Selling Seduction (Your Ad Here #1) (7 page)

Mercy closed her eyes and rested more of her weight against Ian. The sharp tang of burning wood filled her head and combined with the heat of his palms on her bare skin. He cupped her breasts, and she moaned in appreciation.

“If you ever want to know what I’m thinking, just ask.” She gasped when he pinched her nipples.

“And you’ll tell me?” He spoke between flicks of his tongue over her shoulder, along her spine, and at the base of her neck.

The chill on her face clashed with the warmth of the blanket, lighting up her nerves and flaring though her senses. It helped that, with each new tug and twist from Ian, she squirmed involuntarily, and his hard length dug into her ass.

“I might,” she managed between grabs for air. “I guess it depends on what the question is.” She arched her back when he dragged his finger across
that
spot that raced into her stomach, and continued between her legs, making her damp. “But your odds are a lot better than if you don’t ask.”

“What are you thinking now?” As he increased the pressure of his touch, the rest of her body ached for attention. Pleaded, each time she rubbed her thighs together. Begged, at the temptation of his erection pressing against her.

She adjusted her position and felt his cock jerk. The seam on her jeans dug into her slit, but it wasn’t enough. “That you’re a wicked, cruel tease.”

“You think so?” He reached the spot on her neck where it met her shoulder, and sucked on the skin, drawing it in, scraping his teeth over it… marking her. At the same time, he tweaked harder, until the swollen nubs on her chest stung.

Lances of pleasure and pain rolled through her, and her moans grew louder. “I know so.” She panted at the variety of sensations rolling over her. She’d had attentive lovers before. Also had her fair share of good, bad, selfish, generous, and virginal guys. The memory of those men paled compared to this, and she couldn’t say why. He kissed the now-tender spot on her neck—his touch so faint, she wondered if she imagined it. Then again, she didn’t want to devote the brainpower to her past. Ian was here, and she was going to dive into this for all it was worth.

“Stand up.” He nudged her forward.

She did as prompted. The blanket fell away, and cool air grazed her hot nipples. The shock made her head swim. He laid the blanket on the floor near the fireplace and tugged her closer. His every caress was deliberate and confident. Everything felt simultaneously surreal and hyper-real, as if vivid fantasy shifted to reality, with Mercy caught in the middle.

Ian raked his fingers up her spine, over her neck, and caught them in her hair. When he crushed his mouth to hers, the clash of lips and dance of their tongues was demanding and desperate.

She needed to be closer. Wanted to melt into him. She tugged up the bottom of his sweatshirt, and he broke away long enough to jerk it off and toss it over the couch. When her cooling breasts pressed into his heated skin, it was like afternoon sunshine on fresh snow. A shock of brightness and warmth, colliding and melding with the elements.

He sucked her bottom lip between his teeth, before pulling away. “Fuck. You’re a delicious temptation.” Gravel undercut his words.

She was pretty sure he was sin wrapped in denim, with a dangerous mouth for a bow. She slid her hand lower and cupped him through his jeans. “So is this.” Each time she stroked, his dick jerked against her hand.

“Lucky us, I’ve got that covered.” He pulled a condom from his back pocket.

She raised her brows. “Do you keep a rubber in every pair of pants you own?”

“I haven’t stopped fantasizing about you for more than a few minutes at a time since the other night.” He unbuttoned her pants and pushed the rest of her clothes to the floor. His came off seconds later. “So yeah. I’m prepared.” He cupped her ass and pulled her to him. Skin met skin, and desire danced in time with the flames. His cock pushed against her stomach. “Lie down.”

He helped her lower to the ground, and then grabbed a pillow from the sofa, for under her head. She didn’t know if she should beg to be fucked or for more teasing. Any more musings flitted away when he kissed down her chest and over her stomach, and drew his tongue up her slit.

His first licks were feather light, but he zeroed in quickly on her clit. She rocked against his face, focused on the rough texture against her swollen sex. He alternated between slow and fast, drawing her closer to the edge each time, but never pushing her over. When he drove two fingers inside her, she clenched involuntarily at the sudden intrusion. God. This felt incredible. She arched her back and tangled her fingers in his hair, holding him in place and letting orgasm build inside, until it broke past an invisible dam and spilled through her. She ground and writhed when she came, wanting more attention, but not sure how much contact her body could take before her nerves went on strike.

A series of shudders jerked her away from his touch, and he eased off. A pleasant haze circled her thoughts, fogging everything and granting a dreamlike quality to the sparking firelight. Her throat was raw. Had she screamed? She never got vocal during sex. Too many years sharing walls and rooms in hostels. She heard herself giggle, and the sound danced with the tear of foil.

Ian wedged her legs apart with his knee, supported himself on one arm, and brushed his mouth over hers. He tasted like sex and wood smoke. Her new favorite flavor. “I need to be inside you,” he murmured against her lips.

She nodded, unsure where her voice had gone, but not motivated to find it. He dragged the head of his cock along her slit, from her opening to her clit. With each pass, she squirmed from the overstimulation, but she didn’t want to pull away.

“Problem is”—he nudged her entrance, pushing in enough to stretch her out before withdrawing again—“I’m rock hard, and the way you look and sound when you come is an aphrodisiac on its own. I’m not going to last long.”

When he neared her opening again, she thrust her hips, driving him deep inside in a single push. “I don’t care.” Her words were raspy against her eardrums. She dragged her nails up his back and wrapped her legs around his waist. “I need to feel you.”

His laugh was strained, and he held her gaze. His rhythm was slow. He plunged in to the hilt, then withdrew again almost completely before repeating.

She gripped his arms, sinking into the feeling. “Stop holding back.” She forced the words through clenched teeth.

He slammed inside her hard, and again, building to a rapid pace. His face in this light was stunning. Chiseled and focused. He grabbed her wrist, drew her hand lower, and wedged it between them. “Play with yourself.”

“I can’t.” Her body wrenched away without her permission.

“Do it.”

She liked the command. The intensity in his eyes as he watched her. Despite her tender clit, she pushed past the brink of discomfort, and crested a new high, with him rocking inside her. It summoned another orgasm faster than she expected, and she dug her free hand into his bicep, needing something to ground her in the
now
before her head floated away.

He pounded, fast and steady, grunts punctuating each thrust. She recognized the sound from the other night. The tantalizing groans that teased her at the end of sleep. The sound that meant he was close. When he jackhammered frantically, then eased off with a long sigh, she swore she felt him spill inside her, though she knew that wasn’t possible.

He hovered above her, as they struggled to catch their breath. She propped herself up on her elbows. Her legs weren’t taking her anywhere for a while, so it was a good thing she didn’t have to stand. She kissed and licked a trail up his chest, slid along his collarbone, memorizing the faint tang of salt and skin, and then pressed her lips to his.

When he slid out of her, he rolled to the side and took her with him. She lay there, curled up against him, listening to his heart, until the chill won out over the heat of sex, and she shivered.

“Stay right here.” He gave her another kiss, stood, and wobbled, before he caught his balance.

At least she wasn’t the only one their sex had that impact on. Orange flickered across his bare back and ass, and then on his semi-erect cock, when he returned seconds later with a heavier blanket, some pillows, and a large bottle of water.

He handed her the water, a glint in his eye. “The fire won’t keep us warm all night. We’re going to need a Round Two.”

She laughed and sidled next to him under the blanket. “I definitely like the way you think.”

* * * *

Mercy relaxed into the string of kisses Ian laid along the back of her neck. “New favorite way to wake up,” she said. She could have sworn she felt him smile against her shoulder.

“Better than the cackle of chickens in Uruguay?”

Since last night, the fire had faded to embers. The storm howled against the sides of the house, blowing fresh snow into the windows and piling it up, but at least the power was back. Mercy wasn’t in any hurry to get up. It was warm in Ian’s arms. Comfortable and familiar, though they’d never done this. “Don’t know. I never went to Uruguay. Do they have chickens there?”

“I think they have chickens everywhere.” His warm breath fell against her bare back with each word, and he drew loops along her hip with his thumb. “Except maybe Antarctica.”

She ground her ass back into him, a new kind of heat filling her when he hardened instantly. “Is this where one of us makes a bad pun about cocks?”

“I think the innuendo is better than the reality here. Let’s pretend one of us did, and move on.” He glided his hand forward, along her pelvis, and she arched her back into him. He teased along the top of her thigh, his touch somewhere between tickling and moan-inducing.

The shrill sound of a cell phone punctuated the air—digital and bell-like. Not hers. “Do you need to get that?” She hated to ask; she wanted to sink into this moment a bit longer.

“They’ll wait.” He slid his palm up her stomach, to her breast, and dragged a finger over one nipple. With each new touch, dampness grew between her legs.

The ringing died after a few seconds, and Ian increased the pressure of his playing.

Another ring greeted them, this time sounding like a land-line. She closed her eyes and nudged him back with her shoulder. “It’s probably important, Mr. high-demand.”

His growl rumbled through her back, and he kissed her shoulder one more time before pulling away. “I’m sorry.”

“Go. See who it is.” She rolled onto her back when Ian pulled away, and turned to watch him. He paused by the couch long enough to pull on his jeans. Watching him dress wasn’t as much fun as undressing him, but it was still pretty good.

He glanced over his shoulder. “Enjoying the show?”

“I am.” She snaked her arm down her stomach, still hidden by the blanket. “Too bad you have to take that call, or I’d give you one too.”

“You’re going to be my undoing. Don’t touch yourself while I’m gone.”

“Or what?”

“Or I won’t have anything to do when I get back.”

She laughed and nodded toward the doorway. “An effective threat. Don’t make me wait?”

“Only long enough that you squirm and beg.” His cell phone rang again, and he grabbed it from the end table. “This is Ian Thompson.” His voice faded as he strode out of the room.

She studied the ceiling, letting lazy thoughts and pleasant images from last night keep her company. Minutes ticked away, and the past butted in as a chill crept over her. The times she and Liz had slept in this living room. The nights she’d lain awake, studying the exposed wood beams, wishing she didn’t have to go home in the morning, and wondering if each footstep above them was Ian.

She’d been so head-over-heels back then. Another reason she was grateful he told her
no
when she asked to leave with him. She’d gotten him out of her system. Learned how much happier she was, standing on her own. When this week was over—hell, when the day was over—she’d go back to her life, and he’d go back to his, and that would be that. The pit in her chest told her that wasn’t true; she’d still miss him. She argued it was easy to say that when they hadn’t finished what they started this morning.

The clock on the wall said he’d been gone almost forty-five minutes. Long call. She shrugged off the blanket and went in search of her clothes. She found his sweatshirt first. The faint but heady scents of pine and musk settled over her, and she pulled it on. It barely covered her ass. Perfect.

She padded through the house, ears straining until she heard his voice drifting from the study. She approached the doorway and paused when his distinct words greeted her. “I understand your concerns, Mr. Woodhouse.” His tone was cool. Professional and confident. “When you’re in the offices tomorrow, you’ll see we’ve addressed them.” His back was to her.

Her stomach twisted in on itself. She didn’t know how many Woodhouses there were out there, but it wasn’t a name she’d come across very often. It was, however, the name of the marketing director for KaleidoMation—the account she hoped would take her company to the next level. Maybe it was coincidence.
Please let that be the case.

“I assure you, we’ve got social media covered.” Ian turned, smiling when he saw her. “We’ve got experts on staff, and we’re talking to an independent contractor as well.”