He could make her come by just doing this, he realized, slightly awed. But he wanted more for her, from her. Leaving her breasts, he trailed his mouth across her ribs, down her stomach, probed her cute belly button with his tongue. He licked the path on each side of her landing strip and, feeling her tense, dipped between her folds and touched her, tasted her, circling her little nub with the tip of his tongue.
It all happened at once. He slid his finger inside her hot channel, Jaci screamed, his tongue swirled in response and then she was pulsing and clenching around his fingers, thrusting her hips in a silent demand for more. He sucked again, pushed again and she arched her back and hips and shattered, again and again.
Ryan pulled out and dropped a kiss on her stomach before hand-walking his way up the bed to look into her feverish eyes. “Good?” he asked, balancing himself on one hand, biceps bulging, to push her hair out of her eyes.
“So good.” Jaci linked her hands around his neck, her face flushed with pleasure and...yeah, awe.
He’d made her scream, he’d pushed her to heights he was pretty sure—judging by the dazed, surprised look on her face—that she hadn’t felt before. Mission so accomplished.
Jaci’s hands skimmed down his neck, down his sides to grip his hips, her thumbs skating over his obliques before she clasped him in both hands. He jerked and sighed and pushed himself into her hands. “Let me in,” he begged. Begged! He’d never begged in his life.
“Nah.” Jaci smiled that feminine smile that told him that he was in deep, deep trouble. The best type of trouble. “My turn to drive you crazy.”
He knew that he was toast when, in the middle of fantastic, mind-altering sex he realized that this wasn’t just sex. It was sex on steroids and that happened to him only when he became emotionally attached. Well, that had to stop, immediately. Well, maybe after she’d driven him crazy.
Maybe then.
Nine
Sunlight danced behind the blinds in Ryan’s room as Jaci forced her eyes open the next morning. She was lying, as was her habit, on her stomach, limbs sprawled across the bed. And she was naked, which was not her habit. Jaci squinted across the wide expanse that was Ryan’s chest and realized that her knee was nestled up against a very delicate part of his anatomy and that her arm was lying across his hips, his happy-to-see-you morning erection pressing into her skin.
She gazed at his profile and noticed that he looked a lot younger when his face was softened by sleep and a night of spectacular sex. Spectacular sex... Jaci pulled in a breath and closed her eyes as second and third and tenth thoughts slammed into her brain.
Why was she still lying in bed with him in a tangle of limbs and postorgasmic haze? She was smart enough to know that she should’ve taken the many orgasms he’d given her last night, politely said thank you and hightailed it out of his apartment with a breezy smile and a “see you around.” She shouldn’t have allowed him to wrap his big arm around her waist or to haul her into a spooning position, her bottom perfectly nestled in his hips. She shouldn’t have allowed herself to drift, sated and secure, feeling his nose in her hair, reveling in the soft kisses he placed on her shoulders, into her neck. She shouldn’t have allowed herself the pleasure of falling asleep in his arms.
Straight sex, uncomplicated sex, wham-bam sex she could handle; she knew what that was and how to deal with it. It was the optional extras that sent her into a spiral. The hand drifting over her hip, his foot caressing her calf, his thick biceps a pillow under her head. His easy affection scared the pants off her—well, they would if she were wearing any—and generated thoughts of what if and I could get used to this.
This wouldn’t do, Jaci told herself, and gently—and reluctantly—removed her limbs from his body. Nothing had changed between them. They had just shared a physical experience they’d both enjoyed. She was not going to get too anal about this. She wasn’t going to overthink this. This was just sex, and it had nothing to do with the fact that they were boss and employee or even that they were becoming friends.
Sex was sex. Not to be confused with affection or caring or emotion or, God forbid, love. She’d learned that lesson and, by God, she’d learned it well. Jaci slipped out of bed, looking around for something to wear. Unable to bear the thought of slipping into her dress from the night before—she’d be experiencing another walk of shame through Ryan’s apartment lobby soon enough—she picked up his shirt from the night before and pulled it over her head, grimacing as the cuffs fell a foot over her hands. She was such a cliché, she thought, roughly rolling back the fabric. The good girl in the bad boy’s bedroom, wearing his shirt...