I smirk, because there’s only one logical solution. It won’t sate either of us—it’ll only buy us time to get somewhere more private where I can scream, where we’ll have an endless supply of condoms and all the time in the world. But god, I want it. Now.
I slide down and sink to my knees. Stare up at him. “I have one idea.” I grin up at him. “I think you may enjoy it.”
His jaw tenses as I drag his jeans lower, so they’re bunched around his ankles, leaving him all but naked. “Brooklyn…”
“You can’t tell me you haven’t thought about this.” I wrap a hand around his shaft, another cupping his sac, stroking and massaging and fondling and caressing him until he groans. “You’ve dreamed of this.”
He closes his eyes for a moment. “I’ve woken up sticky from dreams of this.” His eyes flare open as I flick my tongue against him. “But it’s not gonna solve anything.”
“Maybe not. But you want it, and I want it.”
He frowns. “You want it?”
I nod. “I like knowing how much power I have over you.” I grin, hungry and wolfish and amused and eager.
“Power over me.” His voice is flat.
“You know it’s true.” I breathe on him, teasing. “Once I start, you’ll do just about anything.”
“I already will, and you haven’t done anything much yet.” He frowns down at me, brow furrowed, jaw tensed. “It’s just about power and control?”
“Of course not,” I admit. I’ve always liked doing this. Usually it’s a matter of foreplay leading up to the big show—nearly always, actually. Something about this with Will is, as with everything else, different. “I just want to.”
“A conversation for another time, maybe,” he says. “You have my attention.”
I grin. “Yeah?”
“Like I could say no to you going down on me—” He cuts off abruptly, because I chose that moment to take him into my mouth. “Holy fuck.”
I take him deep. As far as I can while still enjoying the sensation—which is, to wit: Him, squirming. Groaning helplessly, utterly at my mercy. Gasping at the feel of what I’m giving to him. God, this is so different from any other time before. How to put it? Before, I was doing it to get something. I liked knowing he liked it, but that was it. I think I did it to make sure he gave me what I needed. This is different. I’m giving this to Will because I want more than anything to know I can make him feel good. Words are so weak and useless: feel good is nowhere near the right phrase. I want to know I can make him go crazy. I want his gasps and his shouts and his growls—the helpless thrusts, the begging whimper as I make him utterly lose all ability to hold back.
No holds barred. I use everything I know, every trick I have to make him lose control as fast as possible. Nothing held back, nothing drawn out. Maybe someday I’ll see how long I can make a blowjob last, but this is not that day. Today, it’s about getting as much pleasure out of him as humanly possible in the shortest amount of time possible.
Both hands stroke him and twist and plunge, and my mouth works in synch with my hands, my lips sliding slick down his shaft, my tongue swirling. All over him, every inch—I leave no part of his sex untouched, unlicked, unkissed. And then, when he groans, I increase it—speed of strokes, intensity of tongue, deep and fast.
He’s panting. Gasping in that small, breathy hopelessly gone male groan of abandonment. His hips begin thrusting, and I adjust to allow for it.
I feel him getting close.
I look up to watch his face as he gets there: a rictus of pleasure, a grimace, a study of the agony of ecstasy. Every line of his body is taut; everything about him is hard and tense.
“Brooklyn, Jesus,” he snarls. “Holy—holy shit.”
And then, moments before the release, he yanks away. “No, no.” He pulls backward, stumbling, hands raking through his hair. “Not here, not like this.”
“Will, I was—you were—” I reach for him, tug him back by his arousal. “I had you where I wanted you.”
“I didn’t travel seventeen hundred miles to come down your throat.” He grabs my wrist, jaw gritted as he pulls himself away from the edge. “I’m not starting us out like that.”
“Will—”
He yanks his jeans up, buttons the fly—painfully, it looks like—around his erection. “Your place. Now.”
“You don’t have a shirt. Neither do I, for that matter,” I say.
“I don’t care. Figure something out.” He cups my jaw. “I need you alone. I need you under me, wrapped around me. I need your legs around my back as I fuck you to an orgasm you’ll never forget.”
“I haven’t forgotten the last one,” I murmur.
“Neither have I,” he growls.
I swallow hard—he just made me fall further in love with him, whether he knows it or not.
I move past him, to the closet in the corner of my office; I keep a change of clothes here, just in case of an emergency. I shrug into a blazer and button it up, which only sort of covers me—it’s still obvious I’m naked under it, but I don’t care. I hold up a finger for Will to wait, and I leave my office.
Dad is in the conference room, going over what seems, at a cursory glance, to be the contract we drew up before I left for Colorado. He sees me come in but only at a glance. “Brooklyn, hey. Good contract. Have him sign it—” He looks up at me, then and I can tell he is not missing the fact that I’ve had a change of clothes.
I ignore him and take the suit coat he’d taken off and hung on the back of his chair. “I’m leaving.”
He blinks. “Okay…”
“We’ll talk later,” I say, and turn away.
“Brooklyn?” His voice stops me; I turn and look at him. “Don’t mistake sex for love, darling. They’re not the same.”
“He came here. He’s willing to sign that.” I shrug. “In this case, they are the same. And more.”
He hands me the contract. “Business first,” he says. “Have him sign it before you go anywhere—”
“Dad, come on—”
“That way,” he continues over me. “You can focus on, um…hashing out your personal issues without worrying about business getting in the way.”
I snatch the contract from him and march back to my office, contract in one hand, jacket in the other. Will is waiting, as only he can: still, not fidgety, just still and calm. I shove the contract at him. “If you’re serious about the deal, then sign.”
He takes it, grabs a pen from my desk, and prepares to sign.
I touch his wrist to pause his movement. “Will?”
He blinks at me. “Yes?”
“Don’t sign for—” I gesture between him and me. “For this. They’re not connected, not anymore. Sign if it’s a good move for you and your family. If you don’t sign…” I let out a breath. “This will still happen. You just…I need you to know that.”
He stares at me steadily. “I should read this—as a business owner, I know that. But I trust you to not screw us over. Do right by the Bar-A, by the Audens, and by all of our employees and dependents.”
“I will, I promise.”
He smiles, nods, and then signs in a quick messy scrawl. The grin fades, and he shrugs into his blazer and buttons it over his bare chest—and it looks both funny and unbearably hot, buttoned up over his ripped abs and bulging pecs. “Let’s go. Before I say fuck it and bend you over this desk.”
“Don’t tempt me, Will,” I groan. “I’m ovulating, so I’d get pregnant if your cum got anywhere near my vagina.” I cling to his arm. “Elevator, now, before I say fuck it and let you bend me over this desk.”
We speed walk, hand in hand, out of my office and to the elevator. We pass Tina at the copier, and her jaw falls open. It couldn’t be any more obvious what’s happening if we were to be seen in flagrante delicto in my office.
“Um, Brooklyn?” Tina says.
“Clear my schedule,” I call over my shoulder. “Forty-eight hours at least.”
“Seventy-two,” Wil
l corrects.
“Seventy-two hours,” I say. “Hold all contact. No one gets through to me. No one.” I dig my cell phone out of my purse as we reach the elevator doors, and toss it at Tina. “Have Reggie meet us at the service doors.”
“Reggie?” Will asks.
“Driver,” I clarify for him. To Tina: “The Bar-A contract is on my desk, signed. Get things in motion. If it needs my attention before we’re ready to leave my apartment, set it aside, figure it out yourself, or move on and we’ll come back to it.”
Like the genius PA she is, Tina is taking notes on a legal pad while she has her phone to her ear, giving instructions to my driver even as she nods to indicate to me that she’s listening.
“You’re out of contact for three days, boss?” Tina asks. “Totally incommunicado?”
It’s unheard of. I haven’t been out of touch for more than a few hours—the time in Colorado was the longest I’ve been away from my cell phone since I first got one as a teenager.
“At least three days,” I say; Will’s eyes bore into mine; the elevator is taking too damn long. “Minimum.”
Tina’s eyes can’t get much wider, but they do when the elevator door whooshes open and Will bodily tosses me backward onto the elevator and up against the back wall; his hands claw around my hips, and he sinks to his knees as the doors close.
“Ho-ly shiiiit,” I hear Tina drawl. “I want that.”
“No kidding,” I hear another female voice say, and then I’m distracted by Will’s hands shoving my skirt up around my knees, to my hips.
“Camera,” I mutter. “Elevator…there’s a security camera.”
“Don’t care,” Will snarls. “Need to taste you.”
“Button.” I reach out a trembling hand over his back, straining to find the button to get the elevator going. “Lobby…”
Will twists, sparing half a glance for the bank of buttons, stabs the L with a violent jab of his finger, and then turns back to me. “How long is the ride down?” he demands.
“Two minutes? Three?” I gasp, squeaking as he reaches up under my skirt to yank my panties down. “Ohhh, oh my god.
“Will it stop for anyone else?”
I can’t think straight. “Um. No.” I bury my fingers in his hair as he laps kisses against my inner thigh. “No! God, yes!”
“Which is it?” he snaps. “Yes or no?”
“No, this elevator is express, and only for this floor. Private elevator for my office.”
“Nice.” He pauses. Stares up at me. “You have two, maybe three minutes to come, then.”
And with that, he buries his mouth against my core, and I immediately cry out. “Ohhhh god, oh god. I don’t—oh, oh wow, oh Jesus, Will…” I gasp, swallow hard at the wild assault of his tongue, the fingers curling inside me to find me wet and slick and already clamping around him. “I won’t need anywhere near that—LONG OH MY FUCKING GOD!” I shout, suddenly unable to stop the scream as he does something with tongue and fingers that has me writhing against his face.
His stubble is so rough, so prickly, so delicious, and his tongue is so skilled, so wickedly talented at knowing exactly how to touch me and where, how to make me scream. Will’s hand covers my mouth.
“Hush, babe.”
“C-can’t—” I gasp.
“Try.”
The floors beep, a countdown to the seconds before the doors open in the busy lobby of Dad’s building. Some part of my head is automatically counting—twenty, nineteen, eighteen…thirteen, twelve, eleven—
His hand is callused and scratchy and huge, and I bite down as the climax slams through me. I writhe, knees giving out, but he’s there, catching me, holding me up and continuing to assault my spasming core with his thrashing tongue, pushing me to orgasm and beyond, lashing my clitoris even when I can only sit helplessly on his shoulders and face and shake, too far gone to even have a scream left in my lungs, and then, too, he doesn’t relent, until I feel another climax building, and the floors are beeping at six, five, four, three…and I come again, breathless, unable to scream or gasp or shake any harder—I’m quivering madly, mouth open, eyes closed, a whistle of a shriek emerging from my throat as I’m ravaged by his tongue and the shredding orgasms racking me, wave after wave after wave of wild onslaught.
Out of control, riding his face, grinding against him, fingers tearing at his hair, thighs squeezing his head.
Ding.
A brief pause as the elevator settles, and this is when Will shoots to his feet, letting my skirt drop down around my knees once more, just as the doors slide open. Will rubs a hand across his face, places his hand at my back, and we head out of the elevator.
People are glancing this way, an automatic reaction to movement.
“I…” I snatch at his arm. “C-c-can’t—can’t w-walk.” Stuttering, my words are slurred—I’m literally drunk on ecstasy.
He wraps an arm around my waist and pinions me to his side, holding me up. “Where to?” he growls.
I gesture at a door marked “Authorized Personnel Only” that is secured with a keycard reader. I fumble the card out of my purse as Will half carries me to the door. I get the key through the reader, which beeps and flashes a green light and then we’re stumbling down the pristine white corridor toward the service entrance. I say we are stumbling, because as Will carries me, I’m reaching for him, consumed by a desperate need to take away his control the way he has taken mine—make him feel the way I feel now.
“Brooklyn, wait. Not yet.” He’s half-heartedly fending off my hands.
“I need you.”
“Soon.” He kicks open the door, scoops me in his arms and carries me bodily to the waiting SUV limo—one of Dad’s fleet of armored, high-powered, custom-built Mercedes SUV limos, which I only rarely use. “How far are you from here?”
I glance at Reggie, who’s too professional to register surprise. “Home, Reg. Fast as you can.”
“Yes ma’am.” He opens the back door and Will awkwardly sets me in on the seat.
I scoot over, reaching for Will with one hand, and pressing the button to raise the privacy screen with the other. The passenger cabin is now private and soundproof, and Reggie can’t hear anything from up front.
Will joins me, closing the door behind him, and as soon as the door is closed, I pounce.
Or, at least, that’s the idea. I reach for him, but Will’s hands grab my wrists and he hauls me against his chest. “Not yet.”
“But you got to taste me.” I stare up into his face, feeling petulant and a little angry and needy. “My turn.”
He shakes his head, not letting go. “When I come, it’s going to be buried deep inside you, Brooklyn. In a bed, alone. Protected.” His eyes betray…so much. “Not in your mouth in your office or the back of a limo.”
“God, Will—I need you.”
He wraps his arm around me and pinions me against him—my back to his chest, his nose in my hair. His breathing is deep, slow, and steady. “Wait with me. Breathe.”
I strain against him. “Will—I need you. Now.”
He breathes. “Soon.”
“Now.”
“Soon.”
I twist, just enough that I can look up at him. “You’re impossible.”
“You’ll thank me later.” He breathes again, a long slow inhalation, a long slow exhalation. “Just breathe.”
I force myself to relax a little, to mirror his breathing. “When did you know?” I ask.
“I snuck into the cabin after you were asleep to get my clothes and leave the note,” he says, knowing exactly what I meant. “You were naked in my bed. I wanted so, so badly to climb back in with you, wake you up, do dirty, wonderful, sinful things to you. But you looked so peaceful, and I just…couldn’t. I covered you up.” He pauses. “I should have stayed, talked things through at least—but I knew, then—in that moment, when I covered you up, I knew I’d fallen in love.” He feathers a ghost of a kiss over my cheek, my forehead, the corner of my lips. “When
did you know?“
“I think the first inkling was when you stood over me facing down Demon,” I say. “The moment I knew? The way you whispered my name as you came. That’s when I knew. I knew I’d never be able to be with anyone else ever again, because no one could ever look at me like that, could never say my name the way you did in that moment, and I knew I’d—” I pause, swallowing emotion. “I knew I’d crave that for all eternity.”
I feel him—under me, behind me. Feel the thick ridge of his arousal behind me, pressing against my buttocks. His chest against my back, his shoulders sheltering me. His breath hot, his hands strong.
“When we get home,” I whisper, twisting in his grip to kiss his jawline. “Make love to me like this. In this position.”
He growls. “A hundred times. A thousand.”
“Let me ride you.”
He hesitates. “Anything for you.”
“Tell me you love me while you fuck me senseless,” I whisper, nearly inaudible, as broken as I’ve ever been, fraught with need, ravaged by emotion, racked with vulnerability, blasted helpless with love.
“God, Brooklyn,” he growls. “It is killing me to wait. I hope you realize that.”
I writhe against his erection. “I feel it.”
“Dammit, how much fucking longer?” Will snaps.
The vehicle halts, and the intercom crackles. “We’re here, Miss Bellanger. Service entrance. If you don’t mind, I took the liberty of having the elevator waiting open for you.”
Will shoves open the car door, scrambles out, reaches in and hauls me roughly across the seat, scoops me into his arms, and marches for the elevator.
I glance at the driver as we enter the elevator. “Thank you, Reg.”
He tips his hat. “Anything else I can do?”
Will lifts his chin. “Tell security or whoever to guard the elevators. No visitors. None. Not God, not Jesus, not the Pope or the president.”
“Got it.”
I giggle at the expression on Reggie’s face, burying my face in Will’s chest. And then the elevator is moving. “Penthouse, I assume?” Will says.
Cowboy in Colorado (Fifty States of Love) Page 20