by Elle Kennedy
Dean stepped forward, his gray eyes gleaming with appreciation as he swept his gaze over her outfit—a loose white T-shirt that barely covered her thighs. “I’ve been knocking on your door for the past ten minutes. When you didn’t answer, I decided to let myself in.”
Emma narrowed her eyes. “The door was locked.”
He tipped his head mischievously. “Was it?”
For a second she wondered if she’d forgotten to lock it, but no, she was super anal about her safety, and she never forgot to lock the front door. Which meant… “Did you pick the lock?” she demanded, torn between laughing and scowling.
That earned her a shrug, but the slight curve of his lips told her she’d guessed correctly.
“How did you even know I was here?”
“Because your text said come over. I would’ve texted back but my phone died right after I got your message and I was in too much of a hurry to charge it.”
She was about to point out that breaking into a woman’s suite wasn’t the way to score points, but then her gaze registered what he was wearing, and she got side-tracked. Emma gave the long trench coat a once-over before meeting his eyes. “Were you out solving crimes before you came here?”
“Nope.” He shut the French doors and walked toward her, stopping when they were two feet apart. “But I couldn’t give you what you wanted without doing some improvising. Getting arrested tonight wasn’t part of the plan.”
She blinked in confusion. “I have no idea what you’re…” She trailed off when she noticed bare shins and ankles poking out of his beat-up white sneakers. Laughter bubbled up and escaped in a rush. “Oh my God. Are you naked under that thing?”
“Of course. You gave me an order, Em.” He cocked a brow. “And we both know how good I am at following orders.”
The thought of Dean’s gloriously naked body beneath the starched fabric of his coat sent a jolt of heat straight between Emma’s legs. As wild tingles spread through her body, she bridged the distance between them and grabbed hold of his collar.
“Let’s go inside so I can rip that thing off you.”
Dean grinned. “Or we can stay out here and you can rip it off me now.”
Her breath caught. “But…we’re…”
“On a balcony overlooking the bay, thirty stories up at ten o’clock at night? Yeah, we are.”
Excitement sizzled her nerve endings, but it didn’t stop her from voicing another protest. Because as much as she wanted a sexual reprieve from her mess of a life, she wasn’t sure she wanted the whole world to witness it.
“What if there’s someone with a telescope in that building beside us?”
The look in Dean’s eyes could only be described as obscene. “Then they’ll get a perfect view of my cock sinking into your hot pussy. Or maybe not, maybe they’ll see those sexy tits bouncing when I bend you over the railing and fuck you from behind.”
Emma could hardly breathe. God. Who was this man? The Dean she’d loved hadn’t—
Okay, enough. She needed to stop thinking about him in terms of the Dean she’d loved…and start viewing him as the Dean she wanted to fuck.
“You like that idea, huh?” His knowing gaze fixed on her face. “Me, taking you right here, right now, where someone might see us.”
Without waiting for her response, he grasped the first button of his coat and popped it open. Then the next one, and the next one, slowly revealing tantalizing flashes of his tanned, muscular flesh. Her eyes tracked the movement of his hands, her breath hitching again when his bare chest was finally exposed. Then he parted the coat fully and shrugged it off his broad shoulders, and her gaze wasted no time zeroing in on his erection. Long, thick and proud, a testament to how much he wanted her.
Her hand moved before she could stop it, wrapping around his shaft and drawing a choked noise from his lips. When she rubbed her thumb along the crown of his cock, heat flared in his eyes. “Remember all those hand jobs you gave me back in the day?”
She shivered. Like she could ever forget. “Yeah…” A grin sprang to her lips. “I also remember how fast they made you come.”
“Of course they did,” he grumbled. “I was a frickin’ virgin and my girlfriend was smoking hot.”
“And don’t get me started on the first blowjob I gave you.” Emma smiled sweetly. “What do you think? Should I bring back the old nickname I gave you? You remember it, right? It was—”
“Don’t finish that sentence,” he cut in with a glare.
“Ten-Second Dean,” she gloated. Then she gave his cock a firm pump for good measure, and a husky groan slid from his mouth.
“I’m a grown man now, baby. I assure you, I can last a helluva a lot more than ten seconds.” His eyes gleamed. “How about you get on your knees so I can prove it?”
She supposed she could have dragged out the teasing a bit longer, but she didn’t want to. What she wanted was to put her mouth all over him and relearn every inch of his sexy body.
Emma was already moving to her knees when he grasped the bottom of her T-shirt, tugging her toward him. His lips brushed hers in a fleeting kiss before he lifted the shirt and pulled it over her head.
“Aw, fuck, you were naked under there the whole time?” he cursed. “You should have led with that, Em.”
The appreciation in his eyes made her legs feel weak and wobbly. Men complimented her on her looks all the time, and it wasn’t as if she’d been celibate in the eleven years she and Dean had been apart, but truth was, nobody had ever looked at her the way Dean did. Like she was the most beautiful woman in the world. No, like she was the only woman in the world.
She moved to bend again, but he stopped her with another kiss, and this one wasn’t fleeting. His tongue stole into her mouth with greedy precision, teasing and exploring until she was gasping for air.
“The blowjob will have to wait,” he rasped. “Because if I’m not inside you in the next three seconds, I’m going to lose my fucking mind.”
The next thing she knew, she spun around, Dean’s massive erection pressing against her ass as he nudged her with single-minded purpose toward the railing. Her pulse careened. God, he was actually following through on the seductive taunt of taking her right here on the balcony, and damned if her body didn’t buzz with anticipation.
But rather than slide inside her, he slid to his knees instead. Emma squeaked when his lips met one of her butt cheeks, his tongue darting out for a taste.
“Hands on the rail, baby,” he muttered. “And spread your legs for me.”
She widened her stance, her heart beating erratically as Dean planted hot, open-mouthed kisses on her ass. Then his hands curled around her thighs, squeezing tight as he angled her into a position that gave him better access.
When his tongue dragged a sensual line along her slit, she moaned so loudly a flash of embarrassment struck. Anyone out on the neighboring balconies just got an earful. Maybe if she distracted him he’d stop tormenting her. “You said you desperately needed to be inside me.”
“I do.” His warm breath fanned over her folds. A second later, he speared her entrance with his tongue, and his immediate groan vibrated up her spine. “Your pussy tastes so sweet. So. Fucking. Sweet.”
Emma sagged forward as pleasure gathered in her core. Dean teased and licked her from behind, his nose tickling the crease of her ass as his tongue drove her to new levels of mind-blowing bliss. She was getting closer, then closer still, when he sucked on her clit hard enough to make her see stars.
Any moment. Any moment now…
Then the bastard pulled away, still clutching her naked hips. “Keep staring straight ahead,” he commanded, his voice low and seductive. “And keep those hands on the railing.”
An honest-to-God whimper flew out. God. What was wrong with her? She didn’t whimper. She didn’t beg. But her body hurt, damn it. The throb between her legs refused to ease. It only got worse as the heat of Dean’s mouth disappeared from her pussy. He stood up behind her, and she almost twi
sted her head to see what he was doing, until she remembered what he’d instructed.
So she focused straight ahead, seeing nothing. Not the gleaming windows of the other hotels to the side of hers. Not the faint twinkling of lights on the pier hundreds of feet below. Her entire being was fixated on Dean. The sound of his footsteps. The crinkling of a condom wrapper. The puff of his breath on her neck when he pressed up behind her.
“You want to come, baby?” Talented hands stroked a path down her bare back before cupping her ass.
“Yes,” she choked out.
“Then ask me nicely.” He kissed the side of her throat, his dark hair tickling her chin as his lips traveled over her aching flesh. “Ask me to make you come.”
Every touch, every word, was an unbearable tease. His erection was heavy against her lower back, and all it would take was one adjustment, one glide, and he could be buried inside her. But the damned bastard seemed determined to drag it out. To torture her.
“Make me come,” she whispered.
A not so gentle tug on her hair. “Louder. I didn’t hear you.”
She raised her voice, but the words still came out hoarse, strangled. Shaky with need. “Make me come, Dean. Please.”
His first stroke filled her to the hilt. Thoroughly. Completely. Her pussy stretched to accommodate him, clasping around his cock to keep him inside, but he didn’t seem interested in going anywhere. He didn’t move, didn’t speak. He simply rotated his hips while lodged inside her, and the wave of pleasure that washed over her was enough to make her whimper again.
“I’m going to fuck you hard,” he whispered into her ear. “Hard and fast, and you’re going to feel me for days, Em.”
“Do it,” she pleaded.
He withdrew slowly, stopping when just his tip was pressed between her folds. “Only if you say it.”
Her brain had turned into a foggy ball of mush. “Say what?”
“That you missed me.”
He slid in another inch, and her inner muscles rippled wildly.
God. What was he doing? Why wasn’t he moving?
“Did you miss me, Emma?”
His voice turned gruff, and either she was imagining it, or there was actually a chord of vulnerability there. But she was too wound up to make sense of it right now. Her body was on fire, so close to self-combusting.
“Yes,” she blurted out. “I missed you.”
He plunged deep again, as if her declaration had unleashed something inside him. After that, neither of them was capable of speaking anymore. Dean’s low groans mingled with the desperate sounds coming out of her mouth, as he thrust into her over and over, each punishing stroke stealing another shard of her sanity.
He was rough and dominating and it was different, so different from how it used to be, and yet he made her entire body come alive. Desperation had taken over, an incessant need for release that had her bucking backward to meet his frantic thrusts.
Dean’s fingers tightened on her hips as his mouth latched on to her shoulder. The second his teeth sank into her flesh, the tension exploded and Emma soared. The balcony disappeared. The railing under her hands vanished. The world faded. All she registered was the blinding rush of pleasure racing through her body, and the husky sound Dean made as he thrust in one final time and shuddered behind her.
“Oh Jesus,” he ground out, his breath hot on her skin as he trembled from climax.
It took a while for Emma to recover, for her heartbeat to regulate and her pussy to stop spasming. She’d had orgasms before. Hell, she’d had orgasms with Dean before.
But this…it hadn’t been an orgasm so much as a full-body experience. Forget seeing stars, there were entire universes swirling in front of her eyes, and if that hadn’t been the equivalent of a Big Bang, she didn’t know what was.
“That was…” She struggled for words. For breath. “Wow. Like the best booty call ever.”
He stiffened, but when she turned around to see what was wrong, he was casually removing the condom, his expression unruffled. “Not bad,” he agreed.
She narrowed her eyes. “Not bad? Are you saying you didn’t enjoy it?”
“Oh, I enjoyed it.” He cocked a brow, a small grin playing on his lips. “But you do realize that was to take the edge off, right?”
She faltered. “Meaning…?”
“I mean the night isn’t over. In fact, I think it’s time to move this show into the bedroom.” Impossibly his grin turned even more sexy and beguiling. “You don’t have plans for the rest of the evening, do you? Because we’re just getting started.”
Emma checked his face, attempting to gauge if he was serious, but it wasn’t his eyes that revealed the sincerity of his intentions. Far more potent was the quickly hardening cock that jutted from his groin as if trying to wave hello and say you’re going to come ten more times tonight, Emma.
She really should tell him it was time to go. The sketchpads waited for her doodles to become more than halfhearted lines on the page. Her walking disaster of a partner would be up and wreaking havoc on the East Coast in less than twelve hours—so many reasons she should show him the door.
But that look in his eyes? So alive? So…Dean.
Turning him away was impossible when everything in her screamed for him to stay.
He should be sore by now. He should be ready to pass out and cry for mercy, but even hours later it didn’t matter how hard he’d just come.
Within moments he was raring to go again.
All it took was seeing Emma’s skin flushed with pleasure. Hearing her utter one more contented sigh, and ping, instant cockcrow. Every damn thing was awake, including his cock.
But Dean was no fool. When Emma thought back to this night, it wasn’t just the incredible sex he wanted her to remember, so in spite of wanting her—craving her on an intensely primal level—he had other tools in his arsenal he needed to employ.
Although it was hard to move past the fucking around to the rest of his agenda. They’d had bedroom sex. He’d taken her into the bathroom to wash up and that had turned into shower sex. And when they returned to the bedroom again so he could dry her off, somehow that had turned into another wild romp, Emma riding him like a pony.
Yee-fucking-haw.
Emma dropped to the mattress, panting hard. “You’ve killed me.”
“You speak real good for a dead person,” he teased, his chest moving just as rapidly as he caught his breath. “Hmmm, you can lap dance me anytime, baby.”
Her cheeks reddened, her lashes fluttering for a moment. “That wasn’t a lap dance.”
“You’re right, it was better,” he agreed. “You, naked and sliding up and down my cock? Far, far better than someone else shaking their ass in my face.”
He’d taken Jack’s advice to heart, refusing to tone down the dirty talk that he loved. And damned if his friend hadn’t been right. Every time he turned up the heat, Emma seemed to bloom brighter.
He rolled to his knees, letting his contentment show as he reached for the backpack he’d quietly deposited beside the door when he’d snuck in hours earlier. He pulled out a pair of sweatpants and slipped them on. “I’m starving. Can I get you something?”
Before she could protest, he bounded out of bed and headed to the kitchen, the backpack slung over his shoulder as he put Stage II of his evening plans into play.
By the time Emma joined him he had the kettle boiling and the scent of popcorn filled the air.
She leaned her elbows on the counter between the living space and the kitchen, her oversized yoga shirt once again slipping off her shoulder. “What’re you doing?”
He pulled two wine glasses and two teacups from the cupboard. “Making a snack. I noticed you had some movies. I thought we could cuddle up and have a drink.”
Her gaze drifted over him, unreadable.
“I’ll let you steal popcorn from my bowl. Maybe.” Dean ignored the rest of her unspoken questions and removed more treats from his backpack. “Tea or wine?”
She glanced at the clock on the wall, then seemed to give up, turning back with a smile. “Tea, please.”
“You want to finish making us drinks while I get the movie going?”
Emma rolled her eyes. “Of course. I would never dream of coming between a man and his remote control.”
Dean grinned. “Smart woman.”
He went to the entertainment center and grabbed the longest-playing movie he could find on the shelf, which to his moderate horror was the third in one of those fantasy and magic trilogies that Gillian and Colby loved. He popped it into the player with satisfaction.
He didn’t give a damn what was on the screen other than it would take hours until it was over.
Emma joined him in the living room, handing him the bowl of popcorn before settling in the armchair, her long legs curled under her as she faced the television.
Dean set the bowl on the coffee table, stepped over and picked her up easily, carrying her with him to the couch.
She laughed in protest the entire journey. “What are you doing?”
“Awfully hard to cuddle when you’re all the way over there and I’m sitting over here.” He pulled her legs over his then reached for the popcorn, effectively trapping her in place. He stretched one arm along the back of the couch, the nape of Emma’s neck resting against his biceps.
She sat stiffly for the first five minutes before her tension eased and they were back to familiar territory. Nestled together, talking quietly as the movie flashed on the screen.
Dean had never loved hobbits more in his entire fucking life.
When Emma buried her face against his chest, hiding from the action on the screen, his heart skipped momentarily. When she smiled, her lips curling as the story turned happier, he leaned in and pressed a kiss to them, unable to resist.
By the time the movie was over, they’d consumed more popcorn than Dean had eaten in the five years previous, he’d stolen a dozen kisses, and the temptation to weave their fingers together had been so strong he’d had to clutch the back of the couch to stop from moving too quickly.
The end credits began to play and Emma turned her face toward him with a smile. “That was fun.”