by Kendall Ryan
“Enough of that,” I say more gruffly than I feel. “I want you on your knees now.”
She looks surprised for a moment before a mix of desire and determination comes over her face. She sinks gracefully to the floor at my feet.
“Very nice,” I say, petting her hair. And I mean that. Maybe I shouldn’t be praising her on a night that’s supposed to be all about my needs, but she is a pretty sight, ready and waiting to serve me however I ask. “Take out my cock.”
My shirt is already hanging open and my belt is God knows where, but I’m still going to enjoy watching her trembling fingers unzip my dress pants.
“That’s it,” I say, encouraging her when she wraps me in her warm fist.
She grips the base tight. My heart racing, I watch her soft pink lips meet the tip of my cock. A loud groan of relief escapes me as they part to slide down over the shaft. It’s been too damn long since I’ve had her. I’d forgotten how combustible we are together—how quickly I lose the battle for control when she’s near.
She follows her hand up and down, sucking hard, her tongue lapping like she’s missed this as much as I have. The sight of her is overwhelming. She sure as hell isn’t new to sex anymore . . . she knows exactly what to do now.
Still, I can’t let her just do whatever she pleases tonight. I tangle my fingers tight in her hair to direct her where to go, how fast to bob her head and work her sweet mouth. She lets out a soft murmur that burns in the pit of my stomach. I make a mental note that she’s partial to a little hair-pulling, then remind myself for the millionth time that what she enjoys isn’t what this trip is about.
“You look amazing like this.” My voice comes out as a groan. I didn’t mean to say that aloud, but it slipped out. Whatever. A little encouragement can’t hurt, right? “I could watch you suck me all night.”
She sighs and squirms, rubbing her thighs together. The thought that she’s trying to ease her own arousal makes me throb.
But when I notice her free hand creeping between her legs, I say sharply, “I didn’t say you could touch yourself. I’ll give you your turn soon enough . . . right after I’m done fucking your mouth.”
She makes a tiny noise that could be a whimper and moves her hand up to cup my balls.
Oh fuck. I won’t last long if she keeps this up.
Sighing, I start slow, rocking my hips in shallow strokes. The head of my cock sliding over her tongue feels incredible. She adjusts quickly, keeping up her own work while letting me move her. I thrust faster, deeper—still careful not to gag her; I’m sure she doesn’t know how to handle that yet—but taking my pleasure rather than letting her give it to me.
Blood roars through my ears and pulses in my cock. Fuck, this woman is the hottest thing I’ve ever seen. She looks up at me, her lashes fluttering, her lips still sealed around me, and suddenly I’m way closer to my own release than I planned to let myself get.
I pull her away, but she continues to stroke me, and my orgasm threatens. “Enough,” I growl.
She snatches her hand away sheepishly.
I haul Presley to her feet and give her a quick, light slap on the butt. A startled squeak escapes her. “You almost made me come too soon.”
“I’m s—”
I crush my mouth to hers, cutting her off. I’m going to devour her. Take all she can possibly give me.
Keeping my fingers knotted in the silky hair at the back of her neck, I slide my other hand down her body. She sucks in a sharp breath when I push two fingers into her; for the second time tonight I’m knuckles deep inside her. She’s so wet, so perfectly ready for me. My thumb finds her swollen, eager bud and she arches, clutching at my back and shoulders like she’s trying to hang on for dear life. But I want her to lose that control. To surrender everything to me.
I devour her mouth as her hips buck and stutter forward into my touch. I’m consumed by her scent, her sounds of pleasure, the feel of her under my hand.
Yes, this is exactly what I wanted tonight—for both of us to forget the past and the parts we’re supposed to play. We’re not boss and intern, or even lovers, because lovers have a shared history and complicated emotions I’d rather ignore. Tonight, we’re just man and woman giving in to our mutual lust for each other.
Our kiss evolves into a messy clash of lips and tongues. She’s moving into my hand now, writhing in my grip, and her begging cries grow louder and more urgent. Suddenly, she gives a desperate whine and her arms tighten so hard they tremble. My aching erection twitches up, straining. She’s coming already.
“Dom . . .”
She groans and I kiss her deeply, possessively, as she spasms around my fingers in rhythmic waves. That’s it. She’s mine now. It’s time to take what I’ve been needing but didn’t let myself have since she broke my heart.
I keep rubbing, letting her cling to me until her quaking subsides. Then I withdraw, releasing her hair. Both of us are flushed, sweaty, panting from desire.
I pull out of her with a slick noise and can’t resist bringing my hand up to taste her arousal. Her eyes lock onto my tongue running over my fingers. Then I press them to her lips, and she only hesitates a second before opening up to suck them. My cock bucks at the feel of her eager mouth closing around my fingers.
When she’s done, I press a kiss to her forehead. “Get back up on the bed. On all fours this time.”
She obeys with shaking knees, still out of breath. I admire the view—her pert ass raised up like an offering, and the needy spot between her legs glistening, ready for me.
Quickly, I open a condom and roll it on. I kneel behind her and drag my tip over her sensitive flesh, teasing her. She tries to thrust back, and my hands clamp down on her hips to hold her still. I’m the one who dictates when we start, and I’ll dictate when we finish.
“Last chance to call this off.” My voice is deep and rough with desire. It would just about kill me if she took that chance . . . but I’m almost certain she won’t. “We aren’t going to stop until I’m satisfied.”
“Please,” she says, so softly I almost miss it.
“Good girl.” I bite the back of her neck and bury myself deep in her wet heat, trying to forget everything that happened between us before this moment.
It almost works.
Chapter Ten
Presley
Tonight has taken a turn I never could have imagined. I know I should guard my heart, that I shouldn’t romanticize this moment, but it’s too late. We move together perfectly, my soft pants punctuating the moment that has grown heavy with expectation.
His cuff links rest beside my earrings on the bedside table. Our laptop bags sit side by side on the floor near the desk. I have no idea what it all means, but something big, surely.
I feel so many warring emotions at once, it’s hard to focus on them all. First, there’s pleasure unlike any I’ve ever known. But more than that, there’s relief at his forgiveness, and somehow too, I can also feel him releasing all the baggage of his past, excising it with precision as our bodies meld together.
Dominic fills me in a way I never could have imagined. He must feel it too, this powerful pull, because we release a simultaneous groan in the otherwise silent room.
He withdraws briefly, guiding me onto my back so he can hover over me. In this new position, I can see his eyes. I just wish his emotions were as easy to read as his pleasure.
His pupils are dilated and his lips part with a silent moan. He pushes in to the hilt, and I wrap my legs high around his hips, grinding myself closer.
“Uh . . . that’s so good, baby.” He groans, his voice deep.
I know by now not to read too much into the sweet endearment.
He moves in long and deep strokes. I’m still so sensitive from my earlier release that I have to dig my fingernails into his shoulders for stability. I can hear the sounds of our sex, a loud, wet slap of flesh against flesh. My breasts bounce with the efforts of his thrusts. I can’t help but release quiet gasps every time I feel the t
ip of him hit that once mythical, now very real sweet spot inside me.
With every pump, I feel closer and closer to the man who has remained such an emotional anomaly to me. As I watch his sculpted body move over me, memories of our brief history flood my brain.
The moment when he picked me up on that horrible night, and the instant relief I felt just being near him.
The moment his gruff voice over the phone promised that I still had my job, and elation soared inside me.
The moment in his office when he told me he wanted me with him on this trip.
“Dom!”
When I cry out his name, he leans closer so our naked, sweaty chests are pressed together in an intimate embrace. He moves above me, taking everything I have to offer.
I comb my fingers through his thick, dark hair, gripping it in my fists. I can feel the goose bumps rise on the back of his neck. I can feel him coming close with every shaky breath he takes, and I love knowing that I’m the one bringing him to the brink.
With every nip at my neck, my earlobe, and my lips, I can feel the secret tenderness he tries so desperately to keep reined in. His thumb finds my center and rubs it in methodical circles, just how he knows I like. As I get closer and closer to the edge, my eyelids flutter closed and I brace myself for yet another fall into bliss.
And I am falling for him. Despite my best efforts, I have fallen.
When I tumble over the edge again, Dominic gathers me close, holding me against his chest as I tremble and gasp.
With his lips against my neck and a hand on my breast, Dominic releases a soft grunt, and his grip on me tightens as he finds his own release. The sound he’s making—somewhere between a gasp and a groan—is like a drug. I would let him do anything to me just to hear that sound again.
When he’s recovered, he lifts himself up, propped on his elbows over me. His eyes are hooded and his forehead is beaded with sweat. I hold his firm biceps in my shaking hands, rubbing my thumbs against the muscle with a tenderness I can hardly describe.
But in a blink, he’s gone, both physically and mentally.
He climbs from the bed, removing himself from my soft touch almost as fast as he ripped off my clothes. He walks across the room, tosses the used condom in the trash, and picks up his boxers, tugging them on. Then he grabs his laptop. He’s already on his way into the living room of the suite when I find my voice.
“Where are you going?” I hate how vulnerable I sound.
“I have some work to do. You can go to bed without me.”
And just like that, I’m alone.
What the hell?
Surely he felt it, the same things I did—the intimacy, the closeness, the intensity . . .
That’s why he left. He’s not ready to face it, to accept it, and I’ll have to be okay with that . . . for now.
My body is still warm and flushed from the mind-blowing experience we just shared, but my heart is cold. I fight back the sting of tears, determined not to waste any time feeling sorry for myself. All I can muster is the will to wrap myself in the fluffy duvet and curl into a ball on the bed.
After I take a few deep breaths, my heart begins to slow. A voice in my mind that sounds a lot like my mother lulls me to sleep.
Just be true to yourself, Presley. Be true to what you want.
Chapter Eleven
Dominic
The next day, I come back to the hotel early. Well, right on time by normal standards, but I had to politely fend off a dozen offers of dinners, cocktails, anything that would keep me listening to pitches for another few hours. Not that I mind skipping out. I have a five-thirty date I wouldn’t miss for the world.
When I enter the suite, Presley is on her laptop, her lips pursed in thought. Working, of course—both of us are always working. She looks up when she sees me, her lips curving into a grin.
I’m still not sure how I feel about what happened between us last night. I have the sense that I’m playing with fire and will most likely get burned.
But I return her smile, my lips twitching as I take her in—with her black leggings and oversize sweater and messy bun. She looks every bit the college coed she was not long ago, and I’d be lying if I said that wasn’t tempting as hell.
“How was your day, dear?” she teases.
I chuckle. “Just fine. Yours?”
“Same,” she says cheerily.
There’s a lot we need to talk about, but first I need to do something else. “Can I borrow the desk for an hour?”
“What?” She looks back at her laptop. “Oh, sure, no problem. I can use the bed.”
I repress a quip about how we used the bed last night and it most certainly didn’t involve working or checking email. Now isn’t the time. And as today wore on, last night’s events had started to . . . not sit right with me. But I don’t have time to examine my selfish actions right now.
I pull out my own laptop, open up video chat, and call home. After a few rings, the faces of Lacey, Emilia, and Francine fill my screen.
“Daddy!” my girls cry ecstatically, and the sound of their loving voices calms the uncertainties inside me almost instantly.
“They’ve just had their breakfast,” Francine informs me.
“What did you eat?” I ask.
“Poo-poo,” Lacey stage-whispers, and they both collapse, giggling.
“Come on, you guys,” I say, but my mouth twitches up despite myself. Their laughter is just too infectious to resist.
“Tell your papa what you really had,” Francine says.
Emilia fidgets with the hem of her shirt. “Waffle and juice and, um—”
“Presley!” Lacey screams.
I glance back at a very startled Presley caught halfway across the room.
“Uh . . . forgot my power cord,” she mumbles.
Now that Emilia has spotted her too, both girls are hollering her name over and over. Presley is watching me helplessly for some cue as to how to handle this explosion.
Francine fixes me with one of her patented looks. She has many looks that I’ve learned to read over the years since my girls were born, and this one ranks among the most powerful—the expression that says, What the hell are you up to, Dom?
Christ, all these women with their significant stares. I heave a sigh and relent. “Come say hi to them.”
A tender smile spreads over Presley’s face. I stand up to let her use the chair and lean over to one side, one hand on the desk, so I can still see the screen. Though I’m focused on Emilia and Lacey, I can’t shake the awareness of how close Presley and I are and how good her hair smells.
“How are you two little monkeys?” Presley asks.
“Good-how-are-you,” they chorus proudly.
Their twin bond is freakish sometimes. That whole finishing each other’s sentences is real.
Presley grins in delight. “Wow, so polite. Did your daddy teach you that?”
Emilia shakes her head as Lacey chirps, “Franny.”
Ouch. As if I needed another reminder that I’m never home to do anything with them.
Francine shoots me an apologetic look.
“I see. Nanny Franny is great, isn’t she?” Presley asks.
There’s little they love more than rhymes. The girls erupt into giggles and shouts of “Nanny Franny!” that restore the smiles to all our faces.
“Do you want to show them your picture?” Francine asks.
Emilia’s eyes go huge. “Yeah!”
Francine holds up a sheet of construction paper covered with a chaos of circles, lines, and scribbles in all colors of the rainbow.
Presley glances at me, looking lost, and I hold back a snort. It’s not her fault she hasn’t had as much practice as I have interpreting their drawings.
“What a cool dog,” I say. “And I like how big that tree is.”
Presley catches on right away. “I love dogs. Did you see all this neat stuff at the park?”
“We petted him,” Emilia replies. “Doggies say bark.”
“They lick people because they don’t know how to kiss right,” Lacey explains with a very solemn expression. “I know everything.”
Presley laughs, which gets them so excited that they start yelling over each other and it’s impossible to understand.
“You have to take turns talking,” I remind them.
They settle down only slightly, but I can’t bring myself to quash their energy further. It’s impossible not to smile while watching them chatter on, telling stories of the park that segue into the books Francine has read them before bed.
It’s astounding how attached to Presley they are, considering she spent about half an hour with them over a week ago. They clamored for her like she’s as important as their uncle Oliver.
I should be a little jealous of Presley apparently being a more interesting video chat partner than their own dad. But somehow, talking to them together with her feels . . . natural. Yet again the memory surfaces of Presley sitting at my table, entertaining my girls, like we were all a family. Like that was how things were supposed to be.
I shake away the thought.
The hour flies past, and all too soon, Francine says gently, “Time for us to go bye-bye.”
The girls look unhappy about this, but they both dutifully say, “Good-bye, Daddy. I love you.” Then they astonish everyone by adding, “Love you, Presley.”
Presley and I look at each other in surprise for a moment before she replies, “We love you too.”
“I wish I could hug you two right now.” I swallow a growing lump of emotion. “I’ll save them all up and you’ll get so, so many hugs when I’m home, okay?”
“Okay.”
“Promise!”
I end the call and step back to let Presley get up, stretching out the stiffness from standing so long bent over. She’s still wearing such a soft, sweet smile, and before I know it, I’m launching into my half-formed plan.