Saving the CEO (49th Floor #1)(37)

Maybe it was the residual heat of the shower, but she was a furnace. “Oh, God,” he choked out, fearing that once he began to move, it would all be over. But he couldn’t not move. Something inside him took over, forcing his hips to move faster and faster as he slammed into her, losing himself in the unbelievably hot sight of her moaning and shaking her head from side to side, dark damp hair whipping through the air.

She screamed then, and the wave of sensation he’d thought was going to crush him became almost unendurable when she began clenching around him. Then she went silent, her head stilled, and she focused the shattered gemstones of her eyes on his. It was as if there was a silent command in them, and his body responded, sending sharp surges of pleasure through him that went on and on.

“That wasn’t fair,” she whispered when he was finally done coming. “I was supposed to be in charge.”

He was glad she was competitive, he thought a few minutes later, when they were sprawled out across his king-size bed, staring up at the sky visible through his skylight. He’d never had a lover per se, meaning a woman he’d slept with repeatedly. He’d always wanted to avoid that kind of…entanglement, to use her word. But he did pride himself on being skilled in the bedroom, on making sure his one-night stands left their one-nights with smiles on their faces. But this playful tussle for control with Cassie helped their…thing feel like a game. And it was important to remember that that’s what it was—a little exercise in breaking rules. A temporary suspension of what experience had taught him was the optimal way to structure everything. She was skeptical of his rules, he knew, but without them he never would have had the discipline to build Winter Enterprises. Without them he’d probably still be trying to please his father.

She sighed. A sweet, satiated sigh that stroked his masculine ego. He loved the way she looked after he f*cked her senseless. She flushed so easily, and her hair looked like she’d been in a monsoon. Damn, she’d been right about one thing. If the rules were going to be broken, they might as well blow them to smithereens in the time they had available. His dick stirred. Jesus, with her he was like a teenager.

She turned to him, catching her bottom lip with her top teeth. She looked like she wanted to eat him. Damn, he was lucky, if only for two more nights. “Do you have a printer?”

“Huh?” She might as well have thrown a bucket of cold water over him. He shook his head. It was hard keeping up with her sometimes.

“A printer.” She scrambled to sit up, and he struggled to wrest his eyes from her spectacular breasts and pay attention. “Those files you sent me—it would be easier if I could print them, spread them out, and look at them all side by side. Mine at home is out of toner.”

He tried to hide the fact that it took him a second to catch up to the radically new topic. Leaning over, he scooped up an iPad from the floor next to the bed. “You can print from this if you want. But you sure you want to do this now?”

“I’m too wired to sleep.”

“I can think of other things we could do to pass the time.”

She shook her head. “I’m like a dog with a bone with this.” She grabbed the iPad. “Carl is going down.”

He hopped out of bed, went to his dresser, and tossed her a T-shirt. “At least put this on.”

She rolled her eyes. At least he hadn’t said what he was really thinking, which was for God’s sake, cover yourself, woman. He left her pulling the shirt over her head and ran downstairs to retrieve her papers from the printer and to throw together some snacks. She might have eaten at Edward’s, but that was hours ago, and surely someone so dedicated to vanquishing his enemies deserved snacks.

Back upstairs, he hopped into bed with a book, leaving her alone for the next hour, aside from feeding her the odd almond. But when three o’clock rolled around, he set his book aside and rolled into her line of vision.

“Time for bed.”

“Oh!” Genuinely startled, she looked at the bedside clock. “Sorry! I got carried away.” She slung her legs over the edge of the bed.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

She paused, looking like a teenager caught pilfering her parents’ liquor cabinet. “Um? Home?”

“I thought we talked about this.”

“I thought we talked about having sex. Not, like, sleeping in each other’s arms.” She made a funny face, as if she’d tasted something sour.

“Who said anything about sleeping in each other’s arms?” He grabbed one of the arms in question, and tugged. “I’m just talking about sleeping. You’re a superstar, I get it, but surely you need at least a few hours rest.”

Her expression turned serious. “I’m just trying to follow the rules. You don’t seem like the kind of guy who…”

“What?” Suddenly, he really wanted to know how she’d meant to finish that sentence.

“Like the kind of guy who does sleepovers. Crazy junkie mothers notwithstanding.” She pulled back against his grip, but he didn’t release her.

He sighed. He hated it when she made him confront the contradictions in his psyche. He hated it when she caused contradictions in his psyche. “It’s true that I’m a private person.”

She snorted then, a full-on, completely unladylike snort. All the same, it made him want to pin her down and shove his tongue into her mouth. “He said to the person lounging in his bed, wearing his shirt, up to her eyeballs in his company’s financials,” she drawled.