Shameless (15 page)

She pressed her hand to his solid chest. “John, I—”

“Quiet,” he murmured, dipping his head.

His mouth was cool from the wine. Gently, but insistently, he urged her lips open. Hesitantly, she kissed him back. She heard him put the glass on the table beside them, then he pulled her into his arms, all without breaking the kiss.

“Mm, you taste like wine,” he said against her lips. Just like the previous times they’d kissed, she was swept into the heady pleasure of his mouth upon hers. She felt dizzy, her ears faintly hummed. She was drunk. The wine was going to her head. No. It was the kiss. It was John. It was—

His fingers grazed from her waist upward to the valley between her breasts. She heard the click, click, click of the zipper as he slowly pulled the catch down and down and down. His hands slipped inside the gaping outfit to bare skin. She sucked in her breath as he touched the side swells of her breasts. She felt powerless to move, as if this was her first time and she didn’t quite know what to expect or do.

He kissed her jaw, her neck, the hollow of her throat. Her pulse beat against his lips. An echoing throb pulsed deep in her loins. He peeled the catsuit off her shoulders until it hung to her waist. Her breath caught in her throat and her hands clenched into fists, worried he moved too fast. Then her logical side reminded her: this is why they were here. There was a purpose to this, she told herself.

He stared unabashedly at her body, his blue eyes darkening. With a feather-light touch, his fingertips grazed her nipples where they strained against the lacy confines of her bra. Sam held her breath.

John hardened to the point of discomfort. Slowly, he released the catch of her bra, and her full, delicious breasts tumbled free. He caught them in his hands and lifted them, squeezing—

Oh, God. They were real.

He felt like a teenager again. He’d dated mainly exercise professionals for years, quite a few of them fitness competitors. He’d read somewhere the majority of women in that field had breast implants. From his experience, he’d agree with that statistic. In fact, he’d pretty much forgotten how the real ones felt.

Suddenly ravenous, he bent Sam backward over his forearm and her lovely, perfect, real breasts rotated upward, the berry-colored nipples pointing to the ceiling, giving him heavenly access. He cupped one breast in his hand and his mouth closed hungrily over the nipple, tasting, nipping, and suckling her until he was crazy with desire. Her fingers tangled in his hair, drawing his head closer. He moved next door to sample her other breast, this one just as beautiful and perfect as its sister.
God
.

He straightened her up so he could kiss her on the mouth. She fumbled with his shirt buttons. He stopped kissing her long enough to help her. He tossed his shirt to the floor, then caught her against him.

“Do you have a preference?” he asked against her lips.

“Excuse me?” she said, pulling away.

He burst out laughing. “The beds. Which one do you want to use?”

She blushed. “Oh. I thought you meant—” She shook her head. “Never mind what I thought you meant.”

They used the light moment to slow down and rid themselves of clothes. When Sam stood naked in front of him, his gaze wandered slowly over her. “You are a beautiful woman.”

She smiled but didn’t seem embarrassed by his hot appraisal. She knew she was beautiful. God, he wanted her. He pulled off his briefs until he was as naked as she was. Her eyes were passionate and appreciative. She smiled and closed the gap between them. He almost jumped out of his skin when her fingers curled around him.

He wanted her. Now. Without bothering to fold back the covers, he toppled her onto the bed, entangling their legs and arms. He slid his hand down her smooth, taut belly and into the dark curls at the apex of her thighs. His fingers slipped lower and he was rewarded with her gasp of pleasure. As he ravaged her mouth, he played with her sex, alternately teasing her sensitive nub and thrusting his fingers into her wet, hot sheath.

“I want to be inside you, Sam,” he growled. “Now.” Her answer was to shift under him and part her thighs. With a savage growl, he shoved into her. “My God,” he said, stopping all movement.

Her eyes flew open. “What? What’s wrong?”

He chuckled and kissed her. “Nothing’s wrong, you gorgeous woman. I’m all for safe sex, but you can’t begin to know how much better this feels without a condom.” He pushed deeper into her.

Her smile was bewitching. “Feels good, huh?” She wiggled her hips in such a way John feared he might lose it here and now.

“You are dangerous to my self-control. You know that?” He clamped his mouth over hers as he thrust into her, harder and faster, until they were both sweating and panting to match the other’s tempo.

But neither let up. He thrust into her. She ground her pelvis against him. Harder, deeper, faster. Again. And again. And again. Sam’s low moans of pleasure turned into louder moans and gasps, her fingernails digging into the muscles of his shoulders, until finally, with an animal cry of passion against his neck, she climaxed. Her hot tightening around him brought John quickly to his own release, which he took with a grunt of pleasure and satisfaction.

He collapsed on top of her. Her heart thudded against his chest, and he couldn’t tell where her heartbeat left off and his started. Had they just made a baby together? Would it be that easy? Again, John waited for the feelings of doom and gloom to hit him, but all he felt was sated. He could handle this.

“You’re squishing me,” she finally whispered, her voice strained.

“Oops,” he said, rolling off her. “Sorry.”

They stared at the water-stained ceiling. His watch on the nightstand echoed a tick, tick, tick in the silence.

“That was… amazing, Sam.”

“Yes,” she said, her voice a bit breathless. A few more moments of silence ticked by. He was about to slide his arms around her when she said, “I need a pillow.”

“What?”

“I need a pillow. For under my hips. It’s supposed to speed the, uh, process of, uh—”

“Oh. Got it,” he said, giving her the pillow from beneath his head. She shifted to the side and slid the pillow under her hips, then drew the bedspread around her nakedness and pulled her knees to her chest.

“Hand me your watch, will you?” she asked. He picked it up from the table and gave it to her.

He lay back against the mattress, feeling awkward. After several minutes of uncomfortable silence, at least on his part, he asked, “How long are you supposed to stay like that?”

She didn’t look at him. “At least 10 minutes.”

He was tempted to turn on the TV for companionship. Finally, she lowered her legs and turned toward him. For one hopeful moment, he thought she was going to kiss him. But she just pulled the pillow out from under her and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. The bedspread bunched around her bottom, so all he saw was her bare back, her skin still rosy from their lovemaking. Or maybe it was from lying there with that damned pillow for so long.

She stood and the bedspread fell away. His body reacted to her nakedness, even though he knew there was probably no point in getting excited. She seemed done for the night. She scooped her clothes into her arms, then disappeared into the bathroom.

He knew it was ridiculous to feel this sense of… rejection. He’d known exactly what their purpose was here. She hadn’t pretended it might be anything more. And he certainly didn’t want anything more. He blew a loud breath, scooted into a sitting position, and swung his legs off the bed. He just couldn’t help thinking after such incredible, passionate sex…

Sam came out of the bathroom to find John sitting on the edge of the bed, staring at the floor. His head popped up when he heard the door.

“You’re leaving?” he asked, sweeping his eyes over her fully clad body.

She nodded, smoothing the slinky catsuit over her hips. “I have an early morning interview to prepare for.” The silence between them grew deafening. She grabbed her leather coat and purse. “Well, I gotta run.” She started for the door then stopped, turning slightly toward him, biting her lip. This was awkward. What should she do now? Shake his hand, kiss him, what? She would love to stay and cuddle and—
No emotional entanglements
. She had to stay detached. Period. She cleared her throat. “Same time tomorrow?”

He nodded, but didn’t quite look at her.

She cleared her throat again. “Well. See ya.” She opened the door. “Oh. John?” He looked at her now. She forced a smile. “Thank you.”

She stepped into the freezing night air and shut the door behind her. With a shaky sigh, she leaned back against the cold metal door and closed her eyes. “Wow,” she said under her breath. Then she ran for her car.

The next two nights brought more of the same. They met in room 42. John brought wine and a rose, they had incredible sex, she propped her hips on that damned pillow, and she left. Sunday night, John didn’t bother with the wine or the rose. In fact, he decided he wasn’t even going to bother with trying to seduce and excite her. She was fulfilling her end of the “deal.” That was all their passion meant to her. So this time, he’d just do his “job,” then
he’d
leave.

But the moment he stepped into the room and saw her lying in bed waiting for him, her luscious mane of hair spread out on the sheet, John knew he wouldn’t rush things. He couldn’t. As much as he disliked what happened afterwards, he couldn’t bear to change what happened during. He’d never had such a response from a woman — she was with him one hundred percent in their lovemaking, seeming to get as much delight out of giving pleasure as in receiving it.

Stripping to his birthday suit, he joined her in bed. It wasn’t long before their passions got away from them and their limbs entwined and their bodies joined in a frantic dance.

Afterward, as she stood fully dressed and running her fingers through her hair, he said, “You should have been a man.”

She flipped her hair behind her shoulders. “What?”

“You should have been a man,” he said again, folding his arms behind his head on the pillow. “Wham, bam, thank you, ma’am — or, in this case, ‘man.’”

She grabbed her purse from the chair. “I don’t remember hearing you complain.”

“I have no complaints about the sex.”

“Then what’s your point?”

He sat up in bed, the sheet bunched around his hips. “My point is you’re so damned nonchalant about this whole thing. We meet, we have sex, you leave.”

“And just how would you like me to behave?”

“Well, it would be nice if you didn’t jump out of bed the minute your ten minutes are up. And if maybe you kissed me good-bye instead of just saying ‘thank you’ and leaving. It’s like you’re thanking me for services rendered or something.”

She crossed her arms over her chest and leveled her gaze at him. “That’s exactly what I’m doing, John. You’re doing me a big favor and I appreciate it. We’re having sex to get me pregnant, not because we care about each other. The boundaries of our relationship go no farther than this room. You knew exactly what the arrangement was when you agreed to help me. If you can’t handle it—”

“Dammit, Sam!” he shouted, jumping out of bed without a stitch of clothing on. He charged around the bed and planted himself in front of her. “I realize this relationship is based on sex, but you make it seem like we’re strangers.”

“We are.”

“Like hell we are.” He gripped her shoulders. “You can’t make love like that and not
feel
something. No, I’m not talking about that lovey-dovey stuff you’re so worried about, I’m talking simple human emotion. I don’t think it would kill you to admit you enjoy yourself with me.”

Her eyebrows rose. “I never said I didn’t enjoy myself. But let me clarify something here. We’re not making love. We’re having sex. There’s a difference.”

He pushed her away from him. Disgusted. And for some reason, hurt. He watched her finish dressing. She adjusted the silver choker around her neck and smoothed unseen wrinkles from her jeans. Her expression was just as hard and professional as ever. Nothing he’d said phased her.

He turned his back to her and gathered his discarded clothes. He heard the ker-
chlick
of the metal doorknob. The door slammed behind her as she left, bringing in a whoosh of frigid, cold air.

Chapter 8