The button freed and the zipper descended, Ryan looking to Sailor for permission to enter. Sure, they’d passed this point nights ago, but now that he was…
And she was…
Was it right for them to…?
He gritted those thoughts away at the same time Sailor whispered in his ear with a soft giggle, “If you release my hands, I can assist you.”
Assist him? Now that was intriguing, and all sorts of porn-like images flashed through his mind. He smiled. “Do I look like I need help?”
“No,” she gasped shallowly as he slid his hands down the sensitive underside of her arm, “but you look like you might enjoy it. I know I will.” She slipped her fingers through his and guided his hands to the waist of her pants. Rocking her hips and arching her back, slowly and with a catlike sureness, she pushed his hands—and her pants—down her thighs.
Black lace panties, too. Dear God, help him.
But she still had control of his hands, and she was sliding them—his palms out flat, fingers outstretched—to the outsides of her legs…up, up, up to her ass, stalling just long enough to squeeze the perfect roundness before starting back down. She nipped at his lips and his chin, and he was so mesmerized by the sensual woman that stood inches in front of him, he couldn’t manage to make his mouth respond.
At her knees, the path switched again, rounding to the insides of her legs and slowing to a torturous crawl. Touching her this way, feeling the soft planes of her milky, smooth skin, the warmth of her hands atop his…it was oddly erotic. Not to mention the half-lidded stare—much like the sated one she’d had the other night. Halfway up her thigh, then three quarters, his heart beat faster, his cock growing steel hard with each scrape of skin. At the end of the path, Ryan couldn’t stand any more and flicked a finger out to her panties, catching their edge.
Very slowly, he hooked his finger around the material and shoved it to the side, her wetness coating knuckle to knuckle. “Fuck, Sailor, you’re soaked.”
“I blame your tongue,” she mumbled against his mouth with a grin. “It’s got some serious skills.” She slid her middle finger along the back of his, curling and pushing until the tip of his and then the tip of hers dipped into her entrance. Warmth surrounded his fingertip and then little by little sheathed his entire finger. Hers, too, because it was still behind his.
Inside her. Banging herself. With him. It had to be the hottest thing he’d ever seen. And felt.
His body surged with energy—a powerful burst driving into every one of his cells. Muscles in his forearm tensed, tightening the pressure of his palm against her clit. The black lace bra didn’t stand a chance as his other hand clawed at its edge, yanking it down to expose her nipple. Her already budded, perfectly shaped nipple. He took it in his mouth, circled his tongue, and grazed the nub with his teeth.
Sailor hissed in a breath, holding it in as he did the same to the other side. He could spend all night here, licking and sucking these flawless nipples. They felt like they were made for his mouth—
“Oh my God,” Sailor said, her voice barely a whisper. “I’m dy-dy-dying.”
Ryan glanced up at her, his mouth working back up her jaw. “Dying?” he said, feeling the lift of one brow. “Carlson, I haven’t even started with you yet.”
Lips parted, one side of her mouth quirked up with a flush of pink to her cheeks. “Yeah, I really need to work on keeping my thoughts to myself.”
Funny thing was, he liked when she was so worked up that she couldn’t control what was coming out of her mouth. He leaned in, gliding his finger back inside of her. Immediately, hers followed. “No,” he said against her mouth. “I want to hear your thoughts. Every. Single. One of them.”
He retracted his finger, painfully slowly. Her breath stuttered, and she nodded. “All right, then.” The pressure behind his hand stiffened, shoving his finger into her hard and fast. “My current thought is…I want to ride the bejesus out of your hand right now.”
How many words was that? Eight? Ten? He couldn’t tell because— What did she just say?
All of a sudden, the button on his jeans was popped free and the front of his pants were wrenched open. A warm hand freed his cock, wrapping around the tip and sliding clear down to the base.
“Right now,” she said. Friction from her hand zapped into his core. Was this a game to her? All part of her diabolical plan?
The pace of her hand picked up, and she squirmed beneath his grip, clenching and then relaxing around his finger.
Ah, to hell with whatever motive she had. He couldn’t deny himself the sight of this beautiful woman fucking his finger.
…
This wasn’t like her—acting so bold and brazen toward a man—but she couldn’t help it. As soon as his lips had touched hers and he’d growled out the words, “Your mouth tastes so delicious,” she was toast. His voice was like wet sex in her ear, and he smelled…he smelled…like everything she wanted in a man.
The crown of her head scraped along the wall as the thrusts of his hand against her grew in intensity. Her hand was still there, finger still inside with his, but with the pleasure she was trying to provide him, she couldn’t manage moving both hands at the same time. Like trying to rub your head and pat your belly. His hand pulsed against hers, alternating a firm palm pressing into her clit and a soft fingertip drawing delicious tingles out from her center.
Her body sagged into the wall, shoulders angled to take the brunt of each thrust, which only made the sensations stronger. And suddenly, it was all too much—the feeling that her body was curling in on itself, flipping upside down and inside out—to continue moving at all. Her hand froze, and without skipping a beat, Ryan scrunched the hem of her shirt up past her naval, flattened her hand across his cock and her belly. And. Began. Thrusting.
Oh my God. He was doing her stomach? And her at the same time? Dear Lord, the sight made her knees buckle. His biceps flexed to hold her up, her cries growing louder and louder as her rocking sped up.
“Right there. Right, right, right…there…”
White noise filled her ears as her toes and fingers tingled, tiny fizzles and flashes of energy spinning up and out, shooting through every nerve. Vibrant colors exploded behind her eyelids, bursting brilliantly into mini carnal fireworks as the feeling continued to spread to every crook in her body. Pure pleasure poured through her, beating and carving, filling her to the brim as she shuddered against Ryan’s hand.
One slow breath was all he allowed before he leaned in, nipped her lip with his teeth, and then proceeded to pound the heck out of her stomach. Not once did he ask to enter her. Or hint that he even wanted to. Grunts and groans rumbled out of his chest, Sailor watching as he fixed his attention between them, on the very spot where he slipped in and out of her hand. Beads of sweat glistened across his forehead, muscles beneath his T-shirt stretching the fabric to its limits. He was too beautiful to look at. Scary beautiful. The kind that pricked at her skin and imprinted in her brain and threatened to damage her outlook on men for the rest of her life.
Because the sight of juices spilling from his tip—coating her palm and stomach—and the delicious smile that spread across his mouth as he lowered his forehead to the wall beside her head was…was…beautiful.
They stood frozen in place as their panting slowed to something less, though not quite normal. With each exhale, hot breath washed over her neck and across her chin, tickling her sensitive skin. From the corner of her eye, she saw Drex jump down from the desk. Then soft lips pressed against the shell of her ear, the whiskers of his beard following.
“Tell me, Carlson,” he whispered slowly, drawling out her last name like he couldn’t decide if he liked saying it or not. “Was looking so goddamn irresistible part of your diabolical plan to get me to sell you the bar?”
Diabolical plan? What an odd thing to say— Oh. It was what she’d said to Marissa. “You heard that?” She twisted her head toward his. How could he have heard that? “But you were at the othe
r side of the bar, looking all muscly and—”
His face slid in front of hers, one eyebrow bowed upward.
“Shoot—not muscly. I didn’t mean that. I mean…heh-heh, it’s not like I was staring at you instead of working. I was. Working, I mean. Not staring at you. Well, maybe I glanced over a few times.” For the love of anything holy above, she needed to shut it. He was going to accuse her of not doing her job and fire her on the spot.
His eyes met hers, hardening to an icy blue. He held her gaze for a long moment, blinking only once before disconnecting from her. In one swift move, he buckled his pants and retrieved a tissue from a box on the shelf to the side of them. Gently, he swiped up the mess on her stomach and dragged her shirt back to its proper position. The tips of his fingers grazed her skin, and she had to close her eyes against the sight. It, too, was beautiful.
“The Alibi’s not for sale,” he said with a firmness she was becoming accustomed to. Her eyes snapped open, and she stared at his back as he turned to toss the tissue into the trash. “It never will be.”
“But Micah just said—”
He whirled to face her, eyes wide and looking a little scary. “I don’t give a rat’s ass what Micah said. The bar will never, ever be outta my hands and in someone like yours.” He stomped toward the door. “So if that’s why you’re here, don’t bother coming back tomorrow.”
The door slammed, echoing around the tiny room. Drex jumped off the desk, twirled in a circle just like he always did when he was about to—
“Oh, no, Drexie. Not in here!” Sailor scrambled around the room. Where had she put his leash after his last walk? “You can hold it. Just pinch it shut. Pinch it— No.” With his rear end tucked under him, her dog stopped spinning and let it all go. Sailor covered her face. “I can’t believe you.”
A slight whimper sounded below her.
Sailor shook her head and looked at his furry face, his black eyes that screamed he was sorry. “Yeah, well,” she whispered, “the man makes me nervous, too, but you don’t see me pooing in the room.”
Chapter Five
Truth #24: Blow jobs taste better on the job.
Ryan: New bar opened up down the street. Feel like joining me to check out the competition tonight?
Micah: Can’t. Laurel’s out with friends, and I’m on baby duty for the night.
A picture of a sleeping baby Maisyn stretched across Micah’s legs followed, and Ryan laughed to himself.
Ryan: Big, bad Micah pinned to the couch by an infant. You watching the Food Network, too?
Micah: Har, har.
Another picture popped up. The back of his seven-year-old’s head in front of some cartoon on the TV.
Micah: Why don’t you take your newest employee? She’d make a nice-looking “research” partner.
Which was a problem. He’d already let things get out of hand last night, done things he shouldn’t have. Because she was Marty’s daughter—the very reason he was stuck with this barely afloat business in the first place; Marty’s pride and joy; the one he’d sworn never to sell—and he needed to remember that the next time his body wanted to do things to her body. Like devour every inch.
Ryan : Speaking of her. What did you tell her about the bar?
Instead of another text, his phone rang, Micah’s name on the screen. Ryan stared at the broken barstool legs below him and answered.
“I didn’t tell her much,” Micah said lowly, obviously trying to whisper because of the baby. “Just that you’d been thrown into something you didn’t want.”
Ryan pressed the phone closer to his ear. Had he heard that right? “You told her that?” What the hell?
“She was grilling me on manhandling her, and it slipped, bro. I’m sorry.”
A comment like that… Sailor could take it and run. Especially if she knew running the bar was not how he’d planned to live the rest of his life, that he’d had other dreams, like his dream of becoming a pilot. “Did you tell her why?”
“No elaboration, no mention of back then at all.”
The Alibi’s front door creaked open, a thin sliver of late-evening light slicing across the pile. Brown-heeled boots appeared first, then long legs wrapped tightly in denim. The skin beneath Ryan’s boxers pricked with desire. Damn, no matter how many times he told himself not to be attracted to Marty’s daughter, he couldn’t help the way his body reacted when she was near.
He blinked, and in an instant she was walking toward him, a tight black T-shirt stretched across her round tits, the tips of her blond hair brushing back and forth against the mounds. Hmm, just like his tongue wanted to do.
She tucked her keys into her pocket and smiled. Ryan glanced away. If she were anyone else in the world, he’d drown himself in that gorgeous smile. But not hers.
Not hers.
Ryan leaned into the bar counter. “You sure you can’t go with me?”
“Not tonight, bro. Give me a little heads up next time so I can find a babysitter.” A tiny voice that sounded like Shae said something about Fruit Loops in the background, and Micah told Ryan he’d talk to him later.
Micah hadn’t ever been the father-figure type, even when he’d been partners with Ryan. Sure, Shae had been his princess back then, but it was hard imagining his bad-tempered friend now playing Daddy Daycare with his two girls. And it was all because of Laurel and the way she’d squirmed her way into his heart. And his life.
Ryan hung up the phone, feeling the presence of Sailor beside him. Her sweet scent flooded his nose. He wanted to lean in and soak it up. Wanted to scoop her into his arms, pin her to the counter, and take her fast and hard right there. Her skin under his hands. Her lips on his. Tongue in his mouth.
“Um,” she said, swiftly wiping away the growing image in his mind. She pointed to the phone. “Was that about the bar? Do you need me to run an errand for you? Pick up some supplies or something?”
He swung his gaze to hers, fighting the urge to yell, to scream, to do whatever it took to get that clawlike feeling in his chest to go away. As was the usual Saturday evening, the bar housed only a handful of customers, but the last thing he needed was to scare them off. “Why are you here?” he asked, his voice low. Part of him had thought when he’d shouted at her last night that it would be the last time he’d see her. It was obvious she wanted to take the bar out from under him, and now that Ryan was onto her and her diabolical plan there was no way she could.
Sailor rested one hand on the counter, her shoulders set back. “I came for the Saturday shift.”
Leaning closer, his face directly in front of hers, he inhaled a slow breath. “Why else are you here, Carlson?”
She tilted her head to the side, lips pressing together and then releasing. “To clean glasses?”
He grit his teeth. Was she playing him? And did she know how much she was pissing him off? He moved in closer, his mouth now only a tongue’s lick away. She held perfectly still, the little temptress she was. “If you try to ruin me, you will be very, very sorry.”
She pinched her eyes shut, and Ryan braced for her backlash. Had someone threatened him like that, anger would’ve blossomed in every cell of his body. So when she bobbed her chin in a quick nod and looked up at him—her eyes glistening with the promise of tears—he held his breath. “Listen,” she said, “I know I’m probably the most hated person in this room right now. I get it—you don’t like what I did to my father…leaving him, burdening you with the responsibility of taking care of him… Well, neither do I, and nobody will hate me more for that than me. I’m like the Joseph Stalin to myself.” A tear fell from her eye and ran a line down alongside her nose.
Damnit, why did the sight of her crying bother him? Make his fingers itch to wipe it away? Make him want to console her and bring back her smile?
He held still, trying to think past the way her sweet scent and warm breath surrounded him. “You don’t seem diabolical enough to kill someone, let alone millions.”
She laughed, shaking her head with
a sniffle. “Right, maybe Kanye West then. Or his Kardashian wife?”
“Pretty sure you’re not dumb enough to name a kid after a compass direction, either.”
“I don’t know… I’ve done some pretty dumb things.” She let that hang in the air for a moment, heavy and clinging to the back of Ryan’s neck. The sting of it crept up his ears and down along his jaw, the urge to tell her just how much her dumb things affected him growing stronger. Every dream he’d had for himself had been crushed the moment she’d chosen drugs instead of family. He had no one else to blame but her. Nonetheless, the second tear brimming over onto her cheek stopped his words. She lifted a hand between them and rested it on his chest, drawing in a deep breath. “Can I call a truce?”
“A truce?” What the hell for?
Nodding, her gaze flicked back and forth between his. “Just one night where you don’t look at me like I’m the worst person in the world?”
He stared at her. At the innocent way she was looking at him. The presence of something soft and…hopeful in her eyes.
“Um…,” she continued, her voice lower and less certain, finger double-tapping just below his collarbone. “Can you also not kiss me when you’re hating me? It’s kind of confusing.”
Ryan couldn’t help it—he laughed. Confusing? If he had to describe the way she made him feel that would’ve been it. She was right. He did hate her for leaving her father and ruining his future, but…not when he looked at her. Or when she looked at him. And not when random and unexpected comments came out of her mouth, or when she made him laugh. And especially not when her body was pressed against his.
A Moment of Madness (Boston Alibi) Page 9