Mogul (Manhattan #2)(20)

He does more than kiss me—it’s like he’s waging a fucking war, his tongue charging into me, subduing mine, sucking mine.

Desperation grabs me like a living thing, causing me to arch my body against his. He’s hard like crazy, and I want more of his strength and his taste and his flesh and his passion.

I wiggle one hand free and he releases me, only to tear at my shirt. I hear it rip as I pull open the button of his shirt.

This franticness—I’ve never felt it before. It’s as though I’ll die if I don’t feel him inside me right now. I shudder and cry out when his hands cup my bare skin and free my breasts, and when he grabs one in his hand and lifts it to his mouth, I grab his hair and press him to me as he smothers one tight, sensitized nipple with his mouth.

He sucks. The pulling sensation makes my stomach constrict pleasurably, my pussy gripping with need.

“You ready?” His question is just a rasp.

Breathless, I answer. “No foreplay. I’m ready.”

He ignores that request.

He sucks my breast again, as if he can’t stop himself. The pleasure is exquisite—racing in my veins, constricting my muscles, tickling my bones, firing up my sexy parts.

“I’m not. I want this to last.” He presses his lips to my neck and I don’t get why his warm breath on my skin melts me, why his words melt me—how this hot, melting-hot, stranger can have this effect on me.

“I want your dick, Ian,” I groan, caressing him through his pants again.

“And you’ll have it, Sara.”

My stomach contracts as our tongues meet again in my mouth, and suddenly my fingers are roaming over his chest, over his partly open shirt, feeling the muscles there as our tongues frantically sample each other, rub and touch and twist around one another.

He grabs me by the hips, his kiss becoming more aggressive as he backs me up against the bed and unzips, unbuttons, and yanks down my jeans, his mouth never leaving mine.

I kick my shoes and jeans off, and he eases his hand between my legs and a shiver of heat rushes down my spine as he tugs down my panties and cups my sex, murmuring into my mouth, “Here you are. So warm and wet, waiting for me.” He inserts one finger inside me. “Fucking soaked for me. Burning up for me, Sara.”

He pushes two fingers in and I groan against his jaw, a garbled sound leaving me as I thrust my hips out for more. “More.”

My hands shake as I reach out and loosen his shirt from the waistband of his slacks. “I want it now,” I rasp, swallowing audibly when he helps me tug open the rest of his shirt buttons. He shrugs his shirt off—and his chest is glorious. Holy shit, so glorious I gape at him, ripped, tanned, and smooth—so lickable, I immediately press my mouth to his skin and go lick one of his nipples.

He pulls off his pants and boxers and his cock jerks free, a drop of cum at the tip.

When he finally pins one of my hands to my side and grabs one of my legs to hook it around his hips, then guides that huge, thick dick inside me, I scream. I scream and scream, pressing my mouth to his shoulder blades to quiet myself as he thrusts and thrusts and fucks me harder than last time. Harder than I’ve ever been fucked in my life.

My nails rake into his back, my pinned hand fisting in pleasure.

I see stars as I come in his arms, gasping his name out in nearly religious fervor. I don’t even realize that I’ve screamed it until I have, and he groans mine back to me, in my ear, quieter but just as hot.

I didn’t think anyone could ever compete with that night we spent. But of course—he goes on and improves it. Yummy motherfucker.





Ian



She comes like a rocket and I can’t stop watching her. I stop kissing her until she settles down to catch her breath. Her lips are raw from mine. Wet and pink. Even the bow at the top of her mouth is reddened from the force of my mouth on hers.

I should feel guilty.

I don’t.

I didn’t know exactly what I planned to do to her when I saw her. Maybe I’d planned to look her up at the concierge desk and ask her out to Daniel. See if she was available this time. Talk a bit. Get to hear about her life. Tell her about mine.

Maybe I even allowed myself to fantasize too much about things leading us back to room 1103. Or maybe I didn’t plan to do shit.

Except I didn’t imagine she’d be gone from the concierge desk—or the crushing disappointment I’d feel when I checked in yesterday and found out.

I especially didn’t expect to see her in Central Park today. See how kind she was to my gran. And to Milly. How fucking sexy, confident, and still so damn bold.

Now she lies naked beneath me and I’m hard as stone. I can think of little else but getting my hands all over her again.

I don’t know if she’s been with anyone after me, but I sure as hell don’t want her to have been touched. If there’s been anyone, I want my hands to erase him from her. I want my touch to be the last one on her skin.

Moments ago, when we walked through Central Park, I told myself I wouldn’t lay a hand on her. Not tonight. She was no longer just any woman. She was my gran’s dog walker.

I reasoned with myself that I had time. I could stay here while filming and get my shit together. Eventually pursue things slowly. But after helping Gran into the cab, Sara was heading off, and the thought of losing sight of her again was not an option.