My Sinful Desire (Sinful Men Book 2) Page 6

  Sophie: What a lovely surprise to hear from you.

  Ryan: I had your number thanks to the woman who tried to corral you at the event to talk about decorating. At one point you told her to call you, and she rattled off your number. I was impressed she remembered any number.

  Sophie: I’m impressed you remembered it.

  Ryan: It’s only the number I wanted most in the world.

  Sophie: And now I have yours too, so . . . lucky me. And no, I’m not afraid of heights. Should I be? Are you, say, taking me to the moon?

  Ryan: Among other things, I will indeed be taking you on that kind of trip.

  Sophie: Interesting. But how can you be so confident about this trip around the moon?

  Ryan: Because I’ve already taken you there. And I’m glad you’re not afraid of heights since that helps with what I have planned for tonight.

  Sophie: Ah, we’re going on a hot-air balloon ride over the Strip, right?

  Ryan: Nice guess. Or maybe I plan to take you on the roller-coaster at New York-New York.

  Sophie: Then why are we meeting at Caesars?

  Ryan: To throw you off the scent of my plan, which is perfect, by the way. And because I suspect you like surprises. And roller-coasters too.

  Sophie: Incidentally, I’m quite loud on roller-coasters.

  Ryan: I have not yet had the pleasure of hearing the highs you can hit vocally. You came quietly the other night.

  Sophie: And is that something you wish to know? My vocal range? Rather than my silent cries of pleasure?

  Ryan: It’s not just something I wish to know. It’s something I intend to discover tonight.

  Sophie: I suppose it is in your hands, then, to find out how high I can go.

  Ryan: Hands maybe. Or could be other parts of my anatomy. Perhaps I should amend my plans for tonight and take you on that roller-coaster ride after all. On second thought, I’m just going to keep the plans to myself and surprise you. But wear a skirt tonight.

  My pulse sped up at the command in his last text. I was about to reply with something saucy when his final text appeared.

  Ryan: On a more serious note, it’s not right for me to know your name and occupation and for you not to know the same. Not in this day and age. So, here’s me. And I will see you in five hours, twenty-three minutes.

  I hovered my index finger over the link at the end of the text.

  The game had been fun, almost like a masquerade ball. Now he had changed the game and removed his mask. Asking me if I wanted to look.

  How could I not?

  I was a cat in front of an open box, and the cat had no choice but to slink inside and explore its contents. That man had sparked my mind and ignited my body, and hell, it was natural to want to know more about him. So, from the cozy cocoon of gold and cranberry-red pillows on my bed, I clicked on the link to his company website.

  Sloan Protection Resources.

  The site had a rugged, sturdy, and masculine look with black-and-gray colors and imposing fonts. Completely fitting with what the company was selling—armed private security, event security, bodyguards, guard dogs, and more. The mission statement on the home page read: “We provide secure solutions to a wide range of individuals, corporations, nonprofit organizations, and government customers. We are committed to helping businesses and individuals operate in a safe and secure environment that will enable them to prosper.”

  Interesting.

  I vaguely wondered if any of my event organizers had relied on Sloan Protection Resources. Or if some of my wealthiest benefactors did. I suspected the answer was yes, and that Ryan Sloan and I trafficked in the same circles even though we hadn’t met until the other day.

  I clicked on the “About Us” page, and was greeted by a photo that made my heart stutter and other parts heat up.

  The picture was of two strong, tall men—clearly related—in suits, with arms crossed and serious looks on their faces. My eyes were drawn to Ryan, with his slightly wavy light-brown hair, midnight-blue eyes, and firm, strong, toned body the suit didn’t even try to hide. He was tailor-made for the part of strong, sexy businessman.

  A murmur fell from my lips as I brushed my fingertip across his image. Then, clicking on his name, I jumped farther down the page and found his bio.

  Ryan Sloan is one of the founders of Sloan Protection Resources. A native of Las Vegas, Ryan attended the University of Michigan, where he played on the hockey team. After graduating with a bachelor’s degree in history, he spent five years in the United States Army, completing his service as a captain, like his brother Michael. The two of them founded Sloan Protection Resources six years ago. Together they are committed to ensuring the highest level of safety for their clients, and rely on trained teams of former law enforcement, military, and security professionals who are state certified and skilled in the latest tools and tactics.

  My grin spread along with a burst of warmth through my chest. That was just . . . sexy.

  And hot.

  And so very dominant.

  10

  Sophie

  I was early for once.

  Only because I told myself over and over that our date started an hour sooner. I’d even set the alarm on my phone to leave my building at five thirty, which had given me the necessary thirty minutes to walk to Caesars and make it to the Fizz Bar

  I didn’t want to be late for my date, so I’d tricked my own overactive mind.

  Now that I was here, I kept myself entertained outside the bar, playing the slots, settling in at the Wizard of Oz machine for several rounds.

  The little hand on the clock landed on seven. On the dot.

  “I see you didn’t heed my instructions.”

  My lips quirked up in a wicked grin as the deep, sexy voice of my date reached my ears. I turned around and drank in the sight of Ryan Sloan, who looked just as lickable minus the tie and tailored suit I’d seen him in for our first encounter. Tonight he wore crisp charcoal pants that showed off a fantastic ass, the kind you could bounce a quarter off of, and a white button-down that demanded to be unbuttoned. Such a simple look, but a sexy one. Casual, but classy.

  “Perhaps I was feeling a little defiant,” I said playfully, taking the time to cross my legs and show off the skinny jeans I wore, in direct disobedience of his skirt request.

  For some reason, the prospect of going against his fashion demand had felt like naughty mischief, and naughty mischief was irresistible.

  I looked away from him and pressed the button once more on the one-armed bandit, hoping for a trio of glittery red slippers. “Over the Rainbow” played as the reel spun, and I awaited my lineup, eager for a winning jackpot. No such luck. Sliding into place were a tin man, a lion, and a wicked witch, who cackled in mockery. I pouted. “I guess my luck has run out on this machine. Are you a bad luck charm?” I teased as I glanced up at my too-handsome-to-be-believed date.

  Ryan’s hand came down on my neck firmly, but his voice matched my lighthearted tone. “I don’t mind your defiance,” he said, returning to my earlier comment. “As long as you don’t mind having to wait longer for all the good things I have planned for you.”

  Instantly, my brain was awash with images, fantasies, and filthy scenarios I’d only dreamed of. I wanted all the good things.

  “What sort of good things?” I asked, shivering as he touched me, his big palm wrapping around my neck. I closed my eyes as he traveled up to my nape. He threaded his fingers in my hair, gripping my locks. I tensed. His hand was sending a message, one that his mouth made abundantly clear when he bent his head to my ear and spoke.

  “The kind that a skirt makes possible,” he said as he tugged my head back so I had to stare up at him.

  “You don’t like the way I look in jeans?”

  “I love the way you look in anything because you’re extraordinary to look at, and even more phenomenal to touch. But I especially like the access your skirts give me.” His lips were mere millimeters from my ear. He flicked his tongue agai
nst my earlobe, and I gasped. Then he drew the soft flesh into his teeth and bit. A burst of excitement whipped through me at his touch. Holden had never bitten me like this. Not with a sense of ownership.

  Ryan ran a hand along the bare skin of my arm, on display in my black blouse with cap sleeves. The sheer material revealed a tight lacy camisole underneath, which pushed up my breasts, showcasing ample cleavage.

  “Maybe I wanted to make sure you didn’t forget about other parts of me,” I said, casting a glance down at my chest, letting him follow.

  Ryan laughed deeply then shook his head, seemingly in admiration of the view. He let go of his firm hold and kissed my neck, a soft and unbearably sexy kiss. I nearly squirmed on the plush red stool parked in front of the gambling machine. “Sophie, there’s not a chance in hell I’d forget those gorgeous breasts, and I plan on getting better acquainted with them. Maybe even fucking them,” he said as he dragged a finger along the bare flesh of my chest, and I nearly moaned out loud at the prospect of being fucked in the valley of my breasts by this dirty, dominating man. “Would you like that?”

  I nodded as heat flared through my system. “I believe I would,” I whispered.

  “Excellent. Because I believe I would like to do that to you. There are many things I want to do to you, and I always want you to feel good.”

  “I’d say you’re meeting your goal because so far it’s all good,” I said, pausing before I added, “Quite good.”

  He grinned. “And you should always tell me what you like and don’t like. Does that work for you?”

  “Yes.” Anticipation bloomed inside me as we made some sort of impromptu pact to govern our pleasure.

  “And I’ll do the same,” he said, bending closer to my head as he ran his nose along my hair, inhaling my scent. He murmured as he touched me, then kissed a curl on the side of my face. “Like right now when I tell you I really don’t like that you didn’t listen to me. And do you know what that means?”

  I raised an eyebrow. I’d never experienced this sort of cat-and-mouse play before. By wearing jeans in defiance, had I violated some unwritten rule of the tie-me-up-and-take-me game? A squadron of nerves docked in my belly, and I wished I had more experience with men like Ryan. My knowledge of the opposite sex was woefully limited, and while I wasn’t innocent by any stretch, I felt a bit like a wide-eyed woman recently freed from an unusual marriage and thrust into an unknown battlefield with this intense, commanding man.

  That was the point, of course. Still, I was a traveler wandering through a lush new land without a map.

  Whether I’d been disobedient or not, this back-and-forth we had going was intoxicating, especially since we were in public, ensconced in the middle of the Caesars Palace slot machines, amid the whir and jingle of imaginary coins falling as gamblers hunted for payouts in the games of chance.

  The cowardly lion roared idly from my game, trying to entice me to play another round. I ignored it.

  “No. Tell me what it means,” I said, turning to face him and running my lacquered fire-engine red nails along his arm. I could feel the outline of his muscles, his strong biceps, his steely forearms, through the fabric of his shirt. “I’m dying to know.”

  “You want to know?”

  I nodded, keeping my gaze firmly fixed on his. His dark-blue eyes were hungry. He looked as if he wanted to eat me. “Are you going to spank me?”

  “Would you like that?”

  A shiver of anticipation ran across my skin. “I think I would,” I said in a whisper.

  He knitted his brow. “You think? You don’t know?”

  I shook my head, biting my lip. “I’ve never been spanked.”

  He let out a low whistle of regret. “That’s a damn shame, because you have a highly spankable ass. But this is music to my ears, because I fully intend to break it in,” he said as he moved his hand down my back along the fabric of my shirt, heading in the direction of my, evidently, quite spankable ass.

  “I suspect I’d like your hands on my ass,” I said, and he groaned—a sexy, dirty rumble that turned me on. “So are you going to spank me on the roller-coaster? In the hot-air balloon? Or in the secret private jet you’ll be piloting tonight?”

  “None of the above. You’re going to have to wait for all the good things now. That’s what happens when you don’t listen.”

  “Ah, so that’s my punishment for my impudence. How long must I wait?”

  He offered me a hand and pulled me up from my stool. “Until you’re wearing a skirt,” he answered crisply. The stern look in his eyes said he was serious, and that he could wait for me to change. He’d be waiting a lot less time than he thought.

  “Right now, though, I want to spend some time getting to know you. That’s why I bought tickets to the High Roller,” he said, mentioning the Ferris wheel nearby. “So I can chat with you as we ride. Because you’re far too classy a woman for me to get you off in front of all the other people riding in our pod.”

  “Why, thank you for opting not to get me off in a pod. But you know it’s become a thing in Vegas now, trying to have sex on the Ferris wheel.”

  He nodded. “Yeah, and most people get busted. There’s a difference between trying to get a tacky, tasteless notch on your public sex belt, and knowing how to pleasure a woman in public so that you’re the only one who knows she’s about to fall apart in your arms.”

  “And I trust you know the difference?”

  He cupped my cheek, drawing my face near to his so his nose touched mine. How was it possible that touching noses was sexy? But even this made me sizzle. Then his words scorched my imagination as he said, “What I know, Sophie, is exactly what I want to do to you. And you’ll just have to wait to find out.”

  He grazed his lips against mine, and I murmured as I melted into his touch. Our first kiss at the gala had been hungry and demanding. Ferocious and possessive. This was a soft, slow, unhurried kiss. It was an exploration, as his mouth caressed mine and my body turned soft and pliant under his touch.

  His touch made me weak-kneed, hazy, and buzzed. And as he laced his fingers through my hair and held the back of my head in his hand, I gave myself over to him, letting him have me however he wanted.

  When we separated, he whispered, “But kisses in public are good. They show everyone you’re with me tonight, and that turns me on—having you with me.” His tone, too, sounded thoroughly possessive. Then he laughed. “Which means I better sit and play a round, otherwise I’ll be walking around with that fact on display.”

  He parked himself on the stool. In a flash, he pulled me back to him so I was seated on his lap. “Mmm,” I said, wriggling against his erection. “Not sure this is going to help get rid of the issue.”

  He gripped my hips, the pressure pulling me down against his dick so I could feel his hard length lining up perfectly against my ass. Damn, he felt good.

  He stretched out his arm and pressed the button on the machine. “Maybe you’re my lucky charm.”

  I crossed my fingers in the air as we waited for the reel to roll through thousands upon thousands of permutations, and I rocked my rear subtly but insistently against his crotch. His breath hitched. He dug his thumbs harder into my hip bones, as if he needed to hold on to survive having me on his lap.

  The reel slowed. One ruby red slipper. Then another. My shoulders tensed in anticipation and hope. “Please let it be another slipper,” I murmured, then sighed when a witch’s broom busted our chances. “Damn,” I muttered.

  “I don’t mind losing. We can just stay here playing all evening because I like the way you feel sitting on me.”

  “You’ll get no complaints from me. But we don’t want to miss the High Roller.”

  He glanced at his watch. “We have time.”

  We played a few more rounds, losing every one. But it didn’t matter, because his arms were wrapped around my waist and he held me close in his lap, a delicious start to my second rendezvous with this man who was not as much of a mystery as he�
��d been the first night, but who was now even more enticing. Perhaps it was knowing his name, or maybe it was our text exchange earlier. It might even be the naughty compliments he continued to rain down on me. It was all drawing me in.

  “How’s your dog?” I asked as the sound of a tornado grew louder from the machine. Dorothy’s home was churning in the cyclone during this spin.

  He chuckled. “You remembered I have a dog.”

  “Of course I do. You had to walk him—he’s a demanding border collie. Is he totally adorable?”

  “Ha. I suppose. Mostly I just think of him as badass.”

  “Got any pictures?”

  He shook his head. “No, but if you’re a good girl, I’ll send you one.”

  “All the more reason to be good,” I quipped. “What’s his name?”

  “Johnny Cash,” he said, with the swagger it called for.

  “That is a cool name.”

  “He is a cool dog. Loyal. Smart. Devoted. And a great listener.”

  “Sounds perfect. How’d you pick it?”

  “My dad’s favorite musician.”

  “Does your dad live in town?”

  Ryan shook his head. I looked back at him. A kind of darkness had descended over him, and I processed quickly that he hadn’t used a verb when talking about his father. “Oh, I’m sorry. Is he gone?”