The Wicked Pleasures Bundle (Wicked Pleasures: Volume 1/Wicked Pleasures: Volume 2/Wicked Pleasures: Volume 3) (5 page)

He moves his hips from side to side, wedging himself between my folds.  I shudder.  This is it.  I’ve wanted this from the first night I’d met him.

Kissing my lips, he rests his forehead against mine.  With a sharp, sudden thrust and a pull on my hips, he buries himself deep inside me.

I gasp, stiffening a second, then slowly adjusting to his large size.  “God, you’re huge.  ”

Chuckling he continues kissing my lips.    Pulling part-way out and plunging in again.

Swatting my ass, I gasp.  He plants his lips on mine and invades my open mouth with his tongue, locking my ankles around his waist. 

Moving his hips, he rocks himself against me, gentle at first and now harder and harder.  Matching his rhythm, meeting each thrust with one of my own.  Stopping to kiss when our breathing becomes more labored, my head falls back.  Panting, he now thrusts into me with a desperation that brings tears to my eyes as his cock hits the spot that makes me mad with pleasure.   

Whimpering as my climax lifts me higher and higher, screaming as it breaks free.  Letting out a long groan, he pumps himself deep into me, roaring loudly.

We hold each other tight as our breathing slowly returns to normal.

“I can still feel you inside me, throbbing,” I whisper.

“Mmm.”

I smile and rest my head on his shoulder.

We can hear loud talking in the distance.

He grunts.  “I guess we aren’t alone.”

“Fuck!”  I look around anxiously.  “I’m naked.”

He smirks and looks down.  “Umm…so am I.”

RIDE OF MY LIFE

I know how to hold my liquor, and I know I won’t have a hangover today, despite the amount of alcohol I’ve consumed.  After dropping Miss George off at her hotel last night, I came back into the bar, helped myself to some whiskey and finished off the night thoroughly and cheerfully hammered. 

God this is becoming too much for me.  Each time I see her it is getting harder and harder to control my desire.  And by desire I mean my cock.  And I definitely mean
harder
.  And it is almost becoming embarrassingly obvious that my erection is growing more and more difficult to conceal.

The morning comes a bit too soon, but I am up and about at dawn, making certain the limo is clean, ready, and pull into
into the courtyard.  The sooner I drop off Miss George, the better. 

Miss George.  It is the best way to think of her.  As long as I think of her as Miss George it helps me keep her at a distance.  I’ve grown dangerously close to her in the last few months, and I need to get the hell away from her, back to just being her driver, not her confidant.  I need to mind my own business, not hers.

My eyes follow her as she finally comes out, still biting into a piece of toast and talking on her cell.  I should feel guilty at making her hurry.  This is the last bit of the trip—we shouldn’t have to stop before we reach Cincinnati, and I am not prone to wait as I am getting pretty tired of this fucking book tour.

I hold open the door as she climbs in without a second glance in my direction. 

I almost chuckle as she tries to turn around, and ends up falling onto the seat in an ungainly heap, her skirt rises to an almost indecent level. 
Fuck
.  I reach in to steady her as she jumps as I grip her shoulder.  My fingers feel seared after touching her skin.  “Sorry, Miss George,” I say, bobbing my head in my most servile manner.  “Didn’t mean to scare you.” Now if only my cock will be as submissive.

She is staring at me like she’s seen a ghost, white-faced, speechless.  But she manages to find her voice as I swing the door shut.  “Thank you,” she says in an odd voice.

I am still thinking about it as I slide into the driver’s seat.  She’s looks at me as if she is in shock, but is that possible?  Why would she be affected by me in any way?  For Christ’s sake, I work for her.  There’s no way my touch affects her.

But she looks at me as if it did.

I’m smart enough to know my place.  I’m sure she thinks that this is all I’m qualified to do.  As if I have no other marketable skills.  I hope I can make her see me differently, there are still three more hours left to drive, and by the time we reach the outskirts of Cincinnati it will be time for her book signing and hopefully I will have forgotten any ridiculous notions that I might have.  When we reach the bookstore, I’ll drop her off, and I’ll be free of her, well at least for a few hours. 
Thank God
.

She isn’t for the likes of me.  I know it, and always have.  But it hasn’t been too easy to forget, looking into her sweet eyes, letting the smell of her perfume dance around me day after day.  When she lowers the divider and chats with me as if we are old friends. 

The sooner we get there, the better.

I sink back against the well-cushioned seat, tapping my long tanned fingers against the steering wheel.  I’m feeling meditative—I always pride myself on my ability to roll with the punches, and having spent a mere two minutes in her company I’ve changed those winds quite significantly
.  God, I’m a fool.

She’s lovely.  I don’t know why I should be surprised—no one has ever referred to her as anything less than gorgeous.  I’ve seen her in magazines and on TV interviews, to be sure, but in person?  She is more than gorgeous, she is a goddess.  She has brown hair with golden highlights that float around her angelic face, she has a low, melodious voice and a soft mouth, when it isn’t set in a tight line, is full of good humor. But her eyes are her most extraordinary feature.  Dark, but lively, brown eyes that can peer directly into my soul.  Which in and of itself, frankly surprises me, given that she has spent the past ten months traveling around the country with just her publisher, staff and her personal secretary.  Practically isolated from all of her friends and family, without much hope of having any of it change in the near future, especially if she keeps putting out bestsellers.  I would have thought she’d be a bit more subdued, even depressed, but she seems to take it all in stride.   

She strikes me as someone extremely difficult to crush.  Thus, the challenge is immediately appealing.  Could she fall for someone like me?  Someone that is just an employee? 

Where is her secretary today, anyway?  Normally she travels with her. 

Punching the intercom, I ask, “Miss George, are we picking up Stacy from a different location?”

I hear a crackle, then her seductively sweet voice, “No.  She went ahead.  It’s just you and me today.”

“Okay.  Just checking.”

All alone.

All her watchdogs gone.  Every single one of the staff are probably already in Cincinnati preparing, leaving her behind to rest.  Alone.  Unguarded.  Vulnerable. 

I snort.  To rest.  I’m such an idiot.

This is probably the longest three hours of my life.  I can’t get her off of my mind.  Finally we arrive.  I open the door, watching her long legs exit the car first, and struggle to hold back a groan. 

As she touches my arm, I stiffen.  I watch as her eyes roam down my body stopping at my obvious erection.  I watch as her tongue flicks out to dampen her already red lips.  God, I can imagine her leaving a red ring around my cock as I ram my steel rod down her throat. 
Fuck.  Fuck.  Fuck
.  I’m going to get myself fired.  Shooting off early. 

I feel her finger run down my arm.  “I’ll be back in a few hours.”

“Yes, Miss George.”

“You’ll be here when I’m done?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Good.”  Then I stare after her as she walks into the bookstore.

………………………….

I grab a cup of coffee and open a book I’ve been reading. 
Passionate Fire
.  Boy, would the guys give me trouble if they could see me reading this book.  But God, knowing that she writes these erotic scenes really turns me on.  Knowing that under her buttoned up clothes, these words float through her brain and she reads them out loud to a room full of fans. 

I can’t stop reading; this is probably why I nearly jumped when I heard the tap on the driver’s side window.  I look up to gaze directly into her chocolate brown eyes.

I slam the book closed and stuff it between the seats before I open my door and step out.  “Sorry, Miss George.”

“Not a problem.”  She smiles.  “What are you reading, Brady?”

“Umm…nothing.”

“Really?”  She taps her chin.  “I’ve been standing here for a good five minutes.  I don’t think you would have stopped reading if I hadn’t tapped on the glass.”

“It’s just research.”

“Must be some awfully good research.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Before you drop me off at the hotel, can we stop at Starbucks?  I could use a mocha Frappuccino right about now.”

“Sure thing, Miss George.”  I open her door and wait for her to situate herself before I climb back in the front and head to Starbucks.

After we pick up our coffees, she invites me to sit with her in the back of the limo.  Crazy, I know, but I can’t resist being alone with her even if it is only for a few minutes.

I barely shut the door when her words shock me. 

“I swear on my next royalty check that if you don’t kiss me I will fire you.  Immediately.”

I just stare at her.

“Being near you is the worst kind of torture.  I’m obsessed with you, your scent and your touch.  When you’re near I want to lose control.  Do you feel the same way?”  She placed her hand on my chest. 

I look down at her hand resting on my chest and say on a heavy breath, “Yes,” My eyes glow.  “Oh, most definitely yes.”  I think of her hands on my bare body, touching me all over, her fingertips sliding over my skin.  I lick my lips and watch as her lips part on a slight inhaled breath.  Her lids lower and I tuck one long finger beneath her chin, drawing her face up to mine. 

I look into her chocolate brown eyes and feel the first trickle of unease.  This is wrong, isn’t it?  But all my doubts leave as she runs her thumb across my lips, pulling them apart and then sets her mouth against mine.

This is going to be so easy, I think the moment her mouth touches mine.  I’ve gone from defeat to certain victory, and I hold very still, waiting for her to be done with it.  I don’t want or need to lose this job.  But I don’t want to release her either.

I’d expected heat.  I’d expected force.  I didn’t expect the feather light brush of her mouth against mine, a whisper of a touch.  Her hand cups my chin, holding me loosely, knowing I won’t, can’t pull away, and she moves her mouth to the side of my cheek, her warm breath in
my ear, down the line of my jaw, and I squirm.  Breathing deeply, I’d do anything I can to keep from reaching for her, anything to try and tamp down the desire and stop the blood from flowing to my cock.  But nothing works.  I’ve been fantasizing about her since day one.  Since she bent over to get into the back of the limo the very first day and flashed the tiniest panties, over the most luscious ass I’ve ever had the privilege to look at.  And I’ve looked at plenty. 

I’m not ugly.  I’ve just gotten hurt and stuck on this duty until I heal.  I rub my injured leg.  And this is a sweet assignment.  Driver/bodyguard to a hot, young, and very desirable woman? 

I can feel my hands digging into the soft flesh on her hips.  Gripping, kneading, then the next thing I know, she is sitting on my lap, her arms around me.  I know exactly what is beneath her skirt, and I have no doubt she knows what she is riding on, hard and growing harder by the second.  Her mouth tickles my eyelids, closing them, and I feel an odd little shiver dance down my spine, and I squirm again.  As I grow even harder, painfully harder.

I move my hand up to the back of her neck, my fingers play gently with her hair as it is coming loose, barely grazing the skin.  My mouth brushes her temple and then moves down the other side of her face.  I bring my other hand down to cradle her throat, stroking gently, as I press my mouth against her pulse that is now pounding.

“God, you want me too.”

“You’re gorgeous.”  She bites her bottom lip as she brushes my wavy, dark hair from my tanned face.  Her warm fingers skim down the side of my neck, over my shoulders to grip my bulging biceps. 

“I’ve been dying for you to kiss me,” she says in a husky voice, “but you were trying so hard to be a good boy.” Her hand skims over the rather impressive bulge in my trousers, then squeezes. 

Her face flushes.  She looks so hot and delicious; I shove all of my doubts away.  “Fuck,” I whisper against her skin.  “I’m taking my time.  You’re not an easy conquest.”  I touch my lips lightly on the corner of her mouth.

“I’m not a conquest at all—“she starts to say, but I cover her lips with my long fingers, silencing her.  “If you’re resistant then you can be patient, I have.” I slide my hand down to the low neckline of her top, and feel a button pop open.  And then another.   I prefer dresses or skirts.  They are much easier to get a woman out of and I am having far too exciting a time unfastening her clothes.

“I don’t…” She silences me by covering my mouth and her lips are soft, damp, brushing against mine.  She knows how to kiss, a great deal better than some of the women I’ve gone out with.  This is so wrong and so right, all at the same time.  One of my fantasies is coming to life.  Loss of job?  I try to harden my mouth, but she catches my chin again.

“That’s cheating,” she admonishes me.

My hand pushes open the front of her dress, baring her skin, the tops of her breasts to the warmth of the limo, the warmth of my hand.  I slide my fingers inside her top and she is braless, cupping her small, bare breast, feeling her nipples harden against them, feeling that familiar heat build.  She wriggles against me shortening the fuse on my already hair-trigger.

“I really don’t think you should do that, Miss George.  I must confess I’m about at the limit of my self-control.  I would certainly hate to embarrass myself before I claim victory, and I don’t have anything to change into.”

I think it took her a moment to realize what I was talking about, and she froze.  “Kiss me and we’ll worry about that later,” she says, sliding her fingers through my long, dark hair.

“Then open your mouth for me.”

Her tongue thrusts into my mouth and I am almost in a shock.  I can taste the coffee on her tongue, as I press her bare breast against my fingers.  I hold utterly still as she tastes me, with deep sensuous strokes. 

I want her heat and dampness, as she kisses me with such slow, deep deliberation that I close my eyes and let my head sink back against the support of the seat.  Her long stroking fingers over my engorged cock.  Never before have I been subjected to such sensual attention.  Normally I’m the one giving.