A Baby For The Boss. Maureen Child
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their past.
But then the moment was gone, hesitation evaporated and she wrapped herself around him, arms locked about his neck, her short, shapely legs hooked around his waist. His hands dropped to the curve of her behind and held her there, tight against the erection straining and pulsing with the need to be buried inside her.
Had he known what would happen when he’d decided to come here tonight? Had he guessed that he wouldn’t be able to deny himself—as he had for months—the sheer glory of her body? Didn’t matter, he told himself as his tongue swept into the heat of her mouth. Nothing mattered but the now. The feel of her surrounding him, pulling him deeper.
No other woman had ever affected him like this. It was as if his brain and his body weren’t even linked. He knew this was a bad idea, but his body just didn’t give a damn. All it wanted…needed was her. One more night of being in her, on her, under her.
He tore his mouth free of hers, then shifted to taste her at the pulse beat in her throat. Her heart hammered in time with his own.
“Mike…” She sucked in a gulp of air and shivered in his arms when he nibbled at her skin. “We really shouldn’t do this—”
“Yeah, I know,” he whispered against her neck. “Do you care?”
“No.”
“Good.” His grip on her tightened and she ground her hips against him, her heels digging into the small of his back. He groaned and hissed in a breath. “You’re killin’ me here.”
She lifted her gaze to his and a slow, sensual smile curved her mouth. “Killing you, not really the plan.”
“There’s a plan?”
That smile widened as she leaned in and kissed him. “Oh, yeah.”
He shook his head. “I don’t know why…”
“Why what?” she murmured, then gasped as his hands kneaded her behind.
“Why it’s you who does this to me,” he said on another groan as his mind shut down and his body simply took the lead.
“Ditto,” she whispered, then kissed the side of his neck, trailing her lips and the edges of her teeth along his skin.
“Oh, yeah.” He held her tighter to his groin. “Bedroom. Where?”
“Down the hall,” she whispered, her breath blowing hot against the dampness of his skin. “Hurry.”
“On that.” Thankfully, her place was so small, it didn’t take him long to carry her into the bedroom. Like the rest of the apartment, the room was tiny. A double bed, covered by a brightly colored quilt, stood against one wall. Pale yellow curtains were parted over a window that opened onto the backyard where a soft, violet glow heralded twilight.
A narrow cushioned chair sat alongside the bed, and the dresser on the opposite wall boasted a wide mirror that reflected the two of them as Mike dropped her onto the mattress.
He stretched out over her, braced himself on his hands at either side of her head and bent to kiss her. Jenny’s hands scraped up and down his arms as her mouth fused to his. God, she tasted good. Almost as good as she felt.
Quickly, he pulled her shirt up and off, then sent it sailing to a corner of the room. With just her lacy white bra standing between him and what he most wanted, Mike couldn’t wait. He flicked the clasp open, then slid the straps down her arms. His gaze locked on the feast that was Jenny Marshall. He groaned and bent his head to take first one hardened nipple and then the other into his mouth.
Her hands fisted in his hair, holding him to her as his teeth and tongue lavished attention on those full, beautiful breasts. She came up off the bed when he suckled her and the groan that shot from her throat seemed to roll around them, echoing off the walls and ceiling.
Not enough, his brain screamed at him. More. Take more.
He dropped his hands to the snap and zipper of her jeans and undid them quickly. With her help as she wriggled eagerly beneath him, he scraped the worn denim down her legs, taking the flimsy scrap of lace panties with them. Then she was there before him, naked, willing, as desperately hungry for this as he was, and Mike couldn’t wait another second to claim her.
“Too many clothes,” she muttered as she ran her hands over his chest in frantic strokes, unbuttoning his shirt as she went, tearing at the tiny white buttons, muttering, “I hate buttons, why are there so many buttons?”
“No more buttons,” he said tightly as he shrugged out of his shirt and tossed it over his shoulder. “I’ll make a note.”
“Good, good.” Her fingers stroked his skin then and each tiny stroke of her nails felt like fire dragged over flesh, burning, branding.
He took a breath and held it, calling on every ounce of control he’d ever possessed, knowing it wouldn’t be enough. If he didn’t have her soon, the top of his head would explode. But Mike dragged it out. It had been too long since he’d had his hands on her and he wanted to savor the moment.
He ran his hands down her body, breast to the heat of her and back up to her breast again. He explored every curve, every line, and with each caress he gave her, she reached for him, fingers grabbing at his shoulders, trying to pull him in closer, tighter. Her hips arched and rocked when he dipped one hand to the heart of her and cupped her heat.
“Mike!” Her head dug back into the mattress as she lifted her hips into his touch. “If you don’t get out of those slacks and come to me soon, I—” She broke off, dragged in air and whimpered when he drove first one finger and then two into her damp heat. “Mike, please!”
He worked her, driving himself and her to the edge of control and beyond. It took everything he had to keep from giving her just what she wanted. Just what he wanted. But first, he would torment them both. It had been a long year and a half.
His thumb brushed over that one tiny bud of sensation and the deliberate caress had her shout his name. Again and again, he touched her, deeply, outside, inside, across that sensitive piece of flesh until she groaned and whispered broken pleas for a release that he kept just out of reach. Her eyes glazed over, her body continued to twist and writhe, chasing a climax he refused to give her too early.
Then he couldn’t bear it anymore. Pulling away from her, he stood, stripped out of the rest of his clothes and kept his gaze locked with hers as he did. She licked her lips, rocked her hips again in silent invitation and held up her arms to welcome him.
“Almost,” he murmured and she groaned again, frustrated. Until he knelt on the floor and dragged her body toward him. When she was close enough, he covered her heat with his mouth and felt the crash of the climax that slammed into her. She reached down, held him to her as her body convulsed. His tongue flicked over her, into her and he tasted her as she exploded, crying out his name over and over like a mantra designed to prolong the pleasure rocking her.
When she was limp and her gasping breaths were shuddering in and out of her lungs, he joined her on the bed and she rolled into his arms. One leg tossed across his hip, she brushed the tip of him against her heat and Mike almost lost it. Then she slid her hand down and her fingers wrapped around his hard length, working his flesh as expertly as he had hers.
He hissed in a breath, squeezed his eyes shut for a moment and then opened them again to look down into hers. “Tell me you’ve got condoms.”
“Yeah, oh, yeah. Bedside drawer.” She wiggled her hips, grinding her body against his. “Hurry.”
“Right.” Mike didn’t think about why she had condoms. About the other men she must have invited into her bed. None of that mattered now. All that was important was this moment. He grabbed a condom, tore it open and sheathed himself, then looked back to the woman waiting for him.
She was like a damned nymph, straight out of one of the fantasy games his company designed. Like one of her drawings—blond curls rumpled, blue eyes heated and languid all at once, curvy body lush