Dream Nights With the CEO (11 page)

Zipper? What zipper?

The zipper that was still sending shots of sensation between her breasts, down her belly, and now over her mound.

“Not fair!” she gasped.

“My fantasy. My zipper.”

That didn’t even make sense, but she hadn’t the breath to respond as his mouth stopped at her groin. His tongue pushed in between her folds and she cried out, bucking against his mouth. It just forced him deeper in the most wonderful way.

And then he abruptly stopped. She was gasping, straining as she looked up to see her own wrists were restrained instead of his.

“Not yet,” he said. “I said ‘my way.’”

“But—” she gasped, unable to voice her words.
But
she wanted to spread her legs and have him deep inside.
But
she wanted to dispense with the whole catsuit thing and get to the thrusting and the ecstasy part.
But
a thousand things.

He just shook his head, his eyes dancing. “I’m not done with the zipper.”

How much farther could the zipper go? She found out a second later as she felt him pick up the metal tab again and start pulling it down. It rrrrrolled along the inside of her left thigh and knee. Then down into her stiletto boots. Go figure. The entire costume was a huge onesie.

But God how wonderful it felt to have him nibble all down her leg. His teeth made tiny nips along her flesh—sharp and tingly—before his tongue soothed it with swirling, wet strokes. Then he’d move farther down her leg while the air cooled the wetness left behind. Hot breath with a trail of cooling wet on superheated skin. The dual sensations cut short any kind of thought. She just felt…everything. And she wanted more.

“I’m open,” she murmured, meaning that the catsuit was fully parted now. He could do whatever he wanted to her and she couldn’t stop him. Didn’t want to stop him. “You win.”

“Not hardly,” he said as he nuzzled the arch of her left foot. “I’ve got to peel apart the sides.”

She lifted her head. “You’re not…?” Going to finish? Going to do me until I’m screaming? She didn’t say those words aloud, but they seemed to reverberate in the air. So much so, he started laughing.

“Impatient?”

“Very,” she said, strangely unashamed of her honesty.

“Good,” he said. Then he returned to her chest. The catsuit still held in her breasts, though her cleavage was exposed. He leaned down and began to nibble, using his nose, his tongue, and most especially his teeth to press open the costume. Inch by excruciatingly slow inch, he peeled the fabric back. And every exposed cell got his loving attention.

By the time he reached her nipple, she was drowning in anticipation. God, she ached. Everything in her was straining in that tiny peak, and the moment he latched on and sucked, she went wild with erotic explosion.

She bucked. She heaved. Hell, she was surprised she didn’t throw him off of her, but he stayed right where he was. He laved her nipple, sucked and nipped while she went ballistic. He never let go and he never let up.

Then he switched to her other breast.

She lost track of time, of individual sensations, of everything but his mouth on her breast, his weight on top of hers, and the glorious waves of orgasm after orgasm.

Then he thrust. She hadn’t even felt him position himself, but God, she was grateful he had. The sensations were sharp, as if he pierced her. It felt like he’d split her open all the way to her spine. And then he was inside her, big and hard and everything she wanted. She loved his weight, loved his thickness, loved his
thereness
inside her.

“Yes!” she cried. In truth, she’d been crying it for a while now. So much so that the word was embroidered in every molecule of this dream.

He withdrew then thrust again. Steady, big, and so very male. In, and in, and in again. A piston with increasing tempo.

Her individuality seemed to dissolve. He was everything, and he was filling her with such power that she felt like she was expanding. Every push, every impact splintered her into a cloud, a rainbow, a firework of light and color.

Hard.

Hot.

Him.

Detonation.

…

Megan sighed happily, her aching body shifting delightfully against his body. Skin against skin, she reveled in the feel of his masculine ridges and bulges. She heard a heartbeat beneath her ear, strong and steady. Outside a bird trilled. Inside was all warm and hot man.

God, he smelled wonderful.

Wait…what?

Her eyes popped open while her brain grasped onto individual facts, lining up in her brain like a spreadsheet.

1. She was naked.

2. She was in Bethany’s bed, top floor of the B&B.

3. She was stretched across an equally naked and just waking Wyatt.

4. They were naked and wrapped around each other.

4. — again — They were
naked
and
wrapped
around each other!

She felt a jolt of awareness hit his body. How could she not as she was practically lying on top of him? His head jerked, and his gaze locked onto hers.

His mouth dropped open in surprise, somehow looking sexy, especially with his morning beard. His gray eyes seemed to widen, becoming more blue than gray.

5. He was hard, and she wanted him to slowly, steadily, push straight to her core.

Again?

“What—” he began.

“How did—” she said.

They both cut off their words as one more extremely shocking fact seeped into their mutual awareness.

6. She
had
climbed on top. And he
had
started that steady push inside.

Chapter Ten

Wyatt froze, his sleep-fogged mind barely keeping up. Sadly, his body had no such issues. There was a willing woman by his side, warm, naked, and…and it was Megan. Every cell in his body was waking to
her
. And the words:
do her now!

There was something wrong with that idea. He was sure of it. But he couldn’t quite focus and he couldn’t quite remember what. Still, he had enough pause in his brain to grab her hips and keep her from moving. Except the majority of his thoughts were violently opposed to stopping anything.

Fortunately, she’d gotten a panicked look in her eyes and had abruptly stilled. So there they were, completely naked, with her trembling against him in a place that really enjoyed that. And really wanted to push deeper inside.

“Wyatt?” she asked, her voice shaking.

He closed his eyes, trying to focus. But of course that just brought every sensation into blinding focus: the soft suppleness of her body, the firm press of her thighs, and of course the sweet wetness building between them both.

“Uh…” she said as she started to slip sideways.

Oh God! The friction was unbearable. Her thigh brushed against his dick, sending a bolt of pure lust rushing up and down his spine in a kind of clarion call.
Flip her over! Mount her! Now Now Now!

His fingers spasmed, gripping her tight. “Don’t move,” he ground out.

“W-what?” Thankfully she didn’t sound afraid. More confused. Unfortunately, even her stammer sounded sexy to him. Throaty and hungry.

He swallowed. “I’m a guy, okay? I’m trying to get it together but…it’ll take a moment.”

“O-okay.” She straightened slightly, settling deeper onto him and he groaned.

“Don’t. Move.”

“Right. Sorry.”

He swallowed, taking shallow breaths as he tried to think of something. Anything, so long as it wasn’t her. And in this manner, he managed to pull out, but only barely.

She was silent, her breath curling about him and fogging his thoughts. He was in a holding pattern, holding her, holding onto his lust, holding…just holding. And sadly, the situation must have gotten the better of her. He heard her make a sound of distress—a quiet kind of gasp, deep in her throat and clearly involuntary. He opened his eyes to see her skin flushed a rosy pink. Then he saw her breasts, those glorious soft mounds as they rested on his chest. He couldn’t see a lot, but his imagination was well up to the task of picturing her tight nipples as they rubbed against him.

“Megan,” he said, wondering if he had more words than just her name. He did, but how did he tell a woman as luscious as her that he had no recollection of being in bed with her? Of how he’d gotten naked or what they’d done. “Don’t be afraid,” he said.

Her eyebrows shot up and her eyes lost some of their panicked expression. Her lips curved into a smile and as she tilted her head, some of her hair spilled over her shoulders. Gorgeous chestnut locks, slightly curled and wholly seductive. He wanted to bury his face in them.

“Is this where you tell me it’s all natural? That nothing will hurt?” She was teasing him, her voice light though he could still hear the strain in her. Then she chuckled and the vibration had his eyes rolling back in his head. God, she felt so good. Just a little push. A single tightening of his abs and he could be in heaven.

“I don’t remember,” he suddenly blurted. “I don’t remember what happened last night.”

She released her breath on a whoosh, her head dropping to his shoulder. “Oh thank God, Wyatt. Thank you for saying it first because I don’t either.”

He frowned, his mind starting to kick into gear. “You don’t?”

She shook her head, her hair sliding across his torso. “Not a clue.”

“That’s…um…odd.”

He felt her smile against his neck. And then, after a long tense moment, he felt her shift to press a slow kiss there. It might have been a mistake, but his body roared to life with a vengeance. And while he was desperately trying to control his racing pulse—and throbbing dick—she did it again. This time adding a slight lick, the wet of her tongue sending all sorts of wonderful signals to his body.

“Megan,” he said, his voice strangled.

She pulled back slightly, and his whole body mourned the loss. “I know this isn’t the slow we talked about,” she said. “I have no idea what happened last night. But I gotta tell you…” She shifted her chest slowly, then hummed deep in her throat. “I like this. And I’m not real interested in thinking clearly right now.”

Oh God, could he second that notion. His hands tightened on her hips, his dick surged, and his hips started moving. He was trying to go slow, but there were too many
fast, fast, fast!
signals for him to do anything but jerk roughly against her.

And then rationality threw up one more red flag. One tiny flag that he almost brushed away. But he couldn’t quite keep it to himself.

“No condom,” he gasped. “You on the pill?”

She froze. “Oh crap. No.”

One word that nearly crushed him. “You sure?” Like that was a rational statement? Of course she was sure. But he was clutching onto straws here. Worse, he was clutching her.

“Very sure,” she said.

Then she rolled away, the motion sharp and incredibly awful. He let her go. No real choice in that matter as she took herself right out of his hands. Worse, she took all the covers with her, leaving him naked and totally exposed, his dick weeping as it stretched for her.

His hands dropped to cover himself, but that was all he could manage as his skin heated to burning. He looked about the room, but his clothes were nowhere in sight. She was doing the same, but from a standing position.

“Stay there,” she said. Then she rushed to the other room, taking all the sheets with her mummy style. She returned a second later with his sweatpants. Apparently they’d been discarded on the floor next to the recliner. Then she grabbed some clothes right out of her suitcase and in one fluid motion, disappeared into the bathroom.

Gone.

Right along with his dignity, his mind, and any chance of life returning to a less painfully erect state.

Hell.

He pulled on his sweats, then walked slowly to the other room where he found his tee and jerked it on. He couldn’t think. This was way too complicated. And damn it, there wasn’t a coffee maker in the room!

Stifling a curse, he padded back to the bathroom and knocked softly.

“Um…just a min—”

“Take your time. I’m going to get us a pot of coffee and some breakfast. It’ll take a while to get a tray together, so don’t expect me back for twenty minutes. I’ll bring it all up here and then we can switch places. I’ll shower while you eat. Deal?”

“Deal,” she said, relief in her voice.

He nodded and turned toward the door, wondering if he had a sweater long enough to hide his current discomfort. He was halfway across the room when the bathroom door suddenly opened.

“Wyatt?”

He whipped around, seeing Megan’s anxious face as she peered through the small opening in the door. “Yeah?”

He watched as a slew of emotions flitted across her face. Fear, hope, anxiety, and maybe even lingering lust. Or maybe that was him projecting onto her. Either way, her face finally settled on a soft, achingly sweet smile. “Thank you.”

And just like that, everything settled into
all right
. It was awkward, but this was Megan. If anyone could help him sort through whatever they’d done last night, it would be her. He could trust her. They’d find a way to get past it and still keep working, still keep living, still keep…

Oh God. He couldn’t. He couldn’t bed her and still be her boss. He couldn’t go from feeling her naked and willing to not ever touching her again. No way could he see her in a pencil skirt with her hair pulled up in a bun and
not
think of easing her zipper down with his teeth.

He couldn’t do it. And he couldn’t work with his mind centered on bedding her. Hell. It wasn’t going to work. Their professional life was at an end. And what the hell was he going to do about that? Too much of his business was in her hands—no way could he function without her. The idea of trying to handle everything without her or worse, trying to find a new assistant, left him physically ill.

What the hell had he done?

All those thoughts flashed across his mind in an instant, and some of it must have appeared on his face. It must have because he watched Megan’s face drain of all color.

Oh hell. That sight spurred him to act, to reassure her even when he felt his entire life crumpling around him.

“We’ll work it out,” he said, his voice thick. “But not until coffee.”

“And a shower.”

He nodded. Yeah, a cold shower would be good. A very, very cold shower. “You work on one, I’ll get the other.” And with that he turned and fled.

…

Megan sat at a humongous breakfast array and sipped her coffee, her belly twisting in loud, churning groans. Thankfully, Wyatt was in the shower or she’d have to invent some excuse for the horrible fear she was experiencing.

She thought back on that moment just before he left to get breakfast. He had looked so lost. A man aching for something he didn’t think he could have. What was it in his life that had taught him to expect less for himself? She already knew he believed in his own financial success. He was brilliant at it and worked hard to make sure his dreams came true. But she’d never before realized how much he locked his personal life away.

She’d assumed that he was just a private man. That like her, his attention was on making his financial future secure. But that one look had told her something entirely different. And if she thought back to the dream—which was hazy now but still in her memory—she started to wonder about his past girlfriends. Clearly, some bitch had called him a robot. And somehow, the pain of that had stuck deep. She considered what she knew of his personal life. He had family. A brother and a sister, plus two parents, still alive and doing well. She knew they all got together in Florida on holidays but that everyone cut out early to work. Type A workaholics, every single one of them. Which was obviously where Wyatt got his drive.

But until now, she hadn’t realized what that meant personally. What if there hadn’t been much warmth in his family? What if they were all introverts like Wyatt? Would the entire family retreat to their laptops rather than talk? She couldn’t imagine getting together for a holiday without wrestling with her brothers or playing a game of basketball. Mealtime was a zillion voices all talking over each other. That was a large reason why her mother was such a pain now: because she missed the riotous, wild free-for-all that was her family.

So, her mom needed to move on and find a life outside her kids. Wyatt needed to see what family life could be among the loud and boisterous.

Or maybe she was just spinning fantasy dreams. The idea of bringing her boss to one of her family gatherings was both terrifying and terribly wonderful. But she wanted to do it. She wanted to enfold him in her arms and show him how real love could be.

But first, he had to get out of the shower.

He came in about ten minutes later, his hair towel dried, his nearly black curls running every which way. He wore slacks and a sweater and looked casually elegant. But his bare feet and the anxious way he kept jingling the coins in his pocket told her he was nervous. In fact, she didn’t think she’d ever seen him looking so out-of-place.

“You’re freaking out, aren’t you?” she asked.

His face registered a brief moment of panic before settling into a firmly neutral expression. If she hadn’t been watching—and if she hadn’t been working side by side with him for three years now—she probably wouldn’t have noticed. She would have taken the way he settled in the chair opposite of her as a man in total control of himself.

She decided to cut him off before he could decide what to say. “Well, I’m freaking out. I don’t generally wake up naked in my own bed, much less in a strange one and with my boss.”

He nodded and his hands reached for the coffee pot and a mug. He poured with steady hands and when he spoke, his voice was quiet and calm. Too calm. Normally, he’d be flinging ideas at her, his hands and his words going every which way.

“So you, um, you went to bed in, um—”

“Pajamas. Top. Bottom. The whole deal.” She glanced at him. “You?”

“Sweats. And with a book on my lap, if I remember right. Stupid book. Out of date economic theory wrapped in…” His voice trailed away. “You probably don’t care what I was reading.”

“Not today.”

He nodded. “You don’t remember anything?”

“Nothing. Well, nothing except for my dream.”

“Yeah, I was dreaming too.”

“Stupid thing really. Very comic book, and you know I don’t read them. But I was this kick ass villainess.” She was babbling. Using words to distract herself, but when she saw his reaction, it made her jump into hyper-alert.

His head had jerked around. Given the way the table moved, she guessed his whole body had jolted. “What? What did you say?” he asked.

She frowned at his suddenly very intent focus. “Um, about my dreams.” She sure as hell wasn’t going to say she dreamed about him. “I was a villain unmasking a blue comic book hero. Well, he started out blue…”

“But then you pulled off his mask and he… He…” His face turned bright red.

“Wyatt?”

“Tell me about your dream. In detail, please.”

Hell, no! Not going to happen. Not with what she and her dream Wyatt had done… Oh. Oh! Could her dream have anything to do with how they’d ended up in bed? Oh God, how was she going to explain that?

Wyatt abruptly leaned forward. “I’ve been dreaming too, Megan. Really vivid dreams, though last night topped the charts.” He cleared his throat. “I’m this masked hero only taller. In one I’m standing by a grave.”

“Lily,” she whispered. “It was Lily’s grave.” She locked gazes with Wyatt, her mind reeling with the entire impossibility of what they were discussing. It couldn’t be. It just…

“In one I was a blond bimbo from a slasher flick.”

“Attacked by Armus, the oil-like blob,” he said. “But you didn’t stay blond. You were you by the time we got to your apartment.” His voice was matter-of-fact, but she saw the panic in his gaze.