Jill Shalvis - Then Came You

When he pulled away again, she didn’t have the brain cells left to protest. Instead she moaned as his lips trailed down her face, her neck, to the pulse racing at the base of her throat.

“Emily.”

She had to clear her throat twice to answer. “Yes?”

“Now’s the time to look me in the eyes and say this is still just a fun time, that this isn’t going to hurt you.”

She stared at him. His hair was more tousled than usual—from her fingers, she realized. His T-shirt was untucked. His gaze was heavy-lidded as he waited for her to process. “A very fun time,” she said.

“And?”

So fierce. So careful with her. Her heart tightened. “And you’d never hurt me,” she whispered, knowing it as the utter truth. The only way he could hurt her was if she cared more for him than he cared for her, but she could see that wasn’t the case.

“Never,” he agreed, voice low and utter steel. “But now is the time to say no if you’re going to.”

One of her hands was still fisted in his shirt, one of his thighs between hers, and when he rubbed it against her at the same time that his hand swept up from a hip to stroke a thumb over her nipple, she got a rush so strong it might have been an orgasm. The sound she made was horrifyingly needy and she tried to suck it back in.

“I’m taking that as a yes,” he said, and swept a hand over his desk, knocking files and various piles of crap to the floor.

“So we’re done talking?”

“For a few minutes.” He ran his tongue along the outer edge of her ear, nibbling on the lobe as he brought her palm to his erection.

She shuddered and stroked him. “You think we’ll be done in a few minutes?”

“Keep that up and it’ll be a lot less.”

She popped open his pants, tugged down his zipper, and slid her hand inside. He was hot velvet over steel, deliciously, heart-pounding hard, and every single inch of her trembled in desire and anticipation. “And if someone shows up?”

He backed up enough to hit the lock on his door.

“They might still hear.”

“You’ll have to be very quiet,” he said, and stepped into her until she backed up into his desk. “Can you be very quiet, Emily?”

Oh, God, she thought, that smooth whiskey voice. “I don’t know.”

“Let’s see.” Hands to her waist, he plunked her onto his desk. “Take off your sweater.”

She rushed to do just that but he lent his hands to the cause, stripping it off her himself.

She’d dressed for the day a very long eighteen hours ago, and couldn’t remember what underwear she was wearing. She took a peek and groaned.

Wyatt ran a long, callused finger along the edge of her plain white cotton bra. “Problem?”

“I was hoping I was miraculously wearing black silk,” she said. “Or something good to catch your interest.”

He smiled and stroked her nipple through the cotton with a callused thumb. “Sweetness, you caught my interest a long time ago.” And then her bra was gone, tossed as carelessly over Wyatt’s shoulder as her sweater had been.

“Lift up,” he said, fingers deftly unbuttoning and unzipping her pants.

“You want to see if my panties match?” she asked.

He smiled. “Among other things.”

Yep, Wyatt discovered a minute later, her panties did indeed match the white cotton bra somewhere on the floor behind him. He wanted these there, too. Hooking his fingers in the soft material, he slowly pulled her panties down and took in the sight of Emily naked and sprawled out for his viewing pleasure. “I’m never going to look at my desk in the same way again.”

“Wyatt . . .”

His name left her throat on a raspy whisper of longing. He liked that. He fucking loved that. Stepping between her spread legs, he slid a hand into her hair at the nape of her neck to bring her face to his.

“You’re still dressed,” she whispered.

He loved that, too, the way she could be so shy and yet climb all over him in his truck. Or in the yard by moonlight.

Or let him seduce her in his office . . .

He cupped her breasts and her nipples pebbled against his palms. “God,” she said on a rough exhale, her arms wrapping around his neck as she leaned into him. He smiled, knowing she’d already forgotten to even try to be quiet.

He didn’t care. He loved the sounds she made.

“Mmm,” she murmured into his mouth, like he was the best thing she’d ever tasted. Her tongue fought with his for dominance, but he won the battle when he cupped her ass in one hand, the other sliding down her belly, between her opened thighs.

So wet.

At the feel of her, his entire body tightened, and his hips thrust into her reflexively. She moaned when he pulled away, and tried to reach for him, but he dropped to his knees. With a hand on each trembling thigh, he leaned in and put his mouth on her.

Above him, she made an unintelligible sound. Her head fell back, and when he used his tongue, rubbing in slow circles as he sank a finger into her, she closed her legs on him, like she was afraid he’d stop.

Not a chance.

He stroked her thighs with his hand to reassure her that he was here, right here and not going anywhere, staying close enough to feel every tremor, every quiver.

For him.

She was rocking into his mouth, speeding up, and, given the desperation behind her movements, needing to come bad. When he teased her by slowing down, she merely tightened her grip in displeasure.

Laughing softly against her, he once again increased pressure, and she came for him, hard and fast. She was still shuddering when he rose to his feet, wrapped his arms around her and lifted. He took her the two steps to the couch against the wall, and turning, fell onto it backward, bringing her down on top of him.

She tugged up his shirt. He yanked it over his head and pulled a condom from his wallet. She tried to help him roll it down his length, but only succeeded in nearly making him come. Finally he grabbed her hands and tugged them behind her, squeezing gently.

Getting the message, she held still—well, except for her rocking hips, which was sexy as hell. She watched while he protected them both, eyes glossy, cheeks flushed to match her hardened nipples. He looked his fill, too, considering himself just about the luckiest bastard on earth when she lifted up on her knees. “In me. Please, Wyatt.”

Yeah. He’d please.

She cried out his name again as he thrust up into her, and for a single beat the both of them went stock-still in utter bliss.

Then she bucked against the hands he had tight on her hips, an entreaty for more. When she didn’t get it, she wriggled, the impatient gesture making him both groan and laugh. He loosened his grip, letting her take the reins she wanted so badly.

She flashed him a sexy-as-hell smile and began to move, looking hot as hell riding him. Reaching up, he wrapped a hand around her neck to pull her down to his mouth, his other hand sliding low, his thumb stroking her wet center.

She went off like a bottle rocket, and the beauty of her coming so hard for him was too much. Faces inches apart, eyes locked on each other, he let himself go, pulsing inside her as she panted his name.

When she collapsed over the top of him, he gathered her damp, quivering body in close and concentrated on gulping air into his lungs. Each time with her got more intense, more intimate.

How was that even possible?

He had no clue, none. Pressing his face into her hair, he slid a hand down to cup her ass, holding her to him.

After a long moment, she let out a shaky, contented sigh and went boneless on him.

He traced a random pattern across her skin with his fingers, until she shifted restlessly. Her movement went right through him, making his cock twitch.

“Again?” she asked with a whisper of hope.

He rolled, tucking her beneath him, letting his body answer for him.

“I forgot to be quiet,” Emily said some time later as she sat up on the couch, eyes wide, hair wild, cheeks rosy, her lips still wet and a little swollen. “Was I loud?”

Wyatt leaned over her and kissed her worried mouth. “I don’t know.”

“How could you not know, you were right here.”

He grinned. “Well, the first time, your legs were around my ears, so I couldn’t hear.”

“Oh my God.” She covered her face, then peeked out between her fingers. “It’s your fault, you know. It’s how you touch me. You make me forget myself.”

He laughed and kissed her again. “I loved it,” he said against her mouth.

She slid her fingers into his hair and pulled him back enough to stare into his eyes. “And the second time?”

“Loved that, too.”

She let go of him to smack his chest. “I mean why don’t you know if I was loud the second time?”

He held her gaze. “It’s how you touch me,” he said, echoing her words. “You make me forget myself.”

She stared back at him. “Dammit.” And then she leapt at him.

“Again?” he asked, laughing.

This time she let her body answer for her, and he had no objections.

The next morning, Wyatt drove into work with a silent and brooding Darcy. “Hey,” he said, turning to her when he turned off the truck and met her pissy gaze. “I’m not the one who agreed to work the front desk for a week.”

“I’m not mad at the fact I’m working,” she said.

“Then what are you mad at?”

“You.”

No surprise there. She’d been mad at him since birth. “Why?”

“You’re breathing, aren’t you?”

That wasn’t it and they both knew it. AJ had told her to stop using the walker and downgrade to the cane, but Darcy hated the cane and had refused to give up her walker.