by Unknown
Two hundred sixty-one days and counting, she thought with derision.
In response to his question, she mumbled a less-than-impressive, “None of your business.”
At this point, Ronnie didn’t even care that she was making a fool of herself in front of her sworn enemy. Kahlúa and vodka and beer, and possibly a couple of shots of whiskey, all mixed together to fog her brain and slow her synapses.
She needed some food or coffee, or at the very least a nap . . . and to be as far away from Dylan Stone as possible.
“Care to take me for a test run? I’d be willing to give you two or three big Os on the house. If you like them, you can come back for the whole shebang.”
“And if I don’t?” she retorted. “How exactly would I go about requesting a refund?”
He flipped his signal for a right turn, then in true macho-man fashion straightened his spine and clipped out, “I’ve never had any complaints.”
“Maybe you just weren’t listening. Or maybe you were asleep. That’s what most men do, right? Get off, roll over, fall asleep.”
Pulling up to the curb beside her apartment building, he cut the engine, palmed his keys, and released his seat belt. He turned slightly to face her, and she could clearly read the confidence in his expression in the glow of an overhead streetlight.
“I’m not most men.”
She stared at him for a long minute, then she raised a brow and asked innocently, “Really? Does that mean you don’t even bother getting off before you fall asleep? You just go unconscious right in the middle? Now I feel even more sorry for your dates. This also explains that whole twelve orgasms in a night assertion . . . you must have dreamed them.”
With a scowl, he climbed out of the jeep and came around to assist her. She wiped the wide grin off her face just as he yanked her door open and reached for her arm.
Gathering her purse and tote and straightening her skirt, she lowered herself to the sidewalk, pleased when she teetered for only a second. And that was due entirely to the height of her heels, she was sure.
“Why do you drive a jeep?” she asked as they headed for the front of her building.
“Because it’s too heavy to carry.”
Caught off guard by his reply, Ronnie laughed. Not just a light, amused chuckle, but a full belly laugh that ended with an unladylike snort.
Embarrassed, she covered her mouth, then lost her balance and leaned heavily into Dylan’s side. He caught her, helped her right herself, then slid an arm around her waist to keep her that way.
“You okay?”
She nodded. “Sorry.”
He led her to the elevator and pushed the button. A second later, the doors opened and they stepped inside.
As the elevator moved upward, she said, “I meant that I didn’t picture you as a jeep type of guy.”
“Really? What type of guy am I?”
She shrugged, and was pleased when the action didn’t cause her to waver a bit. “I don’t know. I guess I expected you to drive some flashy red sports car. Eye candy to draw in all those hot, vapid females.”
He met her gaze, lifting a brow. Had she noticed before what a lovely shade of blue his eyes were? Sort of a cross between a robin’s egg and a clear summer sky.
She licked her lips, swallowing hard in sudden awareness—of his handsome, masculine features . . . their close proximity . . . the growing throb deep within her sex.
“I don’t need a fancy car to attract women,” he said softly, his mouth only inches from her own. “And I’m not particularly interested in the kind of women who would be attracted to a fancy car.”
“Oh.”
The elevator came to a stop, whispering open, and Dylan started forward. She moved with him, perfectly in sync, perfectly steady.
When they reached her door, she held out the arm that balanced her purse and tote, and Dylan took the initiative to dig inside, find her keys, and let them in. The apartment was silent and dark, but not pitch black. Across the room, the blinds had been left open, making the room partially visible in the glow of the moon and lights of the city.
Ronnie stood with her back pressed flat to the closed door, her mind racing in tandem with her heart. She was about to do something certifiable. Completely out of the norm for her.
And yet it was exactly what she wanted to do most in the world at that precise moment.
“Where’s the light switch?” Dylan asked, feeling along the wall beside the doorjamb.
“Leave them off.”
He paused, dragging his attention back to her. “Ronnie . . . as much as I like where this is going, I’m not the kind of guy who takes advantage of women under the influence.”
Her vision had adjusted from the brighter light of the hallway, and she could easily make out his broad silhouette, so she knew he could see her, as well.
“I know exactly what I’m doing, Stone,” she said, her head surprisingly clear from the adrenaline coursing through her system. “I want a baker’s dozen.”
She licked her lips nervously, dropping her bags to the floor and then fisting and unfisting her hands at her sides. When in doubt, she thought, fall back on what you know, and what she knew when it came to Dylan Stone was competition.
“But if you fail to live up to your end of the bargain,” she added boldly, “I get your jeep.”
The seconds ticked by like hours while she held her breath, waiting for his response. A part of her was terrified he’d turn her down, while another part couldn’t believe she’d actually propositioned him.
But before she could change her mind, maybe fake passing out in a drunken stupor, he closed in on her. His hands came up to flatten against the door on either side of her head, his arms boxing her in.
The heat of his body surrounded her. The scent of his spicy, woodsy aftershave—or maybe it was cologne—filled her nostrils, reminding her of everything a man could be. Everything a man and woman could do together in the dark, with their clothes off.
She shivered, overwhelmed by the sensations engulfing her, and tried to close her eyes, but his gaze locked with hers and she was trapped. Mesmerized. Caught in his seductive spell. A ball of caterpillars wiggled and writhed at the base of her stomach, making her suddenly weak in the knees.
He leaned forward, his hot breath dancing across her face and raising gooseflesh everywhere else. Then he whispered one word. One single word that sealed her fate.
“Deal.”
Row 9
His mouth, when it covered hers, was soft and warm, and sent shocks of electricity past her lips, through the cords of her neck, into her shoulders, down her arms, through her torso, into her throbbing center, and down her legs to the tips of her toes.
She felt singed. Dizzy. As though she’d been out in the cold too long and her extremities were beginning to get frostbitten.
But only for a moment. A moment of stunned silence, and then her body responded, her system jumping into stark, needy overdrive. Grabbing the sides of his head, she threaded her fingers into his silky blond hair and held him steady while she deepened the kiss.
Their tongues tangled. Their bodies rubbed. She moaned deep in her throat and started moving him backward, farther into the apartment.
She felt out of control, but didn’t care. Her hands fumbled at the collar of his shirt, pulling at the buttons, sending a few flying as she yanked the material from the waistband of his jeans.
She shoved the light blue, long-sleeved shirt off over his shoulders, along with his jacket, uncaring that they caught at his elbows because his hands were equally busy lowering the zipper at the back of her skirt and driving his fingers up beneath the material of her blouse.
When the backs of his legs hit the edge of her coffee table, they stopped moving, but continued to strip each other. He shrugged out of the shirt, then let her draw the white cotton undershirt beneath up and over his head. Both got tossed somewhere off to the side, out of the way.
My God, his chest was amazing. Broad and musc
ular, smooth in places, covered with a dusting of coarse blond hair in others. She especially liked the line of curls that led from between his well-defined pectoral muscles all the way down to disappear into the waistband of his denim jeans.
The rough pads of his fingers skimmed her waist and hips as he lowered her skirt, letting it pool around her feet on the floor. Then he stroked upward, beneath the hem of her blouse, to the undersides of her breasts. His lips caressed the pulse at her throat while he reached around and unfastened the hook of her bra.
Letting her head fall back, Ronnie reveled in the pleasure of having his mouth and hands on her body. Oh, yes, this was what she wanted, what she’d missed and been clamoring for.
He spilled the blouse down her back, then followed by sliding the straps of her bra off her shoulders and arms, leaving her bare from the waist up. She should have felt awkward or self-conscious standing in her living room half naked in front of this man, but instead her nerve endings tingled with awareness and sweet anticipation.
Dylan cupped her breasts, running the sides of his thumbs back and forth across the rigid peaks. Desire streaked from where he touched her with those big, slightly callused hands all the way to her core, making her bite her bottom lip to keep from crying out.
She grappled at his fly, desperate to free him. To feel him, taste him, have him inside her.
At the same time, they stumbled around the coffee table until he tripped and fell flat on his back on the couch, with her falling right on top of him. He grinned, and she caught herself grinning back, her hand still stuffed down his pants, cupping the impressive swell of his erection.
When was the last time she’d been amused during sex? Considering she could barely remember the last time she’d had sex, not remembering the last time she’d laughed during didn’t come as much of a surprise.
Dylan widened his legs, letting her settle more comfortably between. His hands were still on her breasts, squeezing and tweaking.
“Damn, you feel good,” he muttered, lifting up enough to lick the jut of her collarbone.
She wiggled her fingers, trying to get a better grip on his arousal through the thin barrier of his underwear. The metal prongs of his zipper dug into the back of her hand, but she didn’t care.
“I want your cock in my mouth.”
“Jesus.” He jerked, and the body part in question grew even larger against her fingers. “If you’re looking for ways to make a guy come in his pants, that’s a good one.”
His voice was harsh, nearly hoarse, and she could feel the tension thrumming through his body.
“I’ll make a note,” she said. “But I’d rather you saved it until you’re inside me.”
Another shudder racked him from head to toe. “All right, that’s enough. Time for a little payback.”
He jackknifed into a sitting position, then pushed her back until she was the one lying flat on the sofa. She watched him hovering above her and couldn’t resist reaching up to feather her fingers through his hair.
Leaning in, he kissed her—not hot and desperate this time, but long, soft, and slow.
Something inside of her melted with that kiss, turned pliant right along with his lips on hers, pummeling at the barriers she’d built up around her and kept strong for so many years.
“I’ve waited too long for this,” he murmured against her mouth. “I’m not going to let you rush me or speed me through to the finish line before I’ve thoroughly enjoyed myself.”
She met his gaze, licking her lips as his words sank in. “You’ve thought about the two of us, together like this?”
He stared down at her, one side of his mouth twisted up in a cocky grin. “Oh, yeah.”
“But we hate each other.”
With a shake of his head, he said, “You know that When Harry Met Sally . . . thing, where they say men and women can’t be friends for long without sex being thrown into the mix? Well, I don’t think they can be enemies, either. I’ve been fantasizing about fucking you since the moment we met. Your ass drives me crazy.”
“My ass?”
The other side of his mouth quirked upward as he lowered his head to the curve of her neck, licking, nibbling. “You’ve got a great ass. Kind of like an apple, all juicy and begging for a big bite.” His mouth trailed down to the upper swell of her breast. “Every time I see you at The Penalty Box in one of your tight, sexy skirts, I get a hard-on and can’t move for half an hour.”
“I didn’t know that,” she said softly.
“I should hope not.” His tongue darted out to lick one puckered nipple. “I’ve gone to great efforts to make sure no one knew how horny you make me. It hasn’t been easy, either. Do you know how hard it is to come up with excuses not to get up for another round of beers or play a game of pool with your friends?”
“No.” She slipped her hand down his bare chest, into the open fly of his jeans to cradle his impressive package. “How hard was it?”
He groaned, arching his pelvis to press himself even more fully against her hand. “You tell me.”
“It feels pretty hard. Can I give you a suggestion of where to stick it?”
His groan deepened and he thrust into her hand once more before pulling away and physically moving her arm up over her head.
“You,” he said, “are a dangerous woman. But stop trying to distract me. It won’t work, and you’re only delaying your own pleasure.”
Ronnie spread her legs even wider, tilting her hips to rub suggestively along the flat plane of his abdomen.
“Then get busy, Stone. You promised me a dozen orgasms, and so far I’m still sadly orgasm-less.”
A chuckle rasped up from his diaphragm. “Is that even a word?”
“Maybe not, but it’s certainly a sad state of affairs.”
“Well, then, let’s see what we can do about that.”
He finished teasing her breasts, licking the tip of one, massaging the other. Then his mouth moved farther south. When he reached her waist, he began tugging at her panty hose and the high-cut, barely there black lace panties beneath.
As he revealed more and more intimate flesh, his mouth followed, placing hot, openmouthed kisses along her midriff, around her belly button, over the slight rise of her lower abdomen. While his lips lingered there, just above the dark curls of her mound, his fingers continued to skim the panties and panty hose down her legs and off over her feet. Her shoes fell to the floor, one at a time, with a heavy clunk, then he lifted her right leg high onto the back of the couch and pushed her left to dangle over onto the floor.
She was spread wider than she would have thought possible, open to his heavy-lidded, passion-laden gaze and erotic ministrations. And she liked it. Shivered with longing for more.
Dylan hooked his arms around her upper thighs and inched down toward the end of the sofa, just above the pink, pulsing tissue of her exposed vulva. His warm breath danced across her most intimate flesh, causing her lungs to hitch and her nails to dig into the overstuffed sofa cushions.
Mouth lowering, he licked a long, slow line along the full length of her aching sex.
“You taste like honey,” he murmured, so softly she almost didn’t hear. “All thick and sweet.”
She didn’t think his comment required a reply. And thank goodness, because she was having enough trouble just keeping her eyes from rolling back in her head.
And what he’d done so far was only the beginning. Soon he was feasting on her like a starving man. His thumbs parted her farther and he slowly pressed a single finger inside her while his tongue swirled and fluttered.
She was panting now, her hips rising and falling gently as the pressure of oncoming release began to build. Filling her even more fully with a second finger, he focused his attention on her swollen, oversensitized clitoris.
The minute he touched her there, pleasure unlike any she’d felt before gathered at her very core. She grabbed for his head, but rather than push him away, she held him closer, desperate for more.
&nb
sp; “Say my name,” he ordered, the words vibrating against her skin, adding to the sharp pressure of building release.
“Shut up and keep going, Stone,” she answered thickly, and could have sworn she felt him smile.
“My first name. Say it, or I’ll stop.”
Her inner muscles clutched at his fingers, which dug deep and hit her in just the right spot. Her throat was so tight, she could barely speak, but she managed a stuttering, “You’re a sadistic bastard.”
He continued to lick and suckle and fill her with his hand, but his movements had slowed, and she was almost desperately afraid he really would stop what he was doing when she was so close, so very close to shattering into a million pieces.
“I know,” he said. “So do it before I get really mean.”
With a groan of frustration, she surrendered. “Dylan,” she ground out. “Dylan, Dylan, Dylan.”
He caught her clit with his teeth, at the same time giving it one final stroke of his amazing, masterful, talented tongue, and she fell apart.
A million had been a gross understatement. If she counted to a billion, a trillion, a gazillion, it still wouldn’t come close.
Her fingers tangled in his hair so tightly, she wouldn’t have been surprised if she’d drawn blood. But at that point, she really didn’t care. She continued to ride his face in one long, drawn-out, explosive orgasm until every drop of blood seemed to leave her veins, every particle of air seemed to vacate her lungs, and every thought seemed to seep out of her brain.
She didn’t bother opening her eyes. Couldn’t have, even if her life had depended on it. She was, quite simply, wrung out. As limp as a rag doll left out in the rain.
She felt Dylan shifting above her, drawing himself back up the length of her body. The rough denim of his jeans brushed along her inner thighs, and it surprised her to realize that he was still partially dressed. She’d been too lost in her own pleasure—and what a paltry word that was for what he’d done to her, she thought—to even notice.
“Now I’m happy,” he whispered, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of her mouth at the same time he brushed damp tendrils of hair behind her ear. “And that’s one.”