraction to him, no matter what her head was telling her.
He usually gravitated toward confident, easygoing women who were comfortable in their own skin. But for all her obvious success and experience, it was clear to him that Taylor wasn’t completely at ease with who she was. Somewhere under that perfect surface lurked the real Taylor, and the hellcat she let loose in the bedroom was just the tip of the iceberg.
She might have seemed like an uptight snob at first glance, but he sensed that the real woman was a lot more interesting and a lot more complex. He didn’t know why, but somehow, deep in his gut, he knew he could spend a good, long time pulling back the layers until he discovered what made Taylor Flynn tick.
6
I t could have been minutes or even hours later when Joe kissed her softly on the forehead and got up from the bed. Taylor rolled onto her side, feeling as though her brain was lined in wool.
“Here, put this on.” A soft garment plopped onto her face. Dazedly she realized it was a T-shirt. “I’ll make us some dinner.” He pulled on a pair of loose gym shorts and offered her his hand.
In some vague part of her brain, she knew she should go home but couldn’t for the life of her remember why. So this is what it feels like to get your brains fucked out. Obviously all of the blood was still between her legs, because Taylor couldn’t string a coherent thought together if someone held a gun to her head. But Joe had mentioned something about dinner, and now that the edge of sexual desperation had softened, she was suddenly ravenous.
She pulled on the T-shirt and put her panties back on before following Joe downstairs. Slowly, the blood drifted back up to her brain, allowing for clearer thinking. Taylor almost wished for an extended period of idiocy, because frankly her realizations were scary.
She replayed what had just happened over in her brain, almost as though it had happened to another person. She didn’t recognize the woman on the bed, grunting and moaning as Joe had driven inside her with all the finesse of a jackhammer. Her eyes followed him around the kitchen as he pulled ingredients from the refrigerator and put some sort of grill pan on the stovetop.
What in the world had happened to her? How could she have so completely lost control? Again? Saturday’s incident she could chalk up to the breaking of a long dry spell. It had had nothing to do with Joe himself and everything to do with the fact that it had been a very long time since she’d had sex, and even longer since she’d experienced the delights of a man’s skilled tongue between her legs.
But tonight, she had no excuse. She’d wanted Joe, wanted the taste of him in her mouth, wanted to feel his thick cock moving deep inside her. And he certainly hadn’t disappointed. She’d never had sex like that in her life, never been so consumed with raw lust, eager and needy like she couldn’t get enough.
Her chest got tight and her breathing shortened as she realized she had wanted this to happen all along. Her hand fisted in the loose fabric of the T-shirt, and she jumped, startled, at the sizzle of steaks as he dropped them on the grill pan. She had to get out of here, should have left earlier before he’d pinned her to the bed and heaved over her like some Neanderthal.
And she’d liked it!
She stood from her chair, but Joe, as though sensing her movement, put down his tongs and turned to catch her before she could leave the kitchen. Pulling her close, he kissed her ear, and in spite of herself, Taylor could feel the tension slowly melting from her body. “I can see you’re getting yourself up a tree about something,” he said, flashing her a grin that made her stomach bottom out. “We’re having a good time here, Taylor. Why don’t you just relax and let it happen?”
The next thing she knew, she had a glass of good red wine in her hand and she was admiring the way his back muscles gleamed under the kitchen lights. Still, she couldn’t help protesting a little. “I’m not really a relax-and-let-it-happen kind of girl.”
“No shit,” he replied, his soft chuckle going to her head faster than the wine.
She watched him cook in appreciative silence. Funny, she’d never thought of cooking as sexy, but when Joe did it—half-naked to boot—it was practically an aphrodisiac.
“I can start the demolition work on your place tomorrow afternoon,” he said, giving the steaks a quick turn and putting an entire bag of spinach into a sauté pan.
She didn’t have the slightest idea what he was talking about, which must have showed on her face.
“Your landscaping project?” His grin turned wicked. “You know, the one you came over tonight to talk about before you dragged me upstairs and begged me to fuck you?”
She let out a startled laugh. “I hardly begged.” She pa
used, thinking a minute, and conceded that maybe she had, just once. But it hardly counted. “And I think you were the one who did the dragging. But tomorrow sounds fine, if you still want to take on the project.” So much for her brilliant idea of keeping her distance by making theirs a business relationship. “I mean, if it’s not weird for you to sleep with one of your clients.”
“I think I can keep business and pleasure separated,” he said, sliding a plate full of juicy-looking steak and dark green spinach in front of her. A loaf of warm, crusty bread appeared seemingly out of nowhere, its yeasty scent filling her nostrils. Her stomach rumbled so loud it practically echoed off his ceiling.
He laughed at her blush. “As much as I’d like to indulge in more of that pleasure, I think I need to keep your strength up.”
She closed her eyes at the first heavenly bite of steak, as good as any she’d had at a four-star restaurant.
“You’re going to make me drag you upstairs again if you keep making that face with every bite.”
She cut another bite, flicked her tongue out to catch a stray bit of juice, and laughed at the fierce light that surged in his eyes. He half rose in his chair, and she obediently popped the bite into her mouth, chewed, and swallowed properly. “Sorry. I’ve been living on Lean Cuisine and cocktail party fare lately.”
He cut into his steak, and Taylor couldn’t help but notice that his table manners were impeccable. “You look like the type who eats out a lot.”
“I do,” she said, tasting the spinach and nearly groaning in appreciation of its garlicky bite. “But it’s usually for a meeting, and I’m always talking so much, I never get a chance to eat.”
“What is it you do?”
“I’m a venture capitalist. I work up on Sand Hill Road.”
“Ah.” His mouth quirked in a half-smile. “I should have known.”
She paused, fork halfway to her mouth. “What do you mean by that?”
“Nothing bad. But you definitely seem the type.”
“How would you even know?” she asked.
“I’ve had several as clients,” he retorted.
“Just because you’ve worked on their yards doesn’t mean you know what they’re like.” She nearly winced at her snotty tone, reminiscent of a cocky thirteen-year-old. And besides, she worked hard to fit in, to portray the kind of successful, well-connected image her position required. So why was she insulted that Joe pegged her as the proud yuppie that she was? “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that the way it sounded.”
He gave her a small smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “You’re right. Just because I do their gardens doesn’t mean I know them well.”
Her bite of steak turned to leather in her mouth as she struggled for something to say. He was different from any man she’d ever dated—if one could even call this a date. This was one reason she liked to date men with similar careers, men with whom she could easily discuss work-related topics. Somehow, she doubted Joe would be very interested in the trials and tribulations of taking their portfolio company down to three dollars per share for their latest round of financing, or how Taylor was recently invited to sit on the board of an up-and-coming technology company.
But he was different in other ways, too, besides having a career totally unrelated to finance or high technology. He had an easy confidence that, unlike in most men she knew, didn’t seem to cross the line into unattractive arrogance. He emanated the aura of a man who was satisfied with himself, pleased with his accomplishments without being cocky. Most men she knew were eager to tell her about how they’d seen the potential for this or that company, known a particular industry sector was going to hit it big well enough ahead of time to cash in and buy the latest-model Mercedes.
But Joe, who was obviously successful, seemed to have no need to wear his accomplishments on his sleeve. She would have expected someone as young and good-looking as he was to be at least a little bit of an asshole. Then she remembered their first conversation. Right. He definitely had it in him. “What made you buy a house in this neighborhood?”
“You mean, how can someone like me afford to buy here?” His tone was mild, but she could tell he was still pissed at her earlier comment.
“That’s not what I meant,” she said testily, “but since you brought it up, I confess I have wondered.”
“Oh, Miss Taylor, are you being so rude as to ask how much money I make?” He leaned back in his chair, crossing thick forearms over his chest.
She raised an inquisitive brow but remained silent.
“I’m fixing it to flip it,” he said finally. “And I can afford to because my last house in Palo Alto increased in value by thirty percent by the time I was ready to sell. My dad went in with me on the first place, a tiny little shit hole in Mountain View. We bought it right after I left school—”
“School?” Now she was intrigued. Joe’s career might not have been on her approved list, but a college degree would go a long way in making up for it. Now, if only she could do something about the four-year age difference. Her foolish pipe dreams about seriously considering Joe as boyfriend material were smashed to smithereens by his next words.
“I went to UC Berkeley for two years but dropped out after sophomore year.”
“Were you failing?”
He frowned, spearing up the last bite of steak. “Not at all. It just wasn’t worth my time.”
Taylor knew her jaw was practically resting on the table, but she couldn’t contain her shock. And dismay. In her world, education was everything. If she hadn’t managed to get an academic scholarship, she would have never made it out of their trashy little trailer park. She would have ended up like her mother, killing herself trying to make enough money to care for herself, her children, and whatever loser boyfriends she collected along the way. “I can’t imagine someone lucky enough to get into UC Berkeley quitting.”
His brow furrowed. “I started working in landscaping in high school and knew it was what I wanted to do. All I needed were a few business management courses and some architecture classes, but after that, I thought it was unfair to waste any more of my parents’ money. Helping me buy a house was a much better investment.”
“But don’t you want a degree to fall back on, just in case?”
“In case of what? I built my own business, and I’m doing pretty well.” He gestured around his newly remodeled kitchen.
She forked the last bite of steak into her mouth. “No matter what you do, everyone benefits from a good education.”
“And I say practical experience is more important, especially in my field.”
“But aren’t you intellectually curious? Don’t you want to learn about things besides the latest mulching techniques?”
His jaw tightened and she realized she had again offended him. She didn’t mean to, but it always annoyed her when people squandered great opportunities.
“Not having a bachelor’s degree doesn’t make me uneducated,” he said, his voice sharp. He waved his hand over her head, toward the built-in bookshelves surrounding the television in the great room. “Those aren’t decorative, Taylor.”
She glanced behind her, unable to see the titles from this distance. Fine, so he was well read. But his reading list couldn’t be used to pad a résumé.
Early on, Taylor had realized education was the only way out of her dusty, dead end town. Taylor had focused on getting the best grades and resisted the tide of boy craziness that had consumed her friends. Even in her teens she’d known that if she let herself be distracted from her goal, she’d end up like most of her friends—pregnant and working dead end, low paying jobs while fetching beer and diapers for their families.
Taylor had been bound and determined to never suffer such a fate. She’d always known she would get out. And when she did, she’d go to college, have a great career, and never settle for a man who was any less accomplished than she.
This long-held conviction only strengthened as she built her career and got her MBA from Stanford. I
t became clear that when she finally settled down, it would have to be with a man who was equally or more successful in his own right, a man who could navigate the social obligations her career imposed and who would be a strong partner in her professional and social life.
Essentially, everything Joe was not. Why do you even care? It’s not like you had him in mind for marriage going into this. Unfortunately, Taylor still didn’t know what she’d been hoping to achieve by sleeping with Joe. In her limited experience, casual sex with unsuitable partners—or even suitable ones—created more trouble than satisfaction. But one touch of Joe’s hands and she hadn’t been able to stop herself, even knowing that sleeping with him was a terrible idea. Still, there was no denying the slightly sick feeling in her belly at the realization that this really could go no further. They were destined to share a single night of hot raunchy sex, a friendly meal, but nothing more.
He took a sip of his wine, watching her over the rim of the glass. “There are a lot of ways to be successful in the world, Taylor. Not everyone follows the same path.”
Easy for him to say. Obviously he came from a caring, supportive family that could afford to send him to college and give him cash for a down payment. She opened her mouth to tell him so but stopped. She didn’t really want to waste any more time debating over whether a college degree was required for future success. Not when his long, thick fingers were stroking up and down the stem of his wineglass, making her shiver at the memory of them stroking against her skin.
His eyes crinkled at the corners as though he read her thoughts. He reached out and grabbed her forearm, pulling her off her chair and into his lap. He was hard again, prodding insistently against the backs of her thighs. His palm skimmed up her thigh, under her shirt, delving without preamble down the front of her panties. She moaned and shuddered, soaking his hand at the first slight brush of his fingers against her clit. “Now that we’ve discussed our philosophies on education, how about we shut up and move on to dessert?”
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