Bedwrecker(47)

This position sets me off kilter and I find myself pushing back even harder to keep my balance.

Keen growls low and deep in his throat. Almost like he knows what he’s doing to me. That he’s setting me off balance in more ways than one. Like he knows how he’s driving me higher and higher.

I cry out louder. “I’m coming.”

With that his strokes become relentless, and he changes position one more time. His arm goes around my waist to hold me in place.

I’m not going anywhere.

Seconds later the fingers of his other hand gather my loose, sweat-dampened hair and he gently turns my head to the side.

Right where he wants me, he looks at me, an intensity in his blue eyes that makes me boneless.

My own eyelids flutter as my orgasm starts to settle.

But not for long, because then he angles his hips forward, stroking a spot deep inside me I don’t think anyone has ever touched, while at the same time stroking his hand down through my hair, across my ribs, and down to cup the top of my sex.

Hot, electric pulses zing through me.

And then I lose all control. Saying things I have no idea what. Making sounds even I have never heard. Murmuring incoherent thoughts as everything turns into a whirlpool of erotic sensations.

Keen groans through what I already know is his body getting ready for his own release. And I’m still coming.

Still coming.

“Oh, God!” I scream out, unable to contain myself. I have no idea how loud my moaning is, but I’m going to guess on a scale of one to ten, it’s at least an eleven.

At my loud, boastful moan, he turns my head and stares into my eyes. His hips grind faster against my bare bottom. And then I can feel his cock swell and pulse deep inside me. Groaning in what I know is his come noise, he mouths my jaw and neck through slow, jerky orgasmic strokes.

And then when I’m spent, I think he is too because he exhales against my shoulder, letting his weight slump into my body.

As the waves of sensations subside, I sag into his grip, waiting for my jellylike muscles to gain enough strength for me to stand up on my own.

When I am certain I can stand, I toss him a languid smile over my shoulder, and he smiles back.

Like really smiles.

Not a smirk.

His real smile.

Withdrawing, he cups my chin and brings my mouth to his for a soft kiss, and mutters around my lips, “We should probably talk.”

Pushing myself upright because I don’t really want to talk about how he hurt me anymore, I start to pull my panties up as he walks toward the bathroom.

“Don’t move.” The words are tossed over his shoulder.

I consider running.

Shimmying my panties up and straightening my skirt are about as far as I get before he returns.

In the pale glow of the emergency light overhead, I can see his hair—one hot, damp mess, and still sexier than sin. The stubble on his cheeks and chin—that only highlights the planes and curves of his face. His body—long and lean. I swear this man belongs on the cover of GQ.

His eyes are on me; his walk is slow, deliberate.

I’m gathering my cool—I mean my cool factor, because around him I seem to lose it—a lot.

Nervous, I twist my hair into a loose knot at the nape of my neck and just as I finish, his arms are caging me in, and then one hand is undoing my hair. “I like your hair down.”

Reaching up, I twist it back. “I like it up. I’m warm.”

His blue eyes glint in the darkness, and he resumes his position, keeping me trapped. “Has anyone ever told you that you are a handful?”

My pulse races with odd excitement. “All the time.”

He shakes his head, and just as he moves his hand toward the nape of my neck, the lights flick on.

Keen whirls around, his arms reaching back as if shielding me from whatever harm might be at the other end of the hall.

“Can I help you with something?” the security guard asks, pointing his flashlight in our direction.

Quick to move, Keen bends down and picks up the catalog that somehow ended up on the floor. “I’m Keen Masters, and I just started working for Simon Warren. It’s okay that I’m here.”

The flashlight moves and lands over Keen’s shoulder and right on my face. “Is that you, Maggie?”

I squint. “Mitch?”

“Yeah, it’s me. Are you okay?”

Stepping out of Keen’s protective stance, I give Mitch a wave. “I’m great. Just wanted to make sure Mr. Masters could find his way around.”

Keen snickers under his breath, “Mr. Masters. Now you’re learning.”

I give him a swift kick with my bare foot. “We were just leaving.”

“Let me walk you out,” Mitch says, the light still shining at us, and blinding me.

Keen leans down and whispers, “Follow me,” as if he knows I’m seeing spots. More than likely he is too.