Inside Bet: Vegas Top Guns, Book 2 (10 page)

Heather never would have considered such an act. Ever. Not with anyone else.

That heady rush of sensation as she’d climbed toward orgasm would not leave her. The thrum and beat of their rhythm still fired her blood. Neither had found satisfaction. It wouldn’t take much to get them right back to that moment, on the brink of completion.

Part of her was, frankly, a little freaked by his solicitude. She wanted Jon back. Freaky, pervy Jon with his delicious sinfulness. He could seduce her mind and her body a thousand times in a row and she’d never complain—as long as she got to fuck with his head in return.

The concern that was almost caring…? That strayed near real emotion.

Time to remind them both of what their weekend was about.

“I’d need an unspoken safe word, don’t you think?”

Confusion twisted his brow. “What?”

“Like, a safety signal instead?”

“Heather, what are you talking about?”

“You said we’d have to do it properly, so let’s be safe.”

His confusion cleared away with a quick inhalation. Eyes the color of brandy turned dark on a rush of desire. His mouth opened. His tongue darted out, as if tasting the possibility in the air.

“You want my hands on your throat?” he asked, his voice low and horse. “While we fuck?”

Heather nodded.

“And you’re serious?”

“Completely.”

“Have you ever done it before?”

She shook her head, the pillowcase damp from her hair. “Have you?”

“Not…” He exhaled. “Spontaneously, yes. In the heat of the moment.”

“Like last night.” With a little pout she added, “Had you gone through with it.”

“Believe me, most women don’t go for strangulation on their first night.”

“I don’t doubt it.”

Jon pushed his jaw sideways, his expression beset with reservations. But his erection had gone into overdrive. It pressed hard and hot at her hip. “And you’d trust me with this? Why?”

“In there, just now, you could’ve kept going. A selfish bastard might have. But that’s not your style, is it? You want a girl to know every single thing you’re doing, everything you want to do.” She slid her hand down to his hip then around to his ass. The forceful curl of her fingers was rewarded by his nudging thrust. “Now it’s like that snake-venom wine. When else would I ever have this chance?”

He’d turned solemn, despite the heavy pulse in his dick.

Maybe he reached a decision. Maybe the temptation was too great. The desire in his eyes turned vivid. “You’re right. A spoken word won’t work. Hold up three fingers over your face like this. Got it? And if you look ready to slip away again, I’m stopping.”

She nodded as a fierce tingle of anticipation started in her toes and wiggled all the way up to her scalp.

Because Jon’s wicked smile had come out to play.

Chapter Twelve

Jon started slowly, as if his prick weren’t already throbbing. As if his mind hadn’t been utterly and completely blown. He gathered Heather into his lap and hooked her legs around his ass. Silently promising to make it good, he slipped his hands into her hair and stole a long, hot kiss. He cupped her full breasts to feather kisses across them, licking down the center of her cleavage.

He’d seen how she shied away from softness. Instead, Heather wanted breath play. Far be it from him to deny her.

If she noticed the tremble in his hands when he put on a new condom, she graciously ignored it. She kept stroking his body. Graceful fingertips traced his pecs and the lines of his tense abs. Shit, he’d be a lot more nervous if the person planning to wrap hands around his throat kept shaking. The fire in her pale eyes spoke only of anticipation. A sharpened sword of want. Need. Temptation.

He fucking loved that he’d done that for her. By agreeing.

It wasn’t as if he wouldn’t get off on the idea.

His body was screaming for hers.

Once he was sheathed, he angled her back so his cock slipped through her lower lips. She was soaked. Dripping for him. He speared his fingers through her folds, circling her tight opening. She gasped quietly.

Wouldn’t be long until she was gasping a lot louder. Choking for breath.

The trust she’d blithely handed him was obscene.

He tucked his swollen head into her as she leaned back on her hands. Took him in deep.

Jon dropped his forehead to her breastbone. He wasn’t hiding. Nope. He just needed a second to adjust to the tight grip of her cunt and the grasping need she seemed to be indulging in, reveling in.

He didn’t have that luxury. Not this time. He had to be sharp. Careful. Because she didn’t want to be.

“Last chance,” he said, a hoarse growl in his voice.

“You’re not getting out that easily.”

Curling one hand across the back of her neck, he kissed her again. Lingering, pushing as deeply as she could take him. He stroked his tongue across hers in the same rhythm of his cock in her pussy—her hot, wet pussy clinging to every inch.

He shunted that thought away. Had to. She felt so good.
Too
good. He might lose control or, hell, even come too fast. Focusing on her safety—her enjoyment—was paramount. For the time being, she was the center of his goddamn universe.

He meant to work her up to the edge of coming before wrapping his hands around her long, lovely throat. Heather had other ideas.

Even as her curvy hips thrust, she gripped his wrists and forced him to caress her breasts. Higher. His fingers trailed across her collarbones. Her sly gaze never left his. The challenge in their pale depths marked a bar he’d have to vault—or he wouldn’t make it. She released his hands and grabbed her fill of his back and shoulders.

Jon took over from there.

With his thumbs, he caressed the softness under her chin. He hooked his index fingers behind her ears. She was as smooth as hand-spun silk. Tender. Luscious. Vulnerable.

She was wide open for him.

He lowered his thumbs to the lovely curve where her chin blended into her throat. He pressed. Gently at first, then deeper when her eyes brightened.

Parted lips made no sound while her pelvis jerked in his lap.

Fuck, he had to get his brain out of his dick. Nothing could block her tight grip. Or the wetness dripping between them. Or the shivering rolls of her sleek hips.

He let up for a second, so she could gasp for breath. Then, with fire curving her mouth into a dangerous smile, she leaned her chin forward into his hands. Daring him to go further.

Jon wrapped one hand through the tumbling mass of her hair. That it was still damp at the ends was shocking to believe. They’d gone so far so fast.

He curled his other hand over the front of her neck.

Heather leaned into his grip. He squeezed harder. Tighter. And still they rocked together in a slapping crush. Her face pink, she was striving for her orgasm. Tense heels wedged against his ass, as Jon fought the towering wave threatening to crush him.

More. Faster.
Now.

For all the perversion, this was more than a fuck. Trust spun out between them. Tangible. He could taste it in the sultry air.

Heather yanked back, gasping. Her throat worked over a gulp. He locked down his limbs, readying himself to hear “panda”. It would be hard as hell to retreat from the violent precipice she’d encouraged, but he’d manage. He’d have to. Her trust was everything.

Instead, she clamped her hands even tighter over his, helping him choke the air from her own throat. A sheen of sweat filmed her temples. And still she smiled at him. Wickedly.

A stream of curses poured out of him
.
French and English. Rough and filthy. “God, you’re gorgeous. Your face red. Your body covered in sweat. Fuck me, Heather love. Take what you need.”

That seemed to be enough. Their fingers laced together and wrenched. So fucking tight now. Her hips twitched once, twice. She made no sound as she came, but her lips blew wide on a silent scream. More than enough. She’d lost control. Wide open to him.

His conquest.

Jon’s body exploded. His orgasm crashed down his spine, out through his prick in harsh pulses. His entire brain went black in swift streaks of
gone
.

He cranked his fingers off one by one. Her throat was red. Angry. But she melted over him, arms wrapped around his shoulders. She nuzzled his neck as his lips brushed her shoulder. Her soft laugh was both husky and hysterical at the edges.

Jon’s skin was too sensitized. The hard buds of her nipples against his chest sent shivers up and down his limbs. He lowered her slowly, until her hair spread over the pile of gleaming white pillows. His mouth had run dry.

Carefully, languidly, he combed his fingers through her hair until it smoothed around her shoulders. “You okay?”

She blinked then licked her lips. Nodded. She curled a hand over the back of his head and rubbed. Her throat worked over a tight swallow. “I probably shouldn’t tell you this…”

“I’m sure I can handle it,” he said, knowing what would come next.

She regretted it. There was wild, and then there was goddamn insane. They’d treaded into territory even Jon hadn’t mapped.

“It’ll only make your ego bigger.” Her mouth curled into a surprisingly sweet smile. “But that was the best orgasm of my life.”

He forced a chuckle. Damn, she was full of surprises. “I’m not even sure I can take credit for that.”

“Trust me on this. I trusted you.”

He pushed back damp tendrils that clung to her cheeks. “You did. That was…amazing. You’re a precious woman, Heather Morris. What you gave me was a gift.”

Pale blue eyes darkened. Something pulled her mouth down at the corners. “Don’t bullshit me, flyboy.”

“No bullshit. I don’t lie, remember?”

She pushed up and shot him some serious side-eye. “That’s what you said.”

“So, more trust then.” He traced the line of her tattoo. Bending down, he pressed kisses over the pattern, stopping at every flower. He touched the tip of his tongue to the words. “
Le passé n’a aucun prise a toi, quand meme amoureuse.
”

“Hm?”

“The past has no hold on you, lover.”

She cast a smile over her shoulder. An enigma.

Jon wiped a hand down his face, which was damp with sweat. He dropped against the pillows. “God, I need to rest,” he said on a soft laugh.

“About that.” She swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood.

He couldn’t believe she had strength enough to do anything. Hell, he had only done the choking, and he was spent. Half of that was the wiggling sludge of his brain. He loved numbers, but planning and strategy were beyond him. Even with women.

He needed time to find his feet.

Heather picked up the robe he’d tossed over the chaise then wrapped it around herself. She tied the belt like an infantry grunt strapping on body armor. Short, sharp moves.

“I was thinking.”

“Haven’t I warned you about that?” His words were light, but something tremulous ate its way down his spine.

She grinned, but she’d closed off again. There was no hint of the openness he’d seen only minutes ago. “I think we should call it done.”

He dragged his torso off the bed. “Done?”

They’d barreled past fun and games when she almost passed out in the tub. The worry he’d felt had been shocking, something he’d only experienced for his closest friends. Not for a weekend fling.

She was wearing a damn good poker face though—a soft smile, eyes widely innocent. As if he hadn’t just clamped her throat while they fucked senseless.

Heather returned to the bed and placed a nearly chaste kiss on his lips. “This has been wonderful, Jon. I want to make sure… I think we should end on a high note.”

His mouth opened on a protest—and snapped shut just as quickly. The thought of begging a woman to stay set his back teeth to grinding. Hard. Jon hadn’t needed to beg for attention in years, and he sure as hell didn’t intend to start with a one-night stand.

“By all means.” The smile he slipped across his face was one of his sharpest. Most dangerous. “This was the high note to top all high notes.”

Never mind how he’d meant to lay her down and lick her from head to toe until she came in a slow wave—something softer to remember after their violence.

He lounged in the bed while Heather cleaned up and re-dressed in the same lace camisole and tailored skirt.

The strange—very strange—part was that he’d done this before. Chilled out while a woman prepared to leave by herself.

It hadn’t bothered him before, and it didn’t bother him now.

He’d make sure of it.

Chapter Thirteen

A midweek birthday could never compete with one that fell on a weekend.

Heather and two colleagues, Kyle Yu and Grant Pickerel, went out to lunch with Mr. Quinn, President of Hanover Financial Logistics, which was the best she could expect from the day she turned thirty-two. Jenn and her husband’s responsibilities meant partying on a Wednesday night, no matter how modestly, was out of the question.

The intimate French bistro was classy and very busy, and it had the advantage of being almost entirely devoid of tourists. Mr. Quinn was buying, which was always a plus—and an especially rare treat from a notorious tightwad—but she didn’t feel comfortable drinking in front of him. Work meant her professional self.

Which had been difficult to maintain since her weekend with Jon.

Likely no one would notice, but Heather did. The little things. She’d missed an email from a client, requiring a follow-up reminder. She’d been all but ready to sign off on an attest engagement when she realized she’d forgotten to outline the casino’s recording procedures. She’d been late to work two days in a row. Twenty minutes. No huge tragedy.

Only she knew her lateness had been caused by fitful nights filled with devastating dreams. Some were touch-for-touch recreations of encounters she’d shared with Jon. Others were pure fantasy, her unconscious mind tormenting her with the pleasures they had yet to sample. They could get lost again, together, in the dark or in the full light of day. It would be bliss.

She’d awoken aching and unsatisfied…and late.