Chapter 21 Seemed Like a Bad Idea at the Time
SEEMED LIKE A BAD IDEA AT THE TIME
BANKS
There are bad ideas and then there are spectacularly bad ideas. This would be the latter—messing around with a client I promised to protect—and yet I can’t find it in me to stop.
Ripley tastes too good. Smells too intoxicating. Responds too temptingly. Her lips part the second I seal my mouth to hers. She invites my kiss, and I take everything she offers on the side of a quiet road in her pickup truck.
I travel my hand up the back of her neck, cataloging the way she trembles as I touch her. Her murmurs as my fingers glide into her hair. Her sighs as I hold her tight.
The kiss is a little frantic, a lot noisy. Or maybe that’s the rub of denim from my jeans against the old leather of the seats, or her thigh against the gearshift as she inches closer, or my arm knocking against the steering wheel as I reach for her.
But I’m not going to let something like limited space stop me now that I’ve given in.
I kiss her harder, like that’ll cover up the annoyance of no fucking room.
The only space I truly care about is the distance between us, and I’d like to turn that to nothing.
Dipping her head back, I capture each plaintive moan of hers with another hungry kiss.
She reaches for the collar of my polo, jerking me closer.
I nip the corner of her mouth, then kiss her hard again.
Until my elbow scrapes the horn and it bleats. “Fuck,” I mutter, wrenching away.
I should stop. This is a sign. This truck is too small.
It only has front seats and mine’s nearly all the way back.
It’s late afternoon and the sun is still bright.
There’s no privacy. But then my gaze lands on her bee-stung lips.
Yeah, I’m not unflappable now whatsoever. “Guess you got me to break,” I mutter.
Her lips twitch, like she’s trying not to show how pleased that makes her. “Guess I did.”
I grab her jaw. Her breath hitches. I slide my thumb along her face. Ripley is such a conundrum. A tough-as-nails woman who seems to like being…taken. I glance around the cab, assessing the space quickly, making plans in a second. “Fuck it,” I say with a shrug. “Stay there. Don’t move.”
She gives a dutiful nod. I open my door, shut it, then quickly survey the surroundings as I move to the passenger side. There’s no one here on this stretch of road. I open the passenger door. Standing by her seat, I reach across her and unbuckle her seat belt.
The look in her eyes is full of anticipation. Excitement even. That revs me up—I felt the chemistry between us the first night. I feel it even more now. A heady possibility.
“You can move,” I tell her. She shifts to the driver’s side, and I get in and shut the door.
She swallows noticeably. “Now what?” It’s asked with an eagerness that sends a jolt of lust down my spine.
I sigh, both relieved and wildly turned on as I stare at the woman who drives me wild. “Now, get the fuck on me.”
She scrambles to climb onto my lap, and I help her along, manhandling her a little as I adjust this gorgeous woman so she’s straddling my thighs.
Her shorts ride up farther, so her bare thighs bracket mine.
She sets her hands on my shoulders, then sinks a little lower, her center grazing the ridge of my erection.
I groan, unbidden.
She smiles. “Better?”
So much, but I’m not letting on yet. Not when I can tease her.
“Let me see if this is better.” I roam my eyes up and down her strong body, toned from years of hard work on the farm. Drinking in every detail. Her glittering eyes. Her parted lips. The flush across the top of her chest. Most of all—the way she waits for my answer.
Ripley is a firecracker every second I’m with her, but in moments like this, she’s someone else too. She’s softer, eager, hopeful.
“Better now?” she asks.
I tilt my head, like I’m giving it real thought.
“A little,” I say, then I slide a hand down the soft flesh of her chest, over the tops of her breasts, teasing her before I travel back up to her eager mouth. I trace my thumb along her bottom lip, eliciting a shudder from her. Her eyes flutter closed as she moves slowly with me.
This is the opposite of our first night, when we smashed into each other in the booth in the bar. Now, it’s like we’re spending a lazy afternoon in the sun, when we have all the time in the world to do the things we want to do.
Even though I don’t.
Even though we shouldn’t cross this line.
But I do it anyway. “This would make it better,” I rasp out, then reach for her hands on me. I take the right one from my shoulder, moving it off me, then behind her back. I reach for her other hand, shifting that one behind her back too.
Desire thrums through me, hot and sizzling, and wickedly hopeful too—I fucking hope she likes this. She parts her lips on a gasp, a bit of an answer, as I bind her wrists in one hand, gripping them both tight.
She shudders, a clearer answer.
Yessss.
I dip my face to her neck and blaze a trail of kisses up the hinge of her jaw, kissing her there.
She moves with me, stretching her neck as I go.
I lift my free hand, cup her jaw, then jerk her gaze to me.
Her eyes are blue flames. My body is a furnace.
“So much fucking better, sweetheart,” I say, then I kiss her lush lips while I hold her in place.
With my free hand, my fingers coast down her throat, and I cover the hollow of it with my palm. “You like this?”
I’m pretty sure she does, but I want to hear it from her. “I do,” she murmurs, sounding a little lost in the moment.
“Then show me. Use me,” I command.
With a grateful moan, Ripley rocks against my dick. Seeking out friction, she rides my erection as I keep her wrists bound behind her back, my hand gripping her face, her body under my control.
A rumble works its way up my chest as I stare at the gorgeous sight in front of me. On me. “You look good like this,” I say.
“When I can’t move?”
I glance down at her hips, swaying. “You’re moving.”
“You know what I mean,” she pants out.
“Do I?” I ask, goading her to say it. To acknowledge that she likes being restrained.
“Banks,” she grumbles, annoyed but aroused, as she grinds down against my hard length.
“Answer me, Ripley. What do I mean?” I repeat.
“You’re such a dick,” she bites out.
I laugh, then bring my mouth down on her collarbone, nipping her there. She tastes so good. The scent goes to my head, fries a few more brain cells, and makes it harder for me to tease the hell out of her. “You taste like lavender.”
“What a surprise,” she deadpans, but then her retort fades, turning into a sharp hitch in her breath.
I grip her wrists tighter. She moves faster. “Tell me what you like about this,” I demand.
“You ass,” she mutters.
Fine, she’s not too soft when lust takes the wheel. Guess I was a little wrong. She’s still all fire. But the thing is, she’s also not in control. I am. I let go of her face to grab her hip and lift her off my dick, breaking the contact. “Tell me,” I say again, sternly, meeting her eyes.
“Fine. I like where your hands are,” she says, a needy admission.
Because I know that was hard for her, I reward her, yanking her back down on my hard-on. Then I punch up my hips, giving her more of what she wants.
“Use me, sweetheart,” I say.
She rocks against me faster, her mouth falling open, her eyes squeezing shut. It’s so fucking beautiful the way she’s chasing release on the side of the road.
I give her what she needs. My lips on her neck, my fingers curled around her wrists, my hand caressing her breast, squeezing a nipple through her shirt and her bra.
“Ohhh,” she murmurs, then her head falls forward, resting against the side of my face, giving me another hit of her sweet scent. Maybe it’s lavender shampoo.
She’s too pretty, too aroused, too needy. And I just can’t resist her. “Can you come like this?” I ask, and I’m the desperate one now. I need her orgasm more than anything. “Or do you want fingers?”
“Yes,” she says on a staggered breath.
“Which one?” I demand since I may be desperate, but I fucking love to play.
She grinds hard against me. “Fingers. Now.”
“Say please.”
“Fuck you. Give me your fingers,” she says.
“Since you asked so nicely.” I let go of her breast, unzip her shorts, and thrust my fingers inside her panties.
She’s slick and hot, and her needy clit is so damn eager for attention. The second I touch her, she’s shuddering. Then gasping, arching, and falling apart with a long, gorgeous cry that I cover with my mouth. You never know who might hear.
As I kiss her tenderly through her release, a healthy dose of pride floods me from the instant O, just add fingers.
When I let go of her lips, she’s breathing hard, her shoulders heaving. And I catch the far-off sound of an engine.
Or maybe not so far off after all. I jerk my gaze behind us.
Holy shit.
Coming our way on this winding, supposedly quiet road is a black town car. There’s another one behind it. Then an SUV. Just what I need—a goddamn caravan.
I don’t think they belong to photographers. But I can’t know for sure. Besides, it could be anyone. Someone she knows. A customer.
Think fast.
“Ripley, get down on your knees.”
She blinks, but she’s obedient as she slides off me to the floor of the car, her hands reaching for my jeans.
I stifle a laugh as I cover her wrists, stopping her unzip as I lean my head back against the headrest, then close my eyes. “Quiet,” I hiss out.
“Are you serious?”
“Shh,” I say as the engines rumble louder.
“You’re really shushing me after you’ve asked for a BJ? My mouth would be full anyway.”
I laugh harder. I’m not sure I can survive this woman. “Ripley, there’s a car coming.”
“And you’re pretending you’re asleep?”
“Yes,” I mutter. “So no one thinks twice of me being parked and stops to try to help. No one can see you. I’m protecting you.”
A laugh bursts from her. “This better be a bodyguard first.”
“Trust me. It is.”
As the head of the convoy passes, I peek open an eye. I had a feeling. The woman in the passenger seat sports shaggy brown hair and big glasses—Vega, the director. The car whooshes by. The next car includes someone else I know—Wanda, our expert security hire.
A new, damning thought touches down in my head. What would she think if she knew what I’d done?
As the last vehicle passes, I catch a glimpse of a woman who looks just like the woman on the floor.
When they’re gone, I finally turn my gaze back to her mirror. Ripley’s cheeks are still pinkened, her lips still bruised, her hair a gorgeous, wild mess.
I’m keenly aware of just how far I’ve crossed the line, and just how close I came to getting caught because my steady pulse is beating out of control.
Guess I’m not so unflappable after all.