Chapter Eight
Luke wasn’t sure what possessed him to admit that out loud. He blamed the soft caress of her breath on his neck, the weight of her breasts against his chest as she rested her weary frame against him, and the little quiver in her thigh…just under his fingers. His body immediately reacted with an involuntary response of its own.
“You big bully,” she said against his throat. Her voice was still watery, but there was no malice in it. “You let me think that if I didn’t leap up the moment you said jump, you’d cancel the contract.”
“I never said that.” He ran a palm along the back of her head and down her hair. “I told you if you weren’t prepared to follow my instructions, you were wasting your money and we might as well call it quits. I’m not going to quit on you, Trouble. I’m always going to do right by you, and I’m trying to make sure you do right by yourself.”
It sounded proper, didn’t it? Like the promise of an invested professional. Nothing in the words revealed the fucked-up truth—he was getting far too invested in her, and there was absolutely nothing professional about it. But just in case, he forced some exasperation into his voice and added, “It took me three damn weeks to wear your stubborn ass down. We’re finally making real progress. There’s no way I’m giving up on you now.”
“So these past weeks, while I’ve been running, jumping, and training like a bitch, you’ve been setting me up to…what? Cry uncle?”
The indignant accusation helped bank his lust. Slightly. He smoothed his hand along her ponytail. “To know your limits, Trouble. I need to be able to trust you to tell me if you can’t take anymore, and you need to trust me, too.” Another spasm rippled through her tight abductor. He dug his thumb in and slowly circled. “Trust me to help you.”
She moaned. The sound vibrated directly into his chest.
He swallowed and eased off the muscle a fraction, but circled again. “Does it hurt right here?”
“Everywhere. I hurt everywhere.” Her confession fanned his collarbone, but he detected relief in her voice as her muscle relaxed.
“Huh. I thought I heard something.”
“Me, complaining?”
“That, I’m so used to, I block it out,” he teased. “I could have sworn it sounded like… No.” He shook his head. “Couldn’t be. I must have misheard.”
“What?” She drew back and looked at him with huge, curious eyes.
He stared right back at her, not bothering to restrain the brow he felt lifting. “Are you asking for my help?”
Her response consisted of a quick hiss as another spasm tensed her thigh. “Ow. Ow…Jesus!” She clamped a hand to the pain point and groaned.
“Breathe,” he said, and swatted her hand aside so he could squeeze the protesting muscle.
She sagged against him again, her exhale unsteady as she fought the cramp. Keeping the pressure on her thigh, he eased his free hand down to tend to her other leg, to prevent more spasms before they started. After a few moments spent concentrating on the sound of her labored breaths as he carefully worked the tight abductors, he slowly became aware of other things. Things like the small, needy moans coming from her throat, and the tangle of her fists in his T-shirt.
“Better?” He told himself to stop moving his hands over her thighs. “Or does it still hurt?” His question sounded inappropriately hopeful to his own ears.
“Hurts,” she gasped and scooted closer, coming up against the constraints of the machine. “So bad.”
“Where, exactly?” he countered, struggling to keep things clinical.
“Higher.” She rubbed her upper body over his, like a cat.
“Quinn…” But his hands were already gliding higher, while his self-discipline slid away. He was losing this battle.
“Please, Luke. I’ve been hurting for weeks. It never lets up. It never goes away. You have no idea.”
Oh, but he did. He knew the kind of pain she was talking about all too well, because he’d been living with it for weeks, too. Every time he let his mind off the leash, it wandered back to that moment when he’d had her draped over the hyperextension bench, bare-assed and breathless. Sometimes he imagined walking around the front, freeing his aching cock from his shorts and feeding it into her waiting mouth. He imagined her head bobbing, her body tensing and flexing as she drained him so thoroughly, he had to hold onto the pull-up bar overhead to keep from sinking to his knees. Other times, he stepped into position behind her, looped an arm around her waist, and thrust into her, balls deep, while she gripped the handles and arched up until he could watch her face in the mirror as she came.
But all of that was normal. Relatively. Just looking at her constituted a sex act, and he appreciated sex as much as any other man with a pulse. Yes, he wanted her, but like everyone else, he occasionally wanted things he couldn’t have. Wanting her didn’t trouble him. What troubled him was how much he looked forward to seeing her every morning, or how hard it had been, lately, to dismiss her at the end of each day and walk away.
That was not normal. That was dangerous, because she was a client. His role in her life was strictly temporary, and subject to limits. Hell, there was a guy at the other end of a phone with whom she traded phrases like, I miss you, too…
“Please,” she repeated, her voice a broken whisper. “You told me to ask when I need help. Luke, I’m asking.”
…and she could be manipulative as hell. Seducing him into breaking his own rules amounted to an attempt on her part to equalize the power in their relationship. He couldn’t allow her to succeed, but recognizing her motivation didn’t stop his hands from moving—didn’t even make them pause. One scooted her hips forward, forcing her thighs wider. The other untangled her fist from his shirt.
A voice inside his head growled, Fuck the guy at the other end of the phone. She’s not with him right now. She’s with you. She’s not asking him for help. She’s asking you.
How much of that enlightened sentiment accounted for his motivation?
Doesn’t matter. You’ve already walked a fine line with her once. You can do it again.
“I’m going to help you, Quinn.”
His chest muffled her sigh. “Thank you,” she murmured, and the gratitude rang sincere. He had to remind himself she played roles for a living.
But then she added, “I promise not to forget you don’t like me,” in a husky murmur that sounded a little too honest.
“I like you,” he corrected, not bothering to mask the sincerity of his words as he wrapped his hand around her ponytail and eased her head back until their eyes met. “I like you so much, I’m going to help you help yourself.”
“Help me…what…?” Her question hovered in the air like anticipation as he guided her hand between her legs and pressed it there. Uncertainty flashed in her eyes.
More theatrics, or did the idea of getting herself off while he watched actually trigger some self-consciousness? Either worked for him. “Help yourself.”
Her lips firmed into a line—a tiny show of mutiny—before she shook her head. “That’s not the kind of help I’m asking you for. You know what I want.”
He didn’t back off. She’d dragged them to this line, and by God, she was going to walk it. On his terms. “Oh no. I think you misunderstand how this works. You’re permitted to ask for my help, but you don’t get to specify my methods. You’re not in charge here.”
One blond brow lifted. “I was kind of hoping you would take charge,” she argued, immediately shifting tactics. No wonder he hated leaving at the end of the day. It wasn’t easy walking away from someone who entertained him at the same time she challenged him on every level.
“I already have. You just don’t realize it yet.”
Her chin came up. “Your authority has its limits, even if your opinion of yourself doesn’t. Sorry, Luke. This isn’t going to work for me.”
“Close your eyes, Trouble.”
She released an exaggerated breath and slowly lowered her lids, somehow turning it into a small act of rebellion.
He picked up the towel she’d slung over the back of the seat, folded it into a narrow length, and tied it over her eyes. Then he brought his mouth close to her ear. “You’re beautiful.”
He could shift gears, too.
She released another breath, slower this time. “You think that’s all it takes? Blindfold me, stroke my ego, and I’ll come in my panties?”
“I’m simply stating a fact. You have all this beauty at your disposal, to enjoy anytime you please. Do you ever?”
Her lips parted. Her cheeks went a delicate shade of pink. “Of course. Everyone does. Don’t you?”
An honest response, if somewhat defensive. She needed him to give her an admission, too. “Yes. Want to know what I think about when I do it?”
Her lungs expanded as she drew in air, and the tight nipples forming peaks beneath her white workout top nearly touched his chest. His lips pursed from the need to draw one into his mouth.
“Yessss.”
“I think about you.”
“Spanking me?” she volunteered, so quickly he knew it had become one of her favorite scenarios.
“Sometimes. That’s more of an opening act than a finale for me. Nice as it is, usually I want more than your pretty backside turned up for me. Once I’m done giving that ass much-needed attention, I imagine flipping you around and setting you in front of me, just like this.”
“L-like this?”
“Uh-huh. Leave the towel alone,” he admonished when she fingered the fabric. “Do as I say and I’ll tell you what happens next.”
“I’m all ears…”
“Good.”
“…and no eyes,” she added under her breath.
When had he become such a masochist? Through his shorts, he wrapped his hand around his jutting shaft. Just for a second. Just to relieve the crippling pressure. “You know that show you did? Where you bounced around in a cheerleading outfit?”
“Pep Rally?”
“Yeah. There’s a scene where you make out with what’s-his-face behind the bleachers. They shot it in shadows, but at one point, the camera picks up a flash of your tits.”
She pressed her hand to her torso, and then slid it up to cup her breast. “They didn’t show much. It’s TV.”
What’s-his-face had gotten an eyeful, though. Was what’s-his-face the guy at the other end of the phone? “They showed the swell of your right breast, from the side. They showed the whole profile in shadow, while that lucky son of a bitch put his hands all over you.”
“Luke McLean, have you jacked off to my TV-14 topless scene?”
“A thousand times,” he freely admitted, and gave himself a hard pull. Hard enough to lift his balls. Hard enough to feel a tingle in the soles of his feet. “But lately when I jack off, I fantasize about other things.”
“What things?”
Your mouth. About pulling you close and staking a claim to that smart, reckless, distraction of a mouth.
His heart kicked up at the prospect, but kissing Quinn took this from proving a point to something else. Something neither of them could allow. Pushing her to the breaking point meant one of them needed to stay in control. She’d defaulted to seduction—a choice that no doubt usually got her whatever she wanted—and he had to remember what she really wanted right now wasn’t him, but the upper hand. And a little relief. He’d give her relief, but he’d keep the upper hand.
“I think about having you here in front of me, pushing your top down so I can get a real look at you. Do that now.”
If she hesitated at all, he didn’t perceive it. True, she’d wanted him to cater to her needs, but she’d recognize he’d found another way of helping her. He didn’t have to deny his attraction, only her demand that he act on it. She could act on it, secure in the knowledge that by abiding by his rules, she was actually seducing them both. Twisted, but effective. Apparently she agreed, because she flicked the skinny straps of her top off her shoulders, and then pushed the fabric down until her breast spilled over. Her low, shuddering sigh topped the moment like a cherry.
“I imagine you filling your hands with them. Lifting and kneading and showing me just how you like to be touched.”
She was so suggestible, his words alone tightened her nipples, bringing the rosy crests to small, hard peaks. The air conditioner kicked on and cool air fell on them from a vent overhead. A little shiver and a throaty moan told him how hyperaware she was to every sensation. “Show me, Trouble. Show me what you like.”
The room filled with the slide of soft skin against even softer skin. She stroked and squeezed silky smooth flesh, giving both breasts attention.
“You’re rough with yourself,” he growled, and gave himself another ruthless pull. She wasn’t the only one who liked it rough.
“I have an imagination, too. You have big hands. I know how strong they are.” The words puffed out as she captured one stiff nipple and dragged it through the tight clamp of her fingers. “I don’t think you’d hold back on my account.”
He watched, hypnotized, as her nipple turned deep red, just before springing free of the trap. “You might be surprised what kind of gentleness I’m capable of.”
She frowned. Her hands stilled. “Not for me.”
“Especially for you. Lower your hands.”
She did as he asked, leaving herself as she was, with the wreckage of her workout top tangled below her breasts and the marks from her overeager obedience on her pale skin. He shifted positions, putting his weight on his other knee, leaning in close enough to let his T-shirt graze her nipples.
“Oh,” she gasped and jerked back so quickly, her breasts bounced against the awkward shelf of crumpled fabric.
“Yeah, I’d be gentle. Patient and gentle.” He brought his face close to her breasts as he spoke, and watched his breath raise goose bumps on her skin.
She whimpered. He squeezed his eyes shut for a second to maintain control. “You’d be so attuned to my touch, even my stare would feel like too much.”
“Oh God.” She arched, blindly lifting toward his mouth. “Luke—”
“Is it too much?” For her, maybe. For him, definitely. He strangled his cock with his fist and cradled his throbbing balls in his other hand.
“It’s too much”—she whipped her face left, then right, in a helpless search for relief—“but not enough.”
“Then let me give you more. Put your hand in your shorts. Show me where it hurts.”
The lack of artifice as she rushed to follow his command affected him more profoundly than a contrived, purposefully seductive move could. This wasn’t Quinn the ice-cool actress. This was Quinn in need—shaky, desperate, unconcerned with winning their battle of wills.
“Here. It hurts here.”
He lowered his head a fraction to watch her hand disappear under the cover of her little pink shorts. The move changed the angle of his breath over her skin, and she whimpered again. Her hand made a restless circuit between her thighs.
“Describe the pain.” His was pounding, and constant. If he pushed his hips forward half an inch, the tip of his dick would touch her leg. Right about then it seemed like a half inch from heaven.
“There are two pains.”
“Start with the worst.”
“They’re both unbearable.”
“Quinn—”
“Okay. Okay.” She lowered her chin to her chest and sucked in a breath through her nose. “Here…” Her knuckles stretched her shorts as she circled her fingertips around the top of her pussy. “I have a sharp, urgent pain right here.”
“Rub it.” His fingertips itched to do the job for her. He reaffirmed his grip on his shaft instead.
She shook her head. “No, no. I don’t think I can stand to do that. It’s too…sensitive. You do it.”
“That’s not the lesson.” With all the willpower he could muster, he led his wayward pupil back to the task. “Help you help yourself, remember? Tell me about the other pain.”
The tiny ridgeline of her knuckles subsided and she flattened her hand and shoved it lower. “It’s deeper. More of an empty ache.”
“Like hunger?”
“Uh-huh.”
“You’ll feel better if you fill it. Go ahead.”
She rocked forward a little, angling her upper body and sending her unrestrained tits swinging perilously close to his face, and then let out an edgy moan as she achieved penetration.
For a moment he became so lightheaded, he worried he might pass out, but he blinked away the hazy fog because he refused to miss an instant of her pleasuring herself. “Better?”
“Oh yes.”
“What helps most? Filling yourself, or massaging your clit with your palm?”
“They’re both good. But I don’t think it’s enough.” She shook her head. “Sometimes it’s not.”
He wasn’t going to allow her to fail. “Are you using one finger or two?”
“Just one. I’m so swollen—”
Christ. “Use two.”
“I can’t. Too tight.”
“Two,” he insisted, and pumped his cock, which suddenly struck him as monstrously huge. “At least two. Sink them in deep, and stir them around. Let me hear it.”
Her breath hitched as she did what he asked. Her cheeks were as flushed and damp as they’d been when she’d strained against the machine, except now she strained for him. A few more seconds and he heard it—the slick sound of her body accommodating the slow, sliding play of her fingers.
“That’s it. Keep going.” Without really meaning to, he pumped his cock to the rhythm she set. Moments later, he was about to explode, but she was still stroking herself and grinding her hips with increasingly frustrated energy.
Finally, she slumped back against the seat, somehow managing to look both imperious and exhausted, with her chest heaving and her hand down her pants. “I can’t. I told you I couldn’t. I need help.”
Damn, she was stubborn. “I told you not to say those words to me. Get your ass back up here and keep going.”
“Not everything is meant to be a workout, you know.” Despite the grumbling, she resumed her forward position, teasing him with the swing of her breasts. Breasts he’d confessed had the power to make him ruin his sheets while imaging his cock nestled between them. Molten heat rolled down his spine and pooled in his balls, a warning from his system about how well all this was working for him. The point of no return was fast approaching.
“If you do it right, it is.”
“This is right?”
“Do you want my help, or not?”
“You sadist. Yes. I want your help.”
He leaned in, too, and deliberately turned his face away at the last second so the side of his head brushed her breasts. He felt her nipple spear into his hair. His cock jumped in his fist.
Fast approaching.
“Oh God.” She lunged forward, chasing the sensation, but the incline of the seat kept her from pitching herself into him.
“Who’s in charge, Quinn?” His vocal cords felt thick and unwieldy. His whole body did, too, for that matter.
“You,” she whispered.
He rewarded her by leaning in and turning the other way. She bolted upright this time, and her head fell back, exposing the graceful column of her throat. Her arm came up to cover her breasts in a gesture at once so protective and revealing, it nearly undid him. Point of no return.
No return.
“Who’s in charge? Use my name.”
“You’re in charge, Luke. Luke—”
Her sudden inhale cut off the sound of his name, and then orgasm tore through her.
That did it. He groaned into his bicep and shuddered as three long weeks of unrelenting lust shot out of him in a white-hot fury.