Behind Closed Doors (Behind Closed Doors #1)(17)

“What?” His brow furrows. “Promise what?”

“Commitment is the last thing I want from you. And you can keep your money, too.” I tangle my fingers in his hair, tearing away the tie at his nape so that his long, light brown hair tumbles around his face and tickles my cheek. “No tomorrow. That’s what I want.”

His eyes narrow, his fingers sliding under my neck. “I believe you—and that makes me curious.”

“Another thing I don’t want. Your curiosity. I just gave you permission to f*ck me, but be clear: I’m not another notch on your belt. You’re a notch on mine.”

“Who says I have a notched belt?”

“Are you denying you do?”

“Fucking to just f*ck isn’t about notches on belts, any more than poker is about gambling, to me.”

“Why are we talking?” I demand. “Kiss me.”

“Ask me.”

“I just told you. That’s all you get from me.”

“Demand?”

“Yes. Kiss me, damn it.”

There is a beat of hesitation. Then another, and then he does as I’ve commanded, his mouth slanting over mine, the velvet sweep of his tongue against mine like a lick of my sex, his hand sliding seductively up my back, melding my chest to his. Heat rushes through me and I’m instantly mindless, sinking into the kiss and letting my fingers explore the warmth of his body beneath his shirt. I’m tingling all over, empowered and bold in a way I have never been, and I don’t try to understand why now, and why with him.

“Take it off,” I whisper, shoving the material up his waist.

“Always willing to please a lady,” he murmurs, tugging his shirt over his head and tossing it aside.

Even before it’s gone my hands are on his hard, leanly muscled upper body, lingering on the tat on his shoulder that reads Red Bull. It captivates me when I would not think it would, but the very fact that this man is a bit wild, a bit rough, that he’s everything I’ve never wanted, makes him exactly what I want and need right now.

“You like it?”

I glance up, instantly captured by the scorching look in his eyes, shocked at the odd sense of this gorgeous, confident man somehow hanging on the moment, wanting my approval. Or maybe I just want him to want it, but I don’t care. I give it to him. “Very much,” I whisper, splaying my fingers over the design. “I like it very much.”

He tugs me closer, molding our hips together. “Maybe I should get one that says I promise.”

“How about No tomorrow?”

He leans in, pressing his cheek against mine, his palms caressing my breasts, thumbs stroking over my nipples and sending a wave of sensations through my body. “Or how about this?” His voice is a soft, sexy tease. “I promise you, Skye, that I’m going to f*ck you until you scream my name even after I’m gone.”

I feel those words like a stroke between my thighs that leaves me aching for more, and my fingers flex into his hard shoulders. “Words are like poker,” I taunt. “Talk is cheap, and only blackjack counts.”

He laughs, a soft, sexy rumble that tightens every nerve ending I own with erotic promise. “There is no blackjack in poker, sweetheart. You really wouldn’t make a good groupie.” His fingers slide to the front of my blouse, working on my buttons. “I aspire to bring you over to the dark side, though.”

“I won’t ever be your groupie.”

He parts my blouse, shoving down my bra and tugging lightly on my nipples. “Sure about that?”

Somehow, I grab his hands and still his actions, when I really want him to keep doing what he’s doing. “I’m responsible for nothing I agree to while naked or near naked. Let’s establish that right now.”

His hands settle on my breasts. “I’m not sure that’s a deal I can make.”

“You have—”

He kisses me, a deep, dark, hard kiss that is all about demand, and more demand, for things I don’t know and I’m not sure I want to know. He palms my breasts, sensation sliding through me, and I decide I do want to know. Oh yes, I very much want to know.

His hand slides to my thigh, fingers splaying wide, then stroking my sex. I pant and grab his shoulders. “Trouble isn’t so bad,” I pant.

He laughs again. God, I love his laugh, his cheek sliding to mine, teeth scraping my earlobe. “I plan to be very, very bad.”

Oh, please. Yes. Now. “Promise?”

A knock sounds on the door and I jerk in surprise.

“Easy, baby,” Jason purrs, tunneling his fingers into my hair and dragging my mouth a breath from his. “Only building staff can get up here. Ignore them and they’ll go away.” Then his mouth comes down on mine, his tongue stroking deeply into my mouth, driving away everything but how much I need this man inside me.

“Jesus, Jason!” comes a shout from outside. “Whoever your current f*ck is can wait. Open the door.”

The words current f*ck douse me with a cold splash of water, and every regret I’ve ever had slams into me and knots in my chest and belly. I pull back, certain I am no better than a groupie, about to be made to feel like a tramp.

Jason curses and presses his hands to the desk beside me. “It’s my manager. He’s got clearance to come up.” He lifts me off the desk and sets me on the floor. “Sorry about his crassness, and the unfortunate fact that he won’t go away.” He reaches up and tugs my bra back into place. “We have to endure him for a little while. Then we’ll get back to what’s important.”