Hot Asset (21 Wall Street #1)(63)

I don’t know who I am without my job—without my dream of the FBI.

Not that the dream’s changed, but it feels a hell of a long way off now.

Still, I don’t cry. I suspect that will come later.

“I’d say thank you,” he says against my hair. “But I know you didn’t do it for me.”

I shake my head. “They’re framing you, Ian. I don’t know why, but I couldn’t sit by and be a complacent part of that happening to anyone.”

“Did you tell HR?” he asks, pulling back slightly.

“Of course. They said they’d look into it, but it’s his word against mine, and he’s got twenty years’ experience on me.”

His hand slides over my hair, the gesture tender and comforting. “I’m sorry. For everything. The way I acted, that I assumed you stabbed me in the back when it was the complete opposite . . .”

I lift a shoulder, but he shakes his head. “No, don’t act like it’s nothing. You had a shit day, and you came here. It means . . . everything. Okay?”

I rest my head against his chest and let him hold me, giving in to the realization that I don’t know what comes next—giving in to the fear of it.

He does for several moments before pulling back slightly. “Why the hell were you flitting around getting me a drink? Sit down. Let me take care of you.”

I reach out and grab his tie, pulling him back to me, crushing my mouth to his. “Take care of me this way,” I whisper against his mouth. “Please.”

Distract me.

He hesitates only a moment before doing as I ask, pulling me close.

I meet him kiss for kiss, pouring all my frustration into him, letting him pour his into me.

I tear at his buttons, and by the time he walks me backward, tumbling us both onto the couch, we’re already half-unclothed.

I go for his belt, and though his breathing is rough with desire, he grabs my hands, pinning them gently above my head. “Easy,” he murmurs. “We have time.”

No we don’t, I want to scream. I’m afraid if I stop for even one second, my thoughts will catch up and consume me.

His mouth is gentle on mine, pulling back every time I try to speed up until I have no choice but to succumb to his leisurely pace.

“I’ve wanted you like this for so long,” he says as his lips trail lazily down my neck. He slowly removes my bra and drops it beside the couch. “I want to unwrap you, unravel you . . .”

He palms my breast, lifting it to his mouth as his lips wrap around my nipple. He’s sure but unhurried, hungry but savoring. With each flick of his tongue, each nip of his teeth, I spin out of control more, and I realize he’s right.

There is time for this.

I lose track of everything except the way he makes me feel. I barely register the rest of my clothes hitting the floor, much less the looming threat of tomorrow.

Ian drops soft kisses down my rib cage, then back up the other side as his fingers slip beneath my legs.

I gasp and arch up. More.

But instead of obeying my silent command, he keeps his touch a whisper-light tease.

“Please,” I moan when I arch up once again, only to have him deny me.

He smiles against my throat. “Please what?”

“Ian.”

His fingers press just a bit more firmly. “Yes?”

“Touch me.”

“Like this?” he asks, circling my clit with his index finger.

A moan is my only response.

“Like this?” he asks again, sliding a finger inside me. “Or . . .” He slowly moves down my body, setting one of my feet on the ground beside the couch and lifting the other so my leg’s draped over his back. “Like this?” He holds my gaze as he presses his mouth to me.

I come a little further apart with each swipe of his tongue, surrendering to every delicious sensation as he pushes my leg higher, spreading me wider until I have no choice but to go crashing over the ledge.

Ian stays with me till the end, pressing a tender kiss to my inner thigh as I try to catch my breath. “Stay,” he commands, pointing a finger at me and going to the bedroom.

As if I could move.

He proves me wrong, though.

He comes back from the bedroom naked, armed with a condom, and moments later, he’s gently flipped me to my stomach, kneeling behind me on the couch as he pulls my hips back to him.

I gasp as he thrusts inside me, my hips reflexively moving back against him, my hands finding the arm of the couch for support.

I’m braced for a fierce, frenzied coupling, but with this, too, he takes his time. He has one hand on my hip, the other almost tenderly resting on my lower back, and his thrusts are slow and controlled, demanding that I respond to him.

He leans forward slightly, the hand on my back sliding around to my front, setting two fingers against me, circling. I gasp and look over my shoulder. The second our eyes meet, he finally, finally loses control.

He groans and quickens his pace, his fingers moving faster against me until I cry out with my second orgasm. Ian’s release matches my own, his groan tortured, his hands just a little bit rough as he stiffens behind me, head bowed, his breath staccato as he empties inside me.

My shaking limbs demand I lower to the couch, and he follows me down, rolling me onto my side so my back is to his chest, his warm arms coming around me.