She rode him.
Fucked him.
Broke him.
Her breathless cries and dirty moans stroked his flesh. But with each roll of her hips, each pulse around him and over him, she shoved him closer and closer to release. He held on like a man hanging on to a crumbling cliff by his fingernails.
“Touch me,” Devon croaked against his neck. “Please touch me.”
He understood her pained request even as her channel spasmed around him. Reaching between them, he rubbed his thumb once, twice, three times over the stiff button of nerves at the top of her sex. Her body clamped down on him, seizing him in a strangling embrace.
As she came undone, quivering and sucking him impossibly deeper, he gripped her tight, held her aloft and pounded inside her, chasing the perfection that loomed so close. Pleasure arced through him in fire-hot, blazing strikes. They struck his spine, his lower back, the soles of his feet, his dick.
Devon took his thrusts, her arms wrapped around his shoulders, her teeth sinking into the base of his throat. And it was that bite, the erotic sting of it, her marking of him, that sent him cracking wide down the middle. Thank God for the soundproofing of his office, because his hoarse shout rebounded off the walls, echoing in his head.
And even as he let go of his passion, his control, he held on to her.
Fifteen
Devon hovered on the bottom step of the grand staircase that spiraled far above her. The light purple and gray of the day’s dying light streamed into the equally grand foyer of the Beacon Hill mansion. Part of her wanted nothing more than to jog back up the steps, head back down the hall to the room she’d just exited and climb back into the big bed with the tangled covers and sheets.
Cain’s bed. Cain’s sheets.
But they were both responsible for tangling them.
A shaky breath escaped her, and she pressed her palm to her fluttering stomach. Silly, considering all that she’d been doing with him since they left Farrell International hours ago. Heat crawled up her throat and poured into her face when she recalled how she’d fallen to her knees for him, let him fill her mouth and then her bodyin his office.
Again, silly she should be embarrassed given what she’d been allowing him to do to her since—and what she’d done to him in return. But when it came to Cain Farrell, nothing made sense. Not her decisions. Not her logic. Not her lack of control. Not this magnetic, almostdesperatepull toward him.
She’d gone to Farrell to broach the subject of his real estate deal. Shame slithered through her. Yes, she’d had every intention of lobbying on her father’s behalf. And when Cain’s assistant had allowed her to wait in his empty office, she’d stared at his desk, so close to skirting around it and searching the massive piece of furniture and his computer for anything regarding the project. Ultimately though, she couldn’t sink quitethatlow.
But when Cain stalked into the cavernous room, all thoughts about real estate and her father bolted from her head. Not two nights earlier, she’d vowed not to be vulnerable with Cain again. But it’d been the glimmer of confusion and need in his blue-gray gaze—the same emotions so rife inside her—that had spurred her surrender to him, his kiss, his touch. Even knowing it would lead to only more problems, more mistakes.
And here she stood, in Cain’s house, tumbling deeper and deeper into the quagmire that was their “relationship.”
“What are you doing down here?” Cain appeared before her, his powerful chest bare, wearing only a black pair of lounging pants that clung to his narrow hips like a jealous lover. “I was going to bring food up to you.” His gaze surveyed her from the unruly, freshly sexed hair, over his white dress shirt that she’d slipped on and down to her painted toes. She fidgeted, aware that she’d becomethatwoman—the one who wore her man’s clothes just to be closer to him, to be surrounded by his scent.
Only Cain wasn’t her man. Not truly.
“Are you hungry?”
The simmer of heat brightening his eyes kindled the same embers of desire in her. Beneath the fine cotton, her nipples beaded and the flesh between her legs softened, swelled. She opened her mouth, about to tell him “not for food,” when her stomach growled. Loudly.
For the first time, a real, full-fledged smile curved his mouth, the amusement reflected in his gaze. Her breath snagged in her lungs at the beauty of it. She marveled that it was directed at her.
“Come on.” He clasped her hand in his and guided her off the last step. “It’s not much given my culinary skills, but it should be enough to suppress the rebellion.” His chin dipped toward her stomach.
In spite of the flush transforming her face into a fire hazard, she laughed and followed him to the kitchen.
Contrary to his assertion of “not much,” the spread of cold cuts, cheeses, bread, vegetables and fruit impressed her. They fixed thick sandwiches and settled at the table in the surprisingly cozy nook to dine.
Surreal. It seemed so surreal that she sat with Cain like any ordinary couple eating homemade deli sandwiches. He asked about her family, and she told him about spending time with them before they left, which led to childhood stories. They laughed together, andGod, the sound of that low, deep timbre shouldn’t cause her belly to bottom out or her heart to seize and beat in triple time.
Oh no.
This didn’t bode well for her. At all. But she didn’t get up and leave. Instead, she stayed and savored every moment. Hoarding it away.
Later, Cain gathered their dishes and carried them to the sink. On bare feet, she rose from her chair and padded to the huge bay windows that covered the back wall. Though night had fully chased away dusk, soft light from gas lampposts provided a shadowed view of the garden where they’d met weeks ago. Funny how such a serendipitous meeting would lead them here.
