Читать книгу Men On Fire - Susan Lyons - Страница 13

Quinn peeled off my tiny panties and studied me. His eyes gleamed, and there was a flush across his chiseled cheekbones. “No prettier sight,” he said, his voice husky.

Stop looking and touch! my body screamed silently.

He must’ve got the message because he ran his fingers lightly over me, playing with the short curls of pubic hair, stroking my labia and the wet slit between, drifting over my clit. As if he was learning the lay of the land.

With each touch, my body quickened, skin becoming sensitized, arousal building inside me. Then he buried his face between my legs and retraced the same path with his tongue. He licked my folds with firm, sure strokes that had me pushing shamelessly against his tongue, craving more. And he gave it to me. A finger, then another, slipped inside me.

Gently, he pumped in and out, circled inside, explored all the sensitive spots and then—oh, God!—found my G-spot. “Yes, oh yes,” I panted as a calloused fingertip stroked that supersensitive flesh. I squeezed my eyes shut, saw a haze of rich, fiery scarlet behind my lids, felt my body imploding so my entire being focused on that one exquisite touch.

And then I exploded in a forceful surge of orgasm that made me cry out with pleasure.

I was still riding the tremors of aftershock when the rough pad of his thumb smoothed my juices over my clit and stroked. A second, less powerful climax rushed through me.

When I finally began to regain my breath, I gasped, “What do you do for an encore?”

“I’ll show you. Soon as I get a condom out of my wallet.”

“Bedside table. But, Quinn, I want to touch you too.” I’d barely had a chance to explore that fabulous body.

“Next time.” His voice rasped and his movements were urgent as he found a condom package, ripped it open, and sheathed that stunning erection. Then he was between my legs.

My knees came up, I lifted my hips, tilted my pelvis, offered myself to him. Yes, I wanted to touch him all over, take him in my mouth, yet I loved that he now felt some of the same desperate need I’d felt earlier.

The head of his cock probed swollen, sensitive flesh, then slipped inside. Just a little, then more, as my body softened and melted and took him in. “Mmm, you feel good,” I murmured. He stretched me, filled me, stroked the walls of my channel.

I’d always enjoyed sex, been responsive and fairly easy to satisfy. But this act, with Quinn, felt different—fuller, richer, more sensual, more erotic. My body was more aware, more receptive, more attuned to his. Perhaps because he’d turned me on from the moment I first saw him. Perhaps because he’d just given me two sensational orgasms.

The reason didn’t matter. His cock was inside me, his firm butt tensed under my hands, that fabulous torso glinted in the golden light, and his strong, handsome face wore an intense, impassioned expression. “Christ, Jade, you feel good.”

“You too.”

He stroked slowly, deliberately, occasionally speeding and changing the angle so the base of his penis rubbed my clit. So the coil of sexual tension inside me wound tight, my heart racing as I gasped for air. Then, each time I neared climax, he backed off, cooling things a little.

With some men, I’d have figured they didn’t know what they were doing and I’d have taken charge, moving in a way that would bring my orgasm. But with Quinn, I sensed he was deliberately prolonging the moment when we both climaxed. And I was confident he’d make it happen, and that it would be better for the anticipation and sensual buildup.

He leaned forward, his curly chest hairs tickling my breasts, and kissed me—a deep, long, thorough kiss—while his hips continued to pump. “Let me in deeper.”

Deeper? Could he go deeper?

He lifted his upper body and, still inside me, raised my lower body and stuffed a pillow under me so my hips and pelvis were lifted toward him. He rose so he was kneeling between my bent legs, hands gripping my butt. I grabbed his muscular thighs to hold myself in place, tight against him, as he began to thrust again, faster now.

“Oh my God, Quinn.” His cock not only rubbed my clit with each stroke, but inside me it rubbed my sweet spot. Each long, deep slide notched up the tension, and he increased the pace, his breath coming in harsh pants now. His control, his finesse, were slipping away, which heightened my excitement. I panted, whimpered, hovering on the fine edge of climax, and this time I wanted it so badly, needed it, I’d kill him if he backed off again.

But he didn’t. He plunged deep, filling me completely, tipping me over the edge until all I could do was spasm and shudder around him, crying out his name.

Seconds later, I heard his deep cry as he thrust hard and jerkily in his own orgasm.

Our bodies locked together, shuddering and quivering, for long minutes. Then he collapsed downward so he was lying atop me. He managed to pull the pillow out from under me and I sank deeper into the bed.

Resting on his elbows, he studied my face. “Christ, that was something. The first time I saw you, I thought you were hot, but damn, woman, you’re…”

“What?”

“Fire.”

“You fight fire.”

“Only the dangerous kind.” Slowly, his mouth curved into the smile that created a dimple. “Are you the dangerous kind?”

I wasn’t entirely sure what he meant, but I smiled back and shook my head. “No, you know exactly what I want from you. Two or three dates as my faux fiancé. That’s it.”

“No more of this?” A frown creased his face. “We’re so good together.”

“I don’t know.” I bit my lip, rational side taking over again. “Yes, this was wonderful, but, Quinn, sex is not my priority in life right now.” I shouldn’t let myself be distracted.

He eased away to deal with the condom and grumbled, “Seems to me, sex this great should always be a priority.”

I had to chuckle. “You’re a guy. Of course it is, for you.”

We stared at each other for a long moment; then his dimple flashed. “I warn you, when I want something, I go after it.”

I smiled. “And I warn you, I’m no pushover.” Before he tried to get more persuasive, I hopped out of bed. “Let’s go to the living room. We should discuss my bio.”

“Can do that here.” He sprawled on the bed, naked and very, very tempting.

“No, we can’t. But if you behave and learn your lessons, maybe we’ll come back.”

He groaned. “Jeez, woman, you’re hard.” With exaggerated reluctance, he climbed out of bed as I headed into the bathroom.

There, I studied my reflection, liking what I saw. Madly tousled hair and a gleam of satisfaction and deviltry in my eyes.

Sexy, but definitely not businesslike. I eased a large-tooth comb through my hair, splashed water on my face, and gently sponged my sticky crotch. The silky kimono wrap hanging on the back of the bathroom door was tempting but not a good idea. I opened the door a crack to make sure he’d left the bedroom, then dressed again in my pants and tee.

The man had proved himself in my kitchen and in my bedroom. But how would he do in my work environment? Would he take his task seriously?

In the living room, he had turned the lights off and lit a couple of jasmine-scented candles, and one of my favorite Diana Krall CDs was playing. He knew how to set a mood. One that I wished I could succumb to.

When he began to pour wine into our glasses, I said, “Just half a glass for me. I’m going to make coffee. Or would you prefer tea?”

He gave a resigned sigh. “Coffee’s good. Black.”

I flicked on the lights, blew out the candles, turned down the music, and handed him my bio and Triple-F’s last annual report. “You can start reading these.”

His groan followed me into the kitchen, where I made coffee using my personal blend: two-thirds dark Jamaican roast, one-third chocolate flavored, and a dash of cinnamon.

When I returned to the living room with coffee mugs, Quinn was sprawled on the couch, my bio in his hands. He was a very male presence in my room with its soft furniture, earth tones, and plants, yet he seemed to fit. I handed him a mug and, deciding it wasn’t wise to sit beside him, took my reading chair and picked up my wineglass.

“Thanks.” He sipped. “Nice coffee.”

“Thank you. Any questions so far?”

“Yeah. Why are you doing this? Why do you need a pretend fiancé?”

I explained about the promotion and why I wanted it so badly, and my competitor with the Hallmark family.

“You’re lying to the board to get a promotion?” He frowned.

I winced. “I know. But it’s a small lie. I really do intend to get married soon.”

“Whoa.” His eyes widened and he put the mug down. “You’re engaged for real? Look, I don’t screw around with—”

“I’m not engaged. I’m not dating. Well, I am, but only one date each, so far.”

“You’re a serial first-dater? Jade, you’ve lost me.”

“I want to get married, and soon.” I traded my unfinished wine for coffee. “So, on each first date, I evaluate the guy and assess our potential as a couple. If there’s no potential, I won’t waste time on a second date.”

“Good God.” He shook his head. “You’re one strange woman, you know that?”

“I’m one practical, organized woman. I decide on my goal, then develop a realistic plan for achieving it. Don’t you do that?”

“Nah, I’m more impulsive.”

“But, in your work? When you go out on a call, a fire or an accident, don’t you all have a goal and a plan?”

“Sort of. But if the plan doesn’t make sense…” He shrugged.

“Then what?”

“I improvise.”

“Quinn? At the Triple-F events, don’t improvise, okay?”

A teasing glint lit his dark eyes. “Might have to. What if someone asks a question we haven’t rehearsed?”

“Let me answer it,” I said sternly. If this man blew my chance at the promotion…“Damn. If only Kimberly had got me the kind of man I wanted,” I muttered to myself, but not softly enough because he overheard.

“I wasn’t your first pick?” He looked shocked and offended.

“No, but—”

“Who the hell was?”

“Well, there was the Chinese tax lawyer, a high-school teacher, and—”

“Stop.” He held up his hand, scowling. “I don’t need the list. How did you get stuck with me? Your friend screwed up?”

“My friends conspired against me when they realized I was attracted to you.”

He huffed. “You lost me again. You were attracted to me but didn’t want to win me?”

“Sorry, but I wanted a white-collar man like I normally date. Someone the board would approve of.”

“You’re too damned good for a blue-collar guy?” Now he was glaring.

“No, I’m not,” I shot back. “My father was a cop, and men don’t come any better than him. But when I’ve dated blue-collar guys, we don’t have a lot in common.”

He folded his arms across his powerful chest. “Seems we proved that one wrong.”

“I mean, outside of bed. Look, I’m not being snobby, just realistic. You’re into…What did you say at the auction? Your motorbike, sailing, carpentry, cooking.”

“Didn’t see you complain about my cooking.” Then he scraped a hand across his jaw. “Shit, what’m I doing? Doesn’t matter if we’re compatible for real. This is all about a fake relationship.” He picked up my bio. “You want me to memorize this? Fine.”

He was being businesslike, as I’d wanted, but there was a coolness in his manner that I regretted. Had I actually hurt his feelings? “Look, I’m sorry—”

He hefted the annual report. “Tell me I don’t have to learn these statistics.”

I missed his sexy teasing. But that was silly. There was one thing, and one thing only, I needed from this man. “No statistics,” I said evenly. “Just the kind of things I’d have told my fiancé about.”

He sighed. “The dates my buds got stuck with are starting to look awfully good.”