He stood between her legs; she wasn’t going to fall. Not anywhere except onto his dick.
When he was ready.
His cock hardened. Pretty fucking ready right now.
Down, boy.
“Good girl.” Without touching, he let his heated gaze meander over her body. Her skin flushed a soft shell-pink. His dick pressed painfully hard against his jeans. Jesus, he’d never seen skin like hers. Creamy pale, flawless. He checked for the three small identifying freckles near her left clavicle. There.
Slipping his hands beneath the thin satin lapels of the burgundy robe, he skimmed his fingertips over the cluster of freckles, holding her somewhat dazed gaze. She opened her mouth to protest.
Giving her a hard look, Cruz shook his head in warning. In response she shut her gorgeous mouth, but dangerously narrowed her eyes. She’d be hell to deal with in the boardroom. Cruz imagined her saying, with icy calm, “Off with his dick,” blue eyes glacial and unsympathetic.
Lips tight, she watched him a little like a mongoose watching a snake. So far, so good. She was used to being in charge. Had any man mastered her? Cruz doubted it. The lady was a ball-buster, but even at the close proximity, she didn’t kick him in the nuts, inches from her knee, and she didn’t jump off the counter.
The heady scent of tuberoses blended with the musky scent of her arousal was permission enough. He inhaled the complex mix of fragrances, fascinated by the way her intense blue eyes held his in challenge.
The material of her robe felt like warm wine against the back of his hands as Cruz slid the skimpy garment off her shoulders, leaving the rich burgundy-colored fabric to pool on the bend of her elbows.
A sheen of perspiration made her skin luminescent. “There’s a bed upstairs,” she suggested, voice thick and husky, the muscles in her slender arms taut as she gripped the edge of the counter with fingers turned white from the pressure.
The kitchen lights were bright and unforgiving. He didn’t need a soft bed or mood lighting to do the trick. “I don’t need a bed to fuck you.”
Eyes gleaming she murmured, “I do.”
“Then you should’ve gotten me upstairs a hell of a lot faster.” Her pale skin was the texture of warm satin, her body long and lean, breasts small, plump, and high, her nipples a deep puckered rose. Cruz’s mouth watered as he trailed just his fingertips along the upper curve of one breast, watching her pupils dilate as she arched her back unconsciously to get closer. Her fingers flexed on the counter’s edge.
“Keep your hands right where they are,” he ordered as she shifted restlessly. When he brushed one tight nipple with his thumb, she clutched the countertop on either side of her hips with a death grip.
Her body was flawless except for the fairly fresh six-inch red scar on her upper right arm, and the trio of beauty marks on her collarbone. The scar hadn’t been part of her file. But it wasn’t relevant. Not now, and not later. Cruz let his gaze travel leisurely over her body, feeling her muscles tense as he drew out the anticipation. For both of them.
Now completely open to him, her pulses throbbed at her throat, at her wrists, and in the plump pink folds not quite hidden by silky dark hair gleaming with moisture. His dick, already hard, jerked in response to the open invitation.
The taut muscles of her inner thighs flexed on the sides of his hips so that he felt the heat of her open body against his belly. Her baby blues went huge as he rubbed himself against her wet heat.
“Pleasure before business,” he murmured, covering her mouth with his before she had a chance to respond. So close he saw his own need mirrored there, her eyes went wider, and her body tensed for a second, then her lashes fluttered down and she gave him her tongue, accompanied by a throaty hum of desire as she pressed her breasts to his chest. The hard points of her nipples activated such a powerful lust response in him that Cruz jerked back mentally in surprise. Whoa. Sex was sex. It was scratching an itch. A biological function.
Usually a cockstand was handled in minutes. He didn’t do much foreplay, and, like her, he didn’t enjoy kissing. Cruz never allowed himself to be overcome with hunger. This ravenous beast inside him had appeared out of left field.
By now, if he were the customer, he would’ve fucked her, paid her, and been on his way. Lingering was killing him, but the anticipation was, in itself, an aphrodisiac.
He forced his heartbeat to slow. Mentally told his dick to chill. Reminded himself who and what she was. This was all about Miss CEO.
Control. Domination.
Creamy flesh, wet with desire, breasts pressed against his chest to plump perfection, mouth avid and juicy, pulse pounding in response to the lightest touch.
Cruz ran his fingers through her thick, silky hair, then cupped her head and angled her mouth the way he wanted it and kissed her. Hot and deep.