She whimpered. Her tongue darted out and licked her lips; that his words affected her felt like the sweetest victory.
“Wh-what else have you thought about?”
“I’ve imagined you against my office window with the heat of your breasts meeting the cool of the glass.”
She bit down on her soft lip, then gave a slow swipe of her tongue like she might lick the leaking head of his cock. “And then what happens?”
“I yank up your skirt and take you from behind.”
“No foreplay?”
“You’re already soaking wet, your body begging for it. And we’re in a hurry. There’s a meeting scheduled in five minutes and we have to do away with the niceties. Getting inside you is my prime directive.”
“And mine?”
He smiled, recalling one of his favorite fantasies. “To come when I tell you.”
Chapter Thirteen
Oh, mercy. Emma was in way over her head here. She was supposed to be playing it cool and professional, putting their crazy-sexy-hot moments behind them. Just make coffee, Emma. Just chat innocuously about your boss-roommate-hottie-in-a-suit’s upcoming weekend plans, Emma. She had to go ask about the freakin’ bridesmaids. And he had to go show her that text message about Coldplay-loving, fresh flowers–hating Gabby.
Hey, jealousy. Surely it was understandable when only yesterday morning, he’d been lodged so deep inside her that she felt him all the way to her heart. His mastery of her body had been a thing of beauty.
She should be able to turn this need for him off, like a lamp. She shouldn’t be lying in his guest room bed with the fifteen thousand thread count sheets, humping a pillow…and her hand…and wishing she could afford batteries for her vibe.
Biting her lip, she moved her legs together, but he separated them with his knee and planted his pillar-thick thigh there. The hard planes of his body were the perfect fit against her aching softness.
“Are you okay, Ms. Strickland? You look…agitated.”
“This isn’t fair.”
“I know. It’s not fair that you’re a walking temptation and are sleeping barely feet from my bed.”
“Don’t worry. I’m not sleeping.” She frowned, annoyed at that reveal. “Kevin’s nocturnal and requires everyone else to be as well.”
His smile lit him from the inside. He should never stop doing that. No. He should stop doing that immediately.
“I’ve had a taste of you, Emma, and it’s hard to imagine going back to before.”
Oh, she knew the pain of that. But if she let him in, breaking away would be so much harder. So why was it that the only thing she could fathom was his lips on hers, his hands kneading her breasts and ass, his cock driving home—and driving her to heights she’d never achieved with any other guy?
He leaned in close enough to kiss her. Burn her alive.
“Where did you come from, Emma?”
Not what she expected at all. After his provocative words, he could have taken her apart, body and soul. There would be no resistance.
“Just a small-town girl…” she sang softly. Probably tunelessly.
“Small-town girl, big-city dreams,” he murmured, his gaze no longer on her mouth but now locked on her with a regard that consumed her. His lie-detecting look. “Did the city eat you up?”
And spat her out. “It hasn’t beaten me yet.” Keeping the shake out of her voice took effort. The times she’d picked herself up and dusted off the latest disaster to befall her were too many to recount. Fighting was her default setting. “I’ll be okay.”
“That’s what we say. That being okay, operating on autopilot is enough. But what if it isn’t?”
She recognized a kindred soul in those words. The loneliness in them. For so long, she’d struggled to keep her head above water, and the thought of wanting more was almost foreign. Anytime she reached out, she had her hand snapped off. Sure, she was a tigress in defending her sister and she could color-code a filing cabinet to beat the band, but she’d always hoped there was more to her. That she had a future that didn’t involve subjugating every need, desire, and hope to the service of others.
But with this man who made her think the impossible could be overcome, she wondered if her dreams were too small. If Emma Strickland could be more.
He nuzzled her nose, the intimacy of it a balm. “Hey, where’ve you gone?”
“It just—it’s been a while since I’ve thought about what I want. And the other night when we were in that private room together at the club…” She hesitated, unsure how to verbalize it.
“What?”
“I had this supremely selfish urge to come all over your cock.”
His snatched breath was immensely gratifying.
“Clamp down tight and ride you to heaven or hell. I didn’t care which, because I knew the journey would be out of this world.”
His groan must have been heard in the lobby sixty floors below.
This anchor of Brody’s unrelenting desire for her was about the only thing she could depend on. His potency crashed through her resolve. The south just seceded.
He lifted her onto the island counter, like she was a slip of a thing. His hands fit into the indentations of her hips perfectly. Kiss me, please. Make it better.
“You need this,” he whispered against her lips, his voice rusty with his desire. “Tell me you do.”
Somehow, he understood. Somehow, he recognized that the sanctuary of his body was necessary to her next breath. And somehow, she knew he wouldn’t demand more.
“Yes, Brody. So much.”
“Then let me give it to you.” Cool gray eyes warmed to mercurial silver. She parted her lips, let him slant his mouth over hers, slide his tongue in like it belonged there. His kiss consumed her, giving her exactly what she needed in this moment. Another memory she’d store for when she’d moved on.
He lifted her tee and bent his head to her breast. The moment his tongue touched her aching nipples, she moaned. How could feeling this good be wrong? So many reasons existed to not do this, yet every single one of them was trumped by his soul-deep suck on her needy flesh.
“Don’t stop, Brody. Please. Don’t stop.”
Out of the corner of her eye, a slight movement pinged her lust-soaked brain to attention. They were not alone.
“Well, bro, the bridesmaids are going to be so disappointed.”
Emma pushed her shirt down. She knew that voice, and if it wasn’t immediately registering with her, the “bro” endearment would have tipped her off. She tried to extricate her body from Brody’s grip, but he held her in place at her hip. One-handed, too, the bastard.
“For fuck’s sake, Liv,” Brody snapped, “what the hell are you doing here?”
“Getting my party weekend off to an icky start. I thought I’d never have an image horrifying enough to replace the one of walking in on you jerking off to a Victoria’s Secret catalog when you were fourteen, but this… Ah, hell, nothing will ever beat interrupting the VS shoot.”
Emma pushed Brody back and slid off the kitchen island, trying to blend into the granite countertop. Brody’s sister was blond, gorgeous, and much shorter than she sounded on the phone. A strange thing to say, but she always came across as so commanding. Some people might call her bossy or another B word, but Emma never indulged in that kind of hate on a strong woman.
She sneaked a glance at Brody, waiting to see how he wanted to play it. Please God don’t introduce her as Emma. It was bad enough she was caught in the act by his sister; she sure as hell didn’t want anyone knowing he was boning the help.
Priorities—she had ’em.
Olivia held out her hand. “Hi, I’m Brody’s sister, Olivia. I got all the Kane charm and personality. The looks, too.”
Emma took her hand and shook, enjoying the firm grip. “Nice to meet you.” Said like she was meeting the queen of England. Should she add a curtsy?
Olivia raised a royal eyebrow, expectant. “And you are…?”
“Um…” She looked to Brody for assistance. A muscle ticked in his jaw. Shit-hot, but probably not what she should be thinking on right now.
“This is…” Brody said, and Emma watched in slow motion as those full, sensuous lips formed her name.
“Chardonnay,” Emma said quickly. Good God, had she really just introduced herself with her stripper name? The muscle tic now motoring a mile a minute in Brody’s jaw confirmed that she had indeed made this boneheaded move.
She waited for Olivia to look down her nose at her because of the obviously invented, trashy name. She’d always seemed nice enough when she called, if a little impatient. She had once asked Emma if Brody could spare a moment from polishing the stick up his ass to speak to his sister. Emma had liked her immediately. But now she was here, meeting the help. That she didn’t know was the help.
There was something liberating about that. About slipping into another skin. Sure, hadn’t Emma been playing a part as Ms. Strickland for the last three months? Faking her way to respectability? Perhaps Chardonnay had somehow escaped the stripping business and was doing what she had always wanted. Going to school and finishing her business degree. Or running a cupcake shop. Or becoming an aerobics instructor.
Did people dream of becoming aerobics instructors?