by Shayla Black
And on that subject…
“Honest to freaking Lord, Adan!”
“What?” he asks again—right past his widening smirk, as well as the cocky-as-shit brace of his hands to his waist. Oh yes, he parks his grip right there. At the crests of his delectable V. All but forcing my gaze to follow those dual paths, back down…there.
As if I need another damn excuse.
“Seriously?” I retaliate, spreading my arms while dropping back down to the couch. Not a move I was thinking about, because now I’m really at eye level with the pecker from heaven. “That’s like…a damn painting from an Italian chapel. Scratch that. It’s better. It’s proof of a perfect math equation.”
“Excuse me?” he drawls.
“Come on. I’m not the first one to tell you this. Wait. Has the engineering team at Up-To-Eleven seen your penis? The possibilities of the symmetry…”
“Katherine!” It’s the first time he’s used the iteration to truly scold me. I kind of like it.
“Wait,” I interject at once. “Ignore that. All of it. There are women on the engineering team.”
He rolls his eyes. “Oh fuck.”
“What?”
The eye roll segues into a bronze-dagger glower. “Are you really going there with your insecurities, woman? When I’m standing in front of you like this?”
I push back into the corner of the couch. Grab the plush pillow there and slam it over my middle. “Who said a word about insecurity?”
“Growls the girl with the pillow over her breasts?” His jaw clamps, becoming a hewn glass-cutter again. I jump my attention between that stunning stubbled cliff and the flagrant flagpole between his thighs. “Her completely breathtaking breasts, I might add.”
I expel a long sigh. He hasn’t fooled me with the compliment here. It’s a directive in disguise. He wants the pillow gone—and something tells me he’ll make that happen if I don’t relent. Part of me—a really big part—wants to seriously test the theory, but I give in with a pouting grunt. Slowly, I withdraw the pillow. I set it on the couch cushion beside me. My pulse already accelerates, anticipating the sensual seal of approval I’m about to get from his gaze or his smile. Maybe both.
But Adan Tyler leaves me hanging.
Practically in the proverbial wind.
With his lips still set, his stance still strict, and his gaze still assessing.
As he locks that stare onto me and then states with equal authority, “Now show me the rest.”
I clench the fingers of one hand into the cast-aside pillow. With the fingers of the other, I grip the couch’s armrest. “The rest…of what?”
He takes one measured step. Leans his head forward, narrowing the gap between our gazes. I’d almost chuckle and make a bad “dad-style discipline” joke, except there’s this not-so-small piece of art between his legs, making me forget every joke I’ve ever known. Damn near every thought I’ve ever had…
“You already know the answer to that, don’t you, my sweet Kate?”
I swallow hard as he takes another step closer. “What if we were pretending I don’t?”
“Then I’d have to elucidate the point, wouldn’t I?” And now his eyes spark, the lord of the jungle meshing with the master of the manor to stare down at me. “I’d have to tell you that I want to see all of you. That I want to stare at the source of fantasies that have carried me through eleven goddamned years. That if you really want this part of my body”—he moves a hand over and pumps it from his balls to his crest—“then I get to gaze on the part of you that wants it most.”
I gulp. Really hard.
And am pretty damn sure I’ve ingested my tongue at the same time.
“Oh, Adan.” It’s not a protest. I don’t even try to go there, considering how tight and achy and erect my nipples have become. He already knows what his wicked words have done to me. He already knows that my response is simply a plea for more of them.
“Do it for me, Kate.” Though his words are still full of lordly rule, they’re underlined by raw, leonine pleasure. “Spread yourself for me. Open your thighs and unveil your sweet, hot sex. Let me see how wet you are for me.”
“Oh.” I rock my head back as I feel my hands sliding down, wielding their control to the sensual sorcery of his voice. “Ohhh, Adan.”
“Damn. Oh damn, Kate. Just like that.” He strokes himself a little harder. “Now use both hands. Open your pussy lips, Stretch them back for me.”
“Adan…”
“Do it, damn it,” he growls. “Expose yourself to me, sweetheart. I’ve waited so damn long for this!”
“I—I don’t know…I’ve never done this for anyone…”
“Oh, sweet Kate. I want you to do so many things for the first time with me. But right now, you’re going to let me celebrate this reality. Revel in your beauty. Just get used to this gorgeous perfect—unnnh.”
His grunt coincides with a new spurt of precome atop his dark red shaft. He moves between my thighs and plummets to his knees—in time to see the milky ball fall across my labia
“Rub it in,” he directs at once. “Mix it with your cream. That’s it. Fucking hell, that’s it.”
“Adan!”
“Keep stroking. Don’t stop!” He reaches around, grabs his jeans, and fishes a foil packet out of his wallet. He repeats the order before tearing open the square with his teeth, then again as he sheathes himself. “Goddamnit, Kate. Look how wet you are for me. How ready you are…”
“Adan!” It might just be the only word I’ll ever be capable of forming again. The theory damn near becomes certainty as he spreads his hands across mine and then moves them out of the way with sensual surety. He makes the most of the motion, pressing his thumbs to my inner thighs and then prodding outward.
“Wider, sweetheart. I want you wide open when you take my cock inside you. And as I fuck you, stay that way.” As he notches his hot tip to my weeping entrance, he aligns our stares too. “Look at me. Tell me you understand that.”
“Y-Y-Yes,” I rasp. “I…I understand.”
“Good girl.” He gives me a soft, suckling kiss as he eases his stiff, full shaft into my channel. “You ready, my adorable little geek?”
I dash out a quick nod. “Only for the last eleven years.”
“Me too, sweet Kate. Me too.”
He moves again. Not so gently this time. He’s not rolling his hips anymore. He’s thrusting. A little harder each time. Definitely deeper. Soon, my breath hitches from his surging stabs. I don’t miss the air at all. I’m full of him. Consumed by him. Taken all the way back to that fiery firmament by him—only now it’s better. Now, that nirvana is in my blood, my skin, my pores…my pussy. Stretching me. Searing me. Incinerating me. And yes, even shocking me—because while his ideally balanced penis is a nice component of all this, my pleasure has little to do with that physical perfection.
It has everything to do with what he’s doing with it.
All the special places he rubs on his way inside. All the corners he hits once he’s in there. Even a few I never knew existed.
Okay, maybe more than a few.
Clearly, the man savors his sex just like his sports. Full of adrenaline, intensity, brutality, honesty. As he shuttles his body in and out of mine with drives of steady purpose, he never once rips his gaze from me. His eyes never close. He watches every drop of the sweat down my neck, every breath of the cries off my lips, every quiver of the arousal through my limbs. In return, he gives me the same: an all-access pass to the panorama of his passion. The grit of his teeth. The compression of his muscles. Best of all, the savoring adoration in his eyes…
“Adan.” I croak it out as he stretches his hands across my thighs and yanks my body tighter against his. Around his. My ass is only half on the couch cushion now, but he’s easily supporting us both. Hallelujah for extreme sports gods who fly bicycles to the heavens for a living—and seem determined to do the same for women who’ve waited over ten years to screw every drop of come out
of them.
So not every drop.
I accept that fact, even as Adan lunges in with deeper, determined strokes. I mentally repeat it as he shifts our positions, causing my body to practically ride his—and, in under a minute, to climax around his. I try to recall it as every thought in my head is hijacked by dervishes of light, sensation, fire, freedom, completion. But by the time he roars with primal release, his cock thrumming and pulsing through his own release, I’m struggling to remember what the hell day it is, let alone the fact that he’s done this exact same thing to lots of other women. That he’ll likely do it to a lot more after me.
That this, while the zenith of so many fantasies for us both, is probably the first and last time it’ll ever happen.
Tossing aside the fact that it probably shouldn’t have happened in the first place.
“Christ help me, Kate. I couldn’t have resisted doing this if you’d shown up tonight in a nun’s habit.”
But not ignoring the total truth of why it did.
In his own words.
“But you would have been a smokin’-hot priest.”
And now mine too.
Which, as soon as they’re uttered, inspire the man to look down at my lips in that I’m-going-to-devour-you-now way. And have him doing just that, in a million more dazzling ways. As he dominates my mouth, even exploring the backs of my teeth and the corners of my cheeks with his masterful tongue, I can feel my inner walls clenching his cock, desperately begging him to stay inside.
But though he’s not lost all the stiffness in his mojo, the man withdraws. I’m puzzled, because he’s still looking at me like he’s contemplating a second run at the orgasm track tonight. I lift what I hope is sultry smile, conveying I’d be completely up for that ride.
“Well, that little confession spilled easily enough off your naughty lips, Katherine.”
And yes, the man has found yet another way to make my name sound like his filthiest wet dream.
“And your point about that would be what, Mr. Tyler?”
Though he settles me back onto the couch, he keeps his body tight and close to mine. He narrows his gaze into knowing knives while scraping his fingertips along my outer thighs. “You’ve fantasized about me fucking you like that, haven’t you? As your priest…accepting your wicked girl’s confession?”
I laugh. Not convincingly. “What?” I rejoin. “You’ve confessed to a few vivid visions of your own, mister. You telling me that in all of them, we’re just doing pristine missiona—ahhh!”
My self-interrupting shriek is the result of being suddenly hoisted in the air, all the way over the man’s shoulder. The man wastes even less time in taking advantage of my bare ass and freshly satisfied pussy, fully exposed at his eye level.
“I guarantee there’s nothing pristine about what I’ve dreamed of doing to you, naughty Kate.” He illustrates the point by curling his fingers in, along my ass crack, and indulging a bold dip of the juices still trickling from my core. He works his long digits in, circling and thrusting, until I’m moaning without compunction. Only then does he pull them back out, retracing the route he took to get in—though he stops directly over the crevice containing my most illicit entrance. “If you want dirty, baby…”
I gasp.
But he doesn’t delve his soaked fingers any farther.
Not until he’s carried me all the way to the bedroom.
And slid me across the mattress. Facedown.
And has stretched his stunning form alongside me—then has used his other hand to twine his fingers into my hair.
He pulls on me there…as he pushes in on the other end.
I gasp. In pain. In wonder. In aching, awakened need.
“My little library geek,” he finally husks out. “All those hours you spent with your books…surely they gave you a few nasty ideas, yeah?”
I look up. Roam my gaze over every inch of his watchful face. “A…few. Maybe.”
“Good.” He leans in close to take over my mouth with a long, wet, lingering kiss. With our lips still touching and teasing, much like the way he continues toying with the rim of my ass hole, he finally rasps, “Because you’re going to tell me about every single one. All of them, Kate. In lusty, naughty, filthy detail.” He trails his mouth over until his luscious lips are fitted to the curve of my tingling ear. “Because then we’re going to talk about how many we can fulfill tonight.”
“Adan.” I sigh it out because I’m capable of no higher volume. Because he’s already turned me to utter, ineffable mush.
With an ominous growl, he tangles my hair a little tighter. Thrusts into my ass a little farther. “You mean Father Adan?”
Oh God help me.
And second thought, I don’t want any help.
I want to be right here, drowning in complete, irredeemable sin.
With him. For him.
“Y-Yes,” I whisper. “That’s exactly what I mean.”
“In that case, naughty Kate, you may begin your confession…so I can decide your penance.”
And I do.
And holy crap…how he does.
8
“Gooood morning, chica chica.”
Edie’s prompt has me looking up from the spreadsheet on my monitor with a soft smile. “Hey, hot stuff. You doing okay?”
She slams a hand against the doorframe of my office, using the grip to halt her casual flyby. “Whoa,” she spurts.
“Eh?” I manage, trying to comprehend every word of the exhibitor agreement I’m reading. God, I hate legal jargon.
“What happened?”
I look back down. Really fast. Holy shit. Is it that obvious? Has it been that damn long since I had the follicles screwed out of my head?
Who the hell am I kidding with that one?
Nobody—nobody—has ever accomplished what Adan Tyler did last night. In my pussy. In my ass. Even in my mouth.
But mostly, in my mind.
And in my heart…
No. I’m not going there. I can’t go there. I’m back in the land of reality. The land where it’s not cool, let alone permitted, to be blushing about what the company’s hugest investor did to her last night. Nearly all night.
Thoughts that are definitely for another time—especially as Edie hauls up short, comes all the way into the office, and plunks herself down with a determined rush.
“Kate?”
“What?”
“Did you hear me?”
“Uhhh…kind of. I’m sorry, honey, this exhibitor agreement is a monster. I’ve reviewed it three times and it’s still not making sense.”
“Could that be because you didn’t sleep last night?”
“Excuse me?” I refocus on my monitor like it’s Prime Day on the ’Zon and I want every pair of cute boots on sale. I actually wish the shoes were my preoccupation right now, instead of wondering when Sketch is going to march back in here, announcing that Mr. Tyler is ready for his facilities tour. A tour Adan assured me he was “very much looking forward to” after he made me coffee and croissants this morning. Yeah, so it was just the effort of snapping premeasured pods into my machine and rolling up the pastries after popping them out of the tube, but he also found the Nutella in my cabinet and slathered them with the stuff too. Officially, after the orgasm fest of last night, that makes him the most perfect man I’ve ever been on a not-really-a-date with.
And who the hell am I kidding, part two. Because absolutely everything about last night was very real. Everything. The old memories. The new laughter. The connection that never went away…
The high school crush I’ll never recover from now.
And the shambles of a heart that has to deal with the recognition.
Because my head is entertaining no damn illusions about this.
After the facilities tour, Adan and I are done. No; we were done as of this morning, when he kissed me goodbye before heading off to meetings out in Oakland. That was the conclusion of everything we can be to each other—and everything we won
’t be. Not just for the obvious reasons. There are the points I bullet-pointed to myself this morning in the shower, as he waited to drop me back here before his drive out over the bay. Even if we didn’t have to deal with the ongoing crap from Brett or Up-To-Eleven’s fraternization policy, there are other factors at play. Elements we can’t control. He’s in a different city, sometimes a different country, every other week. When that’s not happening, he’s in talks for guest-starring roles in movies. That means Hollywood—and lots of women who are more than happy to play the part of his gorgeous arm candy.
I’m not gorgeous.
And I’m sure as hell not “candy.”
“Kate!”
Edie’s exclamation snaps my attention back to her. Clearly, she’s on a third or fourth repetition of the one-word chorus.
“Uhhh…what?”
“Oh my God.” She flops back in her chair and shoots her hands toward the ceiling. But after a couple of seconds of the silent rant, she drops her head. Levels her stare. Leans over and peers at me. Really peers. She’s no longer dealing a friendly perusal. Her stare is piercing and ferocious. “Okay. Waaait one freaking minute…”
At once, I clack at my keyboard with frantic gusto. Inside, I’m praying that the girl with the sharpest “best friend vision” in the world decides to toss in an early towel on her scrutiny, and won’t—
Do exactly what she does now.
“Holy. Crap.” Edie straightens her posture. At once, I feel the new intensity of her energy. She’s usually only this ardent when we’re at the coffee café down the block, and the hot hipster from the recording studio comes in for his midday matcha latte. “You’re wearing makeup.”
“I always wear makeup.”
“Mascara and gloss,” she volleys. “Not concealer, blush, and your come-hither smoky eyes—which still aren’t covering up your no-sleep circles.” She lurches to her feet. “Come on. What the hell gives, Katydid?”
“Edie. Just hold on—”
“Oh my God. Was it the shit in the envelope from Brett? What epic assholery is the toad pulling now? I swear to everything holy, I’m going to just find him and separate his balls from his body mys—”