Unbreak My Heart (Rough Riders Legacy #1)(111)

But maybe tonight, I’d give her what she needed. What we both needed.

I brought her mouth to mine for a long, exploratory kiss.

She swayed against me and I automatically righted her by latching onto her ass.

My hands were rough, so I kept my touch light on the delicate fabric of her dress as I skimmed my palms up her back. When I reached her shoulders, I ended the kiss and whispered, “Turn around.”

Her teeth dug into her bottom lip as her eyes met mine. Then she faced the bed.

I slowly tugged the zipper on her dress down. I slipped my hands beneath the fabric as I peeled it away, planting kisses in a line down her spine until my lips connected with the section of skin between the dimples of her ass.

Then her dress was a pool of red fabric on the carpet.

She hadn’t worn sexy garters and stockings, just a fire-engine red thong. So I could see every sexy inch of her. From the nape of her neck, to the curve of her ass, down her long legs to the backs of her heels, still encased in sexy black stilettos.

Fuck. She was just so beautiful.

Her body trembled. From the cold or my intense perusal…didn’t matter. I’d warm her up soon enough.

I swept her hair off to the side, letting the hot wash of my breath choose the spot on her neck before my mouth descended. While I tasted her there, I continued to caress her with my fingertips, my palms, and the backs of my knuckles. Everywhere I could reach; her arms, the outside curve of her body from her rib cage to her hips, her belly, her breasts, her collarbones.

She didn’t speak. She didn’t have to; I was already attuned to her. I felt every quiver and every goose bump. I heard every ragged breath and every tiny sigh. I caught the scent of her arousal and breathed in the perfume of her skin.

This deliberate seduction of her was intoxicating me.

A sheen of sweat coated my skin beneath my uniform. My cock was painfully hard. My chest felt tight. I had to lock my legs to keep myself upright. I’d become lightheaded from all the tactile and emotional sensations bombarding me.

Then Sierra trapped my hand on her hip and turned back around to face me. She allowed one fleeting brush of her lips across mine before she began to undress me.

Her hands were reverent as she smoothed them over my uniform. She had me unbuttoned, unhooked and undone in no time. Then she stepped back and watched as I removed the last of my clothing until I was as naked as she.

We reached for each other at the same time.

We ended up on the bed. Not in a frantic tangle of limbs. But bare arms and legs slowly sliding and gliding together. I needed every inch of her skin touching every inch of mine. Rubbing on mine.

I spooned her from behind so my front side covered her back. Then we rolled across the sheets so I could feel the soft press of her tits against my shoulder blades as her hands mapped the front of my body from my face to my neck to my chest to my cock.

I rolled her onto her back and levered my body over hers. Not in a pushup position, but my weight on her, my passion-dampened flesh sliding on hers. Exchanging breath with openmouthed kisses.

She reached between us and guided me to her entrance.

I pushed inside her warmth, her heat, her wetness until I couldn’t go any deeper.

I watched her face lost in pleasure, and part of the pleasure came from seeing her recognize the look on my face mirrored hers.

Our bodies arched and moved together almost of their own accord. I didn’t lead. Neither did she.

We were in perfect sync.

The rising storm, the waves crashing and then hitting that crest, followed by the ebb and flow of passion, all clichéd, but true.

In that moment she’d reminded me exactly what it meant to belong to her, body, heart and soul. And I reminded her that her heart, her body and her soul were safe with me.





With the help of Red Bull, I survived my mid-afternoon Monday slump.

Which turned out to be a lucky thing because Phyllis Mackerley showed up.

Even when it was probably stupid, I remained behind my desk and had her sit across from me. I needed every confidence boost no matter how small. The tug of war between take the job and decline the job had started to feel like a stalling tactic to increase the perks.

That wasn’t it at all—and I told Phyllis as much.

“You don’t even need to clarify that for me, Sierra.”

“Thank goodness.”

“But what I am about to tell you will sweeten the pot.” She grinned. “Or more accurately, will make the pot runneth over.”

I squinted at her. “Did you and tequila have a reunion and a little afternoon delight?”

Phyllis giggled. Giggled. “I’ll admit I do feel almost high right now.”

Okay.

“Ask me why.” She fairly bounced in her chair. “Go on.”

“Why are you so giddy?”

“I had a phone call from Pashma Wickersham this morning.”

“Get out. Seriously?”

“Seriously. And she called me.”

“Tell me, dammit. Was she headhunting you or what?” That wouldn’t surprise me. Phyllis was brilliant and generous and exactly the type of leader that an organization like Women Entrepreneurs International—WEI—wanted on their roster. Pashma Wickersham, the president of WEI, had outstanding accomplishments in the decade she’d been at the helm of the organization. The founding members of PCE had used the WEI business model and we’d embraced Pashma’s philosophies for business and life.