Inside Bet: Vegas Top Guns, Book 2 (14 page)

Her skirt rucked between them with a couple fast grabs. Jon bent his knees a fraction, thankful once again for their almost matching height.

Then there was nothing but the hot welcome of her pussy. Clench and suck. The way her hands delved beneath his suit coat to wrap around his back.

He thrust slowly, quietly, not wanting to make a spectacle of them both. God, she went to his head. Got under his skin. He pushed harder. His hips knocked into hers until her head dropped back on a groan. Her dark hair brushed against the roof of his convertible.

He slid his hands around her hips to cushion her from the metal. They were
wild
together. Explosive. Straining like they wanted to meld into a fiery ball.

A stream of French poured out of his mouth against the curve of her neck. She shuddered, pinned between his deep thrusts and the unrelenting car door. “More,” she gasped.

He’d gladly give her more. Everything.

The gathering haze of his climax almost concealed the clatter and hum of approaching voices. Almost. His breath choked in his lungs as he tried to get his bearings.

“Shh,” he whispered in her ear. “Someone’s coming.”

Heather froze. Her eyes went wide. But then that sultry, secret smile curved her red mouth. She licked her lips and spread her fingers wide under the bottom hem of his vest.

Swiftly, he tugged her skirt down around her ass, covering her. He moved his hands to the sleek line of her back, just a man and woman embracing. He didn’t withdraw. His open coat concealed how they were sealed together.

He bent low to her ear. “Do you want to be caught, Ms. Morris? Because your cunt is clenching down on me so tightly that I think you do.”

“Not particularly.”

“But the idea? That’s enough.” He wound through the silken mass of her hair and cupped the back of her head. “You’re so hot, you could come like this, couldn’t you?”

Her breath was shaky. “And you? You’re not immune.”

The voices drew nearer, but the concrete walls meant he couldn’t tell their direction. “Not at all. But be quiet. Don’t come.”

Her hips jerked against him. He kept pushing in tiny, miniscule twitches, his cock moving gently inside her. She bit her lower lip.

“Don’t come, Ms. Morris,” he purred. “Don’t moan. They’ll catch us. See you so hot. So horny you’re going to explode all over my dick. So wanton. Like a slut so hungry for it she can’t even wait to get somewhere private.”

Her hands gripped his back even as her sheath clenched his cock.

Then she drew her head back to study him. “Who, exactly, has more to lose in this scenario, Captain Carlisle? Hmm?” Slipping her hands into the back of his pants, she gripped his ass. Squeezed. “What do they call it? Behavior unbecoming?”

Goddamn it. He mashed his face against her shoulder and beat back the orgasm threatening to take him down.

Her mouth slid over his throat, along the line of his collar. She licked. Long and slow, likely leaving a bright trail of red lipstick.

She was winning. Again.

Deep breaths didn’t get his head together. But it was enough. Barely.

Somehow he managed to pull out of her. She made a soft sound of protest, and her hands clenched his ass cheeks. He tucked himself back into his slacks and zipped them up—condom and all, for Christ’s sake. Another few swift motions tugged her skirt down to cover her wet pussy.

He spun out one of his slow, special smiles. “You’re right, Ms. Morris. By all means, let’s not get in trouble.”

He handed her into the car, ignoring the confusion in her eyes, which was rapidly turning to annoyance. Maybe even anger. As Jon shut the car door, her lush, erotic mouth plumped into a pout he’d never seen but dearly relished.

Only when he stalked around the back of the car, crossing to his door, did he scrub a hand over his face. He was shaking. Wanting her. Needing to be back inside her.

“You have got to be kidding,” she said as he climbed into the driver’s seat.

Jon only popped the convertible top and fired up the ignition.

Driving took extra effort as he peeled out of the parking garage. The purring rumble of the engine shook into his bones. He pushed the speed limit, edging faster and faster.

He aimed the Aston Martin out of Las Vegas, deep into the desert. And floored it.

Chapter Seventeen

Heather sank into the leather bucket seat as the desert night whipped against her face. She glared absently at the dashboard. The lights of the city faded into a glow in her door mirror, with nothing but open road stretching ahead of them.

She’d wondered what Jon and the sleek black Aston Martin could do if unleashed. She was in no mood to appreciate either. Her body still hummed and spun itself inside out while her mind grappled with the impossible.

Jon had stopped. Stopped cold.

The embarrassment she expected to feel didn’t come. Getting caught in that parking garage would’ve been a professional disaster for both of them. Where was her sense of self-preservation? Her sense of shame?

All gone.

Only a petulant sort of anger remained. She was actually
pissed
at her spoilsport date.

Her birthday. Her body. Her rules.

The alternative, that he’d already claimed so much of her, was too frightening to consider. Pushing away fear was considerably easier when all she risked was the physical. Jon had proved remarkably considerate on that score.

She wanted her lover. Not this odd pinched feeling in her chest.

A semi’s distant lights drew nearer as the amazing DBS ran it down. Predator and prey. Jon popped it into fifth, his grip tense on the gearshift. The tendons running up the back of his hand and wrist snapped taut with the motion. The ease he usually displayed when driving was gone.

Closer now, and closer still, he hadn’t changed lanes to overtake the lumbering truck. Heather gripped the armrest on the passenger side door. Night air scored her cheeks as the Aston punched up past ninety. Her heartbeat tripled. At the last possible moment, Jon smoothly dove into the outside lane. They darted past the semi as the driver blasted his horn.

“Are you
insane
?” she yelled over the whip of wind.

Jon merely glanced her way, that depraved smile twisting his lips. Maybe he was only enjoying the thrill of the ride. Maybe he was inviting her to return to their former play. All Heather knew was that the sight of him handling that powerful machine with such ease was more than she could stand. Her body was already so keyed up, so overheated, that it clamored for more. More of him.

With nothing stretched ahead but flat blacktop, he shifted up to sixth. Hundreds of horsepower growled under the hood. The vibration sank into her skin, like the steady bite of a hot, hot shower. Sensation built, gathering, almost numbing, but constantly raising the stakes. Release, when it came, would be overwhelming.

Heather reached across the chasm that had opened between them. She wanted to touch him. Needed to. She started with his hand on the gearshift, unwilling to distract him too much. Their speed was up to one hundred now. Threading her fingers over his, she felt the humming vibration where man met machine.
He
controlled that power. The thrill shot a bolt of heat between her thighs.

Trailing her fingers higher, she worked up to his shoulder, his nape, the top of his head. Jon made a rumbling noise in his throat, one she could only feel. Sound had been claimed by the rushing flow of air, which cooled but didn’t remedy her flushed skin.

Eyes still on the road, he darted his tongue to lick the inside of her forearm. Heather slid her hand to press her index finger along the seam of his lips. He opened, sucking her then biting her. Pain spiked to a sharp burn. She gasped, arched a little. Just when the discomfort became too much, he circled his tongue and soothed where his teeth had trapped her first knuckle.

Giving her ring finger over to his care, Heather tugged the hem of her skirt. She found her clit, as cool air rushed over her wet arousal. Jon gunned the engine and sucked deeply. More teeth, more tongue, while the car purred down the desert highway. Speed and sex made her work faster, building a steady, quick orgasm.

She retrieved her hand from his mouth and dipped inside her low-slung neckline. The lace of her bra gave way on a downward tug. Her twisting pressure on the nipple ring was a steady counterpoint to the beat of her fingers. She dipped inside, scooping more of that slick wetness, soothing it over her engorged nerves. Breath labored, throat burning, she gasped.

“Let me hear you,” he said, his voice carrying past the whip and rush. “No breathy sighs this time.”

The wind made it easy. The speed made it easy. She leaned back into the leather, knees wide, cunt bared, and found the rhythm that reminded her of their slapping bodies. Fast. Steady. Utterly focused. The quiet sounds inside of her turned violent. She moaned, her hips grinding up, eager now for an aching hollow to be filled. That moan became louder—a hard scream bubbling, waiting to be freed.

She thrashed her head to the side, pinning her gaze to Jon’s hard profile. His back teeth were pressed tight. A muscle bunched like a fist at the curve of his jaw.

“I’m coming. Oh, God, do you know what you do to me? Jon, I’m
coming
.”

Fire jumped across her nerves. With a fierce shriek she snapped taut, chin lifted, bared breasts thrust out.

Jon downshifted, heavy on the brakes. The Aston angled to the shoulder until he brought it to a stop. Before the last of Heather’s orgasm had faded, he threw it into park. Out of the car. Around the back.

He yanked the passenger-side door open, his hand clamped around her upper arm. All she could manage was to unbuckle the seat belt before he hauled her to her feet. He was all power, all violence, as if the ferocity of the sports car still pounded beneath his flesh.

Jon shoved her around the door and pressed her against the hood. Hot metal seared her back in a delicious burn. She hissed. Her muscles seized against that shock.

Dimly, beyond sensation and a dark buzzing in her ears, Heather heard his zipper.

“Condom,” she managed to gasp.

“It’s still there, Heather love. I’m so fucking hard.” His mouth was at her throat. Teeth. A sucking, wrenching kiss. She hitched a heel up his back. Opened for him. “Ah,
Jesus
.”

He took her. Hard. That fabulous cock drove her back against the hood. Jon flattened his palms over her ass cheeks, forcing them apart. Sensation sizzled against that private skin. But she could no more escape him than she wanted him to stop.

Her body stayed exactly where he wanted, pinned beneath his rocking thrusts. The rushing wind had disappeared but none of the power or speed. His rhythmic grunts rumbled against her breastbone. He feasted on her breasts. The harder, sharper sound of their colliding hips fueled her arousal like gasoline on open flames.

Her other foot left the ground. She hooked her ankles behind his back. Jon took the opportunity to arch her even further, with one hand between her breasts until she lay fully across the hood. She fought that pressure, her hips working, but he pressed harder.

“You’re not in charge here, Ms. Morris.” Thrusts punctuated his rasped words. “You can tease me and tempt me, but I’m not letting you win every round.”

A thrilling panic nipped at her mind. Jon had her. He wasn’t stopping. Only the safe word would challenge his control now, but she didn’t want to use it—didn’t want the torment to end.

It was too much. She couldn’t. The pounding. He was demanding too much.

“Can’t. Jon, I can’t.”

His mouth found her nipple, but he didn’t suck or tease—only whispered wet words against her skin. “No fear. Not now. Sink into it. Take it. Take
me
.”

She eased along his voice as he flowed between English and French. Her body began to shake. She cried out. Again. Her hands found the back of his head then under his collar and down his back. Rough bunches of muscle tensed and flexed. His skin gave way beneath her nails. Sweat slicked her fingertips.

“I’m here, Heather love. I have you.”

Her climax ripped a scream from her throat. She thrust her hips, overcome by long, wrenching gasps. Blood rushed in her ears. Jon’s body pistoned, levering her pelvis higher as he continued to pound.

“Heather,” he ground out. “I’m…holy
fuck
.”

He tensed, his eyes rolling back, his parted lips frozen in exquisite bliss. A few shuddering pulses later he bowed over her stomach. His chest heaved. Heather lay against the hood as it cooled, her eyes on the stars, her hands caressing the back of his head.

“Happy birthday to me,” she quietly cooed. A bubble of laughter wiggled up out of her gut. It turned into a full-blown laugh.

Grinning, Jon slid his hands to her waist, adding a tickle. She jerked away, her smile matching his. He pushed up. Strong arms bracketed her on either side. Rather than imagine being trapped, Heather felt protected. She remembered his gasping words, the words that had helped her let go.

I’m here, Heather love.

They froze. Face-to-face. Their bodies still joined.

Tentatively, as if for the first time, she touched his cheek. He pressed a kiss against the cup of her palm then nuzzled. She hooked her elbow behind his neck and drew him down for a long, slow, lingering kiss. This was cotton-candy sweetness. Decadent care. Tenderness that melted her spine.

Feeling languid and boneless, she accepted Jon’s help in peeling away from the hood. His tie was loose and askew, with three buttons on his dress shirt popped. He looked as blasted as she felt.

He brought his hand away from the metal and flexed his fingers. “Christ, Heather, how’s your back?”

“I’ll find out tomorrow.”

He only shook his head, his smile bewildered. She liked seeing him that way—slightly out of step with the man he pretended to be. She was getting used to feeling the same way about herself.

A shiver raced across her shoulders. Jon stripped off his suit coat. He draped it around her before she could protest. His heat held her as much as the wool. Fingers interlaced, he led her to the edge of the asphalt. They sat side by side, with the desert illuminated by only a slice of moon and the cab light of his Aston.