My Sinful Temptation: A novella in the Sinful Men series

by Blakely, Lauren

  He took his time, exploring my lips, traveling across them, nipping and tasting.

  And with each second that ticked by, I became more keenly aware of one thing—I wanted John more than I wanted New York.

  Even if it wasn’t going to last.

  Even if he didn’t feel the same wild beating in his heart that I did.

  Because this kiss had been a year in the making.

  This kiss felt like he wanted to memorize every detail of my lips, my skin, my taste. And I wanted that too.

  Wanted him to know me in that way.

  Because when John Winston showed how he appreciated me, oh hell, did he ever show me.

  I—we—needed to get out of there soon.

  Like, right now.

  Because I was turned on beyond all reason, beyond any stopping it.

  I broke the kiss, pressing my hands to his chest, thrilled that I could touch him this way at last. His chest was strong and firm under my touch.

  And I needed to know how he felt wearing nothing.

  “You know what I’d appreciate?” I asked, feeling bold. Feeling like no matter how uncertain my future was, my present was in sharp focus.

  His lips curved in a grin. “I’m dying to know.”

  Curling a hand over his shoulder, I whispered, “Getting out of here. Right now.”

  9

  Mindy

  His place was closer.

  In the elevator up to his condo, he roped an arm around my waist and yanked me close. “Do you have any idea how tempted I was to speed?”

  “I bet it was tough,” I said. “But you played the good cop.”

  His eyes shone with dirty deeds. “I did, but say the word, and I can play bad cop with you.”

  I liked that idea more than I’d expected to. “Are you saying you’re going to cuff me?”

  His hand cupped my ass, and he brought me flush against him. “I would very much like to.” He dipped his head to my neck, licking a path along my skin that made me tremble. “But first, I’m happy to spread you out on my bed, strip you naked, and show you how much I appreciate every inch of you.”

  I moaned like a woman driven mad by desire.

  I wanted it all with him. I wanted everything. Right then, though, I’d settle for John between my legs, fucking me hard.

  The prospect of this calm, measured, in-charge man losing control was intoxicating.

  When the elevator dinged, he untangled from me, and we stepped off, disheveled, hot, bothered, and eager as hell.

  At his door, he grabbed his key but missed the lock.

  “Locks are vexing,” I teased, feeling sassy and powerful. Feeling like a woman about to get what she wanted.

  He met my gaze. “Vexing is the deadbolt that’s the last thing stopping you from getting the woman you’re dying for under you and calling out your name.”

  A flash of heat flooded my body.

  The key turned in the lock, and my pulse spiked. So did my ache for him as he pulled me inside, dropped his keys on the entryway table, and kicked the door shut.

  Then he lifted me up, tossed me over his shoulder, and carried me to his bedroom.

  John was just full of surprises.

  But none of them were unwelcome.

  He lowered me to the bed, tugged at the hem of my shirt, and pulled it over my head, groaning at the sight of my lingerie—a simple black lace bra. Then he lowered himself to me. “Do you have any idea how much I want you?” His voice turned rough and gravelly, and he was like a man unleashed.

  The things he said.

  The hunger in his eyes.

  This was John unlocked, all heat and desire.

  I laced my hands through his hair, so glad I finally could. “I bet it’s as much as I want you,” I whispered.

  He crushed his lips to mine, kissing me in a whole new way, fevered, passionate.

  And like he didn’t want to stop.

  Pulling back, I kicked off my shoes and scooted up on the bed.

  He toed off his own and followed me, crawling over me, reaching for my wrists and pinning them over my head.

  “I think you do want to play bad cop,” I said.

  “What I want is to have my way with you,” he said.

  My heart hammered with wanting, and desire coiled inside me, growing tighter, more intense. “Then have me,” I said. “Any way you want.”

  He reached for my jeans, and soon we were unzipping, unbuttoning, tugging, and just tossing.

  Pitching clothes onto the floor with abandon. Careless with need.

  And I needed this man. I stripped out of everything, and his eyes blazed with a wild intensity as he drank in the sight of me.

  “You are so fucking sexy,” he rasped.

  He shed his boxer briefs. My breath hitched as his cock sprang free, thick and hard.

  He wrapped a fist around his length, stroking, and I nearly combusted.

  “You are too,” I murmured, entirely aroused.

  And maybe he wanted to do bad things to me. Maybe he wanted to tie me up, to talk dirty to me, to have his way with me. But tonight, he seemed intent on one thing only.

  Making me feel spectacular.

  He reached for a condom from the nightstand drawer, rolled it on, and then gently but possessively spread my legs open. He rubbed the head of his cock against my wetness, and I groaned, letting my head fall back onto the pillow, savoring every single second of his touch.

  Right then, I had no regrets about how long it had taken us to get to this place. Because all the buildup, all the longing, all the nights filled with the sinful temptation of John Winston had come to this.

  To this man sinking inside me like it was the only thing on earth he wanted to do.

  I gasped his name as he filled me. “John.”

  “Mindy,” he whispered in return.

  My name was sweet, but on his lips, it sounded filthy. And it had never suited me better.

  The moment was perfect.

  Made more perfect by the way he took control, stretching my arms over my head, gripping my wrists, kissing my neck fiercely as he fucked me.

  Hard. Deep. And with so much passion.

  He stared at me, his voice rough and hungry. “I have wanted you for so long. Thought about this so many damn times. Kicked myself for not taking you out sooner.”

  With each admission, he drove deeper, punctuating his truths with pleasure.

  There was barely anything for me to say in return. I wasn’t even sure I could form words. Not with the way he stroked inside me. Not with the way his hands gripped my wrists. Not with his words, smoky in my ear. “Spread your legs for me. Hike them up. Let me go deeper.”

  I did as he asked, and pleasure swept over me in wave after hot wave. He let go of my wrists, grabbed my thigh, and pushed my leg up higher still.

  Opening me.

  “Yes, that’s so fucking sexy, so fucking perfect,” he said.

  Holy hell, did I ever feel appreciated.

  Especially when he wrapped my legs tighter around his waist, pushed up on his hands, and gazed down at me. His lips parted, and he whispered my name like a prayer. Like a promise. “Mindy Gamble. I appreciate you more than you could ever know,” he said.

  His words unlocked me.

  They sent my pleasure galloping to the horizon, to the far edge of want.

  And then into bliss as I shattered, coming hard with the man who’d been an incredible friend.

  Who was an even more incredible lover.

  I expected him to follow me, but John was a determined man.

  And he seemed determined to wring more pleasure from me first.

  He flipped me to my hands and knees, banded an arm around my waist, and took me.

  Just took me.

  And if this was his bad cop, I wanted to be a very naughty girl.

  He slid a hand up my back, grabbing my hair, tugging it.

  I yelped, and he groaned. Then I surprised myself by saying, “Again.”

  He n
eeded no more permission than that, grasping and tugging, pulling hard.

  I moaned as pleasure built again, and my belly tightened.

  He groaned too, sliding a hand between my legs, stroking me where I wanted him most, and sending me tumbling toward another climax.

  “It’s so good,” I breathed. “I’m close, so close.”

  “Come for me, sweetheart. I want to hear you a second time, the sounds you make.”

  It was the “sweetheart” that did me in.

  The endearment in the middle of this excruciating ecstasy.

  It was all I needed to fall off the cliff. He followed me there, his throaty noises thrilling me as he joined me on the other side.

  * * *

  He asked me to spend the night, and I didn’t mention how it seemed inevitable that I would. I just appreciated his asking and said yes.

  As he wrapped an arm around me, spooning me in the dark, he said softly, “You know what I think about New York?”

  I tensed, worried what he would say. “What’s that?”

  “That you should spend as much time with me as you can before you go.”

  I was quiet for a moment, examining my conflicted reaction to that. Hell yes, I wanted to spend all my time with him while I had the chance. But at the end of it, would he really wave goodbye to me without looking back?

  “They haven’t officially offered me the job,” I said, hedging my answer.

  “They will.” His arm tightened around me. “Any business would be damned lucky to have you.”

  It was the perfect thing to say, supportive and full of confidence in me. But it left me feeling empty all the same.

  10

  Mindy

  I’d only flown to New York for a day, but it had been a long one, and I hadn’t been able to nap on the plane. Bleary-eyed, I rode down the airport escalator, opening my Uber app as I headed for the exit. I almost missed John waiting by baggage claim.

  Not true—there was no missing John anywhere, and no matter how tired I was, every nerve ending came alive as soon as I was near him.

  Especially since this was unexpected and thoroughly welcome. He swept me into his arms and into a kiss that was all the more delicious because they were numbered.

  “Well?” he asked when we broke it off for air and public decency. “How did it go?”

  “Must have gone great,” I said, “since they formally offered me the job.”

  “Not to say I told you so. But I did.” Without a trace of smugness, he took the strap of my carry-on bag from me and put it over his shoulder. “Congratulations. This calls for a celebration.”

  “I have a few ideas how to do that.” I waggled my eyebrows suggestively.

  “So do I.” He put his hand on the small of my back to usher me outside, where it was comfortably warm compared to the airport’s air-conditioning. “Your place or mine?”

  I laughed. “Mine, because I need a good night’s sleep to tackle all the things I have to get done in two weeks.”

  John stopped walking, like he’d been rooted to the ground. “You have to move to New York in two weeks?”

  A bit of alarm slipped through with his surprise, and I tried not to react to that as I answered. “I start in two weeks. It’s sooner than I expected, but I can stay at the hotel until I find a place to live.”

  Was he upset by the thought of my moving away? If so, why couldn’t he have said something in the bar on Saturday night, or in bed that night, or during any of the four days since? I’d asked his opinion about the job in New York, and he’d been so supportive and encouraging, but all he’d said about . . . us was that he wanted to spend all our time together until I left.

  Or maybe the reality of my leaving had just hit him. It hit me on the plane, somewhere above Kansas. Nerves and excitement had carried me through the day of interviews, meetings, and introductions. But once I slowed down, I realized I had to make this—us—work somehow. I had two weeks to figure it out.

  “I’ll be coming back and forth for a bit while I get settled. Planes fly both ways, you know.” I bumped my shoulder with his to lighten the mood. “Miraculous flying machines they have these days.”

  He eased up on the frown, smiling almost sheepishly. “Good. It’s hell going cold turkey on an addiction.”

  Addiction. I liked the sound of that. I liked being his sexy drug.

  Wrapping an arm around my waist, John guided me out to his car. He couldn’t have been waiting long, but he hadn’t used any cop clout to leave his car in the loading-only lane. Always the model police officer in public.

  In public.

  I didn’t hide a smirk. I had two weeks with John, and I wasn’t going to waste any of them pretending I wasn’t a cat with a cream smorgasbord.

  As John navigated out of the airport, I steered back to a much earlier point in the conversation. “On second thought,” I said, angling in the seat to face him, “since I have my overnight bag in the trunk, we can go to your place.”

  He glanced at me, that sexy hint of a smile curving his lips. “I thought you wanted to get a good night’s sleep.”

  “Sleep is for the weak.” And for people who had more than two weeks with someone I liked as much as I liked John. Though I was pretty sure I was feeling a whole lot more than like.

  I would worry about my hatred of snow later. Not to mention the lack of John, whether for running or kickboxing or any other sweaty activities.

  Only, as I watched him drive, streetlights and shadows painting his chiseled features, I faced one of many facts.

  This move would be much easier if all I would miss about John was working up a sweat.

  * * *

  That night, after John turned “travel-weary” into “blissful exhaustion,” he asked me my favorite things to do in Las Vegas.

  “Besides you?” I’d asked, and he’d come very close to a smirk.

  I’d brainstormed a list—restaurants, shops, and sights, both things I did often and things I didn’t do enough—and we set out to check as many of them off as possible as part of the spend-every-moment-together plan.

  Over the next several days, we ran our favorite route, bumping into K-9 Sergeant Jackson and his adopted dad. I’d find a new favorite route in New York, and new faces would become familiar, new regulars who’d get a nod or smile or some belly rubs. That was one of the things I’d wanted from this move.

  John and I hit a few of my favorite eateries, but after each, I had to admit I wouldn’t miss the diners as much as I would miss the company.

  Tonight, we hit the blackjack tables at the Luxe.

  I tapped my card to tell the dealer to hit me, but my attention was on John. I used to take my blackjack very seriously, when Brent and I would play. Tonight I sat catty-corner to John, trying to distract him by running the toe of my sling-back heels up the cuff of his trouser leg.

  “You seem a little jumpy tonight, Detective Winston,” I murmured, lifting a brow. “Expecting trouble?”

  “Yeah,” John growled, checking his new card. “I’m thinking there’s some under-the-table deal-making going on.”

  “You’re saying there’s mischief afoot?”

  He choked on a laugh, then shook his head, grinning at me. “The real troublemakers are the ones you don’t expect.”

  “Some people are full of surprises.” Propping my elbow on the table and my chin in my hand, I reached over and traced the back of his knuckles with a fingertip. This was as flirty as I got. I didn’t pout or flutter my lashes. I didn’t have a perfect manicure. But John had never seemed the type to go for those things.

  “You’re going to go bust,” I predicted.

  “You think so?” he asked, as casually as if I’d said it might be hot in Vegas today. “Are you fortune-telling now?”

  My finger traced the tendons on the back of his hand. “Nope. I just know you’re distracted.”

  He raised his brow. “Woman, I have laser focus. Or how else would I have resisted kissing you for the last ye
ar?”

  “I’d wondered how you managed.” Coolly, I drew a fingertip over his knuckles again, even though inside I was electric, knowing he’d had his eye on me the whole time too. “Me? I couldn’t back down from a challenge, even from myself.”

  His eyes flashed with heat—a warning and a promise—but he didn’t move his hand out of my reach. “You challenged yourself to resist this?”

  “Well, sure, it seems pointless now,” I said, drawing another smile from him. I loved being able to touch him—in private, in public, holding his hand above the table and playing footsie below.

  As the dealer turned to us, I slid my toe under his pants cuff, teasing until his free hand disappeared from on top of the table and landed on my knee, keeping me still.

  He nodded for another card, and his fingers curved around my inner thigh. This would have been the night to wear a skirt.

  John, looking unfazed, tapped his fingers on my thigh and lifted the corner of his new card for a peek.

  He cursed under his breath, declaring himself bust.

  I crowed with triumph, and John shook his head, flipping all his cards face down for the dealer to scoop up. Leaning onto my elbows, I came close to whisper, “You win some, you lose some.”

  He drained the last of his drink, his eyes never leaving my face as he set the glass down with precise care. “I haven’t lost anything.” His fingers on my leg inched a little higher. Nothing scandalous. Nothing anyone but the two of us would notice.

  But, oh, did I notice.

  “I’m on my way to a win, I’d say.” His eyes strayed down to my cleavage, pushed up by the way I was leaning on my folded arms. “You win some, and then I win some, and then maybe you win some more.”

  “Big talk, big spender.” I nodded to the impatient dealer. “He’s waiting for you to ante up.”

  John gathered his modest stack of chips, tossed a tip to the dealer—extra for having made him wait—and stood, crowding me where I sat, and then crowding me closer with a hand on either side of the stool. “Now we’re on our own time, and here’s what’s going to happen. I got a room here—because you like hotels”—his eyes glinted as he used my words to tease me—“and we’re going to go up there, do not pass go, do not collect two hundred dollars, and do have hotel sex.”