Jo Leigh - One-Click Buy - September Harlequin Blaze

Now he was on the cushiest job he’d had since college, and it was fucked up beyond all reason. The worst of it was that Tate was the one paying for his mistakes.

“Michael?”

He reached down until he had a grip on her, then drew her up so she shared his pillow. He kissed her, wanting to make this as good as he could. He wanted her to know how he admired her, how beautiful she was and how extraordinary.

He might have had his fair share of terrific women, but Tate…Tate was different. Tate was-

MICHAEL TOOK HER mouth desperately. She came alive inside, kissing him back, clutching at his neck in her need to get closer.

It was like drowning in a riptide, being tugged under by forces so elemental there was simply no fighting back. She didn’t want to fight.

Yes, they were out there, but in here she was being caressed by large, warm hands. He pulled his arm from underneath her neck so he could get at her buttons, and she reached for his. Inelegant-in fact, clumsy-they managed somehow to take off each other’s tops and do some serious French kissing at the same time. It would make an interesting Olympic event, one she’d like to train for.

Her bra was off and she wasn’t sure how. All she knew was that she liked the way her breasts felt as they pressed against his chest. Even better was his hand cupping her, brushing her very sensitive nipples before he squeezed her flesh.

Giddy with sensation, she ran her hand down his chest and stomach, amazed at the hardness of him, then down his pants, where she discovered a whole different kind of hardness. He was impressive. Not so big she’d walk funny but large enough she’d fill her diary with exclamation points. He was straining against his pants, hissing as she rubbed him.

Braver still, she found his zipper and managed somehow not to hurt him as she lowered it. Inside was her surprise. Hard, hot, thick, the moment her hand circled his shaft, his cock jumped as if he couldn’t contain his eagerness.

“God, Tate,” he murmured, his moan as deep as his thrusting tongue.

She loved touching him, but her hold was awkward, so she released him and tackled his belt.

That needed a more deft hand than her own, and being attentive, Michael pitched in. A moment later his pants were halfway off, leaving her feeling quite overdressed.

He caught her in another astonishing kiss, then leaned back. “Get undressed,” he said. “I’ll be right back.”

The bed felt instantly cold as he left her there, and once she realized he was going into the bathroom, she hurriedly wiggled out of her pants and panties. The rush was so she could get out of her really ugly socks. They were made to wear with pants, but to the untrained eye they looked like old-lady stockings. She wanted so badly to be appealing to him, to not spoil it by doing one of a hundred things she’d fretted about in the past. And, no, it didn’t matter at all that it was too dark for him to see.

With Graydon, she’d worried about looking fat, about making bodily function sounds even though she knew they were perfectly natural. She’d worried about not being tight enough, about being too tight. She had never quite pleased him, although he wouldn’t tell her what it was that made him want to get up after he’d come to watch TV on the couch. He would always fall asleep in the living room, leaving her to wonder.

At least she’d always come. A lot of times she’d had to take care of that for herself, but for an overall selfish man, Graydon had stepped up to the plate his fair share. It still bothered her that they’d stayed together for so long, for all the wrong reasons. Thank goodness he’d found another heiress, someone who matched his family’s net worth. They had broken up with a handshake and no regrets. Well, he’d had none. She’d felt as if she’d wasted the only good years she ever had. So soon after college she’d turned recluse, and that had been the end of a traditional sex life for her. But she was quite certain that being alone was far better than being with someone like Graydon. Of course, being with Michael was best of all.

She hoped.

The bed dipped with his return, and she cursed her bad luck for not watching him. She’d like to see him naked, all of him, standing in good light. She’d pictured him so many times; she wondered if she’d gotten any of it right.

He held up a box. “Condoms.”

“That makes sense, considering the clothes I found in the drawers.”

He got close, his body chilled from his brief foray out. It felt delicious as he pressed up against her. One thing for sure-the trip hadn’t dampened his enthusiasm one bit.

“You feel good,” he said, his fingers brushing her hair back from her face.

“So do you.”

“I’ve thought about this a lot,” he said. “Imagined this a hundred times.”

She raised her head, checking his face for lies. “Really?”

“Really.”

“I had no idea.”

“You weren’t meant to. It wouldn’t have been appropriate.”

She sighed as she settled against him, resting her head on his pillow. “I suppose all bets are off now.”

“Yep,” he said. “Until I’ve got you home, this is a whole new ball game. I want you to tell me if anything is uncomfortable or frightening. Aside from the obvious, of course.”

“I will.”

He touched her chin and made eye contact. “Anything. That means you get to say stop anytime. You can change your mind, and it’ll be just fine. Got that?”

She nodded.

“Seriously.”

“Michael?”

“Yeah?”

“I appreciate it, but I’m in.”

He studied her for a long moment. “Thank God.”

She laughed, but his kiss silenced her. Soon his hands were exploring all her private places, touching her with a fascinating mixture of reverence and greed.

Since she’d always been a fan of quid pro quo, she decided to throw caution to the wind and discover Michael to her heart’s content. She wasn’t satisfied simply to stroke his cock. She cupped his balls. Delighted at his response, she pinched his delectable ass.

“Hey!”

“Shh,” she said before she kissed him again, thrusting her tongue inside him. That quieted him down. Except for his moans, which did strange and wonderful things to her insides.

Nothing she’d felt prepared her, though, for the sensation of his fingers parting her lips, rubbing her all the way up and down, then sliding into her once, twice. Her muscles tightened and her heart beat faster, but there was no panic now. Nothing but excitement and anticipation as his finger found her clit.

He was tender there, the tip of his finger moving in tiny circles, but it still made her eyelids flutter closed, made her abandon his mouth for her own soft, “Oh.”

“You like that?” he whispered.

“Mmm,” she mumbled, moving her hips to the rhythm of his rubbing.

“You’re so wet and hot.” He plunged into her again, this time not so gently.

She eased her left leg over his hip, giving him permission to plunder away.

“You’re making me crazy.”

She smiled. “Me? I’m not the one with the wicked fingers.”

“I was going to ask you about that,” he said. “I’ve always imagined you being very, very wicked.”

“Me?”

“Oh, yes. Don’t forget, I know what you read. What you think is funny. You’re not normal, Tate.”

“What?”

“I said you’re not normal.”

“I don’t know…” she said. “Should I be insulted?”

“God, no. I love that on the outside you’re so prim and together. They all think you’re sweet, don’t they? They all assume you live so quietly because you’re just a good girl who does what she’s supposed to.”

“I am.”

“Yes. But I was there for the discussion of The Story of O, remember? I know exactly how you felt about that one scene in The Big Easy. You may have been on the phone with Sara, but you were talking to me.”