Protect Me Not ((Un)Professionally Yours 2)

“You mean I’ll get through these months without forming attachments. Since you’ve made it plain that your emotions are very far removed from this devil’s bargain we’ve made. You’re being a bastard to me and an insane control freak, so that I can want you without liking you, right?”

She knew that she was right. She could see the truth of it in his eyes. And she knew that she should call it quits right now. She opened her mouth to tell him it was over.

After what he had just done to her, it should be easy. But she kept remembering the

shocked delight on his face when they’d surprised him with the cake that afternoon. The gleam of hastily blinked away moisture in his eyes at the humble gifts Linda and Josh had given to him.

This man kept people at a distance for a reason. He had clearly told her that he didn’t want to be fixed. That he was happy the way he was. And she should respect that.

She would respect that.

“That bloody orgasm better rock my world, Tyler.”

He grinned, his expression more than a little smug.

“Oh, it will, Victoria. Now, if you don’t mind…I have to get back to work.”

He gave her a jaunty salute, and took his gorgeous body, hard cock, and massive ego out of her office.

Vicki lay replete, breathless, and limp on Ty’s bed later that night.

After they’d returned from the shop, he’d escorted her to her apartment, as usual, and left her there. She knew that he didn’t consider himself off duty until she stepped over her front doorstep, but she hadn’t expected him to deposit her at home and leave without a word.

After a baffled moment, she had understood that he was leaving the when of their next encounter up to her. The where had been obvious. Hugh was at home. There was no way she was having roof-raising sex while her brother slept just a couple of rooms away.

Ugh. No, thank you. She had left with a nonchalant “see you later”, while he was watching a boring documentary about soap-making. Riveted by the program, Hugh had acknowledged her words with a wave, without bothering to even look at her.

Ty had let her in, told her to strip, and instructed her to lay face down on his bed. He had straddled her hips and, after using his hands to get her revved up again—not a hard feat after the way he’d left her that afternoon—he had pushed into her and slowly proceeded to shag her brains out.

The prone position had left him to do all the work, and Vicki had found that she didn’t mind that at all. It had been lovely to just let him touch her and set a leisurely pace. At some point, he had lifted her onto all fours and eventually, when her arms had turned to jelly, he’d curled onto his side and spooned behind her. He’d had one large hand cupping her breast and the other digging into her hip, while he continued to smoothly and tenderly thrust into her.

It had been wonderful. It had felt almost reverential, and he had more than delivered on his promise that her orgasms would be mind-blowing. They had all been outstanding.

To say he had stamina would be understating it. He had come twice. In a row. Stopping only to swap condoms. She hadn’t expected that. A man staying hard after his first orgasm wasn’t something she had believed possible.

Now, after several mind-blowing orgasms for both of them, he allowed himself a few moments to lay there and hold her while she trembled. But it wasn’t long before he left the bed and retreated to the bathroom.

Vicki groaned, and sat up, aching in places that she hadn’t even been aware existed on her body. She pushed her hair out of her eyes, retrieved her glasses from his nightstand, and shrugged into his shirt. She took a moment to tug the fabric to her nose and inhale his wonderful scent.

Curious, she studied his bedroom while she buttoned the shirt. It was the first opportunity since her arrival, nearly three hours ago, to inspect her surroundings.

It was nice. Big masculine pieces of teak furniture, a king-sized bed, and hardwood floors. All in neutral beige and gray. Tasteful and manly, it suited the austere Ty to a tee.

She crawled out of bed, wincing when her overused muscles protested the movement, and padded to the dresser where several framed photographs were on display. She picked up one and stared at the photo.

A dozen men in fatigues, young, clean cut, all clutching massive rifles. They stood beside an armored vehicle. The picture appeared to have been taken in a desert. Most of the men were grinning, one was staring to the side as if something had caught his attention, a few of them squinting directly into the camera lens, and a couple had their mouths open as if they’d been caught in mid-conversation.