Hell on Heels (11 page)

The truth struck her hard. It was pure. Simple. Undeniable. She wanted Ty.

She startled at a sound outside her door. She looked to the deadbolt.
Shit!
She'd forgotten to latch it! She exhaled slowly, telling herself it was just some drunk who'd forgotten his room number. Her heart raced as the door clicked open. She sucked in a gasp, ready to let loose a scream, when recognition muted it in her throat.

“Ty?” She rose suddenly, sloshing her drink down her chest. It was icy cold and sticky. She shivered.

“Monica?” His brows met in a frown. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“I might ask you the same thing.”

“I just got in from Oklahoma,” he drawled.

Monica realized all too late that she faced him in her undies, but the drinks made her bold. Maybe even defiant.
Let him look.
Hand on hip, she addressed him accusingly, “You said you weren't returning until
tomorrow
night.”

“Changed my mind. Rosa was anxious to see Tom, so we kept going.”

“Where is Rosa now?”

“Staying at my place. Told her I'd pick her up first thing in the morning.”

“Oh.” Her brows knitted. “This is damned awkward. You could have told me about your change in plans.”

“I'm not used to reporting to anyone,” he replied mildly and doffed his hat.

“Don't get too comfortable,” Monica said. “You're leaving.”

“Am I, Ms. Brandt?” His gaze tracked slowly over her, sending a pool of liquid heat straight between her thighs.

 

After driving a total of seventeen hours and then getting Rosa settled at his condo, Ty was dog-tired and only dreaming of bed when he'd arrived at the hotel. Other than noting the place hadn't burned down in his absence, he didn't give a damn about anyone or anything. All he cared about was getting some shut-eye—until he opened the door to his room and found Monica in black lace underwear. He was suddenly wide awake and growing more alert.

In a matter of seconds he was
fully
alert.

The flicker of uncertainty in her gray eyes belied her words. “Yes. You are,” she insisted. “I've already staked my claim on this room. You'll need to find another one.”

Her remark normally would have rubbed him the wrong way, but he was too preoccupied with the view. Or more precisely, the breasts jutting out of a sexy push-up bra and ass-hugging boy shorts that rode low on her gently curved hips.

He took a step toward her. “It's a big room,” he remarked, “with a great big bed. There's more than enough room in that California King for both of us.”

“I don't think so, cowboy,” she huffed out a breath. “That train left the station over a week ago. Now, please excuse me. I need to get a towel to dry myself off.” She tried to pass into the bathroom, but he blocked her path at the doorway.

“You can't expect to send a man packing when you greet him dressed like that.”

His gaze tracked the damp trail of liquid between her breasts. He reached up to trace a leisurely path down the lush valley. Her eyes followed his finger, and a faint shudder rippled through her. Raising his fingers to his mouth, he tasted. The sweetness surprised him. Interesting. He'd figured Monica as a no-nonsense scotch-and-soda type. “What is it?” he asked, unable to identify the drink. “Applejack?”

“It's Calvados,” she corrected. “Imported from Normandy. I acquired a taste for it after visiting there. It always reminds me of that summer. It's funny how certain things can invoke comfort, isn't it?”

Her remark surprised him as much as her wistful expression. “I can see that,” he agreed. “For me it's always been the smell of a freshly mowed hayfield. Never could get enough of it. That smell still takes me back to boyhood.” His gaze locking with hers, he took the glass from her hands and set it down on a nearby table. “If it's comfort you're seeking, maybe you're looking in the wrong place. I know all kinds of interesting ways to bring . . .
comfort
.”

“That's
not
the kind I was looking for.” She looked away, her body too tense and her tone too emphatic.

“Perhaps not, Sugar,” he soothed, caressing up the sides of her arms until his hands rested lightly on her shoulders. She shivered under his touch but didn't try to pull away. “But maybe it's just the kind you need.”

He'd recognized that need in her eyes the minute he'd walked in. He wondered if she would have satisfied herself if he hadn't shown up. That image really lit his fuse.

“Maybe you're right, but
you
are all wrong, Ty.”

His brow wrinkled. “Why would you say that?”

“Because it would be a huge mistake. How could we ever work together if we did this?”

“The way I see it, we can't continue if we don't. You know as well as I do that this thing between us is damned distracting . . . How long's it been?” he asked.

“Long enough . . .” Her tongue darted over her lips. Was it a subconscious invitation? She added on a whisper. “Way too long.”

“I've been experiencing an extended dry spell too,” he confessed. “So you see? It's what we both need.”

“Are you actually trying to convince me it would be
therapeutic
?”

His mouth stretched into a grin. “I never thought of it quite that way before, but orgasms are
highly
therapeutic, Ms. Brandt.”

He already had a strong suspicion she wanted him as badly as he wanted her, but there was one sure way to find out. He captured the globes of her ass in both hands and then claimed her lace-clad breasts with his mouth, kissing and lapping her sweet, apple brandy–flavored flesh.

“No, Ty!” she gasped but still didn't try to pull away. “We can't.”

“Sure we can.” Ignoring her opposition, he nuzzled into her neck and unhooked her bra to free her breasts. He sucked a nipple into his mouth.

“I'm serious,” she insisted with far less conviction.

He reluctantly released a mouthful of hardened nipple to reply. “So am I, Ms. Brandt. This is going to continue to be like a burr under the saddle until we scratch the itch.” He dipped his head again, rooting his way to her other breast.

“You're mixing metaphors.” This time she arched into his mouth and dug her fingers into his scalp with a moan, clearly contradicting her words. “And why do you keep calling me Ms. Brandt anyway? We've known each other for weeks. Is it just to annoy me?”

He looked up at her with a grin. “That's not it at all. Maybe I think it suits you . . . or maybe I have an unresolved sexual fantasy involving a former schoolteacher.”

Her gray eyes narrowed. “I remind you of an old teacher?”

“I never said
old
, but yeah. A teacher, librarian, or maybe a secretary—”

“The correct title is administrative assistant.”

“Whatever.” He shrugged. “It ain't the title. The fantasy is all wrapped up in the tight skirt, the untouchable air, and the fuck-me shoes. What man can resist that combination? And I have to say those shoes of yours would look real sweet on you right now.” He squeezed the luscious curves of her pert ass.

“You
are
kidding, right? I'm not about to role-play in your twisted little sex fantasy, Ty.”

“Why not? I'd be more than happy to feature in any of yours,” he shot back, stifling the smirk that threatened to burst out of him. It was as if they'd silently acknowledged their sparring as another form of foreplay. Every taunt kept the sexual tension smoldering. “And that prissy, pissed-off look on your face is exactly what I'm talking about. It always gets me hard.”

“The tub!” she suddenly cried. “It's flooding.”

Sure enough. Water was trickling out of the bathroom and forming a puddle under his boots. Without releasing her, he backed into the bathroom and cut off the tap.

“You know, I think that tub's big enough for some
hydrotherapy
, but I reckon we can save that part for later.”

“Later?” she parroted blankly.

“Oh yeah, darlin'. Sometimes therapy needs to be repeated several times to be effective.”

Her eyes widened as he pinned her to the door and then locked on his, her breaths coming in shallow fits and starts. Grabbing his shirt front, her mouth found his. Lips and teeth collided. She opened to him eagerly, greedily demanding more. Nipping, licking, sucking his tongue, she pulled him in deeper. His lust spiked higher the second their tongues tangled. He should have known better than to think she'd ever be a passive participant in his pseudo seduction, but her passionate response nearly knocked him on his ass.

He grasped her hips, grinding into her with a muffled moan, as she ripped frantically at his shirt buttons. She was a lit match to his gasoline, and his reaction was just as explosive. Ty knew he didn't always exercise the best judgment, especially regarding women. He frequently—in truth, all too often—let brash impulses lead him into trouble. But the most fatal error he ever made was kissing Monica Brandt.

M
onica's mind blurred to all but physical want and blind sensation—his hands and mouth, his earthy male scent, and the lingering taste of Calvados on his tongue. His lips were firm and possessive, his tongue alternately seeking and demanding. His warm, confident hands mapped over her ass and back, his breath warm and humid as he nuzzled her throat and licked her ear. He moved down her neck again, sucking, nibbling, his teeth lightly scoring over her skin, driving her crazy. It felt so damned good to be touched like this.

She cupped her breasts in invitation. He buried his face between them with a groan, hungrily rooting from one to the other. He sucked in a nipple, then softly bit down, shocking her with an erotic mix of pleasure and pain. He hadn't exaggerated his skill. He seemed to intuit all her hot spots as he kissed, licked, and suckled, making her more mindless by the minute.

The emptiness was excruciating. Only one thing would end the ache. As if reading her mind, he ground into her. She sucked in a gasp at the jolt of feeling him so big and hard, even through the thick denim.
Now.
She needed him moving inside her. She yanked at his belt and frantically fumbled with his zipper, growling in frustration. “Please, Ty,” she panted. “I want you inside me.”

His hand came over hers. “It's all right, Sugar. I promise I'll take care of you.”

But instead of freeing himself as she expected, he dropped to his knees.

She shut her eyes on a moan as he nuzzled down her belly, his bristled face deliciously abrasive on her skin. She clamped her thighs on a squirm as he deliberately and tauntingly made his way southward, working his magic mouth toward the damp patch between her thighs. Her legs quivered with nervous anticipation as he anchored her hands on his shoulders and parted her thighs.

 

Her skin was silky smooth against his lips. And her scent.
Sweet Jesus!
As he drew nearer and spread her apart, her arousal perfumed the air, teasing his nostrils. Tugging her panties with his teeth, he exposed her nest of short curls. She sucked in a gasp at the first swipe of his tongue.

Holy hell!
One taste made him want to bury his face and drown himself in her. If he lived as long as Methuselah, he'd never lose his fascination with the scent and taste of an aroused woman. But this one? He couldn't begin to comprehend what she did to him.

Her eyes rolled back in ecstasy. Her hands left his shoulders to clutch his hair as he probed her with long, lingering licks. His fingers joined his mouth, circling and stroking, teasing and denying, until her hips bucked desperately. He delved deeper still, licking, kissing, tonguing, and tasting. He applied himself to her pleasure with a single-minded purpose, bent on tormenting her to a frenzy. Her undulations and needy whimpers grew in rhythm and pitch to an unmistakable urgency. She was close. So damned close, but he had something to prove.

“Please,” she panted, “take me to the bed.”

“All in good time,” he murmured, backing off just enough to keep her on the edge of insanity.

He'd sworn not to rush it—until her fingers coiled in his hair, giving it a solid yank that made his head snap back. “
Now
, Ty!”

He was hardly able to suppress the howl of mirth that threatened to burst out. He'd never fucked on demand before, but there was always a first. “You sure about that?” he taunted.

“Yes,” she hissed.

“Gotta love a woman who knows what she wants.”

Monica didn't shy from taking what she wanted. Neither did he. He threw her over his shoulder.

“What the
hell
are you doing?” she shrieked. “Quit manhandling me!” His breath gushed out as her knee made contact with his gut. He was thankful it wasn't a few inches lower. “You started the rough stuff, Ms. Brandt. Now I'm gonna finish it.”

“Let me down. I can walk!”

“And I can carry you. Just go with it, Sugar,” he chuckled. “It makes me feel manly.”

He carried her into the bedroom and tossed her unceremoniously onto the mattress, his eyes never leaving her as he toed off his boots and then stripped out of his clothes. Her gaze swept over his naked body down to his hard-on. “Like what you see?”

She visibly swallowed.

He chuckled darkly. “I'll take that as an affirmative.” He pounced onto the bed, caging her body under his.

“No, Ty,” she protested. “Not like this. I need to be on top.”

He shook his head with a laugh. “I've never met a woman with so many damned rules.”

“Look, you already know you'll get yours,” she said. “I just want to be sure I get mine.”

He nuzzled into her neck and traced her ear with his tongue. “If you're afraid I won't get you off, why did you stop me a minute ago? I've never known a woman who didn't want to be tongued into a coma.”

“Because you were taking too damned long, that's why. Besides, I prefer vaginal orgasms.” She pushed on his chest. “C'mon, let me on top.”

“I'm finding this a fascinating situation,” he drawled, refusing to budge.

“No offense, Ty, but I know my own body. I never come unless I'm on top.”

“Maybe that's because you won't
let
yourself,” he argued. “I think this is really all about control, Ms. Brandt. You don't like giving it up. That's the
real
reason you wouldn't let me finish you with my mouth. 'Cause I was the one in charge.”

“I don't like this conversation.” A faint note of panic resonated in her tone. “Do you want to do this or not?”

Her words confirmed his suspicions. She really was afraid of giving it all up. It was crystal clear that no man had ever broken through her barriers. He relished the idea of being the first. He wasn't about to back down now. “We're gonna do this, all right. But the way I reckon it, Ms. Brandt,” he drawled, “it's time someone restored order to the universe.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“It means that someone,
namely me
, needs to fuck you until your teeth rattle—missionary style.”

Her gaze flickered down to his crotch. “Order in the universe? What, do you think you're the man of steel or something?”

“I'll let you be the judge of that, but we're still gonna do this
my
way.”

“What do you propose to do? Hog-tie me?” Her voice was light, but she watched him intently. Too intently. Another revealing sign. Some asshole must have manhandled her. That explained a lot.

“I'll try just about anything
once
,” he said, “but I'm really not into that BDSM shit.” He added, light and teasing, “Though come to think of it, I'd love to see you brandishing a flogger in crotchless black leather. But I think that flogger would only last about three seconds in your hands before I applied it to your sweet little ass.”

She regarded him warily. “I told you I'm not into any of that kinky stuff, Ty.”

“I'm not either, Sugar,” he reassured. “I like it lots of ways—hard and fast, slow and easy, loud and dirty—but I don't believe in props and gadgets to get the job done.” He kissed her again, hard and hungry, and then surprised her by rolling her on top. “Tell you what, just to prove I believe in equality, I'll let you be on top—but only if you can find a better use for that pretty mouth than talking.”

 

“Be careful what you wish for cowboy,” she purred, “ 'cause you just might get it.” Now that she had the chance, it was time to show Ty Morgan she had a few tricks of her own.

She slid down the length of his body, loving the solid feel of him beneath her. With both her palms flat against his chest, she worked her mouth over him, dipping her head and tracing the flat disc of his nipple with her tongue and then moved to the other. She moved slowly downward, following the erotic trail of hair while mapping his body with her hands and mouth.

Although she'd never shied away from oral sex, she'd always regarded it with ambivalence. It was always a trade-off. If you wanted oral you had to give it. But this time was different. Ty was different. She
wanted
to feel him in her mouth, to watch him get off. To blow his mind with pleasure. Maybe Ty didn't exaggerate his bedroom skills, but he was too damned confident about how good he was. His constant taunts about it only inspired a deep desire to put him in his place.

She snaked lower until her breasts rested against the hard muscles of his thighs. The hair of his legs teased her skin as he suddenly shifted beneath her. She looked up to find his head propped up with pillows, his eyes heavy-lidded, and his mouth compressed. Tension emanated from his every muscle. She sensed he was uncomfortable with this passive role, but she swore to make it worth his while.

Without taking her eyes from his face, she dragged her tongue seductively over her lips as she took his thick, jutting length in her hand. She watched through her lashes as she kissed up and down his big, thick, and silky soft shaft. His chest rose and his eyes shuttered at the first long lick upward. She teased his underside with flicks and darts of her tongue, probing his slit and then circling his crown, shutting her eyes briefly, inhaling his musk and savoring his salty taste on her tongue. The erotic combination incited a shudder of desire deep into her core.

She mouthed his entire crown, sucking his essence. His thighs tensed and his hips gave an involuntary jerk, a response that only served to ramp her own lust. She'd never felt so aroused giving head. She drew him in deeper. Inch by thick, hot, pulsating inch, she worked his head and shaft with her lips and tongue, while rhythmically stroking her hands up and down his length.

He moaned his need and bucked his hips. Then his hands were off the bed, palming her head as his hips rocked in tempo with her mouth. She cupped his sac, gently rolling it between her fingers. His balls contracted against his body.

His hands tightened in her hair. “If you want yours,” his voice emerged as a low growl, “you'd best stop that
now
.”

He didn't have to warn her when his body already had. He made a guttural sound and tried to withdraw, but she held fast, drawing him deeper, sucking him harder. She'd never relished swallowing before, but this was different, Ty was different. His pleasure was hers to control, and she wanted to milk every ounce out of it, out of him.

He cursed an unintelligible stream as he came, his hips jerking and his cock pulsing with each successive burst, until his hands dropped to his sides on a long exhale. Releasing his spent phallus with a smug smile, she climbed back up his body. Planting her hands on his chest, she straddled his hips and gazed down at him with a mocking look of expectation.

“Ah, hell,” he groaned. “I warned you not to finish me off. You gotta give me a little time now, Sugar.”

“If you're not
up
to it,” she purred, “I
could
just finish myself.”

Shutting her eyes, she ran both hands over her breasts. While one hand toyed with her nipples, she skirted the other down her belly and then slipped it between her thighs. Rocking and undulating, she began pleasuring herself, watching him through slitted lids. Jutting her breasts, she threw her head back with a moan, relishing the flex of his hard muscles under her.

Before she realized what was happening, her back hit the mattress. To her satisfaction, her erotic show had stirred him almost instantly back to life.

“My turn now,” he growled, his erection nudging between her thighs. “And we're doing it my way. And I promise by the time we're done you aren't gonna remember your own first name.” He looked ominously ready to carry out his threat.

“Protection?” she asked breathlessly.

“Got it covered this time.” He reached out to the nightstand drawer.

He had a drawer of condoms? The significance of that hit her like a sledgehammer. “So this place is your fuck pad,” she remarked flatly.

“I don't make a practice of bringing women to my home. It implies too much.”

“Too much what, Ty? Intimacy?”

“Maybe.” He shrugged. “I'm not wired for that stuff, so it's easier to draw those lines from the start.”

“No worries with me there,” she replied stiffly. “This doesn't mean any more to me than it does to you. The only thing I'm looking for is between your legs, and I assure you even that interest will be short-lived.”

“I wouldn't count on that second part,” he crooned. “I have a reputation to uphold.”

He rolled off her to get the condom. Her heart raced as he gloved himself. For a while she'd let herself forget that she was only one in a long line of lovers. She'd wanted to be different, but this meant nothing to him. She'd only been fooling herself.
What am I doing?
Letting him inside her suddenly scared the hell out of her. Her thoughts must have shown.

He came back to her, his brows drawn. “Something wrong?”

“No . . . I don't know.”

“Which is it, Monica? I'm getting a whole lotta mixed signals that I don't understand.”

“It's just that I've never done this kind of thing before.” She knew it didn't make sense, but it somehow felt like there was a world of difference between giving head and actual intercourse.

“You sure fooled the hell out of me.” His entire body rumbled with his chuckle.

“I'm serious, Ty,” she glared. “I don't know how to deal with casual sex.”

He caressed his finger over her lips. “You're thinking
way
too hard on it, Sugar. Therapeutic, remember? It doesn't always have to
mean
something. I can make you feel real good. Why not just enjoy it?”