She spasmed around him, clutching, tugging, tightening until every single cell in his oxygen-starved brain shut down and left his body in charge. He was off the chair and on his knees before fully realizing he’d put himself in motion. Stacy landed on her back on the low pile of the ugly Oriental rug. He flung her legs over his shoulders, braced himself on his arms, and drove into her, again and again, while a crippling orgasm tore through him, from the soles of his feet, to his burning thighs, to his drawn-up balls and viciously sensitive cock. His own agonized groan filled his ears as he emptied himself in a series of frenzied thrusts. Walk away from that, Stacy, he silently challenged before his vision hazed over.
Chapter Six
The two hundred pounds of hard-packed homicide cop sprawled over Stacy barely registered against the weight of despair crushing her heart. Congratulations. You really showed him.
What possessed her to think seducing Ian one last time would bring her closure? The plan had failed, miserably. How was she supposed to find the strength to walk away again? She raised a hand and wiped impatiently at her wet cheeks, then rested her forearm on her forehead.
Their reflection in the mirrored ceiling taunted her with the illusion of two people wrapped up in each other. Ian’s big frame mostly covered her smaller one. His tanned legs—damn man should have been a dancer, with all those long, lean muscles—intertwined with hers in a way that looked completely natural and shockingly intimate at the same time. The mirrors gave her a bird’s-eye view of his sculpted ass. The skin there was lighter, smoother, and she stifled an impulse to run a protective hand over it. She loved his strong back and broad shoulders, but they’d never gotte
n around to taking off his shirt, so she couldn’t feast her eyes on them. Her fingers—which clearly had a mind of their own—absently stroked his light, silky hair. She always liked it this way, a little on the long side, overdue for a trim.
He had his face buried in the curve of her neck. She could tell by his breathing and the slight tickle of his eyelashes on her skin that he hadn’t passed out from exhaustion. No, not Ian. As long as he had enough condoms and Gatorade, he could go all night. Even as the thought formed in her mind, his cock woke and stretched inside her. Her pelvic muscles apparently took directions from her heart rather than her brain, because they flexed and caught him in a fast, tight hug.
The move elicited a low groan from Ian. The sound rumbled up from his chest and vibrated through her entire body. Her erogenous zones responded instinctively. He groaned again, this time no doubt because he felt a rush of heat flowing to the spot where his erection twitched to life. His breath gusted against her neck, and she very nearly burst into tears.
This can’t happen again, her brain warned, but she couldn’t find the strength to tell him to get out. Instead, she said, “You know, when I mentioned I wanted a good, hard, anonymous fuck, I wasn’t looking for two out of three.”
“Bullshit,” he muttered. “You knew it was me as soon as you rubbed your ass over my lap on the dance floor.”
The insult stung. Did he really think he’d fooled her up until they’d danced? Like she only recognized him by the feel of his cock? “I knew it was you the minute I saw you. Letting you think otherwise was just”—she lifted her shoulder in a casual shrug—“an entertaining little game. But the game is over and, ultimately, doesn’t change what I want.”
Apparently she could sting him back, because his eyes narrowed. Then he ground his hips against hers until she bit her lip and moaned.
“You’re sending mixed signals, Stace. You don’t know what you want.”
Sadly, she did—she wanted far too much, more than he’d offered—but her stupid, traitorous hips lifted, seeking more from him.
“Careful. The condom…” He reached down between them and pinched the base of his erection, holding the latex in place. But when he started to pull out, she panicked.
“Don’t.” Her hands flew down to his hips, and her fingers dug in to hold him still. Don’t leave me empty. Not yet.
“Stacy…” He swore under his breath when she sank her fingernails into his skin and squirmed beneath him. “It’s going to leak. Or break.”
“I don’t care.” She didn’t. Not one bit. All she cared about was keeping him inside her for a few last, precious seconds.
Ian laughed, low and humorless. “You can’t handle a relationship with me, but you’re ready to have my baby?”
Yes. I love you. I’d love to have your baby. Instead, she said lamely, “It’s the wrong time of the month.”
“I could play that game when we were together, but not now.”
Knowing he wouldn’t change his mind, she forced herself to let go of him. She closed her eyes and turned her head to the side so he wouldn’t see the tears threatening to spill down her cheek. “Aren’t you the responsible one?”
“Yeah, and you’re the dangerous one.” Despite the temper in his voice, he moved slowly and gently, but she couldn’t hold back shivers of reaction as he pulled out. Normally he’d press his big, warm hand between her legs and massage her as he vacated, to make it nice for her, maybe get her off one more time. But tonight he eased out and left her there, knees bent, legs spread, body aching like a wound.
She sat up and glared a hole through the back of his head while he turned and disposed of the condom. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Christ, I should paddle your ass for real. Dancing around tonight in that outfit, teasing every cock in the place.” He faced forward again and raked her with his gaze, and the heat of it sent a wave of longing to her overstimulated clit.
To cover the reaction, she tossed her hair back and laughed. “Are you jealous, Ian?” Hopefully nothing in her expression gave away how deeply she wanted him to say Hell yes.
She must have fooled him because he grabbed her jaw and brought her face close to his. “I’m wondering if you’ve lost your mind, coming out tonight without any security, dancing with total strangers. Letting them put their hands on you. Especially now, with some freak sending you threats and ultimatums, possibly stalking you. What the hell is wrong with you?”
Feeling miserable and mean, and more than a little humiliated by her own actions, she said the first thing that sprang to mind. “The only stalker I see tonight is a jealous ex who can’t stand to let me have some fun.”
He released her face as if she’d burned him. “Why do you always do this? Why do you have to take genuine emotion—genuine concern—and twist it into something ugly?”
“It’s my special gift. Thank God you’re rid of me—”