Manhandling Page 12

  No matter where Mac took her, Laurel knew how the night was going to end—with a deliciously forbidden fantasy fulfilled, and her completely sated. The man didn’t do anything halfway, including giving as much sexual pleasure as he received.

  The vibrating rumble of the motorcycle’s engine between her thighs electrified her, building her anticipation for what was to come. Finally, the bike slowed. He used a key card to get into the lower-level parking garage. He parked in his space and cut the engine.

  In one smooth, fluid motion he moved off the bike, then held out his hand to help her do the same, though her legs weren’t quite as steady as his. Their helmets came off, and he stowed them in a small locker.

  He took her hand and headed for the elevator. When the doors closed, sealing them in the quiet, private place, she stared up into his hot, hungry eyes and shivered.

  When they reached his floor, they stepped out into the hall. As he turned to open the door, the light from a dim bulb in the hall illuminated his dark hair, haloing his head. He looked like a fallen angel, a dangerous outlaw, a man who lived on the edge.

  She shouldn’t be nervous; she knew exactly what she wanted to do. As they entered the apartment, there was a small light in the living room to illuminate their way and she took his hand and drew him toward the bedroom.

  Once in the bedroom there was plenty of light from the streetlamps to show her the path to the bathroom. She pulled two candles out of her purse and set them down onto the bedside table. With a flick of a lighter, she lit both. The scent of vanilla and jasmine perfumed the air. With deliberate slowness, Laurel took off the leather jacket and set it on a chair by the window. In the dim light of the moon, she reached up to the first button on her shirt, and released the buttons and let it fall off her shoulders. Mac was just standing there, intensity and desire radiating off him like heat from the sun. “You, too,” she coaxed softly. “I want to watch you undress, Mac.”

  Without any other prompting, he pulled his sweater over his head, along with the T-shirt he was wearing underneath. When his hands went to the fastening of his jeans, Laurel reached for her jean snap as well. Their eyes met in the dimness, their chests heaving with anticipation. His eyes mirrored her own—deep, dark and shameless with an unrestrained quality that was spine-tingling.

  When she was naked, she walked back to the bed and pulled a kitchen timer out of her purse. He looked at her with a puzzled frown, and she smiled. “That’s for later.”

  Picking up one of the candles, she took his hand and led him into the bathroom. She set the candle on the sink and stepped into the tub. Reaching her hand out she whispered, “Come here.”

  Wordlessly he stepped inside and she sat down. “Sit down and lean your shoulders against my knees, drop your head back.” He did so.

  She turned on the water and adjusted the tap. Gently she ran her hands through his hair, wetting it, enjoying the sensation of the soft strands through her fingers.

  “You’re going to wash my hair?”

  “Yes, do you mind?”

  “Are you kidding?” He arched his back with a sigh and closed his eyes.

  Shampoo lather dripped off his head, onto her bare thighs, pooling at her feet like clotted cream. In a sensual daze, she reveled in massaging his scalp, sending her hands through his hair as the humidity climbed in the room.

  With his head flung back, the strong column of his throat was irresistible.

  She leaned in and kissed him, running her mouth over the taut cords. She felt them vibrate with his soft moan. She moved up to his strong jawline, hovered over his mouth, kissing each corner.

  She rinsed the lather out of his hair. Mac opened his eyes, questioning.

  She smiled boldly and squeezed conditioner onto her palm.

  “That smells good.”

  “You have the kind of hair that’s not easy to tame.”

  “It’s always been wild, ever since I was a kid.”

  “I heard about wild, but I think chick magnet was mentioned along with impulse control problems.”

  “I don’t know about the chick magnet thing, but I have impulse control problems around you, Laurel.”

  She cupped his rough cheeks caressing his skin with her thumbs. “And you try to act so very cool.”

  “Aren’t I?” She got lost in Mac’s eyes. The pupils were dilated wells of infinite black bordered with pure summer-sky blue.

  “Yes, you are. Very cool, very wonderful. Sweet and dangerous at the same time.”

  “Sweet?”

  “Yes or have you forgotten about that little trip to the Met?”

  “Okay, you got me.”

  “See. Sweet.”

  He smiled. The air was suddenly too thick and hot to breathe. This had to have been the most perfect day of her life. Letting out a shaky breath, she swallowed against the frantic flutter in her throat, her insides feeling like jelly. And it was all about Mac. Not his body or the way he looked, but him. Looking deeply into the bright pools she suddenly felt as if she’d been set free.

  “Laurel,” he said softly, then brought her aching mouth down to his. The kiss was hot and deep. She opened to him, her mouth moving against his with an urgent hunger that plunged to the heart of her. More than skin deep.

  Gently she pulled away as if she was trying to resist the pull of a vortex. Through the misty haze eddying in the shower, his slumberous eyes captured hers, his dark, freshly washed hair slicked away from his striking face. “You’re distracting me, Mr. Hayes.”

  “Is that good?”

  “I haven’t even gotten through the rest of my seduction.”

  “What’s next?”

  “Let’s take a shower.”

  They rose and Laurel adjusted the faucet until the temperature was perfect.

  “A shower by candlelight?”

  “Oh, yes,” she breathed. “We have to go by touch alone.”

  “Nice.”

  She couldn’t stop herself from touching his slick, wet skin. Trailing her fingers up his muscular arms, deliberately taking the time to trace the barbed wire around his biceps and hesitated when it rubbed off.

  “Mac, your tattoo is fading.”

  “What? Oh damn.”

  “It’s not supposed to do that, is it?”

  “No, but…it’s not a real tattoo.” He paused and she wished she could see his face. “I’m afraid of needles,” he said sheepishly.

  “Ah, okay. So, what is this?”

  “Henna.”

  “Some bad boy you are.” She giggled before continuing along his broad shoulders and down his muscled chest, which sent her deeper into that sensual trance. He felt deliciously warm and sleek, exceptionally hard in all the right places, and she savored his virile strength even as he brushed his hands across her pliant body so gently, so eloquently.

  She reached for the soap and massaged him with slow, languorous strokes as she lathered along his belly, just grazing the top of his erection, up over the strong, sleek muscles of his chest, neck and shoulders.

  He groaned softly, moving close enough to press his cock against her. She felt breathless, every one of her feminine nerve endings humming with tense awareness.

  She turned him around and let the hot spray rinse the suds from the front of his body, while she soaped his back. He braced his hands against the tiled wall for support, bringing his heavy back muscles into taut relief as she applied skillful pressure to the firm tendons running along his spine.

  With her hands on his waist, she turned his back to the shower for another quick rinse.

  “My turn,” he whispered, taking up the soap and lathering his hands. He turned her around and started working a silken magic down the muscles bisecting her spine, his firm touch spreading goose bumps along her flesh.

  She closed her eyes, shivering as his palms slid over her hips and his big hands curved over her buttocks, squeezing and kneading her bottom. “That feels so good,” she murmured.

  He easily nudged her feet apart and
slipped his fingers along the crevice between her legs, grazing the swollen lips of her sex before retreating again. She swallowed a moan at that teasing caress.

  He readjusted the showerhead so the water poured along her back in a fall of sensual heat, and he chased the soapy suds down her spine with his palms, leaving her skin satiny-soft and clean from head to toe.

  She gasped as his parted lips skimmed the side of her throat and his tongue licked the moisture beading on her skin. His breath was hot, and her nipples puckered, tingled, aching to be caressed by his hands, his mouth. Again.

  A muscled arm slid around her waist, and he pulled her bottom to his groin so that his erection nestled cozily between her thighs. His free hand played with her breasts and lightly pinched her nipples, causing her to suck in a sharp breath and wriggle against him. His fingers strummed over her stomach, slid through her slick folds, opening her so that rivulets of water teased her clitoris, and his shaft glided along her tender, swollen flesh from behind.

  Her entire body pulsed and ached, but she grabbed his hand to stop his alluring assault.

  “No, not here.”

  He gently turned her around to face him, and the water cascaded over her shoulders and down her curves. She experienced a moment of vulnerability that had nothing to do with her naked body. Physically, she was all his in every way, but it was the raw emotions working their way up to the surface that made her feel so exposed to him. And as a man so in tune to her, he seemed to sense that change.

  “Are you okay?” he asked, brushing a wet strand of hair off her cheek with his fingers.

  The warmth and compassion in his touch lingered, wrapping intimately around her heart, urging her to divulge her personal thoughts. “I just didn’t expect this…to feel so marvelous.”

  The genuine caring reflected in his striking gaze clutched at her heart. “Me, either. Guess we’re not good at one-night stands,” he said simply and with understanding.

  “When it comes to you, Mac, no.” Her voice trembled, another show of emotion that slipped past her barriers.

  He stared at her for a long moment, then cradled the back of her head in his hand and brought her mouth to his for a slow, soft kiss, as if that physical contact was the best way he knew how to comfort her.

  His method worked because he made her forget everything but the glorious, desirable way he made her feel. She opened to him, clung to him, and when his warm, damp tongue slid into her mouth, she greedily accepted it.

  Her heart beat so erratically beneath her breast, she was certain he’d be able to feel the wild tempo against his chest. Thick hot steam built around them, and the moisture from the shower made their skin slippery, erotically so. His breathing roughened, and the kiss deepened, grew more urgent and evocative. He backed her up against the warm tiled wall, ruthlessly pinning her there with his hard muscled body. His palms slid slowly down her sides, and he grasped her bottom in his hands and ground his hips against hers, his solid, unmistakable erection causing a wet, silken friction along the lips of her sex.

  She shuddered and held on to his shoulders, her need for him becoming a tangible thing, strong and powerful and nearly overwhelming in its intensity. She wrenched her mouth from his, panting. “Time to go to the bed.”

  “Right, the seduction. Sorry, I keep losing track every time I touch you.”

  “I’ll make it worth your while.”

  They got out and toweled off. Holding hands they walked back to the bedroom. “Lay down on your back,” Laurel requested as she picked up the timer. “This is the deal. We’re going to have the Big O Marathon. That’s twenty-six point four minutes of oral stimulation.”

  She set the kitchen timer and without saying another word, she straddled his body and thrust her sex against his mouth. All thoughts fled. All that remained was the liquid, swirling sensation of his lips and his strong, eager tongue lapping and laving her, flicking expertly across her most sensitive flesh. She gripped damp, silky handfuls of his hair and pushed herself against his mouth. His growl of satisfaction reverberated through her body.

  She rolled her hips back and forth and softly whispered, “Oh, yes…oh that’s so good.”

  Just when she was beginning to feel the tense spiral, she pulled away from him and turned around. Pressing her chest and arms against the bed, she raised her bottom into the air, demanding, “Suck me. Lick me.” She taunted him with her body and her desire. She abandoned herself to the shifting energy between them. He grabbed her hips tightly, dragging her wet mound toward his hot mouth. She cried out at the moist contact.

  He found her pulsing clit, and his tongue circled it with wet flicks and slow, suctioning swirls, accelerating her heart rate off the charts. Then his lips closed over her, and he took her eagerly, hotly, greedily, sending her over the razor-sharp edge of orgasm just as the timer went off.

  It took her a moment to catch her breath and when she could, she said, “You know exactly what to do to make me come.”

  She rose and turned to face him, his eyes dark pools of pulsing, heaving desire.

  She smiled and picked up the timer.

  He closed his eyes and said hoarsely, “I’ll never last that long.”

  “We’ll see,” she said huskily, moving over him. He was hard and hot as she slid her hand around him, fisting his cock snugly. She moved her hand up and down, and with her other, she used a fingertip to swirl it around his hot, smooth flesh. He cried out and arched off the bed.

  She played with him, discovering his body with her hands and her lips. He squeezed his eyes shut and shuddered violently when she took him into her mouth.

  She loved his warm, salty taste, his musky male smell. His erection pulsed between her hands, against her caressing tongue.

  He gripped fistfuls of her hair. His tone grew more pleading as she experimented with her tongue, with her hands. The bolder she was, the harder he thrashed. She pulled him deeper, swallowing him whole, sucking him hard, circling with her tongue, milking him with her hands.

  His hands tightened in her hair. “Laurel, damn.” He convulsed and exploded.

  And she had minutes to spare.

  MAC SAT at the kitchen table with the Monday morning Wall Street Journal open in front of him, but the articles and daily information about the stock market couldn’t hold his interest on this day.

  He was thinking about Laurel sleeping so soundly in his brother’s bed, in his brother’s apartment. And how all this was such a sham. Last night, she’d teased saying he wasn’t much of a bad boy with his henna tattoo and she was right.

  But damn the way they had connected made him feel like his heart was going to burst. It had been hard to leave her silky body, but he couldn’t sleep with his conscious bothering him. He knew he had to tell her who he was. The charade had gone on too long.

  He’d started this affair with open eyes. His goal had been to get to know her, let her know him. But she didn’t really know the real him. And as time passed, he was getting in deeper. He already had so much at stake. She’d allowed him into her life, into her home and all on false pretenses.

  He’d broken the cardinal bad-boy rule that he stay in charge. Stay indifferent. However, when it came to Laurel, he couldn’t be, either. He wanted her in his life beyond the brief affair she wanted.

  “That better be coffee I smell or I’m going to hurt someone.”

  Mac turned at the sound of Laurel’s sleep-husky voice, and his body stirred at the sexy way she filled out his shirt, along with the adorable blush on her cheeks. Oh, yeah, he could get used to having her at his place on a regular basis.

  “Fresh pot,” he said, smiling. “Want some?”

  “I want very much.” She came up to the counter beside him and pushed her fingers through her softly disheveled hair, appearing self-conscious and wary. “What time is it?”

  “About six-thirty, still plenty of time to get you home and to work.

  Grabbing a chipped mug from Tyler’s cupboard, he poured the steaming coffee to t
he rim.

  It seemed so natural and easy to slip his arm around her waist, lower his mouth to hers and kiss her with heat and passion that seemed to grow stronger every time he touched her. Her hands came to rest on his chest, her small palms warm and comforting against his naked skin. He didn’t know that he needed this touch until he heard her sigh against his mouth, a surrender to the feelings that were swamping him, too. She pressed into him and he could feel her lush unfettered breasts, flatten against his chest.

  Before he gave in to the urge to find out what, if anything at all, she was wearing beneath his shirt, he pulled back and skimmed his thumb along her damp lower lip. He exhaled heavily and said, “There’s something I want to tell you.”

  He hesitated realizing that he was being a coward, but once those words left his lips, he would have no control over her actions. He was more worried about hurting her. His heart hammering in his chest, he ran his hands through his hair.

  She moved smoothly out of his embrace, seemingly a bit skittish. Was she somehow sensing his unease? She walked over to the table and spooned sugar into her coffee. Suddenly, she stopped stirring and reached down to finger the Wall Street Journal and slanted him a speculative look.

  “You read the Journal?”

  “For the articles,” he joked, but Laurel didn’t laugh or smile.

  “I thought only stockbroker types and financial wizards read this.”

  It was a perfect opening for him to tell her who he was. He opened his mouth to speak.

  “I could never see myself with a stockbroker.” She took a sip of her coffee, unaware of the blow she’d just delivered. “So damned uptight, worried about appearances and money. It all seems too cold and calculating to me. Just like all the men and women at my father’s firm. That’s why I vowed never to date anyone who works there.”

  His throat tight and a hole where his heart should be, he clamped his mouth shut around the words he almost spilled forth.

  He still had an opportunity to show her that he wasn’t anything like that. If he kept his mouth shut it would give him a little more time. It was starting to feel like borrowed time.