Falling for the Enemy (Private Pleasures 3)

It changes everything moving forward. There will be no repeats. In fact, it would be best for both of us if we never set eyes on each other again.

The rational, risk-mitigating part of him agreed, because every time he saw her, he wanted her, on a primitive, bone-deep level. Unfortunately, this morning already proved avoiding anyone in a town the size of Bluelick was damn near impossible…even for a man trained to disappear.

Do not engage.

He kicked the e-brake, turned off the engine, and stepped out of the Jeep. She stood there like a deer in headlights.

Body on autopilot, attention glued to her—because he felt certain she’d vanish if he so much as blinked—he closed the distance between them. When he was close enough to see the black striations in her stunning green eyes, he said, “What are you thinking, cutting through an alley at dawn?”

“I was thinking, for once, I might manage to cross a street without getting run down by a Buchanan. What kind of maniac drives into an alley like a bat out of hell?”

She was trying to sound pissed, and she didn’t lay a finger on him, which, for her, he’d already pieced together, definitely signified temper, but her eyes kept straying from his to wander down his body, and each time they came back she was breathing a little bit harder.

Apparently that was all the encouragement he needed. The controlled, disciplined side of him surrendered and the reckless side took control. He wrapped his fingers around her bare biceps and tugged her around the side of the gas station. The restroom door hung open. He shoved her inside, followed, and locked the door behind him. The smell of pine cleaner and liquid soap competed with the scent of her overheated skin. When he turned around, her lips were wet and parted, her sweet little nipples straining against the form-fitting fabric of her workout top, and her eyes shooting fire.

“Shaun Buchanan, you are so close to getting your face slapped. Do you honestly expect me to—?”

Yeah, maybe he was delusional from lack of sleep, but he did. He slammed his mouth down on hers and hauled her up against him. The toes of her running shoes scored the tile floor until he got his hands under her ass and lifted her off her feet. She wrapped her legs around his waist, fisted her hands in the front of his shirt and sucked his tongue into her mouth, which sent a rush of blood straight to his already swollen cock.

He broke away long enough to make sure they were in agreement, because he might persuade by any means necessary, but he’d never force. “I’m full of expectations. I expect you to let me peel those thin, tight, and very damp shorts down your legs. I expect you to give my mouth and tongue and hands free reign until you’re biting your lip to keep from begging for more. And when I give you more, I expect you to scream my name in gratitude. If you feel the need to slap my face before, during or afterwards, go right ahead.”

“Oh, God. Okay.” She tightened her legs around his hips and rocked against him. “One last time…”

He murmured an agreement, even as he devoured her mouth, even as a part of him acknowledged the lie. Her taste, her scent, the weight of her wrapped around him, grounded him in some way he couldn’t understand or articulate, but he knew one last time wouldn’t be enough.

“Hurry,” she panted when they broke for air.

He almost laughed, because taking things slow wasn’t an option. A condom machine hung on the wall. He braced her beside it, and kept right on feasting on her mouth while he felt around in his pocket for change, dumped the quarters in the slot, and…waited. Nothing.

She stopped kissing him, turned, and blinked at the thieving metal rectangle, and then banged on the thing with the side of her fist. Still nothing.

“Stop.” He caught her hand before she could bang it again. “Don’t hurt yourself. I’ve got a key.” He let her go and backed up a step—which was about all the space he had in the small restroom. Shifting his weight to his left leg, he swung his right leg out, and landed a power angle kick to the side of the machine. The flimsy lock popped, the metal door opened and a couple condoms fell into his waiting hand. He glanced over at her.

She had her hand flattened between her breasts and stared at the mangled machine. Then her gaze shifted to him. “Is there anything you can’t get into or out of?”

He considered the words an invitation, and spun her around to face the door. Her squeak of surprise only spurred him on. “You tell me,” he challenged, and tugged those snug, blue running shorts down just far enough to bare the extremely memorable ass beneath. She gasped, and then squirmed as he worked his hand between her thighs. A small cry came next when he strummed his fingers through the warm, soft, very wet valley and sank his teeth into one smooth, giving glute. Her palms flattened against the door and she rocked up onto her toes. He sealed his lips to her flesh and sucked the tender skin hard enough to leave a red mark. By the time he finished, the little cries had turned into a constant soundtrack, and the movement of her hips had become precise and determined as she worked herself against his fingers.

She was already so close. He could practically smell the orgasm on her. Practically see the energy of it gathering in her bunched-up muscles. Determined to push her straight on over, he used his free hand to grasp one perfect handful of ass cheek, spreading them, and speared his tongue into the tight little crevice.

“Oh my God!” She bucked, pumped furiously against his fingers, and then shuddered when he withdrew and proceeded to tease her with lightning-quick flicks. Her breath evened. The cries grew softer, and the muscles under his lips relaxed infinitesimally. He tightened his grip, which might have telegraphed his intention because she gasped, “Have mercy. Not again…”

“Yes,

sweet Virginia, again.” He drove her up, up, up, until he had her dancing on the tip of his tongue, her lush clit pulsing against the pad of his finger. Then he circled one opening with his finger and the other with his tongue, and paused there, at the thresholds. She whimpered and froze. He waited a beat just to let what was about to happen sink in, to get a sense she understood he was going to storm her defenses from all sides. She pushed back ever so slightly—a small sign of impatience and need—and all the permission he required.

He stormed. She screamed, banged the door once with her fist, and came with a long, low, grateful moan.

Chapter Seven

Slamming head-first into the orgasm—and possibly the restroom door—sent Ginny into a momentary coma. No sight. No sound. Just wave after wave of sensation crashing through her with a velocity she couldn’t possibly withstand.

Luckily standing wasn’t an issue. Shaun lifted her and sat her down on the only available surface—the lip of the sink. Next thing she knew, the backs of her legs were flush with his body, the heels of her running shoes hitched on his shoulders, her fingers gripping the bull-nosed porcelain for stability while he tore open his fly and rolled on a condom.

The situation turned her Lycra running shorts into a tight band tethering her thighs together. She tried to use one hand to tug the shorts down, but as soon as she let go of the sink she felt as if she’d capsize. “My shorts—”

As an answer, he simply lifted her hips a notch higher, tipping her backward until her shoulders hit the wall behind her. Then he guided himself into her still quivering sex. She watched through sweat-blurred vision as he concentrated on the task, clearly enjoying the view even as he took pains to feed himself in slowly. It was she who became restless, and impatient, and desperate for more, but the position he had her in left her a passenger on this journey. Whatever she wanted, she’d have to ask for it.

“Faster,” she said. “Harder,” and reinforced her hold on the sink.