If I Stay

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If I Stay Page 22

by Tamara Morgan


  He continued his downward path, his lips lingering where her breasts rose from the low plunge of her tank top. His tongue had just flicked under the lip of her bra, promising more, when he stopped and looked around. “There’s not a secret video surveillance system in here or anything, is there?”

  “Not that I know of,” she murmured, and drew his head back to its more interesting task. “And to be honest, if you keep doing that to my boobs, I don’t think I care. In fact, I hope Alex enjoys the show. Wave and smile. He could probably use the fun.”

  Ryan chuckled and resumed his attentions to her cleavage. Slow and wet, his tongue made demands of her body it was all too willing to give. Weak knees, quivering loins—she was nothing but a collection of parts that didn’t know any better than to submit to this man.

  “I had no idea you were an exhibitionist, though the contents of your sex drawer should have alerted me to your devious side.” He peeked up at her, eyes glinting. “Any other kinky stuff I should know about? I like to know what it is I’m getting into.”

  “Hmm.” She pretended to think about it. She’d hardly call herself a deviant, but she was as much a fan of the occasional maid’s costume as the next girl. “I think maybe we should leave some mysteries yet to be discovered. Though I do like the idea of all these mirrors.”

  This time, when he looked up, his eyes weren’t glinting so much as opening up and claiming her. Dropping his hands and his head and his touch, he strode purposefully to the door. With a loud bang, he slammed it shut and turned the lock on the handle.

  She didn’t wait for him to return before she stripped off her shirt and sent it falling to the floor.

  “Jesus, Amy. You could kill a man with those kinds of moves.”

  “Funny—you don’t look near death,” she teased. But teasing wasn’t what he wanted. Before she had time to register it, she was once again in his arms and being pressed against the mirrored wall. Her back was sticky with sweat from her dance, and she could feel the suction as her body molded to the mirror—which would probably leave telltale sex marks behind. But she found she didn’t care quite as much as she should have, not when Ryan’s hands moved relentlessly over her body and his mouth greedily took over.

  She wasn’t a very active partner as he nipped his way back down to her chest, lingering for a while over the boobs that held them both so much at their mercy. She tried to wriggle out of her bra—free the ladies—but he stopped her by dropping to his knees in front of her. She ran her hands through his short hair and looked at him, amused. “What are you doing down there?”

  “You wanted to watch yourself in all these mirrors.” He tugged at her belt, opening the metal buckle and letting himself in. “So watch.”

  Oh, dear God. She couldn’t move her hands from his head as he jerked her shorts over her hips and down to her knees, her pink cotton panties not far behind. Without giving her a chance to protest or squeal or even breathe, he began kissing down her belly, his path sure and steady and headed right for her core.

  Since it didn’t appear that Ryan needed or wanted any of her assistance as his warm, wet kisses moved between her thighs, she took his advice and looked in the mirror. The idea of there ever having been ghosts in this room seemed ridiculous when she caught sight of the pair of them. They were hot and human and so very, very real. She, a whimpering body held firmly in place by the hands and tongue of a man who wanted to drive her to madness; he, the living, breathing embodiment of every female fantasy the relevant fifty-one percent of the population had ever known.

  She moaned and opened her legs further as he found her wet center. He thrust his tongue against her clit hard enough to wrest a cry from her mouth.

  Ryan was not a man who moved in half measures—that was something she’d known from the start. Whether driving his car through a ring of fire or playing with children out in an open field or, God forbid, drinking the pain away, he gave one hundred percent of himself to the task at hand.

  Normally, that kind of single-minded intensity scared her. She’d never felt that passionate about anything—not work, not play, not even the two kids she’d sworn to devote the next few years of her life to. But when that intensity was directed right at her, as if she was the center of his world, she felt there was nothing better on earth. He buried his face more firmly in her mons, and she gave in to the idea that for right now, there really was nothing better on earth. She was pressed against a mirrored wall, a man suckling at her clit, eating her out as if he’d never tasted anything so delicious.

  Yeah. She’d have a hard time topping this moment.

  She gripped his hair so tightly he let loose a growl, which rumbled against her in a way that made her legs go numb. Fortunately for them both, his grip was firm enough to keep her standing.

  But not for long. She gave herself over to the swirl of sensations that held her transfixed, caught her own gaze in the reflection across the studio and watched—for the very first time—what she looked like as an orgasm rocked through her body.

  It was a beautiful thing, a strange thing, an almost otherworldly thing, and she barely recognized the woman flush with desire and pressing herself into Ryan’s face with so much ferocity she was probably suffocating the poor man. The woman in the mirror was so many things she wasn’t. She was Orgasm Amy, strengthened by desire and adrenaline and the heady scent of sex that surrounded her.

  Orgasm Amy wasn’t afraid to take what she wanted. Orgasm Amy would walk up to Mr. Montgomery’s office and demand answers. Orgasm Amy would tell Ryan that even though she could never compete with a car moving a hundred and twenty miles an hour, she’d sure as hell like to try.

  But Orgasm Amy was a fleeting vision. All too soon, the sensations of pleasure ebbed away, taking her power with them. And Ryan rose from his position on the floor, leaving her standing on her own two feet—wobbly ones, she might add—and standing mostly naked in front of the ghosts again.

  She caught sight of his satisfied grin and refused to give in to the pull of the macabre. While Ryan was content to remain with her, she’d be happy. Even if it killed her. “I changed my mind. I really hope no one was watching that.”

  His smile dimmed. “Was it that bad?”

  She laughed softly and lifted a hand to trace his lips. Unable to stop herself, she leaned in and kissed him, deep and lingering, enjoying the musky taste that only the two of them combined could make. A magic potion. Their magic potion.

  “It was that good,” she corrected him. “And I don’t think I want anyone else to know about this place. If the women of the world had any idea how hot it is to watch a man go down on them in a room of mirrors, there’d be a line out this door all the way to Hartford.”

  She snaked a hand between them, running over the soft folds of his worn T-shirt, not stopping until she hit the line where clothes met skin. Although he normally wore jeans a little loose in the hips, she could feel the tight strain of the fabric over an erection built and sustained as he feasted on her body.

  God, the very idea that he’d been as turned on by that as she was had her body throbbing again, aching for more.

  He stilled her hand. “You don’t have to.”

  Maybe not, but she wanted to. She’d never been one of those women who drooled over the idea of sucking down a well-formed cock—found many aspects of a blow job too unpleasant to make the task a regular occurrence. She could never quite figure out how she was supposed to breathe while there was a fully erect penis in her mouth.

  But there was something about this man and this room that rendered pesky details like oxygen nonexistent. She wanted nothing more than to drop to her knees and taste him. She wanted to show him that even though she might not admit her shortcomings to just anyone, she trusted him. She was willing to try for him.

  “There are four floor-to-ceiling mirrors surrounding you, Ryan.” She tugged on his be
lt. “And nothing to impede the view. Are you absolutely sure about that?”

  She could hear his gulp from inches away. “Carry on.”

  With a laugh, she skimmed her hands down either side of his legs, hooking her fingers in his pants pockets to aid in the act of disrobing. By the time she hit her knees, he was hard and out and ready for her. A surge of apprehension rose anew now that she was eye to eye with his erection. It was bigger than she remembered. Thicker. And awfully long.

  “I feel I should warn you,” she said, and licked her lips. She wrapped both hands around the base of his cock to hold it in place. “I’m not very good at this.”

  He groaned as she gave a liberal squeeze. “You’re doing a pretty bang-up job so far.”

  She laughed and squeezed harder. Hand jobs she could do. Hand jobs were just friction. “I’m serious. You’re like some kind of cunnilingus god, and I don’t even know where to start with this thing. I might need you to walk me through it.”

  “You want me to walk you through a blow job?”

  Sensing now would be a good time to demonstrate her lack of skills, she ran her tongue along the underside portion of his cock, slow and steady, almost like she was licking a lollipop. An engorged, twitching beast of a lollipop.

  Sounds that could have been pleasure—or frustration—arose from somewhere deep in his chest. “You really want pointers?”

  Well, not if he was going to call them pointers. That made it sound like a basketball game. She rocked back on her heels and peeked up at him. “I want you to tell me what you like. Exactly what you like, and in explicit detail. I’ll do my best to accommodate you.”

  Ryan wasn’t sure if Amy was being serious or toying with him, but something about the uncertainty that drew her brow tight sent him reeling. As he struggled to get his bearing, he caught glimpses of her from every angle. Down to nothing but her underwear, breasts pushing up from the tightly packed bra, her ass high and rounded, the taste of her still on his lips—yeah, he was pretty much ready to come the moment she said so.

  “Oh, and I have a really sensitive gag reflex,” she said, frowning. “As in, hair-trigger sensitive. In case that makes you want to change your mind.”

  Did this woman seriously think that a gag reflex was going to alter the way he felt about her? That he might turn her away for not stuffing his cock in her mouth at the word go? Jesus. All she had to do was smile, and the world lay slain at her feet—a truth she had absolutely no fucking idea was set in stone.

  He wished he could find the words to show her that her value wasn’t hinged on being the perfect daughter or employee or giver of head, but words seemed to fail him when she brought her tongue once again to the length of his erection.

  There was time for talking later. For now...

  He groaned. “When you lick my cock nice and slow that way, I feel like I’m going to jump out of my skin.”

  She slowed down even more. “Is that good?”

  “It’s good, but there’s only so much of that a man can take. Don’t be afraid to attack with everything you’ve got. Lips. Tongue. Teeth. You aren’t going to break me.”

  “You want me to use my teeth?”

  “Okay, maybe not teeth. At least not—” The scrape of her incisors, gentle but firm, almost catapulted him from the spot. “Oh, God. Yes. Exactly like that.”

  She planted herself more firmly between his legs, and he could feel her smile spread against the underside of his cock. Looking down, looking around, everywhere he turned, there she was. Kneeling before him, head bowed. Intent. Sweet. His.

  “Okay,” she said coyly. “What else do you want? I told you to be explicit.”

  She wanted explicit? He wasn’t sure he could. Too many of his senses were already engaged—locked and loaded—as it was.

  “Fuck. You have no idea, do you? You could just sit there and breathe on me, and I’d never ask for anything more.”

  Her eyes lit with laughter and something more—something he wanted to explore, but wasn’t sure he’d have time to. She began kneading his testicles as her tongue continued its eager assault.

  He gave himself over to her ministrations. He’d meant what he said—that he could stand there for hours, his cock in her hands, her tongue swirling around until all touch lost meaning except for the tight, hot buildup in his balls that made him want to scream. But that floor was hard, and sleep would eventually overtake them both.

  “Take the tip into your mouth,” he growled. At her startled look, he moderated his tone to that of a normal human being. “Don’t worry—you don’t have to go any further than you’re comfortable with, and you can use your hands to make up the difference. Everything about this feels amazing.”

  Taking him at his word, she wrapped her mouth around the head of his cock and clenched his shaft between her fists. Her saliva made the friction smooth and easy, and the heat of her open mouth seared him.

  She was fire and ice, sweet and hot. She was everything.

  Unable to keep his hands off her for another second, he tangled them gently in her hair and let her direct their movements. Even shallow and tentative, the feel of her mouth sliding over his cock was more than enough to satisfy him. And when he caught sight of the pair of them in the mirror, dozens of their reflections, all of them sucking and fucking, he pulled sharply away.

  Hoisting the weight of his dick in his own hands, he pumped long and hard. Amy watched, mouth parted in a perfectly rounded O as his body clenched and his orgasm came to a roaring head, spilling hot and sticky over his hand.

  He barely had time to enjoy the last ebb of release when he felt Amy draw near, a gym towel in hand. He tried to take it from her, but she smiled softly and said, “Let me.”

  As if cleaning him off was the most precious act in the world. As if the spent remains of their passion was a gift. The more time he devoted to Amy, the more her rose-tinted version of the world seemed to take over.

  “You were wrong about not being good at blow jobs.” He pulled her in for a kiss, cementing the moment, refusing to let it slip entirely away. “That was amazing.”

  “Yeah, it was.” She smiled mischievously. “But I was totally right about the mirrors, wasn’t I?”

  Ryan tipped back his head and laughed, feeling good about himself for the first time in what felt like years. Yes. She was absolutely fucking right about that.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Ryan almost didn’t hear the garage phone over the twin roaring sounds of Whitesnake and his pneumatic impact wrench. In all the time he’d worked at Montgomery Manor, he could count on one finger the number of times that phone had rung. And it had been a wrong number.

  He took his time getting to his feet and wiping off his hands, assuming the ringing would eventually stop on its own. It didn’t. He tucked the phone under one ear and leaned across the table to turn down the volume on the radio. “Hello?”

  “Psst.”

  He shook the handset, wondering if the connection was bad. The black plastic phone had to have been in here since the eighties. “Hello?”

  “Psst.” More enunciated this time—though still spoken in hushed undertones “You have ten minutes to meet me upstairs. Bring coffee or you won’t get past the nursery door. You wouldn’t believe what time the twins got up this morning.”

  “Amy? How did you get this number?”

  “Nine minutes and forty-five seconds. Seriously, Ryan—this is an unprecedented aligning of the stars. They’re both asleep at the same time. For the love of all that is sacred, bring me coffee and your adorable face. Stat.”

  He checked the clock on the far wall. As usual, he’d gotten most of his required work done well before noon. Mr. Montgomery was out of town for a few days with Serena at his heels—as she often was when Paris was on the itinerary—which left him with very little to do.
Especially since Amy had been on night duty for the past forty-eight hours. It was amazing and slightly pathetic how quickly she’d become the center of his world. In the absence of alternate plans the night before, he and Beauregard had spent a quiet evening at the park, chasing squirrels and wondering what to do about the mess that life at the Manor had become.

  Before Amy came into his life, his biggest problem had been boredom, the endless waiting for life to start happening to him again. Now, he was dealing with secrets and lies and great sex and clandestine deals and the overwhelming feeling that he was drowning under them all.

  “Coffee. Nursery. Check.”

  “Bless your heart. And when you get here, be sure to tiptoe. If you wake these two up, I swear to all that is good and holy I’ll walk out the door and leave them to your care.”

  Fierce words, but not ones that had the power to scare him. “The twins I can handle.” It’s you I’m not so sure about.

  He hung up and made his way to the kitchen, where Holly had two stainless steel mugs of coffee primed and ready to go.

  “She called me too,” she said when she saw the surprise on his face. “Hers is the one on the right. Vanilla and cinnamon, no cream. I wasn’t sure what you took in yours, so...”

  “I usually take it black, but whatever you have in there is fine.”

  “That’s what I figured.” She flashed a warm smile and tilted her head. Her dark brown hair, pulled into its customary thick braid, was coiled around her head. “And I’m happy to have my suspicions confirmed. I know the dietary habits and restrictions of just about everyone who lives and works and occasionally visits here, but you’ve managed to elude me thus far. I’ll have you pegged soon. Coffee black. Quinoa upon pain of death. I’m guessing you’re a strictly pepperoni and sausage man when it comes to your pizza.”

  “I think I’m being unjustly accused here. I thought your quinoa was delicious.”

  “Except I saw your face when you tasted it.” She laughed and pressed the cups into his waiting hands. “No worries—it’s not for everyone. I’m just glad you’re finally spending more time with the staff. We’re not such a bad lot once you get to know us.”

 

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