by Katy Evans
“And it’s a fairly easy one to spell. You definitely could have shared that with me,” I add with a raised brow.
“It wasn’t relevant at the time.”
“And is it relevant now?” I fish.
We pause in the middle of the path.
He loosens the leash while Milly sniffs around a large tree trunk, and we stare at each other. He eyes my lips, and I eye his.
“Maybe.”
“Maybe what?”
“Maybe it’s relevant. Maybe it’s not.”
I wait.
“Ian…” I test his name out loud. “I like it.”
His eyes darken, as if hearing his name is the most effective aphrodisiac for the man. I curse myself for saying it in the middle of Central Park. Not that I can do anything about quenching our thirst now.
I wonder if he’s going to take a cab back to the hotel.
I can straddle him again… tease him again… turn him on so much he’ll fuck me hard and fast. Again.
Suddenly Ian’s phone seems to vibrate in his pocket, and when he pulls it out, he scans a message.
“Gran needs to head back. Apparently she forgot a massage therapist is coming over in thirty minutes.” He tucks his phone into the pocket of his slacks as he tugs Milly back onto the path.
“You’re good with your grandma,” I say.
“I’m better in bed.” He grins.
I laugh, but feel a telling flush on my cheeks. What is this guy doing to me? I’m flushing on our way back to Mrs. Ford. We hand over Milly, and after Ian puts her in a cab and I’ve waved goodbye to her, I stand before him with my veins boiling in anticipation.
He seems to hesitate, just staring at me with something I can’t quite decipher. A mixture of frustration and something else.
“Well. Goodbye.”
Wow, did I misread him? Probably I did. Hating that the flush is coming back, I turn to head for the train.
One second, I’m walking forward, trying to ignore the whacking of my crazy heart and the fact that Ian Ford—my one-night stand—is standing only a few feet away from me, and the next his arm flies out and his hand curves tightly around my wrist.
“Sara.”
I turn.
I can hardly take the flames in his eyes.
With his free hand, he hails a taxi, and when it stops before us, he opens the door for me.
I know what’s happening, and I want it to happen so much that I quickly climb into the back of the cab.
Ian climbs in behind me.
“Where to?” the driver asks.
“The nearest five-star hotel you can find.” Ian looks at me with a frown.
“Four stars will do just fine,” I add urgently, and Ian’s frown turns to a look of interest. He grabs my waist and drags me toward him, and before I can take another breath, he’s got his hands—oh, gosh, his hands—on me, and he’s shoving his tongue into my mouth, and oh crap, I hadn’t been hallucinating. My memory didn’t fail me. In fact, it failed only in the sense that I didn’t remember the exact way he tasted, kissed, but what I never forgot was that it was heart-stopping, toe-curling, panty-melting, and a little bit soul-wrenching—the way he eats at my mouth, the hunger and the latent passion there. I didn’t remember that he was this irresistible.
My panties are soaked, and my lungs are working overtime trying to find a breath. I grab the back of his head as aggressively as he’s grabbing mine and push back at his tongue. Ian drops his head to nibble and bite at my neck when I drag my lips to kiss and lick his ear. And, as New York passes by the window, we cling to each other like we will never have another chance.
Sara
My mouth feels raw by the time the cab halts before a fashionable hotel just a few blocks away. Ian drags me out of the cab, holding my hand as he leads me inside. I linger around the lobby as he goes to check in, watching him walk back to me with a key in hand.
“Ford!” someone calls. “Shit! You’re in town?”
Ian sets his hand on my elbow as a tall, blond guy approaches. His friend seems shocked by the sight of me standing next to him, and something about that makes my stomach constrict.
I mean, I’m fucking a stranger. How much do I know about Ian?
“I’d better leave,” I whisper, rethinking this whole thing, but as I speak Ian catches my fingers to halt me. He leans to whisper in my ear. “Don’t leave. Or I’ll find you.”
I go up on tiptoes to whisper, “Please don’t. I really don’t think we have anything in common except chemistry and I flunked that in high school—not my favorite subject.”
He just stares. At my mouth.
“Okay, bad joke. But you get it.”
He turns back to the guy who greeted him. “I’ve got to bolt, but I’ll catch up with you later.”
“I… hell yeah. Let’s do lunch,” the man replies.
“Will do,” Ian tells him. Then he turns his attention back to me.
“The exit is that way.” I point nervously behind me.
“The room is that way.” He glances at the elevators.
I shoot him a haughty look and pry free of his grip. Ian grabs the loop in my jeans and twists me back in the direction of the elevators. I kind of like it that he’s not letting me go. It’s nice to see he’s as interested in fucking me as I am in fucking him. Then I hear the deepest, sexiest voice speak behind me. “You always run in the opposite direction when you see something you want?”
I am not going to answer that. I’m not going to admit that my nipples are beaded and that my panties are wet. Almost as if jealous of the other panties that once were in a little wad in his hands months ago. “You’ve got it all wrong, buddy. Just leaving room for your ego.”
“My ego likes it just fine with you close.” He’s almost purring now. “The way you’re looking at me, it could not like it any better.”
“Full of yourself much?”
“So full of it I have enough to spare and get you full of me too, in a matter of seconds.”
I raise both my eyebrows.
“Just say the words—and we’ll break the news to all the other girls here. They’ll be devastated.”
I glance at the women in the lobby. Obviously most of them have noticed him, and I hate that he seems to have noticed.
“They’ll send me thank-you notes,” I say.
“Well, then… I hope you have a big mailbox.”
“You’re dreaming.”
“Of you.”
I sniff when I see him reach out to press the elevator button behind me. His arm brushes against the top of mine, and my skin tingles from the contact.
I hear the terrible, exciting, unnerving ding.
My whole body tightens in anticipation.
Ian lifts his hand and presses it against the small of my back, leading me into the elevator. We’re the only ones inside. He presses the button for the top floor and uses the key to access it.
Wow. A penthouse suite?
His hand remains on the small of my back, his thumb caressing my skin below the fabric of my top.
His eyes hold mine, and something pulls inside my stomach.
The heat of his stare spreads under my skin, like a lick of fire between my legs.
The way the guy stands there, all confident and with an unreal mix of elegance and rawness, his stare direct and shameless, an air of authority surrounding him.
God, I want another piece of him tonight.
I don’t think anyone could ever compete with this guy, so I never even went out with anyone who asked me ever since our encounter. Sometimes I’ve wanted to see him again so much that my chest hurt. And it’s not fair, is it?
When we arrive at our floor, he takes my hand and leads me down the hall to open the suite door. Yes. It’s a humongous suite.
What does it mean that he went for the best for this?
Does it mean he wants to impress me?
And what does it mean that I mumble “give me a moment” and race to the bathroom to fresh
en up?
That I want to impress him?
I take a long time scrutinizing my hair, my face, and the rest of me in the bathroom mirror. Does he like what I see? My pupils are dilated, my eyes gleaming with desire. My cheeks flushed. I look like a girl who just had the living daylights fucked out of her… or is about to. By the time I have loosened my hair and freshened up, Ian is sitting on a bar stool at the far end of the suite. The view of New York, and even a glimpse of Central Park, framing the windows behind him.
He slowly comes to his feet as I reach him. I melt under his smile as he grabs me by the waist and yanks me to his chest. Dominant. I like it.
“I should be gentle. You do walk my gran’s dog, after all.” He scans my features as if savoring them.
“I should have mercy on you. You’re my customer’s grandson, after all.” I scan his features in return.
His eyes begin to darken, his expression unreadable. I press forward, grabbing a fistful of his shirt. He smells so good that I feel dizzy, my brain completely out of order as I go up on tiptoe and graze his lips with mine.
He shifts his mouth, and my lips end up scraping along his jaw as he whispers in my ear, “Are you in it just for the orgasm of your life?” He holds me by the back of my neck.
I nod, and his expression changes.
He says, “Come here.”
He tugs me forward and motions to the hall of the suite, and I walk past him.
“Down the hall.”
I do as he instructs and when I glance past my shoulder, I catch those beautiful eyes of his inspecting my butt.
He smirks when I shoot him a look, and I hurry down the hall.
“Last room.”
I head to the master bedroom and open the door, then reach the bed and turn around.
“I don’t need a bed. Or a big suite, Mr. Ford. What I want from you is right here.” I reach out to grab his shirt and pull him to me, stroking my hand along his cock.
Oh God. He’s so hard. I want this so bad.
He grabs me by the hips and pulls me even closer to him, his eyes scanning my face. “You changed your mind fast.” A smug smile touches his lips as he grabs a handful of my hair, lifts it above my head, and leans forward.
“I’ll go if you don’t want it,” I grind out. Desire clutches my body as he skims his lips along my neck.
I can’t seem to say “want me”—it’s too personal, and I don’t want to get personal with him. Just physical.
My thighs are shaking as he tsks softly, shaking his head as he drags his thumb down my temple, along my jaw. “What would ever give you the impression I’m not into this?” He pulls my arms up above my head and flattens me to the window with his hard, sexy, blatantly muscular body. I don’t know which is harder, him or the window, or the gigantic erection pressing into my stomach while he lets his eyes roam my body as if deciding what he wants to taste first.
My lips, my throat, my shoulders, my…
“You feel incredible, Sara,” he rasps as he cups my breast in one hand, massaging it.
An unintelligible sound rises up my throat. This man does things to me. I’m suddenly afraid he’s going to break me, somehow, some way. The first time hooked me; what will the second do?
“No talking,” I say, pressing my mouth to his.
My lips end up crushed beneath his. The sound I make is swallowed by his mouth—his moving, hot, demanding mouth. “God, you taste good,” he rasps.
“So do you,” I croak.
My lips sting from his lips.
I press up on tiptoes and brush them again over his with a moan. “Kiss me again.”
He does more than kiss me—it’s like he’s waging a fucking war, his tongue charging into me, subduing mine, sucking mine.
Desperation grabs me like a living thing, causing me to arch my body against his. He’s hard like crazy, and I want more of his strength and his taste and his flesh and his passion.
I wiggle one hand free and he releases me, only to tear at my shirt. I hear it rip as I pull open the button of his shirt.
This franticness—I’ve never felt it before. It’s as though I’ll die if I don’t feel him inside me right now. I shudder and cry out when his hands cup my bare skin and free my breasts, and when he grabs one in his hand and lifts it to his mouth, I grab his hair and press him to me as he smothers one tight, sensitized nipple with his mouth.
He sucks. The pulling sensation makes my stomach constrict pleasurably, my pussy gripping with need.
“You ready?” His question is just a rasp.
Breathless, I answer. “No foreplay. I’m ready.”
He ignores that request.
He sucks my breast again, as if he can’t stop himself. The pleasure is exquisite—racing in my veins, constricting my muscles, tickling my bones, firing up my sexy parts.
“I’m not. I want this to last.” He presses his lips to my neck and I don’t get why his warm breath on my skin melts me, why his words melt me—how this hot, melting-hot, stranger can have this effect on me.
“I want your dick, Ian,” I groan, caressing him through his pants again.
“And you’ll have it, Sara.”
My stomach contracts as our tongues meet again in my mouth, and suddenly my fingers are roaming over his chest, over his partly open shirt, feeling the muscles there as our tongues frantically sample each other, rub and touch and twist around one another.
He grabs me by the hips, his kiss becoming more aggressive as he backs me up against the bed and unzips, unbuttons, and yanks down my jeans, his mouth never leaving mine.
I kick my shoes and jeans off, and he eases his hand between my legs and a shiver of heat rushes down my spine as he tugs down my panties and cups my sex, murmuring into my mouth, “Here you are. So warm and wet, waiting for me.” He inserts one finger inside me. “Fucking soaked for me. Burning up for me, Sara.”
He pushes two fingers in and I groan against his jaw, a garbled sound leaving me as I thrust my hips out for more. “More.”
My hands shake as I reach out and loosen his shirt from the waistband of his slacks. “I want it now,” I rasp, swallowing audibly when he helps me tug open the rest of his shirt buttons. He shrugs his shirt off—and his chest is glorious. Holy shit, so glorious I gape at him, ripped, tanned, and smooth—so lickable, I immediately press my mouth to his skin and go lick one of his nipples.
He pulls off his pants and boxers and his cock jerks free, a drop of cum at the tip.
When he finally pins one of my hands to my side and grabs one of my legs to hook it around his hips, then guides that huge, thick dick inside me, I scream. I scream and scream, pressing my mouth to his shoulder blades to quiet myself as he thrusts and thrusts and fucks me harder than last time. Harder than I’ve ever been fucked in my life.
My nails rake into his back, my pinned hand fisting in pleasure.
I see stars as I come in his arms, gasping his name out in nearly religious fervor. I don’t even realize that I’ve screamed it until I have, and he groans mine back to me, in my ear, quieter but just as hot.
I didn’t think anyone could ever compete with that night we spent. But of course—he goes on and improves it. Yummy motherfucker.
Ian
She comes like a rocket and I can’t stop watching her. I stop kissing her until she settles down to catch her breath. Her lips are raw from mine. Wet and pink. Even the bow at the top of her mouth is reddened from the force of my mouth on hers.
I should feel guilty.
I don’t.
I didn’t know exactly what I planned to do to her when I saw her. Maybe I’d planned to look her up at the concierge desk and ask her out to Daniel. See if she was available this time. Talk a bit. Get to hear about her life. Tell her about mine.
Maybe I even allowed myself to fantasize too much about things leading us back to room 1103. Or maybe I didn’t plan to do shit.
Except I didn’t imagine she’d be gone from the concierge desk—or the crushing disap
pointment I’d feel when I checked in yesterday and found out.
I especially didn’t expect to see her in Central Park today. See how kind she was to my gran. And to Milly. How fucking sexy, confident, and still so damn bold.
Now she lies naked beneath me and I’m hard as stone. I can think of little else but getting my hands all over her again.
I don’t know if she’s been with anyone after me, but I sure as hell don’t want her to have been touched. If there’s been anyone, I want my hands to erase him from her. I want my touch to be the last one on her skin.
Moments ago, when we walked through Central Park, I told myself I wouldn’t lay a hand on her. Not tonight. She was no longer just any woman. She was my gran’s dog walker.
I reasoned with myself that I had time. I could stay here while filming and get my shit together. Eventually pursue things slowly. But after helping Gran into the cab, Sara was heading off, and the thought of losing sight of her again was not an option.
Thinking I’d lost her when she left her job at my usual hotel made my gut twist. This time it churned because I was watching her walk away, in the opposite direction of where I wanted her to be heading.
I want her, and I don’t like letting go of what I want.
Here we are now.
I reach out and her skin is silky soft. One touch and I realize I won’t be able to stop myself from fucking her again. I want to eat her up this time. Maybe even ease my dick into her mouth. I clench my fingers around her hair and groan as her fingers feather across my dick.
“You minx,” I growl, pulling her closer. “I’ve thought of you.”
I’m leaking pre-cum and I can’t remember a woman, any woman, who’s ever done that to me in my adult years.
Pull yourself together, Ford. This isn’t what she expects.
But I see the sudden spark of thrill in her eyes, and I almost bite my tongue, reminding myself I cannot give her more than this even as she slips her hands around me and curls closer. Close enough that her pussy nudges my dick again. I hate that I don’t have the courage to stop her.
I’m in an odd, entranced state where I will do anything she asks of me, anything she says, just to hear her come screaming my name again. Feel her body twist beneath mine.
