The Seduction of Kinley Foster (What Happens in Vegas) (10 page)

Her hips bucked. Dear God, he was in heaven.

He swirled his tongue along her inner lips and then flicked, and circled, gauging her reaction by her breathing and the grip on his hair. When he began suckling, she squirmed and cursed and said, “Stop. Please. Not yet.”

He hissed out a breath. The edge in her voice matched the edge he was unsecurely hanging on to by his nails. “I want to tie you up and fuck you. And then flip you over and do it again.”

She sat up on her elbows. “Then come up here and do it.”

He laughed. “Give me time, Kin, right now I’m in heaven right where I’
m at.
”

“Are you sure?”

“Hell yes.” To emphasize how sure he was, he penetrated her with his tongue. Her pink flesh was so wet for him.

She keened. Fell back into the mattress.

Her admittance pleased him beyond reason. He rubbed her with his thumb as his tongue had his way with her in all the ways he’d been dreaming about for years.

Her nails dug into his shoulders as she wiggled her hips, guiding him in the direction of what pleased her the most. He didn’t relinquish his pursuit until her sex pulsed against his tongue.

She inhaled sharply. “Yes…God…please. Oh my God…that was…oh my God, that was fabulous.”

His male pride roared.
That’s only the beginning, babe. Only the beginning.
“It gets better,” he told her, kissing his way back up her torso, spending a considerable amount of time on the soft swell of her stomach. Enjoying the light perfume of sex in the air and the rosy glow of a blush on her skin.

“
Come up here,
” she demanded in a sex-drugged voice.

He chuckled and grabbed the condom he’d laid on the bed after he came back to their room and found her masturbating, calling out his name, her panties hanging on the door like an invitation.

She took the foil package from him. Tore the wrapper open and rolled the rubber down his length.

He jumped and nearly came just feeling her hands touching him.

She laughed like a siren and lightly wrapped the long length of her sexy legs around his waist. “Talk is cheap. Make me feel that again.”

“Demanding wench.” He ran little biting kisses over her shoulder. He had every intention of taking her back over that edge again. Just not yet. There were so many—

She leaned her head back and rose to push her naked mound against his erection, causing his brain to malfunction. “I’m all yours,” she husked.

He raked in a breath as desire ran rampant through him, savaging his ability to do anything but feel. He could no longer resist what she was offering. He succumbed to her charms. “Damn straight you are.”

Her hands circled around his back, and she closed her eyes. “Yep.”

“Open your eyes,” he ordered. He wanted to see her expression. Wanted her thinking of him when he went in deep. Wanted to scorch her brain with the visual memory of this moment.

For once in her life, she obeyed without arguing.

Their lips connected right as he thrust in. He groaned in pleasure at how tightly she sheathed him. Ten years of thinking of this moment washed through him. Nothing he’d imagined compared to how good it actually felt to be inside of Kin. He stilled to enjoy the moment. The sensation.

She pulled back slightly. “I can’t keep them open.” Her eyes fluttered shut.

He wanted to insist, but she was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen with her eyes closed, her hair tangled across the pillow, her lips slightly parted and swollen from his kisses.

He leaned down and kissed her scar before giving over to his need to fuck Kinley Foster senseless.

They rocked together. Soft curves against hard muscles. Kin taking as much as she gave. Her hands at times roaming, at others clutching, her nails digging in and then travelling—no doubt leaving marks in their wake. His hands just as frantically explored her curves.

When her fingers dove into his hair, and he felt her inner muscles tighten down over him, he pumped harder, reaching between them and thumbing her clitoris. “Come, baby. I’ve waited ten years to hear you scream my name while I’m inside you.”

She bucked hard against him and then went rigid. “Ian.” He drank in the sound of his name on her lips, and the pleasure on her face as she rode out her orgasm. He wished he were an artist so he could recreate the sheer beauty of what he saw. Or a musician so he could write a song. Hell, he was rich. He’d hire someone to paint her and someone to write a song about her.

She opened her eyes and stared into his. “Um…
your turn.
” The words were said softly, almost shyly.

He chuckled. “Sweetheart, I’m just getting started.”

She grinned.
“I was hoping you’d say that.”

He laughed. “You were, were you?” He pulled out and flipped her over on her stomach. Without asking her to, she came up on all fours, and he entered her from behind.

“Is it greedy of me to want another?” she asked, glancing at him from over her shoulder, her hair slightly in her eyes.

He pushed her hair aside so he could see her face. “Not nearly as greedy as it is of me to want to do it again and again and again.” With each again, he rocked hard into her. “So many agains you won’t be able to walk tomorrow.”

She reached between her legs and stroked him. “Do you think you can last that long?” And then her nails scraped lightly against his balls, as she squeezed her inner muscles against him.

The combination took him dangerously close to his own climax. “
Damn it, Kinley. Not yet.
” Hell… Did he really just stop her? He had to, or his ability to please her would be greatly diminished.

She laughed, removed her hand from his jewels and rhythmically pushed her perfect ass into him.

Jesus, he loved this position with her.

He reached around and pinched her nipple, only relenting when she cried out, “Ian, come with me.”

He leaned forward and lightly kissed her neck. “I love my name on your lips when they’re red and bruised from my kisses.”

“What do I have to do to hear my name on your lips?” She sounded breathless. Like a woman trying to hold on, but losing the battle.

He moved his lips to her ears. “My balls like your hands.” He bit her earlobe.

“Ouch.” She reached between them. Only this time, instead of playfully scraping, she squeezed.

“Kin—” His breath caught.

“Yes?”

He thrust hard against her until her muscles contracted and tiny sounds of pleasure escaped her lips. Only then did he allow his own release—a release that stopped time. Threatened to change the course of history. “I fucking loved that.”

She laughed, gave a sigh of pleasure, and then collapsed. He went down with her, rolling them over until they were spooning. He inhaled the scent of her shampoo—the same scent that had been on the pillow he slept with last night.

She shifted away and rolled onto her back.

He watched as she spiraled back to reality. It started with a slow smile and a soft sigh, followed by the relaxing of her body into the mattress. He wanted to sit up and do a touchdown dance, knowing he caused that reaction in her.

He ran a finger down the side of her cheek, and she rolled so that she was facing him. Did she know she’d just cast a spell over him? One he wasn’t sure he could ever break. Wasn’
t sure he
’d ever want to break.

“
You are
—”

She laid a finger on his lips. “Don’t say anything.”

He kissed her fingertip. Since when did women not want to talk after sex? “But—”

She sat up and looked down at him. Her eyes hooded. “We can talk in the morning.”

Chapter Twelve

Ian woke up pre-dawn with a boner. He was a changed man. Or at least his mind had been changed. Not wanting to wake Kinley, he’d gone to the gym and worked out, stopped by the check-in counter and cancelled her room reservation, showered, and was now lying back in their bed waiting for her to wake up.

He rolled toward her. Listened to her steady breathing. She had the covers pulled up under her chin, but he knew underneath the covers, she was naked. Her silky brown hair framed her beautiful face and splayed across the white pillow she was hugging in her sleep.

She’d won the bet. She’d seduced him. Watching her masturbate had killed his brain cells. To call the experience seductive was like calling heaven pretty. Helping her achieve the orgasm she’d been fantasizing about gave him a paralyzing climax.

God, she’d been imagining him. Being spanked by him. He’d stood there at the foot of the bed, listening to her sex talk as she wiggled her hips and changed the speeds of the vibrator.

When she’d begged to be spanked harder, he’d nearly fallen to his knees.

Shaking away the memory, he glanced at the clock. Eight a.m. Their meetings would start in an hour. He should wake her so they could talk. Make plans for their time together. Supreme satisfaction swept through him, leaving goose bumps on his arms. He rubbed his hands down them. He couldn’t remember ever having an actual reaction to the thought of starting a relationship with a woman.

And it wasn’t just about having sex with her again, though God knew that was reason enough. But there was something more behind the giddiness he felt. Like he’d discovered a treasure he’d thought lost forever. Like his heart was making room for a new emotion. Like the seduction of Kinley Foster was the beginning of something…

He picked up the remote that operated the curtains and opened them partially. He wanted to wake her slowly. Call him a sap, but he wanted to lie there and watch her wake up. Watch her eyelashes flutter. Watch her lips form into a smile as she remembered the night they’d spent together.

This felt right. Of all the things he’d done in the past that he regretted, this wasn’t going to be one of them.

He wanted her, and for the next week, he was going to have her. He was going to teach her about sex—about sexual tension—and somehow manage to make her see he never was the villain she thought him capable of way back then.

Unable to resist the temptation, he caressed the length of her neck. Her skin was satiny smooth.

She smiled and stretched, raising her arms above her head, exposing her breasts.

Desire pulled him considerably closer. “
Good morning.
” He tugged the covers down so he could see the creamy expanse of her stomach. The sight caused his breath to catch in his throat like a baseball in a catcher’s mitt. So inviting. He wanted to eat honey off of her stomach…among other places.

She stilled. Yanked the covers back up to her chin and sat up. “Hi.” Red spots formed on her neck and cheeks.

She gave him a scowl-y look and muttered something under her breath that sounded like stupid bluff. Or maybe she called him a stupid butt. Or was she calling herself stupid?

None of which made sense.

Okay. So the whole waking up fantasy wasn’t panning out like he’d planned. “Did you sleep well?” He laid back, crossed his hands behind his head, and gave her an encouraging smile.

“Close your eyes.”

He lifted an eyebrow.

“Please,” she said. But not in a particularly nice tenor.

What was he missing? They’d fallen asleep in each other’s arms. Happy.

Was she just feeling shy? “Not in this lifetime,” he said in a joking tone, trying to put her at ease. No way would he believe she was unaffected by what happened between them last night.

Her scowl got a degree scowlier—if that was even a word. “You are not a gentleman.”

His boner agreed with a high-five. “
I don
’t recall you asking for a gentleman in your bed last night.” Why was she being so contrary?

She grumbled. And if it was possible, her cheeks turned even redder. She exited the bed, pulling the sheet with her, and haphazardly wrapped the snowy white cover around her body, reminding him of an unraveling mummy.

He couldn’t help but smile. “I thought we were going to talk this morning.” He wanted her to turn so he could catch a glimpse of her bare backside. The woman’s ass could stop hotrods at a race track.

She shuffle-walked to her suitcase. “We had a bad idea.”

His stomach tightened. Was this about more than her just feeling shy around him this morning?

She didn’t look at him as she pulled out clothes. “End of topic.”

The hammer of her sharp tone shattered his ego into more pieces than a beer bottle dropped on concrete. He sat up. “A bad idea?” What the hell did she mean by that?

She turned toward him, her expression guarded. “In between meetings, I’ll get checked into my room. It should be available.”

He stood, exposing his hard-on. “I thought we had a deal?”

“We did.” She glanced at him—at all of him—and quickly averted her eyes.

“And?”

“And…it was a lame idea.”

He squeezed the bridge of his nose. “Is it because I spanked you?”

Her mouth fell open. “Shut up. Okay. Just shut up.”

“Why, Kinley?” What rabbit hole had they fallen down? None of this made sense.

“Because you’re right. I’m better suited to Amish romance.” She turned and hurried into the bathroom, firmly shutting the door behind her.

His heart tried to go after her, but his chest blocked its way. “Fuck.” What in the hell just happened? What he’d seen as a freaking fantasy, she’d just proclaimed nothing but idiocy.

Damn it. She was wrong, and he was going to prove it to her.

Chapter Thirteen

Kinley stood under the cold, pulsating water coming at her from every direction in a black marble shower the size of her home office, shivering and chastising herself.

The moment she’d became alert, she’d spotted that raised eyebrow. And not the good one. The one he used when he was up to something.

And she’d panicked.

When he’d opened his mouth to speak, she’d gone into full-on self-preservation panic mode.

Sure he was going to tell her that while the sex had been nice, it hadn’t been nice enough to make him choose her over his friendship with her brother.
You have to get me to sleep with you one time without regretting the decision when it’
s over.
He was going to blame last night’s seduction on their bet. A bet that hinged on them first having sex, and then what he
felt
about it afterwards. And that raised eyebrow of his was all she needed to see to know he was going to tell her he was full of regret.

“If anyone gets to use the excuse of the bet, it’s going to be me.” She forced a laugh. “I did the dumping—not you.”
Perhaps
she was overreacting a tad bit. She did sound a tad manic to her own ears. But in the name of self-preservation, she’d done what she had to do.

She turned the water to warm and squirted soap on her pink scrubby. With more force than necessary, she scrubbed her skin to wash away his DNA.

Sure, they’d had sex.

But not because she made him forget who she was. Who her brother was.

When he discovered her masturbating, his sloshed brain probably shouted,
join the fun
.
Orgasms up for grabs
.
She’s even done the pregame warm-up.

She wasn’t so vain as to think he walked in and lost the fat head on his shoulders over her. If the do-me-now dress didn’t push him over the edge, nothing would.

Where she was concerned, he wasn’t interested. Never had been. Never would be. Last night never should have happened. She turned off the three shower heads. “Never, never, never.”

Enough with the woe is me.
She was a grown woman. She’d saved face. Now it was time to play it cool.

She took a deep breath and stepped out of the shower, then wrapped herself in a fluffy white bath sheet. If he hadn’t left yet, she was going to hear him out. And then she’d get dressed and leave. She wasn’t sixteen anymore. They could discuss this as adults.

“Life’s too short to hide from men who make you nervous,” she told her foggy reflection in the mirror.

Besides, today was the first day of the conference—the reason she’d come to Vegas. She wasn’t going to let Ian Thompson ruin this trip for her.

She cracked the bathroom door to let the steam out and did a sound check for the presence of human life.

The bedroom was quiet. No television. No voice on a phone.

She peeked out. The lights were off.

He was gone. Was he afraid she would change her mind and try to get him to change his?

She glanced at the bed. The blankets were twisted. On the floor was her abandoned vibrator.

Could sex be better than what they’d experienced last night? Not that she would tell him, but God—just God.

She slipped on the robe provided by the hotel and walked over to the bed, picked up the sex toy, rinsed it off in the sink, and stuffed it into her purse. Sitting down, she pushed images of Ian spanking her out of her brain and instead went through the package of information she’d picked up the day before for the conference.

She put hearts by the conference sessions she wanted to attend.

Then she double-checked what type of manuscripts the agents attending the conference were in the market for. There were ten who were interested in steamy romance. Eleven if she counted Ian. She didn’t.

Someday he’d regret not being her agent. When all of her books were being turned into movies, he’d cry into his beer over losing her to another agent.

Out to the side, she printed one more name. Ann Collette—Kinley’s girl-crush agent. She was the agent of author Ashley Weaver, Kinley’s new favorite author whose debut book—
Murder At The Brightwell
—got Kinley through a lonely New Year’s Eve. Ann was the only agent Kinley had done any research on. Ann did a wonderful Twitter thing where she would live tweet as she read queries and say why she did or didn’t request them.

Unfortunately, she didn’t represent steamy romance. She preferred literary and mysteries and women’s fiction. Some authors referred to her as the dragon agent. Kinley thought Ann was a lovely dragon who exhaled pretty pink fire and got mani-pedis.

Ann always responded when Kinley tweeted her a question.

As a result, Kinley would walk through a graveyard, at midnight, during a full-moon to have Ann as her agent.

Satisfied she had a game plan, Kinley dressed. She slipped on an A-Line, long-sleeve red dress with a silver chain belt and silver jewelry, black tights, and knee high boots. She glanced in the mirror long enough to decide to yank her hair back into a low pony-tail. The more somber style gave her a serious writer look. She slipped her glasses on, grabbed her conference material, and hurried downstairs to attend a session on dialogue.

And get her own hotel room.