Wishful Sinful (Rock Royalty Book 5) (15 page)

“You know, Honey, we’re not supposed to have this.”

Disappointment filled her belly, and her heart quaked. Was he having second thoughts? She blinked to hold back the tears stinging the corners. “I know but—”

“Anyone would tell you that. They’d say it’s taboo.”

Taboo.
Her muscles froze even as her blood ran fierce and hot through her veins. The word conjured up forbidden things. Actions. Him. Wetness gathered between her thighs, and she pressed them more tightly together to soothe the pulsing ache there.

“God, I want to fuck you,” he murmured, then his mouth was back on hers.

This time she slicked her tongue along his more assertive one, like a puppy trying to make friends with a more aggressive creature. He grunted, and the kiss eased. Honey almost smiled, thinking she’d learned one way to tame him. Then he fisted his hand in her hair, jerked back her head, and traced his mouth along her jawline to her ear.

“I’m still the boss,” he said, his hot breath bathing the inner shell. “I’m still in charge of you.”

Oh, God.
It was as if he could see into her mind. It was as if he’d marched right up to that file cabinet in her head labeled “Fantasy” and opened the drawer that held her secret yearnings. Honey’s bones dissolved, and she might have melted onto the sand if he hadn’t been holding her up by her hair.

The near-painful tug at her scalp was only another turn-on.

He smiled. It wasn’t friendly or reassuring. It was confident. Knowing.

It scared the heck out of her…and yet she wouldn’t be anywhere else in the world right then but on her knees, at Walsh’s mercy. Her pulse thumped at her throat, her wrists, her wet cleft.

She wanted more.

Her trembling fingers went to the first button of his shirt.

His hand immediately clamped over hers. “What do you think you’re doing?” he asked, his look stern.

She suppressed a half-hysterical hiccup of laughter. “Can I…may I take this off?”

His thumb gave a soft caress to her knuckles. “Not right now, sweetheart.”

What?
He was going to make her wait? She was only more desperate at the idea. As she squeezed her thighs together again, she petted his shirt, smoothing the silk fabric with short strokes of her fingertips. “But Walsh…” From beneath her lashes, she cast him a look, trying to appear appealing.

One side of his mouth hitched up. “What a flirt.”

A flirt! She’d never wanted to be a flirt. Since she was twenty-one she’d made it her life’s work to never be seen as flirty

His hand in her hair tightened, pulling her head back the tiniest bit more. “Teasing girls can get into trouble.”

She knew that. Of course she knew that. But getting into trouble with Walsh was suddenly all she wanted to do. Her eyes lowered, she watched her fingertip trace a tiny circle on his shirt. When it had gone around twice, she looked up at him again and licked her lips.

Flirting. She was definitely doing that. Her stomach jittered with excitement.

“I could take off
my
clothes,” she suggested.

A faint smile curved his mouth. “We have to go back to the resort first. Get to our rooms.”

Frowning, she glanced around. The resort seemed to be miles away. And there was nobody near them here—just moonlit sand and tranquil surf. They could just—

“You don’t think I’d take a chance on anyone seeing you that way, do you?”

Oh.
At his protective tone, her protest died on her lips. Sweet. He didn’t want her compromised. Kneeling up, she pressed her mouth to his.

He pulled away and then grabbed her hands to bring her to her feet. “Come on, then.”

She stumbled as he set off down the beach. He slowed his pace, then glanced over at her. “Are you drunk?”

On need. But the tequila in her system had evaporated at his first hot kiss. She shook her head.

“Good,” he said, then kept on going. They didn’t speak until they were in earshot of the resort’s terrace. There was the sound of talk and laughter, and the band was playing a mariachi tune, the singers’ voices blending perfectly as they told a story in words beyond her rudimentary Spanish. It only served to lend more other-worldliness to the ambience.

Their bubble.

“Where are your shoes?” Walsh asked.

Honey wiggled her toes in the sand, remembering she’d stashed them before the limbo competition.

“Somewhere there,” she said, gesturing toward the terrace.

“Okay,” he said.

Then he swung her around to face him. His palms slid against her ribs and moved down to cup her bottom. She looked up, and it was all the invitation he needed. His mouth descended and she moved in, molding herself against him as he kissed her thoroughly, ravishing her mouth until she was once again clutching the sides of his shirt.

“There,” he said as he pulled away. “Let’s find your shoes.”

She stood on the sand, swaying. Now she wasn’t so sure about being drunk. It wasn’t clear she could find her feet, let alone what she was supposed to put on them.

Taking her by the shoulders he spun her around. “Let’s go, Honey.”

Her legs obediently moved at his encouragement. That was good, because she didn’t think she had any power over them. Lucky for her it didn’t take long to locate her sandals beneath an empty chair. Triumphant, she held them up to Walsh.

He nodded. “Put them on.”

When she hesitated, he took them from her hand. “It’s still quite a walk to our villa,” he said. “Sit.”

The chair was right there, so she did. Then Walsh bent, and he lifted her foot. His thumb lingered along the arch. At her muffled sound, he looked up.

“You know I’m ticklish there,” she said.

“Ticklish or sensitive?” He drew the edge of his thumbnail along the curve.

She tried frowning at him to cover up the fact that she felt the touch at her nape, down her spine, up the insides of her thighs.

“Just put them on,” she whispered.

But, smirking, he took his time sliding her toes into the shoe and then buckling the strap at the very sensitive spot—the sensitive spot she’d never known about before—above her ankle bone. By the time the second shoe was secured, she was ready to run straight to their rooms.

She hopped up. “Let’s go.”

He caught her by the simple act of snagging one long finger in the back of her dress. “We need to say our goodbyes.”

“What?” More delay?

“Just a few more minutes.”

It was hours, years, a millennium. He made the rounds of the consortium members still on the terrace, and she paced beside him, wearing what she felt certain was a strained smile. By the time they headed toward their villa, her frustration prompted her to exact a little revenge.

She waited until he unlocked the door to their domicile. As it closed behind them, she said, “I don’t think I’m in the mood any longer.”

In the dimly lit living area, he turned to look at her, one brow rising.

Her feet moved back of their own accord. “I didn’t sign up for torture!”

Walsh began unbuttoning his shirt.

She retreated again, her backside coming up against one of the room’s easy chairs. As a safe haven, it wasn’t much, particularly as she knew she’d gone as far as she could. Her feet rooted to the floor as he stripped away the silky fabric, and her breath caught.

There was muscle―slabs and ripples of it―beneath those dress shirts and suits he usually wore. She’d dreamed about his naked torso, of course, seen it during their hike, and glimpsed it when he stripped down to shorts to play basketball with some of the other Rock Royalty at the Laurel Canyon compound. But now she gave herself permission to really study his heavy biceps, rugged shoulders, and chiseled chest.

His body was kind of…rough beneath the civilized veneer of fine tailoring.

Less of a boss and more of a
boss
.

He proved that now by staring her down. Issuing a command. “Take off the dress.”

There was nothing underneath it.

All her life she’d been shy. Removing her final defense should have gone against her grain. But—

“Honey,” he prompted, pinning her with a stare.

When she shuddered, he had to know how his autocratic attitude affected her.

I’m still the boss. I’m still in charge of you.

“Shoes off,” he added. “Then the dress.”

Stalling, she glanced toward the sliding doors. The drapes were open. The beach in front was deserted, yet…

“Don’t worry about that,” he said. “Worry about me.” But he moved to yank on the cords as she balanced on one foot to slip off a sandal. When it dropped with a thud, she jumped. Her edge was that keen.

When the other hit the ground, Walsh looked over. His arms crossed his bare chest, and he gazed on her, patient, but with obvious expectation.

Oh, God. Could she do this? Forget returning to a professional relationship in L.A. Now she was concerned about knowing how to please the big, bossy, very experienced man in front of her. He’d been having sex, she supposed from the rumors she’d heard about his adolescence at the Laurel Canyon compound, since he was twelve or thirteen.

At that age she’d been hiding in her closet with her siblings, reading books to them under a blanket by flashlight, as a distraction from another of their parents’ ugly fights.

If only you hadn’t gotten pregnant!

If only you’d been smart enough to check the expiration date on the condom!

Maybe she made an anxious noise, because Walsh’s gaze suddenly narrowed. People that knew them both said she could read his mind. Now he read hers.

At least enough to know how to allay her sudden nerves.

“You don’t have to worry about anything,” he said. “That’s how it will work between us—if you want that.”

Well, yeah, she didn’t want to worry. She nodded.

“Then you only need to take off the dress.”

Apparently, it was a symbol. A message. Permission for the kind of “intimate event” he intended they would share.

She made a face. It was everything she wanted, sexually, the exact desire she kept tucked away in that secret file cabinet of hers, but she’d never imagined the opening negotiations. “You can’t just sweep me away?”

“I’ll do that too—once you
take off the dress
.”

And like her legs before, her arms responded to the tone of authority. They went behind her back, and one hand found the dress’s back string, steadying it while the other pulled on a free end of the bow. A single jerk, and she let both arms fall.

The dress hit the ground.

The hoarse appreciative noise he made bolstered her confidence. It seemed he could be as affected as she. Still, she had to fight not to cover herself with her hands. Pressing her fingers against the outside of her thighs, she kept her place as he slowly prowled toward her.

There were inches of space between them when he snaked his hand around her, his hot palm against the small of her back, between the dimples. It yanked her forward, and her body fell against his, her nipples meeting his chest, her naked mons pressed to the linen of his slacks. He was hard already, and she pushed her hips forward, into the bulge.

He watched her through half-closed eyes as she couldn’t help rolling against him, undulating. Sensation curled from her belly out to her fingers and toes, her center pulsed and ached, and she became even more needy as he didn’t move.

Blushing, she realized she was rubbing against him like a cat, but she couldn’t seem to stop. Her hands went up behind his neck, trying to draw him down for a kiss. He resisted.

Oh, God. That only made her wetter.

She put her face to his chest, her nose against his skin to breathe him in. He smelled of air and ocean, and she put out her tongue, licking delicately. The salt of him made her mouth water, and she wanted more, so much more, but she wasn’t sure how to go about getting it.

How she could possibly make him as aroused as she.

He remained unmoving, just that wide hand plastered to her skin, heavy and hot. She glanced up, anxiety trickling in. “Don’t you…?”

His hand slid lower to cup one butt cheek. “Letting you get more worked up, girl. Keep on going.”

Girl.
She almost swooned at the word said in that low, roughened voice. This was Walsh stripped of his sophisticated mask. Who could have guessed what lay beneath.

And how would she ever look at him across a desk again?

His fingers tightened on her soft flesh, then he lifted his hand and slapped her skin. Her head jerked up at the mild sting, and she felt a bloom of new heat as an intoxicating chemical seemed to pour into her blood. Her heart leaped to her throat as she saw the implacable look in his eyes.

His head bent lower. “What did I say?”

“K-keep on going.” The hitch in her voice wasn’t fear, but something that had a similar edge. This was lust, she decided. Real lust, elemental and potent.

“Yeah.” His palm rubbed her bottom, as if he was working the warmth from the light spank into her skin. “Do that. Taste me some more.”

Her nipples had tightened to almost painful points. She pressed them to his chest, rubbing them back and forth.

She moaned, and this time when she moved her hips, she ground herself against his erection. One hand tightened on her butt and the other moved into her hair, bringing her mouth to his nipple. She opened her lips around it and flicked it with her tongue, her eyes closing as she swirled and sucked with abandon. His hand guided her to his other nipple and she played there too, brushing the edge of her thumb over the one she’d left behind.

Ten seconds in, she was yanked away from him, his hands on her upper arms turning her body from his.

Blinking, she glanced at him over her shoulder. “What?”

“
I’m
worked up,” he said.

“Oh.” She pressed her lips together, trying to stave off a satisfied smile.

“Yeah,
oh
,” he said, guiding her toward the bedroom. “Now you’re going to get it.”

Her heart shuddered to a stop, then began racing, her whole body humming with eagerness and raging desire. Her skin felt so hot she thought it might be smoking.

It was his room they were heading for, barely illuminated by the light angling in from the attached bath. When she paused in the doorway, it wasn’t fear or nerves that made her stop, but knowledge.
This is it.