Stripped Down (10 page)

Her legs wrapped around his waist and she arched into him. The wanton movement slid her core over the head of his cock.

Eric thrust forward. Her leggings stretched and pulled against the strain of his arousal and created an erotic temptation he couldn’t ignore. The lush curves of her hips fit his hands as if she’d been made for him and him alone. He pulled her forward, encouraging her through heated kisses and wordless instruction to ride the hard ridge of his erection until every caress dragged a small sound of hunger from his throat or a purr of approval from her chest.

Cass leaned back, whipped her sweater over her head and unhooked her bra. Nipples beaded with arousal, she hissed as she ran a hand over one breast, lifting for his mouth.

He suckled her, rolling the tiny pearl of flesh between his lips and flicking it with the tip of his tongue.

“Dalton.” She fisted his hair, dragging him closer. “Feels so good.”

“Boots.” He moved to her mouth and kissed her deep before breaking away. Cupping her face, he forced her to focus on him. “Off.”

Toeing them off was the work of a moment, and her leggings followed quickly.

Eric’s brain fuzzed out.
She’d gone commando.
His balls tightened hard and fast, the burn of pleasure spreading through him as his body focused on the orgasm it wouldn’t be denied. Not now. When he ran his hands over her silken skin and laid her back across the cold granite, goose bumps broke out over her arms. He breathed across her bare belly, reveling in the evidence of her arousal. It was a temptation all its own.

Dipping low, he ran his tongue along the seam of her sex.

She bowed off the countertop with a harsh cry, hands scrabbling for purchase as he tasted the most feminine parts of her.

Shaft aching, he couldn’t wait any longer. He rolled her over on the island, sending the fruit bowl crashing to the ground. He’d replace it. Hell, he’d get her five of them. Later. He had to have her. Now.

Pulling her toward him by the hips, he pinned her thighs together by planting his legs on each side of hers.

She spread her arms and gripped the edges of the counter.

“Cass.” Her name was little more than an invocation, a plea for absolution because he was going to use her, and hard. He drove into her with a single stroke.

She shouted and pushed back against him, trying to gain leverage.

Eric wasn’t about to cede control. No, he would take her to the very edge with every ounce of skill he had and then launch her over into that beautiful free fall. The pace he set was ruthless. For every thrust, she pushed back to meet him. Her hair hung loose, and he reached forward to fist it off her face and pull her head back. “So damn beautiful,” he ground out.

His orgasm burned through him like a dry fuse running to a powder keg. When he lost it, the results were going to be spectacular. He didn’t want to go without her, though. With his free hand, he reached around her and, finding her clit, manipulated her in time with their lovemaking.

She tightened around him in throbbing waves, clamping down on him like a glove that was suddenly two sizes too small. Her muscles fluttered and tugged at his cock without mercy.

That was his breaking point.

The orgasm blew through him, but he continued to drive into her even as he let go, his shout ricocheting around the kitchen. Pleasure crested and rose again, drawing him higher with every pulse of release before withdrawing and leaving him weak-kneed and sheened in sweat.

He leaned over her, bracing his shaking arms against the counter. “Holy shit.”

Slipping an arm around her waist, he sank to the floor as gracefully as he could manage and propped himself against the cabinets. She curled into his lap, and he held her close. No matter what else had happened today, this was right.

This was right.

* * *

T
HIRTY MINUTES LATER
Cass was showered and feeling a little more in control. Okay, not so much “in control” as she was still blissed out from the amazing orgasm Dalton had delivered. It was more than just the physical pleasure, though. She’d opened up to him, and he’d understood. And for that reason, he had to go.

The shower shut off and Dylan stepped out, obliterating any coherent thought. She’d seen him naked, but there was something about seeing him standing in her bathroom, water droplets navigating the peaks and valleys of his torso, his hair plastered back, his green eyes framed by dark spiked lashes, that simply made her stop breathing.

He rubbed a hand over his jaw. “I need to shave.”

“I’d let you borrow my razor, but it would probably tear your face up it’s so old. I generally get waxed.”

Those deep green eyes darkened as they roved over her towel-wrapped body. “I know.”

Something entirely feminine fluttered in her belly.

“Hand me a towel?”

The urge to toss him hers was almost overwhelming, but she knew it would lead to sex. And she had things she had to do this afternoon that required clothes—like prepare for the biggest presentation of her life. Sighing, she grabbed a fresh towel out of the basket near her feet and tossed it to him.

He snagged it and, after drying off, wrapped it around his waist. “I don’t suppose you have an extra toothbrush?”

Cass dug through one of the vanity drawers and pulled out a freebie from the dentist, still in its cellophane. She handed it over with a small smile. “Best I can do.”

“Perfect.” He opened it, loaded it with toothpaste and began to brush. “The mystery man seems a li’l proprietary about you.”

“He’d like to be.”

“Relationship gone wrong?”

“‘Relationship’ implies there was something between us beyond his overactive imagination.” Her words were clipped, almost cold.

Rinsing his mouth, he laid the toothbrush beside the sink. “Fair enough.”

Clarification seemed prudent. “You and I hit the sheets in record time, but that’s not my typical speed. He wanted it to be. I objected. He hasn’t taken it well.”

“You don’t owe me an explanation, Cass.”

She didn’t want to owe him so much as she wanted him to know more about her, the real her. She’d already given him more of a glimpse of the true Cassidy Jameson than she’d given any other man, and it stung a little that he was so laissez-faire about their relationship. She knew she shouldn’t expect anything more, knew it was foolishness to set herself up to fall for a man she didn’t know, but...

But maybe he didn’t have to leave.

A sense of absolute conviction marched up her spine. She wanted to understand what it was she felt when he held her, what it was he stirred in her body when he loved her. She wanted to understand him. What could it hurt to have him stay for one more day? The idea thrilled her.

Reaching around him, she grabbed his toothbrush and dropped it in the porcelain holder where she kept hers.

Dalton watched her, quietly considering. Then he smiled. “Well, okay.” Running his fingers through her damp curls, his gaze roamed over her face.

“Have breakfast with me.”

“We already ate.”

“Tomorrow,” she said, her breath quickening as he stroked a thumb over her creased brow. “Have breakfast with me tomorrow.”

When he didn’t respond, she settled her hands at his waist, his chiseled abs tightening. “Ticklish?”

“You’ll never get me to admit it.”

Biting her bottom lip, she dug her fingers into his sides.

Dalton shouted and danced out of her way, the towel slipping as low as it could around his hips without falling off. “Not playing nice, Cass. I retaliate.”

Palms out, she held out her hands in the universal sign for stop. “Truce. I have to go into the office and get a few things done this afternoon, then there’s dinner with my father at the Metropolitan. I also have a little employee gathering at Bathtub Gin tonight. But after that?”

He ran his hand around the back of his neck and pulled hard enough that his muscles shook under the strain. Taking a deep breath, he looked up at her. “The Metropolitan, huh? Must be a big deal, dinner with your dad.”

She considered him, taking in the tight lines around his eyes and the way his mouth went from lush to a hard, flat line between breaths. “No. Just dinner.”

Dropping his arm, he rolled his head from side to side. “Later is probably best for me anyway since I have obligations tonight.”

“Obligations.” The flat word landed between them.

“Yeah. I have to work tonight.”

The urge to ask him not to go tumbled to the tip of her tongue, but it was his job, and she had to get over her hang-up about what he did for a living. Fighting to cover the awkward conversational lull, she arched a brow and crossed her arms under her breasts. “Well, thank God that’s all it is,” she teased. “For a second I was afraid you were going to tell me you had a major jewel heist that was going to keep you tied up later than normal.”

“Silly girl. That’s not until Thursday night.” He closed the distance between them and pulled her into a tight embrace. The intimacy of the moment—him holding her and she simply being held—made her breath catch and her heart tip toward him.

Sagging into him, she sighed.

His arms tightened. “You okay?”

“So long as we’re still not headed for heartache, I’m cool.”

His thumb stilled. “I wouldn’t hurt you, Cass.”

“People hurt each other all the time,” she murmured, slipping from his embrace and heading to her closet.

He followed, stopping to lean on the doorjamb as she flipped through possible outfits for the evening. “Not everything ends badly.”

She glanced over her shoulder, fighting to conjure a coy smile. “Ah, but everything ends.” Shifting her attention to her clothes, she silently cursed herself for letting the pessimist in her surge to the surface and gain a voice.

Warm hands settled on her bare shoulders and pulled her into a solid torso. “If you want assurances this won’t end, I can’t give you that. But if you want assurances that I won’t intentionally hurt you? Those I
can
give you.”

“I don’t need assurances, Dalton.” She faced him, her expression friendly but intentionally closed down. “I appreciate the offer, but I’m old enough to know life doesn’t offer guarantees. Whatever this is between us, it will run its course. We’ll deal with whatever happens.”

Eyes cooling a bit, he stepped back. “Are you always so—”

“Practical?” An arched brow silently dared him to challenge her. “Yes. I am.”

He crossed an arm over his chest and grasped his opposite shoulder. “I wouldn’t call it ‘practical,’ but it’s good to know anyway.”

Blindly grabbing the same little black dress she’d discarded the night before, she angled her way past him and went to her lingerie drawer. “If it’s not practical, what is it?” she called over her shoulder.

Those familiar hands caught her off balance and spun her, pulling her towel free as he hauled her forward. They crashed together, skin to skin, towels long gone. One hand wrapped around the back of her neck as the other held her to him. “Look at me.”

Her face rose of its own volition even as her pride bristled at the command.

He lowered his face so close to hers that she had a hard time focusing on his mouth when he spoke. “It’s not practical, Cass. It’s demeaning. You’re stripping away the beauty of discovering each other. Cut me a little slack in the predetermination department.”

“Predetermination department?”

“You’ve already decided I’m going to disappoint you in some way—maybe I already have by the very nature of how we met. But until I really screw up, don’t look forward to the event so anxiously you make it happen.”

The observation struck far too close to home for her. She pulled against his hold until he let go. “You sound like a psychologist, not a Beaux Hommes man.”

His face shuttered. “I didn’t realize you held the two in such disparate esteem.”

“I don’t.”

Dalton snorted. “Save it, Cass.” He went for his still-damp jeans, pulling them on and toweling his hair relatively dry. “It might surprise you to know that one of my best friends is also a ‘Beaux Hommes man’ and he, ironically, just finished his Ph.D. in psychology.” He shoved his arms down his shirtsleeves and pulled the Henley over his head. “Being a stripper doesn’t make me stupid.”

She held the dress over herself. “I never said that.”

“Didn’t you?”

“Dalton...” Pulse racing, she stepped toward him. “Don’t leave. Not like this.”

Brows drawn, he glanced over at her. “Like what?”

“Angry.”

“I
am
angry.” He considered her carefully, a riot of emotions racing across his face. “But that doesn’t mean this is over.” Closing the distance between them, he pulled her into his arms. “It’s not over, Cass. Far from it. I do have to go, though.”

“Come with me tonight to Bathtub Gin.”

“I can’t.”

The pass on her invitation, delivered so quickly, stung. At the same time, the invitation had been impulsive and far too dangerous.

Something on her face must have given away the battle she waged internally, the very personal fight to find her balance with him without putting herself out there too far. He leaned one hip against her dresser and pulled her in close, resting his chin atop her head. “I can’t,” he repeated. “I really do have to work.” Before she could say anything, he pressed his lips to hers, the kiss brief but intense. “Does the offer of breakfast still stand?”

She was reeling, unsure whether things were ending one moment or getting more serious the next. He was a basket of mixed signals, calling her out for being negative one moment and getting ready to leave her the next, and now, “Breakfast?”

“First meal of the day?” His grin was wicked. “Unless we repeat last night. Then it’ll be brunch.”

Her mouth twitched against her will as a smile bloomed. “You’re insatiable.”

“Right. It was all me.”

“I’m a lady.”

“In the boardroom, no doubt. But behind closed doors?” He lowered his mouth to her hers again, nibbling at her lips.

She opened to him with an involuntary sigh.

The kiss built in tension, the taste of him mingling with the familiar fresh flavor of her toothpaste. His lips were smooth but demanding. When he broke away, both of them were breathing heavily. “Behind closed doors, you’re perfect.”