His Private Pleasure Read online

  “Yes,” she gasped.

  “Open your eyes.”

  She hadn’t even been aware they’d drifted shut, and opened them without questioning herself over the wisdom of following his every order so obediently. She was doing this as much for her own pleasure as his, and besides which— Oh God, she thought, losing track of all thought when he rubbed his thumbs more slowly over and around her nipples.

  She pressed her thighs together, moaned softly.

  “Exquisite,” he whispered, as if in awe himself of what he wreaked from her.

  She couldn’t help it; she arched, slightly, toward him, a silent plea for more attention. His gaze lasered into hers as he rolled her nipples, making her gasp, making her shudder. Then slowly, exquisitely slowly, he lowered his head. It took every ounce of control she had and some she wasn’t even aware she possessed not to grip his head and hurry him closer, to do what she so badly wanted him to do.

  She curled her fingers against damp palms and felt the rush of anticipation build so high it made her dizzy. The first flick of his warm tongue actually made her knees dip, the spear of pleasure was so true and deep. He grasped her hips with his wide, strong hands, steadying her. Then he was at her again with that warm, wet tongue. Rolling, circling, suckling, flicking, until her head thrashed and her nails dug into her palms and moans were ripped from somewhere deep inside her.

  And just when she thought she’d simply collapse to the floor, he traced his tongue downward and slid his hands down her thighs as he shifted to kneel in front of her.

  Dear God, if she’d all but climaxed with his tongue on her breasts, the idea of… She clenched and almost came just in anticipation. “Lay me down,” she managed to gasp, knowing she’d never withstand such an incredible assault and be responsible for remaining upright. “Must.”

  “Shhh,” he replied, then nudged her back a few steps until her spine met the wall. And there, wedged between the dresser and the desk, he drove his tongue inside her and made her come so hard she saw stars.

  She sought purchase by slapping her palms flat on the wall, as he ruthlessly drove her up again. Her hands were so damp they slid, as she wanted to. But he wouldn’t let her. Again he teased her quivering nerve endings right to the limit of endurance, then shocked a scream of pleasure out of her when he slipped a finger inside her just as he flicked at her with his tongue, jerking her over the edge.

  She trembled, her body shuddering as the aftershocks continued to sizzle inside her, and he pushed his finger deeper, not allowing her to withdraw and recoup. Her body tightened down hard on him and she was moving, sliding, trying to stay upright and at the same time get him deeper and deeper without sinking to the floor in a tumble of quivering need.

  “Again,” he said.

  She shook her head. She couldn’t. She was almost limp and there was nothing left. He’d wrung her dry. She felt an almost hysterical bubble of laughter surge up her throat. Hardly dry! Still, there was no way—

  And then she was over his shoulder, sputtering in surprise at the sudden shift in her pleasure-clouded universe. “What the—!”

  And then softness met her back as he tumbled her from his shoulder to the bed. Before she could think to react, to even move, he was pulling off his shirt, shucking his jeans, and she had no words of censure as long as he planned to climb on top of her in the immediate future. She was vaguely aware of heavy things thumping to the floor along with his boots and clothes—likely his cuffs and his gun and God knew what— She stopped thinking altogether just then because he was pulling her ankles, sliding her to the edge of the bed and—

  She tried to prop herself up on her elbows, thinking she might sob in frustration if he didn’t just— “Please, Dylan, I—”

  “I know.” He pushed her back on the bed, then rolled her over. She heard a short tearing sound and his breath hitch as he slid on a condom. She clenched hard at that, and the distraction cost her, because he gripped her hips, pulling her up and back, then was kneeling between her thighs before she knew what was what.

  She pouted, not minding the position except she wanted to feel the weight of him on top of her, to look in his eyes when he was inside her and— She shut down that track, then every other one when he slipped a hand around her thigh and probed with his finger as he slid slowly, and oh so tightly, inside her.

  Her long groan of satisfaction was matched by his own. Once he was all the way, deep inside her, he ran his hands up her torso, lifting her off the bed so her back was to his chest. He lifted her arms over her head and draped them back around his neck.

  He throbbed inside her, but didn’t move. She’d never felt so full, so…taut.

  “Keep…your hands…there,” he ordered.

  She was panting, the feel of the hard length of his body behind her, the hard length of him inside, robbing her of speech. Not to mention the vulnerability of having her whole front exposed to his hands.

  He tilted her head back against his, traced his tongue down the side of her neck, bit her earlobe at the exact same moment he tweaked her nipples with his fingertips. She gasped, moaned, clenched.

  He groaned and moved within her, several strokes, until he got himself under control.

  “Jesus,” he breathed.

  “Mmm.” All she could manage was a murmur.

  Then his hands were toying with her, sliding down her stomach, pressing her back into him as his fingertips crept through the curls, found her, teased her.

  “I can’t—” she gasped, right before he proved her wrong. Just as she snapped over the edge—again—he plunged deeper, his fingers on her, holding her against the thick slide of him inside her.

  He growled against the damp skin of her neck, pummeling her both with another orgasm and with the incredible feel of him filling her right up.

  It was amazing, intense, like nothing she’d ever felt. And yet it wasn’t enough. She wanted the weight of his body on hers…and the weight of his gaze—the latter far more powerful than the former. She refused to let herself think why, just knew she had to have it.

  “Dylan,” she gasped. “I want— Let me just— I need you to—”

  But it was too late. His body jerked forward, sending her to her hands and knees. He wrapped an arm around her waist and held her tight to him as he thrust again and again. The growl of his release shuddered through every cell of her body.

  Liza felt the dampness on her cheeks, knew they were tears, ignored them. Never, not once in her whole life, had anyone taken such masterful control of her body, given her what she hadn’t even known she could have. The downside of always being in control. You can’t test your own limits when you don’t know where the boundaries are.

  Dylan had known. Or suspected. Either way, he’d proved his point gloriously. She should be grinning deliriously over such an intense hour of pleasure.

  “Mind-numbing,” she murmured as he shifted and slid out of her. “I knew it would be.”

  He didn’t say anything, but pressed a kiss in the center of her back before moving off the bed. A moment later she heard the water running in the bathroom. She didn’t move, didn’t even raise her head. Truly remarkable, she thought, and forced subsequent thoughts down the same path. There was absolutely no earthly reason to feel anything less than one hundred percent satisfied. So she concentrated on the bliss…and carefully avoided the niggle of disappointment creeping just below the surface.

  So he hadn’t stayed to cuddle. So she hadn’t looked into his eyes when he was inside her. When had this ever been an issue? And in the face of the pleasure he’d wrung out of her, it seemed awfully greedy to want more.

  She rolled over to her back and looked unwillingly toward the open bathroom door.

  Dammit. How had that happened?

  And more importantly, what was she going to do about it?

  13

  DYLAN CLEANED UP, then braced his hands on the sink and stared at his reflection. Now what are you going to do, hotshot?

  He knew what
he wanted to do. Pull the drapes tight, crawl back into bed with Liza and sink into sleep with her all soft and warm, curled around him. And a few hours from now, wake up and sink himself back into all that soft warmth. Only this time he’d control himself, let her take them where she wanted them to go.

  What it was about her that got his primal instincts all riled up, he had no idea. He’d taken her like a damn caveman or something. His lips quirked. Okay, so maybe he’d taken a bit more care with her, but still, that’s the way she made him feel. Me man, you woman. You all mine.

  Jesus.

  But it didn’t matter what he wanted to do. He had to go. He had to be at the airport an hour from now. He should hop in the shower here and save the time, drop by the office and change into the spare set of clothes he should have changed into at some point the endless night before. And just the idea of taking a hot steamy shower in Liza’s hotel room brought all sorts of images to mind, none of them having to do with efficiency.

  “She’s in your blood,” he told his reflection, then reached to turn on the shower, only to find an erotically rumpled Liza standing in the doorway. Something about the tangle of linens she’d pulled around her was far sexier than if she’d simply appeared in the flesh. Flesh he found he was dying to taste again.

  He wondered if she’d heard him, what she’d think of that little revelation, but all she said was, “Shower for one?”

  There were a hundred things he wanted to say to her, not the least of which was how he’d love to spend the day making love to her, in the shower, on the floor of the bathroom, on the desk in the other room…. But what he said was what he had to say. “I have to be somewhere in an hour.”

  She simply nodded. He should appreciate that. He’d known going in that she understood what was happening between them was an interlude at best. Instead it irked. Not that he wanted whining or temper or, God forbid, begging. Mostly because he was close to doing all three himself. But a little pout wouldn’t have hurt any.

  “You keep going on no sleep like this and you’re not doing anyone any favors,” she said. “Surely the meeting can be rescheduled. If you’re that irreplaceable, they’ll wait.”

  He smiled. “I bet you were really good at what you did.”

  “I was,” she said matter-of-factly. “Do you want me to make a call, work this problem out for you?”

  His lips quirked. He had no doubt she could do just that. “Unfortunately, it’s not that easy. If you’re so good at your job, why did you leave?”

  The sudden shift in conversation made her pause, and he realized she didn’t really talk a lot about herself. Most women of his acquaintance loved to feel important, and that often manifested itself in long monologues of how they spent every minute of their days. Maybe it was because she’d spent so many years deflecting the spotlight to her clients that she simply didn’t realize she’d closed herself off in that way. Or maybe she was just a really private person.

  No, that wasn’t it. Shy and retiring were two words that would never be used in conjunction with Liza Sanguinetti. Which was also why she’d probably been good at her job.

  The odd thing was, he wanted to hear about every second of her day, about what she’d done as a public relations person, where her family was, were they proud of her, what her dreams were and… Jesus, Jackson, one little roll in the hay and you’ve gone right over the edge.

  “All work and no play left Liza without a real life,” she answered bluntly. “Actually, my work was playing a great deal of the time, which was the real problem. I needed to get off the party-go-round and grow up, I suppose.” Short, succinct, nary an extraneous detail.

  He smiled, and continued pushing despite her obvious desire to leave the subject alone. Maybe because of it. “And what do you want to be when you grow up?”

  “Still working on that.” Before he could ask her anything else, she said, “So, where is the meeting?”

  He thought about ignoring the question to prod her some more, but he was standing naked in her bathroom and he did have a meeting to attend. “Vegas. I have to be at the airstrip in an hour.”

  Her eyes widened a bit. “Vegas? Oh, right, you said your old job had come back to rear its ugly head. Then the fire at the motel is related to something you were involved with in your former line of work? Is that why you thought I might be in danger? Because I was with you and you were the target? But why the motel? I don’t see how that could be connected to… What? What’s so funny?”

  He swore he could almost see the gears in her mind spin, and damn if that didn’t turn him on, too. He tugged at the linen sheet and she shuffled closer. He couldn’t help it. It didn’t matter that he had to walk away at some point and that she was going to drive away even if he didn’t. He wasn’t walking yet and she was standing right there. And he had to touch her. “I just enjoy watching you be you, that’s all. You fascinate me.”

  She grinned, but there was something almost a bit…nervous dancing in her eyes. He liked it that he could make her nervous. He suspected not many men had. God, here he went with the caveman thing again.

  Then she pressed a red fingernail in the dent in his chin and he found he didn’t care what game they were playing, as long as it meant she was right here in his arms.

  “Glad I can amuse you, Sheriff.” She trailed the finger down to his chest, and damn if she didn’t have him stirring again. Whatever nerves he might have seen were gone now, replaced by a mischievous light that he knew boded trouble. Problem was, he wasn’t all that put off by a little trouble just now.

  “Just how long a drive is it to the airstrip?”

  “Twenty minutes, give or take. But I have to stop by the station and—”

  Her hand trailed lower as the steam from the running shower began to billow around them. “That gives us, what, at least a good ten, twelve minutes to work up a decent lather.” She let the sheet drop. “What do you say?”

  His pulse kicked up, along with other parts of him. “I soap you first?”

  She stretched up and kissed him, then stepped behind the shower curtain. A long, very appreciative groan followed.

  Dylan didn’t even bother berating himself for letting her get to him. Again. After all, he was only human. And she was…she was like a fever on perpetual spike.

  He followed her into the shower and a moment later was groaning as well, but not just because the hot water felt so good.

  She’d sabotaged him with body soap. Followed quickly with clever little hands that lathered him in all the right places.

  “Liza—”

  “Turn around and hold on to the towel rack,” she instructed. “Eight minutes left and I plan to use them wisely.”

  Soap-foamed fingers and her slippery body sliding past him encouraged him not to argue.

  She started at his ankles and worked her way up. His knees threatened to give way when she cupped him from behind. His groan of appreciation was met with a slide of slick skin up and over his buttocks. Breasts, nipples, belly and… “Don’t stop,” he demanded hoarsely.

  “You wish.”

  He did wish. In fact, he could make a number of wishes right at that moment.

  “Turn around.”

  He did, gladly. Because she continued her ministrations, tipping her head back so the water rinsed the soap bubbles from his skin…and cascaded down over her kneeling form. He knew it shouldn’t affect him so, seeing her kneeling before him, knowing she was the one that held all the power—literally—in her own small hands. But it did, viscerally. Which became immediately obvious to her as well.

  She grinned up at him, mouthed “my turn” and slipped him fully into her mouth.

  He could have come right then. And if he hadn’t just climaxed less than a half hour earlier, probably would have. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t enjoy the ride.

  Far too soon she was letting him go, turning off the water and reaching out for towels.

  He might have whined. In fact, he was pretty sure that whimper of
disappointment had come from him.

  “Sorry, Sheriff, time’s up.” She wrapped a towel around her body and tossed him one. “I’d help, but you have a meeting to make.” And then she was gone, leaving him standing in a dwindling cloud of steam.

  “You should have let me have my turn earlier,” she called out, as if she’d read his thoughts. And he wasn’t entirely sure she couldn’t.

  He stepped out of the bathroom, towel around his hips, to find her back in her sundress, combing out her hair in front of the dresser mirror. When she said nothing, he reached for his clothes, glancing at the bed, then at her, and wondering how goodbye had come rushing up at him like this. Only it hadn’t really rushed. In fact, he’d postponed it longer than he should have.

  She scooped up her purse and bag as he slipped on his boots and tucked in his shirt.

  “So, that’s where you hide them,” she said, fingering the cuffs he’d stuffed in the back of his waistband. Right next to his gun.

  She led the way to the door, then turned when he didn’t move from the foot of the bed. She arched a questioning brow. “Lose something?”

  “My sanity?”

  “What, you mean you don’t often spend the morning performing lewd and lascivious acts with strange women not a block away from your office?”

  “Shh,” he said, nodding toward the open door at her back. She merely smiled back at him. “There was nothing lewd about it,” he said, crossing the room. “And you’re no stranger to me.” He pushed the door shut and pulled her into his arms. “Not anymore.” His kiss caught her off guard and he willingly silenced her gasp with his lips and tongue. He pulled her under with him until his own head spun. When he finally straightened, she was struggling for equilibrium, judging from the dazed look on her face. He took advantage of that, too. “Lascivious, now that I might cop to,” he said with a grin. “Don’t check out.”

  She’d started to shoot back a retort—never one to be thrown for a loop for long, not Liza—then stopped herself. “What? What did you just say?”