Sparking the Fire (23 page)

“Just doing my duty.” He unfurled her running top, like peeling a banana. His chest heaved and his nostrils flared at the sight of her breasts, though they weren't looking their best with Lycra dents scoring red bands across her skin.

Cupping her hips, he dragged her against his erection. “We can't do this, but hell if my brain can stay on that page.”

“Well, that's usually how it works. Put a no-go sign on it and it lights up with ‘do me.' ”

“That's not what I meant. This isn't about you being forbidden fruit, Molly. It's about you having the ability to consume me, jumble every thought. I've been keeping you at a distance because I can't get involved with you. I owe it to my family not to get involved with you.”

“I can't get involved with you, either,” she offered in the weirdest presex negotiation ever. “I don't want to be splashed on gossip sites. Not after the last year.” She'd tried going on a couple of dates post-Ryan. Men either were only interested in what an association with her could do for their careers or balked at the idea of a relationship with a woman shrouded in a toxic cloud. A public liaison would be impossible, bad for both her career and her heart.

They stared at each other. Arguments made and put forth. All very sensible, apart from the topless-in-his-delicious-arms thing.

His gaze dipped to her mouth, continued down to her breasts smashed against his chest. “So here we are, gorgeous girl. Not getting involved.”

And then he smiled, that rare Wyatt slow burn, and she was gone.

She gentled his matted jaw and involved him in a kiss. He deepened it on a groan, and in that moment, she understood how hard this had been for him. But he didn't have the resources to express that well, being a man and all. The steam was rising in the shower, and as Wyatt pulled down her yoga pants, helping her remove them, the steam rose between them.

“Get in,” he murmured, his gaze raking her nakedness approvingly. “I'll just be a second.”

She obeyed, letting the hot water stream over her clammy skin and slough away any last-minute hesitancy. Within seconds, Wyatt was back with a square plastic packet.

They were doing this.

His chest to her back, he caged her in the embrace of a fully naked man.

They were definitely doing this.

She turned in his arms, needing to see all of him. It had been too long, and with his skin gleaming like satin, that blockbuster chest and goodie trail of hair arrowing down to a fully-aroused cock, he was even more beautiful than she remembered. “You've filled out, Marine. You were so scrawny before.”

His lips raised in what could only be called a smile. She wanted to be the one who put that there all the time.

Better sign on to do more comedies, Mol, because that's your only shot at making him happy.

“Could say the same about you.” His hands moved over her hips and her ass, a slow, sexy rhythm that quickened her pulse at every pounding point.

“You saying I've gotten fat?”

He raised an eyebrow and turned her away from him. “I'm saying you have grown into those sweet, soft curves. You are one fine-looking woman.”

His appreciation warmed her better than the shower's pulsing spray. It had been a long time since she felt beautiful. She heard it the morning after an awards show, only to have the good feelings ripped apart by some hater who lived to bring her down. In her business, it was virtually impossible to let her self-worth not be determined by fashion magazines, vitriolic tweets, and whichever studio head controlled casting of the latest blockbuster. With Wyatt, there was no pretense. Plain speaking was his currency, and every deposit he made in her vault left her rich beyond belief.

“Just let me take care of these fine curves.”

On a groan, she let him lead, because if one thing was certain, it was that Wyatt Fox knew exactly what he was doing when it came to taking care of her fine curves. His hands shaped and kneaded, circled and teased, slicking the warm, soapy lather over her skin. Sparks ignited in the wake of every touch. A well of want pooled deep in her belly, and when his fingers slipped between her legs, her knees melted.

Thankfully, he was holding her up.

He continued to stroke and madden, and lust seized her like a punch. Angling her head to face him, he fed her deep, luscious kisses. A tumble of sensation—that beard, those rough fingers, the steam—unleashed the pent-up desire in her body along with all the frustration of this day, the month, her year. God, how she needed this. How she needed him.

She let herself be pulled under by Wyatt's brand of wow.

Her body braced for bliss. Knew it was coming. Remembered and rejoiced. The orgasm slammed through her, like falling and flying at once. But of course, her Marine was there to catch her because saving her world was his job.

 CHAPTER FIFTEEN

H
e was completely screwed.

Not in the best sense of the word—not yet—but Wyatt had gone and done exactly what he had sworn he would not do. Let the passions he claimed complete control over stage a freakin' coup. So much for clearheaded decision making. So much for putting the best interests of his family first.

None of that apparently mattered, because the one thing that had the ability to override all common sense was in his arms. Desire had erupted, leaving no room for sanity. Watching her come undone with his fingers inside her just about undid him, and now his cock pushed insistently against the inviting cleft of her ass, begging for its turn.

But first he needed to feel every single one of those beautiful curves. His hands roved and skimmed, cupped and plumped. Her ass was the Eighth Wonder, her breasts works of art. He tried to freeze a moment he thought would never arrive and hoped would never end.

Molly. The dream girl. Not because she was everyone's dream, but because first, she had been
his
.

“You waiting for an invitation, Marine?”

“Been a while. Once I'm inside you, I might not last.”

“Stamina was never a problem before.” Turning to face him, she gripped his erection, testing that statement. He clamped down on his lip, but a groan escaped nonetheless along with a ragged “Molly.” Tentative at first, her strokes became tighter, rougher, more sure as he fucked her hand.

“Yeah, that's it. Work me good.”

Soap-slick, her hand pumped while the other slipped underneath to cup his heavy balls.

“You used to like this,” she whispered. “You liked when I stroked them, licked them, sucked them in my mouth.”

He'd loved it. He loved everything she did then and everything she was doing now.

Pleasure built, fast rising, ever tightening, and he withdrew. “Inside you—need to—
fuck
.”

Exclamation and intention.

He grabbed the condom, tore at the wrapper, and smoothed it on with a jerky motion and animalistic grunt. She was so short he'd need to lift her, which meant his shoulder would bitch and moan at him later. Whatever. These days he was used to everyone and everything being pissed at him, so his ticked-off muscles could get in line.

He went to hitch her up, but she moved out of his grasp. And turned around.

“You've been watching my ass for a while now, Wyatt. Figured you might appreciate this view.”

Sweet fuck.

Below flared hips and a waist he could span with both hands, those perfect rounds sat up expectantly. Silky-smooth cheeks just waiting for him to spread apart and drill deep.

She placed both palms on the tiled wall, her right foot on the ledge of the tub, and hinged her hips at the most inviting angle to take her. Clearly thinking of his shoulder, and he supposed he should be glad of her consideration even if he didn't much like the idea she might not think him fully capable.

That world-class ass was helping him to deal.

Over her shoulder, she bit down on the fleshy pillow of her lip and raised one of those wild, sexy eyebrows. “Take me, Marine.”

No need to ask twice. Hands on her hips, he rubbed his aching cock against the sweet, pink heaven she offered. Then he drove past the pearly gates into the hot clasp of her.

“Oh, God!” Fisting the tile, she pounded it once, twice. “That's—oh!”

His thoughts, exactly. He withdrew, plunged to the root, and filled her completely. The worry that he would blow as soon as he slipped inside her faded as remembrance of how their bodies worked together took over. Rarely had it been too fast; there had always been time, and that's how it was now. He slowed, stayed his pleasure to give hers a chance to build. Every inch inside her was torture, every one outside was pain.

Riveted, he watched where their bodies connected, the thick, sensual slide of his cock into the tight, velvet heat. Nothing had ever felt this good. No one had ever felt this good.

It had always been her.

Shoving that thought deep, he got to work on shoving his body deeper, particularly the hardest part of his anatomy into the softest part of hers. With every thrust, it became more difficult to leave her. The tight walls of her pussy clenched, held on tight, and without quite knowing how it happened, he had her pinned to the tile. Likely she had led him there with his cock embedded snugly inside her.

His hand fed around her body and grasped one silky tit, the other dipped to her swollen clit.

Still inside her, he slowed to a steady rock, needing to prolong this perfect, perfect moment. His mouth grazed her ear and kissed her softly.

She turned her head, her heavy-lidded gaze unable to mask the pleasure he was giving her. He stroked her clit and watched how her pupils blew wide with lust. In the grip of passion, her eyes ranged a rainbow of blues and violets. How had he forgotten that? Those subtle color changes heralding her rising pleasure. Silver sparks igniting. Another stroke of her clit turned them to a molten mercury. The next slippery brush brought sunset over a foreign desert. Beneath his fingertips, she bloomed to match the vibrantly colored desire in her eyes.

A squeeze of her silken muscles around his cock drew a loud groan from him. She licked the corner of his mouth. There was something a little dirty about it.

“You wanna play hardball, Molly?”

Her mouth curved, all vixen. “I think you need to come, Marine.”

Yeah, but the challenge had been laid down.

Slowly, he set up a sensuous rhythm of pumping his cock, circling her clit, and kneading her breast. A trifecta of pleasure. She moved her hand to ring his neck, found purchase in his hair. It felt like every part of his body touched every part of hers, their nerve endings entwining, this connection he never wanted to cease. But he could feel the end in sight, the escalating desire in his groin about to graduate to an explosive orgasm.

He turned his index finger to the callused side and glanced it across her clit. Finally, she let go. That clamp of her hot little pussy around his shaft triggered his own much-needed release. On and on it went as she milked him so good his brain might have oozed out of his ears, as well.

Better with her than anyone.
An observation that shouldn't grate, but did. He'd raised her up before, those six days of perfect pleasure the highlight of his sorry life. Now she was climbing the charts again.

He wanted more. Not only because sex this good should not be passed up, but to prove to himself that there was nothing more to it. She needed to be knocked off that pedestal and restored to a place of fond, distant memories. She needed to be that chick he balled in a hotel room five years ago—and not the woman who got away.

W
yatt had to practically lift her out of the tub she was so spent. Around her shoulders he draped a fluffy towel and rubbed softly against her skin.

His gaze ate her alive as if he hadn't already used up all his intensity in the shower. “You're staying, Molly. No need for you to move into a new place.”

Where had that come from?
“I can't. This—” She waved between them. “This can't happen again.”

He pulled her close using the towel. “Promised I'd watch your ass.”

“Then watch it while I leave you in the dust on a run.”

“Best view in the city, but as long as you're living in Chicago, you're my responsibility.”

Out of respect, she considered this for 2.5 seconds. “Don't be ridiculous, Wyatt. I'm a grown woman who can take care of myself.” Or pay people vast sums of money to do so. A shiver ran through her. This was her life. Her well-being had a monetary value. These last couple of days, without her high-priced security, she had felt safe, cocooned, and best of all, normal.

“This isn't about you not being able to take care of yourself, Molly. This is about my peace of mind. Whether you're in this house or next door, it don't matter. This is happening.”

“And what about this?” Again she motioned between them, feeling like a mime who had failed Mimeology 101. “Is
this
happening?”