Engaging the Boss (Heirs of Damon) (14 page)

Sarah
fumbled with the button on his pants until she undid it. Then she fumbled some
more until she was able to free his erection. She held him in one hand, trapped
between their bodies, and it felt so good Jonathan heard himself groaning into
her mouth.

He
wanted to please her, wanted to go down on her, wanted to take his time and
make sure he gave her as much as he possibly could. But his need was too great.
He’d never last that long, and she seemed just as hungry and desperate, since
she kept grinding herself against him.

She
tore her mouth away from his and rasped, “Jonathan, please. I need you
now
.”

With
another moan, he slipped a hand down to feel her intimately, something wanting
to howl inside him when he felt how hot and wet she was. He adjusted his
position so he could line himself up at her entrance, and then he nudged before
he started to slide in.

He
breathed deeply, trying to slow himself down, but Sarah wouldn’t let him. She
lifted her pelvis with a whimper, trying to complete the thrust. He pulled back
and entered her again, fitting himself into her body until he was fully inside.

She
felt so good—so hot and tight and wet and sweet—that his vision blurred and he
felt a stirring in his balls. She clawed at his shoulders and wriggled against
the penetration in a way that threatened his control even more.

“Jon-athan,”
she breathed. “So good, so good.”

 He
wanted to respond but all he could choke out was, “Sarah.” His arms shook as he
fought for control. He needed to please her. Couldn’t let go too soon.

“No.”
She’d somehow known what he was thinking. “No, I want you like this. Take what
you need. It’s what I need too.”

He
muffled a groan and kissed her again, and then he couldn’t control anything.
His hips were moving of their own accord, pumping into her with short, fast
thrusts. She tried a couple of times to wrap her legs around his waist, but
when she did she tightened them on each thrust in a way that just intensified
the pleasure. Soon, he had to break the kiss. And then he had to readjust,
straightening his arms so he could thrust from a better angle.

Her
whimpers and moans turned to loud sobbing sounds of pleasure, and he could feel
her body tightening beneath him.

His
was tightening too. He was sweating beneath his tux, and her beautiful dress
was pushed up in a messy bunch around her waist. They were supposed to be at
the reception right now. Someone would notice their absence.

But
he didn’t care. He didn’t care about anything but Sarah and how desperately he
needed her, how desperately she needed him.

Their
bodies slapped together with each thrust, making a carnal, inelegant sound, and
a thread of concern made its way into his mind that he was being too hard, too
rough. He tried to rein himself in, slowed down, eased the force of his
thrusting. But Sarah made another sob—this one of frustration—and dug her
fingernails into his ass. “More. I need more.”

She
wanted this. She wanted him. So he started to grunt with the rhythm of his
thrusting.

He’d
never made so much noise during sex before. He wasn’t sure what had possessed
him, but it couldn’t be stopped.

He
could feel her channel tightening around him as she approached orgasm, could
feel all the muscles in her body tense in expectation.

Then
she arched up with a loud cry as her body shuddered with her release. There was
no way he could hold back his own climax after that. He made a low, uninhibited
sound as he came hard, all the tension cresting like a wave.

It
was so strong, so deep, he was leveled afterwards. He fell down on top of her,
gasping and exhausted. His hips kept giving little jerks as lingering tremors
of pleasure ran through him. She would sometimes shake too.

When
he could finally lift his head and ease some of his weight off her, he was hit
with a knowledge that was like a punch in the gut.

She
was crying silently, tears streaming down the sides of her face and into her
hair. As he watched, her shoulders shook with it.

He’d
known he was out of control, but he’d thought they were together in it. He’d
thought she’d wanted it as much as he had.

But
maybe he’d been wrong.

Sarah didn’t know what was
wrong with her, but she was tired of all this crying. She’d never been a big
crier, and there was no reason for her to start now.

As
she’d climaxed, though, as her body and heart had found such release, her eyes
had followed suit. And now she was lying beneath a hot, relaxed, gasping,
delicious Jonathan, blubbering like an idiot.

“What’s
wrong?” he asked, his flushed, sated face tightening into confusion and
concern. “Did I hurt you?”

She
shook her head, momentarily unable to speak over the lump in her throat.

“Sarah,
tell me what’s wrong. I would have stopped.” His expression twisted, as if he
momentarily doubted his words. Then, “I’m sure I could have stopped. I thought
you wanted this too.”

“I
did,” she managed to choke. “I do. I know you would have stopped. I didn’t want
you to.”

“Then
why are you crying.”

“I’ve
just been crying for no reason all day,” Sarah admitted. “Once I got started, I
couldn’t stop.”

Her
words were true but, as she tried to wipe her wet face with her fingers, she
started to get an inkling of why she was so emotional to begin with.

She’d
never been in love before. Not for real. Not like this. And swinging between
poles of giddy excitement and impending heartache was evidently quite a strain
on one’s emotional equilibrium.

Jonathan
gazed down at her, that questioning concern still on his face. His bow tie was
askew and his hair was rumpled with perspiration and all the tugging she’d
done, so it was sticking out in all directions. He was hot and heavy on top of
her, and she was uncomfortably wet between her legs from his release and hers.

But
she would be more than happy to live this moment over and over again for the
rest of her life.

He
adjusted his arms so he could swipe at one of her tears with his thumb. It
looked like he was going to say something—maybe something she really wanted to
hear—so she waited, her breath caught in her throat.

After
a minute, he glanced away—down at her lips. Then he leaned down to kiss them
very gently.

She
let out her breath as she kissed him back. The kiss was very nice. She reached
up to hold the back of his neck and caress his just slightly bristly jaw with
her palm.

But
she would have rather he say something.

He’d
never been a forthcoming man, though. And she knew—she
knew
—he wouldn’t
be kissing her now, not so tenderly, not like this, if he didn’t have some kind
of feelings for her.

He
was a man who showed his feelings. Maybe it would just take him more time to
get the words said.

He
eventually deepened the kiss, and Sarah couldn’t help but respond. She’d just
had a powerful orgasm, but she felt an ache of arousal tighten between her legs
again as Jonathan stroked the inside of her mouth with his tongue.

She
was breathing in fast little pants when he broke the kiss to trail his mouth
down her throat, his bristles scratching the sensitive skin there.

“Jon-athan,”
she gasped, arching up slightly against his weight. “We need to go back to the
reception.”

“Mm-hmm.”
It sounded like agreement, but he was sucking her pulse and one of his hands
had slipped down to stroke her hip.

“I
don’t want to go all turned on like this.” She had a fistful of his hair, and
she told herself she was trying to pull his head up from her neck. Instead, she
was involuntarily holding his head in place.

“You
won’t be turned on when we go,” he murmured thickly. He’d moved down to her
breasts, taking one in his mouth and fondling the other with his hand.

Sarah
arched up even higher at the sensations. “Jon- Jonathan,” she tried again. “I am
turned on. Right now.”

“I
can take care of that.”

“What
are you doing?” she asked, shifting with deepening arousal as he caressed her.
“We already had—oh God!—sex.”

“I
feel like I came too soon,” he explained, mouthing her belly through the thin
silk of her dress. “Should make up for it.”

“What
do you mean? I came. It was great.”

“I
know.” Despite what sounded like agreement, he didn’t stop his slow trip down
her body. Eventually, he sat up higher to stroke up her thighs with both hands
until he’d reached her now pulsing arousal.

“Jon-athan!”
she cried, when he penetrated her with two fingers, despite the wet evidence of
their earlier intercourse. “What—What are—” She couldn’t finish the question
because he’d leaned down flick his tongue against her clit.

She
closed her eyes against the intense sensations, arching up again and again as
his skillful fingers and mouth worked her up toward climax.

“Oh
God, oh God, oh God,” she mumbled as an orgasm tightened inside her. She
fumbled for purchase on the ground but only came away with handfuls of grass.

She
cried out as she came hard, and then kept crying out as he didn’t stop. His
fingers pushed into her g-spot, and he alternated sucking and flicking her
clit.

She
came again hard. At some point, she’d hooked her legs around his shoulders, and
he was having to fight to keep from being strangled between her thighs as he
worked her over, bringing her to one more orgasm.

She
collapsed on the grass limply when he finally raised his head, wiping his mouth
with the back of his hand in a strangely primitive gesture.

“Oh,
God, Jonathan,” she gasped. “How did you do that?”

He
chuckled, although his dark eyes were soft and hot as he gazed down at her.
“I’ve always been good at anatomy.”

She
couldn’t help but laugh, her chest hurting with the swell of affection. “We do
need to get back. I don’t want to offend your uncle or hurt Harrison and
Marietta’s feelings.”

“Yeah,”
he agreed, heaving himself to his feet and quickly tucking in his shirt and
fastening his trousers.

His
tux was rather wrinkled, and his skin was covered with a sheen of
perspiration.  His hair needed to be smoothed down. He looked absolutely
scrumptious.

He
extended a hand to help her to her feet, and she cringed as she adjusted her
clothing. “I’m a mess.”

“No,
you’re not,” he said, helping her pull down her skirt in the back.

“I
can’t go to the reception like this.” Her dress wasn’t wrinkled as badly as
she’d feared. It must be some sort of miracle fabric. But she felt, and no
doubt looked and smelled, like she’d been fucked hard in the grass. “Do I have
grass stains on my butt?”

“No.
Just on your back here.” He wiped at her dress just between her
shoulder-blades, as if that could remove grass stains.

“I
can cover that with my sweater.” She put on the little cardigan she’d dropped
earlier. “But I’ll need to do some work on everything else. My hair must be a
wreck.”

“It’s
not.” He was looking at her now, her messy hair, her hot face, her mussed
dress, like she was beautiful, like he loved the sight of it.

Sarah
almost melted.

To
distract herself from the feelings, she looked around on the grass. “I need my
ring. I dropped it earlier. It must be around here somewhere.”

He
helped her look and found it a minute later. He lifted her left hand and slid
it on her ring finger.

He’d
been focused on her hand as he put on the ring, but now he lifted his eyes to
her face.

Her
breath hitched at the look in his eyes, and her hand in his started to tremble.

It
felt real. Like he meant it. And it looked again like he would say something.

He
did. “We better get going.”

***

They returned to the
estate and Sarah ran upstairs to her room to rescue her appearance. She cleaned
herself up and redid her hair and makeup. She was tempted to change her dress,
but she knew people would notice that. Plus, she didn’t really have anything
else to wear appropriate for this particular wedding reception.

So
she smoothed out the wrinkles as best she could, made sure the grass stain was
covered by her cardigan, and decided she didn’t look too debauched.

She
went down to the ballroom to find Jonathan.

It
hadn’t even been an hour—despite how much seemed to have happened since they’d
gotten back from the ceremony—and guests were still mingling over cocktails
before the dinner started.

She
couldn’t find Jonathan. She eventually asked Gordon, who said he’d just seen
him go into an anteroom off the ballroom.

Sarah
went to the room Gordon indicated and found Jonathan and Ben in conversation.

Conversation
might have been stretching it, since they were just staring at each other
stoically when she walked in.

“You
guys aren’t fighting, are you?” She walked over to stand next to Jonathan,
looking between the two men in concern.

“He
thinks I’m an asshole,” Ben said, half-smiling at her through his beard.

“Well,
you are.” She returned Ben’s half-smile so he would know there wasn’t any teeth
in her remark, but then cut her eyes back to Jonathan. “But I do think it can
go unsaid.”

Jonathan
narrowed his eyes but didn’t say anything. He still was really angry at Ben,
she could see, despite the great sex he’d just had.

“Did
you all work things out?” Ben asked, evidently noticing their exchanged look.
“I hate to see a fake engagement fall apart.”

“And
that’s another thing,” Jonathan said. “If Sarah didn’t tell you, how the hell
did you know we aren’t really engaged?”

“Excuse
me.” The words were clipped and cold, and the new voice sliced through their
conversation like a razor. “You aren’t engaged?”

Sarah
gasped, and they all turned to see Cyrus Damon, standing in the doorway of the
anteroom.

 Jonathan
froze, and Sarah’s heart started to race. Ben’s features twisted briefly, maybe
with annoyance, maybe with concern.

“I
was just playing around,” Ben said, in an admirably convincing attempt to keep
their whole ruse from collapsing. “Teasing Sarah.”

It
didn’t work, of course. This was Cyrus Damon, and he’d never in his life been
manipulated. “I heard the entire conversation.” His eyes bored into Jonathan’s.
“Your engagement is fake?”

Jonathan
opened his mouth to respond, but his uncle wouldn’t let him. He pressed on, so
frigidly it made Sarah shiver. “I think I understand. You were so concerned
with the funding of your little lab that you were willing to deceive your
family and take advantage of this young woman? Very nicely done.”

“Sir,”
Sarah put in, her whole body shaking now in anxiety and her instinctive dislike
of conflict. “He didn’t take advantage of me. And we really didn’t—”

“I
appreciate your loyalty to him,” Cyrus said. “But he is your employer and thus
he has power over you. This is his responsibility, and one he has evidently
failed at utterly.”

Sarah
made a choked sound at how much these words would hurt Jonathan.

Jonathan
didn’t react though. He just stood perfectly still, staring at his uncle.

“And,
evidently, he is also willing to betray his family.”

“No,”
Sarah objected, too upset to know the most strategic response in this
situation. “It wasn’t like that. We really didn’t mean—”

“I
don’t blame you, my dear,” Cyrus said, as perfectly civil and courteous as he
ever was. His chocolate brown eyes—just like Harrison’s—iced up when he flicked
them back to Jonathan. “My nephew is the one to blame.”

Sarah
was almost in tears—at the transformation of a kind, old-fashioned man into a
stone-cold tyrant and at the retreat she saw in Jonathan’s face, liked he’d
buried himself deeply inside himself.

He’d
only just started to come out.

But
she hadn’t forgotten about Ben, whose face had grown angrier as his uncle
continued the verbal assault.

He
met her eyes and, for a moment, she saw a sympathy so deep it made her ache.

But
then he looked back at his uncle, and his expression tightened into angry
impatience. He opened his mouth to say something.

Cyrus
cut him off. “We will not have this conversation now. We will not ruin this
occasion with such immaturity and selfishness. We can speak tomorrow.”

Jonathan
still didn’t say anything.

 Ben
made a slight gesture with his hands—almost one of surrender—and he turned on
his heel to walk out of the anteroom.

Sarah
was quite sure that Ben would also walk out of the ballroom, out of the house,
out of his family’s estate.

And
he wouldn’t come back.

***

Jonathan stared down at
his half-filled suitcase, dazed and unable to move.