by Mari Carr, Red Phoenix, Angel Payne, Sierra Cartwright, Jenna Jacob, Victoria Blue
She couldn’t have denied him if her life depended on it. As his knowing fingers stroked her to orgasm, she wondered if she was dying. Surely heaven didn’t give this kind of gift and expect nothing in return. Her nerve endings were fire. Her heartbeat was chaos. Every inch of her sex was an inferno, blazing and bright, convulsing and cataclysmic, squeezing over Sam’s cock with the needy desperation of a Tolstoy heroine.
Sam…
“Jenny. Oh fuck…Jenny.”
I love you…
“Take it all from me now, too.”
Yes!
He shoved in hard then froze. Groaned hard as his cock expanded against her walls then shot off. Bellowed as he exploded again and again in the dark, tight embrace of her body.
But the very next moment, Sam started pumping again. He threw a leg over, bracing his foot against the headboard, still slicing in and out, as if he hadn’t just climaxed with the gusto of a lion.
“Goddamn, woman,” he snarled. “It won’t stop. I can’t—” Another rough groan. Harder, harsher thrusts. “Fuck. Fuck.”
His lust whipped hers into a new frenzy. Within a minute, Jen’s sex grabbed him all over again, clenching his shaft as a new climax tumbled her into darker oblivion. “I can’t stop, either. I…can’t…” Unbelievably, it was better than the first. Waves of white heat demolished like a Biblical storm, ripping screams of ecstasy up her already-parched throat. Her senses dissolved. Her body shook.
Her world was changed.
The truth of it wrapped like ropes lashed to moorings in that storm, refusing to be loosened even after Sam released the cuffs and lowered the bed. It was still relentless as he pulled out, tossed the condom into the bin near the bed, then collapsed into the mountain of pillows—taking her with him.
Without a word he tucked her head against his chest, evoking deep intimacy though they lay there mostly clothed. His lungs still heaved like he’d just burned through an intense flight, raising her up and down. His heartbeat roared like afterburners beneath her ear.
“Holy God,” he muttered.
I love you, her soul sighed back.
“Well, there’s a fantasy crossed off my list.”
She turned, propping her chin atop her folded hands, enough to watch the recessed lighting tease into his mesmerizing gray eyes. “Which fantasy would that be? Getting to play with this starship disguised as a bed?”
“Close, but no.” He twisted her hair around his finger while biting his bottom lip, then lifting a shit-eating grin. The look was so hot, she swore she was wet again. “Gettin’ the chance to put my personal signature across your gorgeous backside.”
Yep. Wet. Officially.
She pulled in a breath, closing her eyes. “It was…very nice.”
Sam pushed the pillow higher under his head, using the new angle to contemplate her more closely. “You mean that, don’t you?”
She let her smile widen. “To be honest, my own fantasies have danced a little around it.”
His gaze turned the color of smoldering charcoal. “A little…or a lot?”
“Depends.” She met his stare directly, sensing he still didn’t fully believe her. “If it was one of my daydreams, then just a little. But if you caught me alone at home, thinking about you in bed…”
“You’ve thought about me? In bed?” When she nodded again, he pressed, “And…daydreams. You’ve thought about me at the office, too?”
She stalled for a moment. Maybe one more. Shit. Talk about blabbing oneself into a corner. How much did she reveal before it was too much?
Or was anything too much?
What was the worst thing that could happen? That she spilled her heart tonight, then things turned bizarro-kitty for Sam and her? Wasn’t like they’d have to endure the weirdness forever. Two weeks and he was bugging back to Scotland for good.
Fourteen days. Somehow, two weeks of the awkwardness tango seemed a tinier price to pay than the lifetime after: the disgusting what-if of never saying anything at all.
“You’re a damn hard one not to think about, Sam Mackenna.”
The corner of his mouth jolted up. It was a look he’d flashed a thousand times before, part bashful and part resolved, but never had it carried tonight’s extra element: utter sensuality.
“And you’re an impossible one not to think about, Jenny Thorne.”
While she dealt with the flying senses and gooey bloodstream from that, his features twisted with a new expression. It didn’t make her uncomfortable but it sure as hell wasn’t easy to take in.
“Is that…a problem?” she asked tentatively.
“The fact that I cannot stop thinking about you?” A fraction of his grin returned. “No, mouse. Not that.”
“Not that?” The echo didn’t lend a molecule of insight. “But there is a problem?”
He pointed to the foot of the bed, where the cuffs still dangled as proof of the pleasure he’d just given—and taken from—her. “That was fairly much my fantasy. But now that you’ve admitted it met a few of yours, we’re sittin’ at an impasse.”
“Why?”
He cupped the back of her neck. Massaged his long fingers upward, against her scalp. “Because now it’s your turn.”
“For what?”
“For fantasies bein’ granted.”
She laughed. Loudly. Couldn’t be helped. “Is that so?”
The corners of his eyes and mouth tightened. “Hmmm. Yes. Impasse.” He rose to his haunches, once more giving him the advantage of height over her. Height—and the authority leant by that damnably gorgeous kilt. “But you should be forewarned. I’m wicked good at conquering impasses.”
She laughed once more. Still couldn’t be helped, though nerves were more the motivation now. “Sayeth the high laird Mackenna?
“Officially, my name’s more Irish, if you must know. But when the famine hit in the eighteen hundreds, someone hopped on a boat somewhere, then stuck his banger where it didn’t belong.”
She grinned. “Imagine that.”
He didn’t emulate her look. “You’re tryin’ to change the subject again.” Silent as a ninja, he grabbed up her hands. “Why?”
She glanced away. Because I’m in love with you. Because I can’t deny it or ignore it any longer. Because every time you fulfill one of my fantasies, it’s better than what I ever thought or imagined it could be. And because if you do it again, I might not be able to keep any of this inside anymore—and I’ll ruin not just tonight, but everything we’ve built before now.
“Sam.” She gently twisted her hands free. Without his to surround them, they were cold…lost. Stop it. Put on your big girl panties and get the hell over this. Now. “Okay, look—”
“I am. With pleasure.”
She could resist the seduction in his tone—but the rough burr he gave the final syllable? Dammit. Her gaze lifted like ions to a rain cloud. And wasn’t that the scarily perfect comparison? His eyes were combinations of silver and black that could only be described as perfect tempests. Like helpless leaves in those storms, everything inside swirled and tumbled before fluttering lower…even lower.
“All right, knock it off.”
“Knock what off?” he smoothly countered. “The lookin’ part? Or the ‘with pleasure’ part?”
God. She didn’t believe the let’s-just-be-buddies-again thing any more than he did. But it wasn’t a storm they could dance in any longer. It was time for reality. Past time.
“Both.” She was proud of herself. The big girl tone was very convincing.
“Why?”
She steeled her chin along with her resolve. Doing great. Just a few minutes more. “It’s late, Sam.”
Though his hands stayed on his thighs, he leaned in by several inches, using his torso. “Which means what?”
Damn. He still smelled as good as he had three hours ago. Maybe better. Lust suited the man—all too well. “That my best friend’s getting married in about twelve hours, and I owe it to her to be fully rested.”
He pushed even closer. The resolve in his eyes, carrying the force of polished steel, sucked her breath away. “That one’s weak. You know that, right?” Before she could fume out a comeback, he pushed on, “You’d give Tess your all even if you had to tromp ten miles over glass in the snow.”
She scowled. “Thanks for the imagery.”
The expression didn’t last long. She had to abandon it for more enchantment, as he once more braced her face and yanked up her chin. “You’re mine for at least eight of those twelve hours…and I intend to use them well.”
A rickety breath soughed down her throat. So much for him having the corner on lust here. “Sam—”
“You have more fantasies about me, Jenny.” His head tilted. His fingers flowed against her hairline. “A lot more. Don’t lie about that one, either.”
“Who says I’m lying?” Pure need returned to her voice in a rasp. Her lips were dry as sawdust. It made her shiver again. She combatted the fear by lifting a hand, clutching him in return. Her fingers slid into the thick ginger strands at the edge of his face. “Who says I even want to try?” She swallowed, letting her senses tumble in the storms of his gaze. Only for a moment. Just let me have this moment. “Oh, Captain Mackenna. If you only knew.”
“Miss Thorne, if it’s anythin’ like my fantasies of you, then I do know.”
He pulled her hand forward.
Turned his face to press a kiss into the center of her palm.
A quaver coursed through her. Rather than risk the chance of another, she slammed her eyes shut. “You have to stop doing this, Sam. Please. It’s already going to be hell to go back to real life after this—”
The press of his lips, fervent and hot, didn’t just snag the words in her throat. The thoughts in her head, like shredded paper on the wind, became chaos. A sob ripped through her. What had she done? What could she do now? Even opening her eyes, hoping to break his spell, only allowed her to see the breathtaking concentration on his face. His gaze, hooded yet heated, focused on her so fully, so sensually…damn. That stare could seduce the underwear off a nun—and probably a priest, too. His dark gold lashes against his rugged skin. The furrows in his brow, deepening by the moment. The warrior’s angle of his jaw, more deeply defined by his tawny stubble, all but begging her to touch it…
Too good to be real. Too good to even be a possibility.
She had to keep remembering that. She had to.
He dragged away, breathing harder than before. His fingertips shook against her cheek. “Hell won’t be even the start of it, lass. But why fight the chance to grasp heaven while we still can?”
Jen threaded her fingers with his. Compared to his hand, hers was so tiny…and cold. At once, it began to suffuse with borrowed warmth.
How she wanted to push the pause button on her feelings, and continue through this night without worrying about them anymore. How she wanted to think she was strong enough to lock it back and race to heaven with him, reveling in the sprint. How she longed to be sure she could spend even another fifteen minutes with him and not spill every stupid thought in her head…and impossible feeling in her heart.
She turned the thought into motivation. Lifted her mouth and gave him one final, melding kiss. Pushed herself into it…and felt him pouring just as much in return.
She fought the craving to jerk him back down to the bed and let him do more dirty, wonderful things to her. Barely.
With a conflicted moan, she backed away. Wobbled to her feet. Deciding this was no time for more practice in the damn heels, she kicked them off then picked them up. Silver lining: the move gave her something to hold on to. She clutched the pumps to her chest while jerking her gaze back to his for one last time.
“I had an amazing time. I won’t forget it. Ever. I promise.”
Her sincere words didn’t diminish the man’s glare. “Jenny.” It seethed between his locked teeth. He rose up, braced like a prisoner about to kneel over a guillotine. “Jenny!”
But she’d already turned.
And raced from the room on bare feet…and a breaking heart.
She’d let a workplace crush cross way too many lines. And as hard as she fought to get pissed at Sam for offering the damn eraser, she couldn’t. She longed to spin around, run back to him, throw herself against his golden monolith of a body, and beg him to show her every inch of heaven for the next eight hours.
But if the agony ripped like this now, how deep would it go after two hundred and forty damn minutes?
It was the only jab of motivation her legs had for continuing forward.
One step at a time.
One step at a time.
One step at a time.
By some miracle she made it inside her room. She walked into the darkened space, one slow step at a time, before plopping to the window seat and waiting for the next refrain to kick in.
One tear at a time.
One tear at a time.
One tear at a time.
Chapter Seven
She’d planned on taking a nice long bath and getting lost in the new book waiting on her e-reader. But the thought of being still, of staying in one place long enough for her thoughts to collide with her heart and sneak up on her, appealed as much as knives in her eyes.
She got up and changed into workout gear.
Confirming she was going certifiably insane.
Okay, so curiosity played a small part in the call. She’d heard about the Nyte’s fitness center: a complex so vast, it took up the entire tenth floor of the hotel. Level Ten had already been named by fitness magazines as one of the best gyms in the world, let alone as part of a hotel. It featured the standard Type A equipment, as well as a cross-training course, parkour run, Krav Maga studio, yoga sweat room, HIIT-specific course, basketball court, running track, and Olympic-length pool. Jen walked in, expecting to have the place to herself at this time of the night, but obviously, she wasn’t the only one who’d heard the buzz. After tucking her room key into her makeup tote then securing the little bag in a locker via thumbprint recognition, she turned on her headset, finding a channel with a driving EDM beat. Once the music blasted through her head, she climbed onto an elliptical machine, and went to work on sweating Sam Mackenna out of her system.
Sweat? Check.
Aerobic peak reached? Check again.
And Sam?
Parked in the hell where she’d left him. Occupying the stretch of her heart between desperate love and functional sanity. As she gulped half a bottle of water, he practically appeared before her, a towering hologram with a smoldering stare on his hewn face. And imagine that, he was fixated on the suction of her lips over the bottle.
Just like that, she envisioned it, too. Instead of the bottle, it was him in her mouth…the most illicit part of him. The slit there would leak sweet milk just before he groaned and buried himself inside her…
“Shit.”
She found a bench and lowered her shaking body onto it.
And wondered if the showers in the locker room had an “Ice Cold” setting.
A shrill ding sounded in her ears. Her wireless headphones were Bluetoothed to her phone, so the text notification came in loud and clear. She whooshed a relieved breath when seeing the message was from Tess, not Sam. He’d gone radio silent since she’d left the bar’s heavenly hidey hole; whether from anger or respect, she didn’t know—and shouldn’t care. But rather than trying to read his mind for the thousandth time, she focused on what Tess needed. It was probably just a giddy bride-to-be squee, and a list of things to bring to the Nyte’s beauty salon in the morning for her hair and makeup appointment. While Tess couldn’t be a bridezilla if her life depended on it, maybe the woman was feeling the pressure about marrying a guy as pedigreed as Dan.
She jolted to her feet when reading the text.
:: I need to talk. Now. Meet me on the roof. ::
The roof?
Maybe “pressure” had been an understatement.
“Oh my God.”
&nb
sp; She hampered her towel, retrieved her tote, and raced out of the gym, not wasting any time for a response until she’d jumped into the elevator.
:: On my way. Don’t do anything! ::
Her own message was just as confusing as Tess’s plea, but it felt necessary. Desperate and scared, too.
She beat an impatient hand on the lift’s wall. The car couldn’t seem to climb fast enough. Finally, the overhead display glowed with a bright 60.
“What the hell?” She’d punched the 61 button. The lift itself filled in the answer to that, verbally prompting her to press her room key card against a specialized reader. While the explanation made sense—not every visitor to the Nyte could be allowed to just stroll around on the roof—she also questioned the hotel’s wisdom in allowing the access to even its paying guests.
Especially brides-to-be with drastic second thoughts.
The reader cleared her. The car lurched back to life then rested at the higher floor.
She walked out into a glass-enclosed lobby. Like everything about the Nyte, it was decorated sumptuously, but the décor couldn’t surpass the view. The entire valley sprawled before her, awesome even beyond the city’s parameters. To the left, the cliffs of Red Rock were dramatic against a thousand stars. Her head dropped back, following the twinkling carpet through the glass roof over her head. Up here, the light pollution was diminished to a dull roar, turning the stars into a light show in their own right.
A second of the awe was all she allowed herself, though. She had to get to Tess—
“Miss Thorne?”
She jumped. She hadn’t expect anyone up here besides her best friend, but the pixie-sized brunette, dressed in a stylish black pantsuit and toting a flashing smart pad, smiled like she greeted paranoid strangers every day. Not complete strangers. The woman knew her name. How? Why?
“Yes?” Next to the beauty, who floated more than walked and smelled like a newly minted angel, Jen felt like a hobo. Didn’t matter that her T-shirt was her best from the alt-rock bands collection—could one go wrong with the Arctic Monkeys?—she still smelled like a locker room and likely looked worse.