Page 20 of Dangerous Devotion

Jack steadies me with both hands on my hips, lifts me, pulling his cock free of my trembling wetness. I give a cry of dismay, greedy for his invasion. He chuckles softly at my impatience. One sweep of his thumb brushes my seam. I try to catch my breath, watch his eyes darken with intent. I’m suspended and taut, waiting breathless for him to make whatever move he has planned. I’d be begging, babbling if I could think.

He overwhelms me suddenly, crushes me to his chest, his arms around me, his movements less smooth, more desperate. Jack spears me then, before I can catch my breath. I clutch him, kiss his jaw as he pumps inside me. With a sound something like a sob, I feel myself lift free of the concrete world and pulses of white-hot pleasure chase each other along my limbs as the spasms go on and on.

The strength of my climax nearly forces Jack out of me as my inner muscles clench so hard. He grips me, mouth finding mine as he swallows my cries. We’re fevered, clumsy as we fight to join and thrust together. He grows rigid in my arms, the fiery gush of his climax pours into me, and I come again at the relief of it, laughing and crying at once.

“Maybe—you’re right—” he breaks off, winded, his hands trailing down my spine as I taste the film of sweat at his throat.

“About what?” I murmur. “I love being right.”

He nips my chin playfully.

“You said you got feelings for the wrong man. Maybe that’s me, the wrong man. But wrong or right, I’m the man who’s got you.”

“You’ve certainly got me.”

“Once I kissed you, I knew there was no getting over the chemistry. I’d just want you more. What I’m saying is, I’m not the right guy for you. We both know it. But I want to be the one who takes you to dinner. Not a taco truck or a bodega sandwich. A date.”

“Are you asking me to go steady?” I giggle, forcing myself to keep it light when all I want to do is kiss him a thousand times and say yes, that I’d go anywhere he asks me to go.

“No, I’m asking you on a date.”

“This is all so sudden!” I tease.

He grins at me, flips me onto my back on the couch. I arch into him, arms stretched above my head as he pins me down into the leather cushions, sliding into me once again. My body is slick and open to him, his touch everywhere. His hand clamps onto my wrists and pins my arms. The restraint makes my eyes fly open and meet his, my hips bucking with arousal.

“Have. Dinner. With. Me,” he orders me, punctuating each word with a thrust until I come apart on him, body drawn taut as a bowstring before I scream high and long.

“I take that as a yes,” he says smugly.

10

JACK

I’ve hardly ever bought a woman anything but a drink or dinner, but now I knew Serena’s sizes. I learn the colors and fragrances she likes, teasing the information out of her with light touches, using a well-placed caress and the promise of my hot mouth on her nipple once she satisfies my curiosity on some mundane topic.

“The CIA missed their shot at you. You could make people tell you anything,” she pants, annoyed.

“The CIA could never afford my services. Not to mention the fact that I don’t torture information out of people most of the time. That’s just a treat I save for you.”

I take her for lobster the first night we go to dinner. She says it tastes sweet, and then she gives me a shy smile and kisses me right there at the table. It’s hard to stay the length of time one would expect normal people to remain at a table instead of dragging her by the hand to the nearest exit. That night we make it as far as my car before we can’t wait another second.

The next day, I try to impress her with concert tickets in a private box at the top of the stadium. Great views, but she’s scared of heights and can’t bear to look out the glass to see the stage below us. Lucky for me I find other ways to keep her happy.

I feed her oysters with champagne in the silky black dress I picked out for her myself. When my hand skims her strong calf beneath the table, I draw her feet into my lap. We kiss and touch at the restaurant, thankful for the secluded booth in the corner, the dim lighting, the discreet server. That night, we sit on my bed and watched a movie, something foul mouthed and funny. I love her laugh; love the way she looks over at me to make sure I am in on the joke.

The only problem is, unless I’m balls deep inside her, I’m completely distracted by wanting her. This obsession consumes me. From the arch of her foot to the way her hair curls at her temples, the smooth expanse of her stomach, her full soft hips and the plump sweetness of her pussy against my mouth.

Ronnie’s off tonight after a recheck with his surgeon and I offer to fill in. I’m going to tell Serena to quit waiting tables. She can be our on-call nurse on staff instead of slinging drinks. She comes straight to my table and asks to talk with me.

I sweep her from head to toe with one look, take in the sweet flowered mini dress I bought her and how it barely covered the curve of her ass. I lead the way into the office and wait for her to strike, to tell me about someone being treated unfairly, something wrong in my business. I listen to her about that stuff even though I don’t let anyone else talk to me that way. She has a purity about her, a directness when she talks. I lean against the edge of the desk.

“My dad won,” she says, her voice ragged with shame. It’s not good news. It means he’s still gaming. The fact that he hit a streak of luck is meaningless with all that Joel Mayfield owes.

“How much?” I ask, forgetting my proposition.

I had wanted to make an offer—an office of her own where she could see patients as needed, make enough to pay off her dad’s debtors and go back to school. Now I’m consumed by the defeated slope of her shoulders. I reach for her, and she walks right into my arms without hesitation. I kiss her temple.

“Five grand,” she says. “Just enough to convince him he’s on a roll, that he’ll be caught up in a day or two.”

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