Sinful Desire Read online

  She breathed a yes around the melting cube.

  “How much do you want me to jack off on you right now? To come all over you?”

  She nodded vigorously. He was dirty and filthy and she wanted it. She would beg, bargain, or steal for it.

  He pushed his shorts down, freeing his cock—his beautiful, gorgeous shaft that she loved. She flicked her tongue against the back of the cube, and started licking it to free herself.

  He took his dick in his fist and stroked. She rocked in the chair, as if she could draw him into her with her hips, her eyes.

  “Ice is almost melted,” he said, cupping his balls in one hand and fisting harder with the other. “This is really making you crazy, isn’t it?”

  Heat raced through her body, pooling between her legs.

  “I know you want me to do this,” he said on an upstroke. “You want to watch me stand here, and get off to your beautiful body, right in front of you. Tell me that’s what you want.”

  “Yes,” she hissed around the ice cube.

  He let go of his dick, yanked up his shorts, and kneeled over her. He brought his mouth so close to her face she could feel his hot breath. “But I’m not going to. I have something better for you because you’re so fucking good.” He devoured her mouth, kissing her, taking the last chip of the ice cube into his own mouth, and getting rid of the obstacle between her and pure, unadulterated pleasure.

  Then he tugged down her bathing suit bottom, pulled it off, and thrust a finger inside her.

  Not a second passed before she started fucking his hand. She was so turned on, so worked up, and so aroused from him. Her hands were twisted inside the slats, the wood rubbing against her wrists, and she didn’t care. All she cared about was this pleasure, this incomparable, otherworldly lust racing through her body, flooding every last cell, bathing her brain in ecstasy.

  She couldn’t even form words.

  There was no point to speaking.

  She was reduced to only moans and groans and murmurs as he crooked his finger inside her and hit the magic spot no one had ever discovered until Ryan Sloan walked into her life, fulfilling every fantasy.

  This commanding, intense, powerful man loved to tease her, and loved to please her, and, oh God, he was doing just that. Her belly tightened. An orgasm insisted on appearing.

  He added another finger, then one more, as his thumb rubbed her clit. She cried out oh God so loud she was sure California heard it. Her eyes squeezed shut. This was fucking epic. It was wondrous as he completely owned the center of her body, the center of her world, the core of her pleasure.

  She gripped the wood as she writhed into his hand, his fingers deep inside her, and she hit the edge, detonating from the intensity that ravaged her.

  Before the orgasm even subsided, he grasped her hands from the slats, released them, and threaded his fingers through hers, as ripples of pleasure continued to spread through her body like aftershocks. He’d taken off his shorts, and now he wedged himself between her thighs, and told her to wrap her legs around his hips.

  She did as instructed, and then he sank into her. He filled her so completely, and the sheer intensity of him inside her was astonishing. She moaned loudly, her voice carrying across the heat of the afternoon, floating on the hot air as he buried himself deep. He gripped her fingers hard.

  “Sophie,” he growled in her ear as he thrust.

  “Ryan.”

  “I’m so fucking happy you’re here,” he said. It vaguely occurred to her that this was one of the first times they’d had sex face to face. It occurred to her, too, that she wanted to try every position with him. She wanted to be taken, she wanted to be owned, and she wanted to be his.

  Completely his.

  “Me, too,” she said on a breathy moan as he claimed her with his cock. She clenched around him, her pussy gripping him tight as he thrust into her.

  “I love being with you,” he whispered, his breath ragged in her ear, his words lighting her up. “Everything. Everything about being with you.”

  “Oh God,” she cried out, because he was doing it again. He was taking her there. To the ends of the earth. To the edge of reason. To another fucking world, one stitched with silver and gold and bright, hot sunlight that rained down on her skin, liquid pleasure that flooded her veins, and something so damn close, so immeasurably close, to more.

  He let go of one of her hands to palm her breast, squeezing her nipple as he rocked into her. He pinched her, and it hurt so good as she came hard around his cock. In seconds, he followed her, biting her shoulder as he reached his own climax, grunting in gorgeous pleasure, the sound of his deep, sexy moans music to her ears.

  “It’s you,” he said, a minute later as he spooned her, holding her in his arms and kissing her neck. “It’s only you.”

  She knew what he was trying to say. She felt it, too, inside her body, and deep into her heart. For the first time, the emotion lived in both places.

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  “I have a confession to make,” Ryan announced, as he set two plates on the kitchen table then opened the cardboard box of pizza.

  “Confess.” She held out her hand grandly, inviting him to talk – something he was increasingly enjoying doing with her.

  He snagged a slice of the cheese pie that he’d ordered from Gigi’s, his favorite pizza shop, and placed it on Sophie’s plate. With the salad tongs, he scooped out some of the Caesar salad for her then for himself, too.

  He sat down, joining her. “You already know my secret about being completely unable to cook.” He held up one finger to make a point—a point of self-defense. “Though I am unbelievably proficient at calling the pizza place.”

  She nodded approvingly. “Gigi’s is the best in Vegas. I absolutely approve of your dinner choice. Cheese pie, Caesar salad, and a chardonnay.” She picked up her fork and dug into the salad first. “So, tell me.”

  He took a bite of the cheese pie, rolled his eyes in pleasure, and pointed to his chipmunk cheeks to say wait just a moment. When he finished chewing, he made his confession: “I ate the peach pie you made.”

  She smiled broadly then took a drink of her white wine. “I’m so happy to hear that. It’s my mother’s recipe. It’s divine, isn’t it?”

  “That’s exactly what my grandmother said about it. Divine.”

  She tilted her head curiously, asking, “Your grandmother?”

  “I brought it to her house after you gave it to me. I had some with her.”

  Sophie’s blue eyes seemed to show her processing this information—that he was a man who brought pie to his grandmother. Maybe he’d made a strange choice to go see her last night, but it had made as much sense to him as anything had then. So he quickly added, “She told me that I should never give up a woman who could bake like that.”

  Sophie raised her wineglass, a toast of sorts to his grandmother. “Smart woman. Sounds like you’re close to her?”

  “Definitely. She and my granddad pretty much raised us after Mom went to…” He let his voice trail off.

  Sophie nodded immediately, letting him know she understood. “And that brought you all closer, I imagine.”

  “It did. I was almost fifteen when we moved in with her and my granddad, my dad’s parents. I guess that kind of thing can either rip you apart or bring you closer,” he said, more easily than he’d ever expected to be able to voice such words. Perhaps because the deadbolt was undone. The door was open, and the heavy weight of years of closeting secrets had lightened. His heart felt freer than it had in ages, his head lighter. Funny, how he’d never known that talking like this, to someone who wasn’t in the inner circle, would feel oddly peaceful. “In our case, mostly it brought us closer,” he said, and took another bite of his pizza, savoring the delicious cheese and the tasty crust.

  She took a drink then asked, “Mostly?”

  Yes, mostly. Because he knew exactly how his grandmother felt about his mother. The past’s hard grip resurfaced, like claws clamping
down on his throat, and his newfound voice. The familiar urge to lock up his history kicked in. But he fought back. “I say that because she doesn’t know I actually visit my mom still.”

  “Ah, I understand,” Sophie said softly. “I imagine it would be hard for her to accept that’s something you want. But it’s clearly important to you to see your mom.”

  My God, it was like morning sunlight streaming in through the blinds. Talking to Sophie was lightness, it was patience, and it was safety. He barely had to explain a thing. She simply understood it all. She got it, and him. But he didn’t want Sophie to think he was a liar. “It’s not that I hide it from my grandma, per se. And I think she knows on some level, because she’s aware that I go there for Christmas and other times. But I don’t tell her about all the visits. I didn’t tell her I went earlier in the week, for instance. Or that I’m going again next weekend. Guess it just didn’t seem like something it was important for her to know.”

  “How often do you visit?”

  “I try to see her once or twice a month. Sometimes more, sometimes less.” He sighed heavily. “She gets her hours cut now and then because she acts up.”

  “Acts up?”

  He looked away, focusing on the steady breathing of his dog on the floor by an air conditioning vent, on the regular up and down motion of the Border Collie’s chest, his black and white fur fluttering lightly. “She’s not…,” he said, tapping the side of his skull. “She’s…” He let his voice trail off again. A lump rose in his throat. This was so hard to say. “She’s not all there,” he said, practically kicking the words past his lips.

  Not only was his mother branded a murderer, not only was she the orchestrator of a gang-led shooting, she was also barreling down the path to insanity. He saw the evidence each time he visited her.

  Sophie reached for his hand, threaded her fingers through his, and held on tight. “It all must be so hard,” she said softly, and then she quickly moved on. He could kiss her—for the segue and for knowing one was needed. “Who are you closest to among your siblings? I only have one, obviously, so it’s an easy answer for me. But you’ve got three. That must be a different story.”

  A small smile returned to his face. He could do this. He’d made it through the harder topic. His brothers and sister were way more manageable. “On the surface, I guess Michael, since we run a business together and we were in the army together. And we are a great team when it comes to the company. But Michael and I don’t always see eye to eye. About my mom,” he added.

  “How so?”

  “He never visits her, and he doesn’t like that I do. So we’re close, but sometimes that causes problems. Shannon has gone with me a bunch of times to Hawthorne, so in some ways, I’m closer to her. She still talks to my mom and gets her letters. But,” he said, stopping to take a drink of his wine, then setting it on the table, “that’s not what defines us. That’s not what our family is all about. I mean, it did for a long time in the eyes of strangers. But we’re more than that. We all support each other and love each other and look out for each other. A few years ago, once we were all back in Vegas, the four of us got together and bought our grandparents a house. The one they live in now. It was our way of giving back to them after all they did to help raise us right and make sure we didn’t turn out more fucked up than we were,” he said, with a light scoff. “We were pretty messed up, Sophie.”

  She shot him a gentle smile that said she understood.

  “We kind of wanted it to be a surprise, but it was hard to buy a surprise house, since we wanted them to like it. Colin’s the money guy though, so he was able to get it all going. The idea was his in the first place. He mentioned it to me once when we were shooting hoops. And, back to your question, sometimes it seems like I’m closest to him. He’s the youngest, and Michael’s kind of taken on a fatherly role. Colin and I feel more like we’re equal brothers. With Michael, sometimes it feels like he still thinks he has to look out for all of us, even though he’s only two years older.”

  Sophie laughed. “Let me tell you, I completely understand that older brothers can be a total pain in the ass,” she said with a knowing smile, and he matched her grin. Something was changing between them now that the veil of secrecy had been removed. Her brother had once been the cause of a rift, and now she was able to make a joke about the guy.

  He held up his hands in surrender. “I’m not going to touch that with a ten-foot pole. I’ll keep your brother out of this, so I don’t get in trouble again with the woman I want.”

  “You’re not in trouble at all,” she said, returning to her pizza.

  “Now about that peach pie. It was your mom’s recipe. Was she a baker?”

  She shook her head. “She was a teacher. But she was an amazing ‘pie mistress,’” she said, stopping to sketch air quotes. “That’s what my dad called her.”

  “And he ran the fruit stand?”

  She nodded. “What about your dad?”

  “Cab driver, then a limo driver. For the last year, he was going to night school. Taking some accounting classes to try to get a better job. Mom was a seamstress,” he said finishing off another slice. “And, don’t laugh, but she had a dream to make dog jackets.” He glanced over at Johnny Cash lying on the floor. “She’d probably make one for him if she could. But they don’t let inmates have sewing machines in prison,” he said, the corner of his lips quirking up. For the first time in ages he’d managed to make a joke about his sad family history.

  After they cleaned up, he pointed to the shopping bag with the dress in it in the living room. “I’m thinking now would be a great time for you to show me that peach dress.”

  “I would love to give you a fashion show.”

  She retreated to his bedroom, and while she was changing, he programmed in soft music on his stereo, hunting for the kind of songs she might like. He remembered “Fly Me to the Moon” was her ringtone. She might not want to hear that one again, so he chose another Sinatra number and let the crooner’s voice float through his house. He dimmed the lights in the living room. Stars winked on and off through the windowpane.

  “What do you think?”

  He turned around to see Sophie twirl for him, then stop and strike a pose. She looked extraordinary in a white pinup dress with a peach pattern, and the silver shoes she’d picked up at the Grand Canal shops.

  “That you look edible. But I’m not going there just yet. For now, I want to do what we did on our first date,” he said, walking over to her and running his fingers through her soft, blond hair. She lifted her chin to look at him.

  The look in her eyes just plain melted him as he wrapped his arms around her. He’d never seen a person so happy as Sophie simply to dance with him on the hardwood floors of his living room, as Sinatra crooned.

  “I liked talking to you,” he said, his lips brushing her hair.

  “I liked listening to you,” she said as they swayed.

  “You make it easy.”

  “It shouldn’t have to be hard. This,” she said, and he knew what she meant by “this.”

  “Us,” he echoed. “And it’s not hard. It’s incredible.”

  * * *

  As he held her, she flashed back to some of her sweetest memories, her most potent images of love—her parents slow dancing together at night, and her mother’s words, too. “Make time for kisses, and meals, and each other, and dance under the stars and to the music, and dream together.”

  This was her dream, and she was close, closer than she’d ever been, to having it.

  * * *

  Lick. Lick. Lick.

  The next morning, a long tongue slurping across her cheek greeted Sophie. Yawning, she opened her eyes to find a black-and-white Border Collie kissing her face and wagging his tail.

  He whimpered lightly, and Sophie glanced at a sleeping Ryan. He was flat on his stomach, face pressed into a pillow, an arm slung over his head.

  She turned back to Johnny Cash. “Want to go outside?” she whispered,
and he thumped his tail on the floor at the last word.

  She slipped out of bed, and headed to the sliding glass door. The door was locked with a regular latch and a deadbolt. It took her a few seconds to wiggle them free, but she managed, and the dog shot out, racing across the grass and lifting his leg on a tree in the far corner of the yard.

  For a very…long…time.

  Pale pink fingers of light streaked across the morning sky as the sun rose. Taking a deep breath, savoring the fresh scent of a new day, Sophie soaked in the scene before her. Waking up at Ryan’s house, spending the weekend with him, exploring all that they felt for each other had been a day and night of rapture, of passion, and, most of all, of connection.

  Fine, it had been only one night, but she knew with both her heart and her analytical mind that Ryan Sloan was changing. He was opening up. He was sharing.

  For her.

  She practically giggled at the thought as she watched his dog finish his business then tear across the yard and conduct some morning recon with his snout, checking out the fence, perusing the edge of the pool, and sniffing some bushes. She felt bubbly, effervescent even, because she was close to having that elusive thing she’d craved for so long. For her whole damn life. The very gem she’d hunted for and thought she’d found with Holden, only to be proven wrong by the lack of spark. With Holden, she’d let friendship lead, and in return she’d gotten a great friendship. But with Ryan, she let lust, hormones, and desire start the engine. She’d taken a chance by inviting him to the gala without knowing him. That was a risk, but it had paid off. Then she’d nearly lost out the other night.

  But he’d reappeared and had come to the table ready. She didn’t need to peer into his mind, but she was thrilled by the glimpses of his heart and soul that he’d been offering. She felt special, she felt admired, and she felt madly desired. To have this kind of crazy, kinky, dirty sex with a man she was falling for…it was like finding a diamond on the side of the road.

  It was almost too good to be true, and for a brief moment, her heart seized up. What if it all fell to pieces? What if this was just a bubble? A weekend of bliss and loveliness that would be punctured at midnight?