He drove his tongue into her, blind to everything but the taste of her and the feel of her straining against him.
And then even that wasn’t enough.
Lowering her to the bed, he moved up and hooked her knees over his elbows. Mindless, he thrust deep, spearing her on his cock. She erupted around him, her pussy milking him like a fist as she started to come.
He caught her cry in his mouth, the hot, wet grip of her driving him mad.
“Son of a—”
He stiffened and shoved up onto his hands, unintentionally driving himself even deeper.
She whimpered, rolling her hips against him and that sent chills shuddering down his spine. “Ress . . .” he choked out, squeezing his eyes closed as the feel of naked, female flesh, wrapped around his cock, threatened to push him over the edge. “Stop . . . just . . .”
Her hands clutched at his torso. “What?”
“I . . .” He bit the inside of his cheek, hoping that slight pain would bring him some measure of control, but the ground under him was crumbling too fast. “I forgot the fucking rubber.”
It took seconds for the words to penetrate and then, as her body went tense, he started to pull back.
She wrapped her legs around him.
The sensation of her, slick and wet, hot and wild, sent his brain on meltdown.
“I’m on the pill,” she said against his lips. “Do we need . . .”
Shuddering, he rolled his hips against hers, felt himself falling.
Flying.
Bracing one arm around her hips, he locked her tight against him, heard her startled cry as he drove himself home—hard and deep.
Her nails sank into his shoulders and she rocked up to meet him, another female cry falling from her lips when he surged back into her.
Slick, soft, so hot—
“Trey . . .”
Blindly, he sought her mouth, caught the next moan and swallowed it down.
The control he’d been scrabbling for wasn’t even a memory now.
* * *
Ressa barely even had time to catch her breath.
It was like she’d thrown herself into a storm—willingly—and was now lost to it.
Trey’s body moved, hard and fast, driving her across the bed until she had to slam her hand against the headboard to brace herself. One arm hooked under her knee, opening her and she whimpered as it took him deeper, as each deep stroke had the head of his cock rubbing against her G-spot in a way that was almost too much. She sucked in a breath, a moan rising in her throat, but he caught her lips in a deep, drugging kiss.
Her head started to swim and she couldn’t breathe.
Shoving her free hand between them, she tore her mouth away and gasped for air.
“Trey, I—”
He twisted his hips and the orgasm slammed into her, hitting her with nuclear force. She felt herself flying into a thousand pieces, sensation wracking her, and still he thrust, rising up onto his knees, gripping her hips now as he shafted her, slower now, but just as deep.
He stiffened, just as she was starting to come down, and she whimpered when his cock jerked and he started to come. The sensation of it, his length pulsing and throbbing inside her, set her to shuddering all over again and it was so intense, her vision started to gray out on her.
Dangerous, she thought dazed as he slumped down, his head resting between her breasts.
This man really was dangerous.
Chapter Twelve
Getting by on less than two hours of sleep wasn’t as much fun as it was cracked up to be.
Trey had thought he’d be ready to get the hell out of dodge, but as the panel droned on and on, all he could think about was trying to track down Ressa and . . .
And what?
That was the kicker.
And what?
His body still burned with the memory of the past night, his shoulders and back tender from her nails. He was both more sated than he could remember feeling in years and at the same time, he was already burning, already hungry for more.
And still, the endless panel dragged on endlessly.
Baron T. Capstone droned on, loving the sound of his own voice, the sound of it like an ice pick in Trey’s ear. The pompous prick talked over everybody, including the moderator and interrupted people non-stop. Finally, Trey just started ignoring him and finished up with his comments, raising his voice to be heard when necessary, doing what he could to answer the questions directed at him.
Once, when he’d finished, Baron had given him a quelling look and asked sourly, “Are you done yet?”
“For a minute.”
The room had laughed for the first time since the panel had started and Trey stopped waiting for the moderator to handle Baron and did it himself. After that, the questions flowed a little easier and the other authors managed to get a few words in, too. And with every passing minute, Baron seemed to grit his teeth more and more.
When it ended, a publicist from his publisher cornered him.
“I need an hour of your time,” she said.
Trey thought longingly of his plan to pin down Ressa. But Sylvia gave him a beaming, hopeful smile and instead of turning tail and running, he pushed his hands into his pockets. “Why? You going to yell at me over the panel?”
“Hell, no. I’m tempted to buy you a drink.” Sylvia rolled her eyes. “Of course, I didn’t say that.”
She grinned at him and, after a minute, he smiled back. “Okay, then. What do you need?”
“Come on. You’ll see.” She hooked an arm through his and led him away.
As they were walking through the halls, a familiar laugh caught his ears and he looked up.
There she was. Ressa, on her way into a panel—
“Ah, can this wait a couple of minutes?”
Sylvia smiled. “Of course.”
He barely managed to catch Ressa before the door closed and the soft rush of dusky pink staining the warm gold of her cheeks had him wanting to find out how low the blush went. Then he just wanted her naked.
“Ah, hey. I was . . .” He blew out a breath, the nerves that hadn’t been present for most of the night now rushing up to steal his voice.
“I need to get in there,” she said, her voice soft.
“Yeah, I know. Look, I was just wondering . . . we, ah . . . well. We never got around to getting coffee,” he said.
Ressa laughed. “I think we kind of did an end run around coffee.”
“So.” He shoved his hands into his pockets. “Can I call you sometime?”
“Call . . .”
* * *
Oh, no.
Ressa swallowed back the emotions that immediately leaped to choke her. Excitement and fear—equal amounts of both. Call me? Trey wanted to call her?
“Ressa!”
Hearing her name, she glanced behind her, even as the fear started to edge out the excitement.
She swung a look back to Trey again. “Ah . . .”
In the end, though, it was the fear that won out. Fear, maybe because she couldn’t quite forget the way somebody had watched her all weekend. You look familiar . . .
No, Baron didn’t know her, but what if he had?
Trey wasn’t a mid-list writer—or even a mega writer who lived in some shack in the middle of nowhere, eschewing the media.
While he didn’t exactly chase the media spotlight, he had people in his family who were media darlings. The cameras, the press . . .
Her stomach lurched on her and, abruptly, she backed up. “I don’t know if that’s such a good idea,” she said, pasting a casual smile on her face. “We . . .”
She shrugged. “Look, we had a nice night, but that’s probably all it’s ever going to be.”
His brows dropped low over his eyes and as something passed through that surreal blue—hurt?—she turned away. “Take care of yourself, Trey.”
It was the right thing to do, she told herself. Not just for them, but for the people close to them.
But still . . . she felt like she’d just punched herself, right in the chest.
* * *
We had a nice night.
Trey couldn’t shut the voice up.
It had taken nearly thirty minutes for him and Sylvia to make their way to the room where she had hoarded boxes of books. And he had replayed in his head endlessly those two minutes—hell, it might have been less than sixty seconds—with Ressa.
“This is going to take more than an hour,” he muttered. One bed held boxes of the hardback he had coming out in a month. The cover bore his name in red, standing out on the black background, the almost ghostly image of a woman looking away, eye-catching in its simplicity.
The other bed was loaded down with boxes of another book. He moved closer, pulled one out. Like the other book, this one featured a woman on the cover. But she was nude—or that was the appearance. The lower curve of her breast, the indentation of her waist, the flair of her hip. She wore a tie, although all the viewer could see of it was the way she held it out from her body, to the side. The tie, oddly enough, had a cartoon character motif.
He ran his finger along the hot pink foil lettering of the title. Exposing the Geek Billionaire.
Aliesha had dared him to write it. For a couple of years, she’d nagged at him—all because he’d complained that he was getting tired of writing stuff that sometimes depressed even him. But he was good at it—it sold well, so he did it.
Then try something else, she’d told him.
L. Forrester had come to life all because of that dare, but this book, in particular, was because of her.
Write me a funny story, baby. Something funny and sexy.
He’d laughed and tried to tease her into bed. Let me just do something sexy instead. She’d smacked him with a copy of the book she’d been reading. The third one he’d published. She’d read it through while he wrote it and while she’d sniffled and brushed at tears as she read it, he’d had more than a few rough spots as he wrote it.
I’m serious. You’ve got a wonderful way with telling a love story, but you always kill one of them. You should write something fun . . . a billionaire, but not some suave guy . . . make him geeky or something. Then give him some classy, controlled girl, and he’s all fumbling around her . . .
He’d fumbled her out of her clothes and into bed, instead.
For two years after Aliesha’s death, he couldn’t write a damn thing—the stories he’d written before no longer worked.
Then one day, he’d lain in bed, that memory circling through his head, over and over again, like it had been on a loop.
He’d sat down at his computer and started to write, almost in a daze. Travis had been there and it was a good thing, because for the next two weeks, he’d barely existed outside that book. It had been this book, although he’d had to rewrite it five times before it felt right.
Two other books had come from L. Forrester before he felt confident enough to try this one, even though it had, technically, been the first.
“You realize everybody thinks you’re a woman, right?”
Trey smiled as he pulled one of the trade paperbacks out. Shrugging, he said, “Yeah. I don’t care.”
He started to sign, ignored the cramping that started up in his hand after the first ten minutes.
Near the end, Sylvia gave him another one and said, “If you can, personalize this one—Max asked you to.”
Trey looked up at her. “Since when does Max read romance?”
“Since never.” She rolled her eyes. “Although I’m still trying. No, he saw them when he was in here signing his and asked if I’d get a copy for a friend of his. She’s a huge fan.”
“Sure.” Trey tightened his hand on the pen. “What’s the name?”
A few seconds later, as he scrawled Ressa’s name inside the cover, he tried yet again to silence the sound of her voice.
We had a nice night . . .
* * *
“Heading out soon?”
Distracted, Ressa gave Max a quick glance as she checked to make sure she had everything. Clothes were packed, makeup . . . everything. Why did it feel like she was missing something?
Her heart tugged a little, but she ignored it.
“Yeah. I’m dropping Tori at the airport and then hitting the road. What about you?”
“I don’t fly out until the morning. Taking the night to relax.” He glanced around and then caught her elbow. “I need a minute.”
He caught Tori’s eye. “Would you mind? It won’t take but a second.”
Ressa really didn’t feel like chatting just then. Chatting, talking . . . being around people, even a friend. What she wanted to do was go track down Trey, tell him she was sorry.
And maybe, if that worked, ask him if coffee was still an option.
But she knew that was stupid.
Monumentally stupid.
“What do you need, Max? I’m kind of scattered right now so I hope it doesn’t take brain power.”
“No.” He laughed and turned over a messenger bag, stuffed with books. “Here, just a special thank you. Ah . . . you might want to keep it closed for now.”
Then he winked.
Curious now, she peeked inside and then almost dropped it as she saw the books inside. “Where did you . . .”
“Trade secret.”
Flipping through them, she felt a maniacal grin curling her lips and then, it froze. A cover caught her eye—sucking in a breath, she pulled it out and Max sighed. “Now I told you to wait, young lady.”
She ignored him, practically cradling the book for a few precious seconds before she went to flip through it. Then she stopped.
Her name was scrawled inside.
Ressa,
I heard you were a reader. I hope you enjoy.
L. Forrester
Her name jumped out at her, even as she took in the broad scrawl of the handwriting, the quick, almost careless loops and strokes.
“She’s here?” she demanded. Wow. If she could talk to her—
Max laughed and reached out to take the book, slipping it back into the bag. “Oh, don’t go getting any ideas. You’re not going to track the author down—you could hunt night and day and it won’t happen. I asked the publisher to get me a copy. I heard you were a fan.”
She processed that, and then, after tucking the book back into the messenger back, she stared at Max.
“You know her.”
Her accusing tone only elicited a grin from Max. “When you’ve been around as long as I have, you tend to know a great many people, Ressa.” He leaned in then, kissed her cheek. “You better go. Your friend is looking this way.”
She glanced back, saw Tori tap her watch.
Swearing, she hitched her bag up. “We’re not done talking about this, Max. I wanna know how you know her.”
“Same way I know you, Ressa. We bumped into each other somewhere along the way.” He nodded at her. “A pleasure, as always.”
A pleasure. She scowled and then rushed back over to Tori.
Tori was glaring at her. “We need to go.”
“I know!”
As they hit the doors, Tori asked, “What did Max want?”
Ressa thought about the book, practically burning a hole through her bag as it rested against her hip. “Just had something he wanted to give me,” she said vaguely. Then, because she didn’t want Tori to ask, she outright lied. “He was also checking up about a con he’s doing in New York, asked if maybe I’d be up there again.”
“That suspense thing? You doing that again?”
“Hell if I know.” Another lie.
“Maybe you oughta look and see if Mr. Hottie will be there.”
They had to jump back out of the way as somebody came speeding in front of them. Tori shouted after the driver, flipping him off for good measure. The interruption gave Ressa time to compose herself and by the time they crossed the street to the parking garage, the heat had faded from her face and she had a curious expression as she ey
ed Tori. “Mr. Hottie?”
“Yeah. You play all nice and innocent,” Tori said, laughing as she shifted on her seat. “But I saw how you were looking at him. And I saw how he was looking at you. I’m not blind. So, tell me . . . what, did you two jump each other’s bones?”
Ressa felt the blood rush up to stain her face and busied herself with digging her keys free. The rollaway bag she had, had felt so light earlier, and now it seemed to weight a ton.
Tori grabbed her arm, pulling her to a stop when Ressa stayed silent. “You did,” Tori said, her eyes rounding. “Oh, man, you did . . . please tell me that he’s as beautiful in bed as he is outside of it.”
Once more, heat flooded her face, while an ache settled in her chest.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, managing a somewhat lofty tone.
Tori wasn’t fooled. “Son of a bitch. You totally jumped him in the elevator.”
“I most certainly did not,” she snapped, turning her head to glare at her friend. “I in no way jumped him in the elevator.”
“Okay.” Tori waited a beat. “Did you wait until you got to your room or did he take you to his?”
To that, Ressa really had no response. Oh, she could have lied, but there was no way she’d be able to pull it off, not when the need for him was rippling through her, a need that was growing stronger and stronger—damn it, she was supposed to have gotten him out of her system.
Instead, that need was worse.
“I don’t believe this. The man spends most of his career tucked up in his cave and the one time he ventures out, you end up doing him.” Tori shook her head. “I don’t know if I’m jealous or just in awe.”
“Oh, shut up.” Ressa unlocked her trunk and shoved her bag inside. One hand braced on the trunk’s lid, she looked at Tori. “Do you want to make it to the airport or not?”
“So did you get his number?”
Can I call you?
Now that ache in her chest spread. Eyes closed, she braced her forehead on her bicep. “Tori, can we just let this go, please?”
“Hey . . .”
When Tori brushed a hand down her arm, the knot in her throat grew larger and, to her horror, she thought she just might cry. She managed to fight it back, shoving all that misery down the way she always did.
Busted (Barnes Brothers #3) Page 11