One Hot December (Mills & Boon Blaze) (Men at Work, Book 3)

by Tiffany Reisz

  “You’re going to come for me, aren’t you?” he asked into her ear again.

  “Yes,” she said, hissing the word between clenched teeth. Her lower back was so tight with delicious tension it ached.

  “Spread your legs a little more. More...perfect,” he said as she shifted her feet apart until her stance met with his approval.

  He pulled his wet finger out of her and used it to rub her clitoris again. She was already swollen, already aching, already ready. Her breasts felt full and heavy from his attention and her skin wore a hot flush of red. Ian’s lips caressed the back of her neck and she relished the feel of his hot breath on her flesh.

  “You have any idea how hard you make me?” he asked into her ear. “You have any idea how hard it was to see you every day at work and know I couldn’t have you?”

  “Probably as hard for you as it was for me.”

  “So you had to jack off in the shower when you got home from work, too?”

  “You think guys are the only people who masturbate?”

  “You got off thinking about me?”

  “Ian... I call my vibrator ‘The Boss.’”

  “Don’t take this the wrong way, Flash, but...I’m so fucking happy you quit your job.”

  When she started to laugh he pushed two fingers into her again and her laugh died in her throat and was reborn a moan.

  With both Ian’s hands between her legs, penetrating her and stroking her at the same time, it was a miracle she could still stand. She put both hands on the wall to hold herself upright as he worked her clitoris and fucked her with his fingers. Her body felt so open, so wet and tender and alive. He made her feel alive like no man she’d been with before. Past lovers had played at being boss, but Ian really was the boss. He had real power in this world, real authority, and something in her responded to that like she was born to be his. Her upbringing had been chaotic, always running, always moving. But Ian was so steady, so strong, so manly and solid, she wanted to put herself entirely in his hands—her body, her trust, her heart. But especially her body.

  Ian slipped a third finger inside of her and her pussy contracted around his probing hand. He chuckled and she wanted to step on his foot for laughing at her.

  “I love playing with your body,” he said. “You’re my favorite toy. And my favorite toy needs to come. Doesn’t she?”

  “She does...” Flash breathed.

  “Come for me, then,” he said, still rubbing and stroking her. The fingers inside her moved in a circle, hitting every nerve ending, sending spikes of pleasure shooting through her stomach to her hard tight nipples.

  “Anything you say, boss.”

  She pushed her hips forward and against his hand. She pushed again and Ian curled his fingers inside her to make her moan again. He fucked her faster now with his fingers, rubbed her harder while her hips pumped with a desperate rhythm. Ian whispered dirty words of encouragement while he pushed her closer to that delicious edge. Her stomach knotted up and her fingers on the wall curled into fists. When she couldn’t take it anymore, it finally happened. She cried out as her pleasure peaked. She felt a shattering inside her as the tension released all at once. Her inner muscles fluttered wildly around Ian’s fingers, muscles pulsed against his touch. It was pure ecstasy and all Ian’s doing.

  When her orgasm finally faded, Flash hung limp and spent in Ian’s arms while he kissed and bit her neck and shoulders.

  “Stay,” he ordered, and she had neither the will nor the energy to disobey. She pressed her palms against the wall again to stay vertical as Ian undressed behind her and put on a condom. With one thrust he entered her from behind, splitting her open and driving into the core of her. He pumped his cock into her hard and fast, harder and faster than he ever had before. It was rough and wild, hungry and desperate. She loved it. She loved it as much as she loved him, and the only thing she hated was that she was too scared to tell him that. He made her feel too much. Her love was equal to her fear so she stayed silent as he fucked her, silent as he fondled her, silent as he came in her.

  They stood by the wall, their bodies still joined as Ian rested his forehead on her shoulder.

  “Did that hurt?” he asked.

  “Only in the good way.”

  “I’m never like this with anyone but you,” he said as he caught his breath. She loved hearing him out of breath from fucking her. “You bring out the worst in me. Or the best. Can’t tell sometimes.”

  “I bring out the you in you.”

  “You like me like this, don’t you?”

  She loved him like this. But she couldn’t say that. Not yet anyway.

  “More than you know, Ian.”

  “Try that again.”

  Flash laughed tiredly.

  “More than you know...boss.”

  7

  FLASH FINALLY MADE it home around midnight. Ian had tried to talk her into staying, but she wasn’t quite ready for that yet. Better to leave him wanting more than wear out her welcome. She parked in her usual space across from Mrs. Scheinberg’s front door and saw the living room light shining through the curtains. Curious, Flash knocked softly on the front door.

  Only a few seconds later Mrs. Scheinberg opened the door.

  “Yes, dear?” Mrs. Scheinberg asked. She wore her favorite blue silk pajamas, the ones with the mandarin collar, and her matching blue bathrobe.

  “I just saw your light was on. What are you doing still up?”

  “Couldn’t sleep.”

  “Something wrong?”

  “I’m an old woman. That’s what’s wrong. You want to come in?”

  Flash followed her inside and locked up behind them.

  “You’re home late,” Mrs. Scheinberg said as she went into the kitchen and put her teakettle on the stove.

  “I was with Ian.”

  “With him or with him?”

  “Both.”

  “Oh, my...” Mrs. Scheinberg turned around and gave her a smile. “I take it your gift went over well.”

  “That might be an understatement.”

  “So why are you here? Shouldn’t you be there?” She nodded her head toward the kitchen window that faced east to Mount Hood.

  Flash shrugged as she took her usual seat at Mrs. Scheinberg’s pale blue Formica kitchen table.

  “He asked me to stay the night. He wanted me to. I thought it would be better if I didn’t push my luck.”

  “Playing hard to get. The oldest trick in the book.” Mrs. Scheinberg nodded her approval. “I’ve done it myself. Works every time.”

  “I don’t know if that’s it. I just don’t want to get too serious too fast.”

  “You’re in love with him and have been for months. How much more serious can you get?”

  Flash sat back in the chair, stretching out her legs under the table. Her hips were tight from the sex, not that she’d complain. The best kind of pain, in her opinion.

  “He doesn’t know I’m in love with him. He doesn’t need to know that.”

  “Why won’t you tell him?” Mrs. Scheinberg asked as she dug her Christmas cookies out of what looked to Flash like a box that had once stored Brillo pads. Clever lady. “You’re worried he doesn’t love you?”

  “He doesn’t act like he’s in love with me. Lust, yes. But I can’t get over the feeling that the sex is the only reason he wants me around. He said something tonight about me being the only woman he’s ‘himself’ with.”

  “That’s a compliment.”

  “He said it while we were having sex. He wasn’t talking about sharing his heart or his soul or his hobbies. He meant I’m the only girl he can have the kind of sex with he likes to have. I think he’s only dated nice girls before.”

  “Look at me, darling.” Mrs. Scheinberg patted the table i
n front of Flash and then pointed at her own face. “I’m going to tell you a true thing, as true as two and two is four. I’m not your grandmother. I’m not your mother. I’m sixty-two years older than you are. And still, every day you come and see me and not just a knock on the door to make sure I’m still alive. You bring me my cookies, you spend time with me. My last dear friend died two years ago and it was a lonely time for me. Very lonely. And then you came along, and I’m not so lonely anymore. Veronica Redding, if you’re not a nice girl I don’t know what one is.”

  Flash smiled and swallowed a lump in her throat.

  “Thank you,” she said, smiling. “But you know what I’m saying.”

  Mrs. Scheinberg clucked her tongue and pushed a plate of cookies across the table to Flash.

  “No, I don’t. So he’s a little wilder with you than he is with other women. What’s the harm in that if you both enjoy it, both want it? It just means you’re compatible in bed. It hardly means he’s using you for sex.”

  “I want him to use me for sex. I also want him to love me. I’m worried I’m asking for too much.”

  “It’s not too much. He should love you. Why wouldn’t he?”

  “Ian’s family has so much money. His father is a state senator and on top of that he’s rich, he’s a philanthropist. He’s got friends in high places. They’re the sort of people who ‘hobnob.’ I don’t even know what hobnobbing is but I know only really rich people do it. The Asher’s ‘winter’ in the Mediterranean. I’ve never dated anybody before who uses ‘winter’ as a verb.”

  “It’s winter now, and your Ian is still here.”

  “First of all, it’s not winter until December 21. Second, he doesn’t go to the Mediterranean in winter. But his dad does and Ian will someday. He’s Dean Asher’s only son and Dean Asher runs an empire.”

  Mrs. Scheinberg waved her hand dismissively.

  “Nonsense. The Roman Empire was an empire. The Ottoman Empire was an empire. The Asher empire is an outlet mall. Dean Asher owns some very successful businesses. He doesn’t rule the world. You shouldn’t be intimidated by him.”

  “I know. That’s Ian’s world though, and I can’t picture myself in it. I can’t get over the feeling that Ian’s out of my league.”

  “He’s a man. You’re a woman. No man is out of any woman’s league,” Mrs. Scheinberg said. “And don’t you forget it. And if Ian Asher doesn’t believe that, too, you bring him over here and I’ll tell him.”

  “You just want to meet him in person.”

  “Can you blame me? I love a man with blue eyes.”

  “He does have pretty eyes,” Flash said, nodding. “Pretty everything.” She buried her face in her hands and groaned. “I hate being in love with someone who’s not in love with me.” She laughed at herself and dropped her hands to her lap.

  “Don’t believe what people say about men being only interested in sex. Men want love as much as women do. I had a father, three brothers, one husband and two sons and every last one of them loved their wives like their lives depended on it. You should give this man a little more credit. It’s very possible he’s falling in love with you. Don’t be surprised if he does. And in the meantime you should be honest with him about your feelings instead of hiding them out of fear.”

  “I’m scared to not be scared.”

  Mrs. Scheinberg put her hand over hers and patted it gently.

  “I know. He’s hurt you before. It’s understandable you’d want to protect your heart. It is. But two wrongs don’t make a right. Don’t play with his heart while you’re protecting yours.”

  “I don’t want to play with his heart,” Flash said.

  “Good girl.”

  “Just his body.”

  “Go to bed this instant, young lady.” Mrs. Scheinberg pointed at the front door and Flash laughed as she stood up to leave. She reached for the last cookie on the plate, but Mrs. Scheinberg snatched it away from her.

  “No more cookies,” Mrs. Scheinberg said. “You’ve been too naughty.”

  “You remember I buy you those cookies, right?”

  Mrs. Scheinberg peered at her through narrowed eyes.

  She pushed the plate back slowly toward Flash.

  “One more cookie.”

  “That’s more like it,” Flash said.

  She kissed Mrs. Scheinberg good-night on the cheek and walked upstairs to her apartment. It wasn’t much to look at. The “living room” was a workroom where she kept all her metalsmithing supplies stored and sorted. The bathroom was one sink and one shower stall and that was it, and her bedroom had nothing but a bed, an old blue dresser and a closet. Ian had done more with his new place in one month than she’d done with her apartment in two years. All her extra money went into her art supplies. If only she knitted or painted or wrote poetry she might have money to buy some decent furniture. But no, she had to be a metal sculptor and you can’t buy scrap metal at Target or Hobby Lobby. Too bad.

  She’d just have to keep her fingers crossed one of her pieces would sell soon. If she sold any one of the pieces at the Morrison she could afford a year’s worth of supplies. But she wouldn’t think about that tonight, not with so many pleasanter things to think about like her evening with Ian.

  Flash went to her bathroom, washed her face, brushed her teeth, took out her contacts and was ready to fall asleep the second her head hit the pillow. But she didn’t hit the pillow because her gray tabby cat Bob Ross was sound asleep on her pillow already.

  “Pathetic,” she said, shaking her head at him. He didn’t even wake up when she turned the bedroom light on. “Do some housework. Earn your keep.”

  Bob Ross opened one eye for one second before closing it again.

  “Yeah, I figured that was your answer.”

  She set her phone on her bedside charger and pulled the covers back on her bed. As soon as her head hit the sheets underneath the currently occupied pillow, her phone beeped.

  Ian had sent her a text message. She grinned as she read it.

  Did you make it home safe? Ian wrote.

  Flash texted back quickly. Yes, I’m already in bed.

  Did I wake you?

  Not asleep yet.

  I had fun tonight. More fun than I’ve had in six months.

  Me, too.

  Can we have fun tomorrow night?

  That can be arranged.

  What are you wearing? Ian asked. She’d seen that coming a mile away.

  Cat hair.

  Hot.

  Want me to send you a picture of my pussy?

  Yes, please and thank you.

  So polite. She loved a man with manners.

  “Smile, Bob,” Flash said, and took a quick pic of Bob Ross still curled on her pillow looking not unlike a furry doughnut.

  She sent the picture to Ian.

  Nice, he replied. Daddy likes.

  Flash laughed so hard she woke up Bob Ross and he stalked off the bed in a huff.

  Do I get a dick pic now? she wrote him.

  She waited and a few seconds passed. Finally her phone beeped again.

  Dick pic, Ian captioned the photo.

  It was a photo of the wildly unsexy face of Richard “Tricky Dick” Nixon.

  I am so wet right now, she wrote back.

  Good. Mission accomplished. Sleep well.

  You, too, she replied, and then thought of one more thing she needed to tell him.

  She took a deep breath, summoned her courage and wrote back the answer to a question he’d asked her four hours ago at dinner.

  Yes.

  Yes, what? Ian wrote back.

  Yes, I want to be your girlfriend.

  Another long pause followed. Flash caught herself holding her breath.

  When the reply ca
me it was nothing but smiley face emojis.

  Ian, you’re thirty-six years old. Act like it.

  He replied with a single frowning face. She laughed so hard she almost cried.

  She started writing to tell him that she was sorry and he was allowed to use emojis if he wanted to, but the phone rang before she could finish typing out her message.

  “Hey, girlfriend,” Ian said as soon as she answered.

  “I’m regretting this already.”

  “Are not.”

  “Why are you calling me? It’s one in the morning?”

  “Do I need a reason to call my girlfriend?”

  “Yes, at one in the morning you do.”

  “I have a reason.”

  “What?”

  He laughed on the other end of the line and it was the sort of laugh to make a girl’s toes curl up in the Doctor Who knee socks she wore to bed.

  “So...what are you wearing?”

  Flash answered absolutely truthfully this time.

  “A smile.”

  8

  IAN DRAGGED HIMSELF out of bed at ten the next morning. Usually he never slept that late. He couldn’t. But usually he didn’t remodel an entire bathroom in one day and then fuck his new girlfriend three times in one evening and then stay up until two in the morning to have phone sex with her. A man needed his eight hours of sleep after such an eventful day. He rose from bed and pulled on yesterday’s jeans and a white T-shirt with the words Asher Construction in strong black letters across the back.

  He was halfway down the stairs to the kitchen when he heard the sounds of movement downstairs.

  “You back for more already?” Ian called down the steps as he stretched and yawned.

  “More what?” his father, Dean Asher, called back. “Or do I not want to know? Although I think I know.”

  Ian paused on the stairs, winced and rubbed his forehead.

  “Ian?”

  “Hi, Dad. I forgot you were coming by this morning,” Ian said as he squared his shoulders and made his way down to the living room.

  “Apparently so. You up for skiing today?”