The Ashtons: Walker, Ford & Mercedes. Emilie Rose
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his seduction.
As he kissed her neck, as his lips sought her skin, she opened her shirt completely, allowing him access to her bra, to the cleavage between her breasts.
He accepted the offering, putting his mouth all over her, leaving warm, damp marks. Branding her, she thought, taking possession.
They slid onto the bed, lying side by side, caressing, kissing, making each and every sensation count.
Sweet and slow. Dark and sensual.
He removed her bra, then skimmed his hand down her stomach, popping the snap on her jeans, playing with the waistband of her panties. When he moved lower, she caught her breath.
They rolled over the bed, scattering pillows, rumpling the quilt. Wanting more, they took turns undressing each other. And by the time she got to his trousers, he was hard and thick and desperate to straddle her. But she worked his zipper slowly, teasing him, making him wait.
“That’s not fair,” he said.
“Isn’t it?” Tamra found her way into his boxers and skimmed the tip of his arousal, where moisture beaded like an iridescent pearl. She rubbed it onto his skin, and his entire body quaked.
“Not fair at all,” he reiterated.
“You’re impatient,” she whispered in his ear.
“Can’t help it.” He kissed her, swirling his tongue, making love to her mouth.
She finished undressing him, and his breathing accelerated. Finally, when they were flesh to flesh, he braced himself above her.
But he didn’t push her legs apart. He simply gazed at her, taking in every feminine curve. Then he cuffed her wrists with his hands, holding her arms above her head, making her his prisoner.
Tamra could only imagine how she looked, her nipples peaked, her areolae several shades darker than her brown skin.
“You’re the most compatible lover I’ve ever had,” he said.
“Have there been a lot?”
“It depends—” he lowered his head and flicked his tongue over one of her breasts “—on what someone considers a lot.”
She didn’t try to free herself, even though he still held her captive. She liked his game, his decisive maneuvers.
Sexual strategy. Her heart pounded with anticipation.
A strand of hair fell across his eyebrows, making him seem like a rebel. She itched to run her fingers down his spine, to sink her nails into his back.
But he offered her something even better. In the blink of an eye, he rolled over and took her with him, shifting until she was poised above him, with her legs sprawled across his lap.
“Want to go for a ride?” he asked.
Her breath rushed out; her pulse stumbled. She envisioned riding him until the end of time, until the sun disappeared and the moon spun in the sky. “Yes.”
“Then do it.” He gripped her waist. “Do it to both of us.”
She didn’t have a choice. She wanted him so badly, her life could have depended on it. More than ready, Tamra lifted her hips and slid down, taking him inside.
His fingers tightened around her waist, moving her up and down, setting the rhythm.
Deep, wet, intoxicating.
She leaned over to kiss him, to suck on his tongue. Desperate sex, she thought. Suddenly Walker tasted like the tequila he’d drunk.
Or was that the flavor of passion? Of the heat between them? The spiraling sensation of liquid fire?
They made love like animals on the verge of an attack. He lunged forward, so they were face-to-face, so she could look directly in his eyes while they practically tore each other apart.
She clawed his chest, raking her nails over every muscle. He ravaged her shoulders, using his teeth, nearly bruising her.
“This is insane,” she said.
Beautifully crazy.
He didn’t respond. He just encouraged her to keep going, to keep milking his body with hers. Harder, faster, deeper.
The room twirled in a haze of color. Daylight burned bright. She could almost feel the sun melting over her skin, dripping in sweet, sticky rivulets.
A hot, hip-grinding climax shattered inside her, making her shudder, making the wetness between her legs seem like honey.
And then she realized that Walker had spilled into her, that the dampness had come from him.
Her lover.
The man sweeping her away.
Eight
Tamra stepped out of the bathroom with a thick, fluffy towel wrapped around her. Everything at the Ashton Estate was luxurious.
Too luxurious, she thought, as she walked over to Walker’s dresser to get some fresh undergarments.
He lounged on the bed with a towel wrapped around him, too. After they’d made love, they’d taken a shower together, but she’d remained in the bathroom to apply her makeup and blow-dry her hair.
His hair, she noticed, was still a little damp, combed away from his face and styled with a dollop of gel.
He smiled at her, and she slipped on her bra and panties and put her towel in a nearby hamper. Once she found the courage to return his smile, she looked through her side of the closet. She didn’t want him to know how nervous she was about having dinner with his family.
“Do the Ashtons dress for their meals?” she asked.
“Nope.” He drew his knees up, nearly flashing her. “We eat naked.”
She sighed, almost laughed, wished he wasn’t so damn charming. “You know what I mean.”
“Lilah always dresses for dinner, but you don’t have to worry about that. Just wear whatever feels right.”
She scanned her modest selection and decided on a white skirt, a white blouse and a beaded belt she’d bought from a Lakota craftswoman. She added a noticeable array of silver and turquoise jewelry she’d acquired over the years.
“Now you really look Indian,” Walker said.
She turned to face him, preparing for a fight. “Is that a problem for you?”
“No. I like it.”
She let out the breath she was holding. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” He frowned a little. “I’m not ashamed of your heritage, Tamra. Of my heritage,” he added. “I’m comfortable with who we are.”
“Are you?” she asked, hating how temporary their affair was, how throwaway it suddenly seemed.
A fire ignited in his eyes. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You would never relocate to Pine Ridge.”
“Is there a reason I’m supposed to?”
Caught in an argument of her own making, she fussed with a wide silver bracelet, tightening it around her wrist, squeezing the edges of the metal. “No, of course not.”
He didn’t drop the subject. “It’s a bit late for me to start my life over, to move in with my mom and pretend that we haven’t been separated for twenty-two years. Besides, how would I survive on the rez? I’m the interim CEO of an investment-banking firm.”
“Interim? You took over Ashton-Lattimer when Spencer died?”
“I was the executive vice president before he was killed. I’m the logical choice.”
“So