Sinful Desire

by Lauren Blakely

  He laughed. “Something like that,” he said, taking a sip of his pale ale and setting it down on the table. He removed his tux jacket and his tie, and tossed them on a chair in the corner of the room.

  “Wait. You’re already taking off your clothes?”

  “Consider it my handicap,” he said, then racked the balls.

  He explained the basics to her, and she quickly processed them, since rules and games made fast sense to her. Her challenge lay in the execution. Sophie Winston wasn’t known for her coordination.

  Still, she was determined, so she pulled back the stick, stared at the ball, aimed squarely, and missed it by a mile. She laughed and brought her free hand to her mouth. “Oops.”

  Then she removed an earring, tossing it on his pile on the chair.

  “Want me to show you how it’s done?”

  “I do,” she said, and he moved to her side of the table, behind her, then pressed his hand on top of hers, his chest along her back. As he positioned the cue just so, she felt him grow harder. She wriggled her rear as he shot the ball.

  And missed, too.

  “Hey. Take off your shirt,” she said playfully.

  “That wasn’t my shot! I was helping you set up.”

  “Fine. Help me again,” she said in a flirty tone, and he lined himself behind her once more. She couldn’t resist. Screw pool. She dropped the stick, shoved all the balls randomly around the table, then turned around in his arms, and laced her hands around his neck. She moved her lips to his ears. “You win. Strip me.”

  He wasted no time, unzipping her dress in a flurry and leaving it a silky puddle on the floor. She backed up to the table and perched on it, handing him the stick. “Show me where you’d touch me to land the shot.”

  He gripped the back of her head, and whispered roughly in her ear. “Everywhere. Every-fucking-where on your perfect body,” he said, then stepped back to survey her, roaming his eyes up and down.

  She wore only stockings, purple sheer panties, and a demi-cup bra that did lip-smacking things to her breasts, judging from how he stared. Cocking his head, he flipped the stick in his hand then lowered the wider end of the cue to her shoulder, touching her bare skin ever so slightly. “I’ll start here,” he said, then ran it along her arm, tracing a gentle path to her wrist. “Then kiss your wrist.”

  “Like you did the night you met me,” she said, her skin heating up as he bent his head to her hand and placed a soft, sweet kiss that both sent her back in time and rooted her right here, right now.

  “Then, I’d pay a visit to those lovely legs of yours,” he said, and brushed the end of the cue from her knees to her ankles and back up the other leg. When he reached the top of her thigh, he gently nudged her legs apart, inch by inch.

  Scooting back on the table, she rested on her elbows, giving him a view of her bra, panties, stockings and shoes.

  “Your belly,” he murmured as the cue strayed along her stomach, then up to one of his favorite parts of her. “Those delicious breasts,” he said, licking his lips as he stroked a line through her cleavage then darted back down to her waist, tracing along the waistband of her panties. She murmured, and even though being touched by a pool cue was not the same as this man’s touch, she still grew hotter.

  Then she burned when he brought the cue to the side of her ass, and whacked her lightly with it. She gasped and moaned, loving the way he knew precisely when to spank her and make her want him even more. “There, too,” he said, then bent his head to kiss her rear.

  Loving, too, that he knew when to kiss the spot he’d marked.

  When he raised his face, he brought his mouth to her ear. “Spread your legs wide for me.”

  Heat raced through her. She let her knees fall open, savoring the reaction in his eyes when he stared at the scrap of La Perla fabric that barely covered her. “And what about here?” she asked curiously, running her hand between her legs.

  “I’d play you there so good,” he said, his eyes shining with desire. He followed her with the pool cue, lightly touching her heat, her swollen clit. She arched up, angling for more contact, and he began stroking her with the pool cue. “You like that, beautiful?” he asked, his eyes blazing at her as she rocked into him.

  “I’ve told you, Ryan. I love everything you do to me.”

  “I’m not even the one doing it.”

  “You are,” she said as she unclipped her hair. “You are doing it to me. Only you can touch me like this. Only you can do this to me.”

  He stroked faster, rubbing her expertly through her purple panties with the pool cue. Her blond curls spilled behind her on the table, and she let her head fall back as he masturbated her with a pool stick. Like a wooden sex toy that he controlled, it set her on fire. Closing her eyes, she caught a perfect rhythm, like a surfer does a wave, and she rode it, rocking her hot center into the wide end of the pool cue, seeking friction with the wood, until her vision turned black and hazy, and she dug her nails into the green felt, coming in her lingerie on his pool table.

  She moaned happily, and opened her eyes to find him stripping. He’d set the pool cue down on the table.

  “I think I’m in love with the game of pool now,” she said softly, running a hand along the wood he’d used to get her off.

  His eyes blazed darkly. “I’m not done with that,” he said, and her gaze followed him, as he grabbed her hands, lifted them over her head, then pressed the cue into her palms. “Hold it in place. Restrain yourself.”

  Sparks sizzled across her skin at his command. She gripped the cue hard over her head, as he tugged off her panties in seconds, leaving her stockings, shoes and bra untouched. Pulling her hips to the edge of the table, he lined her up with his hard cock.

  “I have never wanted to fuck you so much,” he said in a growl.

  “Take me, wreck me. You can’t ruin me. You can control me all you want. You won’t break me. I’ll still be here,” she said, knowing it was what he needed, and what she wanted, too.

  * * *

  He slid into her without mercy.

  She moaned the second his cock made contact with her heat.

  Then he took over for her hands. He gripped the pool cue and clasped his fingers through hers, pinning her with the wood and his weight.

  With her restrained like that, flat on her back on his pool table, he fucked her harder and rougher than he ever had before. He didn’t hold back as he held her captive. He slammed into her hot pussy over and over, his beautiful woman writhing and moaning, panting and screaming, and completely and utterly giving herself to him.

  Arching up. Meeting him. Inviting him deeper.

  His body jolted with each thrust, his heart pumping hard and wild, and this—this pleasure, this harsh fucking wasn’t just control for him. It was a relinquishment, too. He might be restraining her, but in doing so he’d revealed his hand. He’d shown her his cards. They were all for her, every single one turned up Sophie.

  “It’s you,” he groaned, and she locked eyes with him, her gaze holding him tight, sending him to another plane of pleasure—one ruled by more than the physical. By the intensity of how he felt for her. By all the love that he saw in her eyes. “It’s all you. I fucking love you so much,” he said as he took her.

  “It’s the same for me, Ryan.” Her breathing turned ragged, and her words drove him on. The tension in him rose higher in a fury of passion and love, in a storm of mind-blowing pleasure that spiked in him. Because of how he felt for her, heart, soul, mind and body. He didn’t look away. He simply couldn’t. His eyes were fixed on her the whole time as he took her deeper. Her moans and groans and cries were the sexiest song he’d ever heard, the scent of her skin and the smell of her lust were intoxicating, and the hot, tight grip of her body sent him into a red-hot, fevered frenzy.

  He’d never been more turned on, he’d never been harder, and he’d never wanted to come so intensely.

  But there was so much more at play than pure desire.

  He’d never
loved someone like this. He needed more closeness. More connection. No barriers. Nothing but skin and hands and limbs tangled together.

  He let go of the stick, then uncurled her fingers from the cue and yanked it away, letting the wood clatter loudly to the floor. “Just you and me,” he said. “Just you and me.”

  Instantly, she raised up and flung her arms around him, clutching his back, digging her nails in, and God, fuck, hell, it was unearthly; it was heaven on earth. His arms snaked around her, and he gripped her, pulling her, yanking her, bringing her as close as she could be. On the edge of the pool table their bodies coiled together like flames, consuming each other with wildfire.

  He breathed her name, over and over, like a fucking mantra—the woman he adored.

  She cried out, shuddering beneath him as she hit the edge, her glorious sounds the key in the ignition that set him off.

  The tension inside of him snapped, and he came hard.

  They collapsed in a landslide of pants and moans, of groans and grunts.

  And also, something else.

  Something that felt like peace in her arms, as he gave himself up to whatever this was with Sophie, because it felt as if it had the potential to be the rest of his life.

  “Sophie,” he murmured in her ear, as she sighed happily and ran her fingers down his sweat-streaked back. “The way I feel for you is beyond control. And I don’t want that to change.”

  Everything else was shifting. Everything else was cracking. She was his one constant.

  * * *

  She didn’t wake up as he went for a run with his dog. Nor as he showered. And not as he brewed a pot of coffee. She didn’t wake up, either, when Johnny Cash barked happily as Ryan let him take a quick post-run dip in the pool. And she barely rustled as he leaned over her, brushing a soft curl from her sweet, sleepy face to kiss her goodbye.

  She murmured something then shifted and yawned.

  “Hey, beautiful. I need to go,” he said, and kissed her cheek.

  She stretched her arms over her head. “I better get out of here then, since you’re leaving.”

  He shook his head. “It’s okay. Stay. Sleep. You like your morning sleep.”

  She smiled and her eyes floated closed again. “I do like my sleep. I need to finish packing for Germany though.”

  “Is that today?”

  “Tomorrow morning,” she said, snuggling under the covers.

  He patted the bed, and his dog jumped up. “Johnny Cash, you keep Sophie company ’til she wakes up and is ready to leave. Tell her to let you out in the yard once before she heads home.”

  The dog panted his agreement, and Sophie laughed.

  “Call me when you’re ready to go. I’ll send a car or driver or Uber or chariot or horse.”

  “A horse please. A white one with a braided mane,” she said then fell back asleep.

  He left a note by the door with his extra key, got behind the wheel of his truck, and prepared for a five-hour drive that he hoped to God would get him the answers that had eluded him for eighteen years.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  He was too cute to resist.

  The way he wagged his tail, and dazzled her with his puppy-dog eyes melted Sophie.

  “Fine, you win,” she cooed, kneeling to scratch Johnny Cash’s soft white chin. He lifted his snout for her, letting her rub him. When she rose, she reached for his leash from a hook by the front door.

  She spun around, hunting for a key and found a note by the door. “Aha,” she said, like a treasure hunter who’d found the X marking the spot. She unfolded the sheet of white, lined paper. Inside it was a key and a short letter. It was her first real note from Ryan.

  By now, Johnny Cash is probably trying to convince you to take him for a walk. He’s a bit of a junkie, I must confess. He will pretty much do anything to run those little legs. I have a hunch he might be training for an Irondog triathlon somehow.

  Please don’t feel that you have to give in, even if he bats those big brown eyes. He is a well-trained boy, and he will be fine inside the house during the day. Just take the key, and lock the door behind you.

  Oh, I suppose this would be a good time to let you know that you can have the key. I have nothing to hide from you, and my house is your house. If you feel like going for a swim, the fence is high enough that the neighbors won’t see you if you swim naked. If you do that, it would be great if you could send me a photo, as I think a shot of you in my favorite outfit would do wonders for me.

  Also, I want to see you before you leave, but I don’t know when I’ll be back. I promise to call when I’m done, and then I’ll come see you, no matter how late it is. Because I can’t stay away from you, Sophie. I swear, I can’t.

  I’ll be thinking of you. I’m always thinking of you.

  Always…

  Sophie grinned wildly as her heart beat like a hummingbird’s wings. She tucked the note inside her clutch purse from last night. Smoothing a hand over the pink cotton of her sundress, she was grateful that she’d left this outfit behind last weekend, because it was far easier to walk a dog in this little number than in her violet evening dress. She had no change of shoes though, so she’d be walking him in her Louboutins.

  She shrugged happily. So be it.

  She lowered her shades over her eyes, opened the door, then locked up behind her. Johnny Cash trotted happily by her side for the next twenty minutes as she click-clacked around Ryan’s neighborhood, soaking in the wide lawns, the gorgeous houses, and the palm trees that were ever present in their desert town. Her skin heated up from the hot morning rays, and her shoulders started to bake. The dog panted heavily, his tongue lolling out of his mouth. When she returned to Ryan’s block she spotted a young man walking up the steps to his house. The guy was wearing jeans and a red T-shirt. He knocked on Ryan’s door, then shifted back and forth on his feet.

  He glanced around, scanning the porch, tapping his feet as he waited.

  Odd. She tugged the dog closer to her.

  As she neared the house, the guy was fidgeting, his right hand rubbing up and down his left arm, which was covered in tattoos. He sighed, seemingly in frustration, then muttered something under his breath. His jaw was unshaven.

  She narrowed her eyes.

  Was he a neighbor? He looked too young to own a home. A deliveryman? He didn’t have a box or package with him. The pool guy? No supplies in his hand.

  He turned and walked down the porch steps, heading to the sidewalk.

  She flashed back to last night, to those names, to the details her brother had shared. Gangs, brokers, getaway drivers. Her pulse jumped. Was he one of those guys?

  Oh God. Her skin prickled with fear.

  Wait.

  Her logical brain took over, and she talked herself down. The people John was looking for were older—much older than this guy who barely seemed old enough to drink.

  Still…

  His eyes were on his car, and Sophie followed his gaze to a tan Buick parked in front of Ryan’s home.

  Recognition kicked in. She remembered who he was. She’d seen him at the community center. Her friend Elle had given his buddy a hard time when he’d catcalled Sophie a few weeks ago while shooting hoops with this guy.

  She breathed more easily now.

  Sophie reached the walkway to Ryan’s house at the same moment the young man arrived at the sidewalk. His T-shirt had a basketball team logo on it. She straightened her spine as a flurry of nerves skated over her skin. She was grateful to have the dog by her side. The collie’s ears pricked up, and he went on canine alert.

  But Sophie didn’t entirely feel that she needed protection.

  Something about his brown eyes seemed almost…hopeful. He kept running his palm up and down his arm. A nervous gesture, perhaps?

  He stopped short when he saw her. Classic deer in the headlights.

  “Good morning. Were you looking for someone?” she asked, opting for directness.

  “I’m looking for Ryan Sloan.
Is he here?”

  “You just knocked on his door,” she said, pointing to the house. “It seems he’s not in. But would you like me to pass on a message to him?”

  He shook his head. “No. I’ll stop by another time.”

  He turned toward his car, gripping the handle.

  “Wait. I’ve seen you at the community center. Playing basketball,” she said, trying to figure out who he was. “Why are you looking for Ryan?”

  “I need to talk to him.” He opened the door and got into his Buick.

  “What’s your name?”

  But he didn’t give her his name. He yanked the door shut and took off.

  Sophie and Johnny Cash waited until his car disappeared around the corner. Her heartbeat slowed down, and she patted the dog on the head, glad she’d had a companion. She had no idea what to make of that young man. Why on earth would he need to talk to Ryan? Then it hit her. He might not be T.J. Nelson or Kenny Nelson, but could he be related to one of those men? A son perhaps?

  A chill shimmied through her.

  When Ryan returned from Hawthorne, she’d tell him he had an unnamed visitor. For now, he had more important matters on his mind. Once inside his home, she locked the door, then checked again to confirm it was closed, then checked once more. She peered out the living room window, making sure the guy hadn’t circled by again. The street was quiet. She called a cab and headed home.

  Today was not the best day to go skinny-dipping.

  * * *

  Surprise her.

  That was his strategy. It was a tactic he’d relied on in the military from time to time, and his mother needed to be treated like the enemy today with a sneak attack.

  She was always most vulnerable when she didn’t expect something. As he turned into the parking lot in Hawthorne, showing his ID at the gate, his stomach churned. He hated manipulating her like this, but he’d spent the drive fortifying himself, talking back to his fears, and kicking them aside.

  Today he was on a mission, and his one and only goal was finding the facts.

  Once inside the visiting room, after a hug and a hello, he launched into one of her favorite topics. “Did you hear Anthony Geary retired from GH?”