“I liked the way you looked up there,” he said, then moved his hands to rest them on my bare knees. “I liked the way you looked at me.”
“All those men,” he continued, his voice low and intimate as he gently spread my thighs, making me just a little crazy. Making me just a little wet.
“Watching you. Wanting you. And you wanted me.”
“Yes. Oh, god, yes.”
One hand began to gently stroke my thigh, teasing me, but moving no higher than where the hem of the jacket brushed my skin. With his other hand, he reached for the jacket, and cleverly flipped open the top button.
“That’s your opening offer, isn’t it?” He popped the other button open. “The deal you came to negotiate? I let you dance at Destiny, and you let me touch you?”
He used both hands now to push apart the lapels of the jacket, revealing my breasts, my abdomen, and those pretty silk panties. “Isn’t that like making a deal with the devil?” he asked, as his hand trailed down, making me tremble, then over the panties to find me so very, very wet.
“Or maybe you just like playing with the bad boys,” he said, as he slipped a finger deep inside me.
I arched back, gasping.
“Hook your legs over the chair’s arms,” he ordered.
“Tyler, no—”
“Do it.”
I did, and he lowered his mouth to my sex, using one hand to pull the panties and G-string aside, and the other to tilt the chair back until it seemed like I would fall. I was head-down, completely at his mercy, open and wide and essentially helpless.
And I was desperately, hopelessly, turned on.
He ran his tongue the length of me, and I shook as a storm of sparks rocketed through me, the sensation all the more spectacular because of the way the chair rocked with my arousal.
“This won’t work,” Tyler said.
“No,” I moaned. “Don’t stop.”
But he was opening the desk drawer, pulling out scissors. “I need both hands to keep the chair from toppling,” he said, then cut the panties right off me before tossing the scissors onto the floor with a metallic clank.
I laughed, the sound a burst of shock and pleasure. He met my eyes, his grin mischievous and deliciously sexy. “You taste good,” he said, then once again sank between my legs.
His hands stayed on the chair, so that he was touching me only with his mouth. He teased me, licking and sucking, playing and tormenting.
And with each touch, each stroke, the pressure inside me built and built.
I was open to him—wide and open and I wanted this. Wanted whatever he had to give. Wanted to lose myself in whatever pleasure he could share, whatever wicked, sensual torment he could devise.
In that moment, I think I would have done anything if only he would swear that this feeling would never stop.
Little tremors shot through me, making my body shake, the chair tremble. Precursors of an explosion that was close, so close, so close—
And then the world shattered, the chair rocking, my body clenching. I cried out for him to stop because I didn’t think I could take it anymore, but he was relentless, taking everything from me, pulling every drop of pleasure out of me, taking me so high I was breathless, then crashing me back down to earth again where he scooped me into his arms.
“Wow,” I murmured, finding myself curled against his chest, my body bare against his shirt, the jacket hanging open around me. “Wow.”
“Very wow,” he said, as he carried me across the room and laid me on the couch. “I may have to put one of those chairs in every room.”
I laughed. “I wouldn’t object.”
“Tell me you liked that,” he said, as he sat on the edge of the sofa beside me.
“Yes. God, yes.”
“I knew you were a cop, Sloane. I knew you were a cop, and I fucked you. I played you. And you were so damn pissed at me.”
I squinted at him, unsure about this change in direction. But his expression was still soft. Gentle.