Show Off (10 page)

"
Venga!"
he murmured in her ear, “
Venga a mi
, Veronica."

She wanted to do as he asked. She wanted to come more than anything. Every stroke felt so good, and she loved the masculine weight of him over her, pressing her to the mattress. She loved the way he rubbed his stubble over her throat, the way he kissed her as if he was starving for the taste of her. But...

"I want to be on top."

He stilled for a moment, bracing his weight on his arms as he looked at her. Then he tucked his hands under her hips and rolled, his cock still deep inside her, bringing her over him.

She knew what it cost him. He'd been close to orgasm and now she was taking over the rhythm, controlling how deep he went, but he was willing to hold off for her pleasure. She brought his hand to her lips, kissed it, then rose on her knees.

The angle was exquisite, so deep, and she moved against the pleasure his depth offered her, sliding her hands up her own body, cupping her breasts, showing off for an audience of one. And by the hooded look in his eyes, he enjoyed every bit of it, his hips pushing up into hers when she pushed down, his cock so deep, so hard. Her slick channel clutched and glided and squeezed until just having his cock inside her was no longer enough. She pumped her hips against his, slid her hand down her belly to part her labia. Vicente's eyes widened, and he pushed her hand away to stroke her himself, matching the rhythm of his hips to the rhythm of his fingers, stroking and circling the bundle of nerves until the pleasure came over her in a rush, the slow pulses seeming in slow motion. She tossed her head back and moaned, long and low, as he came inside her with a groan of his own, then cradled her against him when she dropped to the bed beside him.

"
Te amo
,” he murmured against her temple.

Her heart lurched. “I love you, too."

Veronica woke up in the soft sheets, Vicente curved around her, arm looped over her waist. Sunlight streamed in through the barred window onto the bedside table where, underneath her discarded panties, sat a contract with the letterhead “Milburn Hotels.” With a shaking hand, she reached for it and saw his signature at the bottom. Surprise glued her tongue to the roof of her mouth.

Behind her, he stirred, pressed a kiss to her shoulder, cupped her naked breast casually. “
Buenas dias
."

"When were you going to tell me?” She shifted onto her back to look at him as she held up the contract.

He chuckled and smoothed her hair back from her face to kiss her temple. “Monday morning was the plan, before you showed up. And last night you kept me pretty busy.” He rubbed his chin over the line of her shoulder.

She blinked up at him, unable to believe it. They'd be working together again. “So you weren't leaving.” Joy swelled in her chest.

He lifted his head, his eyes holding that playfulness she'd always loved, now tinged with the deeper warmth of love. “I made sure Jordan knew we were a package deal. I just wanted to make sure it was a fait accompli before I said anything."

"So we'll be working together again."

"With one stipulation.” He took the contract from her hand to drop it on the table and tumbled her onto the bed, leaning over her. “Jordan insists we do not have sex in the office."

She curled her fingers around the back of his head and smiled. “We'll just need to find another way to show off, then."

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Emma Jay has been writing longer than she'd care to admit, using her endless string of celebrity crushes as inspiration for her heroes. She discovered her husband has way more tolerance for screensavers and hunk-decorated blog posts when she calls them her “heroes.” Emma, married 22 years (wed at the age of 8, of course) believes writing romance is like falling in love, over and over again. Creating characters and love stories is an addiction she has no intention of breaking.

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When Serena Adams collided with a gorgeous young stranger on a crowded subway, nothing could have prepared her for the hottest ride of her life...

Serena gets more than she bargained for when her ordinary morning commute turns into an erotic encounter with a much younger man able to excite her with the merest touch. Later that morning, Serena's prospective new client turns out to be her El train stranger and she can't believe her misfortune. If she can't ride the rails without wanting to devour him, how will she manage to work with him professionally?

Julian St. Claire believed he would never see the beautiful woman from the El again. However, this turns out to be his lucky day when she falls into his lap hours later. Never one to back down from a challenge, he pursues the sexy siren, despite her protests about their age difference. The way Julian sees it, age is no match for undeniable chemistry.

Can the two sort out their differences to enjoy the physical attraction they discovered ... riding the rail?

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The El train jerked to a stop in front of Serena Adams and the doors slid open to reveal wall-to-wall people. Late for her morning meeting, she straightened to her full five-feet-two inches, squared her shoulders, and readied herself to fight her way inside. Early morning Chicago commuters were an aggressive bunch and she battled her way into the car, pushing and throwing elbows in the race to claim non-existent space.

Just as she found six inches of ground to call her own, someone shoved her from behind. Thrown off balance, she teetered on her black stilettos, and collided with a solid male chest encased in a slate gray business suit.

"Sorry,” she mumbled while trying to regain firm footing. To her left a beacon gleamed in the florescent light and she made a desperate grab for the metal handrail and stepped on the suit's foot with the heel of her shoe.

He let out a small oomph, and she glanced up to offer another apology and all the air left her lungs on a whoosh.

Holy shit!

Amused dark gray eyes peered down at her. With his high-sculpted cheekbones, and the deliberately messy hair of today's young men, he looked like he'd stepped out of an Abercrombie and Fitch catalog. The slow wicked smile on his full lips told her he knew every ounce of his appeal.

Serena realized her mouth hung open and promptly shut it. Her stomach fluttered and her cheeks filled with heat. Embarrassed by her response, she shifted her gaze down to the dingy floor. She didn't normally gape at men like a sixteen-year-old, especially men at least ten years younger than her, however gorgeous they may be.

The train jerked forward, and she stumbled, falling against the man's broad chest. His hand shot to her waist to steady her. In a low rumble, he asked, “First time on the El?"

His voice made shivers run down her spine. She felt herself turn six shades of pink and cursed her fair complexion. With her attention glued to the floor, she shook her head. His hand slipped from her waist, leaving behind the heated imprint of his palm. Where he'd touched tingled and warmed her all over.

She was a grown woman, not a teenager. This was the El for God's sake. Rule number one—when taking public transportation, no lusting after fellow passengers.

To gain some distance, she shifted her hip to make room, but the asshole behind her ate up the vacated space with his large girth. She gritted her teeth in frustration. Why did her car have to be in the shop? In her cute little Beamer she'd be safe. This morning had been a disaster from the second she'd opened her eyes. To make matters worse, with the torrential downpour, she hadn't been able to hail a cab, and running late, the El had been her only option. Now, here she was, packed into the damn train like a sardine, having impure thoughts about a stranger.

Stare straight ahead
. She repeated over and over in her head, fighting the urge to gape at the man's gorgeous face. Instead, she fixed her attention on the light blue paisley tie knotted at his neck and tried to think about the board reports she'd read last night for one of her clients. It didn't work. The rich, musky scent of his cologne combined with his heat created a pheromone designed to drive her mad with lust.

You're a grown woman. You're a grown woman. You're a grown woman. Not, I repeat, not, a hormonal teenager.

While the train vibrated and rolled through the Chicago tunnels, the man's sex appeal poured off him like a powerful aphrodisiac. Pinpoints of sweat pricked along her back and her nipples puckered, responding to him despite her best intentions. Serena clenched her teeth, taking slow even breaths, while remaining ramrod straight.

The train stopped at its first destination. Despite the full car, more people pushed on, pressing her closer to the man. Their chests collided, sending a jolt of pure electricity through her. She bit her lower lip to stifle a groan.

What was wrong with her? She'd been married and divorced, dated good men, had great sex, but she couldn't remember ever having such a visceral response to a man. Ever. Her panties were already damp, as if she'd experienced hours of foreplay.

The train began moving again, and the vibrations created a friction between them. His hard-muscled chest rubbed lightly against her breasts, causing them to grow heavy.

Snap out of it, you do not get turned on by strangers on public transportation. Her body had other plans and paid no attention.

Her senses heightened, making her hyper-aware of him. It felt like the air thickened between them.
So this is white hot chemistry?
Too bad it was all one-sided. Serena was positive if she glimpsed at the man's face, she'd find amusement, or worse, sympathy.

He shifted, his arm sliding along the side rail so his hand hovered at her waist, pressing them closer together. The gesture seemed deliberate. Her gaze flew up and locked on his.

His expression held unmistakable heat. Transfixed, she wanted to break the contact, but his intense stare forced hers in place. The rattle and noise from the subway dimmed. Her mouth parted on an intake of breath. Her tongue darted out to moisten dry lips and his slate gray eyes followed the movement.

His hand moved again, brushing her hip with his thumb. The contact sent a jolt straight to her clit. Well didn't this just take the cake? One touch and she was ready to jump him.

He cocked a brow at her.

She smiled pleasantly, hoping to appear unaffected. In an effort to gain some distance, she reached for the pole overhead so she could lean away from him. He followed the movement, his eyes drifting to her breasts. Clearly outlined, her nipples abraded the fabric of her dress, driving her crazy.

The man released a slow long breath and hissed, “Jesus."

She let out a small gasp. His hand slid onto the small of her lower back, his palm burned through her clothes and heated her skin. His fingers splayed, moving over the curve of her ass, applying pressure so they rocked together. A low moan escaped her lips as his huge, hard cock pushed against her pelvis.

She blinked in surprise and a small, “Oh,” escaped her lips. Rationally, she should be appalled at a stranger groping her on the train. Logically, she should pull away, but some demon possessed her and she pressed back.

He bent his head low next to her ear. “Damn, I'm glad I took the El this morning."

The sound of his deep velvet voice traveled down her spine, making her shiver. She squeaked out, “This is crazy."

"Instant lust.” His mouth brushed her neck as he spoke, and he ran his hand along her back. She bit her lip to keep silent. She'd never wanted to fuck a man more. He'd barely touched her and she trembled, struggling to maintain composure.

"This is Clark and Lake,” the conductor said through the intercom system, startling Serena out of her lust-filled haze. The train jerked to a standstill, and the press of people eased as passengers began to exit.

"This is my stop.” She pulled away. Thankful for the distance, she welcomed the arrival of sanity. She turned and scurried through the open doors.

"Wait,” he called after her.

Serena ignored him, moving as fast as her high heels would carry her, disappearing among the crowd.