Chapter Eight

I stare. How can Matt be here? And how can he look so damn good in just a simple white shirt and jeans? The shirt clings to his muscled chest and flat, hard stomach. My gutter mind thinks back on what happened last time we were alone in that room…and how I came twice just reminiscing about it. I run my tongue over my lower lip before I catch myself.

His mouth quirks. “So this is where you’re going to hide.”

“I’m not hiding. I have a headache.” Not really, but close enough.

He steps forward until we’re only a foot apart. I can feel the heat radiating from his big body and swallow.

“Is that why you left?” he asks.

“Why else—”

“Bella.”

Every part, every atom of me freezes. A beat later, I croak out, “What?”

“Bella. Jan. Does it matter?”

“You know…?”

“How could I not?” He comes even closer and cradles my face in his big hands.

A breath shudders out of me, and I shiver. The skin where he touches is searing, and it feels a hundred times better than the memory. “Matt… Um…” I have no idea what I’m going to say. I mean…what do you say in a situation like this?

“I’m going to kiss you, Jan.” He tilts my head, his dipping lower until our breaths mingle. “If you want me to stop, tell me now.”

Heat unfurls inside my belly. My heart beats once. Twice.

But before his mouth descends over mine, I blurt out, “Wait! What about your date?”

He stops. “My what?”

“The blonde at the restaurant.” Taking advantage of his momentary shock, I pull away.

He blinks. Gives me an “I honestly have no idea what you’re talking about” look.

Oh no. I’m not falling for that. I may not have Michelle’s cynicism, but I’m not a complete idiot. “Don’t try to deny it. I saw you on Monday at Carlos’s.” I cross my arms. “You guys looked extra chummy.” And she’s really beautiful, unjustly so.

His lips twitch, then he throws his head back and laughs. “Sweet Jesus, that was my sister.”

“You guys looked nothing alike. I checked.” Oops. I press my lips together. Now I sound like a jealous, deranged one-night stand abortée.

“Yeah, because I’m a carbon copy of my dad, and she took after our maternal grandmother.” He wipes tears at his eyes. “Oh man, wait until I tell her.”

“Don’t you dare!” I blurt out. It seems a bit unreal that the blonde is his sister, but there’s no way he can be faking his hilarity. Or else he’s in the wrong field.

He sobers, although his eyes are still bright with amusement. “I see that you aren’t saying no.”

No…? Oh. A bolt of excitement jolts through me. The kiss. My jaw tilts slightly as though in permission.

And that’s all I needed to do.

He pulls me close, his hand at the small of my back, a palm cupping my cheek. His mouth descends over mine. I brace myself. I don’t say no—I can’t, and I don’t know what kind of kiss I’m going to get from him after getting busted for giving him a fake name, sneaking around and avoiding him, and now the ridiculous thing over his sister.

But his lips are lush over mine, tender and exploratory. I shake with relief and heat, kissing him back. I part my mouth and let my tongue glide across his. He tastes better than I remember with a hint of wine, lust and all him.

He tunnels a hand into my unbound hair and tugs. The slight pain heightens my pleasure, and I’m slick between my legs, my muscles tense in anticipation.

“I don’t know how you thought I wouldn’t recognize you,” he murmurs against my swollen lips. “Your scent, your eyes, your voice—everything about you is the same and turns me on like nothing else.” He nuzzles my neck. “Besides, I could never forget you when you owe me something.”

It’s hard to process what he’s saying when he’s running his mouth along the sensitive skin over my collarbone. His hot breaths fan against me, sending sweet shivers down my spine.

“I gave you a blow job,” I manage. I’d never felt the urge to give one to anyone, but with him, I felt an overwhelming need to do it, especially after the lovely orgasm he gave me.

“My dear Jan, a blow job is not what all men want from their lovers.”

I stiffen, the pleasurable haze dissipating. “I’m not having intercourse with you.” I’m on the pill, but I don’t have a condom on me. I supply my own—making sure they’re not expired or tampered with. I know it’s paranoid, but I can’t help myself. Anything less and I can’t really let myself go. Not that I’ve exactly been able to let go thus far, given that my hymen is still intact.

He nips my earlobe. “That’s not what I was talking about.”

I relax slightly. “Then?” I whisper, trying hard to focus, which is impossible with his mouth on me.

“When you were on your knees, looking gorgeous with your pink cheeks hollowed, lips tight around my cock…and when you pulled me harder and deeper into you when I said I was about to come… Do you have any idea how much I wanted to spread you open and eat you out? Make you come until you couldn’t even remember your own name?”

I exhale softly at the scorching picture he’s drawing with his words. My panties are totally soaked through. I bite my lower lip, but a needy whimper rises anyway. My face heats as his searing blue gaze bores into mine.

“I’m going to do exactly that right now,” he says, his voice deeper and guttural with lust.

“There are people downstairs.” It doesn’t quite come out like a protest the way I expected it to. Instead it sounds like I’m pointing out an obstacle he ought to take care of before we begin, so we can avoid cunnilingus interruptus.

“I locked the door when I came in, and you’ll just have to be quiet. But not too quiet…I want to hear you.” He tilts my head for another kiss, this time more dominating and masterful.

I cling to him, heat rolling through me. I’ve never really cared for men going down on me. Most of the time it feels perfunctory, like they’re doing it so they can stick their dick inside a little bit later, or—worse—it’s a chore to be performed so they don’t appear lousy in bed.

But with Matt, I know it will be different. It’s going to be toe-curling, just like all those romance novels I read, because a man doesn’t pursue a woman for that unless he loves it and genuinely wants to do it.

His hand closes around my breast, and I moan. He seems to know exactly how much to squeeze, how I want my nipple played with. His thumb feels amazing through my shirt and bra, and I arch into his touch.

He caresses the taut skin on my thigh and puts a hand on my hip. Unbearably aroused, I rock against him, cradling his thick, throbbing erection against my body and loving it. He laughs, the wicked sound inflaming my nerve endings. I ache deep inside. It’s so intense, it’s almost painful.

“Please, Matt,” I whisper. “Please, please, please.”

His eyes grow darker, and he shoves my pants and panties out of the way. I kick them off, not caring where they land. All that matters is him—and me—and this crazy heat between us.

He pushes me backward until my bare butt’s propped against the huge desk. I brace myself on my palms, so I can watch what he’s doing.

Placing his hands on my knees, he spreads them as wide as he can, then groans. “Look at you. So pretty, so juicy.”

The frank admiration in his gaze burns away my embarrassment. My ragged breathing sounds so loud in the room.

He dips his fingers between my slick folds, then pulls out and licks them clean. “So tasty. To think I almost didn’t take you with me that night…”

“Why not?”

“You look like the kind of girl I should call the next morning.”

My pleasure-slugged mind shivers with a warning, not that I can grasp what I should worry about. He took me to his hotel that night. We had fun, until I bailed. And we’re about to have fun again…right?

Still… A tiny sliver of sanity tells me to take a step back. But its voice is snuffed when Matt positions his head between my legs, spreads me with his fingers and licks me with the flat of his tongue as though I were the sweetest ice cream.

The touch is electrifying. White-hot bliss streaks from my core all the way to my fingertips and toes.

My head falls back, a moan building deep in my throat. He devours me with everything he has, his lips, tongue and just the tiniest bit of teeth to add a hint of pain that only serves to heighten my senses. He wasn’t just talking when he said he’d eat me out.

Lush pleasure blooms within me, and I’m already so, so close. My chest rises and falls in rapid, uneven staccato beats.

He sucks my clit hard into his mouth while pushing two thick fingers into me. I cry out softly at the sudden invasion, then I’m lost as he curls them and bumps into the über-sensitive spot inside me. I move my hips, grinding like a shameless hussy against his face. Soft, desperate words fall from my lips—please, please, yes, more, Matt, oh God.

A forceful orgasm ravages me, and I can tell I’m going to be hoarse from the silent scream lodged in my throat. My lungs are heaving, but Matt’s not finished as he spreads me wider, more vulnerable. He adds another finger and pushes as deep as he can. It feels unbelievable to be stretched to the limit, to experience the relentless throbbing and need coursing through my veins. He’s the one on his knees between my legs, but it’s me who’s at his mercy.

He wrings another mind-shattering orgasm out of me. My body isn’t mine to control, back arching, toes curling and my whole frame shaking…then turning to a boneless heap on the desk.

“Beautiful,” he murmurs between soft kisses on my thighs. “So sweet.”

I bring him up and lick his mouth. He tastes like himself—and me. It’s erotic and surprisingly intimate.

He reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a plain, white handkerchief, which he uses to wipe between my legs. It’s a little embarrassing and even a bit awkward, which is silly given how I ground myself against his face. But as embarrassing as my out-of-control behavior was, I can’t be too mortified… What was I supposed to do? Perch there like a proper lady? But right now is a bit different. Besides, he’s still hard. It’s impossible to miss the thickness pressing against his pants, and I wonder if I should do something about it, although I’m not sure exactly what since I already told him no intercourse. Maybe offer him a hand job? But isn’t it awkward just to blurt it out? Why isn’t he signaling what he wants instead of cleaning me up?

To hide my discomfiture, I raise my eyebrows and say, “Were you a Boy Scout? You, um, come prepared.”

“Yes, but even if I weren’t an Eagle Scout—which I am—I still would’ve brought this along.” He gives me a wink. “I knew I’d run into you at today’s party.”

“How’d you get invited? It’s for family and friends only.”

“David.”

I sigh. Of course. I can’t decide if I should hug my cousin or kill him. Maybe both. “Does he know about…you know…” I flick my wrist back and forth between him and me.

“No. I don’t lick”—Matt brushes his lips over my neck—“and tell.”

“Oh.” I clear my throat. “Good.”

He pockets the handkerchief and picks up my red lace bikini and pants. He hands me the pants, but not the underwear.

I take the pants, then say, “I need my underwear.”

“You aren’t seriously telling me you’re going to put wet panties back on?”

My face flames. This is awkward. I’m not in control of the venue or the situation, which is new to me. I don’t even have Bailey to help me. “Of course not, but they’re mine.”

“Want them back?” He grins, flashing me that cute dimple that I found irresistibly adorable when we first met. “Have dinner with me.”

“Get real.” I pull on my pants since arguing with my lady parts hanging out puts me at a considerable disadvantage, especially when the other guy is a lawyer.

“I mean it. Dinner. Tonight. You can have your panties back then. I’ll even have them laundered, dried and pressed.”

I laugh. “No way. No dinner. You can keep them.”

He sticks a finger into one of the holes and starts twirling the scrap of red lace. It looks positively obscene. “You sure? It’s an awfully sexy pair.”

“Stop doing that. They’re not a toy.”

“More like a wrapper for me to rip off you.”

I flush, hating that I’m so lightly complexioned. “That’s one of my favorite pairs, but you can keep them. I’ll just buy another.”

“What’s it going to take?”

I play dumb. “I don’t know, but probably less than twenty.”

“Jan.” His voice takes on an edge. “You’re a smart woman.”

I huff. “I don’t date.”

“Really? You just put out?”

“Yup. Sex without all the dating stuff.” I don’t mention my V-Card or Baileying over and over because they both sound sort of foolish and immature, even though I can’t help either of them. I should really just forget looking for One-Night Stand Number Six and see a therapist who can delve into the deepest recesses of my mind and tell me what’s down there.

“You should—at a minimum—get great meals, movies and flowers out of the deal. That’s the least you deserve.”

“Why?” I ask, genuinely curious. I mean, he could just latch on to the sex part. Dating means sticking around. Expectations. Complications.

“Supply and demand.”

I snort. “You sound like David in marketing meetings.”

“No. I sound like a lawyer negotiating.”

I cant my head and study him. “Then you’re doing a crummy job.”

He flicks the tip of my nose with his finger. “I’m negotiating on your behalf.”

“Against yourself?”

“It’s not a ‘you win, I lose’ or ‘I win, you lose’ scenario. It’s called mutual benefit.”

“Sounds to me like a euphemism for self-dealing.”

He laughs softly. “Sweetheart, you don’t want me on the other side of a negotiating table.”

Him calling me sweetheart with half-amusement, half-affection sends lovely shivers along my spine, but I’m not ready to give in or deviate from my plan. “We have a non-fraternization policy at work.” And if we don’t, we should, starting now, given how much Alexandra seems to disapprove of—

“No, we don’t.” He smirks. “I already checked.”

“Maybe you missed it.”

“I’m a lawyer. I don’t miss things.”

Hmm. A Harvard summa cum laude probably doesn’t miss anything. I make a snap decision. “Fine. We can have dinner. But no intercourse.” I raise a finger before he can interrupt me. “If we do it your way on the dating part, I get to say no intercourse.”

He gives me a triumphant smile. And that throws me off. Shouldn’t he get huffy and pouty?

“Unexpected, but then I wouldn’t have found you fascinating if you were predictable. Deal.” He dips his head and kisses me, just a fleeting brush of his lips against mine, yet I feel it all the way to the tips of my toes. “Nothing but a steady diet of oral can get old, but I have a feeling it can be kept fresh and interesting with you.”

I sputter. “What?”

“Didn’t you know? Oral doesn’t count as intercourse.” He winks. “I’ll pick you up at seven.”