by Avery Flynn
Fisting the red sheets in her hand, another moan escaped as he slipped two fingers, crossed as if making a promise, inside her and slid them forward and back against her most sensitive spots. His thumb never left contact with her clit. He didn’t rotate the nub. He didn’t rub it. He maintained just the right amount of pressure to keep her strung tight and yearning.
“Sawyer,” she cried out, pressing her face into the sheets.
“What do you want?” Calm. Patient. Ready to drag it out forever. He twisted his fingers inside her, turning them enough that they rubbed against the bundle of nerves inside her entrance.
Too far gone to process the words, all she could do was balance on the boundary of pleasure and pain. “More.”
In and out, this way and that, he played her desire, propelling it—propelling her—toward climax but refusing to do what it took to send her over into oblivion. The bastard. Even without looking at him, she knew he was doing it on purpose. A little payback for teasing him in the elevator? Probably.
“Be specific.” He squeezed her ass with his massive hand, each strong finger marking her—not in a way that left bruises, at least not the kind you could see. “What do you want?”
Specific? How could she be that when her world was coming apart in brief flashes of ecstasy? But she dug deep, found the words. “I want to come.”
“Already?” He had the balls to laugh while she was reduced to begging. “We just started.”
“Please.” Shame didn’t have a place when she was this close to orgasm.
For the first time, he moved his thumb, a slow, easy circle around her aching clit. “Are you conceding this negotiation?”
The yes was almost past her lips before she clamped her mouth shut. Negotiation. She smiled despite her body’s mounting frustration. The man did love to play his games.
Flinging her hair over her shoulder she looked back at him, keeping her gaze on his face, for going any lower would be akin to dancing with the devil. “What do I get for conceding?”
“Everything.” Even with his glasses still on, it was impossible to miss the cocky assurance in his eyes.
Her pulse went into overdrive, responding to his confidence, his control. “Big promises.”
“I always deliver.” Another deliberate turn around her clit.
The urge to close her eyes, sink into the bed, and let wave after wave of sensation flow over her beckoned like a promise. She would drown or she would float—either option would be better than this blissful hell. But she couldn’t. It just wasn’t in her to give in—not easily and definitely not in the middle of a negotiation.
It took pulling from reserves she didn’t know she had, but she did, putting as much strength in her voice as she could muster. “If that’s the truth, then an act of good faith to show you’re sincere shouldn’t be a problem.”
The corners of his lips curled into a sexy smirk as he took off his glasses, folding them closed with a distinct click and tossing them on top of the nearby dresser. “What do you have in mind?”
“Make me come.” A demand. A plea. A challenge he couldn’t resist.
“It’s not nice to doubt a lover,” he said, hooking his arm under her hips and hoisting her high in the air while her knees were pressed against the mattress so she was completely open and exposed to his view.
Looking over her shoulder, she noted that he didn’t look offended. He looked turned on, hungry—her gaze dipped lower—hard and ready. A shiver of want started with her core clenching and worked its way up her spine.
“Who said I did?”
His free hand came down on her ass, caressing it before dipping between her legs. “Challenge accepted.”
There was no tease this time. No soft, barely-there touches. He was as sure and commanding with her body as he was with everything else. His fingers filled her, sliding in and out, as he worked his thumb on her clit, rolling and rotating around the bundle of nerves that had become the center of her universe. Every rotation of her hips. Every turn of his wrist as he played with her. Every silent touch that screamed with pleasure. Her flesh was so wet, so ready for him, that every brush of his skin against hers set off waves of sensation so intense she pressed her face into the bedding to muffle the moans she couldn’t stop herself from making. The tingling started in her thighs, spreading outward in minutes at first before rushing at light speed. Her entire body contracted as she came, screaming into the sheets.
Blood thundering in her ears, she took a deep breath and sighed as the world fell back into place. The only thing holding her up was Sawyer’s arm under her hips. She was deadweight at that moment, but he didn’t complain. Glancing back at him, she couldn’t help but let out a soft chuckle. The cocky bastard was rolling on a condom and staring at her as if he’d just painted the Mona Lisa, built the Leaning Tower of Pisa, and paddled a one-man canoe down the Amazon. He was incorrigible—and he’d kept his end of the bargain. Now she had to keep hers.
“I concede.”
Before she even had a chance to take in a breath, he’d lifted her into the air and set her down on her feet in front of him. She braced a hand on his unyielding chest to steady herself and took her first full look at the breathtaking package that was Sawyer Carlyle. His suits hadn’t been lying. Broad shoulders. A wide, muscular chest dusted with light brown hair. Narrow, football player hips with the strong legs to go with them. Unable to deny herself any longer, she let her gaze go to the cock she’d felt all too briefly in the hotel supply closet. Her mouth went dry. Full. Heavy. Long. And oh so happy to see her.
“Like what you see?” he asked before whipping her dress off over her head and making fast work of her bra.
“Very much,” she said, running her fingers across the most unexpected tattoo.
“Good.”
His fingers clamped around her wrist and he spun her around before half propelling, half carrying her to the floor-to-ceiling window overlooking the city and pressed her palms flat against it.
“Exhibitionist much?” she asked, her heartbeat racing as she leaned forward and let her hard nipples brush against the cool glass.
“I don’t care about who can see us, but I want to see it all while I’m inside you.” He stood behind her, the almost overwhelming heat from his body seeping into hers. “I want you to have the whole vast world in your sights when you come again, squeezing my dick and calling my name.”
Oh God, his words gave her a bigger rush than any of her previous adventures. If this was what she had to look forward to over the next several weeks, she was going to hold on and enjoy the hell out of the ride before it ended. Watching his reflection in the window, she spread her legs and tilted her ass higher in the air. He didn’t need more of an invitation. Hands grasping her hips, holding her steady, he thrust inside her in one long, slow slide that had her gasping for breath even as she undulated against him.
He let out an almost pained groan. “Fuck, Clover.”
“My thoughts exactly.” Hard. Fast. Slow. Soft. She didn’t care. She just wanted it all. Now.
“Oh, don’t worry.” He withdrew all but the tip of his hard cock. “I will.”
…
Sawyer clenched his jaw tight and took a deep breath as he fought for control. The way things were going, he wouldn’t have any molars left by the end of the night. It was a sacrifice he was willing to make if it meant seeing Clover come apart again. She’d lost herself in the moment and had almost taken him with her, like some kind of teenager with his first girlfriend.
He tried to focus his attention on the high-rises that dotted the skyline so he could calm the urge to surge back into her and let go. The buildings, the big picture of Harbor City, couldn’t hold his attention, though, not with Clover here. The smooth lines of her back as she arched her spine fascinated him. The round curve of her hips that seemed to fit perfectly in his grasp was mesmerizing. The welcoming slick warmth of her stole his ability to consider anything else but her—even when he was barely inside her.
She tried to push back against him, but he held her firm.
Letting out a frustrated huff, she let her head drop so her forehead rested against the window. “Don’t you dare tease me anymore.”
“Who me?” As if he had the ability to do that anymore. He was praying for strength not to give in to all she offered, because once he sheathed himself again he knew without a doubt that it was going to be hard, fast, and fucking amazing.
“Yes, you and your go-slow-until-she’s-stupid plan.”
A bead of sweat ran down his neck as he fought not to thrust into her. Not yet. “It worked.”
“Fuck yeah it did,” she said with a soft laugh, which made her core squeeze the tip of his cock.
All the color bled out of his world as pleasure shot through him and his balls tightened. Fuck he was close. He ground another few millimeters off his molars and pulled back from the point of no coming back.
“If I go hard, I won’t be able to go for as long as I want,” he said, his gaze on the reflection of her beautiful face in the window.
She raised an eyebrow. “Are you trying to tell me that your nickname should be Mr. One and Done?”
“Hell no.”
“Then fuck me and we’ll go slow next time.”
She didn’t have to ask twice. His control evaporated so thoroughly it was if it had never existed. He drove into her, claiming her as his. The moment he was as deep as he could go something primal woke up in him, recognizing something in Clover that Sawyer couldn’t pinpoint but knew was there, intangible and undeniable. After that, it was as if the moment controlled both of them. She met his every thrust, giving as good as she got, rotating her hips and pushing against him to drive him in farther, until they were one unit pursuing and chasing their climaxes together. The sound of their bodies slapping together filled the room along with hard breaths and desperate moans. She was close, he could feel it with every push forward so he slid one hand around her hip and glided it down her soft folds to her clit. She bucked against his touch. So sensitive and responsive.
“Yes, that’s it,” she panted. “Right there. Please.”
Denying her wasn’t something he was going to do. Putting one finger on each side of her clit, he rubbed against the bundle of nerves in time with each hard, deep thrust of his cock until she came screaming his name and squeezing him tight inside her. One more thrust and he followed behind her, his orgasm hitting him with the power of a six-ton truck.
When the world slowly came back into focus, he still had an arm tight around Clover’s waist, helping her to stand. For his part, two things were holding him upright at the moment: his hand planted against the window and sheer fucking will not to look like a wimp in front of the woman who’d just rocked his world.
“Bed,” he managed to get out.
“Yes,” she answered in a half-asleep whisper.
Separating them only long enough to roll off the condom and dispose of it in a nearby trash can, he then picked her up in his arms and crossed the room to his bed. It wasn’t a place where the women he had sex with spent the night. He wasn’t an asshole about it, but the women he dated knew the score going in. So did Clover. This was an arrangement, a little fun. He should take her to her room. It was just down the very long hallway. She had her own bed where the sheets were probably cold, maybe itchy for all he knew. And anyway, they hadn’t specifically negotiated sleeping arrangements. In his arms, Clover sighed and snuggled against him, nestling her head against his shoulder.
Fuck it. She was staying with him.
He lowered her to the bed and climbed in behind her, pulling her close to keep her warm. It was the gentlemanly thing to do. Anyway, he wanted to be there when she woke up and wanted round two. Plus, she felt really good—which ran a far second to not getting stuck with the nickname Mr. One and Done. It did. Really. Sure of his reasoning, Sawyer let his eyes fall closed and drifted off to sleep with Clover in his arms.
Chapter Thirteen
A week later, Sawyer sat at his desk in his home office catching up on a morning of missed work, thanks to his second ever trip to the flea market and reread the same email for the third time without comprehending a single word. Too much of his attention was focused on the strange noises coming from the general direction of his living room. By the time the second loud bang sounded—followed by a muffled groan, what had to be a curse in another language, and a shouted promise from Clover that she was all right—he shut the lid of his laptop and got up. He wasn’t going to get a damn thing done until he figured out what in the world was going on.
Walking down the hall, he found a pile of deliveries from Dylan’s Department Store. Included among the sexy date-night dresses that showed just enough skin to tantalize and work-appropriate dresses in bright colors and patterns that had probably never been seen before in Carlyle Tower was a pair of heavy-duty hiking boots. He stopped and studied the boots. Since Clover wasn’t going to any construction sites, they had to be for her Australia trip.
After a quick glance toward the balcony where he could hear her cursing again, he grabbed the boots and carried them to the hall closet and shoved them in the back on the very top shelf next to another pair that had been delivered a few days earlier.
It wasn’t like she was going any time soon, and so he’d rather have the big picture showing exactly what he envisioned right now. There was nothing more to it than that. No reason to overthink it. They were just boots.
He found Clover out on the balcony and almost swallowed his tongue, but not before he could offer a quiet thank you to whoever had invented yoga pants and tank tops. Her tight black pants molded perfectly to the curve of the ass he’d worshiped last night and every night for the past week. His cock twitched against his thigh and his brain was already working out if the potted bushes the decorator had placed at strategic positions on the balcony would block the neighbors’ view, because all he wanted at the moment was to peel her yoga pants down, spread her legs, and fuck her until they were both blind.
She looked up and spotted him. “Perfect timing,” she said as she rolled the heavy, rusted-out wreck of a metal medical tray out onto a newspaper covered section of the balcony.
“For what?” He had ideas. Lots of them.
She held out a white dust mask, the kind that was held in place by a rubber band that went around your head.
Oh no. Not happening. Not in this lifetime.
He crossed the threshold out onto the balcony but stopped well clear of the monstrosity they’d gotten at the flea market the previous week. “I didn’t agree to this.”
“Of course you did.” She leaned forward over the cart and brushed off a piece of flaking paint—the move giving him an eyeful of her hard-on inducing cleavage—and winked at him before straightening back up. “It’s totally on the napkin.”
He could almost hear the snap and fizz that was his mental synapses short circuiting as the more primal part of his brain took over—the one that concerned itself with fucking or fighting. Scratch that. It was only concerned with fucking which, judging by the knowing little smirk on her face, she knew. Another negotiation tactic? That wasn’t fair. Well, if she was going to sink to that level, he really didn’t have any other choice but to do the same.
“I remember writing down going to the flea market,” he said, reaching behind his neck and pulling off his T-shirt as he strolled over to the chaise lounge. Feeling her gaze on him as sure as a touch, he sat down on the chair, stretched out his legs, and put his hands behind his head. “I never wrote anything down about going to DIY hell.”
“What do you think the flea market is all about?” She tossed the dust mask at him and it landed in the middle of his bare chest. “You’re going to need this.”
He picked up the mask, making sure to flex his biceps as he held up the not heavy item and examined it as if it was even a tenth as interesting as the hungry look on her face right now. “Explain to me again why I would rather refinish that crap cart when we could
entertain each other in much better ways?”
With one hand on her cocked out hip, she tried for intimidating but all he saw was hot-chick-he-wanted-naked and soon. She must have noticed that because her eyes narrowed and she got that stubborn tilt to her chin that he’d started looking forward to seeing more than he probably should.
“Don’t tell me you’re the kind of guy who welches on his promises.”
“I believe I did everything you wanted last night.” The fact that either of them could walk today was damn close to a miracle.
Her blush was immediate and only a shade or two off scarlet. “Enough stalling, Mr. Ego. Put on the mask and help me sand this thing down.”
“God, I wish that was a euphemism,” he muttered, but he got up and put on the stupid mask and walked over to the cart.
She handed him the steel wool and got to work with a paint scraper. They worked together, she’d scrape off the paint and he’d follow up with the steel wool to sand down the edges between the paint layers. It had been working pretty much the same in his office at Carlyle Tower. She’d claimed his conference table and had gone to work diving into the Singapore project proposal and pointing out areas where a few tweaks here and there in the language or his approach could make a difference. So far, it was working. They had a follow-up dinner meeting with Mr. Lim in a week, which is exactly what he was prepping for when he got suckered into pretending to be someone on one of the HGTV shows Clover loved.
Thirty minutes later, finally finished removing decades of paint, he stood up and stretched his back, barely managing to stop a self-satisfied smirk when he caught her checking him out. “Why are we doing this if you’re just going to paint over it?”