J. Kenner - Heated

My breath hitched and I blinked twice to quell the sting of unshed tears.

“I want to know that you trust me to know how far to go. That you trust me not to exceed your boundaries. I want that—but I won’t push you. Not if you’re not ready. Not if you don’t want it, too.”

I managed a tiny smile. “The couch? The waiter? Wasn’t that pushing me?”

He simply stared at me. I felt my color rise, because I understood. He hadn’t pushed me on that—not really. Instead, he’d seen deep enough inside me to know that I wanted it, too.

What he was saying now was that he wouldn’t push me over the precipice. Not, at least, until I was ready to jump.

“Stay,” he said. “Come back to my room and stay with me tonight.”

I licked my dry lips. “Because you feel bad? Or because you want me?”

Instead of answering, he turned to the control box and hit the switch to put the car back in motion. Then he came to me and took my hand. He pulled me to my feet, and I didn’t even have time to think before his mouth closed gently over mine. The kiss was soft and I thought I might melt simply from the sweetness of it.

When he pulled back, his eyes were warm. “Because I want you.”

I nodded, breathless, my lips still tingling. “You didn’t make me beg for a kiss.”

The corner of his eyes crinkled. “I’ll beg if you don’t kiss me again.”

“Tempting,” I said. “But I’ll be kind.” I rose onto my tiptoes and brushed a chaste kiss over the corner of his mouth.

He laughed. “Fuck that,” he said, then gripped my shoulders and pressed me back against the wall. I gasped, not expecting the motion, and he closed his mouth brutally over mine. Gone was the sweetness of that first kiss. This was hard and wild and demanding. Teeth and tongue and the violence of possession, the cacophony of passion. Relief swept through me even as wild thoughts clanged about in my head, unable to form into anything more coherent than a vague plea of more, more, oh yes, more.

We broke apart when the doors opened, and Tyler took my hand, then drew me down the hall to another elevator, this one with a plain metal interior, covered on two sides with moving blankets.

“It will take us to the service entrance,” he said, and I nodded.

I felt giddy. Light. A small part of me tried to argue that my giddiness was because my operation was back on track, but that was bullshit. This was all about me. About the way he’d made my body tingle and thrum. About the heat he’d sent coursing through me and the way he’d pushed my boundaries. Even to the point of breaking.

He’d made me feel things I had never experienced, and for better or worse, I wanted to walk with him to that precipice. I wouldn’t go over with him—how the hell could I ever trust a man like Tyler Sharp that intimately?—but I could damn sure enjoy the ride.

I had no idea where this was going, but for this night, I was his. Tomorrow, I would think about the job.

We were back in the penthouse, moving through the hallway by his office to the living room. Neither of us spoke, and though the silence was a comfortable one, I couldn’t deny the flutter of nerves in my stomach. I knew he wouldn’t bind me—but beyond that, I didn’t have a clue.

“Tyler?” I began, when I couldn’t take it anymore.

We’d reached the living room, and he paused near the huge window that looked out over Michigan Avenue. “Yes?”

“What are you going to do with me?”

His lips twitched. “Nervous?”

“And excited.”

“I like your honesty, so I’ll tell you that I’m planning something we’re both going to enjoy.” He moved to stand behind me, then pushed me gently forward so that I was closer to the window, and I could see both our reflections in the glass. “I’m going to fuck you, Sloane. Very hard, and very thoroughly.” His eyes met mine in the glass. “If that’s all right with you?”

“Yeah,” I said breathlessly. “Yeah, I think that’ll be just fine.” I swallowed, kept my eyes on his. “Is that all?”

He laughed, and the sound made my smile bloom wide.

“No,” he said. “No, it’s not.”

I waited for him to say more, and when he didn’t, I frowned. I saw my own brow furrowed in the reflection, and saw his expression grow more amused in turn.

“Shall I give you a clue?” he asked as the fingertips of his right hand trailed feather light over my arm. The sensation was both sweet and erotic, and it was all I could do not to turn in his arms and claim his mouth with my own.

“I could entice you with words,” he said. “Someday, I want to touch you only with my voice and tease you only with my words. I want to watch as you quiver with longing, as your body goes soft and slick. I want to watch the fire build inside you, and I want to make you explode before I even brush a finger over your skin.”

I trembled, knowing with full and humbling certainty that he could do exactly that.

“But not tonight,” he whispered as he gently brushed his hands over my shoulder blades. “I don’t have the strength tonight. Tonight, I need to touch you.”

As if in illustration, he slid his hands forward so that his fingers brushed the edge of my halter. I gasped, then stopped breathing when his hands continued to ease beneath the material and over my bare skin. Then his fingers found my nipples, hard and tight and so damn sensitive. “Yes,” I breathed. “Oh, god, yes.”

He pinched my nipple, and I gasped as hot wires of pleasure shot from my breast all the way down to my sex.

I had to bite my lower lip as I watched our reflection in the window, and the image of us standing like that—of his fingers inside my clothes, of me leaning back against him, of the soft and sensual expression on my face—just about pushed me over the edge.

His fingers paused in their magic, and I almost sobbed in protest as he pulled his hands away, leaving my flesh cool and bereft in the wake of his touch.

“You like this,” he said as he untied my halter, then unzipped the dress. It fell to the ground, leaving me completely bare. “You’re like a goddess in the window, bathed in golden light. Does it excite you, knowing that someone might be looking in? Might be across the street looking out their window? Might see how lovely you are?”

I didn’t answer, but it didn’t matter. His hand slipped down to dip between my legs. “Yes,” he murmured, finding me wet. “Yes, I think it does,” he said as he trailed the fingers of his other hand over hips, my waist, my breasts.

I closed my eyes, reveling in the feel of him.

“You’re too beautiful to hide away,” he said, “but I’m the only one who gets to touch you.”

“Yes,” I murmured. “Now. Please I need you to touch me now.”

Without a word, he moved around me so that his back was to the window. He knelt in front of me, his hands on my thighs, his thumbs achingly close to my sex. Slowly, he eased my legs apart, and I felt the cool, sweet air.

“I will always give you what you need,” Tyler said, then pressed a soft kiss on my pubis before rising, his hands following the movement of his body so that when he brushed his lips over my cheek, his hands gently cupped my breasts.

“Close your eyes,” he said, and I did, then lost myself in pleasure as he touched me everywhere, a series of strokes and kisses and caresses teasing every inch of me until my body was so aroused I wasn’t sure I could take it anymore.

Finally—oh, thank god, finally—he took hold of my hips and slid his tongue over my clit, teasing and playing as I tried to writhe in time with the pleasure but couldn’t—he was holding too tight, concentrating the delight on that one perfect point.

My knees went weak, and I had to reach out, one hand clutching the wall and the other his hair, as he took me closer and closer to the edge and then—when I didn’t think I could stand it any longer—the world exploded around me. A firestorm engulfed me—and I lost myself to the desperately erotic sensation of Tyler’s mouth against me, of his hands upon me, of his arms around me.