“Oh, I don’t know.” She dropped her voice and drew closer, determined to stomp his restraint under her six-inch heel. She’d had to borrow the shoes from Jenna, whose closet was half business maven, half sex kitten. These came from the sex kitten half. “It might be fun. Maybe you can meet me at the restaurant. Or you can meet Lola Bullocks—the mysterious, golden-haired vixen sitting all alone in the corner. She’s got secrets only the right man could pry out of her. But he’ll have to use his bare hands.”
The smile Ryan flashed her, slow and deep, pulled at her insides. “Lola Bullocks? Really? That’s the best you could do?”
What? She rather liked Lola Bullocks—though not as much as she liked Orgasm Amy.
“How about Tiffany von Hefflewaithe?” she suggested. “She’s a runaway from a bad high society marriage—nothing to her name but the diamond ring and pearl necklace she has to pawn to pay her way. Or will she have to uncover another kind of currency?”
Ryan chuckled and unwound even more, going so far as to take her by the hand and wrap an arm around her waist. His arms were no longer strong and friendly—they were strong and determined. And they felt fantastic. “Do you have a story for every name?”
“Of course.” She ran her hands over his chest, not stopping until she felt his nipples harden to pinpricks under the thin cloth of his T-shirt. “Haven’t you ever played this game before?”
“I can’t say that I have,” he murmured, a hitch in his voice. “Do I get to be someone else too?”
“Of course you do.” She slid her hands lower, not stopping until she had her palms under his shirt and was skimming the hard, hot lines of his stomach. “This is a world with no rules. Just mysterious strangers and the promise of sex. Who would you be, Ryan Lucas, if you could be anyone you want?”
He paused long enough to give the thought serious consideration. She was afraid he was going to say something to pull them out of the game and back to the real world she was so patently trying to avoid, but he disarmed her with a lopsided grin and the promise of sex sparking in his eyes. “I’d be Dirk. Dirk Hardcore.”
She pressed her face to his shoulder to keep from giving herself away—the laughter and the tears, the overwhelming sensation of loss most of all. She was going to miss hilarious sexytimes Ryan when he left. She was also going to miss flustered Ryan of the red-tipped ears and reserved Ryan who wasn’t quite sure where he fit in the world. She was going to miss every part of him.
But that didn’t change her mind one bit.
With a deep breath, she schooled her features into what she hoped was a mask of saucy disinterest and pulled away. She sauntered over to one of the metal barstools that sat propped against his kitchen island and took a seat, being careful to cross her legs slowly, the coat splitting over one naked thigh.
Although sitting naked under the trench coat in her car had felt slightly perverted, as though she was planning on stopping at the nearest street corner to frighten away schoolchildren, being in Ryan’s apartment half-dressed was a delicious sensation. Feminine and strong. Seductive. Really freaking hot.
Someday, they really would have to try this at a restaurant.
Then she remembered what she’d come here to do and shook her head, allowing her hair to cascade in its carefully fabricated curls down her back. Someday would probably never come.
Swiveling on the stool, she extended a hand. “It’s lovely to meet you, Mr. Hardcore. My name’s Candi Cumberbottom. That’s with an i.”
“How interesting,” he said coolly, his eyebrow raised as he took the seat opposite her. “You spell Cumberbottom with an i?”
Her lips quivered as she tried to keep her Candi face on. God, this man was fun.
“You tell me what brings a stranger like you to a place like this, and you can spell it any way you want to.” She uncrossed and recrossed her legs, taking her time with the middle part—the part where there was nothing standing in the way of her and Ryan but cold, delicious air. She let loose a whimper when his eyes flared, as drawn to the throbbing between her legs as she was.
“Oh, didn’t you know? I own this place.” Instead of taking a seat, he swaggered around the kitchen island and dropped a glass to the surface. Without losing stride—or character—he pulled open his fridge and extracted a pitcher of iced tea, pouring it in a long, flourishing stream before gliding it across the cheap laminate to her waiting hands. “I won it in a poker game. Staked everything I owned on a lucky pair of deuces.”
She hid her laugh behind her glass. “So I heard. Rumor has it that’s not all you won.”
“Oh, yeah?” He leaned over the counter, eyes locked on the press of her cleavage over the top of her coat. She pretended to adjust to a more comfortable position, allowing the coat to fall open enough that a hint of nipple peeked over the top. “Where’d you hear something like that?”
“Let’s just say I knew the previous owner.”
“You mean you fucked the previous owner. You were his girl, weren’t you?”
She whimpered again. The growl of possession in his voice felt almost real—almost as though he meant every gruff undertone. “So what if I was?”
“Then that means you’re the other half of the stake I won.” Fisting the collar of her coat in one hand, he yanked her over the kitchen island and planted a deep, openmouthed kiss that left her gasping, groaning, straining for more.
When he was done, he pushed her back down to her seat, and she realized one of her breasts had popped entirely out of the coat. When she made a move to adjust everything back in place, Ryan gripped her wrist and pulled it away. “Not unless I say so.”
A shiver ran through and implanted itself firmly between her legs. Ryan wasn’t just playing the game, he was running away with it. And winning.
Her lip quivered as she struggled to get back on track. What were they pretending? Oh. Right. Poker. Sex slave. “I hate to disappoint you, Mr. Hardcore, but I wasn’t his property to stake in the first place. I belong to no man.”
“That’s not true.” This time, his words were lacking bite—soft and hesitant, almost as though he meant them. “You belong to me.”
She had no glib response to that, so it was just as well that he chose that moment to pounce around the island and whisk her into his arms. Thrusting one hot arm inside her coat, he had her manacled around the waist and seated up on the bar top before she could emit so much as a whisper of protest. One hand ran long and lovingly up her leg, skimming under the material so that the pair of them became nothing but his hands and her skin, sparks of desire springing up with each movement. Her shoe was in danger of slipping right off her toes and falling to the linoleum below, but he stopped his upward movement to secure the heel back in place, his fingers lingering reverently over the delicate bones of her ankle.
It wasn’t what you’d call a Cinderella moment, but she was definitely seeing balls in her future.
He yanked the tie on her coat—the coat he’d tied in the first place—and pulled it down off her shoulders, trapping her arms in the fabric, pinning her in place with her chest thrust out and at full attention. “Those are the only things I want you wearing when I fuck you over this table.”
“Are you talking to Candi now, or are you talking to me?” She regretted the words the moment they left her mouth. They ruined the moment, took the game from fun to real—and that was the last thing she wanted right now. There would be no serious discussions of what came next or meaningful glimpses into the past or future. It would be just the two of them and some hilarious sex before she buckled down and made all his dreams come true. Like a fairy princess. Like a boss.
“I only ask because Candi-with-an-i is partial to countertop sex,” she said, covering her tracks. “Candi-with-an-i is partial to a lot of different kinds of sex, actually. She’s quite insatiable. I think she might have a sex addiction.”
Ryan wrested her out of her coat before laying her out over the cool laminate countertop. It was one of those moments when she’d have normally cracked a joke about becoming body sushi or the hygienic properties of all meals to be prepared in this kitchen from here on out, but Ryan prowled over her with such intensity that he ripped the words—at least the lighthearted, happy ones—from her mouth before she could form them. Firm hands held her legs open, forcing her to feel every movement of air and skin and lust in the heated center of her. His mouth pressed damp, insistent kisses wherever it landed, lingering on her breasts and clavicle, laving a slow, sensuous path down her belly, nipping inside her knees and thighs.
Once again, Ryan was consuming her whole. It was an incredible thing—to be so cherished by a man that one taste wasn’t enough for him, to know that he delighted in each movement of his lips over her skin as much as she did.
He kept moving downward, stopping only when he got to her ankle, where, as promised, the shoes remained the only item to grace her body. He lifted her leg slowly, his kisses soft, sending shivers of delight up and down the limb.
She gasped as he gave her ankle a firm tug, pulling her to the edge of the counter. She was spread before him, totally vulnerable, his to command.
So when he said, “Wait here and don’t you dare move,” she had no choice but to comply. She wasn’t sure her legs would work even if she wanted them to.
It seemed an eternity before he returned again, this time with his shirt off and his cock out. A brief flicker over his supremely naked body revealed that he’d put on the proper protection—and then she lost track of all sensations but him.
The mechanics of on-the-counter sex were new to her, but she got the gist of it when he climbed up to join her, settling himself over her body and leaving her to absorb the hard and uncomfortable surface. It was almost as though he wanted her to suffer—a fact reinforced when he gripped her ankle yet again and lifted her leg, testing her flexibility as the limb moved higher.
“Fuck, Amy. When do you stop giving?”
She relaxed her muscles to deepen the stretch and purred in response. She was happy to be back to Amy, happier to hear the note of desperation in his voice as he strove to break her. She was probably going to feel the pain of the stretch tomorrow, but she didn’t care as her knee approached her shoulder and his cock nudged against her now totally open, totally parted, panting, wet-hot core.
“I don’t ever stop.” Not when it’s you.
He pushed into her so slowly she thought she might scream. Her body stretched to accommodate him, and she felt every delicious inch as he went farther, drew deeper, lifted her leg up even more. Although she’d always tried to use her flexibility to her advantage during her relations with men, none had ever pushed her this far, and with so much intensity that she felt they were walking on a wire. And when he was finally all the way inside her, his body suspended over hers, he leaned in and kissed her—deep, slow, the melding of so much more than their tongues.
He moved, slowly at first, gaining speed as the physical sensations took over. Each thrust took him deeper and deeper, touching some part of her long neglected. He kept his grip on her calf firm, holding her aloft, but by that time there was no real need. She would stay open for him as long as he wanted.
It was too long and not nearly long enough.
Her body shattered around his, and she released a cry that was only partially due to the wave of pleasure that rocked through her. She felt the pulse of his own release a few seconds later, and his grip on her leg tightened enough that she was sure he’d leave bruises behind.
Not that she minded. As he lowered her leg and pulled away, it seemed nice to think that there would be some mark to look back at. Some proof that this had happened.
“That was rather...hardcore.” She sat up and swung her legs off the edge of the counter. Hopping down was a mistake, and her legs wobbled unsteadily beneath her. Luckily for her, Ryan was there waiting to hold her, his grip firm on her elbow as he helped her to the ground, a soft kiss on her neck rendering the action sweet enough to prick tears behind her eyes. “That Dirk fellow knows what he’s doing. I’d love to see what he can do with a pair of aces up his sleeve.”
“You may not get the chance.”
She sucked in a sharp breath. Was he also making plans for his departure? Had he beat her to the punch?
But he just laughed. “Next time, I think I’m going to be Fabian Hunter. A lone wolf with vengeance on his mind—and a hell of a grudge to pay.”
She cupped the side of his face, running her thumb along his lip, loving the way the gentle scratch of the five o’clock hour nuzzled his jawline. “You’re a lot of fun, you know that?”
“No one ever accused me of being fun before I met you.”
She wanted to protest, but he moved toward the bedroom, presumably to clean up. “Grab me something to wear while you’re in there, would you?” she said. “I think you ripped Candi’s coat. You can’t expect the poor woman to go out in public like that. You know how possessive Dirk gets.”
“You still haven’t given me my Metallica shirt back,” he complained as he disappeared from view. “But I’ll see what I can do.”
* * *
Ryan took his time pulling on clean clothes before grabbing a button-down for Amy. Even though the evening thus far was every sexual fantasy he’d ever had all rolled up into one, he knew, without question, that everything would change once he walked out that door and rejoined her.
They’d come too far, too fast. They’d reached the end of the road before he barely had time to get going.
And when he entered the living room, he could detect the shift in the air—could almost taste it, bitter and sweet, smelling of sex gone cold. Amy leaned one hip against the kitchen counter, her fingers coiling nervously around a lock of her hair. Her nudity now seemed almost vulnerable, so he helped her into the shirt.
She reached for the buttons.
“No. Let me.” He reached for the one in the middle, pulling the fabric tight over her breasts before slipping plastic through cloth. He took his time with each button, enjoying the soft rustle of the fabric over skin almost as much as the hasty act of disrobing in the first place. Her pulse fluttered wherever his touch landed, ripples of sensation that traveled straight through her to him. “There. Now you’re perfect.”
“I’m hardly that,” she said, a hesitant smile lifting one corner of her mouth. “But I’m not without my uses. Come. Sit with me.”
His heart dropped ominously at her words, but the smile reassured him, leaving him conflicted and adrift. “I’m assuming this is about the Montgomerys?”
She nodded and made her way over to the couch. Ryan’s stomach rumbled a warning, reminding him that he had yet to eat dinner, but also that he wasn’t fully prepared for what she had to say.
The sex had been a good distraction—a great distraction—but no amount of role-playing could forestall the inevitable. He took a seat on the opposite side of the couch, close enough to see, too far to touch. “What is it?”
She waved a hand in his direction, annoyingly vague. The buttons on her wrists hung open, so he scooted closer and began carefully rolling the sleeves up to her elbow, lingering over the soft, downy hairs of her forearm. She put her other arm out, allowing him to repeat the gesture on her other arm. It was a comforting act, one that spoke of a familiarity that surpassed anything else they’d done together.
“I haven’t been able to stop thinking about everything
you told me,” she said. “About the deal Mr. Montgomery offered you and how you might be able to get back on your feet again and what I might be able to do to help. And I’ve come up with a plan.”
“No. No more plans.” No more manipulations.
“Just listen,” she pleaded. “If what you told me is all true—”
“It is.”
“If what you told me is all true, then the only thing that’s needed to complete your quest is the final act. The showdown. The slaying of the dragon.”
Quest? Act? Dragons? “I think Dirk might have fucked the sense right out of you.”
“Oh, it’s going to take more than a Dirk to do that. I’d need a Ryan to really lose it.” Sobered, she grabbed his hand. “Please at least hear me out on this. I know you hate the idea of feeling like Mr. Montgomery controls you—and I get that, I really do. You’re not the sort of man who...you know.”
He waited. He had no fucking clue. Played well with others? Deserved anything else?
“You’re not the sort of man who does well driving under the speed limit,” she said. “The regular rules don’t apply to you. I’ve known it since the first day I got here. I took one look at you, leaning over the engine of some fancy racecar, your ass all perfect in your little mechanic jeans, and thought that man doesn’t belong here.”
“You liked my ass?”
“I’m beginning to think there’s been a severe shortage of compliments in your life. I swear, you latch on to the tiniest things.”
“Only when they come from you.”
She licked her lips as if tasting them for the first time. Maybe the flavor of him lingered there. Maybe she was holding on to him as desperately as he wanted to cling to her.
“I mean it,” she said. “I sought you out because it seemed like you needed a friend, like maybe you had yet to find your place here at the Manor. I thought I could help you feel at home. But the truth is that you don’t have a place here. Not because one doesn’t exist—because you so obviously don’t want one. And that’s not a bad thing, Ryan, I swear. I’m the last woman on earth who will push you to embrace a life you don’t want. I know what it’s like to try to live according to someone else’s expectations. It’s isolating and it’s disappointing and I wouldn’t wish it on anyone.”
If I Stay Page 24