This is just a part of the plot.
Given the sexual turn their friendship had taken, he’d opted for the lingerie, but it wasn’t really what he wanted to give her. His fingers wrapped around the cool glass of his beer bottle, and he gazed blindly at the crumpled sheets of paper in front of him. He wanted so much more than scraps of lace and mind-blowing sex. Despite the hours they spent together, they didn’t seem to be growing any closer. Oh, things were good—light-hearted and easy hours filled with teasing and titillation—but there was some kind of invisible line separating them. A line Sara didn’t seem eager to cross.
For the time being, he was willing to settle for the mind-blowing sex, but he knew the day it wouldn’t be enough was fast approaching. He picked up the papers and tried to focus his scattered thoughts. “Better be some good stuff in here,” he muttered under his breath.
He took a long pull from his beer, trying to ignore the rumble of water through the pipes. It required all of his strength not to imagine the steam rising in the tiny bathroom and mixing with the floral scent of her body wash. He crumpled the edges of the pages in a vise-like grip while he tried to convince himself it was unmanly to envy a stupid ball of plastic netting. It would have worked if he didn’t know the exact path that shower puff would be taking at that moment.
Another swallow of his beer steeled his resolve. A tiny furrow of concentration bit into his forehead as he focused on the story. He made it through the first page and flipped it over, flattening his palm to the table to still his trembling hand.
By the time the water shut off, he was engrossed. Nothing could pull him from the tale she had woven, not even the blast of her hair dryer. It wasn’t until he was about fifteen pages in that he realized where the story was going. She was writing a threesome. Not just any threesome, but a ménage that included the heroine, her husband, and another man named Stefan.
Rocking back in the chair, Steve gripped the edges of the table until his knuckles turned white. His stomach clenched, and a wave of nausea swept over him.
“Oh, hell no,” he whispered under his breath.
The bathroom door opened, and Sara called, “I think you forgot the panties.”
The wooden legs of the chair scraped against tile. His own were shaky as he stood. Moving slowly, he stepped into the hall. His heart stopped when he spotted her framed in the bathroom doorway, her arms stretched high and her fingers curling into the woodwork.
No. No. This is real. This is good. Just give it a little more time. She’ll come around. For God’s sake don’t blow it now.
His mind whirled as his gaze swept the length of her long legs, tarrying where the rose-embroidered garters cinched the sheer stockings. “I didn’t forget them.”
This is real. That’s a story.
He met her gaze, and Sara smiled. “No? There weren’t any in the package.”
Sara. This is Sara, and I’m Steve—not Stefan. This is real. That’s not.
“No.”
He closed the distance between them in two long strides. Her back hit the bathroom door, and they stumbled when it swung to a stop against the tiled wall. His lips met hers, swallowing her startled laugh in a hard, demanding kiss.
She opened for him, moaning her approval while he filled his palms with her breasts. She parted her legs, and he quickly insinuated his thigh, returning her moan with one of his own.
“You missed me?” she panted.
Trailing hot, wet kisses along her jaw, he paused to nip her ear lobe. “You missed me,” he countered.
She moved sinuously against him. The heat of her arousal seeped through the fabric of his pants. “Yes. Dear god, yes.”
He turned his attention to the pulse throbbing in her throat. “How much?” he murmured against her silken skin. His voice came out rough and raspy. “How much did you miss me, Sara?”
She took his hand, guiding it to the point where their bodies met. Steve pushed back, allowing her to press his palm to her sex. His fingers flexed, stroking the damp curls that masked her folds.
“I thought about you,” she whispered.
He bent, dipping his head so his lips grazed her lace-clad nipple just as his fingers parted the swollen lips of her cunt.
“I thought about you today when I was writing. Wet. It made me so wet.” Sara exhaled, a hot rush of breath washing over his neck. He drew her nipple into his mouth, suckling her through the fabric. “I had to stop,” she rasped, thrusting her hips against his palm. “I had to stop and touch myself, but I was thinking about you.” She moaned louder when he pushed one finger into her wet channel. “I didn’t come. I waited for you. I wanted you.”
That was all he needed. Steve straightened, pressing her hard against the door. His hand closed over her breast, his thumb worrying the damp fabric, rasping against her nipple. He thrust his finger into her once more, withdrew, and then added another.
She cried out when he filled her again. The walls of her pussy clamped down on his fingers, drawing him deeper and deeper with each thrust. He pinched her nipple, giving it a tiny twist that made her eyes widen. A soft sheen of tears brightened her eyes. He tweaked her nipple again, and she blinked rapidly, a strangled moan catching in her throat.
He pressed the heel of his other hand to her clit, driving her up hard and hot. “Come now, Sara. Come for me—only for me.”
She gasped when he squeezed her breast, fondling her roughly. Sara bucked against his hand, her gaze fixed on him, her lips parted. “Yes.” Her breath came in pants, hitching with each thrust of his fingers.
He shook his head slowly, leaning in to capture her mouth. Sara moaned, and he tasted her passion. His fingers thrust into her hot, tight pussy, and her entire body quaked with suppressed need. She climaxed, calling his name in a hoarse voice and trembling for him, only for him.
He held her pinned to the door, his fingers slowing to gentle strokes as she came down. Her muscles uncoiled. She slumped against him, and he reluctantly withdrew his hand. She blinked blearily when he took a step back. He simply smiled and traced her bottom lip with his damp fingers.
“Taste how much you want me, Sara,” he ordered, his voice deceptively low and soft. “Taste, so you’ll never forget.”
Her lips parted, and he slipped his fingers into the warm welcome of her mouth. Her gaze locked on him, never wavering as she sucked every ounce of her arousal from his fingers. He pulled his fingers from her lips, fighting the urge to give in to her siren song. He cupped her cheek, his damp fingers spread wide as he caressed the curve of her jaw and traced the column of her throat.
“Do you know how much I want you, Sara?” he asked in a whisper.
Her gaze dropped to his hand splayed at the base of her throat. She wet her bottom lip before drawing it between her teeth and nodded. Meeting his gaze at last, she stared back at him, her aqua eyes sober and steady. “I imagine it’s almost as much as I want you.”
Chapter Sixteen
She let out a whooping laugh when Steve swept her into his arms and clung to his neck, nuzzling his throat. “You like doing that, don’t you, Mister Big, Strong Man?”
He kicked the bedroom door open wider and turned sideways to carry her into the room. “You’re tiny; easy to cart around.”
She laughed as he dropped her on the bed with his usual aplomb. “So smooth.”
He began to undress. “I gave up on trying to be smooth a long time ago. I’m going for charmingly quirky.”
“You nailed it.” Planting her hands, she pushed back on the bed, arranging her silk-clad legs in what she hoped was a seductive pose and lounged against the pillows. The pull of the garter captured her attention when she bent her knee. “So, no panties, and yet you didn’t go for the usual black or red. You are a man of mystery, Mr. Larson.”
Weighted by his belt, his pants dropped to the floor. “I don’t want to be predictable,” he said while he stripped off the remainder of his clothes.
“Pink,” she mused, running one finger under the garter. “You didn’t want the virginal white?”
“Hell no.” He pressed one knee into the mattress and climbed onto the bed, looming over her and eying her pose appreciatively. “I like you in pink.” One long finger slipped under the garter and chased her hand away. “Soft, sweet, feminine, sensual.” He met her gaze, his bittersweet eyes warm and heavy-lidded with blatant desire. “Like you.”
“Steve...”
“It’s downright provocative, Ms. Wright.”
She couldn’t help but smile. “Someone’s been checking his word of the day calendar.”
“I’ve been catching up on some reading,” he commented.
She felt the clasp on the garter give way and jumped, her startled gasp melting into a grin when she saw a small, smug smile twitch his lips. “Pleased with yourself?” she whispered.
“I want to please you.” Stroking the back of her thigh, he freed the other clip with a flick of his thumb.
She closed her eyes. “I don’t even want to know how you got so good at that.”
He shifted and the gentle pressure of his lips on hers forced her to open her eyes. The corners of his mouth lifted as he shrugged. “God-given gifts, Miss Sara.”
Her thumbs scraped over the course stubble that roughened his cheeks, holding him close to her. “You’re too pretty to be that talented. It isn’t fair.”
“I’m not pretty,” he growled. “Men aren’t pretty.”
“You are.”
“I’m a redhead. Only redheaded women are pretty.”
“Steve, snookums, you’re not really a redhead.”
He reared back. “Snookums?”
“Well, you call me ‘sugar’ or ‘darlin’
—
I figure you need a pet name too.”
“All I need is you,” he answered, curving one hand around her breast. “What do you mean I’m not a redhead?” He cast a meaningful glance at the thicket of dark red curls at his groin. “You think this is a dye job?”
She smoothed his hair over his ears. “Your hair is more than red. I can’t find the words to describe it, and I’ve tried. Believe me, I’m a writer,” she added with a wink.
“You write fiction. Romantic fairytales that no real man can live up to,” he said gruffly. “No one should believe a word you say.”
“Wow. So you don’t believe me when I say I want you?”
“Oh, I believe that.”
She gave his shoulder a shove. “Cocky jerk.”
He began to kiss his way down her neck, lingering at the pulse in her throat. “But you love me anyway,” he murmured. Her pulse leapt and her stomach clenched with panic. Every muscle in her body tensed. Steve drew back slightly, a puzzled frown creasing his brows. “Or, maybe not.”
She tried to play her reaction off with a laugh. “No, not at all. I’ve only kept you around all these years on the off chance I’d get into your pants.”
“Ah, well, it worked.”
He continued kissing his way down her neck. When he reached her collarbone, he nipped gently, and she shivered. His tongue slid under the strap of her bra. He captured it between his teeth, peeling it over the curve of her shoulder.
Her hands skimmed restlessly across his broad shoulders, and her nails bit into his biceps. “I’m beginning to think you’re the creative one.”
Steve chuckled and pushed away, rocking back on his heels. His heated gaze traveled over her body. Shivers of awareness morphed into goose bumps. Tingles of desire warmed her from within.
“I love the way you look at me,” she whispered.
He slipped one nail under the edge of her stocking, gathering the loosened silk in the crook of his finger. “I love lookin’ at you.”
The word love ricocheted through her. She tried to chase it down and squelch it, staring at the top of his head as he painstakingly rolled the stocking down her leg. She needed to replace it with another word. Russet, auburn, ginger, flame—the search for the right color continued. He pulled the silk from her foot and bent to press one soft kiss to her arch.
“Mine,” she blurted.
Startled, he looked up. “What?”
She shook her head, pressing her traitorous lips into a thin line. She nodded to the stocking unfurling from his fingertips. “Uh, that’s mine. Don’t tear it.”
He cast an exasperated glare from her to the delicate silk in his hand. “I bought the damn thing. I’ll do whatever I please with it.”
“Oh yeah?” She raised one eyebrow, challenging him.
Quick as lightning, he grasped one of her wrists, winding the creamy silk around her skin. She laughed as it coiled tighter. “Aw, you want a do-over?”
“Yeah, I do.” Steve grabbed her other wrist, pinning both hands above her head and holding them in one hand. He looped the stocking through the slats of the headboard then bound her other wrist, knotting the ends three times each. “I think that’ll do it,” he said with a satisfied nod.
She grinned at him. “Good. Now do me, Steven.”
Steve blinked then shook his head. He sat back, his face grim and unsmiling and her grin faded. He stared at her, his chocolate eyes flashing—not with desire, but with anger. He was angry at her. Steve was angrier than she had ever seen him, and she was tied to the bed. Feeling inexplicably tiny, she stared up at him as the air whooshed from her lungs. Fear tickled the back of her throat. “Steve...”