My Sinful Desire (Sinful Men Book 2)

by Lauren Blakely

  I lifted myself higher, then turned my face to the side, watching him as he reached for lube this time. He poured some into his hands then returned to my rear. He slid his fingers between my cheeks and pressed lightly against my entrance. I breathed slowly, letting the air spread through my lungs.

  He rubbed his fingertip in circles, and soon I moved in time with his finger, chasing it, circling my hips, inviting him to penetrate me. He slipped the finger past my entrance and waited, letting me adjust, then slid it all the way in. “You’re so tight,” he murmured.

  “How am I going to fit you?” I asked, a fleet of nerves briefly reappearing.

  “Lots of lube. And lots of preparation,” he said, as he continued to work his finger inside me. I squirmed as he pushed, then he added another finger, and soon I was panting, and my clit was aching, and whatever he was doing to me was turning me on. Wildly.

  “Oh God,” I said, as a spark zipped through me.

  “You like it?”

  I nodded. “I do. It’s so good,” I said, as I rocked my rear back into him. The pressure added to the pleasure. The new sensation of all those fingers inside me sent a wave of heat through my body, settling in my pussy. I rocked back onto his hand, craving being filled in both ways. Barely aware of what my body was urging me to do, I started rubbing my pelvis against the bed, desperate for attention in my sex too.

  Within seconds, he looped his free hand around my thigh, hitching my leg up, giving him access to me.

  I breathed a sigh of relief, then a long, low purr of pleasure as he stroked my hard clit with one hand, while filling my ass with fingers from the other. The double wave of sensations blasted through my core, like a tornado of lust whirling through me. Some deep and primitive part of me gave myself over to these animalistic impulses, to these basest of carnal wishes.

  I whispered his name. It sounded like pure sex on my tongue, even to my own ears.

  “I’m ready,” I murmured, then I rose on my elbows and knees, lifting my ass for him.

  Waiting.

  He let his fingers slip out of me, and moved away from me to wash his hands. I inhaled. It was going to happen. I was going to give up a part of myself to him, only him. He was the only man I could ever imagine having me like this.

  But he didn’t take me that way when he returned.

  Instead, he moved next to me, lying on his back. He tapped my leg.

  “Straddle me,” he said softly.

  “What?”

  His command didn’t compute.

  “You’re on top,” he added.

  “But,” I said. “Don’t you want it from behind?

  “Yeah, I want it that way. Next time.” He clasped his hands around my hips and guided me on top of him. “And we’ll get there. But I want it to feel amazing for you first. And it’ll be better for you if you can control it. If you can ride me. If you can set the pace.”

  I swallowed and took a deep breath, his sweet dirtiness rushing over me. I ran a hand through my hair, trying to calm my overactive heart. How could I be so turned on, so aroused, so ready to do something thoroughly forbidden, and also feel on the cusp of falling deeply?

  I had no rational answer. So I listened to my body, and I positioned myself over him. He shook his head and whispered, “Not yet.”

  I furrowed my brow.

  “I told you I’d get you there,” he said as he brought his hand between my legs, rubbing my swollen bundle of nerves once again.

  “Oh God,” I said, closing my eyes.

  “Remember the night I met you?” he asked as he stroked my clit, setting off spark after spark inside me.

  I nodded on a pant.

  “Even then, before you even knew my name, I made you come like this.” He circled my clit, sending waves of intense bliss through my body. I shuddered. “I didn’t even touch your flesh, Sophie. I made you come through your panties, and it was fucking beautiful,” he said in a husky, smoky voice that brought back all my memories of the way he’d owned my body before I knew who he was.

  “It felt so good,” I said breathily as I opened my eyes. “Just like it does now.”

  He pinned me with his gaze, holding me captive as he fingered my clit, rubbing up and down in a blur as I rocked into him, wetness spreading to my already slick folds. “Your pussy is like paradise to me. I want you to feel like you’re in heaven every time.”

  “I do, Ryan. I do.”

  “And this time, beautiful—this time you’re going to ride me,” he said softly, slowing the pace on my clit to a lingering, lazy speed, leading me step-by-step to the next event. Moving a hand to my hip, he lowered my center to his hard cock. I gasped in pleasure as he ran the head through my slickness. “Just a little natural assistance,” he said with a wink, then reached once again for the bottle of lube. “Do you want to put it on me?” he asked, handing me the bottle.

  “Yes. I love touching you. Any chance I get to touch you, I’ll take.”

  I poured some into my palm, then rubbed it over his shaft, from the head to the base and back. I set the bottle down, wiped my hands, and gazed at him. He rubbed himself across my pussy before traveling further. To my ass. He pressed the head against me, and I closed my eyes.

  I felt precarious. Wobbly. I breathed shakily.

  “Put your hands on my chest, Sophie. You need to hold on to something,” he told me, and I lowered myself slightly to anchor my hands on his pecs. “Like you’re riding me. Like you’re fucking me,” he said, as he pushed in, his finger lightly brushing my clit once again. Somehow that contact, that delicious touch on the part of my body that was designed only for pleasure was enough to take the edge off. I drew in a sharp breath as he breached me then stilled his moves. “Because you are.”

  His eyes stayed on me the whole time. His gaze guided me. His reassuring look told me this would not only be okay, but that it would be amazing. “I’ve got you,” he murmured, holding my hips and playing with my clit as I started to slide deeper onto him, the pressure sending sharp jabs through my stomach. This was all so . . . tense and bizarre. But even through all the foreign sensations, I felt the potential for ecstasy.

  He guided me down, down, down. His voice was smoky as he whispered one last command: “Fuck me, Sophie.”

  He closed his eyes and groaned.

  That sound, that primal, thrilling noise raced through me, turning all that strange stretching into something else. Into the start of a whole new world of sensations.

  “You feel so fucking good,” he said. “I’ve wanted you like this for so long. I’ve wanted all of you since I first saw you.”

  And I did—I felt fucking amazing.

  I rocked into him, letting him fill me, letting him stretch me to the limits. My skin was hot, and my heart felt feverish as I rode him, my ass gripping his cock as a tidal wave of intensity tore through me.

  He opened his eyes and blinked. “Wow. Just wow.”

  “It’s incredible,” I said, riding him as if I was fucking him . . . and I was. I was fucking my man in a whole new way. I loved that I could take him deep into a new place inside me. That I could explore the far reaches of my fantasies with him.

  “You are perfect,” he murmured, his words tripping back to the compliment he gave me after our first time together. “Every single part of you.”

  That.

  That second.

  That moment.

  That ode to all of me.

  It was enough.

  I combusted. I was a rocket, and I soared. Every nerve ending fired. Every inch of my skin sizzled. Every cell in my brain buzzed.

  “That’s why I wanted you on top. I want to touch your pussy and fuck your sweet ass at the same time,” he said, taking the reins, thrusting upward as he rubbed. “So I can look at you. All of you.”

  I gasped as he seized control. I moaned loudly as he set the pace. I cried out in ecstasy as his fingers worked their delicious magic on my wet, hot, slippery center, coaxing the edge of an orgasm out of me.
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br />   Then, sheer and unadulterated pleasure pierced my body. It washed over me like a tsunami. As I thrust harder and faster and deeper, he sent me deliriously into a new type of climax, the kind that could be felt in places only he had touched.

  He felt like the only lover I’d ever had.

  He was the only lover I wanted to have anymore.

  I shuddered, trembling in exquisite pleasure.

  “Can I come in you?” he asked in a ragged voice.

  “Yes,” I shouted. “Please, yes.”

  He followed me there. Filling me with his heat. Flooding me with his release. Coming inside me. I collapsed onto his chest, a hot, sweaty, satisfied woman.

  50

  Ryan

  I cleaned her up.

  With a warm, wet washcloth, I erased the remnants of what we’d done, tenderly taking care of her, as she deserved. After gathering the towels and placing them in her hamper, I carried her into the bathroom, then set her on her feet in the shower. She was so soft and warm, and I savored the chance to wash her hair. I soaped her up, her breasts, her belly, and her bottom. Kneeling down on the floor, I cleaned her legs, then handed her the soap and she finished.

  After a quick wash myself, I ran a tub for us. When it was full, I scooped her up and brought her into the marble bath, letting the water soothe her. I wrapped my arms around her and snuggled her close.

  “Does it hurt?”

  She shook her head. “No, but it might tomorrow.”

  I kissed her forehead.

  “But I’ll probably still want to do it again, even if I’m sore,” she said, wiggling her eyebrows.

  “That’s my woman,” I said playfully. I tugged her close. “You are my woman. You belong with me.”

  “I know,” she said, resting her face in the crook of my neck. “Do you think everyone at the event will know?”

  “That I took your ass tonight?”

  She nodded and splashed water on me.

  “As long as you walk like normal, only you and I will know I own your body. But everyone will know you’re with me. And that it’s much more than it was when you first asked me to go with you.”

  “It’s so much more for me too,” she said. Then she seemed to think of something. “Am I going to spend the night at your house tomorrow or will you come here again?”

  I pulled her closer, loving that she assumed we’d be together. I wanted to be with her. “Stay with me. But I have to leave early on Sunday morning. It’s a visiting day.”

  “Ah,” she said. “I’ll leave early too and head home, so you can get on the road.” She seemed to drift off in thought for a moment, then she asked, “Do you ever take her gifts? Can you give her gifts?”

  “Only a few things are allowed. She usually just likes company. She likes seeing me, so I go. Why do you ask?”

  She screwed up the corner of her lips as if she was deep in thought. “You said she was a seamstress, right?”

  “Yeah. She actually gave me a pattern to hold on to,” I said with a light laugh. It was absurd. But it was also very much like my mom. “It has a dog bone design on the back. At the time she went away, she had this dream to start making clothes for dogs.”

  “Do you have it?”

  “I do,” I said, dipping my head to look her in the eyes. “Why?”

  “I have an idea. Would you like me to make it for her? As a gift. You could take it to her. I mean, obviously she doesn’t have a dog in prison. But she might enjoy seeing the jacket. It might make her happy, right? Just to see it. If that was her dream to make them.”

  My heart stuttered. It stopped beating for a moment, then it thumped harder against my chest, as if it were trying to fight its way out to get closer to her.

  “You’d do that?” I asked, dumbfounded.

  “Sure. I can sew. I’m sure I’m not as great at it like she was. I couldn’t make a living from it. But I know what I’m doing. I still have a Singer machine. It’s not hard to make a doggie coat if there’s a pattern.”

  “And you’d do that for my mom? Who’s in prison? For murder?” I asked, and I was sure shock was etched on my features.

  She shifted in the water that was now cooling. Some sloshed over the side of the tub. “I don’t judge her. It’s not my place,” she said softly, her blue eyes so honest, so guileless. “She’s your mother, and the only thing that really matters to me is that without her, I wouldn’t have you in my life. And I want you in my life.”

  And then my heart managed to break free. It jumped from the steel cage I’d once kept it in and raced to the wet woman in my arms. I belonged to Sophie. I cupped her beautiful face in my hands and memorized this moment. The dark of the night. The stillness in her home. The racing of my heart.

  She’d bewitched me, and I didn’t ever want to be without the only person, besides my family, who I’d ever loved. “I’m in love with you, Sophie. I’m so in love with you.”

  She beamed. A smile broke across her face. “Oh, Ryan. I’m madly in love with you. I never stood a chance of not falling in love with you.”

  I smothered her with kisses in the tub. Then I lifted her out, dried us both off, and led her to the bed. Holding her close, I planted kisses all along her sweet skin, from belly to breasts, elbows to ears. “I’m so in love with you,” I said, over and over. It was like a dam breaking inside me, and I couldn’t hold back anymore. I’d spent so long keeping all my secrets clutched tight and locked up, and this one truth, this incomparable, all-encompassing fact of my existence now, insisted on being heard tonight.

  I couldn’t stop telling her as I held her tight. “I’m so in love with you I don’t know what to do.”

  “Just love me,” she whispered back, and a tear rolled down her cheek.

  “I do. I will,” I said, and I kissed the tear away. “Please love me too.”

  “I do, Ryan. I love you so much.”

  Then, I made love to her as midnight fell across Sin City. As I moved over her, we were the only two people in the whole wide world.

  She’d become my world.

  51

  Sophie

  Something wasn’t right.

  I’d noticed it when I traced the pattern on paper, and now I was seeing it for sure on the muslin fabric.

  I studied the cloth in front of me, trying to figure out where I’d gone wrong. The little doggie neck-to-tail measurement simply didn’t line up. Was it a shorter jacket perhaps? Mid-back? But as I peered at the printout of the pattern again, I reconfirmed that the coat was supposed to cover up the belly and back, as a coat should do.

  Bright morning sun streamed in through my living room window. It was an early morning for a notorious late sleeper, but my day was packed, especially since I needed to squeeze in this sewing project before I began my final prep for the benefit tonight. Ryan had departed at the crack of dawn to take care of his dog, and I’d dusted off my sewing machine, setting up on the table by the window, ready to tackle this gift.

  He’d emailed me a photo he’d taken of the printed pattern, and I’d grabbed some fabric I had on hand from a few years ago when I’d made a mod retro skirt.

  Grabbing a new section of fabric, I followed the measurement once again.

  Whoa. That was definitely wrong. Wrong size. Wrong shape. Wrong everything.

  Had it been that long since I had sewn? No, it was only two years ago when I’d made that skirt. This pattern didn’t seem so complex as to throw me off like this, even with a dog bone design on the back.

  Staring at the pattern again as if it would reveal its secrets, I spotted something odd in the first row of instructions, then my brain turned it around. A light switch flicked on.

  “Ah!” I said, tasting victory.

  I’d just reverse a few of these steps to make the pattern work. Easy enough. Grabbing my pencil, I jotted down the correct order of the steps.

  I blinked.

  I peered more closely at the numbers in the first row. They lined up precisely with the reverse letter
s of the alphabet.

  I counted off in my head, quickly transposing the numbers into letters, my analytical mind easily sliding into coding mode.

  James Street.

  A hotbed of crime once upon a time.

  Studying the numbers more closely, they clicked into place, sliding like puzzle pieces.

  This pattern wasn’t a dog jacket.

  The measurement was wrong because the first row spelled out a street name, then what appeared to be two addresses on James Street. My mind raced back to a few weeks ago when John had let slip a small detail from the case. Today was like a goddamn puzzle. You know the math problems you can’t solve? This had to do with addresses. Fucking addresses from years ago.

  Oh God.

  I dropped the paper as if it were on fire. I scrabbled back in my chair, standing up then backing away from it as if it could curse me.

  Could it be? Did that pattern hold the clues to what my brother was looking for in the case? Was this dog jacket pattern from Ryan’s mother something else? Something more? Something that revealed . . .

  Breathe in.

  Breathe out.

  I inhaled sharply, remembering what my brother had told me the very first day, before either of us realized my Ryan was his Ryan.

  Something that would help me find the other guys I think were involved.

  John was looking for accomplices. He’d thought Ryan was hiding something. But if this pattern unfolded into a code, as I reasoned it would, then Ryan wasn’t hiding anything at all. He couldn’t possibly know there were addresses buried inside his mother’s “prized” dog jacket pattern.

  Only a seamstress would know this pattern wasn’t a pattern. Only a man or woman who attempted to make this jacket would be able to tell it wasn’t for a dog.

  Pacing in circles in my living room, I tried to settle my galloping heart. I worked to calm my overactive brain. I didn’t want to jump to conclusions. I needed to check and double-check. That was what I’d done in school. That was always my strategy.