Hard Rules (Dirty Money #1)(27)

“I know,” she says. “So what are you waiting for?”

What am I waiting for? Again, she surprises me, but I’m not going to analyze her, or my reaction to her at this very moment. Not when I could be inside her, feeling her instead. “Don’t move.”

“Don’t take too long,” she counters, and that remark manages to bring me down enough to play her game. I press my hand to her lower back and gently, but not too gently, smack her backside.

She sucks in air, arching her back, that pretty backside lifting, my hand caressing. I bend down and kiss her spine. “I’m not sure what I think about that,” she says, glancing over her shoulder.

“Don’t think and I won’t either.”

I release her, and don’t even consider standing to undress. In all of thirty seconds my pants and underwear are down and I’ve rolled the single condom in my wallet over my hard-as-f*ck cock, and I grab her hips, slipping between her thighs. At that moment my phone rings from somewhere on the ground, and I grimace, not about to let her go to fling the damn thing across the room the way I’d like to right now.

I stroke my cock along the seam of her body, preparing her and then, I’m done waiting. I press into her, driving deep, and reaching around her to cup her breast again, my already ridiculously hard cock now officially harder. “I’m not sure you could feel any better than you do right now,” I say, pulling back, the sound of her erratic breathing is only making me hotter. I drive into her and she gasps, spurring me to do it again. And again. I need more of her. I need to be deeper, to drive harder. I just need more, and still cupping her breast, I raise upright, and take her with me. She grabs my hands and holds on tight, and she can’t move like this. I know that, but she doesn’t have to do anything but hang on.

I free one of my hands to press it between her legs and stroke her, thrusting as I do. She leans back into me, trying to arch into my touch. I lean back to drive at another angle.

“Oh,” she cries out. “Shane I—”

She stiffens the way she had on the balcony and this time when she spasms, it’s around my shaft, not my fingers, and holy hell, it rocks me. She rocks me, and I pull her against me, that final hard collision of our bodies sending me over the edge with her. I shake, and she trembles, and everything is white space for I don’t know how long. I come back to the present, and I don’t want to let go of her. She isn’t just some new f*ck buddy. She’s a drug I could easily call an addiction when I don’t have addictions, and at a time I’d be nothing but poison to her. That’s a problem for her and me.





EMILY


Shane is holding me from behind, still buried inside me, the aftermath of my orgasm leaving me with goose bumps all over my skin and a strange warm spot in my chest. Not ready for this night, or even this moment and the next to end, I don’t want to move, but Shane leans us forward, and I catch myself on the ottoman with my hands. He pulls out of me and I am instantly awash in a cluster of emotions that have me spinning around only to find his hands on the cushion on either side of me, his strong arms caging me.

And he is stone, his expression is unreadable, his jaw set hard, proof that the nerve I hit over that tattoo is still raw and present. “There is nothing about you,” he says, “or this night, that is uncomplicated or what I expected.”

“I don’t know what that means,” I whisper. “What are you saying?”

“Think about it. You’ll figure it out.” He runs a hand through his dark hair leaving it a sexy, tousled mess. “I’ll be right back.” And just like that he’s on his feet, pulling his pants that he never even took off, up. I’ve been naked on top of the damn city, and he never even undressed. He turns away and I watch as he crosses toward the fireplace and then disappears down a hallway.

I force out a breath that seems to be lodged in my throat. Think about it? You’ll figure it out? Okay. Well. I’m all over the place here because the way I see it one of two completely opposite things just happened. Either I was just given a nudge and space to leave or he no longer plans to make this one night. I don’t have time to analyze his meaning or why I’m in a million tight knots right now. My feelings and his intentions, don’t—no, can’t—matter. This is a reality check for me. The bottom line is that I should never have been here. Thinking done. I hop to my feet, snatch up my shoes, and run for the balcony door for my clothes, in hopes of departing before Shane returns. Exiting to the now dark balcony again, the lights flicker on, and I drop my shoes by the door to free my hands.

Scanning, I locate my skirt pooled on the ground by the railing, and rush forward. Grabbing it, I step into it, and tug it into place, leaving the zipper open while I hunt for my bra. Instead locate my blouse under the chair Shane had been sitting in. Shoving aside memories of me spread wide with his mouth in intimate places, I snap it up. One look at the thin material and absent buttons and I know I need that bra. At least if I have it on, I can hug my shirt shut, and be covered if I have a mishap. On the hunt, I rotate and gasp as I bump into Shane.

“What are you doing?” he demands softly, his hand shackling my wrist by my side, while I pull my blouse in front of my naked breasts.

“I need to go,” I say, thinking maybe he didn’t want me to leave. And I swear my arm is tingling from his touch. “We both have … stuff … tomorrow. Early. I need to get up early.”